'I'm calling from the car. I'm at PCH and Beryl. I'll be home soon. I heard your name on the radio. Is everything all right?'
'I'm okay. Just hurry home.'
'Fifteen minutes,' he said. 'I'll cut it to ten.'
'Drive safely. I don't-'
Someone pounded on their front door. She walked over to look out the beveled-glass rectangle set in the center.
A man with a microphone gestured at her. Another man hefted a video camera on his shoulder. Behind them, a van pulled to a stop, its tires screeching and thumping to a halt.
'Ms. Dalton, could you step out here to comment-'
'Oh, God, Ron. They're showing up here!'
'Don't let them in!' shouted the tinny voice. Somewhere in the static she heard the whine of the BMW's turbine. 'I'm com-ing!'
She watched as more gangs of reporters, cameramen, and sound engineers trooped onto her front lawn. Curious neigh-bors gathered at the fringes. So much for Palos Verdes people not prying. Her stomach tightened and began to heave. She controlled the urge but ran to the bathroom anyway, slamming the door.
It was quiet in the bathroom. The knocking on the front door was almost imperceptible. She turned on the faucet in the sink to drown out the last of it. She sat, numbed, waiting for Ron to return. ' Ron hit the left turn from Palos Verdes Drive to Via Zumaya at nearly full speed, ignoring the oncoming northbound cars a few yards ahead. He punched the BMW to full power across the two lanes of traffic and slammed onto Via Zumaya at fifty miles per hour. He took his foot off the gas and downshifted for the turn onto Via Carrillo.
And nearly collided with the knot of vehicles jamming the tree-lined street. Brakes squealed in protest, but the antilock system prevented a skid. Even so, he bumped into a station wagon bearing the call letters of the radio station to which he had been listening.
He didn't give a damn.
He slammed the door and ran to the cluster of a dozen and more Pecksniffs loitering on his doorstep.
'Move it!' he shouted in his deepest, most authoritarian courtroom bass. 'Get your asses to the property line or be ar-rested for trespassing. Now!'
The reporters surrounded him, hollering their questions and shoving for position. Awash in a Sargasso of journalists, Czernek pushed toward the door while fumbling for his keys.
'I said no comment. When we're ready to talk, you'll know it. Get off the lawn and find some carrion to circle around.'
He unlocked the door, entered, and slammed it forcefully shut. 'Val!' He heard the water in the bathroom and ran toward it. 'Honey!' he shouted. She sat on the small French seat in front of her vanity, gaz-ing in the mirror. He knelt down to wrap her in his powerful arms. His hand stroked her soft hair, his voice even softer.
'I'm here now, babe. Everything's all right. I know just what to do. Give me a couple of hours at the word processor. I have to get something stamped at court before it closes.' He released her almost as quickly as he had embraced her. Seconds later, he sat in their office. Valerie heard the whine and chunk of the computer and knew that she would sit alone once more until he was finished. She gazed at her image in the vanity mirror. Her eyes, she noted, looked older, wearier, less alive than they ever had before. In a robotic daze, she brushed at her hair only to see that the polish on her long nails had grown dull and chipped over the course of the day. She laid down the brush. To the sounds of running water and Ron's feverish typing, she sat staring at the woman in the look-ing glass. ' Evelyn, alone, took a long, meditative lunch at CoCo's after the interrogation, mulling over the conversation she and Johnson had engaged in during the rush to her car.
'I saw you on TV,' he said, riding down the service elevator with her. 'I didn't know whether you already had an attorney, but I knew I had to give it a try. And I'd like to represent the Chandler's, too, if you and they won't see any conflict of inter-est there.'
'Are you a specialist in reproductive law?' She was fighting for her professional life, she thought, and here was a kid offer-ing his services.
'I will be by the time we go to trial.' The elevator doors parted. 'There's really nothing to being a lawyer except the ability to apply clear logic to muddled legislation. Add a good head for research and rhetorical skills and you've got a win-ning lawyer.'
'You need one more thing.'
