Билл Пронзини - In an Evil Time

“Utah may not work out either.”

“No?”

“April’s relatives have a limited amount of space. They live in a mobile home park.”

“So they wouldn’t be willing to put you up for a while?”

“They might be. April isn’t sure.”

“When will you know?”

“As soon as she talks to them. If the answer is no...”

“You can still stay right here.”

“Daddy...”

“Okay, forget I said that. Where in Utah?”

“I’d rather not say. Even if I go there, it’s better if you and Mom don’t know exactly where we are.”

He needed to go to the toilet again; he stayed where he was, crossing his legs. “Your brother’s driving up for the weekend,” he said. “To see you, mainly.”

That put a smile on her mouth. Such a radiant smile she had, like her mother’s; when the two of them were happy and laughing, they lit up a room. “When’s he coming?”

“He’ll be here tomorrow around dinnertime.”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve all been together. I just wish... well...”

“I know,” he said. Then he said, “You may as well know that Eric’s not the only one who wants to see you. I found your first ex hanging around when I got home this afternoon.”

“Ryan? Oh God, he’s here ?”

“Why didn’t you tell us he was coming?”

“I didn’t expect him this soon... I thought we’d be gone before he showed up. You didn’t say that I’m taking Kenny away?”

“No. It’s none of his business, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I wanted to tell him, but I was afraid to.”

“Why? He wouldn’t try to stop you?”

“I don’t know, he might. He wants to be a father to Kenny again, be part of his life.”

“So he kept telling me. That, and how much he’s changed. I don’t believe it.”

“I think he has, Dad. I hope he has. It’s not good for Kenny to grow up without a father, his real father.”

“You don’t have to see him or let him see the boy before you leave.”

“But I should, now that he’s here. He has a right to.”

“Does he? After all this time? Kenny barely remembers him.”

Angela gnawed her lower lip. “Where’s he staying, did he say? With Rhona?”

“... Yes.”

“Is he going to call or stop by again?”

“One or the other, I suppose.”

“You weren’t... nasty to him, were you? I mean—”

“We had words. What did you expect?”

“I’d better go call April,” she said. She got up and left the room so quickly he wondered, frowning, if it were Pierce she was hurrying to call instead.

Thursday Evening

Alone with Cassie, Hollis said, “You see the look on Angela’s face after she talked to Pierce? If I didn’t know better, I’d think she still has feelings for him.”

“You don’t know better. She’s still in love with Ryan.”

“Are you serious? After all this time and the way he behaved?”

“Nobody’s rational where love is concerned, you know that. Angela least of all.”

“For Christ’s sake. How long have you known about this?”

“All along.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t see any reason to. He left town and then she married Rakubian on the rebound.”

“You don’t suppose she’d...”

“What? Start up with Ryan again?”

“He hurt her once. He’d do it again.”

“He’s not a kid anymore, and neither is she.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“If Rakubian stops being a threat,” Cassie said, “she might turn to Ryan, yes. Depending on whether he really has changed as much as he claims, and if she were sure enough of him and his feelings for her and Kenny. She’d say it was for the boy’s sake, but it’d be just as much for her own.”

As though he didn’t have enough to worry about as it was...

Friday Morning

Rakubian’s law offices were on Harrison Street in South Beach, a warehouse district off the Embarcadero when San Francisco was still a viable port city, now a gentrified mix of upscale restaurants and clubs, small businesses, professional offices, expensive condos and lofts. The old three-story structure had been born as a ship chandlery, spent decades of service as a storage warehouse, and in the early eighties been converted and face-lifted into an office building. The architects hadn’t done much of a job on the design; conventional was the kindest word for its facade. The same was true of many of the other buildings in the area, in Hollis’s professional opinion.

His watch read eight minutes past nine when he turned onto Harrison. Commute traffic had been heavier than usual this morning, in the city as well as on the way down; the hopes he’d had of getting here before Rakubian, approaching him on the street instead of having to do his talking inside, were long gone. The bugger was obsessively punctual; he would already be at his desk, unless he had an early court appearance scheduled.

At this hour there was still street parking in the vicinity. Hollis jockeyed the Lexus into a space, sat there for a time after he shut off the engine. He’d gone over what he would say to Rakubian a dozen times last night and this morning; he went over it yet again. Ticklish part of the plan. If he didn’t handle this just right, the rest of it was worthless.

He wished there was a safer way to brace Rakubian. On the street would have been best; he cursed himself for not leaving home earlier than he had. Walking into those offices again, after his half-out-of-control tirade weeks ago, was a calculated risk. It might work in his favor if he made the right impression on the secretary and paralegal this time, but it would still call attention to himself.

No other way now. Phoning him here or at home was a fool’s gambit; for all he knew Rakubian recorded every one of his incoming calls — it would be right in character — and he couldn’t afford to chance having anything he said preserved on tape. If he went to St. Francis Wood tonight, he had no guarantee Rakubian would be home; and he did not want to risk being seen in the neighborhood again if he could avoid it.

Quit stalling, he told himself. There’s risk in everything you do from now on.

Out of the car, dodge through traffic, enter the building. Elevator to the top floor. A couple of deep breaths at the door marked David Rakubian, Attorney-at-Law, then walk in with his shoulders a little rounded, his face carefully arranged to project both reluctance and restraint.

The suite was small — anteroom, two offices, supply and copy room — and designed to reflect businesslike competence. Muted colors, minimum of furnishings and decoration, no frills of any kind. The anteroom was empty except for the attractive young secretary, Janet Yee, seated at her desk. The door to Rakubian’s office was closed; the other office door stood partway open, giving Hollis a glimpse of hawk-faced Valerie Burke at her desk as he came forward.

The Chinese woman’s professional smile froze when she recognized him, then melted into an uneasy frown. “Oh,” she said. “Mr., um, Hollis.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to make another scene. I need to see Mr. Rakubian if he’s in.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, his calendar is full this morning—”

“If he’s in, please tell him I’m here and that it’s important I talk to him. Very important.”

“More accusations and threats, Mr. Hollis?”

He turned his head. The paralegal was standing now in the doorway to her office — a thin, homely brunette in a mannish suit, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses radiating disapproval.