Try Fear (38 page)

She winced. “Why did Milton choose that time and place?”

“We’ll probably never know,” I said. “I think it juiced him. It was a real street scene, a game. You have to move fast, make
quick choices. He may even have scoped out the place before, thinking we’d be back. And I wonder if he was shooting at me,
and not you.”

“Why would anybody shoot at a lawyer?”

She smiled then and it seemed so real and natural, but at the same time kind of sad.

“So how’s the shoulder doing?” I said.

“It’s sore, but it works,” she said.

“Does it affect your hook shot?”

“I haven’t tested it yet.”

“Well, I can’t imagine Sister Mary Veritas without her full range of motion.”

“Just Mary,” she said.

“Uh-huh. So where have you been?”

“A place in Eagle Rock. A crisis-pregnancy house.”

“Oh yeah? When’s the bundle of joy due?”

“Funny, Buchanan.”

“You still driving that old Taurus?”

“I took the bus.”

“The
bus?
Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”

A
S
I
DROVE
her back to the Valley I said, “So is this permanent? This new—what do you call it—non-nunship?”

“Close enough,” she said. “I am to continue to reflect, but I think I realize this is not to be my vocation. That happens
sometimes. It’s for the good of all concerned.”

“So what will you do?”

She paused. “I think I’ll go back home for a while. My mom and dad want me to. I can sort of regroup.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” I said. “Then you can come back to L.A. and set up shop as an investigator. I’ll be your first
client.”

She didn’t answer. But her silence said that wasn’t going to happen. It would be a clean break.

We both knew that.

When I pulled up in front of the yellow, two-story house in Eagle Rock, I said, “I want to say good-bye to you before you
go. Maybe take you to Subway.”

“I don’t need such extravagance,” she said as she got out of the car.

“And I’ll want you to send me a postcard from time to time,” I added. “From Oklahoma City itself. Make sure there’s a tractor
in it.”

“Just work on your jump shot,” she said. “You need one.”

She turned quickly and headed up the walkway.

T
HE NEXT COUPLE
of days were as empty as a congressman’s promise. I sort of sleepwalked through them, coming to life only on the afternoon
I introduced Kate Richess to Fran Dwyer and Kylie.

They hit it off immediately. Kate and Fran were very much alike. They had copious amounts of caring that had to pour out.
I played some Frisbee with Kylie in the backyard as the two women watched and talked on the patio.

And thought maybe a house and a yard and a child and a wife were good things to have. Now. Time to move on.

I moved on. At six-thirty that evening I met Kimberly Pincus at Morton’s on Figueroa, downtown. Best steaks in the city.

And the company wasn’t something to shake a gavel at, either. Kimberly was as dazzling as ever, and making a good argument.

Not verbally. But in every other way, she was calling me off my mountain and back into the real world. It was time. Time to
allow myself to get together with someone again.

When you put it down on paper, Kimberly Pincus was the one. She had everything. Looks, intelligence, drive.

Yeah, it was time. I even had a Grey Goose martini in honor of her. We toasted and clinked glasses.

“This,” she said, “is a good thing.”

“The martinis?”

“You and me, stupid.”

We got caught up on our lives. Kimberly was mowing them down in court. She said she had not lost a motion or trial since my
seat-belt victory. “You inspired me,” she said. “Now I’m dying for another shot at you.” She took the pick with her olive
on it and placed it between her teeth for a moment. Then it disappeared into her mouth.

“Maybe I’ll pick up Jamie MacArthur as a client,” I said, “and you can help the poor dumb prosecutor who gets assigned to
the case.”

Earlier in the week, MacArthur had held a press conference denying any knowledge of accounting schemes. Eric Richess had squawked
from the jail, pointing the finger at the councilman. MacArthur, looking tanned and confident, said he was working with the
controller’s office and was ready to clean house. It sounded to me like he was getting ready to throw Regis Nielsen under
the bus. It was going to be fun and games throughout the summer. Just the kind of show L.A. eats up during the dog days.

Over our steaks Kimberly and I talked about trial work and juries, cops and robbers, liars and truth tellers. We traded good-natured
jabs and laughed at absurdities. Like the time she had a DUI trial and the young, nervous defense lawyer opened his cross-examination
of Kimberly’s test expert with, “Are you truly qualified to give a urine sample?”

In short, we had a good time, and I needed that. I needed it to wash out the stench of Eric Richess.

We ended up back at her place, and sipped wine and watched the city from her window. The lights mesmerized. Not just the brights
of Disney Hall, but also the pinpricks in hills, in Angeleno Heights and across the border of Hollywood, and the river of
headlights and taillights ebbing and flowing on the freeway.

“What do you think?” she said. “Can we own this town or what?”

“Shall we just rule it from here?”

She smiled. “Sure. Maybe we can put in a moat, keep out the common folk.”

“You’re starting to sound like Marie Antoinette,” I said.

“Am I?”

“Just thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

Kimberly winced, put down her wineglass, and kissed me.

“Stay,” she whispered.

I knew if I did, it’d be one of those things that changes your life forever. Kimberly Pincus was not a one-night stand. She
was a forever changer.

Forever…

I took a half step back and tried to jumble some thoughts together.

“What’s wrong?” Kimberly said.

“I have to do something,” I said.

“Here, I hope.”

“I have to see something.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Not again,” she said. “You can’t be doing this again.”

“Can I call you later?”

“What is it with you?”

“A good question, Kimberly. That’s what I have to find out.”

She looked at the ceiling. “Is this going to be a journey of self-discovery or some other retro thing?”

“Maybe.”

“There are some aging hippies in Topanga Canyon who can help.”

I touched her arm. “I had a great time tonight.”

“Oh, wow. I haven’t heard that one since high school. No, come to think of it, I was the one who said it.” She laughed.

“I believe you,” I said.

“You’re going to regret this. You’re going to look back and realize what a mistake you made.”

“You may be right.”

“I don’t win cases by being wrong.”

I kissed her cheek. “See you in court, then.”

“I look forward to it,” she said.

W
HAT
I
HAD
to see was in Eagle Rock.

I got there at eleven the next morning, after a trip to the Apple store. Mary Landis had the room in the very back corner
of the house. She let me in, but kept the door open.

Her room was spare. Nothing on the walls but a crucifix and a calendar.

“Where are my manners?” Mary said. “Can I get you something to drink? Some water? Or… some water?”

“I think I’ll have water,” I said. “Do you have a Sparkletts ’ninety-three?”

“I’ll check the cellar,” she said.

There was a small white refrigerator by the window. She pulled out a bottle of water and tossed it to me. She opened one for
herself.

I held my bottle out in the gesture of a toast. She laughed and tapped her bottle on mine, then we drank.

I hoped she couldn’t see that the bottle was shaking in my hand.

“What’s in the box?” she said.

“A little present.” I handed it to her.

She opened it and took out the iPod and dock that I’d purchased.

“You’re kidding me,” she said.

“It’s the least I can do for the best investigator I ever had.”

She looked like she wanted to speak, but the words were sticking in her throat.

I gently took the dock and iPod from her. “Let’s try it out,” I said.

I went to an outlet and plugged it in. I set it on the carpet because there was no table nearby. I got on my knees and stuck
in the iPod, which I’d specially prepped at the store. I turned it on.

“I have some of my own selections on here,” I said. “I hope you like ’em.”

I looked her way. She was at the other wall, her right arm across her body, holding her left arm. As if to relieve some pain
from her shoulder wound. Or some other kind of pain.

I found the song I wanted. The soft, smooth Eric Marienthal version of Mary’s favorite Beatles song.

I stood.

Mary was looking at the floor. There’s about ten seconds of intro before the tune gets recognizable. Mary’s face was expectant,
waiting to hear what the song was.

She may have heard my pulse. In my ears it sounded like a Salvation Army drum. But this was the only way I could figure this
thing out. I didn’t know what words to use. I thought if I used the wrong ones, it would be like touching a soap bubble.

I didn’t want the bubble to pop. But it wasn’t my call. It had to be hers, all the way. Which is why I was silent. Which is
why I cooked up this crazy plan. I guess I put my own faith in this: I’ve spent a lot of years studying faces. Jurors. Witnesses.
Judges. Prosecutors. But this was going to be the most important judgment of my life.

Then Marienthal’s sax started in on the first line of the tune. Recognizable. Mary’s eyes widened, and she snapped her head
up to look at me.

The song was what connected us, across the small room, which now seemed the size of a football field.

But I could see something. I could see tears forming in her eyes.

I went to her. Mary didn’t move. I put my hand out and waited. It seemed to hang there for an hour, but that was okay with
me. I wanted her to think about it.

The second verse started in. Just before I lowered my hand Mary reached out and took it. Now mine was steady and hers was
trembling. She squeezed my hand as if she were falling from a cliff and I was the one who’d caught her.

I pulled her to me.

She let go of my hand and wrapped both arms around me. She put her head on my chest. I felt her warm breath through my shirt.
The music enveloped us and we didn’t move for a long moment.

And I realized then that all fear was gone. For just that moment, at least, it wasn’t inside me in any form. Or doubts. Or
questions.

For just that moment I was whole.

I slid my head down so my lips were next to her ear. She inclined her head a little, listening.

And then I said, “I will.”