Jimmy had her beat in sheer weight of shiny chrome machinery, but only by a little. Ginger’s bench held a clutter of equipment including the thermocycler, which looked like a hot plate or waffle iron, and sat on a toaster-sized computer. A matrix of little holes in the top held bullet tubes that replicated the molecules of DNA. Over one whole wall a narrow strip of windows, black now, looked out into the night. The other walls were an assortment of glass-closed cupboards and open shelving with lips to prevent the chemicals stored in brown glass bottles from jumping off the shelves in an earthquake.

From the wall hung a blue Calder mobile, kept turning by the awesome air conditioning, and on the back wall by the bathroom she had hung another painting, this one by a visionary named Alex Grey who painted human bodies sans skin. Like the Bellmer, it combined technical virtuosity with art, which was exactly what Ginger saw as her goal in her work.

She replaced a bottle of ethidium bromide on the shelf, pushed the thermocycler back, and tidied other miscellaneous things away, making room. On her bench, the two Zhukovsky bones lay neatly on white paper, like museum relics. She flipped on the radio and pulled up a stool and began to work.

She heard a key in the lock, and wondered who else had decided to work late. It could be any one of them. All four were night owls. “Jimmy?” she said, but there was no answer. He probably was wearing his headphones, which the group had insisted upon once they heard the maniacal screeching he called brain candy. She turned back to her notes. What was she missing? Somewhere in this sheaf of material, was there a message that would direct them to an understanding of what occurred on that April night?

Nina believed her client. Ginger believed her evidence. The blood of Stefan Wyatt matched the blood found on the glass fragments. Her tests confirmed it.

As for the bones, the DNA profile of the old man held no unusual medical facts or mysterious anomalies. He was normal, and he was dead of natural causes.

What else was there to find out about him? She put the two sheets side by side, staring at the black-and-white grids until her eyes pulled them together into one stereo image.

Somebody was behind her. Ginger, tuned to danger through countless classes in self-defense and a violence-speckled childhood only another Japanese-American girl who preferred girls to boys could fully imagine, felt her undefended neck prickle. She whipped around, bending a leg back at the same moment, didn’t like what she saw, and kicked with boots on.

19

Thursday 9/25

NO TRIAL IS COMPLETE WITHOUT ITS DISASTER DREAMS, AND although Nina kept a clamp on her anxieties during the day, even acting downright cocky whenever she came upon Jaime Sandoval on the stairway, her dreams humbled her, reminding her that she was mortal, that they were all mortal, even Judge Salas, whom she had killed off at least once, and also that showing up in court was not good enough; she needed to be dressed.

Between nightmares, she did not sleep much on Thursday night. Paul’s presence in her bed would have helped, but Aunt Helen’s house was small. After the first night they were all together there, Bob had complained, “The walls are so thin. I can hear him-sneeze. He’s really loud. You’re loud, too.” Nina knew what he was hearing, and it wasn’t fall allergies. Bob was fourteen, too smart to pacify with white lies and too young to leave at home alone all night, so most of the time she was left to her ruminations, conscious and unconscious, and her insomnia.

On this night, Thursday, she had fought with Paul. He had told her about San Francisco, ending with Giorgi’s ambulance ride. “I had to stay with him. Couldn’t leave,” he fretted.

“You did the right thing. But now things are getting really rough, Paul.”

“Krilov’s gone, and if he went to Sacramento to find Ginger, he’s way ahead of me.”

She knew Paul. What made her afraid made him furious. “That’s what phones are for. Have you tried the lab?”

“An after-hours recording.”

“And you left a message on her cell phone, I assume.”

“What exactly do you think I’ve been doing up here? Weaving baskets?”

“How about her family? Have they seen her?”

“I’ve spoken with people who haven’t seen her skinny, tight leather ass in years! Where the hell is she?”

“Calm down…” It was probably just as well she couldn’t decipher the words that followed her suggestion. “Maybe you should come back here tonight.”

“Right. I’ll hide under your bed. Smart thinking, Nina.”

“Maybe you should call me when you get over yourself!”

The phone clicked, and he was gone.

About three o’clock in the morning, after driving off a bridge at Big Sur and finding it difficult to open the windows once the car was submerged in the Pacific, Nina gave up her nightly battle for rest and made herself a cup of coffee. She pushed open the creaky living room window and looked out at the empty street, smelling the salt of the ocean and listening to its whispers.

The phone rang.

A phone ringing at three o’clock in the morning is not like a phone at any other time of day. It bawled through the house, more frightening and piercing than a child screaming in distress, a siren announcing imminent calamity. She stumbled, running to stop it. “Hello?”

“Ms. Reilly? This is Carol Elliott. I share a lab with Dr. Hirabayashi.”

“Ginger?”

“I know she’s been doing some time-sensitive work for you, and I thought I should call. Also, I didn’t want you hearing about it in the media tomorrow without some warning.”

“Hearing what? Where’s Ginger? Why isn’t she calling?”

“She can’t. I’m calling from the hospital. Someone broke into the building where we work. He stabbed the guard on duty, stole his keys, and ransacked our lab. Ginger’s still unconscious.”

Nina touched the scar on her chest, cold, remembering. “Was she stabbed?”

“No, although I wasn’t sure at first when I found her. She put up one hell of a fight. The lab’s wrecked.” She must have realized how frightening this sounded, so she went on hastily, “He hit her in the forehead with something and knocked her out. She’s had a mild concussion. She has a cracked rib and a black eye. But she’ll be fine.”

“Thank God. How’s the guard?”

“He took some serious cuts on the arms and hands, but he’ll make it. Another guard saw the attack happening and called for help right away. Unfortunately, nobody came quick enough to catch the guy that got Ginger.”

Horror tugged at Nina. Ginger could have been killed. “Who did this? Do the police know?”

“They don’t know who and they don’t know why. They seem to think maybe someone was looking for drugs. There’s a surveillance video but the police said it wasn’t helpful. He was wearing a mask.”

“Were any drugs stolen?”

“Nothing that we could determine.”

She puzzled over the information. “Was anything taken?”

“Nothing of value, although it did look like her bench had been swept clean.”

“What was on it?”

“As far as I can remember, bones. Labeled as being from you. That’s why I called. I’m assuming the bones were taken by this intruder. I told the police and gave them your number.”

Bones, again. What was the story on these damnable bones? “When can I talk to her?”

“Tomorrow morning. They want her to rest.”

“Should I come up? I’m only a few hours away.”

“No, really, you can’t do anything. I wish I could tell you more, but I just got here.”

“You’ve heard something,” Paul said, once he was awake enough to answer his phone. Nina explained about Ginger. When she was finished, he said, “Shit. This is my fault.”

“You couldn’t have prevented this.”