This was the right thing for her to be doing, the best use of her time and talents. Over her client's reservations and even violent disagreement, and whether he saw it or not, she had already done him a world of good. If she had not prevailed, if Stuart had become the object of any kind of real manhunt, when there would have been no question that he was in armed flight from prosecution, his prospects could have been terminally dashed. And she had prevented that. It felt good-better than good. A breath of fresh air after too long underwater.
Ten thirty.
The dishwasher cycles competed with the background music turned down low on the radio, but Gina was aware of neither. Her second glass of wine was still full on the reading table next to her. She was in her reading chair by the living room's front window, having already read through all of her notes and other miscellany in the folder she was keeping on Stuart. The thin blue volume of the ever-popular California Evidence Code now lay open on her lap. She made it a point to read it through once a year as a discipline. She'd gone through nearly two thirds of it at this one sitting, and though she would have denied that it was pleasure reading, it wasn't by any means a chore.
This was the nuts and bolts of her work. Lawyers talked in numbers-Penal Code sections, Criminal Code, Evidence Code, numbered Jury Instructions. It was the language, and she was as immersed in it as she would have been in cramming her rusty Italian if she was planning a vacation to Cinque Terre.
At first she was not sure whether it had been anything at all that had caught her attention and made her look up. Dishes rattling, settling in the dishwasher? She scanned the room, saw nothing that caused the noise and was about to go back to her book, when here it was again, unmistakable. She glanced up at the clock on her mantel, frowned and dog-eared her page. Though her front-door entrance was slightly recessed from the street and not visible from her front windows, she looked through those windows anyway and saw that someone had parked illegally on the sidewalk directly across the street. So she crossed over and used the peephole, then turned the dead bolt and opened the door.
"Hey." Jedd Conley in his business suit, hands in his pockets, projecting-for him-an unusual reticence. "Is this a bad time?"
"It's a bit of a surprising time. But no. I mean, it's okay." She pointed out behind him. "Is that your car? You'll get a ticket, parked there."
But Conley shook his head. "Legislative plates. Not automatic, but most cops recognize them and cut some slack. I think I'll be safe."
"So what can I do for you? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." A quick, nervous smile. "Slightly uptight, maybe."
"You want to come in?"
"That'd be nice. Thanks."
She stepped back, opening the door, letting him in. "So what are you uptight about?"
"Life. My work. The usual. I don't know why I said that, though, why that came out." He let out a breath, tried another smile that didn't quite succeed. "I'm fine."
"Okay, good, then that's settled. Can I get you a drink? I've got a little of everything."
"Some scotch wouldn't be bad."
"It never is. Maybe I'll join you." She was moving behind the bar. "Have a seat somewhere. Is Oban okay?" "Oban would be perfect." "Perfection is my goal," she said. "Ice?" "In a single malt? Surely you jest."
She shrugged. "Some do. Though for the record, I don't either." She had her special glasses out on top of the bar, filling them about halfway, a good couple of shots each, and carried them over to where he was sitting on the couch facing the fireplace. "Public health notice," she said, "leaded crystal. Drinking from these glasses could cause health problems and may impair your ability to operate heavy machinery."
"God forbid," Conley said. "I think I'll risk it."
"Brave man." She handed him his drink.
Holding the glass up, checking the generous pour with obvious satisfaction, he clinked her glass. "A woman after my own heart." Drinking a little, he settled back. "Thank you. I'm happy to inform you that you've attained your goal."
"My goal?"
"Perfection."
"Well," she said, surprised at the flush she felt rising in her face, "my pleasure."
When she'd finished with Stuart's folder, she'd tossed it onto the coffee table; she hadn't really noticed, but the picture of all the pals from the Bitterroot camping trip had slid out most of the way. Now Jedd picked it up, turned it over. "This has to do with Stuart's case somehow?"
"I don't know," she said, "probably not." She explained about the threatening e-mails, and Stuart's contention that the picture proved he hadn't sent them to himself, since he'd had no access to a computer.
"Or anything else," Jedd said. "But don't get me wrong, it was a great trip. At least till the ride home."
"What happened on the ride home?"
"My damn car threw a rod. Cost me two grand. I didn't feel right about asking my fellow campers to chip in, but they could have offered. It put a slight pall on my memory of the trip. But still"-he put the picture back into the folder-"I guess it was worth it. Getting away is always worth it."
"Yes it is." Gina by now was seated at the far end of the couch, and she turned to him. "So what can I do for you, Jedd?"
"I don't know, really. I was out at one of Horace's endless events tonight just over at the Fairmont-you know Horace Tremont?"
"Not personally, but of course."
"You know he's my father-in-law?"
"I remember reading about all that when you got married. Your wife is Lexi, right?"
"Right. The lovely Lexi." He smiled, but his inflection put an ironic spin on the words. "Anyway, it seems that Horace and some other of his kingmaker friends wanted to feel out my interest in running for the Senate."
"The U.S. Senate? Would you want that?"
He shrugged, at least feigning nonchalance. "It's something to think about. I'll be termed out next year in the Assembly. I'm going to want to do something. I don't know, it might be fun. We'll see. It's a long way off. Anyway," he continued, "when the meeting broke up, I got to wondering how things had gone after you talked with Stuart. Since I was so close to you up here, I took a chance and drove by and saw the light on and thought you might be up."
"I'm surprised you knew I still lived here."
He shrugged, smiled. "Tell you the truth, I wasn't a hundred percent sure until I saw your name in the mail slot. But I don't think I could have imagined you anywhere else. The place looks great, by the way. Terrific furniture. Cool art. I don't even remember the bar."
"That's because it wasn't here the last time you were. I remodeled about ten years ago, then added some stuff for David, even though we spent most of our time together at his place."
"Well, you always had great taste. It's beautiful." He raised his glass, toasted her and drank a sip. "So," he said. "Stuart. How'd it go?"
Relieved to turn away from the personal stuff about herself, Gina took a sip of the scotch. She felt herself begin to relax. "Finally, okay. It took the phone call, then a trip down to San Mateo and a lot of convincing, but he's coming in and giving himself up tomorrow, ten o'clock. Very reluctantly, I might add. But he'll show."
"You must have been persuasive as hell. When I talked to him, he wasn't spending any time in jail, period."
"Well, he's not that much better, but I got him to go along."
"How'd you do that?"
Gina smiled. "My usual. Equal parts charm, guile and threats. I made him an offer he couldn't refuse."