something he often asked Frank to 'help'. And she had to admit, she'd spoiled him because she usually did; it was easier to take the case from the beginning than clean up his mess later.
'Franco,' she answered.
'Hi. It's Gail. I didn't wake you up, did I?'
'Nope. I was just sitting here thinking about Luis Estrella's lab results.'
'Well, Santa's heard you've been a good girl and he wants to give you an early Christmas present. Is it too late to drop it off?'
'Damn. Santa's working overtime,' Frank smiled into the phone. 'Come on over.'
When Gail arrived, Frank got her a beer, asking what she was doing out so late.
'It's Tuesday,' Gail made a face. 'Rounds until ten. Here. Before I forget and you yell at me again,' she said, handing Frank another envelope.
'I didn't yell at you,' Frank objected.
'Yes, you did,' Gail sulked. 'And here I was just trying to be nice. I'm wondering if Santa got his information mixed up about you.'
Frank grinned, 'Who's the one that took you to Santa Barbara and bought you that great lunch?'
'Well, that's true.'
Frank fished out lab results for a beating death the nine-three caught had caught a couple weeks ago.
'I like this personal service,' she noted, scanning the data. Gail was propped against the table sipping her Corona.
'How'd you get that scar?' she asked, giving Frank's knee a nod.
'Old football injury,' Frank murmured.
'I'm serious.'
'So am I. I was playing with my cousins and I fell on a broken bottle.'
'Ouch. How about that one?' she asked, leaning to swipe a finger over a jagged line on Frank's forearm.
'That one ...' Frank said, trying to analyze a 2x4 pattern on the victim's cheek, 'came from a chain link fence. I was chasing a punk and when I hit the fence I impaled myself on a busted link, I didn't realize it, so I ripped half my arm off when I went over.'
'How many stitches?'
'I don't remember.'
'Do they bother you?'
'No. Can't feel a thing. They were both a long time ago.'
'No, I meant aesthetically.'
'Nah. Scars are like wrinkles; they're war wounds. I've earned every one of 'em.'
'That's a good attitude.'
Frank didn't look up when Gail volunteered, 'I've got a scar.'
'Oh, yeah?'
'Yeah. A mastectomy,' the doc said without a missing a beat. Frank lowered the report. She looked for a joke in Gail's face but didn't see it.
'Full or partial?'
'Full. My entire left breast.'
'When?'
'A little over two and a half years ago.'
'Been clean since?'
'Knock on wood,' Gail answered, rapping on the envelope.
'You can't tell,' Frank said.
The doc flashed a quick grin.
'I'm flattered you've looked.'
There was a weighted silence, in which Frank wasn't sure what to say. Gail finally admitted, 'I don't know why I told you. I've never told anyone outside my immediate family. I guess it's good to practice on a friend.'
'I'm glad you did.'
'Yeah,' Gail said, 'now you know better than to date me.'
'Think it makes you any less attractive?'
'I've rationalized in my head that it doesn't, but on the other hand I haven't had a date in two and a half years, so go figure. Anyway, I like what you said about a scar being a badge of honor.'
'Wear it proudly. Not every one gets the chance to.'
'You're right,' Gail said, setting her beer down. 'You have such a healthy perspective sometimes.'
Rolling her eyes, Frank said, 'Tell Clay that.'
'It's getting kind of late,' Gail said shoving off from the table. 'I've got to go in early and prep for testimony.'
'I won't keep you,' Frank stood. 'You shouldn't have come out of your way.'
'I don't consider you out of the way,' Gail tossed off, then suddenly she wheeled.
'Hey! Now this isn't fair. Here I've gone and shared my deepest, most intimate secret with you and
'Ahhh,' Frank said, 'Tit for tat, so to speak?'
'You're terrible,' Gail laughed, that sexy chuckle.
'This my price for such incredible personalized service from the coroner's office?'
Gail held her palm out.
'Pay up, sister.'
'Okay,' Frank gave in. 'Here goes. You have to understand that my mother was always into fads and cults. Whatever the latest trend was, she was into it. Rebirthing, Zen, EST, Christian Science — you name it, she tried it. My dad used to call it her faith-of-the-month club, and when she was carrying me, she was into Wicca. Thought she was a witch or something. It was pretty harmless. I mean, I don't remember her sacrificing goats in the living room or anything. Anyway, she got this idea in her head that a really great name, one that would confer a lot of power for a little girl, would be — are you ready?'
Gail nodded eagerly and Frank enunciated, 'Lu-ci-fe-ra An-ge-li-na.'
'No-oo,' Gail breathed.
'Yep. My dad had a fit. Tore up the birth certificate. Told my mother to give me a decent name. But she never did. That was the name she wanted. Even after the Wicca stuff faded. She was the only one who ever called me that.'
'Thank God,' Gail said, repeating the name. 'What a mouthful. Was your dad as trippy as your mom?'
They'd walked outside to Gail's car and Frank's soft smile was almost concealed by the modest city darkness.
'No. He was a rock. My mother was out there, but my dad held it all together. I think he wanted a boy, but he made do with me. Sometimes on Saturdays he'd take me on his route. He delivered bread, and sometimes we'd stop at a hotdog stand for lunch. He took me to Giants games when he could afford them. Took me with him to the bar almost every night. I'd sit next to him, drinking a Coke and eating peanuts. He and my uncle Al would be talking to their friends. Lots of politics, war stories, bullshit. My uncle was a cop and I loved his stories the best. Sometimes he'd tell a really gory one and one of the guys would say, 'For Christ's sake, Al, the kid.' My dad'd rough up my hair and put his arm around me. I loved the weight of it, so heavy and solid. It was like nothing bad could happen as long as he had his arm around me.'
Frank fell silent, thinking it would be a short slide from good memories to bad ones. But she felt Gail's eyes gently tugging her along.
'Look. You need to go home. Gotta look sharp in front of that jury tomorrow, right?'
'Right,' Gail smiled. She finally got in her car but before she closed the door, she said, 'Thanks for the beer. And for the pep talk.'
'Anytime.'
'Promise?' Gail asked.
'Promise.'
Back to back homicides at Figueroa were telling Frank what the weatherman hadn't, that summer had
