simply goes and talks to her and she denies it and not only is she on her guard because she knows she’s a possible suspect, but Juhle’s back at square one-”
“Not exactly. He could have found witnesses at that Noriega bar. Or after they found Jim, dead by this time, he could have gotten a warrant to look for the gun.”
“But once she knows they’re looking at her, she ditches it.”
“They’d eventually have gotten to her, Wyatt.”
“I’m not so sure. And in any event, it wouldn’t have been soon enough. All of his focus, and Russo’s, too, was on Alicia, you remember. At the very least they would have brought her downtown-even with you there lawyering her up-and put her through a very bad time. And she was our client. She was my first responsibility.”
“That’s another thing, Wyatt: How did she get to be your client?”
“Mickey brought her on. He committed us.”
“For how much retainer?”
“I know,” he said.
“So how weak is that?”
“Very. Admittedly. But it’s what I acted on. Which, in my defense, worked out okay.”
“I grant that. But what I’m trying to tell you is you didn’t have to take all those risks, to bring all of us together like that.”
“I did. I needed Alicia for Devin, Carter for Hess, you for Alicia. Ellen for Hess’s lie about seeing Alicia and Dominic doing it. Turner and the Sanchez couple for verisimilitude and to convince Hess it was a charity business meeting, me and Mickey for the party favors. I’d probably do the same thing again under the same conditions.”
“Which, luckily, are not likely to recur.” She tipped up her Scotch, set the glass down on the end table next to her, then got up and crossed the room, where she leaned down and kissed him. “I’d just like you to try to think about it. Is that asking so much?”
With a straight face, he held up his right hand. “I hereby promise to think about it.” He tapped the pages he still held in his lap. “These words have not been in vain.”
Still leaning over him, her arms on the arms of his chair, she looked him full in the face. “I believe I’ve mentioned,” she said, “how it worries me that you lie so easily.”
“I’m in therapy for it.” Hunt grinned. “Honest.”
Jim Parr, in an extremely drunken haze by the reed-lined water’s edge at Lake Merced, and thinking they had gotten themselves to this private place so he could get himself fellated by the still reasonably-hot-by-his-standards Lorraine Hess, had taken the. 22 brass-jacketed bullet point-blank in the chest. It had passed through his heavy peacoat, slowed down considerably, nicked his sternum, and been deflected down and slightly to the right, where it had missed a lung and lodged behind a front rib. It had not hit any of his major organs or, more importantly, any arteries.
Nevertheless, between the drink and the bullet, he had gone down like a dead man-enough to fool Hess, anyway-falling back into the muddy reeds, where he lay unmoving and progressively more comatose for the next twenty-eight hours until a police unit found him exactly where Hess had told Juhle he’d be. His pulse was a bare flicker, his body temperature ninety-two, and the paramedics had to resuscitate him twice in the ambulance when he flatlined on the way to the ER at the Kaiser Hospital on Masonic and Geary. His doctor said that his survival was a flat-out miracle, but offered his theory that the exposure and low body temperature had probably saved him. He didn’t even have a theory about how he survived the gunshot wound.
For the first few days, Tamara and Mickey had come in to visit him every day and night, but he remained in the ICU, basically unresponsive, and Mickey had stopped coming by at every opportunity, since he truly hated hospitals and Jim wouldn’t know he was there anyway. Tamara, though, wanted to be around for when her grandfather woke up, as she believed he would, and she visited whenever she could.
Now, Thursday, six days after Jim’s admittance, during the later evening visiting hours, Tamara was sitting by her grandfather’s bed a few blocks from their apartment, holding one of his cold hands in both of hers when he opened his eyes for the first time, saw her, squeezed her hand, and smiled feebly.
He started to say something, but could only manage a guttural gurgle.
“It’s okay, Jim,” Tamara whispered through her enthusiasm. “It’s Tam. You’re going to be okay.” He closed his eyes again for a moment and in that time Tamara pressed the call button by the head of the bed.
Almost immediately a nurse was next to her, checking his vitals, glancing with concern at the monitor.
“He’s awake,” Tamara said. “He just tried to talk to me.” And Jim opened his eyes again. “Maybe he could have some water?”
“Water’s always good,” the nurse said. She poured a glassful from the pitcher near his bed, put in a straw, and directed it to Jim’s mouth.
After swallowing two or three times, he lifted his head slightly and the straw came out. “Where are we?” he asked.
“Kaiser,” Tamara said. “You got shot? Do you remember?”
Shaking his head no, Jim closed his eyes again. His chest rose and fell under his blankets. When he opened his eyes again, Tamara thought she detected some vestigial sign of his old spark. “I thought she hit people on the head,” he said.
“You do remember.”
An infinitesimal nod. “Lorraine.”
“Right.”
He sighed. “Como and her.”
“Yep.”
“I thought I remembered that. But I didn’t want to say until I was sure.”
“You remembered right.”
“Mickey told me not to go. But I had to find out.”
“That’s all right. Don’t worry about that now.”
“He’s gonna bust my ass.”
“Probably.”
He paused to take a weary breath or two. “But a gun?”
“Her ex-husband’s. After the first two, she thought it would be cleaner.”
A small ripple of what might have been laughter, or at least ironic amusement, shook him. “And look at me. How do you like that?”
“A lot, Jim. I like it a lot.”
He closed his eyes as if savoring the moment. “So where is she now?”
“In jail.”
Again, he nodded. Closed his eyes.
“He’s tired,” the nurse said. “Maybe that’s enough for today.”
“Okay.” Tamara wasn’t going to push it. She squeezed his hand again and felt the small but definite response. His mouth creased upward marginally. She stood up and leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll bring in Mickey tomorrow,” she whispered. “Meanwhile, you keep getting better.”
She started to take her hand out from under his, but suddenly, he squeezed hard enough to hold her and opened his eyes one more time. “Tam?”
“Yeah?”
“You still eating?”
“Every day, Jim. Every day.”
“Good. Don’t stop that again.”
“I won’t.”
He patted her hand. “That’s my big favorite girl.” With a final small nod, he closed his eyes once again, and the pressure of his hand holding hers went away.
Watching him, she stood still long enough to see his chest rise and fall a few times, then pulled her hand out from under his and turned for the door.
