‘‘I’m not.’’
‘‘No. You’re not. Anymore.’’
‘‘I’m sorry.’’
‘‘I don’t want you to be sorry!’’
‘‘Is it Nina?’’ Collier asked. It was Nina, and he was tired of dancing around it.
Barbara froze. Slowly, she removed her hands from his shoulders. ‘‘You know, if you go forward on the Strong case, you’re going to have a conflict of interest with her representing the defendant. Have you thought about that?’’
‘‘I’ll deal with that if and when I have to.’’
‘‘If you don’t go ahead, it’ll look like you caved in to her.’’
‘‘Barb, it’s late.’’
‘‘I can’t believe you’d prefer her to me. Well. Your loss.’’
‘‘I’m sorry. I really am.’’
‘‘They’re all dirtbags, you know it. Defending the guilty. How could you?’’
‘‘Good night, Barb.’’ He closed the door. The outer office had emptied fast. Six o’clock.
On the way home, Collier stopped at a florist shop near the Swiss Chalet Restaurant, not far from Nina’s office, and bought ten plants to set around his place. That ought to wow Nina. He expected them to stay alive for at least a week. When they went he would buy some more. She loved plants.
Turning off the highway at the Smart ’n Final, he came to Glenwood Way and the small green-trimmed apartment house he’d decided to call home.
The apartment looked much better when he had set the plants around. He undressed, tossing his dirty clothes into the pile in the closet, and let the water wash all the crap off him from the day. With his eyes closed against the spray, he sang an old tune from a musical,
The Desert
Song.
My desert is waiting, dear, come there with me . . .
He plucked a thick clean towel from the rack and rubbed his chest. He was happy. He hadn’t been this happy in years. He had his job back, and the woman he had decided he wanted was coming to see him.
Dressed again, he turned his attention to the kitchenette. The house cleaner had washed the dishes and wiped the counters. Alles in Ordnung. He opened the fridge, got out the frozen shrimp, and set it under running water to defrost.
Music! There ought to be music.
In his closet he found an old boom box. The public radio station had a classical music concert going, Bruckner’s Third. It sounded like a movie from the forties and fit his mood. He made shrimp cocktails with a lot of horseradish, listening to the music and sipping from time to time on the shot glass of Jack Daniel’s he’d poured. He kept looking out the window for her, but she would be late. She was always rushing into court at the last minute.
He imagined her in court in her sober suit and foolish high heels, the long hair always a little wild, the fresh cheeks and full lips. To think he had let her go last year!
Now. What else? He basted the steaks with teriyaki and stuck them under the broiler. Salad. She’d like a salad. His luck held. He had remembered to buy a presorted bag of fresh spinach. He made a piece of toast, buttered and spiced it, chopped it into croutons, dumped it with spinach in a wooden bowl and poured dressing on the concoction, tossing it with a couple of forks. Done.
She was late. He wondered if she would like the place, see how he had changed. He walked around, making an inspection. Alles in— The sheets! The sheets hadn’t been changed since he’d moved in.
He ran to the closet and rummaged around, coming up with the spares. He began making the bed.
‘‘Hi,’’ Nina said in the doorway. ‘‘The door was open. I took the steaks out of the oven so they wouldn’t burn.’’
‘‘Hi,’’ Collier said, the sheet hanging conspicuously from his hand.
Glancing at it, then at the half-made bed, Nina came toward him. ‘‘I like your apartment,’’ she said. ‘‘So much more cheerful than the one you used to have. Here. Why don’t you let me help you with that chore?’’ Smelling like roses, completely at ease, she tucked in a couple of corners, nice and neat.
‘‘Let’s have a drink,’’ Collier said. In the kitchen he made her a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks while she exclaimed over the fern he had stuck on the counter.
‘‘What kind of day did you have?’’ she said.
‘‘It’s great, now.’’
‘‘I feel the same way.’’ She puttered around setting the table and he watched her. She looked luscious, but it wasn’t just that, she looked right. She looked right in his kitchen, just like she felt right in his arms. She walked around, talking and laughing, hot and cozy as a fire, and made the place home.
She was right. He knew it.
He watched her, thinking about all the grief and all the long days and lonely nights of his life in the past few years. She was hope to him, a chance for a second life. He tried to act casual so she wouldn’t be embarrassed at the intensity of his feelings.
‘‘Shrimp cocktails!’’ she said, when he took them out of the fridge. ‘‘I love them!’’ They sat at the table— he’d forgotten a candle but so what—and ate. Then he gave her the Delta Airlines ticket to Honolulu and watched her eyes light up.
‘‘So that’s what you meant with your note in the orchid,’’ she said.
‘‘It’s only a weekend. Three days, if you can get Friday off.’’
‘‘I will get Friday off.’’
‘‘Great.’’
Then Nina said, ‘‘I brought you a present too. Nothing much.’’ It was a CD of samba music.
They turned off the lights and danced, not really dancing, more swaying to the music, holding each other tight.
When there didn’t seem to be much point in standing up any more, they went to bed.
Her skin was unbelievably smooth, the curve of her hip maddening. He smoothed her hair, muttered things, kissed her everywhere. They made love, and talked until eleven about Bob and her dog and the early snow, and then she had to go.
He felt like he was fourteen years old, with that same sense of wonder and discovery. He watched her go from the kitchen window, the moon sending glints of snow all around her, smirking like a fool, thinking, she’s the right one, how could I get so lucky twice in one life. The music was still playing in the living room, and he went in and looked at the English translations on the liner notes.
Joy is green like a forest
It burns and turns to ash, then grows again
He knew that. He’d learned it all the hard way.
It burns and grows again. That was love, too. He was going to make every second of the rest of his life count.
He hadn’t asked her about Strong’s boots. Unwritten rules had already grown up between them, and the first one was: don’t talk about work except at work.
He would send Drummond down to Sac for them in the morning.
On Tuesday at noon, another brilliant day, Nina was just climbing into the Bronco in the courthouse parking lot when who should appear but Doctor Ginger Hirabayashi, forensic pathologist, looking like a reindeer.
At least, her red nose did. The rest of her was black: black watchcap, black leather jacket, baggy black slacks, and a big black muffler. Above the nose she wore a big pair of black Ray Bans. She looked like a gangster or a Japanese hip-hopper. Her hands were plunged in her pockets.
‘‘Sandy said you’d show up here. Jump into my car. Let’s go somewhere warm. Get something to eat.’’
‘‘What are you doing up here?’’
‘‘Eating lunch. Come on. How much time have we got?’’
‘‘I have to be back in court at one-thirty.’’
Locking up the Bronco again, Nina crunched through the snow and got into the black BMW with the tinted windows and the full ski rack. A girl sat in the back seat.
‘‘Meet Caroline,’’ Ginger said. ‘‘She offered to keep me company.’’
‘‘Hi,’’ said purple-haired Caroline.
‘‘Eagle’s Nest okay?’’ said Ginger.
‘‘Sure. You know your way around here, Ginger.’’
‘‘I ought to. I own a condo here. As long as I had to come up, I thought we ought to get some skiing in.’’
Ginger drove them smoothly to Kingsbury Grade, the steep road that leaves the Tahoe basin and drops in a few miles two thousand feet to Carson Valley. The road she turned on led to a startling sight—a small city of condominiums built for skiers around the foot of the Heavenly Resort, on the Nevada side. Most amazing of all was an enormous complex high on a hill of hundreds of condos called The Ridge Tahoe. ‘‘That’s where my place is,’’ Ginger said, pointing toward it.
The Eagle’s Nest had a broad back deck with a vista, filtered through the trees, of one of the Heavenly runs. Just a hundred feet away, people were zooming past.
They ordered hot ham sandwiches, milk, and coffee. Heat lamps had been set up and the decking was swept clear of snow, but even so, most of the diners had chosen to eat indoors by the fireplace.
‘‘Take a hike, baby,’’ Ginger said to Caroline.
The girl stood up and stretched. ‘‘I’ll check out the view from the bar,’’ she said, and went in.
‘‘She knows I have to talk to you in private. This isn’t for phone lines or e-mail.’’ Ginger took off her leather driving gloves and tossed them onto the table.
‘‘You’re scaring me, Ginger.’’
‘‘Paranoia strikes deep,’’ Ginger said. ‘‘Murder cases are like that.’’
‘‘It’s the boots, right?’’
‘‘It’s the boots. First of all, I had visitors at the lab this morning. A South Lake Tahoe cop, accompanied by Sacramento County deputy sheriff. They took the boots and made a number of caustic remarks regarding obstructing a police investigation. Big words, unpleasant noises. You can picture it, I’m sure.’’
‘‘I’ll cover you, Ginger. Don’t worry about it. I knew the boots would be located eventually. I’m surprised the D.A.’s office didn’t just ask me to produce them. I was prepared to do that.’’
So Collier hadn’t chosen to mention sending his errand boys to nip at Ginger. Fine, she told herself. She had pulled a fast one on him sending the boots down there. He had only responded in kind. It was part of the job.
‘‘They also took my samples and records. Under subpoena, of course. They even took my computer.’’
A gust of cold wind made Nina shiver. She moved her chair closer to the heater. ‘‘I’ll get the computer back for you. Are you saying you found something?’’ she asked.
‘‘I finally got on the boots this weekend. Here’s a photo I totally accidentally forgot to hand to the cops. Of the soles.’’
Nina stared at the distinctive pattern of short parallel lines on the upper and lower soles, and in the middle, the chevron design with a logo showed that as much care had been taken in designing the bottom of these boots as the maker took with the tops. ‘‘Nice shot,’’ she said. ‘‘We need those autopsy pictures to see if this pattern matches the marks on the body. I wish I could have gotten them for you.’’
‘‘I wish you could have gotten the body for me.’’
‘‘So—we don’t know yet. Whether there’s really a pattern on the skin, or if there is, whether they can make a match. If they arrest Jim, you’ll get the pictures. We’re still in the game.’’
‘‘True, as far as the patterning.’’ Ginger took off her Ray Bans and wiped the lenses on her napkin.
‘‘Uh, oh.’’
‘‘I took a small sample of detritus from between the grooves on the sole. A very small sample. There’s plenty more dirt left that Clauson can collect, and besides they copped my lab notes, including the computer file. They know by now that I examined this sample on Sunday afternoon.’’
‘‘Don’t stop now.’’
‘‘I found something.’’
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Brace yourself, Nina.’’
‘‘Just get on with it!’’
‘‘Two black cotton fibers.’’ Nina made the connections. For a minute she couldn’t say anything.
‘‘Alex’s turtleneck?’’ she finally whispered.
‘‘The autopsy report said he was wearing a black cotton turtleneck with some damage. I don’t have the turtleneck. They do. All I can say is, two black cotton fibers. If I found two with a minuscule sample, there will be more, probably all over both soles.’’
Nina put her head in her hands. ‘‘I can’t believe it. Jim would have had to—’’
‘‘Yeah, jump on him and then really grind those soles on the shirt—with the victim in it. It’s not a pretty thought. I had another stomping case a few years ago, a couple of rednecks who stomped an unconscious drunk lying in a gutter, for kicks. It’s an opportunistic kind of thing. It does happen.’’
‘‘There has to be some other explanation!’’
‘‘What are you going to do?’’
‘‘Ask Jim.’’
‘‘I hope he tells you the truth,’’ Ginger said. ‘‘Save the State of California and you a lot of stress and time.’’
‘‘I just don’t believe it, Ginger.’’ She was fighting not to believe it. Now there was physical evidence to add to all the bits she had been trying not to register.
She told herself, it’s not proof beyond a reasonable doubt. There were still ways out. If it was murder, maybe someone else had done the murder. There had been ten minutes to do it, and everything Jim had told her would still be true. She tried to think about these things, to erase the pernicious flood of doubt that would kill her effectiveness as an advocate.
Ginger looked toward the deck door, where Caroline was just coming toward them. ‘‘They’re mostly guilty,’’ she said. ‘‘You can still make sure he gets fair treatment all the way down the line.’’
Nina managed to call the lodge at Paradise before she had to go back into the courtroom. Yes, Jim stayed around until about nine most nights, the hostess told her.
She went back to her civil case. Love the one you’re with. But when court adjourned at four, she narrowly avoided knocking her client to the ground in the swiftness of her exit.
As usual, the lodge was thronged with skiers. She plowed through them without paying any attention. Jim’s office door was open and she marched in. Judging by the trophies and photographs on the walls devoted just to him, he was one hell of a skier.
He had the phone pressed to his ear, but when he saw her, he said good-bye and hung up. He read her expression instantly. ‘‘Nina? What’s happened?’’
‘‘Not here,’’ she said. ‘‘Outside.’’ Ginger’s paranoia had struck deep all right. Jim put on his parka and followed her out to the bunny hill, quiet now that the lifts had stopped for the day. The sun had slipped behind the crest of the mountain. The winds had stilled. Even the birds had silenced, maybe gone for the winter already. A cold twilight was settling over the Basin. Nina drew her coat around her and brought up the collar.