She picked up her menu. “And that’s the last I’m saying about work tonight.” “Fine by me.”
Our waitress came back, and we ordered. Mahi-mahi for Liz and swordfish for me.
Liz took another sip of her drink and reached across the table for my hand. “Are you going to tell me about your admirer or do I have to pry?”
Being with Liz lifted my spirits, but it couldn’t eliminate Darcy’s revelation from the previous day.
I squeezed her hand. “I was getting there.”
“Okay.”
I pulled my hand away and picked up my drink. “You ever run across a case involving a guy named Russell Simington?”
She made a face. “I recall the name. Something about killing illegals.”
I glanced at the window. Outside, the lights on the Coronado Bridge were bright against the darkening sky.
“From several years back, I think,” she said, swirling the light pink liquid in the glass after she took a sip. “We didn’t handle it, though. Riverside or El Centro did. Does that sound right?”
“It does.”
She set her glass down. “I assume you heard me say no more work talk tonight.”
I smiled at her. “I did.”
“Then I’ll also assume you have a pretty good reason for bringing this guy up.”
I stared into my drink, the ice melting slowly in the alcohol and sugar.
“I think Russell Simington is my father,” I said.
We sat there for a few minutes without speaking. Liz’s face told me she was working out what to say next. Our food arrived, and the waitress asked if we needed anything else. We both shook our heads.
“Will you explain it to me?” Liz finally asked.
I told her about my conversation with Darcy Gill, ignoring the twinge of guilt I felt for not opening up the same way to Carter. I told her about San Quentin and death row and everything else.
She stuck a fork in her food, then rested it on the plate, distracted. “I can check it out. If you want. See if she’s legit.”
I shook my head. “I think she’s telling the truth. But I’ll find out for myself.”
She nodded and picked up her fork.
We ate quietly for a few minutes. I knew I’d changed the course and tone of our evening, but I wanted to tell her. It was the kind of thing I would have kept from her in the past.
“He was a bad guy,” she said.
“Figured.”
“No, I mean
Her conviction was like a kick in the groin. “That’s the impression I got from this lawyer.”
She bunched up her napkin and laid it on the table next to her plate. “Are you gonna go?”
I leaned back in the chair. “I haven’t decided.”
She started to say something, then stopped.
“Say it,” I said. “Whatever you were just about to say.”
“I think it would be hard, Noah,” she said, softly. “Not that you shouldn’t do it, but I think it will be tough and you should be ready for that.”
“I know. Seeing this guy who’s done all these things,” I said. “And then realizing that I’m his son. I’m not sure what I get out of it or if I should even want anything out of it.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I think you should consider all those things. But I was looking at it a little differently.”
“What do you mean?”
The waitress came and cleared the table, and we passed on dessert.
Liz put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Let’s say you go and meet with him. You learning anything that might enable this woman to get him off death row is really unlikely. In California, once they punch your ticket for the chamber, it’s a done deal. He’s probably going to die regardless of what he may tell you.”
“I know that. And it sounds like he deserves to,” I said.
She shook her head and pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “You’re assuming that he’s going to be this awful person, this guy who matches the image you’ve created of him. What if he’s not like that at all?”
“I’m not following you.”
She stared at me, her blue eyes radiating concern. “What if you like him?”
Silverware clinked against plates and murmured conversation drifted in the air around us.
