Clemmons called L.A. and got Charlie Griggs pulling a late tour. They stayed on the phone about twenty minutes, Clemmons giving Griggs a lot of detail. One of the Statics brought in the Hagakure and Clemmons waved him to put it on a stack of Field amp; Stream in the corner. Evidence. When Clemmons hung up he came over and took the cuffs off me and then went to the holding cell and did the same for Pike. "You guys sit tight for a while and have some coffee. We got some people coming up."

"What about the girl?" I said. Clemmons hadn't taken the cuffs off her.

"Let's just let her sit." He went back to his desk and got on the phone and called the San Bernardino County coroner.

I went over to the coffee urn and poured two cups and brought them to Mimi's cell. I said, "How about it?" I held out the cup but she did not look at me nor in any way respond, so I put it on the crossbar and stood there until long after the coffee was cold.

More Staties came and a couple of Feds from the San Bernardino office and they gave back our guns and let us go at a quarter after two that morning. I said, "What about the girl?"

Clemmons said, "A couple of our people are going to drive her back to L.A. in the morning. She's going to be arraigned for the murder of her father."

"Maybe I should stay," I said.

"Bubba," Clemmons said, "that ain't one of the options. Get your ass outta here."

A young kid with a double-starched uniform and a baleful stare drove us back up to Arrowhead Village and dropped us off by Pike's Jeep. It was cool in the high mountain air, and quiet, and very very dark, the way no city can ever know dark.

The McDonald's was lit from inside, but that was the only light in the village, and the Jeep was the only car in the parking lot. We stood beside it for a while, breathing the good air. Pike took off his glasses and looked up. It was too dark to see his eyes. "Milky Way," he said. "Can't see it from L.A."

There were crickets from the edge of the forest and sounds from the lake lapping at the boat slips.

Pike said, "What's wrong?"

"It wasn't the way I thought it was. Eddie loved her."

"Uh-huh."

"She wanted to stay with him. She hadn't been kidnapped. She wasn't going to be killed."

He nodded.

Something splashed near the shore. I took a deep slow breath and felt empty. "I assumed a lot of things that were wrong. I needed her to be a victim, so that's the way I saw her." I looked at Joe. "Maybe she wasn't." I'm such a liar.

Pike slipped on the glasses. "Bradley."

My throat was tight and raw and the empty place burned. "She made up so damn much. Maybe she made that part up, too. Maybe he never touched her. I needed a reason for it all, and she gave me that. Maybe I helped her kill him."

Joe Pike thought about that for a long time. Centuries. Then he said, "Someone had to bring her back."

"Sure."

"Whatever she did, she did because she's sick. That hasn't changed. She needs help."

I nodded. "Joe. Once you had the gun you could have wounded him."

"No."

"Why not?"

He didn't move for a time, as if the answer required a complete deliberation, then he went to the Jeep. When he came back he had the translation of the Hagakure. He held it respectfully. "This isn't just a book, Elvis. It's a way of life."

Tashiro had said that.

Pike said, "Eddie Tang was yakuza, but he killed Ishida for the girl. He committed himself to getting her to Japan, but we stopped him. He loved her, yet he was going to lose her. He had failed the yakuza and he had failed the girl and he had failed himself. He had nothing left."

I remembered the way Eddie Tang had looked at Joe Pike. Pike, and not me. "The way of the warrior is death."

A cool breeze came in off the lake. Something moved in the water and a light plane appeared in the sky past the McDonald's roofline, its red anti-collision light flashing. Pike put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "You got her," he said. "You got her safe. Don't think about anything else."

We climbed into the Jeep and took the long drive back to Los Angeles.

Chapter 37

I spent most of the next day on the phone. I called Lou Poitras and found out that they would be holding Mimi at the L.A. County Correctional Medical Facility for an evaluation. I called Carol Hillegas and asked her to pay Mimi a visit and make sure Mimi had good people assigned to her. The black Fed Reese called me more than once, and so did the woman from the L.A. County district attorney's office. There'd been a lot of conference calling between L.A. and San Bernardino and Sacramento, but nobody was going to bring charges. Nobody was sure what the charges would be. Illegal rescue?

Terry Ito stopped by that evening and said he hoped he wasn't disturbing me. I said no and asked him in. He stood in my living room with a brown paper bag in his left hand and said, "Is the kid going to be okay?"

I said, "Maybe."

He nodded. "We heard somebody nailed Yuki Torobuni."

"Yeah. That happened."

He nodded again and put out his right hand. "Thanks."

We shook.

He opened the bag and took out a bottle of Glenlivet scotch and we drank some and then he left. By eight o'clock that night I had finished the bottle and fallen asleep on the couch. A couple of hours later I was awake again and sleep would not return.

The next day I watched TV and read and lay on the couch and stared at my high-vaulted ceiling. Just after noon I showered and shaved and dressed and took a drive over to the County Medical Facility and asked them if I could see Mimi. They said no. I left the front and went around back and tried to sneak in, but a seventy-five-year-old security guard with narrow shoulders and a wide butt caught me and raised hell. It goes like that sometimes.

I bought groceries and a couple of new books and went home to the couch and the staring and the feeling that it was not over. I thought about Traci Louise Fishman and I thought about what Mimi had said. I make up stuff all the time. Maybe it couldn't be over until I knew what was real and what wasn't. Some hero. I had brought Mimi back, but I hadn't saved her.

At a little after four that afternoon, the doorbell rang again, and this time it was Jillian Becker. She was wearing a loose Hawaiian top and tight Guess jeans and pink Reebok high-tops. She smelled of mint. It was the first time I had seen her in casual clothes. I stood in the door and stared at her, and she stared back. I said, "Would you like to come in?"

"If you don't mind."

I said not at all. I asked if she would like something to drink. She said some wine would be nice. I went into the kitchen and poured her a glass of wine and a glass of water for myself. She said, "I tried your office but I guess you haven't been in."

"Nope."

"Or checking your answering machine."

"Nope."

She sipped her wine. "You look tired."

"Uh-huh."

She sipped the wine again. "The police spoke with me, and so did Carol Hillegas. They told me what you had to do to get Mimi. It must have been awful."

I said, "How's Sheila?"

Shrug. "Her family has come here to be with her. I've been talking to her, and so have the doctors who've seen Mimi. She's going to join Mimi in therapy. She'll probably enter into therapy on her own, too."

"Have you seen Mimi?"

She shook her head. "No. I heard you tried."

I spread my hands.

Jillian put her wineglass down and said, "Is it always this hard?"

I stared out through the glass to the canyon and shook my head.

Jillian Becker sat quietly for a moment, swirling her wine and watching it move in the glass. Then she said, "Carol Hillegas agreed with me."

"What?"