Acts of Malice (33 page)

He didn’t answer. He was thinking about his escape. He reached out and took her hand and pressed it almost absent-mindedly, as if they were just ordinary people saying good-bye, and she let him. She knew for sure he was going to run when he did that.

‘‘Good-bye, Nina.’’ He gave her that lopsided smile that concealed so much, and watched her go.

In the truck, she hugged herself for a long minute, head down on her chest. It had been the most horrible courtroom scene in her life.

She had sworn to defend him.

But when he threatened her family, when she saw that he was the monster in the painting, not the system, when she saw his real face turning toward her, she had betrayed him.

She had thrown the case.

It was over, and he hadn’t guessed.

Collier called Sandy about two-thirty. ‘‘Seen Nina?’’

‘‘She’s on her way over to see you,’’ Sandy said. ‘‘She’s off for the afternoon.’’

‘‘Well, don’t work too hard. It’s Friday.’’

Barb passed by the open door of his office, on her way to Henry to report on her win. He didn’t feel like sitting on Henry’s sofa and dealing with those two right now, so he grabbed a
California Appellate Decisions
volume and walked out to the courtyard toward the law library.

No sign of Nina coming in from the parking lot. He went into the main courtroom building and on up to the second floor.

Strong was standing in the stacks, reading the Evidence Code. When he saw Collier at the door, he jumped up and came toward him.

Collier tensed for the action he expected, but Strong didn’t go for him. He paused in front of him and said, ‘‘I was just leaving.’’

‘‘Feel free,’’ Collier said, thinking, for two more days, anyway, thanks to Flaherty being such a bonehead.

The two men brushed by each other, and Collier really saw him, saw the cruelty and misery and the corrosive self-pity in him. He shrank from it. Strong seemed to smile.

Then he was gone.

26

IT WAS OVER. Jim knew a window of opportunity when he saw one. Nina was quite sure she’d never see him again.

Which didn’t mean she didn’t intend to protect herself. She picked up Bob, called Sandy to say she was done for the week, and went directly back to Collier’s office. While Bob waited in the secretarial area, she sat down with Collier.

They looked at each other for a long moment.

‘‘You were right,’’ she said. ‘‘I’m afraid of him. I can’t say any more.’’

That was all she said, and he didn’t press her for details. Before they left together, Collier arranged for a patrolman to be assigned to them for the weekend.

‘‘I’ll be there,’’ he said. ‘‘We’ll be careful. But what happens Monday?’’

‘‘I’m not concerned,’’ Nina said.

‘‘Well, you should be—ah! He’s going to run, isn’t he? Did he tell you that?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘I don’t care what Flaherty ruled. I don’t give a shit what Henry says, either, at this point. I’m going to call Nevada and offer to have our guys pick him up for questioning in the Heidi Strong matter. They’re moving too slowly.’’ He spoke to someone in Reno, then told her that Jim would be picked up as soon as he could be located.

Before dinner, Nina cornered Bob on the couch in front of the fire, where, jet-lagged, he had curled up and fallen asleep.

She woke him up and unleashed a torrent of groggy talk that she listened to eagerly, knowing he would only enjoy telling his adventures abroad once.

While they talked, Collier kibitzed from the kitchen, inserting a word here or there, hanging back when the subject turned to Bob’s dad, Kurt. He was making dinner.

Nina stroked Bob’s spiky hair, overwhelmed with relief to be through with Jim Strong.

On Saturday morning, snow began to fall more gently. The drifts piled high in the doorways, sneaking under cars, inside of coats, into ears. Bob and his two buddies in the neighborhood dashed outside for a swift harsh snow battle somewhere in the area of the buried backyard fort. Officer Floyd Drummond, who was spending the weekend with them, kept an eye on them outside.

Collier had taken up the duties of sentry at the wooden table next to the kitchen. ‘‘Did you see that?’’ he asked, laughing when Bob smashed a big one. ‘‘He’s got an arm on him.’’

In honor of a day at home, she was actually cooking —a recipe she called accident soup, made of cabbage, carrots, onions, squash, and tomato chunks in a sauce made mostly out of cream of chicken soup. Collier sat over his yellow pad chewing on a piece of paper, studying the boys through the blurry window. He really enjoyed them. They hadn’t said a word to each other about the Strong case. Nina’s only thought was, someday we’ll have a child . . . she went to him.

‘‘It’s been weird weather, hasn’t it?’’ Collier was saying. ‘‘So much snow. Then more snow.’’

She bent down to kiss his forehead. His arms went around her waist and he leaned his head against her stomach.

They stayed like that for a long time. Finally Collier looked up and said, ‘‘I believe that your stomach is telling you it’s hungry.’’

‘‘True.’’ She moved away and took a taste from the pot. He was still looking out the window, his strong profile outlined in the light. The Strong case had been a vindication for him professionally. Now no one could doubt that he was back in the top of his form. She watched him and wanted him and thought of all the nights to come.

She threw a scoop of mashed garlic into the bubbling sauce. The cabin was light and peaceful and warm.

After a few minutes, Bob banged on the door to be let inside, soaked and jubilant. He changed clothes and loaded his heavy wet clothes into the washing machine.

Collier took the bread out of the oven and Bob brought in the napkins. Officer Drummond ate lunch with them.

The afternoon passed, and the evening. They stayed at the cabin. Collier made some calls and reported that Jim had cleaned out his bank account and hadn’t come home at all on Friday night. There was an arrest warrant out for him now. Barbara had come into the office and convinced Flaherty that Jim was on the run. Jim belonged to her now, and that was just fine.

They all watched a Jackie Chan video, Officer Drummond in the chair beside the couch.

That night, the house rattled and shook with wind, and snow piled up over the front door, making it impassable. Upstairs, underneath the Hudson blanket, they murmured to each other.

She woke up to the sound of a pinecone hitting the window.

‘‘Open up!’’ Bob shouted, ‘‘and bring a shovel! It’s five feet deep out here!’’

Collier continued to snore. Searching the cold floor with her toe for her slippers, Nina lifted herself off the bed and pulled on a thick robe. Padding over to the window, she lifted back the curtain.

Morning sun lit the scene below like an Andersen fairy tale.

Fresh deep snow in drifts, white and regal, reached up to the sky like miniature Alps. No wind stirred the trees. The yard was a still life in white and green and sapphire, every shadow focused and crisp.

‘‘Get up!’’ she said to Collier, bending over to let him grab for her and kiss her once before she flew down the stairs. ‘‘And dress warm! Today’s the day we bust out of this place and break in those funny-looking snowshoes you brought over.’’

‘‘Are you sure, Nina?’’ he called down. She stopped at the foot of the stairs.

‘‘Floyd will be with us. He’s armed,’’ she said. ‘‘What do you think?’’

‘‘Bob would love it,’’ Collier said. ‘‘We’ll be fine. I’ll call Barb and let her know where we are.’’

They took the Bronco on Highway 89 along the west side of the lake, Drummond following in his four-wheel-drive police car. The highway had been groomed, probably early in the morning, but the white of the hillsides made Bob jump with excitement in the back seat. Every spot looked better than the last one. Collier finally pulled over into some National Forest land.

A wide valley spread before them with a series of gentle slopes. At the far end, a mountain angled up steeply, rising so precipitately that Nina had to bend her head back to see the top. The only marks in the ocean of white were deer prints.

‘‘Sunglasses,’’ Nina said to Bob.

‘‘Check.’’ He put them on.

‘‘Sunscreen.’’ She slathered some on all three faces.

Bob squirmed with impatience as Collier methodically stacked the snowshoes beside the car and began to dig below some blankets for Bob’s new snowboard. As soon as the snowboard emerged, Bob headed for the nearest hill.

‘‘Stay close,’’ Nina called. ‘‘And stay off the mountain slope with that thing.’’

‘‘Oh, Mom,’’ he called back cheerfully. ‘‘Nothing I can’t handle.’’

‘‘No way,’’ she said.

‘‘Fine,’’ he said with practiced disgust. He went off and she watched him trudging up a rise across from the mountain. ‘‘I’ll hang around the truck,’’ Floyd Drummond said. ‘‘This way I’ll be able to keep an eye on all three of you.’’ He was sitting in the Bronco with the heater going.

‘‘He’s getting strong,’’ Nina said, watching Bob take his first run down the slope across the way, as Collier fastened his snowshoes.

‘‘He’s growing up. Here. I’ll help you.’’

With dismay she noted a few other cars had pulled up behind them and across the road. Oh, well, she thought. The snow is big enough to hold all of us.

Why, here they were on the cusp of the wilderness, with miles and miles to go in any direction. Sure enough, within minutes the cars had emptied and the people disappeared into the forests all around.

‘‘It’s a beautiful day,’’ she said, straining to put her boot into the snowshoe. ‘‘We’re going to have a blast.’’

They set off across the snow-covered meadow. Collier led them up a pathway that traversed the valley. From where they were hiking, Nina could watch Bob, who seemed content to snowboard up and down the same hill over and over under Floyd Drummond’s watchful gaze. Drummond could see them, too, as they moved among the trees of the lower elevation of the mountain.

For an hour, they shoed along what might be a snowed-in trail through blazing sun and into the cold dark swatches cast by tall trees away from the road and into the valley, until they stood in the mountain’s shadow. Collier saw so many things she didn’t notice: the tracks of animals, plants still flourishing in the high bare rocks, sounds of nature.

Finally, Nina sat down on a log, puffing. ‘‘You didn’t tell me how much work it is to walk around in these things.’’

Collier pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to her. ‘‘Should I tell you a secret?’’ he asked while she sipped.

‘‘What?’’ She wiped the water off her mouth with the rough fabric of her sleeve.

‘‘I’ve never done this before.’’

‘‘No! But . . . what was that all about back there?’’ She nodded toward their footprints. ‘‘Oh, here’s an excellent spot for schussing. And let’s slog it down this hill. I thought you knew all kinds of lingo. I thought you were such an expert.’’

He was shaking his head, laughing. ‘‘Just playing it by ear,’’ he said.

‘‘Why, you little . . . !’’ She reached down for a handful of snow, balled it up, and smacked him with it on the shoulder.

‘‘Don’t get all worked up, now. You had fun, didn’t you?’’

‘‘My legs are rubber,’’ she said. ‘‘We came a long way uphill,’’ she added, looking around. It was true. They had climbed quite a bit up the lower, most gentle slope of the mountain. She looked through the trees for Bob, and caught a flash of his yellow hat across the meadow. Good boy, she thought.

She took off her shoe and shook off the accumulated snow.

‘‘Let’s go,’’ Collier said. ‘‘It’s cold in the shade.’’

‘‘What’s that?’’ Nina asked, cocking her head. They looked around, but couldn’t see anyone, but it was clear enough what they were hearing. A snowmobile.

‘‘Damn,’’ Collier said. ‘‘I hate the noise those things make.’’

Nina put her shoe on and stood up. ‘‘Which way back?’’

He led her out of the trees toward the big valley. They were high up the side of the mountain, almost in the middle of the steep slope rising behind them. Here the ground was much steeper. ‘‘Let’s go back the other way,’’ Nina said nervously. ‘‘I’ll fall here.’’

‘‘Let’s just cross to the other side. Then we can come through a new way back to the road.’’

‘‘Mom! Collier!’’ Bob shouted, spotting them far above him. ‘‘Watch this!’’

He snowboarded rapidly down a hill in the direction facing the mountain, sliding to a stop at the bottom. Floyd met him there. He looked up and waved.

‘‘Wow!’’ they shouted. And that’s when she heard it, the sound of the snowmobile approaching from the far side of the mountain, higher still. It roared into view, close enough for Nina to see the driver’s red and white and black ski parka.

‘‘Oh, no,’’ she said. ‘‘C’mon. Let’s go down. Quickly.’’

Collier looked intently at the snowmobile, which had stopped at the edge of the snowfield above them, as if the man on it was studying them. ‘‘You know who that is?’’ he asked.

‘‘Jim Strong.’’

‘‘How sure are you?’’

‘‘I know that parka.’’ They turned around and began to go back as swiftly as they could the way they had come, clumsy on the snowshoes.

The snowmobile took off. Angling straight up the mountain, it peaked parallel with the mountain almost directly above them, and roared down the other side to the trees they were heading toward.

Collier stopped. ‘‘What do you want to do? Now he’s that way. We can’t avoid him, so we’ll confront him. I’m with you. I’ll watch him.’’

‘‘Floyd!’’ Nina shouted down the mountain. ‘‘Floyd!’’ Drummond saw her waving to him and saw the snowmobile. He began climbing toward them, but he had a long way to go.

‘‘Okay,’’ Nina said, suddenly very, very tired. Her feet felt heavy and awkward as bowling balls and she remembered the mountain climbing books she had read all of one winter, how climbers at very high altitudes took eight breaths to make one step. She didn’t want to go toward that revving motor in the trees. But Jim was much faster and could cut them off easily no matter which way they went. She took sharp shallow breaths and tried to prepare herself as they trudged forward.

Jim Strong gunned the snowmobile and roared away from them, up the mountain.

‘‘Thank God,’’ Nina gasped. ‘‘He’s going away.’’

‘‘He’s high-marking,’’ Collier remarked, watching him zigzag up the face. Jim handled the snowmobile expertly. It was as if he was showing off for them just how good he was in the snow.

‘‘High-marking? Is that more made-up language?’’ Nina asked.

‘‘No. It’s when they try to go as high as they can on a mountain without tipping over. What’s he up to now?’’

Jim had gone higher than she would have thought possible. He was about two hundred feet above them, still sitting on the snowmobile. Suddenly, there was silence.

‘‘Maybe he stalled,’’ Collier said. ‘‘Anyway, he’s cut the motor.’’

Anxiously, she scanned the hills below and found Floyd still climbing, far below and to the side.

Collier was looking up and her eyes too were irresistibly drawn back. ‘‘Collier,’’ she said, pulling at his jacket, feeling very close to tears. ‘‘We have to get out of here quickly!’’

She felt the cold creeping into the gaps between her gloves, up the legs of her pants. She felt the nose on her face harden and hurt with it.

Panting with exertion, barely balanced on her snowshoes, she turned once more to look up.

With a mighty roar, the machine lurched to life. It began cutting back and forth above them as they turned and began struggling down the mountain as fast as they could. They both knew what he was doing now. All that snow, the tons and tons that had dropped from the sky . . .

The mountain came alive.

They were moving even though they stood still, Nina’s hand at her throat, Collier reaching toward her, moving downhill, faster and faster.

They were moving because the huge slab of snow that they were standing on had broken loose above them and was sliding down the mountain toward the valley below.