A Killing in the Valley (15 page)

The trail rose steadily into the Santa Ynez mountains. Far below, slivers of Santa Barbara could be glimpsed through the thick stands of sycamore, oak, bay laurel, and willows that covered the hillsides. The houses on the Riviera, clustered along winding, narrow roads above the city, reminiscent of ancient villages in Italy and Greece, threw off pale glitter of early morning light from their white walls and tile roofs, while further below, along the harbor, a series of boats were heading out of the breakwater on their way to the Channel Islands, or for day-sails up and down the coast.

They crossed Cold Springs Creek, bone dry after six months without a drop of rain. In the distance, a lone bird lazily rode the thermals. Kate took her binoculars out of her daypack to see if she could identify it. Her former lover, Cecil Shugrue, a wine-maker in the Santa Ynez Valley, had indoctrinated her into the pleasures of wildlife watching. Now, whenever she went hiking, she carried binoculars and a Santa Barbara County birder’s guide in her daypack. Four years after they’d broken up she still thought about Cecil when she went on a hike like this or drank a glass of locally produced Pinot Noir.

The bird was a red-tailed hawk, common in the area, particularly in the foothills. It rode the draft like a surfer taking a gentle wave, its wings almost motionless as it glided across the sky. Over in the valley Kate had seen dozens of them, along with Golden Eagles, other types of hawks, several varieties of owls. Predator birds.

The skin on her left heel was beginning to get irritated. Her boots were old and worn-down. She should have bought herself a new pair when she’d bought Sophia’s, but she was trying to economize, and she hadn’t wanted to share the moment, she wanted Sophia to have it to herself. A small thing, buying a pair of boots, but every distinction she could bring to Sophia’s life was important. They helped assuage the guilt feelings.

Sophia doubled back to rejoin her. “There’s a flat shady spot around the corner up ahead,” she informed Kate solicitously. “We can rest there.”

A bit defensively: “I’m not tired.”

“You’re not moving very fast.”

“I’m enjoying my surroundings,” Kate said, turning her head to the right and then to the left as if to emphasize her point. “It’s not a race.”

“I know that,” Sophia said cheerfully. “But there’s so much cool stuff to see. We don’t want to get bogged down.”

“We have all day.” It was Saturday. The first Saturday Kate hadn’t worked or gone to law school in months. It was a liberating feeling, to be doing something you wanted to do rather than a task you were supposed to do.

“It’ll be too hot later on. That’s why you wanted to get started so early,” Sophia reminded her.

“Well, yes,” Kate admitted. She smiled. “I’ll try harder.”

“Mom,” Sophia said, exasperated. “I’m not criticizing.”

“I know. It’s me bemoaning my woeful state of conditioning.”

They came to a small, grassy knoll where the trail temporarily leveled off, and rested on a flat slab of limestone that was bathed in dappled sunlight. Patches of shade abated some of the heat that was beating down from the already warming sky. Stands of scrawny, bent live oaks, their roots burrowed into the dry, powdery ground, formed ragged sentinel-rows on both sides of the trail.

They drank water and shared an energy bar. Kate applied more sunscreen to her face and neck, then passed the tube to Sophia, who dutifully did the same. You’ll thank me thirty years from now, Kate thought, when your friends are getting precancers cut from their faces and you aren’t. She hadn’t worn sun-tan lotion as a kid; her mother didn’t know from that stuff. She’d had to learn about that on her own, through trial and sometimes painful error. Like the way much of her life had gone. She wanted her daughters to benefit from her advice and experience, even when they rebelled against it, or ignored it altogether.

Her exposed heel, once she had pulled off her shoe and sock, was red but not yet blistered. She rubbed aloe vera salve into it, then laid a strip of moleskin over the sore spot.

“You need new boots, Mom,” Sophia observed. “These are shot.”

“It’s on my list.”

“Which means you’ll buy a new pair in maybe five years?”

“When I get around to it.”

“Knowing you, that won’t be for a while, if ever. You hardly ever do anything for yourself.”

“I do what I need to do,” Kate responded defensively.

“Only the basics, and not even them sometimes. When was the last time you had a professional pedicure? Or a facial?” She took Kate’s bare hot foot in her hand. “Look at this. What man wants to get in bed with a woman who doesn’t take care of her feet? It’s like not shaving under your arms.”

“Who I sleep with is none of your business,” Kate said, embarrassed at her daughter’s openly commenting about her sexuality, which had been virtually comatose since Sophia had moved in with her; a conscious choice, but one that was beginning to chafe. “And you have friends who don’t shave,” she added. “Don’t you?” She looked at her foot. The polish on her toes was peeling. She had been a bit negligent about stuff like that lately. Too many things to do and not enough time.

“No,” Sophia answered firmly. “That’s sixties hippie stuff. The earth mother deal, now very passé, in case you hadn’t heard. You’re a professional, Mom, you can’t look like a flower child.”

“I shave under my arms and my legs,” Kate protested. “Anyway, what are we talking about that for? Look around you. It’s beautiful here. We don’t need to dissect my personal hygiene. Not now.”

Sophia sat back. “Agreed. But you’re getting a pedicure, this week. My treat.”

“Okay, okay.” Kate pulled her sock back on, then the boot, which she laced up tightly to guard against further friction. “And I can pay for my own, but thanks for the offer.”

They laid back on the rock and felt the sun on their faces. A warm, comforting feeling.

“Hey, Mom?”

“What, honey?”

“How come we’re here today?”

Kate propped herself up on an elbow. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked getting away from the city.”

“I do, Mom. I’d rather be here than in town any day. Well, most days.”

“Then what?”

“School.”

“School? It’s Saturday.”

“
Your
school,” Sophia clarified. “You have class on Saturday. Was it cancelled?”

Kate pushed some strands of damp hair off her forehead. “No, it wasn’t cancelled. I didn’t feel like going today.”

“Is that okay?” Sophia asked, concerned. “Don’t they get upset?”

Kate took another swallow from her water bottle. “I can miss one class. It’s introductory, since the semester just started. I’m ahead of most of the people there, because of my background.”

“And because you’re smarter than they are, and you study harder.”

Kate smiled. “Maybe. I’m getting through it, that’s all I care about.” She paused. “I’m thinking of taking this semester off.”

Sophia stared at her in surprise. “Why? You’ve been working toward your law degree for almost three years now. You’re practically finished.”

“I’m not quitting,” Kate assured her. “It’s one semester. I can start up again…later,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “People do it all the time in this school. It’s flexible that way, it’s set up for working people like me.”

“But why would you want to take off now?” Sophia persisted.

“So I can be with you more.”

Sophia stared at her. Her face reddened. “Mom…”

“It is not a big deal,” Kate said in a rush. “The school will be there, it isn’t going away. But you are. This is your last year of high school. You moved here to be with me. I have a lot on my plate, so if I can clear some of it off, I want to.”

Sophia took a deep breath. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, after she had regained her composure. “I really appreciate that.”

“I’m not doing it because I have to,” Kate assured her. “I’m being selfish, really. I
want
to spend time with you. You’re my daughter, what’s more important than us being together?”

“Well…nothing, I guess.” Sophia paused. “It’s not going to be all the time though, is it?”

Kate laughed. “I’m not going to hijack your social life, don’t worry about that. If I don’t see you because you’re with your friends, that’s fine, that’s the way it’s supposed to be. But when you do want me around I want to be there, when I can. My not going to law school for a semester or two will give us the chance to spend more time together.” She swept in their surroundings with a wave of her arm. “Like now.”

“Well, if you’re sure that’s what you want…”

“It’s exactly what I want.”

Sophia smiled. “Okay, then. Me, too.” She looked around at the stands of alder and sycamore that rose above them. “It’s so beautiful up here. It reminds me of Cecil’s place.”

“Yes, it does,” Kate said wistfully. “Not as lush as this, but still beautiful.”

Sophia looked up at the trail, switchbacking higher into the hills. “His vineyard isn’t far from where the girl was killed, is it.”

Kate nodded. “They’re fairly close to each other, that’s right.”

Sophia looked thoughtful. “Are you still working on the case?”

Kate looked at her sideways. “I’m not sure,” she answered slowly. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Sophia looked at her in surprise. “I thought you already had.”

“I may change my mind.”

“Why?”

“Because…” The answer felt like a hairball in her throat. “Of how you feel about it.”

Sophia recoiled. “What are you talking about?” she asked, both frightened and upset. “What does how I feel have to do with it?”

“A lot, to me,” Kate answered. “You told me that if Steven McCoy was really guilty, I shouldn’t help defend him.”

Sophia exhaled heavily. “Well, is he?”

“I don’t know,” Kate answered, recalling her accusatory conversation with Luke about this very issue. “But like I told you, it wouldn’t matter if he was. I’m going to give every client my best effort,” she said, feeling the guilt of her own judgmental stance. “There are too many lawyers and PIs out there who phone it in if they think they have a loser case. I don’t ever want to be one of them.”

Sophia sat back down heavily. “I don’t want to make this decision, Mom.” She sighed; more a groan. “This is too heavy to lay on me.”

Kate sat next to her. “It’s not that. It’s that I care about your feelings. How it’s going to affect your life.” This wasn’t going well. “And it’s not like Steven McCoy won’t have a good defense if I’m not involved. Luke Garrison can find another detective, it’s really not that big a deal.”

“Still…it’s what you do.”

Kate shook her head dismissively. “I’ve been wanting to cut back anyway. It’s about timing, that’s the problem. I have to tell Luke I’m in or I’m out. Because if I am, I can’t quit, it would screw things up. I’m a professional in my work. I pride myself on that, Sophia.” She took her daughter’s hand. “But I can walk away from this. I absolutely can.”

“I don’t want you to do that,” Sophia said. “It’s just that…” She stopped.

“What?” Kate prodded.

“What if it turns out that he really is guilty? That you find out, for sure. And then what if he gets off? It’s like, how could you…” She stopped.

“Live with it?”

Sophia nodded.

“It would be hard. But it would be worse if I knew he was innocent and was convicted.” She paused. “Look at me, Sophia. Look at me.”

Slowly, Sophia turned to her.

“It isn’t the case that matters, any particular case. It’s how the law, at least in theory, levels the field, makes everybody equal. Everybody deserves a fair trial and a good defense. That’s one of the reasons we’re the country we are, despite our warts.”

“A fair trial? You mean like O. J. Simpson’s?” Sophia rejoined. “What was fair about that? He bought his verdict.”

“It’s an imperfect system,” Kate agreed. “It’s badly abused sometimes.” Like everyone she knew who wasn’t black, she had been outraged over how Johnnie Cochran had gamed the system. “But the alternatives are worse, believe me. I’ve been in third-world countries where the justice system is no system. At least we have a chance for justice, and most of the time, a decent chance.”

Sophia looked at her. “It’s not my decision, Mom. It’s yours.” She picked up her pack. “Whatever you decide, it’s going to be okay between us.” She laughed. “Like I care about what the kids in my school think. They don’t even know who I am, I’m just someone who blew in for a few months and will blow right out again.” She slung the pack over her shoulder. “Anyway, you can’t bail out on Luke. He’s counting on you.”

“So you can live with my being on this?” Kate asked with trepidation.

“Yes.” Sophia started walking up the trail. Kate picked up her pack and scurried after her. Sophia stopped and turned back. “Besides, the trial’s not going to be for months. Not until spring.”

“Yes,” Kate answered. “A trial of this importance takes a long time before it gets to court.”

“So by then, I’ll be graduated, and who cares after that?”

They began climbing again. The heat from sun baked their backs as they made their way up the trail.

I
T WAS AFTER FOUR
in the afternoon by the time Luke was able to clear his other pending cases and get to the jail to see Steven. It was their second meeting since Steven’s arraignment. The first time, Luke had gone over procedure—what, where, when. How to act in here, particularly if he was placed in the general population. The dos and don’ts of dealing with his jailers. Survivor 101.

Steven was showing the psychological effects of his confinement. He seemed listless, almost as if he were on downers. They were in the room reserved for lawyer-client meetings; the only room in the jail, Luke knew, that wasn’t bugged. The space was Spartan—a metal table bolted to the floor and a few battered metal chairs. The floor was concrete, the walls chipped plaster. The paint on the walls was a dirty off-white; the floor was puke-neutral, deeply scuffed. There was one small window opposite the thick steel door. The double-pane glass was bulletproof, covered with heavy-gauge mesh. The door, thick steel, was also reinforced.

Luke knew this room intimately—he had met with dozens of clients in here. The room never changed; it was always depressing. If he ever went back to the other side of the aisle (on a scale of slim to none…), his first order of business would be to slap a fresh coat of paint on the entire place. Something with color in it, so that you didn’t feel like you were in a Siberian gulag. This wasn’t prison, a warehouse for long-term convicts. This was a county jail, housing short-timers who had committed minor offenses, and men who hadn’t yet been convicted of any crime. Innocent men, technically. Like Steven McCoy.