A student at the University of San Francisco who wanted to be a social worker—that all tilted toward idealism to me. I reached down for my briefcase and brought it up to my lap.
“Of course you should talk to her,” I said. “I’m going to give you a phone. It’s charged up and already has my number saved in it. Use it to call or text me at any time. After you talk to your daughter, let me know. If it’s a no, toss the phone. If it’s not, we’ll use it to communicate and I’ll give you instructions on how to send me what you’ve got.”
I took the phone out of the case and put it on the table in front of her. She looked at it but didn’t pick it up.
“It feels like spy work,” Kitchens said.
“Yes,” I said. “But as you know, we need to take precautions. Tidalwaiv has a lot at stake, and I want to protect you. We’re going to leave now so you can enjoy your lunch.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know. But thank you for your time.”
McEvoy and I stood up and left her there. The burner was still on the table. I don’t know if paranoia is contagious, but outside the restaurant, I scanned the parked cars and the other businesses to see if I could pick up on anybody watching us. McEvoy noticed.
“You think she’s right?” he asked. “They’re watching her?”
“Hard to say,” I said. “If not physical surveillance, I’m sure they’ve got their sniffers on her. That’s why I brought the burner.”
“You always carry phones like that?”
“Not always. But sometimes. Going to make a good book, huh?”
“Yeah. If you win.”
“I plan to. I need to call my ex. She was blowing up my phone the whole time we were in there.”
“Lorna?”
“No, my first ex-wife.”
“She in the legal business too?”
“Sort of. She’s the DA.”
“What? Of L.A. County? You mean Maggie McFierce?”
I nodded.
“I was the one who gave her that nickname,” I said. “Then they used it as a campaign slogan.”
I had already pulled my phone and hit Maggie’s number in my contacts. My hope was that she was calling to say she was going toreturn the external hard drive with the contents of Aaron Colton’s laptop downloaded onto it.
She answered right away. I could tell she was in a car.
“Mickey, where have you been? Did you listen to my messages?”
Her voice was adrenalized and panicked.
“No, I just called back. What’s going on? Is Hay—”
“The fires. My house is in an evacuation zone. I’m going home to try to grab things. Pictures and clothes.”
“What fires?”
“What are you talking about? Where are you?”
“Palo Alto. Maggie, calm down and tell me what’s going on.”
