Kitabı oku: «The Christmas Present», sayfa 3

CHAPTER THREE

THE QUESTIONS WENT ON forever, until Diego’s eyes were drooping with exhaustion and even Rafael felt as if he’d been put through the emotional wringer. The only one who looked no worse for wear was Vivian, whose voice was as calm and compassionate now as it had been when she’d started questioning Diego two hours before.

As Diego went over details of his relationship with Esme for the second time, Rafael let his mind wander for a minute. Then was brought back to the present with a jolt as Vivian started gathering up the copious notes she’d taken.

“I think that’s all for tonight,” she said as she slipped the papers into her briefcase. “But I’d like to meet again in a couple of days, after I’ve had a chance to research some things.”

“Sure.” Diego stood, wiping his palms on his jeans before extending a hand to her. “Thanks, Ms. Wentworth.”

“You’re welcome, Diego. But we’re just getting started—there’s a long road ahead of us.”

“Yeah, but you’re the first person, besides Rafa, to really listen to what I had to say about everything. I really appreciate that.”

Vivian smiled, and Rafael was struck again by her sincerity. Though he hated to admit it, he might have been wrong about her. Maybe this was more than just a toss-off pro bono case to her. Maybe—

He cut his thoughts off with a grimace. It was early days yet and there was a lot to do before Diego even had a chance of getting out of trouble. Yet Rafael couldn’t help looking at Vivian differently as he escorted her downstairs.

“Where’s your car parked?” he asked, his voice rusty from hours of disuse as he’d sat back and let Vivian do her thing.

“I took BART.”

“Are you telling me you walked all the way from the BART station in this neighborhood? I thought you’d just parked on the next block or something. Are you crazy?”

As soon as the words slipped out he wanted to take them back. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because her back turned as stiff and unyielding as a fireplace poker. But damn it, was she insane? She was lucky Nacho and his gang were the only trouble she’d run into.

“No, Mr. Cardoza, I am not crazy. I was however, running late and didn’t have time to go home for my car. As I take BART to work every day, I was stuck with that option to get here. Believe me, I wouldn’t have been wandering the streets at dusk if I could have avoided it.”

Her explanation soothed him, despite it being delivered in the prissiest tone he’d ever heard. Or maybe because of it. Something about her cultured tones and incredible composure got to him—not to mention that fantastically crooked mouth with its too-full upper lip. Made him wonder what she’d sound like if he mussed her up a little bit…or a lot.

“Do you mind if I wait here for a cab?” she asked in a voice that suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d asked him the question.

He shook his head to clear it, then watched her root around in her briefcase for her cell phone. “You’ll be waiting all night. You won’t catch a cabbie within three miles of this place once the sun goes down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” He paused, then did what he’d known he was going to do all along. “I’ll drive you home.”

Her eyes darted to his. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do, and we both know it. So can the obligatory protests and let’s go.” He headed toward the back of the shelter, and the alley where he kept his bike, without waiting to see if she followed. It wasn’t as if she had any other option.

A quick stop by his office yielded an extra helmet, and then he was pushing the back door open. The cold December air rushed by him, making him shiver despite his leather jacket.

He glanced behind him. If he was cold, Vivian must be freezing in her thin suit. “Here,” he said, as he shrugged out of his jacket. “Put this on.”

She eyed the jacket uncertainly for a moment, then reached for it and slipped it around her shoulders. “Thanks. I appreciate it…. Where’s your car?”

He laughed, then nodded to the motorcycle parked a few feet away. “We’re not taking a car.”

“No car? But…” He watched her closely, taking perverse pleasure in the shock—and discomfort—that flitted across her face as she noticed the motorcycle for the first time. “We’re not riding that, are we?”

“Sure we are. Now take the helmet.” To her credit, she did as he told her. He chose to ignore the fact that it was probably due to her surprise rather than any desire to actually get along with him.

“Are you sure—” Her voice broke and she had to start again. “Are you sure this is the only way to get me home? I mean—”

He laughed, then swung his leg over his prize Harley. “Relax. It’s a million times easier than riding a bicycle.” When she still didn’t move, he glanced at her impatiently. “Get on.”

She just stared at him—and the bike—warily. But then the wind picked up, blowing hard between the buildings and making her shiver all over again.

“Just swing your leg over the seat like I did,” he said.

“Um, sure. But…”

“But what?” He fought to keep the impatience out of his voice, but he was cold, tired and more than a little hungry, since he’d skipped both lunch and dinner to deal with center business. He knew his annoyance had leaked through when she stiffened.

“What do I do with my briefcase?” She held up the brown leather bag she was carrying.

“I’ll take care of it.” He grabbed it and started to shove it into the saddlebag of his bike, shocked at just how soft and supple the leather was. The thing had probably cost thousands of dollars—just one more thing to underscore the differences between them.

Not that he should care about those differences. Not that he did care about them, he told himself. He finished buckling the saddlebag and said, “Now climb on.”

Muttering beneath her breath—too low for him to hear what she was saying, which was probably a good thing—Vivian did as she was told. It wasn’t fast and it wasn’t pretty, but eventually she managed to get herself situated behind him. He was proud of himself for not laughing.

“Now hang on,” he said, as he started the bike.

“To what?” she yelled over the sudden roar of the engine.

He did laugh then as he glanced behind him in disbelief. “To me!”

It was the last thing he said before he slipped the bike onto Ellis and sent it roaring into the night.

VIVIAN TIGHTENED HER ARMS around Rafael’s waist and tried not to scream as they sped through the nearly empty streets. It wasn’t easy, when every shift and shimmy of the bike had panic racing through her.

When Rafael laughed as he careened around a corner, barely slowing the motorcycle down, she knew with absolute certainty that she had indeed gone crazy. Why else would she have her arms wrapped around a man who despised her as they barreled through the night toward certain death?

Except it wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d expected it to be. The smooth purr of the engine was kind of exciting, especially if she didn’t think about being completely unprotected in case of a crash. If she just focused on the wind whipping past her and the soft sway of their bodies as they rode through the night, it was almost relaxing. Even before she added in the strong, resilient warmth of Rafael’s back, which she was currently pressed against intimately.

It was amazing that a man with such a nasty disposition could have such a comforting way about him. She’d noticed it first when he’d saved her from Nacho and his friends, and then when he was calming down Diego. Now here it was again as they were pressed breast to back, inner thigh to hip.

He was like a furnace, the heat his body emanated absolutely amazing, especially since he didn’t have a jacket on. Yet somehow he managed to keep her warm throughout the wild ride, so warm that when they finally arrived at her apartment complex and she climbed off the bike, she somehow felt bereft without the contact.

It was stupid, ridiculous, yet something about being wrapped around Rafael had made her feel safer than she’d felt in a long time. Shocked and more than a little frightened of the feeling, she found her voice came out more abruptly than she would have liked.

“Thanks for the ride. And the rescue earlier. I appreciate it.” She took off the helmet and held it out to him.

He didn’t reach for it right away, instead choosing to pull his own helmet off and study her. His eyes gleamed black in the rosy glow of the streetlight, and for one long moment she was trapped. Caught. Unable to move or think or do anything but feel as his eyes swept leisurely over her from head to toe.

Her heart started to pound and her knees trembled—actually trembled—under the weight of his gaze. It was that small shake that jump-started her brain and had her backing away from him as panic skated down her spine.

She didn’t need this, didn’t want this—with any man. Certainly not with a man who despised her very existence.

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was low and gruff. “But bring your car when you come on Thursday. You can park around back where I keep my bike. It should be safe there.”

“Sure.” She looked over his shoulder, then down at the ground, anywhere but into those black-magic eyes that were somehow holding her in thrall. “Um, same time? Seven o’clock? That way, even if court runs late, I won’t be.”

“Sure. And, Vivian?” He paused and silence stretched between them, so long and tense that finally she had to look up. As their gazes collided, she realized it was what he’d been waiting for. “Thanks for helping Diego.”

Shock almost had her jaw dropping before she caught it. “I thought—”

His smile, when it came, was rueful. “I was wrong. I thought you were there to go through the motions, that you really didn’t care—”

“Of course I care!” The words burst from her. “Do you think I want to see that poor child go to jail for the rest of his life? For a crime he didn’t commit?”

“I know, I know.” Rafael held out a hand as if to soothe her, but stopped just short of touching her. Yet she could still feel him, though she didn’t know how. Or why. “That’s why I wanted to apologize. I really appreciate what you’re trying to do for him. We both do.”

She shook her head. “Don’t thank me. It’s my job.” She took off his jacket, surprised at how much she wanted to keep it, then pressed it into his hands.

He took it reluctantly, shoved it into his saddlebag after he’d returned her briefcase to her. Then he pinned her with a look so fierce her heart jumped in her chest.

“I don’t think so.” He pulled his helmet back over his head. “I think it’s you.”

He started the bike and roared away before she could come up with a suitable reply.

Head swimming, feet aching, Vivian stumbled into the lobby of her apartment building. Michael, the doorman, greeted her with a smile she returned. He rushed to call the elevator for her, as he always did when she came in late.

She rode up to the penthouse condominium her parents had bought her when she’d graduated from Harvard Law, summa cum laude. It had been a bribe to get her to come back to San Francisco, and one she hadn’t been able to resist, despite the numerous job offers she’d received from a variety of New York and Washington firms.

But San Francisco, with its turbulent ocean and temperamental weather, was home.

The second her apartment door closed behind her, she kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief. She had an addiction to expensive, high-heeled shoes, and normally her feet handled her little problem just fine. But after eighteen hours in the four-inch heels, even her steel arches were weeping.

Shrugging out of her suit jacket, she dropped it on the kitchen table on her way to the refrigerator. A little spurt of guilt raised its ugly head, but she shoved it down. The house didn’t need to be spotless all the time, no matter what her mother said; Vivian could hang the jacket up tomorrow.

Right now it was—she glanced at the clock in the breakfast nook—almost eleven-thirty and the turkey sandwich she’d gulped down for lunch between court sessions had long since worn off. She wanted a quick snack and about eight hours stretched out on her very comfortable bed. But tomorrow was Tuesday, and one of the two mornings a week she spent volunteering at a battered women’s shelter. She could cancel and try to get some extra sleep, but everything inside her rebelled at the thought.

They needed her. When she’d finally become an adult, she’d sworn she’d never turn her back on someone who needed her. Like Diego. That boy—

The phone rang, interrupting her train of thought, as she was haphazardly slapping a couple pieces of cheese between two slices of bread. She started to reach for it, but just didn’t have the energy to deal with anything else tonight, no matter how irresponsible that made her.

When the answering machine finally kicked on and her mother’s voice flooded the room, she was glad exhaustion had won out over conscience.

“Vivian, this is your mother. Are you really not there? It’s eleven o’clock. If you’re out, I hope it’s on a date and not with one of those women for the shelter. You know, the Winchester boy has been asking about you and I told him you were available. I think he might be calling, so be nice when he does. The Black-and-White Ball is coming up fast and I mentioned that you didn’t have an escort yet. Remember, I helped organize it again this year so I expect you to be there. No excuses.

“Also, I was calling to see if you had time to go Christmas shopping next Tuesday. I thought we’d make a day of it—brunch, shopping, maybe an afternoon at the spa. Your nails were looking so ragged the last time I saw you, and your hair could certainly use a little pick-me-up. And don’t give me any nonsense about work—I don’t think you’ve taken a day off in two years. Call me and let me know what time you would like to meet on Tuesday. I’ll be home tomorrow until eleven.”

The answering machine clicked off abruptly.

Vivian carried her sandwich into the family room, but instead of sinking onto the nearest available space, she went to stand near the long picture window that overlooked the nearly infinite Pacific.

Nothing like her mother to put things in perspective. Forget the women’s shelter—you should be on a date. Forget helping others—we should go shopping.

Shopping was her mom’s answer to everything, and it always had been. Bad day at school—let’s go to the mall. Break up with a boy—a new dress is just what you need. Your sister died—Nordstrom’s is having a sale. Let’s go.

Vivian fought the old bitterness that crept up, hating the way her mother could so easily cut her off at the knees. She reminded herself that her mother felt things in her own way, and that criticizing her daughter was how the woman showed her love. Dwelling on how Vivian wished things were different wasn’t going to do anything, Lillian Wentworth would always be exactly what she was.

Dispassionate, formal, unwilling to show emotion, which was exactly what she’d raised her daughters to be. Thank God the lessons hadn’t rubbed off, at least not on Vivian.

Still, her skin felt too small for her body, as it often did after she’d heard from her mother. Her stomach—which had just started to relax—was in even tighter knots than it had been on the back of Rafael’s motorcycle. But then, Lillian was good at getting Vivian all worked up, good at making her feel vulnerable and inferior and disappointing.

Sometimes she wondered if her mother had been taught her passive-aggressiveness at Vassar along with all the core subjects. So many of her friends had the same ability….

As she crossed to the sofa, Vivian took a bite of her sandwich, but it tasted like sawdust now. Shoving it away, she draped her legs with the violet afghan one of her pro bono clients had made her. Then reminded herself of how much luckier she was than Diego or Marco, or any of the other kids she’d seen at Helping Hands earlier that night. She had a home, a career she loved, a family who had provided for her materially, if not emotionally.

The fact that she had spent her life wanting more just proved how selfish she was. And how lonely.

CHAPTER FOUR

“HEY, ARE YOU GETTING OLD, mi hermano? You’re playing like you’ve got arthritis.”

Rafael flipped his oldest brother, Miguel, the bird before backing up just enough to send the ball soaring into the basket for three points.

“Hey, look at the tall guy taking advantage.” This came from Jose, his teammate and best friend. After everything that had happened to Rafael, it probably should have felt weird to have a cop as a best friend, but they’d been buddies since they were in elementary school together.

Besides, Jose was cool like that—he’d hung by Rafa during his time in prison, despite the crap he’d caught from other members of the force.

“That’s right.” With a grin, he watched Jose intercept the ball, then cruised down the court for the pass. Jose didn’t disappoint, and as soon as Rafa had the ball in his hands, he blew around the opposite team—composed of his two older brothers—and slam-dunked the hell out of it.

Jose whooped. “That was game point, my man!” He looked at Rafa’s middle brother, Gabriel. “You owe us twenty bucks, Papi.”

“I thought gambling was illegal,” Gabe grumbled good-naturedly as he reached into the back pocket of his shorts and pulled out a ten. “Go hit Miguel up for the other half.”

“You know I will!” Jose danced away, talking shit and blowing smoke like he did every time they won. Or lost.

“So, Mama wants to see you.” Gabriel glanced at Rafa, then took a large gulp from his water bottle.

“What else is new? Is there anything specific or is it just time for another ‘you’re my youngest child and I won’t be happy until you settle down’ lecture?”

“I’m sure there’ll be a little of that in there, too.” He smiled when Rafael cursed. “But I think she wants your help planning a surprise party for Miguel.” He nodded at their brother, who currently had Jose in a headlock.

“Seriously? She really wants something to whine about other than how empty her arms feel without my baby in them?”

“I think so, man.”

“Why me? Aren’t the girls the ones who she usually gets to help with stuff like this?”

“Yeah, but Carolina’s a little busy with baby number three right now, and Michaela’s still recovering from pneumonia.” He stepped back and looked his youngest brother over. “Besides, freak boy, you won’t even need a ladder. That’s what you get for growing so big.”

Rafael grabbed a towel to wipe his face, decided to accept defeat gracefully. Maybe if he brought his mama flowers and kept her busy, she wouldn’t remember to nag him about being the only one of her children who was terminally single.

Yeah, right. His mother wouldn’t let a little thing like death stop her from hassling him—why should a bouquet of flowers do the trick? Still, Rafa thought as he drained a water bottle in one long gulp, it was worth a try.

“All right. I’ll call her.”

“You’re a good man.” Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder. “So, winners buy lunch, right? Because I’m starving.”

This time it was Jose who flipped him the bird, having extracted his head from under Miguel’s arm.

“Well, come on then, I’ve got to be back at work in half an hour and I’m hungry, too.” Miguel picked up his bag from the side of the court and headed into the center.

A few minutes later they were all seated at Manuel’s, Rafa’s favorite hole-in-the-wall taco shop, shoveling carne asada burritos into their mouths. Rafa had already blown through his first when he noticed Nacho standing at the corner with an unfamiliar white boy.

“Hey, Jose. Did you get a chance to talk to Nacho about what he pulled the other night?”

Jose followed his gaze. “Absolutely. My partner and I went by and read him the riot act. Hopefully, it’ll be enough.”

Rafa cut his eyes to his best friend. “You don’t think so?”

“No, man. That kid’s a walking time bomb.”

“That’s what I think, too.”

“Who’s he with?” Miguel nodded at the prepped-out white kid. In his chinos and fancy sweater, he stuck out like Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. “Is he one of your kids, Rafa?”

“No, but he seems familiar.” He continued to watch him, wondering what the kid was doing in this neighborhood—and with Nacho. “That doesn’t look good, though.” He turned to Jose.

“I know. But I can’t see Nacho buying any of his customers lunch.”

“He’s dealing?” This from Gabriel.

“That’s what I hear.”

Rafael cursed. “You know that’s not a good thing. The kid’s already an amoral ass. I can’t wait to see what a few months as a dealer turns him into.”

“I think it’s too late to worry about that.” Jose took another big bite.

“I know. But still…” Rafa ran a hand over his eyes. You can’t save them all, he reminded himself. Especially the ones who aren’t interested in salvation. It grated that a teenager was going bad in front of his eyes. He still remembered Nacho as a little kid. He’d been skinny and mean even then, but there’d been something endearing about him, anyway. Now he was just plain mean.

Regardless, Rafa couldn’t help wondering if the rest was still there, too, just buried beneath the crap. On his way out of the restaurant, he stopped by the table. “Hey, Nacho. Who’s your friend?”

“Screw you, Rafael.”

“Thanks, but you’re not my type.” He held out his hand to the other kid, who shook it, but then looked as if he wanted to swim in a vat of hand sanitizer.

Rafa didn’t get what these two were doing together, but he’d bet the twenty in his wallet that it had something to do with the drugs Jose had been talking about. “We’re having a barbecue at the center this weekend. You guys should drop by.”

“Yeah, ’cause that’s going to happen,” Nacho sneered.

“Too busy picking on defenseless women to make time for a hamburger, huh?”

“Too busy avoiding pendejos like you.”

“Well, that’s your prerogative.” He looked at the preppy kid. “Nice to meet you…?’

“Thomas.”

“Thomas,” he repeated. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe.”

As Rafael hustled to catch up with the rest of the guys, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen the new kid before. Anymore than he could ignore how uncomfortable that knowledge made him.

“THANKS SO MUCH FOR seeing me today.” Vivian extended her hand to each homicide detective in turn. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“Same here.” Detective Anthony Barnes nodded to her, a lock of his too-long, sand-colored hair falling over his baby face as he did so. He looked younger than Diego, and the idea that this guy had arrested her client for murder threw her for a major loop.

“You want some coffee?” demanded Daniel Turner, the other detective, even as he raised a hand to signal the waitress.

“That’d be great,” she said, though she’d already had an entire pot of the stuff that morning. But she didn’t want to seem prickly, especially since these two had been nice enough to meet with her when other detectives would have turned up their noses.

She smiled at Turner, and was glad to see that he, at least, looked like her idea of a homicide detective. A little overweight, a little rumpled, with lines in his face that showed every one of his forty-odd years, he seemed like he’d been doing this job for a long time.

“Thanks again for meeting me,” she said, in an effort to keep everything cordial. “I know how busy you are.”

“That’s okay.” Turner shrugged. “We wanted to get a look at the woman who was defending that piece of scum, anyway.”

Maybe he’d been on the job too long, Vivian thought, as sheer strength of will kept a pleasant expression on her face. “So, you’re really convinced Diego did it?”

“We’re not in the habit of arresting people for murder if we think they’re innocent.” The detective’s voice was deliberately bland.

“Of course. I wasn’t trying to imply that you did. It’s just that after reviewing the case, so much of the evidence seems circumstantial to me.”

“Enough circumstance adds up—if you know what I’m saying.”

“I do. But still, why Diego? I know you always look at the boyfriend or husband first, but sometimes he isn’t the killer.”

“Most of the time he is.” Turner reached for one of the little packets of half-and-half and ripped it open. “In this case, Sanchez is definitely it. He’s practically got a scarlet A branded into his chest.”

“Why? Witnesses say they saw him drop the victim off at her house at least a couple hours before she was murdered.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t circle back,” Barnes interjected. She glanced at him and was surprised at how uncomfortable he looked, as if he’d rather be anywhere but in this crappy little coffee shop.

Deciding to push him, she replied, “It doesn’t mean he did, either. It seems to me he really loved that girl.”

“Yeah, well, appearances are deceiving. If you learn nothing else in this foray of yours into criminal court, learn that,” Turner said, before Barnes could speak.

“Oh, I think that’s a lesson I’ve already learned.” Vivian smiled sweetly at him as she let her eyes run over him from head to toe.

He flushed. “Good. Because no one else had motive, means and opportunity.” He tore open two packets of sugar and dumped them into his coffee, then took a huge swig without bothering to stir it.

“Means?” she asked as she went over the file in her head for what felt like the millionth time. “I didn’t see anything in the case file about you finding the murder weapon.”

“I don’t need a weapon. That kid was popped for carrying a knife before he was twelve years old. He definitely knows his way around a switchblade.”

“Yes, but the case was dismissed as self-defense. Besides—”

“Self-defense, my ass. Is that what he called murdering his unborn kid?” Turner snorted, then shook his head as he repeated, “Self-defense.”

“Besides,” she said again, “Diego hasn’t been in any trouble since then—no fights, no problems at school, no drugs. His school counselor seems to think he’s had a pretty rough time of it.”

“Yeah, well, the vic sure as hell didn’t have an easy time of it either. Pregnant at sixteen, living with two of the scummiest dealers in—” He stopped abruptly, but it was too late and he seemed to know it.

Vivian was careful to keep a neutral expression as she seized on the opportunity Turner had inadvertently provided.

“So, you do know Esme’s brothers deal drugs?” She made sure to direct the question to both detectives, then watched as Turner’s face turned beet-red. But his reaction wasn’t nearly as interesting as Barnes’s was. The young detective started drumming on the table with the same nervous energy Diego had displayed when she was questioning him a few nights before.

Trying to capitalize on his obvious discomfort, she leaned forward and asked softly, “Why didn’t you at least look at the brothers—or their rivals—when Esme turned up dead, Anthony?”

“We did.” Once again it was Turner who answered. “There was nothing there.”

“Nothing there? They’re gang members and drug dealers, and both have been in and out of the system for years. How can there be nothing there?”

“Because they didn’t kill her!”

“Maybe, but what about other gangs? Other dealers? I hear there’s always a turf war going on in this neighborhood.”

“What do you know about this neighborhood?” Turner didn’t bother to hide his contempt. “You’re over here doing your little pro bono case, and as soon as it’s done you’ll run as far and as fast as you can back to where you belong.”

“Where I’m from is not the issue here.”

“Well, it should be. You do-gooders are all alike. You come over here thinking you can save some kid who doesn’t deserve to be saved. Maybe you save him, maybe you don’t, but either way you make life ten times harder for the victim’s family while you’re doing it. And then you just walk away.”

“What about arresting an innocent man?” she asked quietly. “How does that affect the victim’s family?”

Turner’s face went from red to purple, and for a second Vivian feared he might be having a stroke, but when he spoke, his voice was steady and poisonous. “I wouldn’t know. Your client did it and he’s going down for it. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get a needle in the arm by the time the D.A.’s done with him. Killing a pregnant woman counts as special circumstances.”

“Yes, well, the judge didn’t think that scenario was very likely. Otherwise Diego never would have had a chance to make bail.” She gave as good as she got, refusing to back down.

“Look, lady, we’ve got motive, means and opportunity. That’s a slam dunk.”

“Really? Because when I was looking through the file, it seemed to me that you had nothing. What’s the motive again?”

“He didn’t want the baby. According to Esme’s friends and brothers, Diego was getting cold feet.”

“These are the same brothers that we’ve already established deal drugs?” she asked. “The ones with the shady rivals?”

“That doesn’t make them liars.”

“No, but it doesn’t make them paragons of reliability, either. What else have you got?”

“He could come and go any time from Esme’s place—that’s opportunity.”

“Yeah, but nobody saw him there and he has an alibi.”

“Somebody did see him—the woman who lives across the street—and his alibi’s shaky.”

“So’s your evidence, but you don’t see me whining about that, do you? Your witness is a ninety-three-year old Chinese woman with cataracts. If I paraded Santa Claus in front of her, she’d finger him as the killer.”

“But she didn’t finger Santa Claus, did she? She fingered your client.”

“Because he was the only Mexican in the lineup. I can’t wait to see what a judge has to say about that.”