"At this point, I don't really care what the exam shows. It's gone beyond that, Peter. I'm going to have to get custody. For my peace of mind."
"Oh, for Christ's sake."
"Yes, Peter."
"You don't know what it's like to raise a child. It'll take too much time away from your career."
"I have no choice, Peter. You have left me no choice." Now she sounded long suffering. Martyrdom was always one of her strong suits.
I said, "Lauren, you know the past accusations are false. You're just running with this thing because Wilhelm called you."
"He didn't call me. He called the assistant D.A. He called my boss."
"Lauren."
"I'm sorry, Peter. But you brought it on yourself."
"Lauren."
"I mean it."
"Lauren, this is very dangerous."
She laughed harshly. "Tell me. You think I don't know how dangerous this is, Peter? This could be my ass."
"What are you talking about?"
"What do you thinkI'm talking about, you son of a bitch?" she said, furiously. "I'm talking about Las Vegas."
I was silent. I didn't follow her line of thought at all.
"Look," she said. "How many times have you been to Las Vegas?"
"Just once."
"And the one time you went, you won big?"
"Lauren, you know all about that– "
"Yes, I do. Clearly I do. And what is the timing of your big winning trip to Las Vegas, and the accusations against you of child abuse? A week apart? Two weeks apart?"
So that was it. She was worried that somebody could put those two things together, that it could be traced back, somehow. And that it would implicate her.
"You should have made another trip, last year."
"I was busy."
"If you remember, Peter, I told you to go every year, for the next couple of years. Establish a pattern."
"I was busy. I had a child to raise."
"Well." She shook her head. "Now we're here."
I said, "What's the problem? They'll never figure it out."
That was when she really exploded. "Never figure it out? They've alreadyfigured it out. They already know, Peter. I'm sure they've already talked to Martinez or Hernandez or whoever that couple is."
"But they can't possibly– "
"For Christ's sake. How do you think somebody gets a job as Japanese liaison? How did youget the job, Peter?"
I frowned, thinking back. It was more than a year ago. "There was a posting of the job in the department. A list of candidates applied for it . . ."
"Yes. And then what?"
I hesitated. The truth was, I wasn't sure exactly what happened administratively. I had just applied for the job and had forgotten all about it, until it came through. I had been busy in those days. Working in the press section was a hectic job.
"I'll tell you what happens," Lauren said. "The chief of Special Services for the department makes a final determination of appropriate candidates, in consultation with members of the Asian community."
"Well, that's probably true, but I don't see– "
"And do you know how long the members of the Asian community take to review the list of candidates? Three months, Peter. That's long enough to learn everything about the people on that list. Everything. They know everything from the size of your shirt collar to your financial status. And believe me, they know about the allegations of child abuse. And your trip to Las Vegas. And they can put it together. Anybodycan put it together."
I was going to protest, when I found myself remembering what Ron said earlier in the day: Now they watch the backhaul.
She said, "You're going to stand there and tell me you don't know how all this works? That you weren't paying attention to the process? Christ, Peter, come on. You understood what was involved in that liaison job: you wanted the money. Just like everybody else who has anything to do with the Japanese. You know how they make their deals. There's something for everyone. You get something. The department gets something. The chief gets something. Everybody gets taken care of. And in return they get to pick exactly the kind of person they want as a liaison. They know they have a handle on you going in. And now they have a handle on me, too. All because you didn't take your goddamn trip to Las Vegas last year and establish a pattern, the way I told you to."
"So now you think you have to get custody of Michelle?"
She sighed. "At this point, we're just playing out our roles."
She glanced at her watch, and looked toward the reporters. I saw that she was impatient to get on with it, to meet the press and make the speech she had already prepared for herself. Lauren had always had a strong sense of drama.
"Are you sure what your role is, Lauren? Because it's going to get very messy around here in the next few hours. You may not want to be involved."
"I aminvolved."
"No." I took the Polaroid out of my pocket and showed it to her.
"What's this?"
"That's a video frame from the Nakamoto security tapes, taken last night. At the time of the murder of Cheryl Austin."
She frowned at the picture. "You're kidding."
"No."
"You're going with this?"
"We have to."
"You're going to arrest Senator Morton? You're outof your fucking mind."
"Maybe."
"You'll never see daylight, Peter."
"Maybe."
"They'll bury you so fast and so deep you'll never know what hit you."
"Maybe."
"You can't make this work. You know you can't. In the end, it's only going to harm Michelle."
I didn't say anything to that. I found I liked her less all the time. We walked along, her spike heels clicking on the sidewalk.
Finally she said, "Peter, if you insist on following this reckless course of action, there's nothing I can do. As your friend, I advise you not to. But if you insist, there is nothing I can do to help you."
I didn't answer. I waited and watched her. In the hard sunlight, I saw she was starting to get wrinkles. I saw the dark roots of her hair. The fleck of lipstick on her tooth. She took off her sunglasses and glanced at me, her eyes worried. Then she turned away, looking toward the press. She tapped the sunglasses in the palm of her hand.
"If this is really what's happening, Peter, I think maybe I had better hold off a day and let events take their course."
"All right."
"You understand: I'm not dropping my concerns, Peter."
"I understand."
"But I don't think the question of Michelle's custody should be mixed up in some other, crazy controversy."
"Of course not."
She put her sunglasses back on. "I feel sorry for you, Peter. I really do. At one time you had a promising future in the department. I know you've been mentioned for a position under the chief. But nothing can save you if you do this."
I smiled. "Well."
"You have anything besides photographic evidence?"
"I don't know if I should give you too many details."
"Because if you only have photographic evidence, you have no case, Peter. The D.A. won't touch it. Photographic evidence doesn't fly anymore. It's too easily doctored. The courts know it. If all you have is a picture of this guy doing the crime, it won't wash."