Cold Pursuit

"Make sure Barbara's there."

Two hours later he had it.

She opened the door and her face went white and blank. Her dark eyes went from McMichael to Hector and Barbara, then back to McMichael. He couldn't tell what filled them- fury or disappointment or just surprise.

"Sorry," he said. "We need to have a look around."

"For what?"

"Meperidine, strychnine and stolen property from Pete Braga's home," he said, holding up the document. "It's all right here, under scope of search. We ask you to stay and help us."

"Help you?" She looked past him to the two uniforms standing out in the sand. She was wearing sweats and athletic shoes and her old denim jacket over a sweater.

She threw the door closed but McMichael had his toe in and the door bounced off and slowly shuddered open. She had stepped back into the kitchen, and the stare with which she met him as he came into her house was like nothing McMichael had ever seen before. He had seen anger, but never so focused, never so personal. The uniforms barged in behind him.

"Stay with her," said McMichael.

"Yes, sir."

Sally Rainwater turned her back to them, stood in front of her kitchen sink, put her hands on the counter for support and stared out her drafty louvered window toward Tijuana.

Down inside the radiator vent in the second bedroom, Barbara found a Libertad pyramids box containing a pair of almost comically large diamond earrings hidden in a pair of men's socks.

In the attic, among a collection of old paint cans and solvents and stains, Hector found an aspirin bottle containing eight capsules of what appeared to be Demerol.

In the top of the crowded hallway closet McMichael found two Dunhill cigar boxes containing what looked like about twenty thousand cash. And a small wadded paper bag containing A

Sally Rainwater stared down at the collection, arranged by McMichael on the coffee table in her living room.

"I've never seen those things before," she said.

"What, they crawled in here and hid themselves?" asked Hector.

"I need a lawyer," she said.

"Lawyers are for people charged with crimes," said Barbara, the standard cop line for getting someone to talk without one. "You're not charged. Can you explain these things?"

Sally continued to stare at the evidence against her. The angle of her head suggested puzzlement, her tears suggested grief. But, as McMichael saw when she looked at him, her eyes were fury.

"I trusted you."

"Everyone's got a sad story," said Hector, while the uniform cuffed her hands. Hector Mirandized her, reading off the card to get it right.

TWENTY-THREE

McMichael and his son walked into Spellacy's at six, collected Gabriel off his stool and got a booth. The place was already busy, Friday night- darts and billiards in the back, the bar three deep and loud, waitresses squeezing through the crowds with serving trays while Celtic-rock-fusion music whi

McMichael sat across from his father and son and was momentarily lifted from his dark mood by the sight of them together. With Joh

Another little boy came over and challenged Joh

Gabriel waved a waitress over for another shot and a Gui

"We arrested the nurse," he said. "We're not sure exactly how she figures in, but somehow."

Gabriel blinked his clear blue eyes. "His caretaker, Tommy! Lots of that in the news these days- the younger generation preying on the older."

"Yeah."

"Drink up. You've got a whole weekend to forget about it and be with your boy. What you shouldn't forget is that Pete was shown the same mercy he showed your grandfather."

"I'll remember, Pop."

"Who was trying to feed a family."

"I know."

Gabriel eyed him with slightly drunken affection.

Tim Keller pulled up a chair while they ate di

After di

Victor Braga shuffled along a hundred feet ahead of them, headphones on, carrying a heavy plastic bag in each hand.

"There's Victor Braga," said Joh

The story- with Gabriel as the guilty attacker- had found Joh

"How retarded is he?" asked Joh

"Keep your voice down. Age ten, I heard."

"What grade is that?" whispered Joh

"Fifth, say."

"Fifth-graders get to walk around at night?"

"Not usually."

"How old is he, really?"

"Grandpa's age- sixty-three or so."

"How old is that in dog years?"

"About nine."

"I wish I had a dog."

"We'll get you one someday. That's a promise, John."

They turned up Broadway to the car, Joh

After Joh