Perri O'Shaughnessy - Unfit to Practice

She was satisfied that the Vangs were safe and unthreatened. Her duty now was to give them their money and provide them that resource as they flailed around trying to solve their other family problems.

“Go on down to Palo Alto and turn that eagle eye to the campground case,” she said. “I’ll tear up the joint check and issue two separate checks, half and half, from my trust account, then have a courier deliver them to Mr. and Mrs. Vang separately on Monday. I just want more time to let things settle in my own mind. They’ll get their money. We can’t get involved any further. It’s already Thursday, so first day of business next week.”

“Good plan,” he said.

He knew she was delaying, but that was her choice. The jerky, sudden twists and turns of the case continued to make her apprehensive. She needed to sit on the information for the weekend and didn’t want to rush into something she would regret.

“Vang won’t be happy to be outfoxed by you and the wife.”

“Tough,” Nina said. “I understand. He’s been hurt. He feels the money is his because of his injury. He’s the father of the girl who precipitated all the problems and the head of the family. But the money can’t make up for all that. The money is for the business, which Mrs. Vang put her toil into, too. So we do this our way. Give me Mrs. Vang’s address.”

He did.

“Now, there’s a final issue. Who took the files.”

“Right.”

“Do you think, after you visit Palo Alto on the campground case, and after you interview Ali Peck up here on the Cruz case, that you could zero in on which of our three favorite people had means and motive, et cetera?”

“You mean Lisa Cruz, Jean Scholl, and Riesner. You want alibis for the night the Bronco was stolen?”

“We’ve been stamping out wildfires all over,” Nina said. “But overall is this burning smell from the big question we haven’t had time to address.”

“I’ll hang on to the hose until I keel over.”

Nina heard the fatigue in his voice. “I’m sorry to ask so much,” she said. “But nobody ever said I was easy, even back in the days when I was.”

He laughed and she hung up, opening the door from the hall to to the outer office. No clients awaited.

Sandy, bent way over in her chair, filing, sat up when she heard the door. “Good,” she said. “Mountain of messages on your desk.”

“Anything important?”

“Well, Jack called twice. He said call him back.”

Nina closeted herself and answered the other messages. She wrote out two Vang checks while Sandy got ready to go. At just after five, Sandy appeared at the door, saying, “So long.”

“Have a good night, Sandy.”

“Don’t be takin’ any files home, now.”

After Sandy left, Nina picked up the phone message from Jack, put it down and started to get up and leave, sat down, and picked it up again. She wasn’t sure she liked Jack’s sudden devotion. He called her almost every day now with thoughts, advice, and reprovals. She had latched on to him in the first moments of panic, and she was grateful that he had been available and willing to help, but…

Putting her feet up on the desk, she thought about the three cases. The Vangs were under control. Brandy and Angel were safe and Stinson had been caught, although Paul still needed to find out where Bruce Ford had gone. That left Kevin Cruz, the desperate cop she couldn’t represent anymore. She had cleaned up the harm as well as she could. She could do nothing more for him.

She flashed to the moment when he had grabbed her, to her disgust at his touch and the nascent fear she now felt. What he had done was an incomplete gesture, so fraught, like an obscene promise that must be kept. Why had Kevin gone so far? He didn’t need her comfort as much as he needed her skills as a lawyer. He knew that. Then why? She searched but could not find a reason why. She didn’t feel able to tell anyone about Kevin. Paul would overreact. Kevin was her client and she couldn’t turn on him for one very bad move, go to the police or something. He was already in so much trouble.

She hugged herself, remembering. He could have hurt me, she thought. Then she topped that thought: It’s not over with Kevin.

She called Jack. Predictably, he was still at his office. She imagined him on a high floor of the Transamerica Pyramid, at a wide mahogany desk, an Italian lamp’s hot halogen rays broiling his Harvard blotter.

“I’m just checking in,” Jack said. “What happened with Taylor and Vang?” The depth of his interest extended beyond his casual words. “Did Paul find everyone?”

“Vang is under control,” she told him, and explained, then went on to tell him what had happened at the women’s shelter with Cody Stinson.

“Paul could have handled that better,” Jack said. “Should have held on to the guy at the Hilltop and called the cops.”

She knew Paul wasn’t happy with the way things had gotten away from him either. “So easy to second-guess people, isn’t it?” she said.

He laughed. “No need to defend him, honbun. He’s capable of a mean left hook if I get too rough with him.”

She couldn’t believe he had resurrected the hated nickname of their married days. Through her teeth, she said, “As for the Cruz file, Paul plans to interview Ali Peck tomorrow to try to find out how the secret came out. Kevin’s asked her but I need Paul to cover that ground again.”

Jack asked more concise questions and Nina responded concisely.

“You still have no idea who took the files?” he said.

“For purposes of discussion, we’ve narrowed it down to three potentials, Jeffrey Riesner, Jean Scholl, and Lisa Cruz, but you know, Jack, I have stepped on many toes up here. It could be someone I can’t imagine.”

“Are you putting Paul to work on it?”

“I think-I hope the damage is already done when it comes to those files. But I would like to know. So, yes, within limits.”

“The police aren’t moving on it?”

“They figure getting the Bronco back is all they can do,” Nina said. “The files have no tangible value and I couldn’t explain why I was so worried.” She told him some more about Officer Jean Scholl and their problematic relationship, but fended off Jack’s offer to get emphatic with the local police.

“You sure you have enough help? I mean Paul is good, no question, but Wish, he’s not a trained investigator-”

“He doesn’t work independently. Paul supervises. And Wish is a friend.”

“Loyal, honest, idealistic,” Jack said. “When will you grow up and get with the dead dust of this cynical, postapocalyptic world, girl?”

“The day I get cynical is the day I know I’m done. No offense.”

“None taken. I think it’s essential to be a cynical bastard in this profession, but that’s just me. No, actually, I want to say this. I’ve always been so impressed by you as an attorney, Nina.”

“But not as a human being?” she asked, unable to resist the provocation.

“Well,” he said, “now that you mention it, there was that kid plumber. That definitely colors my perception of you. You half-dressed on the couch, legs spread. Him on top.”

So he had materialized at last, the bugaboo plumber of Bernal Heights, the invisible man that stood motionless between them, undiscussed and misunderstood. “You know, Jack, we should have had this conversation a long time ago. I can’t believe you still hold that guy against me. We were kissing. My legs were not spread. We never even-”

“You only stopped because I showed up and scared him off. That stupid earring he wore. You ten years older than him.”

The disgust in his voice drove away all her pretense of composure. Her voice rose. “So? What about the fact that you were sleeping with another woman at the time? Huh? I mean, talk about lonely. I was in hell, and I never knew why. I couldn’t think what I’d done wrong, except maybe work too hard.”