But no defense counsel in a murder case ever refused to waive time. The information passed on to the defense was usually overwhelming, and the defense attorney wouldn’t want to miss anything. Even in the Robert Blake Hollywood murder case, the defense was still complaining bitterly about the volume of information and asking for more time before the prelim, eight months after the arraignment.

Nina had her own ideas about the conventional defense-counsel wisdom, however. She had noticed that if she worked very hard during those ten court days, she could master everything the prosecution had and still mount a defense of sorts. California district-attorney’s offices had gotten lazy about prelims, which they liked to process like widgets on the factory line. The deputy D.A. couldn’t put the time in that she could. The evidence was much more fluid, the witness statements more subject to attack, than at a later trial.

So she would refuse to waive time, attack at the prelim, be well prepared, and cut no slack. This caused unpleasantness with the D.A.’s along the lines of, don’t come asking us for any favors. Like a good deal for the client.

So it was usually a trade-off. Jaime would give her a hard time if she needed a plea bargain. But a plea bargain would never happen in this case, because Wish was as innocent of evil as Jimmy Carter.

They set the prelim for June 30, a Monday, Salas shaking his head, giving her a hard look, and asking her how long she had been practicing law. The clerk wrote the date down and gave the lawyers their copies.

The bailiff grabbed Wish by the elbow. Hauled up like a dolphin in a tuna net, Wish lost whatever dignity he had left. Nina decided to complain to Jaime about showing more respect handling the defendants.

The next defendant stood up, ready to get started, and Nina looked over at Wish once more, saying with her eyes, just a few more days, hang on.

With recess finally announced, Nina went out into the hall.

“Ms. Reilly!” Salas’s clerk called to her. She had followed her out. “Judge received a phone call.”

“Yes?”

“For you. Apparently this person didn’t know how to reach you and called the court instead.” She handed Nina a note.

“Thanks.” Nina walked outside, reading.

The almost-incoherent message had apparently been transcribed verbatim from an after-hours tape.

For Miss Nina Reilly. He makes me eat bad things. Maybe you could come get me. Liar liar pants on fire and choir singing in tire. His hands are bloody but you can’t see it he hides them in the forest and silver things aren’t his. Thieves do that. And he said one more the big one it will be done. So please set me free, yours truly, my mother said always to say that at the end.

She knew immediately who it was. She called Paul on her cell phone. “Busy?”

“I have the autopsy report and some news. Are you finished at court?”

“Yes. Nate called.”

“Coyote’s little brother?”

“I think he needs help.”

“I’ll meet you at the condo. We’ll talk there. How did it go with Wish?”

“As expected. I’m going to call a psychiatrist about Nate and read him this note the minute I get back.”

17

N INA HUNG UP THE PHONE IN the living room and reported, “Dr. Cervenka says it’s typical schizophrenic speech, but he can’t tell whether there is actually an external problem. Nate may be unhappy, he may be in danger, or he might just be expressing some inner reality.”

Paul pushed back in his chair, crossed his legs, and put his hands behind his head. “I don’t think we should interfere,” he said.

“You think that boy is adequately cared for in that tent he lives in? By that hostile man he lives with?”

“Coyote’s his brother,” Paul reminded her. “Kept him alive this long. You could call the county and ask for a Child Welfare check.”

“That might take weeks. They’re so far out in the country. I’ve been thinking about Nate, about what you called his nest.”

“And he hadn’t seen a kind woman for a long time, I bet,” Paul said. “So he’s been thinking about you ever since too.”

“Think how hard it must have been for Nate to find a phone number that might reach me-he has to be desperate! He obviously has no one else. We have to do something,” she said. “I don’t want to read in the paper that something happened to him.” She pulled her jeans out of the suitcase.

“He’s not your problem or responsibility. Wish is. And, Nina, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things are falling apart around here. We need a couple of hours to do chores and get things in shape. And I have the autopsy report on Ruth Frost. We need to talk about it.”

“On the way. I want to go back to Arroyo Seco.”

“Since when do you have to take every sad case in the world under your wing? He’s not your problem, Nina. You’re like the Cat Lady, picking up strays. You need to focus on this case. We owe it to Sandy to get Wish out of jail, and fast.”

Nina finished lacing the boots and hung her purse on her shoulder. “I’m going,” she said. “He has come to my attention. That makes him my problem.”

“Suit yourself.” Paul stretched and went back to his computer.

Nina clumped down the steps and onto the street, where her truck was parked. Climbing into the Bronco, she strapped in and opened the glove compartment to look for the Monterey County map. Paul’s face appeared at the passenger’s window and she rolled it down. Hitchcock leapt at the door.

“I was thinking, we ought to go check on the kid,” he said.

Nina smiled. “I’ve got bottled water and cold drinks in a cooler, and the tank’s full.”

“We can talk about the autopsy report along the way.” He climbed in beside her. “Hitchcock too. He needs the exercise.”

“Same rules? You expunge all evidence of poison oak from his fur?” Nina said, opening the back door and scratching the dog between the ears.

“He’s the first dog I ever met that loves the hose, a real sport,” Paul said, clipping on the seat belt. “I wonder what he is.”

Nina started up and lowered the back window a couple of inches so Hitchcock could stick his nose out. “How many times do I have to say it? He’s a malamute!”

“There’s no such thing as a pure black malamute. Plus they don’t bark, they howl, and Hitchcock barks. He’s part Lab or something.”

“Will you stop? He’s got that curling furry tail. And he smiles like a malamute,” Nina said. Hitchcock showed no interest in their ongoing argument over his origins. He only gave a brief whine, which meant, let’s get going, shall we?

They drove out the Valley Road, each curve of which was becoming familiar to Nina, Hitchcock no doubt getting carsick in the back. Paul had brought the autopsy report. As they careened around the turns he said, “Now may I take up a few minutes of your time to discuss this latest homicide?”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Ruth Frost had a hematoma on the side of her head the size of a plum. It wasn’t visible when we saw her, because she had so much hair. Now, even law enforcement agrees. Somebody hit her hard, turned on the ignition and the heat, closed the windows tight, and left her to die. The coroner says so. Is that going to be enough to convince the D.A. to let Wish out?”

“I don’t know. But who else would want to harm her but the arsonist? Who is heading up the investigation?”

“The Monterey County Sheriff’s Office.”

“Does Crockett know about all this?”

“I faxed him the report while you were in court, to be sure he’s staying in the loop,” Paul said.

Nina’s hands clenched the wheel. “It has to be somebody from Siesta Court, afraid she could identify him.”

“Let’s talk about a few thoughts running around in my head,” Paul said as they rolled through Carmel Valley Village. The school bus flashed its red lights, and Nina stopped. A group of children with the name of a day-care center on their T-shirts jostled one another into a beautiful afternoon, bumping across the street in front of them to meet waiting parents. They called laughing good-byes to one another as they ran shouting toward TVs and backyards.