“Thank you, Lucille,” I said. “I appreciate that, and I know Sailor will, too.”
• • •
The prosaically named County Jail #2 is located on Seventh Street, not far from the freeway. Many’s the time I’d been stuck in traffic in the approach to the Bay Bridge, and gazed at the serpentine building with its partially fogged windows, thinking of those inside, awaiting their fate.
I had been here a few times to visit prisoners.
It dawned on me that my father had once been accused of murder. My fiancé currently stood accused of murder. Perhaps I should wonder about the men in my life.
The check-in process for visitors always seemed to take forever, but at long last I sat at the counter, waiting.
Sailor shuffled in; his dark hair stuck up, uncombed, and whiskers shadowed his jaw in blue-black. He looked pissed off. But that was nothing new. Sailor had his great moments—amazinglygreat—but his default way of looking at the world was grumpy, and his general attitude had not been helped by a night in jail.
We took a long moment, just staring at each other. Drinking in the sight of each other. Then he started talking.
According to Sailor, he had been practicing a new psychic technique in his apartment when the cops came a-knocking. He had been alone since about four in the afternoon, and all evening. There was no more to the story.
“I’m surprised you didn’t sense the police were on their way.”
“I was in a trance state. And I had no reason to be on guard.”
“That’s it? You didn’t go anywhere near Dupree? You weren’t at the Hotel Marais at all?”
He shook his head. “No, I was in the East Bay working with Aunt Renna until a little before four, then walked the labyrinth up at Sibley Park. After that, I went straight home. I was nowhere near Dupree’s hotel, Lily.”
“So Renna can vouch for you?” I asked, feeling hopeful.
“Only until four. The police seem to think I would have had enough time to get back to the hotel. I guess they haven’t sat in traffic on the Bay Bridge lately—even on the bike it’s a challenge. But in any case, Renna’s a known Rom fortune-teller. The DA will make the case that she’s unreliable, and that she’s lying to protect me. Doubtful anyone will believe her.”
“That’s awfully cynical,” I said, disappointed.
“And this surprises you?” Sailor’s words were sarcastic, but his tone was gentle.
“Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything at all that might help? Have you been able to see anything?”
“Not much. The only thing...”
“What is it?”
“It doesn’t make much sense. As I’ve told you, I ‘see’ things in symbols, usually. And I keep seeing my dad’s old watch.”
“What would a watch symbolize?”
He shrugged. “Running out of time, maybe? It’s unusual for me; usually I see things in the language of flowers. I did also see aspen trees....”
“In my tradition, aspen leaves are used in antitheft charms.”
He nodded. “It’s unclear what it means. But I had an inkling that someone had been in my apartment yesterday. You didn’t go by there, did you?”
“No, I was at the shop all day. I haven’t been to your place in a while.”
“That’s what I thought. I didn’t find anything disturbed; it was just a sense I had. I also had a vision of a symbol of some sort. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to fully make it out. I was seeing it in the trance just before I was arrested, as a matter of fact, and tried sketching it, but it still made no sense.”
“The man—the fellow who seems to have killed Tristan—stopped to look at a watch.”
“Interesting. Still not sure what that tells us, though.”
“Hervé met me at the hotel last night,” I said, “and was able to make contact with Tristan’s spirit. But he couldn’t tell me much. He did mention cupcakes, so I suppose Renee’s involved in whatever’s going on.”
