The one certain thing I had learned during that summer was that the likelihood of prosecution and jail time was a direct function of class and race. I never met any affluent whites at the morning arraignments where the shuffling men stank of stale booze, sweat, and vomit after a night in the drunk tank. The white guys from Temple or Crowne got escorted home, or if they did get arrested they got bailed out in a hurry because they could afford the bond. Which was why I was uncomfortable with the death penalty.
I had found the entire experience unsettling, and had rejected job offers from both the Public Defender’s Office and the District Attorney. Partly because my vampire foster father and Shade, one of the senior partners, had pretty much prepared a place for me at IMG, but also because I wanted the dry, unemotional aspect of corporate law well away from these uncomfortable thoughts about social inequity. It was hard to face that about myself, and I was grateful when the guard spoke up, pulling me out of my naval gazing.
“Do not approach within two feet of the prisoner, and no physical contact. Got it?”
“Well, that’s going to be a little tough, given the cell,” Chris said and her tone was pure acid. “The only static place is the bunk and the john, and I don’t think all of us are going to fit on the john.”
The guard looked confused. “Uh … yeah, right. Guess that’s true. Well, do what you need to do.”
He led us to the final cell at the end. This one didn’t offer a view through bars. There was an actual steel door with a small, mesh-reinforced window set into the metal. He inserted the key and swung open the door.
I found myself staring at a blank metal wall that was sliding past. It moved in a track with a high-pitched whine that was almost painful to the ears. It seemed like we waited for a long time before we saw an opening. Then Chris darted through. I was rooted to the spot, trying to understand what I was seeing. The guard put a hand between my shoulder blades, and gave me a small push.
“Move! While you’ve got the chance.”
I rushed in to find Chris seated next to Kerrinan on the bunk. “Sit down. Quick!” she ordered.
I realized another wall was moving and it was going to intersect with my position. I leaped to the bunk and sat down on the other side of the Álfar actor. He looked haggard. Álfar are like Teflon. It seems like no dirt ever sticks to them. Their features are so regular that some modeling agencies described them as walking mannequins, but there is something in the eyes that is tremendously alluring to humans. That ability seemed beyond Kerrinan this day. Despite the unusual color of his eyes, pale gray flecked with purple, they had the flat, uncomprehending stare of the eyes in a stuffed animal head.
I could tell that concentrating with the constant mechanical whine of the moving walls was not going to be easy. Another one was cutting on a diagonal across the cell. That’s when I figured out the purpose of the moving walls.
I didn’t understand the physics behind it—nobody did—but apparently Fey was sort of overlaid on top or maybe beneath our world. Geography was the same, but somehow buildings changed or vanished, Álfar vehicles both motorized and horse-drawn didn’t intersect with our vehicles, and humans and Álfar in the same building didn’t see each other. John’s mother and now John lived in the Dakota.
For a moment I reflected that it must be torture for John to know he was a shadow veil away from the human world he loved. Or maybe not. Maybe when she’d driven that sliver of ice deep into his eye it had somehow broken his connection to the world where he’d grown up. Whatever she had done, it was Álfar magic, and it had worked.
Well, the same thing was now being applied to Kerrinan, but in the other direction. Humans couldn’t use some kind of magical whammy to keep him in our reality. So we had fallen back on science, which was something humans did pretty well. I had a feeling the constant changing geometry of the room made it impossible for Kerrinan to get a fix on the Álfar world and thus kept him trapped in his cell. I wondered how they avoided having a pattern emerge that would enable a determined prisoner to escape? I concluded it was probably computer-controlled and the movement was being randomized. I couldn’t imagine how much that was costing the county of Los Angeles.
“Kerrinan, this is Linnet Ellery,” Chris said. “She wanted to ask you some questions.”
“Is she part of my defense team?” the Álfar asked. “Because if she’s not, perhaps I shouldn’t be talking with her.” The mellifluous voice that had set a generation of women to swooning in movie theaters around the world was now ragged and harsh. He gave a cough. “Sorry, not sleeping. When I’m fatigued it always shows up in my voice first.”
Chris and I exchanged a glance. We had already discussed this earlier and found a solution. I was just surprised that Kerrinan had been this astute. According to John, the Álfar weren’t known for their logic and caution. He had described them as a species of raging ids.
“Chris has hired me as a researcher, which means the same rules of client confidentiality apply to me as to her,” I said.
“I take it this is a dodge from the way she introduced you.”
“A little bit. Look, I think something strange is happening with regard to the Álfar, and I need more information than I can get from the newspapers,” I said. “I’ll understand if you’re not comfortable with this, and I’ll leave, but I think your people are being…” I hesitated, not wanting to put voice to it because it did sound kind of crazy.
“What?” Kerrinan prodded.
“Okay, this is going to sound really melodramatic, but I think you’re being targeted.”
“Me?”
“Well, not you specifically. The Álfar.”
He was frowning, marring the smooth perfection of that handsome face. “Has something else happened?”
I closed my eyes briefly. “Yeah, you could say that.”
I gave him an abbreviated version of what had happened the day before on the Warner lot.
Kerrinan was shaking his head. “This is crazy. I know Jondin. She’s a ditz but never a diva,” Kerrinan said.
“I’d say this goes a little past diva, Kerrinan, and straight to crazy mass murderer,” Chris Valada said in her usual dry way.
“Will you tell me what happened? The day your wife died,” I asked. The actor looked at me in confusion. “Look, bear with me. I want to see if there are any similarities to what Jondin is telling the authorities.”
“Like what?” Kerrinan asked.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to lead you or suggest anything. Just tell me about the day.”
The eyes that met mine were shadowed, haunted by doubt and fear. “I want you to know, I loved Michelle. More than anything. More than life. I would have done anything for her, and I would never have hurt her. But…” Kerrinan’s voice trailed away. The question hung in the silence. But what if I did? Chris gave his arm a quick squeeze.
“Let’s start at the beginning. Walk me through the whole day. Try to remember everything. Even if it seems trivial it might be important,” I said.
He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his thoughts. “We got up early, and we worked out together.”
“Did you go to a gym?” I asked, looking up from the pad where I was taking notes.
“No, we have a full gym at the house.”
“Okay, go on.”
“We went out for breakfast at Mary’s Lamb. Michelle liked the orange-pecan muffins…” His voice broke. If this was an act, I thought, he should win an Oscar. “I dropped her off back at the house around eleven and went to a photo shoot for GQ”