Last Call

'Not much. Just quiet like.'

'Did you tell her to be quiet?'

'Yeah, you know, a little place like I got. Gots to be quiet. Don't want everyone hearin' your bidness.'

'If she was so quiet why'd you tape her mouth?'

'Well.' It's his first falter. 'To be on the safe side. I didn't want her screamin' or nothin' like that.'

'Did you tape her before the first time or after?'

Bailey recalls his timing. 'Before, I think.'

'You think?'

'Yeah, it was before. She had it on at the table, so it musta been before.'

'You sure?'

'Yeah, I'm sure. You know, I know what I done was wrong. I ain't saying it was right. But I didn't hurt her. I had to tape her 'cause I known it was wrong and if somebody'd a heard us, and found me with her with my pants down ... man, I'da been looking at statutory rape. I didn't want to get caught. I know I done a wrong thing. It wasn't right, but I just couldn't help myself. Had a lot on my mind, you know. A man's got needs.'

Frank leads him through the sequence again as he fills out his statement. He admits to duct-taping Ladeenia, but insists he never saw her brother. Frank doesn't push the point. She doesn't have to. Frank doesn't have the physical evidence to back her, but she at least has SID's lab reports and photographs of the evidence. The tear mark at the end of the strip around Trevor's left ankle matched the tear marks at the beginning of the strip around Ladeenia's mouth. Whoever taped Ladeenia used the same roll of tape on Trevor. And now Bailey's sworn to taping Ladeenia.

They drink 7-Ups and she helps him finish the statement. When the deputy comes to take Bailey back to his cell, Frank stops him. She stands conspiratorially close to Bailey.

'One more thing.'

'What's 'at?'

'What'd you do with her panties?'

'Ha, ha, ha.' Bailey laughs. 'Ain't nobody ever gonna know that.'

He laughs again and Frank smiles. The guard moves Bailey out.

'Dumb fuck,' she whispers to his laughing back. She's still amazed at what perps will tell a cop. With or without the panties, Bailey has nailed himself three ways to the cross.

In her car, in the free, hot, L.A. sunshine, Frank calls Queenie and tells her about the statement. That simply, after six years, the case is made.

Chapter 41

Going through the motions of a celebration, Frank barbecues a porterhouse and opens an equally rich and bloody zinfandel. She celebrates alone, in front of the TV. The steak is excellent and the wine better, but Frank is relieved when the phone rings. She hopes it's an ugly call-out.

'This is Franco,' she answers.

'Hi. It's Gail.'

Completely broadsided, Frank's breath gets stuck in her throat. 'Gail.' Frank tastes the novelty of the word in her mouth. 'What's up?'

'I heard you cleared the Pryce case. I just wanted to say congratulations.'

'News travels fast. How'd you hear?'

'I ran into Jill. She was picking up some evidence.'

Frank is dumbfounded, and Gail fills the silence.

'It must feel pretty good.'

'Yeah,' Frank agrees, thinking it should feel better than it does. She's noticing that the highs of homicide are lower, and so are the lows. The trip across the country that she'd promised herself flashes through her mind. And she knows she'll never take it.

She hears Gail say, 'I still have your key. I was wondering what you wanted me to do with it.'

My key, Frank is thinking. My key. Her brain has suddenly gone concrete.

'Yeah. Uh, just keep it. Toss it if you want. I don't need it back. You're not gonna pull a Play Misty on me, are you?'

'Not unless you've got Donna Mills hiding in your closet.'

'No chance of that.'

The silence waits for words.

'So how have you been?'

'All right.' Frank's tongue stumbles. 'I guess. Considering.'

'Considering what?'

Frank wants to say considering she's lost Gail. Noah. Nancy. Almost lost her job. Might still if she can't get a grip on her drinking. Considering her life is careening around like a .22 on bone. Considering that she feels like the top of her head is about to fly off if she doesn't hold it down tight enough.

What Frank does say is, 'Just stuff. You know. Work. Board of Review. All that.'

'Have you heard back from them yet?'

'No,' she answers, deftly redirecting the questioning. 'How about you? How are you doing?'

Gail takes her time with the answer and Frank dreads what's coming because it will probably be the truth.

'I wish things were different.'

'Yeah. I wish a lot of things were different.'

'Like what?'

'All of it, Gail. All of it.' Frank is torn between confessing her anguish and steeling herself against it. Habit wins and she forces a bland question. 'How's your mom doing?'

'She's fine.'

'And your sisters?'

'They're all fine. Everybody's fine.'

'Good.' Frank is nodding. 'That's good.' What else is there to say, except what she can't say? 'The cats?'

'They're okay. They miss you.'

'How do you know?'

'They told me.'

'Ah.' Frank's still nodding, the silence screaming between them. Even as she wants Gail to ask her back, she wonders if she could go. Nothing's changed. Frank knows she's digging her own grave and she just can't put the shovel down. So she does the graceful thing. 'So. Do what you want with the key. But thanks for asking.'

Gail doesn't answer and Frank summons the picture of Gail biting her lip and throwing her bob back the way she does when she's frustrated, snapping her neck and tossing the hair from her eyes. Those lovely emerald eyes.

When Gail says, 'Okay. I figured I should check,' Frank hears the tears in her voice. She closes her eyes. Regret, sorrow, longing— all the feelings she has no words for—hunker in her chest like stones, stones that weight her breath and entomb her courage.

Gail, she whispers in her head. Gail, Gail, Gail. Like a mantra. She wants to blurt how sorry she is. That she knows she's fucked this up. That it's all her fault. But then what? She'll change? She'll be better? Frank knows this isn't true and she loves Gail too much to lie to her.

She clears her throat. 'So, I guess I'll see you at work.'

'Yeah. I guess so.' Gail's voice is pinched against the tears. 'Take care of yourself, Frank.'

'Yeah, Doc. You too.'

Frank clings to the irrational hope that as long as they're both on the line maybe something will shift. Maybe a miracle will filter through the wire and they can work it out. But the phone dies in her hand. Frank finally hangs up when the busy signal turns to static.

Chapter 42

Six weeks have passed since Bailey was bound over on a double count of first-degree murder. The Queen