Bennie eyed the papers on Mary’s desk. “I couldn’t find any connection between the plaintiffs and him. Could you?”
“No, but I know it exists.” Mary heard the strength of her own voice, though she knew she couldn’t prove it, but she went with it anyway. Because maybe it was time to start believing in herself. “But let me return to the point. Machiavelli files a reverse-discrimination suit with a statement by John, and next thing that happens is John turns up murdered, which puts us in the hot seat. Judy becomes a suspect. We become suspects in conspiracy to murder. In case anybody misses the point, he accuses us on television.”
“I think he exploited the tragedy.”
“Unless he created the tragedy.” Mary found herself speaking faster, convinced of her own words even as they left her lips. “Isn’t it at least possible that Machiavelli killed John? Think about it. We know Machiavelli can be violent. Impulsive. Remember, after that last case with him, I went to see him in his office and he tried to kiss me?”
Bennie glowered. “Yes, I do, the bastard. But murder? Maybe you really are getting paranoid.”
“No, I’m not. Why is it not possible?”
“The question isn’t whether it’s possible. The question is whether it’s probable.”
“You’re dismissing it like it’s out of the question.” Mary threw up her hands. “What makes it so improbable?”
“For one thing, you have to look at who would benefit from John’s murder. It doesn’t benefit Machiavelli to have John dead. If John were still alive, Machiavelli could’ve called him as a witness when the reverse-discrimination case went to trial. That would be very compelling testimony on the plaintiffs’ behalf. John made admissions against us. But without John on the witness stand, it’s hearsay.”
“But we’re not going to trial yet. We’re only before the Human Relations Commission, and they don’t follow the rules of evidence. Machiavelli’s got John’s statements in the record, and it all comes in, admissions and all. Machiavelli even called me and Judy about settlement, remember I told you that? He said he thought his case was stronger now.”
“Right.”
“I emailed that freelancer, Amanda Sussman, who was bothering us, calling her out, so I bet she disappears. But there’ll be more reporters tomorrow, probably some legitimate and some not. We barely recovered from the reverse-discrimination lawsuit before we got hit with a murder case, with us as suspects.” Mary got more excited the more she thought about it. “How many Nutrexes will we lose? Who isn’t hiring us because of these rumors? This is the kind of thing that can bring us down completely. Not just that we discriminate against men, but that we kill them?”
Bennie almost laughed out loud. “DiNunzio, I think you’ve got derangement syndrome. Machiavelli is a massive jerk, but I don’t know if he’s capable of cold-blooded murder.”
“What if he hired somebody to kill John? Maybe he told him to make it look like a burglary. Anybody can see the fire escape from the alley, and John’s address is public record. It wouldn’t be a hard murder to plan, to do us in.” Mary thought a minute. “Do you know where Lou is?”
“He told me he was going back to John’s to look for more street cameras. There were no lights or motion detectors, so I don’t know how much you could see from the fire escape anyway.”
“Let me text him, see if he got anything.” Mary picked up her phone, scrolled to the text function and sent Lou a text: Having any luck? Lately I’m thinking it’s Machiavelli but Bennie says I’m crazy. For a change.
Bennie rose. “DiNunzio, I think you need to go home. We have a big day tomorrow, a tough one. Declan won’t be able to come in for the service. He’s on trial in York.”
“But Bennie, don’t you think I could be right? Maybe we’re missing something. Maybe we’re missing the forest for the trees. Machiavelli could be behind everything, all of it—”
“He’s not the Wizard of Oz. This is not a discussion for now.” Bennie picked up her purse and messenger bag. “You need to go home and so do I. Sadly, I have to draft a eulogy for John. It’s time for us to think about him.”
“I am,” Mary shot back. “This is about finding his killer. And what if it really is Machiavelli?” Suddenly her text alert sounded, and she picked up the phone and read the text, from Lou. So far, no luck. Will keep you posted. BTW you’re crazy.
“Was it Lou?”
“Yes, and he says no luck yet.”
“Come on, let’s go.” Bennie sighed. “We have to bury our dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Mary sat with Anthony, Anne, Marshall, and Lou, listening to Bennie’s eulogy next to her father, her mother, and The Tonys. Up ahead, Judy sat in the front row with her arm around the back of William’s wheelchair, next to John’s aunt and uncle, Susan and Mel Hodge, their gray heads downcast. The memorial service was held at the William J. Lowell Funeral Home, a large converted brownstone in Society Hill, the most historic section of the city.
A hundred mourners, including fellow lawyers, friends from law school, and even clients like Jim and Sanjay from London Technologies filled the large, rectangular room, which had authentic colonial wainscoting painted a creamy white, high plaster ceilings with refined crown molding, and polished-bronze sconces between tall windows with bubbled glass. Somebody had commented to Mary that John would’ve loved the setting, but that gave her no comfort. John should have been alive, not in a bronze urn set on a flowery table at the front of the room.
From the lectern, Bennie was saying, “… John was loved by all of his friends, and so many of you came here today, even from his law school days…”
Mary tried to face front and listen, though it was hard to look at the urn, and her gaze strayed to her hands, folded around her belly in her lap, in a black maternity dress. She felt the baby kick, and it struck her as heartbreaking that she was carrying new life in the same moment that she was mourning the death of someone who was too young to die, much less so brutally.
“… and John was so valued by his clients as well, and I see many of you here, to honor him today, despite your busy schedules…”
Mary had thought about John’s murder all last night, wondering whether Machiavelli, Shanahan, or a burglar had killed him. She sensed it was Machiavelli, but when she’d told Anthony her new theory over dinner, he’d thought she was as crazy as Bennie and Lou did. She hadn’t been surprised to find that the media in front of the funeral home did not include Amanda Sussman, confirming that Sussman must’ve been working for Machiavelli. Anyway, she had been too tired to think about it anymore by bedtime and had cried all the tears she could cry until she had seen Judy this morning, grief-stricken even as she comforted William, who wept openly through the pastor’s words at the beginning of the service.
“… The temptation is to say something profound about life and death at times like this, but my experience with death has taught me, if anything, that death is a terrible teacher. We don’t learn from each other in death, we learn from each other in life, and we love each other in the living years. Death is loss, and what it leaves us is each other, sharing the loss, missing John, and holding each other as we go forward without him…”