Unfit to Practice (16 page)

With that hopeful analysis behind them, they clammed up. Wish rose to the occasion, suddenly voluble on several topics, beginning with motorcycle lore, skipping to detective lore, finally landing upon hip-hop music, which sparked some interest.

Paul dropped the sisters at the casino and drove around the corner. A few moments later he watched the two jump into Angel's car. The women drove off into the late-afternoon traffic. Paul followed behind a couple of cars.

“We'll escort them safely home,” Paul said. “I'm thinking we'll sit on their curb tonight.”

“Well, sure. They're in danger.”

The sisters passed the turnoff at Al Tahoe that would lead to Pioneer Trail. At the Y intersection, Angel swung the Echo right. Brandy held a small purple mobile phone to her ear. Holding tight with one hand to the oh-shit bar above the door to keep herself steady against Angel's erratic driving style, she talked. Since Paul knew she lived on Blackfoot Avenue about two miles west of Nina's, he also knew that they were not, as advertised, going directly back to Angel's.

At Camp Richardson, the Echo swerved right. Paul narrowly avoided missing the entrance. The dapper little car jaunted all the way to the end of the narrow camp road, past the one-room cabins lining it, and stopped in a marked spot at the end where the asphalt broadened. Paul and Wish followed a few seconds later.

The girls had landed at the Beacon Bar and Grill. Paul heard them ordering espressos while he and Wish hunted for a table where they could observe without being noticed. They ordered iced tea, which arrived in wet, cold glasses. Wish busied himself with a multitude of sugar packets while Paul squeezed his lemon slice.

At this late hour, Lake Tahoe rippled in a steady breeze. Gulls coasted above. Even the narrow stretch of beach sand wore a glaze of tiny airborne granules. Umbrellas above the tables adjusted dangerously. Behind Mount Tallac the sun slipped low and the sky shifted from azure to indigo. The wind hushed, bringing that moment of quiet before the onset of evening.

The girls packed away two hot drinks each rather quickly, checked their watches for the time, and with what must have been a zinging buzz, left a pile of one-dollar bills on the table and set off down the beach at a near run. Paul and Wish established a slightly more leisurely pace but stayed close. “Getting some exercise,” Wish guessed, “staying fit.”

“They're meeting someone.”

“Ah. The phone call. The time.”

“Right.”

The sisters walked west toward Kiva Beach, passed by a succession of joggers and bikes until Beach Road ended, then entered that sparser realm just a few steps past all public areas where only the intrepid ventured. Trees crept closer to the edge of the water, their long shadows casting triangles, blotting the beach.

“Who could they be meeting?”

“If I were to guess,” Paul said, “I'd say Brandy's boyfriend, Bruce, is supposed to appear.”

The women stopped suddenly, turned away from the lake, then stepped into a black patch of shade and ducked into the woods.

“You don't think he will?”

“Damn!” Paul said, breaking into a trot, then a run as a shout, then a scream rode toward them.

“Wish and Paul saved our lives,” Brandy said, sobbing in Nina's office a half hour later. Nina had stayed late after receiving Paul's urgent call. “If they hadn't happened to be walking along the beach at the same exact time—”

Angel put a hand on her sister's head. “Bran, wake up, they didn't happen to be there.” She looked up at Paul. “You followed us.”

“Exactly what happened?” Nina asked.

“Brandy got a phone call while we were going home from a guy that said he was a friend of Bruce's, that he had asked this guy to call and let Brandy know he would meet her at Kiva Beach at a certain time.”

“You weren't suspicious?” Nina asked.

“Of Bruce? He didn't have his cell phone. That's unusual, but not impossible. And I always thought he might follow Bran up here.”

“Why the beach?”

“He said he wanted a quiet spot for them to talk. It's a public place, you know,” Angel said. “I wasn't about to let her go alone, even though she told me not to come.”

“We walked along the beach,” Brandy said, “then we heard someone calling us from the trees. It was windy—not like you could identify a voice. Anyway, even if it hadn't been Bruce's voice, when someone says, ‘Over here,' you go over there.”

Paul coughed and shook his head in the direction of the floor.

“And he leaped out at us like—like a rabid dog,” Brandy finished, “a wild creature. Angel tried to jump him, so he knocked her down right away, the entire time just jabbering. I screamed and tried to fight him. He grabbed me from behind but before he could do anything else, Wish and Paul ran up and pulled him off me. I—I—”

“She was screaming her head off,” Angel said. “So was I. Paul wanted to know were we okay, but it took us a minute to realize there was no blood anywhere on us. Not even a nick. We were so lucky.”

“That wasn't luck,” Brandy said. “Wish and Paul being there wasn't luck at all.”

“He got away,” Paul said, and a world of disappointment underlaid his words.

“You recognized him?”

Paul nodded. “Same as the guy in the paper, Cody Stinson.”

Wish said matter-of-factly, “It was definitely a Harley chopper. Heard it first, and glimpsed him taking off.”

“I tried to get them to see a doctor but they refused. We have agreed they'll spend the night at the women's shelter. They wanted to come here first,” Paul said.

“Yes,” said Angel, turning her attention back to Nina, “because any way you look at it, Cody would never have come after us if you hadn't lost that file.”

“It sounds mean, but yes,” Brandy said, “a man attacked us today, and it's all your fault.”

“He's out there, and you know what?” Angel asked. “He wants my sister dead.”

“So our question is—”

“What are you going to do about it?”

13

T
HEY DON
'
T HANG PEOPLE
in Old Hangtown anymore. They don't even call it that anymore; it has mutated into the innocuous foothill resort town of Placerville where they pop the accused into the sleek new El Dorado County Jail, all very civilized.

On Wednesday afternoon, Paul exited and drove uphill past swatches of red dirt to Forni Road and parked in the second parking lot. He followed a long concrete walkway inside to the blue-and-white-painted glass-walled entry of a brick building that resembled a college campus. Only a closer view to the left of the main building, behind barbed-wire-topped fencing, exposed slitted windows that revealed its true purpose.

He walked into a blue-and-white room on a color-coordinated white vinyl tile floor speckled with blue toward the reception area behind glass at the right, wondering what considerations determined decor for a place that housed criminals. Were these two colors thought to be neutral? Upbeat? Tranquilizing? He spoke into a metal disk-shaped speaker in the center of the glass, signed paperwork, and slipped it through the slot below. The clerk directed him first to a set of blue-and-chrome chairs permanently attached in rows balanced on one bent leg apiece where he waited for a few minutes. Then the clerk moved a hand toward him, allowing him through the door and into the windowless bowels of the building. A green stripe led the way.

A young man wearing a blue shirt that strained to cover a muscular build entered the visitors' room and sat down across from Paul. Paul introduced himself as an investigator for attorney Nina Reilly.

“She's not my lawyer,” Mario said. “What are you doing here?” A shave and a haircut and a few days in jail had eliminated the unkempt drunk the sisters had described. This tall, strong ex-con had pale green eyes, a mouth with only a hint of meanness in its arc, and an intelligent expression. Paul classified him as salvageable, although he had a long record, a lousy education, and a public defender who didn't return Paul's phone calls.

“I need some information.”

“I can't talk to you about my case.”

“No, you shouldn't. I'm just looking for information about a friend of yours, Cody Stinson.”

Mario sat back and laughed from one side of his mouth. “I thought you said a friend.”

“I'm trying to find him.”

“So?”

“So I'd like your help with that.”

“So what?”

“Don't buck me, man. You talk to your lawyer lately?”

“She's coming in today.”

“She's bringing good news. A witness in your case saw Cody come back to the campground the night you allegedly strangled your girlfriend. The D.A. took a statement that may just be your ticket out of here.”

“Is this a joke or a trick? Because I don't take kindly to being jacked around.”

“It's all true.”

“Let me see your license again.” He examined it, then said, “You got any cigarettes?”

“Sorry.”

“Lay ten bucks on the guard and I don't even care if you are jackin' me.”

“I always pay my way,” Paul said.

“I'm getting out?”

“I don't know what the next steps are. But Cody's looking like the killer.”

Mario leaned in toward Paul. “Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Because I never touched her. I've been saying it all along. How'd he do it?”

“Came back while you were sleeping it off that night.”

“And didn't kill me?”

“Here you are.”

Mario looked down. “I can't believe I was laying right there. I was royally passed out. Poor Phoebe. I ain't never drinkin' again. Now let's think. You all want Cody. I know old Cody, I sure do.”

“Cody's made himself unavailable to the police. They can't question him; they can't arrest him if they can't find him. They'll be along, probably today with your lawyer.”

“What's your interest?”

“I can't get into that. Going back to our original question, do you have any idea where he might go?”

Mario wiped a bead of perspiration off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “I think I can help you there. Thing is, he's waiting on some big money, supposed to come in any minute. He won't leave Tahoe without that.”

“Where would he wait?”

While Paul was down in Placerville visiting with Mario Lopez, Nina scooted out of an appointment to stop in and see how Brandy and Angel were making out at the shelter.

A roomy old vacation house within walking distance of Regan Beach, the structure for the women's shelter had been donated by an eccentric widow, Anabel Wright, a dozen years before. In those years it had provided a refuge for women and children with all sorts of problems.

At first it had been lacking in almost every modern amenity, but the earnest efforts of Andrea and friends over the past two years had wrought big changes. A new laundry area attached to the kitchen had been built with two washers and dryers. New donated countertops and cabinets had been installed by skilled women who had volunteered labor on the project. A forest-green trim on the windows spiffed up the wood exterior without making any statements except that this was a well-kept property. Inside, gracious Arts and Crafts–style wooden furniture, more donations from wealthy patrons and grateful former clients, gave the living room the character of a charming mountain lodge, and due to the goodness of a group of retirees, every bedroom now sported a homemade quilt.

Andrea had decided to work part-time months before she even knew she was pregnant and Nina knew she was loving spending more time at home with her children, but she was there today to greet Nina and show her where to find Brandy and Angel, in the basement recreation room engaged in a savage game of foosball. Insults flew between the two of them as they flipped and thwacked the sturdy plastic characters. While Andrea and Nina watched, Brandy, cheeks ruddy with concentration, finally edged Angel out. “Ha!” She threw up hands open wide with delight. “I beat you.”

“Cheater.”

“Loser.”

“Flake. You blew three goals.”

“Ingrate. You know I gave you all three.”

Brandy noticed Nina and said, “Hey! You got him?”

“No, not yet. I'm just checking to see if you're okay here.”

“Oh, we're fine. Andrea's very nice. The room is great. Everything's great except that life's on hold, Angel's husband's upset. She can't go to work. My boyfriend's missing and I can't go looking for him. We're twiddling our thumbs.”

“Let's hope it's not for long,” Nina said. Her mobile phone rang. With a quick good-bye to the two women and Andrea, she took the call on her way out the door.

“If there's any possible way, Kevin Cruz wants you to stop by,” Sandy said.

“What, now?”

“That's what the man said. He and Lisa are fighting about exchanging the kids this afternoon, one of those he-says-she-says deals. It's his turn to take them for dinner. No, it's her turn. You get the picture. I think she's still there. He said please come to his condo. It's urgent.”

From where she was parked, a slip of the blue lake glimmered in afternoon sunshine. “Everything's urgent,” Nina said. “Where does he live?”

“Here's the address. You going?”

She unlocked the Bronco's door and jumped inside, checking the time. “I don't have anything else scheduled until three, do I? I'll swing by.”

Since splitting up with Lisa, Kevin had rented a condo at Lake Village just across the state line in Nevada, no more than a half mile past the casinos. Perfect for a bachelor, the hilly clumps of two-story buildings offered a generous pool and tennis courts, along with some glorious views of Lake Tahoe, spectacular sunsets, and a green-gold golf course. He had an extra bedroom for Heather and Joey.

Nina remembered his comments on the new bunk beds he had found in Reno at Macy's, not even on sale. He seemed proud to have overpaid, as if he were making something up to his children by repudiating petty frugality.

Poor Kevin, she thought, understanding perfectly. Being a single parent sometimes meant that you did crazy things in the name of making your kids happy, which kept you from drowning in the bottomless well of guilt out of which you could never crawl.

Driving past Caesars, she thought of Paul and the nights they had spent together there, so romantic, in love, in lust, oh, God, she didn't know what to call it. Paul had never been a parent, and according to him, he would never be. If she stayed with Paul, or married him, she would have to resign herself to the fact that she would never have another child.

Why did she keep thinking about Paul? Why was he, a simple man by his own definition, suddenly such an obsession?

Anyway.

She located Kevin's place easily on Clubhouse Avenue, not too far from the pool or the highway, on the shady but noisy side of the street. Lisa stood outside shouting at him. Kevin yelled back. The language was not pretty. The children stood behind their dad, clinging to his legs. The little boy, tousle-haired and flushed with emotion, shrieked, eyes tightly closed, a siren without a fire on this clear, cool day. Silent tears ran down the stricken little blond girl's face. As soon as Lisa caught sight of Nina, she ordered the kids into the car. Kevin kissed them both, wiped their cheeks with a handkerchief, and led them to their mother's car, speaking softly to them, so softly, Nina couldn't hear.

“I'm not through with you!” Lisa said, slamming the door on her kids and jumping into the driver's seat. “I'm not through with either one of you!” Tires screaming, she took off with the children.

Nina parked in a visitors' spot in the lot beside Kevin's building and walked up a winding path through dirt and low bushes up to a set of shredding wooden steps. Kevin now stood on the porch looking at the spot where Lisa's car had been parked.

“You okay?” Nina asked, approaching.

He ran a hand over his short hair. A cigarette burned forgotten in his other hand. Hot ash fell onto the tinder wood of the porch. Nina forced herself not to move, but watched the ash turn from orange to gray before she breathed again. He lifted a Coke can from the ground, poured its contents out into the dirt, and smashed it flat with a fist. “I hate when we lose it like that in front of the kids. Did you see the looks on their faces?”

“Sorry. I really am. It's rough. I think you ought to have me arrange for a civil backup when you and Lisa are making trades.”

“Have a cop stand by? I'd be a laughingstock. I know everybody. I don't know what happened, how we exploded. I picked them up from school. I thought Wednesday was my night this week to make dinner and then get them back to Lisa's by eight. But she came screeching over here insisting tomorrow was the night. I decided to let it go just before you drove up.”

“I looked at the visitation schedule, and Thursday's your night for dinner with Heather and Joey.”

“Guess I was mixed up. Schedules. Every day something different. It isn't good for them. And Lisa. I never saw her blow up like that. She's steamed about Ali.”

“Shouldn't we go inside?” Nina asked, feeling the eyes of the neighborhood, but Kevin sat heavily down on the bottom step, and after a moment considering the damage that might be done to her suit skirt, but seeing no alternative except to stand officiously, she sat beside him. He tossed his cigarette into the dirt.

“Fuck it,” he said.

“Kevin, before we get any further, did you get a chance to talk with Ali Peck?”

“I called her,” he said. “I asked her what the deal was, with her spilling out the story of our relationship at the hearing. I mean, she knew how much that would hurt me. Well, she didn't volunteer anything. She said Lisa's attorney called and woke up her parents first thing Friday morning, then some guy showed up and handed her a subpoena. Her parents called their lawyer. She was told to come to court and she did. She had to tell.”

Riesner. Nina's teeth ground. How did Riesner know about Ali? Did he really get a phone call? Where was Sandy when she needed her to say something objectionable?

“He suggested that Ali called him,” she said. “He didn't come out and swear it.”

His lips formed a hard line. “You're surprised? I thought that's what lawyers are famous for.”

Nina said with heat, “Do I do that, Kevin? Do I lie and mislead people? I'm sorry to think you have such a low opinion of lawyers in general. As a matter of fact, I'm proud of what I do.”

“Forget what I said, okay? I get those comments all day in my line of work, too. Sorry.”

“Oh, well. Never mind.”

“You know the upshot, and that's what matters. Lisa's got her teeth in my kids. You say it's temporary. I say, I have one more chance to get them back and I'm giving it all I got. Whatever it takes.”

“Does Ali know whether the D.A. is pursuing a statutory-rape charge against you?”

“She said the D.A.'s office talked to her about it. She said she was real honest, and after they talked, they seemed inclined to let it go. She also told them if they went through with it, she'd leave the state. She would never testify against me. She thinks it's offensive that a mature seventeen-year-old can't make her own sexual choices without the law butting in.” He shook his head. “Isn't she something? I believe her, Nina. Apparently, they did, too. So I think that gets me off that particular hook.”

“That's good to know, Kevin. It must be a relief to you.” This news wouldn't help him keep his kids, but at least they didn't have to worry about a wrench flying in from that direction to smash their case.

“Of course, things aren't looking too good at work now they know about Ali. They're investigating the situation before they decide whether to put me on probation or fire me. And there's still Lisa to worry about.”

“Maybe Lisa stole the Bronco. Maybe she did,” Nina said, half to herself, remembering the coldness in Lisa's eyes as she drove away. Paul had a lot to do but he was going to have to check Lisa out, and soon.

“Maybe she did. I don't know,” Kevin said flatly. “It's a fight to the death between us.” Hopelessness drained color from his eyes. “I would like to take back everything that's happened. I wish I could go back to those weekends. We'd take a paddleboat out of Zephyr Cove, or rent a motorboat over at the Ski Run Marina and take off with a bottle of wine and this sweet honey bread Lisa made. And peanut butter. Have you ever looked at her lips? So soft,” he said. “Malleable. That's a word, isn't it? Maybe I thought that meant she was malleable.”