Linda Fairstein - Final Jeopardy

Nina didn’t pronounce judgments or exact demands or hold grudges she was simply a loyal and loving friend.

“I know your life is upside down at the moment, Alex, but you’ve got to stay in touch with me. No calls, no messages, no cards… what’s going on?”

“I’m fine, Nina, really, I promise.” She was referring to the fact that we had a regular routine of staying in touch with each other, and it was always pretty easy to guess when our lives were disturbed, because the flow of communication was interrupted as well. Despite the three-hour time difference between us, we called each other several times every week. We didn’t always speak directly because of our work schedules, but we left messages on our home machines, so that no matter what hour I got in after a long day, the sound of Nina’s familiar voice would frequently help me unwind and put my day in perspective.

Her joys, her heartaches, her professional triumphs all strung out on an endless strip of rewound tape, as mine were on her machine in L.A. And we both collected art postcards from museums all over the world, writing each other a note on one of them almost every evening to track our lives through almost fifteen years of graduate school, legal jobs, romances, motherhood, and now, mystery.

“Can you talk? Are you in the middle of anything?”

“Are you kidding? It’s been pouring all day. It’s the first chance I’ve had to stay in and relax I’m just catching up on everything. How about you? How’re Jerry and Gabe?”

Gabriel was their two-year-old son, my godchild.

“They’re great. They’re out in Malibu at the beach today.

So what did you think of the service?“

“Compared to what, Nina? It didn’t sound like they were eulogizing the woman we knew.”

“Let me tell you what nonsense was going on at this end.

Did you ever dress for a funeral I mean, worry about what designer you were going to wear? The girls in the front row were tripping over each other for the photo-ops, black Armani versus black Ungaro versus black Bob Mackie… for those who like sequins graveside. I doubt any of them even listened to what was being said. What do the cops think have they got a killer?“

“All the usual suspects. I understand the LAPD is at the house this afternoon, looking for clues, papers, diaries, whatever. I’ll know more tomorrow. Did you find anything else out about her shrink?”

“Just that she’s had about four different ones the past few years. I don’t know names, but the police will find them on the pill bottles in her bathroom. The rest of the world had problems, according to Iz. She was fine but used these guys for pills. Ups, downs, whatever the latest fad.

As soon as one of the psychiatrists got wise to her, she’d switch to a new one and start the prescriptions over.“

“Did I tell you that she wasn’t alone for the last couple of nights she stayed at my place on the Vineyard?”

“You’re kidding! Don’t hold out on me who’s the masochist?”

“We have no idea. I was hoping maybe she told you.”

“Nope. She talked about some guy she ran into on a plane about a month ago. She had taken the Concorde back from London said he referred to it as ”the rocket.“

“Yeah. That’s investment banker lingo.”

“Said the guy was fascinating because he wasn’t in show biz and was still powerful and important her words, darling. You know how it always impressed her that people who weren’t in People could still be worth talking to occasionally, and could even get a table at Le Cirque.”

“Well, did she date him or come on to him? I’m dying to know who he is so I can ask whether he enjoyed my hospitality.”

“I’ll check around. To me it just sounded like her perpetual search for Mr. Right.”

We chatted for another ten minutes before hanging up.

The talk of psychiatrists reminded me of my neighbor.

I dialed David Mitchell’s number as soon as I hung up with Nina. It was our Sunday evening tradition to watch ‘60 Minutes’ together at seven o’clock, and if neither of us had a date, to order dinner in while we watched.

“Are we on?” I asked when David picked up the phone.

“Sure. Zac and I will be over a few minutes before seven.

Any other company?“

“No, Jed had to leave this morning.”

“Why don’t I order in from Pig Heaven?”

“Ummm. Chinese – great idea. I’m just warning you, I’m switching channels if one of the segments is about some other guy on death row who admits killing twenty-seven people but didn’t do the one he’s been convicted of. I’m only watching if they profile a scientist who discovered that red meat, french fries, ice cream, and Doritos are good for your health, or some other upbeat story. See you later.”

David and Zac appeared just as the local news signed off.“

I liked David a great deal, but I never felt that I knew him well at all. He had that wonderful trait of a good counselor that encouraged you to tell him everything you thought and believed, but revealed nothing of his personal feelings in the process. Like my own, his professional life was all-consuming, and while I had seen him with a number of his dates from time to time, I had no idea who they were or what his social life revolved around.

Prozac, on the other hand, was the ideal neighbor. A sleek taupe dog, nicknamed Zac, she was always eager to greet me when I came home after a difficult day in the office. When our paths crossed, she would bound down the hallway and cover me with friendly licks, anxious to be petted and stroked. Occasionally, when David had out-of-town meetings to attend, I’d keep Zac with me for the weekend, taking her for long walks in the park and jogging with her at my side.

Davis did a gentle cross-examination to make sure I was really okay, while Zac assumed her usual position at my feet and rolled over on her back so I could scratch her belly till she almost purred like a feline. The food delivery arrived before the end of the hour, and we devoured our ribs, scallion pancakes, and hot, spicy chicken while I enlisted David’s help for later in the week, when I was promised more information about Isabella’s psychiatric history and correspondence.

When they left, I put on my Private Dancer disc and luxuriated in the bathtub for almost an hour. I worried about whether David was too interested in Isabella’s case or simply being a good friend. He denied having met her, but I was certain I had introduced them to each other when she picked me up in our lobby one evening, more than a year ago. I told myself to stop being so paranoid and went back to planning the week ahead, actually looking forward to getting back to my desk and the office routine tomorrow.

I was so glad to see the sunshine again Monday morning that I was out of bed early, dressed and ready to go before eight, with my evening clothes packed so that I could shower and change in the ladies’ room and be at the Plaza to meet Jed in time for the dinner honoring his boss, the CEO of CommPlex.

The same two policewomen were waiting in the radio car in my driveway. I greeted and thanked them, knowing they were as relieved as I was that this boring assignment would be over after the twenty-minute ride downtown.

They dropped me in front of the entrance to the District Attorney’s Office and I swiped my photo ID over the security scanner to let myself in and get up to my office to check Friday’s mail and memos.

I turned on the computer and entered my password and user code. Once I got into the e-mail system I got caught in the unwanted personal messages that the administrative assistant had been directing the legal staff to cut out apparently in vain. An assistant in Bureau 30 had four tickets to Phantom that her Aunt Lucy couldn’t use for Wednesday’s matinee; a colleague in Frauds had a Himalayan long-hair that was expecting kittens and she was looking for a good parent (“J-D- Degree preferred‘); and a paralegal in Special Projects was desperately seeking tickets for Knicks games, not located in the end zones and no higher than twenty rows off the court.