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“Unless it was you or Artie. Was it?”
    Artie snorts. “At three? We were asleep.” Then he catches himself. “Oh, shit.”
    Sarah glares at him. “Nice move, Weiss.”
    So it’s true about them. I don’t understand Sarah; sleeping with Artie, but crazy about Armen. And Artie and Armen are so close. Were so close.
    “Oh, what’s the difference now?” Artie says. “I don’t care if everybody knows, it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong.” He looks at me and Eletha, his eyes full of pain. “I love her, okay? We fuck like bunnies, okay? Is that okay with you?”
    “Sure,” I say. Eletha nods uncertainly.
    “See, Sar, the world didn’t end.”
    Sarah ignores him and presses REDIAL . “The important thing is to find Ben.”
    I walk away from the tense group. I want to see Armen’s office before they do. Alone. I stop in the doorway, bracing myself. Still, I feel a sharp pang at the sight. My gaze wanders over the exotic brocade, the strange-looking documents, and the Armenian books in their paper dust jackets, frayed at the top. The place smells of him still; I can almost feel his presence. I can’t believe he would kill himself. Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t I see it coming?
    I enter the room and finger the papers on the conference table. Everything is the way I remember it, except that some of the Hightower papers are gone, the ones he was working on at home. The cases are scattered over the table; the laptop is at the edge. Even the dog hairs on the prayer rug are the same. It reminds me of Bernice. Where was she last night when he killed himself? Where was I, sound asleep?
    Suddenly I hear a commotion in the outer office, then shouting. I rush to the door and see Artie shove Ben up against the wall, rattling a group portrait of the appeals court.
    “Artie, stop it!” I shout, but Eletha’s already on the spot. She steps in front of Ben, shielding him with her body.
    “He deserves it!” Artie says, his chest heaving in a thick sweatshirt. He stands over Ben, who begins to kack-kack-kack in his old man cough, rubbing his head where it hit the wall.
    “Back off!” Eletha says, in a voice resonant with authority. A sense of order returns for a moment; Eletha is in charge and we are in chambers. The king is dead, long live the queen. Then it passes.
    “Where have you been?” Sarah shouts at Ben, who struggles to his feet, hiding almost comically behind Eletha.
    “Go to hell, Sarah. I pulled an all-nighter, so I slept in. Do I need your permission?”
    “You worked all night? On what?”
    “ Germantown Savings . I wanted to finish it.”
    “You didn’t hear the phone?”
    “No.”
    “The fuck you didn’t!” Sarah looks like she’s about to pick up where Artie left off and Eletha wilts between them, her strength spent.
    “Okay, Sarah,” I say, “cool it. You want to talk to Ben, do it when you’re calmer.”
    Her eyes flash with anger. “Playing Mommy again?”
    “Yes, it comes naturally. Now go to your room. Time out until the press conference.” I point to the clerk’s office.
    “Press conference?” Eletha says. “Who’s givin’ a press conference?”
    I check the clock above the chambers door. “Susan is, in fifteen minutes.”
    Eletha’s eyes threaten to tear up again. “How can she? Before Armen’s body is even cold.”
    “It’s not like it’s so easy for her,” Sarah says defensively, “but she feels the need to explain. The public has the right to know.”
    I feel my heart beat faster. “She’s going to explain why he committed suicide?”
    “That’s what she told me on the phone.”
    “It’s his business, not the public’s,” Ben says, smoothing his tie.
    Eletha looks as surprised as I do. “But how does she know? There was no note.”
    “She’s his wife , Eletha,” Sarah says.
    His wife. The word digs at me inside. If he hadn’t died, they’d have filed for divorce. Today.
     
    We gather around the old plastic television in the law