Sunday 9/28
SUNDAY. SUSAN HAD SLIPPED OUT EARLY. NEITHER OF THEM HAD wanted to talk. Paul showered, ate three fried eggs and most of a package of bacon, and drove to his office.
He worked hard that Sunday morning, not in any hurry to think about the extraordinary shift in the universe that had occurred. One minute Susan wasn’t there, and then she was. Should he keep her secret? He sure didn’t feel like talking about her, or trying to define things for anyone.
He decided that until he had sorted things out, he didn’t have to say anything. He would see Susan now and then. He wasn’t really engaged. He wasn’t married. He didn’t even live with anybody. He had no commitment. With Susan, he felt like his old self, in control, central. He also felt-vivid, yeah, vivid, like he had brightened up, been given a shot of pure life.
He wasn’t going to think about Nina right now, except as his employer. She remained the Boss, around whom the schedule revolved. He got on the phone.
Phone company employees weren’t paid enough to secure their honor along with their daily toil, Paul concluded, having successfully bribed one who had put up no more than token protest. Old records? Price tag: fifty dollars. Several old records? Double that. The hardest part had been figuring out who to direct the money toward. About eleven, the e-mail came with the phone messages as a Word attachment.
He had to laugh. Dean Trumbo could have done the same thing many months before. The connection Nina had been looking for was right there in the April statement. Paul made meticulous logs on his computer. One could say he was playing at the serious professional, making sure his documentation was both accurate and thorough. Or one might assert that he was not ready yet to call Nina with the information, because the thought of calling Nina made his face twitch. And because he didn’t want her theory of the case to be correct.
He went downstairs to the parking lot in back, got in the Mustang, and drove down Highway 1 to Carmel Highlands. Paul parked on Fern Canyon Road across the street from Alex Zhukovsky’s house and called him.
Nina would say, See if you can get a confirmation. “I’m just looking at a few notes and wanted to check to make sure I’m not going astray here,” he said when Zhukovsky answered his phone.
“Listen,” Zhukovsky said, “the only thing I care about at the moment is that my father’s remains are still floating around somewhere. I told you people I’d be speaking to counsel. I meant it. You’ll be hearing from us.”
“But we no longer have them,” Paul said, not being true to the letter of truth, since they still had bits of them, but doing the spirit thing. “I thought Ms. Reilly called you. They were stolen from our lab.”
“She didn’t tell me that. She did call me about Father Giorgi, though. I appreciated that.”
“Yeah, well, it happened on Thursday night. Our pathologist was assaulted and robbed.” He didn’t expect sympathy from Zhukovsky and he didn’t get it.
“Robbed?” Zhukovsky said. “Of my father’s bones?” The word “scandalized” didn’t do justice to his already savage-sounding mood. “What are you talking about? Someone broke into your expert’s lab and took my father’s bones?”
“Right.”
“Who?”
“The Sacramento police are looking into it,” Paul said, glad to have fall guys in case Zhukovsky needed to lodge formal complaints or something. “But I know who did it.” He watched through a massive plate-glass window in the redwood house that probably had a superior view of the ocean and saw the professor pace to the window, holding the phone to his ear. He seemed to be wearing an old bathrobe.
“What’s your idea?”
“Sergey Krilov. That guy you keep telling me you don’t know.”
Over the phone, you could not really hear a silence the way you could hear it in real life, but Paul felt certain that this time he knew what he was hearing in Zhukovsky’s quick, and quickly arrested, intake of air. “You do know him, Professor. I wish you’d stop lying about it.”
“No.”
“You know him. He’s been following you. He hurt Father Giorgi because of you.”
“Don’t blame me for that.”
“How is he connected to you? Why is he after your father’s bones?”
Zhukovsky didn’t hem or haw. He merely held his place on the phone, each breath as carefully calibrated as a ventilator. He seemed to be pulling himself together, and he had decided to keep quiet while he was at it.
“Okay,” Paul said, “you’re a bystander. You don’t have a clue who would kill your sister.”
“Stefan Wyatt killed my sister. The police found his blood. My sister knew him.”
“Well, if he did kill her, it was after a long talk with you. I happen to have here a record of your calls during the month of April.”
“I’m sure your method of obtaining such a thing was illegal,” came back the restored busy, brisk voice of academia. “I have a right to privacy.”
“You called Stefan Wyatt.”
“Never.”
What pseudo self-assurance! But he was forgetting computers knew all, and sometimes people found out a few things, too. “You called him twice, and one of the calls was on the day after your sister died. The phone company says so, and what they say goes. Anyone who ever tried to dispute a monthly bill agrees with me, by the way.” When the professor didn’t say anything, Paul added, “It’s a toll call, you know, Carmel Highlands to Monterey. Only a few miles. Doesn’t seem right, but that’s American business for you. They’ll stone you and then they’ll say ‘good luck.’”
“It’s a mistake,” Zhukovsky now said in a sagging-shoulders sort of way.
“Thirty-two minutes on this statement say otherwise. You hired Mr. Wyatt, and you’ve never admitted it. Well, now we have proof.” Paul almost felt sorry for him. Four months had gone by without the defense doing anything. Zhukovsky must find all this last-minute fact-finding most unfair. Besides, Paul didn’t think Zhukovsky had the guts to kill his sister. He wanted the killer to be Sergey Krilov.
“Others besides me have access to this phone.”
“Like who?”
“Anyone who has been into my home.”
“The chimney sweep didn’t call from your home, because Wyatt doesn’t have a fireplace,” Paul said. “We can pretty much check him off the list. Who else might call?”
“I have no idea.”
Paul let out an aggravated sigh. He got out of the car and walked to the foot of Zhukovsky’s stairway, still holding the phone. “Tell me where Krilov is, and all is forgiven, even your protecting the asshole who really did kill your sister.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t-ever-say that.”
Paul mounted the stairs and rang the doorbell. Zhukovsky flung it open, glasses askew, robe open enough to exhibit a sable farm’s worth of hair on his chest, long feet bare, mouth open in amazement. Paul handed him the subpoena. “Avon calling,” he said.
After this phone call and meeting, which Paul felt ended on a fairly bitter note, he drove back to Carmel and began another search on his computer. He plugged into the main Monterey County sites, then some genealogical sites like Family Tree Finder and ancestor. com, and pulled up a few city records. After a good two hours of false leads and endless list-browsing, he came upon a good source for the information he was seeking.
Giving up on the site’s search engine, he scrolled through the years he thought might be relevant. Meantime, the radio yakked in the background. Another professor, this one of biology, was promoting his new book. He theorized about why man, of all the animals, had a sex drive that operated all day, all night, and all the time. Well, well, well! Justification, always very welcome, Paul thought. “The beasts,” the professor said, “do not engage in bestiality. Only man is driven to have sex with pubescent boys, little girls, dead women, dead men, horses, sheep, donkeys…” It all came down, according to this expert, to a fundamental, beyond-all-reason craving for immortality.
Wasn’t that a nice rationale for his transgression? Transgression-that word would have to be thought about. Had he transgressed? What had he transgressed?
And male attempts at monogamy had to do with the same inexorable compulsion, the voice went on. A man needed a long-term connection to a woman and by extension his children, or who else would remember him? It was a symbolic complaint, Paul realized, since the longevity of his genes was the ultimate goal, but in that case, why had Paul never felt the urge to procreate, merely to inseminate? On the other hand, he had indulged himself in the urge to merge a few times, married twice, and tried for three with that baffling boss of his.
The scrolling stopped as Paul hit a couple of names from the case, tied together in some county records from the seventies. Whoa!
He shook his head at what he was seeing on the computer screen, got up and ate a banana, spun in his chair for a minute, and said to himself, Why, Constantin, you old dog.
A few blocks away, Nina toiled at her desk, the dull orange late afternoon sun out the window hovering on the periphery of her own inner fog, unable to penetrate. She liked the familiarity of Sandy tapping away in the outer office, but she would be deaf not to hear the phone calls that came more and more frequently over the past week, upsetting them both. Sandy, who had never brought her personal life into the office before, seemed unable to avoid it this time.
“He can’t do that to you,” Sandy said into the phone now, sounding as firm and in control as ever. She listened for a moment. “Poor idea. Uh-uh. Even worse one. Okay, listen, that’s it. I’m sending Joseph back. He’ll straighten that boy out.” She replaced the phone in its cradle with a solid thunk, then appeared in Nina’s doorway. She was wearing a corduroy skirt and jacket with a lot of turquoise today, her long shiny black hair pulled back into a beaded clasp. Her broad face looked as impassive as usual, but she pulled on her lower lip, a sign of massive inner turmoil.
“Everything okay?” Nina said.
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Sandy. Is there anything I can do?”
“Move back to Tahoe.”
“What?”
“You asked; there’s your answer.”
“Is-you said your daughter’s family was staying up at your ranch. Is everything all right up there?”
Sandy nodded, then, contrarily said, “Not unless you consider a divorce in the family all right.”
“Oh, no.”
“Joseph can go up for now. I’ll go up next weekend. We’ll straighten them out.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“Let’s hope the trial’s over by next weekend, because we don’t want to come back. The animals need us. I want to take Wish home with me, but van Wagoner’s got his mitts on him, too, so he’ll be staying. For the moment.”
“Can’t your daughter’s family take care of the animals for you?”
“Not the mare. She’s got the vet scratching his head. Not the geese. My daughter’s afraid of them. She can’t take care of her own husband, much less the animals.”
Earth fell away from Nina’s desk. She placed both hands palm down to steady herself, and said, “Sandy, I know you’re upset, but I need you here! You said you’d stay through the trial.”
“I’ll stay through the trial, but the minute it winds up, I’m gone.” Sandy then did something rare. She sat down in the chair in Nina’s office across from her desk. “Is there a chance you’ll come back to Tahoe? Because ring or no, I’m wondering.”
Nina scratched her head, trying to think of how she could persuade Sandy to stay on. “Paul and I haven’t planned that far into the future.” She twisted her romantic, twinkling ring. The pragmatic issues stuck to the edges of those many-colored facets were not only murky, they were piercing. “Would a raise help?” she asked. “I realize this is stressful for you, not being at home.”
“A raise is always good, but I don’t live here. I need a real job in Tahoe that’s going to be around next week. I have the ranch, and Joseph is basically retired, you know. Besides, the air isn’t right down here. It’s thick. Congests everything.” She sniffed. “Can’t think straight.”
“I was born here, Sandy. It feels good to me.”
She nodded. “You’re adapting to this altitude, and that’s right and good, if you’re staying. But up there, the sky is closer. You can see farther. Down here, it’s soft. Everything’s fuzzy. You can’t even see the Milky Way at night.”
“You’re right about that much.”
“I have to go back.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
“Even my daughter admits that sometimes I know something. We were doing good up at Tahoe. We had our own setup. You picked your own cases and saw ’em all the way through. You had a career. Now look what’s going on. You’re babysittin’. The case is a mess ’cause we got here too late.”
Nina had never heard Sandy sound so severe. Sandy was unhappy, and without her, Nina was going to be even more unhappy. She looked at the files on her desk. “Sandy, let me get through this trial. Then we’ll talk about all this. Promise me you won’t make any other commitments.”
“I have a life, too. I have to move on.” Folded arms. They stared at each other for a moment, and Nina realized how important Sandy was to her. How could she keep her?
Hauling herself to her feet, Sandy adjusted her jacket. “If you love him, you’re just going to have to get with the program. He’s here; you’re here. Deal with it.”
The phone rang in the other room. Sandy closed the door on her way out. But it wasn’t her daughter again, it was Nina’s family getting into the picture now.
“It’s your sister-in-law,” the firm’s obsolete intercom stated flatly.
“We miss you and Bob,” Andrea said, after greeting her. “People with three kids never go anywhere. You were our social life. Even Matt’s complaining.”
Nina told her about the ring.
“Well, isn’t that wonderful!” Andrea said, only it sounded more like a question than a statement. “Does this mean you aren’t coming back? Because the woman who was using your place is gone. Your house is empty again.”
“Thank God.”
“But-will you and Paul be keeping it? I could help you find someone to rent, if you want.”
“Oh, Andrea.” Nina felt choked up, and put her hand up to her face to press her cheek, holding in the emotion.
“Are you okay, Nina?”
No wonder Andrea was so successful in her work at the women’s shelter. Eventually, even the hardest core cracked and revealed all. The silky warmth in her voice made Nina want to climb through the phone and sink into her arms. Instead, she told her everything, about her problems with the befuddling case, about her confusion about Paul.
“As soon as you finish the trial, come for a visit,” Andrea urged. “We’ll help you sort things out.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s wonderful to hear that our house is ready for us again, but Paul and I have a commitment to each other. We’re working on moving back in together. So don’t go looking for me. On the other hand, I don’t want to make any decisions about the house up there yet, okay?”
“I guess you’ll want to consult with Paul about it, decide whether to sell,” Andrea agreed. “Gee, I can’t imagine you without Sandy.”
“Neither can I. And, as happy as I am with Paul, I’m afraid of all the changes. But I never let fear stop me.”
“Matt and I will keep a close eye on things. Just come when you can.”
“How’re the kids?”
“Well, Troy’s trying out for basketball at the junior high tomorrow. He’s stressed out. Brianna’s good. I’m teaching her to sew.”
“How do you find time? With the baby?”
“She’s a good little thing,” Andrea said, and Nina could imagine her reaching out to touch her daughter June.
“You’re astounding. You do it all with such-such élan.”
Andrea laughed. “Funny you should say that. We’re having roast élan for dinner. Take care of yourself.”
The afternoon wore on. Paul had turned off his cell phone. Nina was having a hard time concentrating due to Sandy’s announcement.
At four, Nina called the attorney who had taken over her practice at the Starlake Building in South Lake Tahoe. As she expected, Carly Ann Moffatt was at the office on this magnificent Sunday in September. It is the way of my people, Nina thought.
“Hi!” Carly Ann said brightly, launching into a progress report. The cases were going very well. She had just finished the dissolution hearing on Mrs. Rennsalaer, and the client would get her share of her husband’s pension plan after all.
“Good work,” Nina said. “That case dragged on too long.”
Carly Ann had brought in twenty thousand bucks already this month, settling half a dozen small personal-injury cases, and one of the P.I.’s had brought in her brother yesterday. The brother was on crutches and in obvious pain. He had police reports and medical records, and the driver who had hit him was a drunk with deep pockets! A potential bonanza!
And the ladies down the hall were so nice. Carly Ann had lunch with them every day, and she wanted Nina to know she didn’t need to worry about a thing, Carly Ann had everything under control. She was loving it, in fact, and wondering if, well, Nina would let her buy Nina out.
“I’d pay you monthly, and just take over the practice, Nina! Isn’t it great, you can set up down there with Paul and you won’t have the practice hanging over your head!”
“Wait a minute, Carly Ann. Slow down.”
“It’s been months…”
“Just the summer…”
“Whatever. I can’t work on salary forever. I’m doing all the work up here, getting some super settlements. I thought you’d be ecstatic!”
“Maybe I am ecstatic,” Nina told her. “I’m glad you’re doing well. I’ll consider your offer.”
Hanging up, she sipped her tea, wondering where Paul was. She had a sudden strong desire to run over to the condo to see him, but she really had to work. She took a break and walked down misty Eighth Street to the Tuck Box, a tiny establishment with the curving shingles usually associated with rural England. One cottage pie, a steaming Darjeeling, and an hour later she was back at the shack, the office rather, bending her head over Ginger’s report.
Stefan’s blood matched the blood found at Christina’s. It was unlikely such tiny amounts of blood had been planted. Ginger had some tests pending.
Stefan must be lying. The blood evidence had gone through the state’s lab and Ginger’s lab. He had to have gone there, a glass had to have been thrown. Had Alex Zhukovsky hired him to kill his sister?
But he swore he’d never been there, and he didn’t even know her.
Then there was the complete blank on Constantin’s samples. Yes, Christina was his daughter; that was about all Ginger could establish. What was so important about the bones? Why were the Romanovs haunting her case almost a century after their tragic ends?
“Hello, Ginger.”
“Just a minute.” A wheeze of machinery. Ginger got back on the phone. “How are you doing?”
“Tired.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’m always tired on Sunday. So you’re working tonight, too,” Nina said.
“My night doesn’t start till midnight, my workaholic baby,” Ginger said, “but I’m glad you’re on the case tonight. You wouldn’t be as good as you are if you weren’t working all weekend. Never go to a lawyer who golfs or can talk to you about the latest movies, because those are sure signs of a procrastinator. Plus, I know you do it out of a sense of responsibility. I do it out of a sense of money, so I don’t get as many points. Did you get my bill?”
“Not yet.”
“Hold on to your baseball cap. It’s big. Figured out what day I’m testifying? Is it Tuesday or Wednesday?”
“I’m not sure yet. Ginger, I’m not sure about you testifying at all. You’re not helping us on this case.”
“I can sound dubious and talk at length about the unproved type of testing the state is doing, the rat-infested labs-wait a minute, I guess they want the rats there-but the news on the blood is bad. I got the second round of panels back this afternoon. I was just going over them one more time, trying to find some mistake I’d made. Bummer. My work is impeccable.”
“Then he did it,” Nina said, closing her eyes. She let a wave of exhaustion blank out her brain for an instant.
“He left his blood, unless the sample isn’t really from her apartment at all, and the cops are pulling something.”
“I’ve gone over the chain of custody. It’s solid. Thanks anyway, Ginger. Did you get anything from the bone samples?”
“There is something.”
“Judging by your voice, I’m not sure I want to hear it.”
“I have no idea if this will be a help or a hindrance to you. I know for sure it’s puzzling. Remember there was something I couldn’t remember the night I was attacked?”
“Yes.”
“Well, here’s what I was doing. I had the electrophoresis results for Constantin, Christina, and Stefan jumbled together on my bench, just kind of lying there side by side.”
“Electrophoresis?”
“It’s a way to separate out large molecules, like DNA fragments, from a mixture of similar molecules. You pass an electric current through a medium that contains your mixture. Each kind of molecule makes a trip through the medium at a different rate, and separates out. You get a picture that looks like a bar code in the supermarket, different for each person. Then you can compare them for similarities and differences.”
“I know you’ve explained it before. Someday I’ll go back and study chemistry and I’ll remember from one moment to the next. But I think I get the picture. You have bar codes that are different for each individual that you compare, and there are details you can read from those codes. Fifty-nine cents versus two bucks. Pringles versus Doritos. Check.”
“Right. Now, Nina, are you sitting down?”
“Why?”
“They’re related.”
Nina felt impatient. “You told me the paternity checked out-”
“They are all three related. The parallels are unmistakable.”
“Who?”
“Constantin, Christina, and Stefan.”
“No.”
“Im-peccable. No doubt.” Nina’s mouth was hanging open. She just couldn’t take it in.
“You’re saying…”
“It’s a close relationship. Christina was Stefan’s half-sister, I would say. Constantin was his father.”
“It’s all one family?”
“The mothers are probably different.”
“Of course! Of course!” She thought about Wanda’s money from Constantin. Wanda would have been in her mid-thirties between 1971, when Davida Zhukovsky died, and 1978, when Constantin died. And-Gabe had been born in 1974, Stefan in 1975.
“So Constantin and Wanda were lovers!”
“And had two children, I’m thinking,” Ginger said.
“But-what did Stefan know? Did he knowingly go there to kill his own sister and then dig up his own father? Could he want the money from her inheritance?” They talked all around the subject, speculating on the repercussions.
“Try to give me twenty-four hours notice on the testimony thing, if you decide to call me,” Ginger finally said, “so I can get down there from Sacramento. I’m leaving my calendar as open as I can. Look. Why don’t I drive down right now and take you out to a fashionably late dinner. You must be feeling like shit with the case in the dumper, and Paul…”
“Paul?”
“You don’t have to act all brave with me, babe. This is Ginger. Go ahead, cry on my shoulder. Or maybe you’re not crying? Maybe it’s okay? Which is it?”
“Which is what?”
“Who’s on first?” Ginger said, and laughed merrily, then went on in a kindhearted voice, “You know, I think I mentioned, there aren’t that many Japanese-American gal pathologists in California. In point of fact, there are only three of us. We keep in touch, tell autopsy horror stories late into the night and stuff. As I said, I know Susan.”
“You know Susan Misumi.”
“She told me she’s in love today.”
“With Paul? Well, he’s taken,” Nina said.
Ginger seemed to have dropped the phone. There was that rhythmic, awful, machinery wheeze again, like some monster coming to rip Nina’s heart out…
“Babe, I am about to become the bearer of seriously majorly bad tidings,” Ginger said. “Because you have to know, there’s no way I’m going to let you walk around with a foolish grin on your face. And I’m warning you right now, it’s going to blow your work tonight.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Nina said. “Get to it.”
“Okay. Susan spent the night with Paul last night. She’s in love. She couldn’t wait to tell me. She’s been alone a long time, and she’s dead earnest. So that puts you somewhere brand-new. I don’t understand why two smart babes like you let Paul do this to you. And I liked Paul, too, in spite of my reservations. I took him for basically cool. Nina?”
Nina said through her tears, “What?”
“Let me come down there.”
“No. I have another three or four hours of work tonight.”
A pause. “You sure?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire. Look, call me tomorrow. I’m going to stay up late in your honor and figure out this blood evidence thing. It’s the least I can do. I’ll think of something.”
At nine P.M., Paul came to the office. Nina went out front and let him in. He looked sporty in a red windbreaker and new white shoes. Relaxed. Happy.
“What happened to you?” he said, examining her. “Your eyes look like someone jabbed them with a poker stick. And did you know your phone’s off the hook?” He followed her into her office. “That looks an awful lot like Klaus’s special Napoleon brandy on the desk. Almost empty, too.”
“It is.”
“Well, I’ve got news worth celebrating,” Paul said, sitting down in the chair opposite the desk and putting his feet up on it. He smiled brilliantly. “Sit down, honey, and let me get to my report.”
“Your report,” Nina said. She sat down.
“Two breaks, Nina, big ones. Number one: we’ve caught Alex talking to Stefan on the phone right before the murder. I already subpoenaed the bastard. Maybe you’re right, maybe he did hire our poor schmuck of a client to dig up some bones and leave his footprints around. Anyway, he’s a perjurer, and you’re gonna rip him apart.”
“Rip him apart,” she repeated.
“What’s that look? You sick?”
“Yeah, I’m sick.”
“Well, this’ll make you feel better. I got a hit on Wanda Wyatt. Ready? Constantin Zhukovsky engaged in holy matrimony with Wanda Ruth Wyatt on May twelfth, 1973. After his first wife died, he married his housekeeper.”
“Huh.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“It’s a little anticlimactic.”
He stared at her. “Well, I can’t figure out what it all means, but man, look at the birth dates on the Wyatt boys. Wanda’s a liar, for one thing. Dominoes, Nina. The bones could be Stefan’s father! Let’s get Ginger right on it. She’ll prove the relationship.”
“No need. She already did.”
Startled, Paul paused. “You knew? Well, what do you think?”
Nina got up, came around the desk, and pushed Paul’s feet off the desk. “I think you should make an appointment when you want to come into the office and report. I think you should keep your freaking shoes off my desk. That’s what I think.”
Panic flickered in Paul’s hazel eyes. “What’s got into you?” he said.
“I have court tomorrow at nine-thirty and we are starting the defense case. I didn’t sleep much last night and I don’t plan to sleep much tonight. You have just given me two crucial pieces of information, and I’m trying to incorporate them into a mind that is already at the bursting point.”
“Oh. Is that all?”
“That’s all I can stand right this minute. Now. The phone record. Zhukovsky.”
“What’s our strategy?”
“Get the truth out,” Nina said. “Zhukovsky did hire Stefan, so we give him a chance to tell the jury why and save himself from his previous perjury. And maybe we start understanding why Christina was murdered.”
“What’s he gonna say? What do you think?”
“No idea,” Nina said briefly. “But he’s not going to implicate Stefan any worse than he’s already implicated. He’s not going to say he hired Stefan to do the killing, I promise you that. I know it’s never good to ask questions without knowing the answers, but you’ve talked to him twice, and the witness stand is where he belongs. Is Wanda subpoenaed?”
“Not yet. I-”
“Here’s another issued subpoena. Go get her. Right now. I want her back in court tomorrow. Stefan is Constantin Zhukovsky’s son. I believe he doesn’t know it.”
“His brother, Gabe, too, who may know. He’s closer to his mom.”
“Which makes Christina and Alex Zhukovsky-assuming the rest of the story is true and they had a different mother-half-siblings with Stefan and Gabe.”
“Yes. It connects Stefan to Christina directly for the first time.”
“Which is bad,” Nina said, “extremely. There may even be a money angle, someone trying to get some. The two older kids got all of it. Maybe that’s where the consult to Alan ties in. Well, the only person who can fill in the background is Wanda.”
“She’ll be there. But be careful, Nina. You sound frustrated. Don’t make any mistakes tomorrow.”
“Right. No more mistakes,” Nina said. She opened the door. “Better get going.”
“Can I drop you at home on my way to Wanda’s?”
“I have my car.”
“How much of that brandy have you had?”
“I’m not going home for a long time yet. I’ll be fine.”
Paul hung in the doorway. Nina went back to her desk. She read phone records and took notes.
“No kiss?” he said finally.
“We’re in the middle of a trial. Let’s keep things on a business footing, okay? It’s easier right now.”
“If that’s the way you want it.”
“That’s the way I want it.”
“You’re the boss.”
“Then get going.”
She heard the Mustang roar to life on the quiet street outside, dropped the records, and put her hands on her cheeks and her elbows on her desk.
She had seen it in the shifting of his eyes and felt it in the distant politeness of his body. Paul had been with another woman.
But Stefan was depending on her. She had to concentrate on the case. Talking with Paul would incapacitate her.
She put him out of her mind. She had to.