“Some,” Lorna said. “Like what?”
“Cassie Snow’s X-rays.”
“Yes, I made copies, though they aren’t as good as the real things. They’re in one of those files.”
“We’ll have to petition a judge to let us have the originals.”
“No, what I mean is I made copies of copies. The original X-rays weren’t there.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Where are they?”
“I don’t know. Could they have been filed with the appeals?”
“Maybe. We’ll have to deal with that later.”
I moved my attention out of the Snow case and back into Tidalwaiv.
“Okay, you two can clear and I’m going to call the clients,” I said. “Cisco, depending on how this goes, I might need to send you up to San Francisco to watch over Naomi’s daughter until we can get them both down here and safe.”
“Just say the word,” Cisco said.
“Mickey, Naomi said she’s out,” Lorna said. “You heard. She kicked Jack out of her house.”
“In the heat of the moment,” I said. “She might change her mind if her fear turns back to anger.”
“Good luck with that,” Lorna said.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re going to need it.”
They cleared out of the office and I closed the door. Before calling the clients, I called Bambadjan Bishop on the burner phone. I didn’t bother with a greeting.
“Are you still up north?”
“Uh, no. Got home last night. Was going to call you about getting my money.”
“I’ll bring it to you tomorrow. So you weren’t in San Francisco last night?”
“No, man, I got back here about eight. What’s going on in San Francisco?”
“Nothing. Never mind. I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll meet.”
I disconnected and for a few minutes sat with what had happened over the past seventy-two hours.
I had used Bishop to help convince Naomi Kitchens to testify. Somebody else had just convinced her to change her mind. I realized that Tidalwaiv had taken a page from my own playbook and followed it with a fifty-million-dollar chaser.
24
BRUCE AND TRISHAColton were not in the same place—Trisha was at home and she said her husband was out. I waited while she phoned him and connected all of us.
“What’s this about?” Bruce said in his usual gruff manner. “I’m in the middle of a round of golf with a client.”
I thought it must be nice to get out on the golf course on a Saturday while your son the killer was being probed by the shrinks at the Sylmar juvenile hall.
“I have a new offer from Tidalwaiv,” I said. “We can talk when you’re free, but the offer expires at five this afternoon.”
“No, no, I want to hear it,” Bruce said. “Go ahead with it.”
I switched to speaker, opened the email Marcus Mason had sent, and read it verbatim in a flat voice that conveyed none of my feelings about the offer.
