CRIMINAL JUSTICE

BY

BARBARA PARKER



A SIGNET BOOK
SIGNET
 Published by the Penguin Group
 Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
 New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
 Penguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane,
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 Published by Signet, an imprint of Dutton Signet,
 a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.
 Originally appeared in a Dutton edition.
 First Signet Printing, January, 1998
 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2
 Copyright (c Barbara Parker, 1997
 All rights reserved
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 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either 
are
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40
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For Andrea Lane
my daughter
and future attorney-at-law
                                     
     ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Authors are often asked where they get their ideas. Most of mine are handed 
 to me like gifts when I research a novel. To all of the people who  
generously shared their time and their stories with me, I say thank you.  
For taking me into the music business, I am most grateful to Alex Kane,  
rock guitarist and songwriter; Mike Carr, Fantasma Tours, Inc., Darlene  
Delano, Long Distance Entertainment; Pamela Douglas, Warner-
  Electra-Atlantic; Sean Gerowitz, Billy Velvet, and Randy Bliss of the  
Underbellys let me sit in on rehearsals. Glenn Richards, WVUM; Louis Vaiz, 
 tour bus driver for Rancid; and sound engineer Orazio Spagnardi. And thank 
 you, Kelly Chang and James Lane.
  For answers to my legal questions, thanks to Beth Sreenan, Richard  
Gregorie, Milton Hirsch, Richard A. Sharpstein, and Stephen B. Gillman.  
Thanks also to Ron Cacciatore, formerly with the Broward County Sheriff's  
Office; Charles Intriago for insight on money laundering; Bill Brewer,  
Arvida Corporation, for the dragline; and Richard A. McMahan, O.S.I, for  
the advice.
  Andrew Geist, diver and spear fisherman, took me underwater; and my sister 
 Laura Parker kept me afloat during the long months of writing.
    CHAPTER 1.

 Two men stood looking out past the ruined terrace into the blazing light of 
a Sunday afternoon. One man held a pair of binoculars to his eyes; the other 
peered through the long lens of a telephoto camera. No one across the lake 
was likely to see them. The shadow of the roof and the overgrown trees cast 
the interior of the house into an unnatural darkness.
  The room was silent except for the clicking of a shutter.
  Along one wall a folding table held recording equipment. The woman sitting 
 there jotted notes on a clipboard. The glow of a small lamp reflected on  
her face. Her movements were precise and unhurried. At her feet electrical 
 cords were routed to a junction box. Another line ran along the wall, then 
 across the living room, held down by strips of duct tape.
  Elaine McHale walked in hearing the slight echo of her own footsteps on the 
 bare concrete floor of what
12  BARBARA PARKER

 had once been a two-million-dollar lakefront house in a development in one 
of those vast tracts northwest of Miami. Elaine had driven up to check out 
the surveillance operation. The agent in charge, Vincent Hooper, had opened 
the garage for her so she could park her car out of sight. As far as the 
neighbors knew, the place was being renovated for the new owners, who lived 
out of state.
  The woman at the table looked up from her notes. Daisy Estrada, petite and 
 auburn-haired, could have been any of the wives who might be found lunching 
 at the Lakewood Village country dub, except for the pistol holstered at her 
 waist. She greeted Elaine by name.
  Elaine knew one of the men at the windows, Carlos Herrera, a Colombian-born 
 agent with a graying mustache. They exchanged a nod. The other man was  
younger, with a dark blond ponytail. She extended her hand. "Elaine McHale, 
 assistant U.S. attorney."
  "Glad to meet you. Scott Irwin." The knees of his jeans were ripped, and 
 his black T-shirt had a picture of a guitarist with spiked hair. His one  
earring was a silver skull.
  She took all this in, finding it impossible not to smile. "You're the agent 
 Vince put undercover at Coral Rock Productions. You have to be."
  Carlos patted his stomach. "Because the rest of us are too old or too fat. 
 Scott, show her your navel ring." The younger man pulled up his T-shirt. A 
 silver ring pierced his skin.
   "Ouch," Elaine said.
         CRIMINAL Justice  13

  Vincent Hooper put a foot on one of the steel chairs and lit a cigarette. 
 "Scott plays bass guitar, fits right in. He's getting his arms tattooed  
next."
  "Not even for you, sugar pie." Scott pulled down his shirt.
  The DEA had planted an agent at a music production company because the man 
 who lived across the lake, Miguel Salazar, was using the company to launder 
 money for a drug cartel based in Ecuador.
  From where she sat by the tape recorders, Daisy Estrada said, "What about 
 the wiretap? We're ready to roll."
  Elaine said, "The warrant should be signed any moment. They have your  
number here."
  Scott laughed in disbelief. "What's the problem? Salazar's been making  
calls all morning. He's walking around in there with his phone stuck in his 
 ear."
  "Take it easy. We've got time." Vince watched the younger agent go sit down 
 by the windows. Then he turned his head to look at Elaine.
  She felt a sudden weakness in her chest, a catch of breath. Vince had said 
 nothing at the door, just opened it and let her in. She hadn't expected  
that seeing him would get to her. Vince had been undercover in Ecuador  
since before Christmas, back in Miami for more than a week. She wanted to  
stare at him, to soak in the subtle changes; Vince always came back changed 
 in some way. Following him into the room she had noticed that his skin was 
 more deeply tanned. His shirt seemed tighter across his shoulders. He had 
 a beard,
         14   BARBARA PARKER

 neatly trimmed but full enough to cover the scar on his jaw where last year 
a cop in Panama had dubbed him with a rifle butt. There was some gray, not 
much.
  Elaine walked to the sliding glass doors that formed the west wall of the 
 living room, facing the lake. One of them was broken out, replaced with  
plywood. She slid another back to get some air. This house stank of decay  
and desolation. On the patio, the screening was gone. Leaves and algae  
choked the pool, whose tiles had blackened with mildew.
  This time of year, late January, air conditioning wasn't necessary. She  
doubted it even worked. The former owner, who had been charged with  
securities fraud, had broken everything in the house rather than let the  
government seize it. At trial he had ranted how federal agents had set him 
 up, lied to him, led him into a trap. Before the guilty verdict came in, he 
 had punched holes in the walls and ripped out the wiring, sloshed motor oil 
 onto plush carpeting, shattered every sink and toilet, then poured cement 
 down the drains. His wife had already run out on him, so what the hell.  
Then he went into their bedroom, bit down on the barrel of a .38 revolver, 
 and blew his brains out.
  Beyond the glittering blue lake Miguel Salazar's mansion soared upward, an 
 expanse of glass and peachcolored stucco under a red tile roof, with a  
tennis court on one side and a pool on the other. Purple bougainvillea  
twined through a trellis shading the terrace. Tropical flowers bordered the 
 brick walkway that led to
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   15

 a white gazebo, then to the lake, where a catamaran had been pulled to 
shore.
  On the terrace women in bright dresses were tying balloons to the backs of 
 chairs set at circular tables. The balloons danced in the light breeze, and 
 the tablecloths fluttered. Children played in the grass, laughing and  
shouting. A young girl came out of the house carrying a box with a ribbon  
on it, which she put on a table already stacked with presents. Elaine heard 
 music-a salsa melody. Rhythmic, pulsing, fading in and out.
  She turned her head slightly. Vince stood beside her. "It's a birthday  
party."
  "I didn't know Salazar had children."
  "A teenage son, but he's in boarding school. He has some relatives living 
 with him. A sister, cousins. The party's for his niece."
   "What about his wife?"
  Vince took a last drag on his cigarette and flicked it into the pool. "His 
 wife is dead. She was a girl from the country, married him at fifteen. At 
 the time of her death they lived on his ranch outside Quito. Salazar found 
 out she was pregnant by his foreman. He shot her. The foreman lived, minus 
 his cojones. That's the story, anyhow."
  Elaine let out a breath. "Good Lord."
  Vincent Hooper could repeat these horror stories without a flicker of  
emotion. He had told her worse than that, inventing nothing, and there were 
 more things he refused to tell her. They had left their mark. He thought of 
 himself as a soldier in a nasty war, the
         16   BARBARA PARKER

 last line of defense. And yet Elaine had seen tenderness in this man-not 
often but enough to keep her from losing hope.
  She noticed a Mercedes-Benz flashing in and out of view among the big  
houses on Salazar's street. A minivan appeared after that. Both cars turned 
 into his driveway, then were blocked from view by the house. More guests. 
 A few minutes later a couple came out onto the terrace with a little boy, 
 who ran off to join the others. The parents sat in the shade with the  
adults, and a woman in a maid's uniform brought a tray of drinks.
  "Just another happy family Sunday in the burbs." When Elaine didn't  
respond, Vince said, "What's the matter? You're pissed off because I  
haven't come to see you."
  "Don't make it sound so petty."
  His lips barely moved. "And don't be bitchy, Elaine. I couldn't get away." 
 She didn't speak. It wouldn't do any good.
  To the south she could see white mounds of earth and the boom of a dragline 
 moving slowly back and forth, digging up muck and limestone, making lakes 
 and dry land out of what had once been Everglades.
  Elaine said, "I got another call from your informant at Coral Rock  
Productions."
  "Not my informant. I didn't put her in there. I was out of the country." 
 "But she is working for you, Vince, and she doesn't like it."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   17

  He made a short laugh. "Well, I'm sorry as all get out."
  The DEA had been using a female rock guitarist to gather information about 
 the same company that Scott Irwin had infiltrated. The young woman, whose 
 name was Kelly Dorff, had been given a choice-help us or go to prison for 
 possession of heroin. She had called Elaine twice already to complain that 
 she couldn't do it anymore.
  Elaine spoke quietly, making sure no one else in the room could hear her. 
 "Look, Vince. What else can Kelly give you that you don't already have? If 
 you keep leaning on her, she could lose it. She's not stable. If she tells 
 Salazar what's going on, you're going to blow your chance to get him."  
"She's not going to do anything," Vince said. "Don't worry about it.  
Scott's keeping an eye on her. She doesn't know he's DEA." He added, "You  
know what Miss Dorff's problem is? She's dating a guy who may well end up  
as a defendant in this case. A former buddy of yours. Daniel Galindo."  
Elaine looked at him.
  "She says he's not involved with Salazar, but I think she's lying to us. 
 What's your opinion?"
  "You can't be serious. I know you hate Dan's guts, but really."
  "I don't hate him, Elaine." Vincent smiled slightly. "That would be a waste 
 of energy. I only look at the facts. Dan Galindo is sleeping with a girl  
arrested for
         18   BARBARA PARKER

 trafficking. The girl plays in a band that Salazar is promoting. She works 
part-time at Coral Rock Productions, which Salazar is using for money 
laundering. Coral Rock is owned by Galindo's former brother-inlaw. Don't 
tell me he doesn't know what's going on."
 "I'm not going to argue about it," Elaine said.
  Before resigning from the U.S. attorney's office, Dan Galindo had lost a 
 case against a major drug dealer. Vincent suspected that Dan had blown the 
 case deliberately, that he'd been paid off.
  Scott Irwin stood up, raising his binoculars. "Here comes Leon."
  Across the lake the sun flashed on the windshield of a Jeep Wrangler  
turning into the driveway at the side of the house. A skinny man with long 
 black hair got out the driver's side. His passenger, an older man wearing 
 sunglassses, carried a box wrapped in pink paper.
  Vincent grabbed the extra pair of binoculars. Carlos swung the telephoto 
 toward the driveway. Daisy Estrada came over to look.
  "Who are they?" Elaine asked.
  Daisy said, "The driver is Leon Davila. He's a drummer in the same rock  
band as Kelly Dorff, but his real job is playing courier for Miguel  
Salazar. He's on your list of indictments, right? The other guy . . . I  
don't know."
  "He's a banker," Vince said. "Executive V.P., Banco Nacional de Quito, the 
 branch in downtown Miami. I wonder what's in the package."
  Daisy laughed. "Freebasing Barbie?"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   19

  Carlos's finger pressed the shutter, and the camera clicked on automatic. 
 The two men went inside, and the door closed after them. Scott trained his 
 binoculars on the house. "Okay, I see Miguel in the living room.
  Handshakes, pat on the back. Now they're on the stairs. His study's up  
there, but the curtains are shut."
  They watched for a few more minutes, but Salazar did not reappear.   The
cellular telephone rang. Vince Hooper walked to the table to pick it   up.
His voice was indistinct. After a few seconds he looked at the others.  
"That was Paxton. We've got the wiretap warrant."
  "Finally." Daisy flipped switches on the tape recorders and pen register, 
 then put on a pair of headphones and sat down.
  Vincent Hooper stood by the open glass door. His dark eyes were fixed on 
 the house, as if by will alone he could see beyond the curtains at the  
upstairs window and the glare of sun on the tinted glass.
  For another half hour Elaine waited for something to happen, but only two 
 calls came through. As soon as Daisy determined they were not relevant to 
 Salazar's business, she disconnected. There were four tape recorders, one 
 for each line at the Salazar residence, plus a pen register to record the 
 telephone number of every call going in or coming out. The lights on the  
machines stayed stubbornly dark. Finally Elaine checked her watch and said 
 she ought to be getting back to Miami.
  At the door to the garage she heard footsteps behind her, echoing in the 
 dim hallway. She turned.
         20   BARBARA PARKER

 Vince Hooper had followed. "Leaving already?"
 "I've seen the operation."
 He smiled. "Is that why you drove thirty miles?"
 "Get off it, Vince."
  "Come here." He went into a room off the hall, standing just beyond the  
open door, waiting for her. She looked back toward the living room,  
wondering if the other agents knew where he had gone. "Come here, I said." 
 He held out his hand.
  They walked deeper into the house. Bits of smashed Italian tile grated  
under her shoes. The room they entered was-had been-a beautifully decorated 
 study. Now green silk wallpaper hung in shreds. The blades of a ceiling fan 
 lay twisted on the parquet floor, which had been gouged and hacked.  
Sunlight filtered in a crazy pattern through broken wooden louvers.   Vince
pushed her against the wall. "You think I didn't miss you?" His knee  
pressed between her thighs.
  She was breathless. "Liar. How many ecuadorenas did you sleep with?"  
"Fifty teenage whores, and thought of you every time I came." His mouth  
came down on hers, and callused fingers slid under her pullover top and  
closed on one breast. She knew he wanted to pull up her skirt and take her 
 standing against the wall, her legs around his waist. Crazy. She knew she 
 would let him do it.
  There was a noise in the hall, someone stepping on glass. They looked  
around. The young agent, Scott, stood in the doorway with his gaze fixed on 
 the ceiling.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   21

  "Sorry. Daisy wants to know who's supposed to stay tonight."
  "She can stay till the shift change at eight o'clock." Vince had not moved 
 his hand.
  The other man left.
  Elaine pulled away. "Damn."
  "Don't worry about it." Vince laughed softly. "He'd die before he'd say  
anything. Any of them would."
  "They guard you like Rottweilers." She brushed her hair back with trembling 
 fingers. "I'm leaving."
  "When can I see you?"
  "Now you ask."
  He ran a finger down her cheek, under her chin. He kissed her gently this 
 time, and his beard prickled her skin. "I was going to call you, Elaine.  
Tomorrow. To take you to lunch." In the semidarkness his eyes were almost  
black and so close to her they blotted out the room.
  She said, "What about tonight?"
  "Can't. I'm going to be busy."
  He kissed her quickly, then walked away. Elaine didn't say his name. Not
to   have him turn around and explain that he had something to do with his
wife   tonight that he couldn't get out of, and that tomorrow was the best
he   could do. Sorry.
  She leaned against the wall, eyes closed, and heard his footsteps fade.  
Then faint voices. Already he was back with the others. She could find her 
 own way out.
          CHAPTER 2.

    As the bubbles cleared, Dan Galindo looked up through his dive mask. The 
    boat's pointed shape bobbed on the surface, and a line of yellow     
polyester rope angled toward the bottom, ending at a grapnel hook sixty    
 feet down, caught on a pitted white ridge in the reef.
  He inverted, kicking slowly with his fins. A school of chub eyed him, then 
 shot away, their sides glinting silver as they turned in unison. Dan moved 
 along at a shallow depth, ten feet or so, till he ran out of air. At the  
surface he blew sea water out of his snorkel, took a few deep breaths, then 
 went under again, deeper. A few seconds with his ears above water had been 
 enough. The girl he'd come with had turned the radio to a rock station. Of 
 her Dan had glimpsed only scraggly blond hair and a bikini top. She was up 
 there getting some sun, opening another beer.
  At ten o'clock this morning Dan had staggered out
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          23

 of bed, panicked. What trial had he forgotten to show up for? What judge had 
he pissed off this time? Monday mornings were God's revenge. He'd phoned his 
office. Alva-sweet Alva-told him he'd missed an appointment with a client, 
but she had covered for him. She read him some phone messages, but there was 
nothing on his schedule he couldn't put off.
  The day half gone already. He thought of the paperwork left over from last 
 week. There was always that. Then Kelly poked her head out from the covers. 
 Let's have lunch in the boat. It would be fun.
  They drove across the causeway from Miami to a marina on Key Biscayne,  
where he kept his boat, a twenty-foot Mako. Dan put his dive gear aboard  
while Kelly bought food at the marina store. Once into the bay they headed 
 due south, leaving behind the congested waters close to shore. A few miles 
 farther along, with the mainland reduced to a line of green in the west,  
Dan guided the boat through the narrow channel at Sands Cut, just north of 
 Elliott Key, then headed east toward Triumph Reef. The depth finder held  
steady at thirty, then went to forty, fifty. Dan slowed. At sixty he cut  
the engine. Their wake caught up to them, and the boat rose and fell.  
Another quarter mile out, the bottom would drop quickly to a depth of  
hundreds of feet. He tossed the anchor over the side and cleated off the  
bow line.
  For a while they sat quietly, water gurgling on the hull. The winter sun 
 blazed from a cloudless sky. They ate sandwiches and drank beer. Then Kelly 
 started
         24   BARBARA PARKER

 telling him about the demo tape her band was doing, and the keyboardist who 
was trying to take over the vocals. Dan closed his eyes behind his
 sunglasses and wished he was alone. It was when she started fiddling with 
the dial on the radio that he clipped the dive flag to a pole, then stripped 
off his sweatshirt and jeans and got into his wet suit. It covered him from 
neck to knees. He zipped up his rubber booties, put on fins, gloves, and 
weight belt.
  He told Kelly he'd be back in a while, don't go away. He lowered his mask, 
 bit down on the snorkel, and jumped in. The sea closed over his head in a 
 froth of bubbles, and he sank into perfect silence.
  Dan kicked slowly, moving along, watching a queen parrot fish with its  
beaklike mouth. The fish was bright turquoise now, but bring it to the  
surface, the color would fade as life ebbed away. Visibility was good all  
the way down. Patches of sand appeared bone white among the grayish rocks  
of the reef. The uneven terrain dropped into rocky holes between
  outcroppings of coral where purple fan grass waved in the slight current. 
 The reef was alive with fish. Dan spotted a longnose butterfly, a blue  
tang, and gray angels. Rolling over, he took the snorkel out of his mouth  
and blew air. The bubbles floated upward, rocking side to side, then were  
lost against the bright surface of the water. He wanted to follow them, to 
 climb back into the boat, sit in the sun and think of nothing at all.  
Coming up again, Dan pushed his mask to his forehead and looked toward the 
 boat. Kelly was dozing
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   25

 on the bow with the radio blaring. Her forearm was over her eyes, and one 
foot moved to the beat of drums and a screaming guitar. Her swimsuit top was 
off, and rosy nipples pointed skyward. There was a valentine tattooed on one 
breast.
  Dan spat into his mask and sloshed it with sea water. He began to breathe 
 deeply. Slowly. Pulling air into expanded lungs, then pushing it all out, 
 purging the carbon dioxide. He was going to the bottom. He counted fifteen 
 long breaths, took a look at his watch, then did a one-eighty.
  On Dan's long, lean body, his weight belt, eleven pounds of lead, would  
allow buoyancy to fifteen feet. Any deeper, he would sink. When he felt the 
 subtle shift he stopped kicking. He glided down, eyes closed, ears popping. 
 It would take about twenty seconds to reach bottom. He felt water flowing 
 past, colder now. The mask pressed into his face, and a few bubbles  
squeaked out of his wet suit. He tongued the snorkel out and pressed his  
lips together.
  There was a time when he'd been good at this, when he could stay under for 
 a minute and a half. He wondered if he could still do it.
  His father had told him to close his eyes-the brain consumes less oxygen 
 that way. Dan didn't know how it worked, but it did. On land Raul Galindo 
 had been as ungainly as a wading bird. Underwater his body had achieved a 
 sort of grace, his long fins curling, uncurling, flowing behind him like  
the tail of a fish.
  The light through Dan's eyelids dimmed, and he
         26   BARBARA PARKER

 sensed the bottom. He flicked his eyes open once, then again. His watch 
showed twenty-five seconds had elapsed. With thirty to get back up, being 
careful, he would have thirty-five more to lie here. He settled on his 
stomach in a patch of sand, gloved fingers hooked on a rock to keep from 
drifting. The only sound was a slight buzzing in his ears.
  To stay under a minute and a half would be difficult but possible. As a kid 
 he had nearly grown gills, catching tropicals for spending money in high  
school, or going spearfishing on long weekends in the Keys. There were more 
 good fish then. Big, meaty snapper, grouper, and yellowtail. Gradually,  
though, overfishing and fertilizer runoff reduced their numbers. The new  
residents, with even fewer fish, were saying what a paradise they had  
found.
  Dan clamped his teeth together and tightened his throat. Already he needed 
 air. He opened one eye. The second hand on his watch gave him twenty-two  
seconds. Twenty-one . . . twenty.
  The thought of not going back up drifted morbidly through his mind. In two 
 weeks he would turn thirtyfive. The number was somehow portentous. The  
halfway point. The zenith. And then what? Between hangovers and periods of 
 generalized funk, when he dared to reflect on the tattered state of his  
psyche, Dan slammed up against the horrifying vision that he would never  
get beyond that ratty office where he worked now, with its cheap,
  cigarette-burned carpet and wheezing air conditioner. That one day he would
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          27

 be washed up, living on memories of better days, like the old lawyer who 
owned the place. If he drowned, what difference would it make, really? He 
had life insurance. His ex-wife's mortgage would be paid off. Their son, 
josh, would go to college on the proceeds.
  Dan's chest involuntarily heaved, and his lungs were burning. What if he 
 hooked himself to the anchor with his dive belt? Kelly would haul on the  
rope, and there he would be, limp as a gaffed squid. Dan checked his watch. 
 He tried to focus, to remember where on the dial it would reach thirty  
seconds. He decided to count down from fifteen. A black grouper came  
closer, checking him out, magnified slightly by the dive mask. Its  
undershot jaw opened and shut, and when Dan made a slight motion with one  
hand, the fish vanished into the coral.
  Thirteen seconds left. Twelve . . . eleven. He closed his eyes again,  
seeing little dots of light that whirled and exploded in the darkness like 
 miniature fireworks.
  When Dan was ten, he and his father had gone spearfishing, Dan's first time 
 with his own gun. They were in the water off Marathon when a bull shark saw 
 them, an eight-footer. Sharks usually swam on by. This one didn't. Raul  
Galindo extended his speargun at arm's length, pivoting, motioning for Dan 
 to stay behind him. The shark glided closer, and he nudged it in the   head-
easy, not wanting to make it mad. With a flip of its tail, it scooted   away.
And then came back. Fast. Raul fired, hitting it just above the eye.   The
shark was a thrashing, twisting piece of meat,
         28   BARBARA PARKER

 leaking red. Back in the boat Raul said they should leave the area because 
of the blood, but as soon as they anchored somewhere else, they would go 
back in. Dan screamed, No, Dad, no, but his father threw him in anyway. 
Don't be afraid, I'm here. Two years later, Raul Galindo had been driving 
home from Key Largo when a drunk crossed the center line.
  Dan felt dizzy. His entire body ached. He was sixty feet underwater. The 
 height of a six-story building. If he passed out, he would stay down here, 
 weighted by his belt, until his body bloated and the currents lifted him  
away.
   Eight ...seven.
  Josh was seven years old. Brown hair and eyes. Like mine, Dan thought. Same 
 neat haircut, though Josh's was longer, flopping into his eyes when he ran. 
 A sweet kid. Small for his age. He'd been premature, had to catch up.  
Played soccer. Lisa had mentioned a game tomorrow. Dan hadn't planned to  
go, so Josh didn't expect him. What a hassle, dealing with Lisa.
  Dan remembered he'd promised to take Josh fishing this winter. Never got 
 around to it. Son, l want to show you how to use a speargun. You're not too 
 young.
  That was weird, Dan thought. The voice in his ears-it sounded like Raul's 
 voice.
  His watch had stopped. Dan looked closer. No, another second ticked by. Why 
 not go fishing? Not the bay, forget that. Too tame. They'd go to the  
Bahamas. Cat Cay. So many fish there. Beautiful. They'd go to Eleuthera,  
feel the sun and wind on their faces. The
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          29

 boat skimming over the water like a pelican with outstretched wings.   Dan's
vision dimmed. Oh, Christ. He was going to die. Heart slamming in his  
chest, he pushed off and began kicking frantically. The surface seemed dark 
 now, impossibly far away, the boat tiny as a matchstick. He rose, feeling 
 the pressure subside. No. He wasn't going to make it. It was too far. He  
was too heavy, too tired. He would black out before he reached the surface 
 and fall back to the bottom.
  Dan thought of Joshua, and his chest lurched, almost a sob. Air burst from 
 his lungs and he gagged on water. Too late, too late. His gloved hands  
fumbled for his weight belt. With his teeth he tore one glove off. He  
grabbed for the plastic clip. Then the belt dropped away and Dan kicked, no 
 strength left, but the silvery light getting nearer.
  There was a splash as he broke through. He dragged in a breath. The rush
of   oxygen made him drunk, almost euphoric. He rolled over, wheezing, barely 
 keeping his face above the surface. The sun blasted his eyes. He kicked  
steadily for the boat, reached for it, then a wave lifted it away. When the 
 boat fell back, Dan curled his extended fingers over the gunwale and hung 
 on.
  "Kel-!" He tried to scream her name over the music and went into a spasm
of   coughing. "Kelly, for God's sake, would you wake up!" He pounded the
hull.          30   BARBARA PARKER

  She sat up squinting, looking around, not seeing him. "Dan?"
  "How stupid can you be? You have to pay attention when someone's diving!" 
 "What happened?" She looked over the side and finally saw him bobbing in  
the water near the rear of the boat. "Oh, my God, did a fish bite you? Are 
 you hurt?"
   "I almost fucking drowned!"
  "I'm sorry! Dan, I didn't know!" Wearing only her bikini bottoms, she  
clambered through the gap in the windscreen.
  Dan spat salt water. His aching sinuses were full of it. When he was fairly 
 sure he had enough strength, he told her to move, he was coming in. He  
handed her his flippers and mask, stepped on the dive ladder, and shakily  
hauled himself up past the outboard engine and over the transom, scraping  
his shin. He flopped to the bottom of the boat, his sides heaving.   She
crouched beside him, pushing her long hair behind her ear. "Dan? I'm   sorry,
okay? What can I do?"
  He retched. After a while he sat up, leaning against the rear bench seat. 
 All his life diving, he had never dropped a weight belt. He had never come 
 that close. He took off his remaining glove and his booties.
  "Let me have a towel." He dried his face and hair, and when he had stopped 
 shaking, he peeled off his wet suit and put his clothes back on. Kelly  
hustled around picking up beer cans and repacking his dive bag, not saying 
 much. Dan caught her by the hand.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   31

 "Kelly, I didn't mean to yell at you. I was scared. It wasn't your fault." 
She hugged him around the waist. "It's okay."
 "Come on, let's go back," he said.
  The outboard engine roaring, Dan turned the boat north. He stood up behind 
 the wheel and let the wind rush into his lungs. The sky was incredibly,  
intensely blue, the water a sheet of silver. The boat danced over it. A  
gull dipped, then swung away. Dan laughed out loud. He was thinking of Cat 
 Cay again.
         CHAPTER 3.

    At the marina, a forklift raised Dan's little outboard from the water  
   on padded steel arms as if it were a toy. Dan stood on the dock     
watching. The driver backed up the machine to reach a garden hose at the   
  rear of the marina office, a small, flat-roofed building with mildewed   
  white paint.
  "You have a good ride?" He was a young Cuban named Ramon. He aimed the  
nozzle at the boat and sprayed salt water off the hull.
  Dan said they'd had a great time, thanks, and gave him a ten as a tip. He 
 walked around the boat, taking a close look. The hull was in decent shape. 
 He'd had the engine overhauled last year. For fooling around on Biscayne  
Bay, the boat was fine, but for a longer trip, living aboard? Not a chance. 
 "Hey, Ramon, do you know of a cruiser I could rent for a week or so? I want 
 to go to the islands to do some fishing."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   33

  Ramon gazed past the chain-link fence at the dry storage shed across the 
 weedy road, then studied the motley collection of boats tied up at the  
wooden docks. A rotting houseboat lay on its side under the mangroves.  
"Maybe. I know a guy has a real nice Silverton." Ramon flipped the hose  
back against the building and turned off the water. "rhirty-two-foot, twin 
 engines, insurance, gas . . . You probably get it for three thousand." He 
 dried his hands on a towel.
  "For one week?"
  "Includes the captain."
  "What do I need a captain for? I can operate a boat."
  "You kidding?" Ramon laughed. "You gotta have a captain. Nobody give you 
 his boat for a week if he ain't on it, man. Why don't you fish around here? 
 Don't pay nothing. That's what I do."
  "No, I want the Bahamas. This is special."
  With a shrug Ramon hopped on the forklift, cranked the engine, and drove
it   across the road, the boat still dripping water.
  Dan turned around to see Kelly sipping beer from a paper cup. He took the 
 one she offered him, but didn't feel like drinking. She was smiling,  
squinting into the sun. "So. A trip to the Bahamas."
  He hesitated, then said, "Well, this is for my son. I promised to take him 
 fishing."
  "Oh, I get it. Doing the guy thing." Kelly bumped him with a hipbone. She 
 had put her jeans back on. Her bare shoulders had turned pink. "bet's walk 
 down to
         34   BARBARA PARKER

 that end of the dock. Somebody just told me that a manatee comes over there 
sometimes."
  Dan looked at his watch. "It's almost two-thirty. I want to go by my office 
 this afternoon."
  "It's not that late," Kelly said. "You can spend five minutes. We're here 
 already."
  Through the forest of aluminum sailboat masts Dan could see the skyline of 
 Miami glittering a mile across the bay. His office was just north of  
downtown, not in one of the high-rent glass towers, but in a relic from the 
 thirties on Biscayne Boulevard. Kelly was strolling along the dock already, 
 her rubber thongs slapping the wooden planks. She gazed into the brownish 
 water and sipped her beer. Her hair hung in tangles past the thin strap of 
 her bikini top.
   With another glance at his watch, Dan followed.
  Kelly kicked off her thongs and sat down. Leaning back on her arms, she  
tossed her head to get her hair off her face. The first time they'd gone  
out, she told him that her family came from old money. She had the look:  
delicate bone structure, big green eyes, thin lips. The gold nose ring had 
 been made from an heirloom locket. Dan had once found it erotic. Now he  
didn't know what he thought.
  "I love the sunshine," Kelly said, swinging her feet. "Did you ever notice 
 how musicians only come out at night? That's why we're pale. Not like you. 
 You're so brown. Except for your butt. I did notice your butt is white."  
She laughed, then reached into her straw bag for her cigarettes.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   35

  Dan smoothed his hair and resettled his ball cap on his head. "Listen, I 
 called my secretary this morning before we left. She said Rick Robbins  
wants me to call him. Do you have any idea what that's about? Anybody  
arrested lately for DUI? Possession of pot? Some major crime that requires 
 my legal expertise?"
  Between gigs and practice sessions, Kelly worked part-time for Dan's former 
 brother-in-law, the owner of a music production company. They'd had a  
falling out during Dan's divorce, Rick taking his sister's side, but since 
 then Rick had sent a few cases his way. It was unusual, however, that Rick 
 would make the call himself. He would generally give the client Dan's phone 
 number.
  Kelly frowned, thinking about what Rick might want. "Martha Cruz. Bet you 
 a dollar that's it."
  "Who's Martha Cruz?"
  "I told you. You weren't listening, were you?" She took a drag on her  
cigarette. "Martha plays keyboard in my band and sings backup. She was  
arrested on South Beach outside a club a few weeks ago. She hit a Miami  
Beach cop." Kelly tapped ashes into the water.
  Dan laughed. "Was she drunk? Or just suicidal?"
  "No, she was just, like, trying to tell the cop to leave this guy alone, 
 that all he was doing was drinking a beer on the sidewalk or something. I 
 wasn't there, but that's what she told me."
  Dan had never met these people. Kelly had played him a tape, but she had 
 said not to come to the
         36   BARBARA PARKER

 rehearsals at the studio. The other musicians didn't like strangers around. 
 Kelly looked up, shading her eyes with one hand. "Martha has an attitude, 
 you know? I'm almost sorry I let her in the band. What I think is, Rick  
lets her get away with it because Martha's boyfriend Miguel just spent like 
 ten grand on promotion, so naturally Rick can't tell him to butt out, and 
 she's taking advantage of the situation. Don't you hate people who do that? 
 Martha and I are friends, but she's starting to be a pain."
  Dan looked toward the skyline again. "Kelly, I've got to go."
  "Why? You don't work for anybody. You can take the whole day if you want 
 to." She suddenly sat straight up and pointed. "Shh! Look. There they are." 
 He stepped closer, saw a shifting under the surface. Manatees. A female and 
 her calf, peaceful gray creatures with rounded horizontal tails and  
dangling flippers. Algae grew on the mother's broad back. This one had  
several nasty scars-boats hitting her before she could lumber out of the  
way. She raised her head for a breath, blowing air out of flared nostrils. 
 She fixed her tiny, patient eyes on Dan for a moment before submerging  
again. The calf stayed close by. Latticed sunlight played on their bulky  
shapes as they glided away. The water was murky, and soon they were lost to 
 view.
  "Manatees are so adorable," Kelly said.
  He wondered, standing in the blinding light of a Monday afternoon, what he 
 was doing with this girlbesides getting laid. She had wandered into his law         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   37

 office about a month ago about a traffic ticket, and a half hour later he 
was asking her out. Why, for God's sake? Out of nowhere Dan felt a leap of 
anxiety in his gut, the same lurch as in the recurrent nightmare he'd had 
lately-walking into court for opening argument and he couldn't remember what 
the case was about. He poured the rest of his beer into the mangroves and 
flattened the paper cup.
  Dan picked up his dive bag. "Sorry, Kelly, but really, I have to go."

  The area of Miami around Biscayne Boulevard and Thirtieth Street, a few  
blocks south of the expressway leading over to Miami Beach, had once been  
prime business property. Some of the royal palms that had lined the  
boulevard were still standing, but most of them had made way for
  storefronts, gas stations, and cheap motels.
  The law office where Dan rented space was a onestory building with a  
Spanish-style facade and Moorish columns across the front. A sign on the  
front wall read, LAW OFFICES OF CHARLES DUNAVOY. Below that had been added, 
 DANIEL R. GALINDO, EsQ.-Criminal Law. Dan drove around back and went in  
through the rear door, after unlocking the security gate. Bars kept out the 
 occasional crack addict wandering through.
  He picked up his mail and messages from Alva Dunavoy's desk. She was  
married to Charlie. Dan waited to speak to her until she had finished  
typing a letter. In theory his rent included her services, but
         38   BARBARA PARKER

 she had made it clear whose secretary she wasCharfe's-and anyone else could 
stand in line. Dan shuffled through the envelopes. Bills, pleadings, notices 
of hearings. He went through his messages. A bail bondsman notifying him 
that a client had skipped town. A court reporter wanting payment for a tran-
script. And the message to call Rick Robbins. Now there was a second message 
attached. URGENT.
  Alva kept her half-rim glasses pointed toward a steno pad, and the ball of 
 an old IBM Selectric clattered across the page. She had a puffy
  bleach-blond hairdo and dangly gold earrings that bounced with the staccato 
 movement of her fingers. Her long nails clacked on the keys. A few decades 
 ago, she had been a hot number, as they used to say. Charlie had showed him 
 a 1962 edition of Playboy. Girls of Miami Beach, posed around a pool at the 
 Castaways. There was Alva by the waterfall, her hair in a platinum-blond  
pageboy with bangs straight across her forehead. Big smile, nothing on but 
 red high heels and a beach ball.
  Dan spotted a Miami Herald in the trash can next to the copier table and 
 retrieved the classified section. He turned back the page advertising boats 
 for sale. 1971 25' Bertram Bahia Mar, $39,000. Probably leaked. 1988 Sea  
Ray Express, 34', $47,500. Good price. Dan circled that one, wondering if  
a bank existed in Miami that would front him the down payment.
  Hearing a low burble of Spanish, Dan walked over to slide back the frosted 
 glass window a few inches.
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   39

 Three people sat in the small waiting room-a middleaged couple and a teenage 
boy.
  Alva pulled the finished letter out of the typewriter. "Well. Mr.
  Punctuality."
  "Hi. Where's Charlie?" Dan walked back to her desk.
   "He's not here."
   "I noticed."
  She relented, smiling a little. "He's at a real estate closing. He'll be 
 here soon."
  "Who are those people in the waiting room? Not mine, are they?"
  "No, they came in about ten minutes ago. They asked to speak to a lawyer, 
 and I said Mr. Dunavoy was expected momentarily." She added, "You wouldn't 
 be interested. They're walk-in's."
  "Well, what do they want?"
  "They bought a used car from a neighbor, but the title was bad, and the  
police came and towed it. Now the neighbor says he can't pay them back."  
"Oh, great."
  Alva dabbed some correction fluid at the letter she had just typed. "So do 
 you want them?"
  "Let Charlie do it. I have some paperwork to catch up on." He held up the 
 messages from Rick Robbins. "Alva, did Rick say what he wanted to talk to 
 me about?"
  "No, he just said call."
  "Didn't give you a hint?"
  "Honey, if they don't tell me, I don't ask." She pulled a file from the  
bottom drawer of her desk and
         40   BARBARA PARKER

 stiffly straightened her back. Her radio was on at low volume. Frank Sinatra 
finished singing "My Way." Then an ad came on for pre-need arrangements from 
Levitt-Weinstein Memorial Gardens.
  Dan said, "Why do you assume that I never want to see walk-in's?"
  She glanced at him as she cranked an envelope into the typewriter. "Because 
 you told me, 'Alva, I don't want to see any walk-in's, unless they just got 
 run over by a drunken doctor in a heavily insured Cadillac."'
  "I didn't say that."
  She shrugged.
  Dan looked at the waiting room door, then went over and opened it. "Hi. I'm 
 Dan Galindo. You folks want to come in?"

  It was exactly what he had expected: The case wasn't worth the time a  
lawyer would need to put into it.
  The teenager translated for his parents. The father drove a truck; the  
mother was a maid in a Miami Beach hotel. They had saved for months to buy 
 a car, then the police said it belonged to someone else. How could this  
happen? Dan told them all they could do was file a claim against the  
neighbor who had sold it to them. No, don't hire a lawyer, it would cost  
more than the car was worth. They could file the case themselves in   small-
claims court, get a judgment, put a lien on the neighbor's property.   Dan
went through the steps with them. The statement of claim, the summons,   what
to take to the clerk's office. He gave them
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          41

 directions to the courthouse. Next time see me first. The
 father wanted to know how much he owed for the consultation. Dan almost told 
him nada, no charge, but saw the pride in the man's face.
  After they were gone, he counted out the bills on Alva's desk. She looked 
 up at him. "Thirty bucks?"
  "Just put it on my rent account, okay?"
  She pursed her lips, lines appearing in her coral pink lipstick, which  
extended past the natural line of her mouth.
  The back door slammed. A few seconds later, Charlie Dunavoy came in, suit 
 coat over his arm, briefcase in his hand. He was a big white-haired man  
with a red face and broken veins in his cheeks.
  Dan said, "Charlie, got a minute?"
  "Yeah, sure." He picked up his messages from his wife's desk and rattled 
 off some instructions to call one of the probate judges about resetting a 
 hearing. In his office, he tossed his briefcase onto a brown vinyl sofa.  
Dan came in behind him. "Charlie, if I were gone for a week, would you be  
able to cover my schedule?"
  "Yeah, I guess I could do that." Charlie hung his jacket on a wooden hanger 
 behind the door. His stomach strained at the buttons of his shirt, and sus- 
penders held up a pair of trousers going baggy in the seat. He asked,  
"What've you got? No trials, I hope."
  "Routine stuff," Dan said. "No trials. There might be a motion or two. Most 
 of it can be reset. I want to take my son fishing in the Bahamas."          42   BARBARA PARKER

  "Oh, now, isn't that a lucky kid?" Charlie leaned back in his chair.  
"Say, do you still have that Sea Ray twin outboard? You told me you went  
down to the Keys in it, remember?"
  "Oh, I sold that sucker. Engines were shot anyway. Must've been, jeez, five 
 or six years ago. I bought a little flats boat that I keep down there at  
the condo."
  Before Charlie could tell him about bonefishing off Islamorada, Dan shook 
 loose and went back to his own office.
  Two years ago he had been making over seventy grand a year as a federal  
prosecutor, living with his wife and son in a new house in a good
  neighborhoodbefore he resigned. The career went, then the marriage, then 
 his concentration. In a city saturated with lawyers he went from job to  
job, scrabbling not to fall behind on alimony and child support. He worked 
 part-time, a degrading experience. Then a friend, Elaine McHale, gave him 
 the name of a lawyer her family had known for years, a man in his sixties 
 who needed someone younger to help out, preferably someone with trial  
experience.
  Charlie Dunavoy had never asked Dan why he'd left the U.S. attorney's  
office. Elaine had probably filled him in. The answer was, Dan had blown a 
 major prosecution against an Ecuadorian drug trafficker by refusing to use 
 the DEA's confidential informant. The guy was dirty. True, many of them  
were. After all, what upstanding citizen would be involved with dopers? But 
 Dan had good
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          43

 reason to believe the guy was flat-out lying. Dan went to the judge. No way 
can 1 put this witness on the stand, Your Honor. The defense team was 
jubilant. The lead DEA agent on the case smelled a payoff, as if Daniel 
Galindo would ruin his reputation for a murdering slimewad thug. No, Dan's 
real sin had been blabbing about it to the media, embarrassing the office. 
A week later he got the news: he would be handling slip-and-fall cases from 
V.A. hospitals or claims filed by postal customers run over by mail trucks. 
He would prosecute picnickers caught with a six-pack at Everglades National 
Park. Within an hour Dan's resignation letter was on the U.S. attorney's 
desk
  Coming into this office six months ago, walking out of the blazing August 
 heat into that tiny waiting room, past a man in a gas station uniform and 
 a woman with her hair in dreadlocks, coming in and seeing the rundown  
furniture and the dusty fan whirling on the filing cabinet, Dan had  
seriously wondered what Elaine McHale thought of her former colleague, that 
 she would send him to such a place. Or what he had thought of himself, that 
 he had taken Charlie's offer. But he had survived. He was paying his bills. 
 The ten-gallon salt water tank under the window was humming, bubbles coming 
 out of the aerator. Dan kept blue and yellow rock beauties, which he had  
caught off West Palm Beach. He gave them a few pinches of food.
  Putting the box back on the shelf, he noticed the photograph of Josh-his 
 first-grade picture, a dopey
         44  BARBARA PARKER

 smile, his new front teeth making him look like a rabbit, glasses halfway 
down his nose. Dan touched the photograph, sliding his fingers across the 
silver frame.
  "Hey, bud. We're going fishing. You and me."
    CHAPTER  4.

     That afternoon Dan drove to Coral Rock Productions, finding his way   
  through tourist-season traffic to the flat-roofed building in
     Hallandale, just over the county line. He hadn't seen the place in    
 months. The small lobby had a new collection of music posters on the     
walls and a different set of tunes on the receptionist's radio, but     
otherwise it looked the same.
  The receptionist told him to go on back, Rick was expecting him. Dan  
remembered the way to Rick's office, a windowless cave at the end of the  
hall.
  They had met in college, then gone in separate directions, Dan to law  
school, Rick into the music business. He had become successful at it,  
booking national tours into local venues, managing acts, and producing  
shows anywhere from gospel to acid rock. After Dan left the U.S. attorney's 
 office, Rick had offered him a job as general counsel. Entertainment law? 
 Nothing to it. What he had really wanted was
         46   BARBARA PARKER

 somebody to be the hardass, to rein in musicians who trashed their hotel 
rooms or ignored their contracts. Dan had said no. The offer had smelled 
like charity. Last summer, when Dan had sunk about as far as possible 
financially, Rick started referring cases to him. A booking agent charged 
with DUI. A country singer caught with a pound of weed. Then a
 slip-and-fall, a burglary, a sexual battery. Dan didn't like it, but at the 
time he was in no position to refuse. As his practice improved, he accepted 
fewer of them. The last was a spike-haired punk rocker arrested for peeing 
into a mosh pit.
  He found Rick on the telephone, leaning back in his chair. His hair was a 
 little thinner, and a bald spot had worked its way through. He turned  
around when Dan rapped lightly on the open door. He held up a hand, don't  
go away.
  "Yeah, I told them we'd fax an offer .... Twenty for her. At least, which 
 is a deal. She's gettin' anywhere from twenty to thirty. Like she wants  
thirty for L.A., plus a limo ride, plus a suite . . . The venue's a  
theater, should be okay."
  Dan mimed drinking a soda, and Rick nodded.
  In the tiny kitchen, Dan was taking a Coke out of the refrigerator when his 
 peripheral vision caught a Bonnie Raitt tour T-shirt and tight black jeans. 
 He turned his head and looked down. Rick's wife.
  Sandy Robbins smiled up at him, a petite woman with aggressively frosted 
 hair. She handled publicity for Coral Rock. "Hey, Dan. How you been?"         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   47

 "Great. How about yourself, Sandy?"
  She pushed the door shut. "Rick said you were comin' up. What did he say
to   you, why he wanted to see you and all?" She had a voice straight out of
the   Georgia hills, more twang than drawl.
  Dan shrugged. "Rick didn't say. You don't know either?"
  "Shoot, he won't tell me a blessed thing. He says he wants to give you a 
 case, but it's got to be more'n that. You and Rick ain't laid eyes on each 
 other in a long time. So why's he calling you now?"
  Dan popped the tab on the soda can. "What do you think it is, Sandy?"   "I
honest and truly don't know. It's a feelin', like when we got in trouble  
on the payroll taxes. Lord, you know about that, I guess. What's the little 
 bonehead done now?" She tapped her long fingernails on her crossed arms. "I 
 think Rick's into some shit he don't want me to know about. He don't give 
 me straight answers about the money. He's playing cute with the books. I'm 
 scared the IRS is gonna knock on the door and take everthang we own. You  
gotta make him tell you what's goin' on, Dan."
  He put a hand on her shoulder. "Sandy. I don't do tax law. Nor do I intend 
 to get involved with Rick's business. The man makes me crazy. If you have 
 the slightest inkling that Rick is dicking around with the IRS, call  
somebody who can help you. I could give you some names."
  Sandy's temper flared, and she slapped his hand
         48   BARBARA PARKER

 away. "Go on. Turn your back. I know y'all had a fallin' out, but I'll tell 
you one thing, mister. He helped you plenty when you didn't have a pot to 
piss in or a window to throw it out of."
  "Fine. Jesus." Dan left the can beside the sink and went to see if Rick was 
 finished. He could hear Sandy's boots behind him.
  Rick was on another call, phone under his chin, reading from a computer  
printout. "Tampa on the fourth, travel day on the fifth, Athens on the  
sixth, and Atlanta on the seventh and eighth .... Well, they're only  
playing one date in the north, St. Paul on the fifteenth .... You're gonna 
 be in touch with the record label, right? Call Sandy, she can give you more 
 information than I can .... Nothing on the tenth, that's a Monday .... The 
 Civic Auditorium, that's what I've been told." He noticed Dan, who had come 
 in and dropped into a chair. "Listen, I've got to run. Call me later in the 
 week, all right?"
  Sandy had come in as well, standing about fivetwo in her red leather cowboy 
 boots, glaring at her husband.
  He took a tweed sport jacket off a hook. "Hi, sugar. Dan and I are gonna 
 grab a bite. Then I'm going to the studio. The band is putting a couple of 
 songs on tape tonight."
  "I'm not invited to dinner?" Her smile was brittle.
  "No, you're not."
  "I'll follow you in my car, Rick. I swear. Whatever's going on, I'm not  
gonna be cut out."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   49

  "Out of what? I'm talking to him about Martha's assault and battery. I told 
 you."
  "You lie to me, I'll by God make you wish you hadn't."
  "Come on, Dan, let's go. I wish my lovely wife would stick to her own job, 
 and let me do mine."
  "Rick would sooner run us into bankruptcy than admit he don't know his  
pecker from a tire pump."
  "Yes, dear. Bankruptcy is exactly what I have in mind." Rick zipped his  
cellular phone into its leather pouch. "Sandy got her MBA from Yee-Haw  
State, did you know that, Dan?"
  Dan said, "For the love of God, will you two shut up?"

  Rick left black marks coming out of the parking lot, then headed his lemon 
 yellow Mustang north on U.S. 1 past strip shopping centers, a car
  dealership, mom-and-pop motels flying the Canadian flag. Nous parlons  
franpis. The sun was dropping behind the trees.
  "She's a piece of work. Tell me why I stay with her, I can't fuckin' figure 
 it out."
  Neither could Dan. He had seen battles in the halls of Coral Rock
  Productions. Screaming. Throwing things. Pushing and shoving. But it hadn't 
 taken the heat out of their romance, apparently.
  Dan grabbed the handle over the passenger window as Rick's car hurtled down 
 the road. "So. Martha
         50   BARBARA PARKER

 Cruz. The keyboard player in Kelly's band. Arrested for battery on a Miami 
Beach cop."
  "Yeah, a couple of weeks ago. I told her to go to South Beach to catch this 
 rave band out of New York, and she winds up sitting in on the last set.  
After that, outside the club, some fan gets hassled and Martha opens her  
mouth. The cop pulls an attitude, tells her to butt out, yadda yadda, you  
heard it before. Arrests her for interfering, battery on a police officer, 
 assault, whatever he can get her on, just to be a prick." Steering   one-
handed, Rick opened a roll of Tums with his teeth. "What I want is, get  
this cleared up for her. The band doesn't need this shit. The record labels 
 don't like it. An arrest, a trial-it's bad news, Dan."
  "I can't make it go away."
  "Maybe some kind of probation. If it would help, tell Martha to apologize 
 to the officer-although with Martha that would be a stretch." Chewing on  
his antacid, Rick said, "But she's smart. She'll do what she has to. All  
she cares about is her career."
  "Is she any good?"
  "Oh, yeah. Martha's so good it's scary. Don't get me wrong. So is Kelly. 
 Kelly's a terrific guitarist, and the bassist and drummer aren't half bad 
 either. But Martha's the musician in the bunch. She's the engine. I don't 
 say that to the others, of course." Rick lifted the console and pawed  
through a disorderly pile of tapes and CD's. "I don't have anything  
current. Wait. This is Martha before she joined Mayhem. She was in this  
group called Two-Tailed Lizard." He slid the tape into
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          51

 the tape deck. "Yeah, the name sucks. Before that it was Electric Iguana. 
And overlook the sound quality. It was mixed in somebody's bedroom."   A bass
drum thudded out of the speakers, followed by the crash of guitar   chords.
"All right, the keyboard's coming in. A step beyond techno, hear   it? That's
Martha. Okay, the guy's gonna sing, ignore that part. Wait. Here   it comes."
  Dan heard a wail, a scream. A female voice coming from a place he couldn't 
 imagine. The words were impossible to make out. He finally said, "That's . 
 . . pretty bad, Rick." He hid a grin under a knuckle, elbow on the  
windowsill.
  Rick flipped the power off, leaving only road noise and the growl of the 
 Mustang's big engine. He turned his sunglasses toward Dan. "You know your 
 problem? You're still stuck in that eighties New Wave crap. Duran Duran.  
The Cars. I bet you knew all the words to 'Candy-O."'
  "No way. I listened to Bad Company and Zeppelin."
  "Did you or did you not have a poster of Flock of Seagulls in your dorm  
room?"
  "Yeah, for the girls," Dan said.
  "Oh, man, you too?" Rick laughed. "I had the Police. I'd take that down and 
 put up David Lee Roth for the metal chicks." He put on his right blinker  
signal. "The Lobster Shack is over here. You feel like seafood?"
  Brake lights ahead of them went on. A Lincoln sedan with a Quebec tag began 
 a slow turn into the parking
         52   BARBARA PARKER

 lot. Rick said, "Come on, puddin'!" He swerved around the car. "Another 
fuckin' Canadian. Jesus, I'll be glad when it stops snowing up there."

  A fifty-gallon salt water tank was built into an inside wall of the  
restaurant. Through the tank Dan could see another section of dining room, 
 distorted by the glass. Fish swam in and out among fake sea grass planted 
 in neon orange rocks. A clam shell opened and shut, releasing bubbles. A  
miniature shipwreck had spilled gold plastic coins and strings of pearls.  
The fish were the usual fish-tank variety: angels, a clownfish, a
  butterfly.
  The waitress brought two beers.
  Rick put on his glasses to read the menu. "You been okay?"
   "Sure."
  "I should have called, you know, kept in touch. The business has been nuts. 
 I turn around, it's next month." Rick took a swallow of beer. "You're doing 
 okay, though."
  "No problems." Dan lifted his mug. "What about you? I noticed a new BMW in 
 Sandy's spot in the parking lot."
  "Oh, jeez. If I've got it, she spends it. Women are that way. Don't tell 
 her I told you, but she also got her boobs lifted."
  "Really?"
  "I told her she didn't need to. She's forty-two, you believe that? Six  
years older than me, still hot."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   53

  Dan drank some beer. "My birthday's coming up. The big three-five. I'm  
halfway there, Rick."
  Rick looked over the top of his menu. "Halfway to what? Croaking?"   "It
has to make you think. You ask, what have I accomplished that's worth   a
damn? You wonder if you should run wild or get serious, or if it makes a  
difference either way. You didn't think about that?"
  "No, I was busy that week." Rick turned a page. "They do a good blackened 
 tuna."
  "I don't like tuna. What I thought of is, I'd take Josh fishing in the  
Bahamas. Cat Cay, Eleuthera. Sleep on the boat, swim naked, walk on the  
beach. We'd do the father-son thing. I'd get back in touch with what's  
important, you know? I'm not sure Lisa's going to go for it, though."  
"Sounds great. That's what I need, a vacation. You want a deck hand, call  
me."
  Dan turned around to see the list of specials on a chalkboard. "They've got 
 mangrove snapper, tenninety-five."
  "Try it. Get whatever you want, it's on me." Rick gave the menus to the  
waitress, told her what they wanted, and put his glasses back into his  
breast pocket. "You know, Dan, I think she's still got feelings for you.  
Seriously."

  "My sister, who do you think?"
  "What does that mean, she wants me back?"
  "It doesn't mean anything," Rick said. "But since
         54   BARBARA PARKER

 you ask, yeah, I think she'd take you back, if you play it right."
  "Jesus. A year ago you paid for her divorce lawyer. I was lucky to come out 
 with my balls intact."
  "I was upset with the situation at the time. You didn't make it easy."  
Dan turned his beer mug in the wet ring on the paper place mat-a map of the 
 Caribbean. "Has Lisa said anything to you?"
  "Not directly, but they don't always say what they mean."
  "I wouldn't go back," Dan said. "Too much has changed."
  Rick said, "Hey. Learn from the past, right? Look at Sandy and me. We  
fight. We yell. We're still together. And you can't get along with Lisa, a 
 genuinely classy woman, a great mother to josh? What are you doing, hanging 
 out with Kelly Dorff ? She's a cute chick, but come on."
  "You didn't bring me here to talk about that, did you?"
   "No. I'm sorry what happened, that's all I'm saying."
  The waitress came with a basket of hush puppies and two salads. Rick's  
cellular phone rang. He turned it off.
  Dan said, "Tell me about Martha Cruz. If she was arrested two weeks ago, 
 she's got a court date coming up soon. She hasn't talked to a lawyer?"   "I
said I'd find her one. Okay, I dicked around, I was busy. Then I thought  
of you over the weekend."
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   55

 "Thanks a bunch. What if I say no?"
 "Don't do that, man."
  "Battery on a police officer. Tell her to plead no contest. They'll give 
 her probation."
  "What if they don't? I can't screw around with this."
  "It's no big deal, believe me. It's one of those petty cases filed to show 
 who's in charge. Tell her to kiss the cop's butt, she'll be fine."   "No.
No, listen. I promised Martha's boyfriend I'd find her a good lawyer.   I
called him yesterday, said let me get Dan Galindo, my brother-in-law.  
Formerly a federal prosecutor, very tough, very smart, now a top criminal  
defense attorney in Miami-"
  Dan laughed.
  "Okay, I might have exaggerated somewhat, but do I need to hire Roy Black 
 for this? As if I could afford him."
  "Martha's boyfriend," Dan repeated. He recalled what Kelly Dorff had told 
 him this morning. "Miguel something. He's bankrolling the band."
  "More or less. His money, my brains." Leaning on one forearm, Rick dug into 
 his salad. "Miguel Salazar. Miguel wants Martha to go places, but what he 
 has in mind for her is crossover pop, like Gloria Estefan. That's so far  
off. Right now, though, I've got to keep Miguel happy, so help me out, will 
 you?"
  "Rick, what's going on? Are you in trouble with the IRS again?"
  "What are you asking me that for?"
  "Sandy talked to me."
         56   BARBARA PARKER

  "Oh, Jesus. That chick is so paranoid. No, I am not in trouble with the  
IRS. I'm a little late, but when I get a few items squared away, we'll be  
in good shape."
  "I don't want to hear about it."
   "You brought it up," Rick said.
  Dan asked, "Who exactly is Miguel Salazar-in addition to being Martha  
Cruz's sugar daddy?"
  Rick speared a cucumber slice. "Who is he? You mean, like, what does he do? 
 He's from Ecuador. He runs an import-export business in Miami, mainly  
exporting CD's and videos to South America, importing clothing, flowers,  
coffee. It's very diversified."
  Dan looked steadily across the table until Rick glanced up at him. "Is  
Miguel Salazar into importing anything else?"
   "What do you mean?"
   "Don't play stupid, Rick."
  "No. Jesus, would I get involved with a trafficker?" He glanced around as 
 if someone might have heard him, then said, "Miguel's a successful  
businessman, that's all. Lisa's met him. He lives in Lakewood Village. His 
 kid or something plays on Josh's soccer team, in fact. If you'd stayed,  
you'd be neighbors, practically. Miguel's into music because he likes the  
lifehanging out with the artists, being able to say, yeah, I know Madonna, 
 I know Willy Chirino, I met Trent Reznor. He thinks he's a producer, but he 
 has no ear and no sense of the market."
  "How'd you get to know him?"
  "Through Martha. She joined Kelly's band about a
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          57

 year ago, and Salazar knows the drummer. I think Miguel and Martha met that 
way and sort of fell in with each other. Then Martha told me that Miguel 
wanted to help out, and I said okay-a very stupid move. Then one thing and 
another, blah, blah, he lent me some money for the office. Maybe-if you are 
feeling generous with your time-you could assist me in getting Miguel off my 
back, when I find the money to do it."
 "Does Sandy know about this?"
  "God, no, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't enlighten her. Soon as I get 
 the band signed, I can pay Miguel."
  "Signed? Just like that?" Dan laughed a little, stopping when Rick looked 
 at him darkly.
  Signing a deal with a major record company was so rare as to be
  statistically impossible. Rick had never even come close. He had signed a 
 couple of bands to local labels. He had put money into one that showed  
promise, but as soon as they got a whiff of success, they blew him off and 
 hired a manager from L.A.and then fell apart before Rick could get a  
lawsuit going. He was known in the entertainment industry in South Florida, 
 but that didn't mean jack to New York, Nashville, or Los Angeles. Except  
for Latin music, Miami didn't exist.
  "Let me ask-not that I want to pursue this-how much did Salazar lend you?" 
 For a while Rick considered the question. He sucked a tooth and stared  
vacantly across the restaurant. "About
         58   BARBARA PARKER

 a hundred grand." When Dan let out a breath of astonishment, Rick said, "If 
we get the deal-if this works out-they could be big, Dan. Very big. Music 
video. Feature stories in Billboard and Rolling Stone. An opening slot for 
the next Stone Temple Pilots tour, if STP is still around next year. Or 
think of this--opening for U2. It could happen."
  Dan stared across the table. As a manager, Rick made fifteen to twenty  
percent of everything his artists earned. If a band took off, broke the  
charts, went platinum, and generally survived past the usual life
  expectancy for new bands, a year or so-Rick could make millions. But that 
 never happened. More likely, if Rick got them a deal at all, it would be  
for a $25,000 advance. The recording budget might be $125,000, but the  
label would take it off the top before the band saw a nickel. Their one and 
 only CD would eventually wind up in the cut-out bins at Wal-Mart.
  "Jesus, Rick. What are you doing?"
  Rick reached across the table to grab Dan's arm. "I flew to New York last 
 month and talked to a guy at Capitol Records, Joel Friedman. He does   A-
and-R. That's artists-and-repertoire to you. A talent scout, okay? As a  
breed, they are the most cynical, bitter, and manipulative SOBS you'll ever 
 meet. But Friedman owes me a favor. He was here a few months ago, he likes 
 to bet sports, so I set him up with the right people, and he lucked out.  
He's grateful. So I go to New York. I play him a tape of the band-a live  
performance, mind you, not even studio quality. I watch
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          59

 his hands. You can always tell. The way he's tapping the rhythm on the 
chair, I knew I had him. But Friedman is a very cool guy. He says he's 
coming down on vacation, and he'll try to catch the concert if he likes the 
demo tape. The band is playing at the Abyss. Not as the headliner-that's 
Bone Dog-but Mayhem will be opening. They're going to make it." Rick closed 
his eyes and dropped his forehead on his hand. "Please, Jesus, just let them 
make it." He moved back, blinking, when the waitress put their dinners on 
the table.
  Dan said, "Kelly played a Mayhem tape for me. Rick, I don't want to pop  
your bubble, but are you sure they have the talent for this?"
  "Listen to me, you know so much." Rick pointed his fork at him. "Where is 
 it written that success has anything to do with talent? When Smashing Pump- 
kins found their bass player, she was still taking bass lessons, okay? All 
 the talent in the world won't get you there if the timing's wrong, or if  
the record company doesn't click with what you're doing. That's my job.  
Selling the band to a company who will turn around and market the band to  
the public. Success is whether anybody buys your stuff. Period. And it's  
tough. There's a gazillion singers and musicians, all wanting to be stars  
and make the money, and most of them have talent. Can I guarantee that  
Mayhem is going to make it? Of course not. But I have an ear. I can tell  
when something is possible or not. I listen to Mayhem and they shimmer,  
like pure gold."
         60   BARBARA PARKER

  As he spoke, Rick's voice grew raspy. "All my life, fifteen years in this 
 business, I've never been this close. I might never be again. I've got to 
 get Martha's case taken care of, and I don't want to hear any of your bull- 
shit about oh, isn't this just so petty, battery on a police officer.  
You're coming up on thirty-five, and you're cryin'. Well, excuse me for not 
 sharing your pain. You skated through college and law school. You had a  
beautiful wife and kid and a home. Then you fucked up at the U.S.
  attorney's office-not because you weren't good enough, but because you  
thought you were too good for what was required to get along. You want to  
help me with this, fine. If not, screw you."
  Dan felt a wave of heat flooding through his body. He wanted to walk out
of   there. He wanted to punch Rick in the mouth. Or come back with a remark
to   shut him up. But there wasn't one. There was too much truth in what he'd 
 said.
  Taking a couple of slow breaths, Dan stared at the tropical fish weaving
in   and out among the plastic sea grass. "I didn't say the case was petty." 
 "You implied."
  "You know what?" Dan looked straight at Rick. "It is petty. It's stupid. 
 Tangling with a cop-a Miami Beach cop, no less. She's lucky he didn't break 
 her arms.
  "How much do you want for this?"
  "Who's paying? Her rich boyfriend?"
  "No. I told Miguel I'd take care of it. Call it good P.R."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   61

  "For you?" Dan looked at Rick. "A thousand for a plea, five if it goes to 
 trial."
  "What the hell? You said it was no big deal."
  "It is after I had to pay twenty grand to a divorce lawyer."
  Rick glowered into his beer mug. "All right. I told her already you'd do 
 it."
  "Then do this for me. I'm going to talk to Lisa about taking Josh fishing. 
 If she says no, I'll call you. You have more influence with her than I do." 
 Spreading his palms, Rick shrugged. "I'll see what I can do."
  "Thanks."
  Rick waved the waitress over. "You have key lime pie tonight? Good. We'll 
 each have a slice after dinner. And give the check to my friend here, I  
don't have my wallet with me."
    CHAPTER 5.

     Josh had a soccer game the next night at the field behind the elementary 
    school. Dan called Lisa to say he would come by to pick up Josh and take 
    him to the game.
  The curving, landscaped road through Lakewood Village led past four or five 
 other gated residential areas before Heron Hills. There were no hills, only 
 long green mounds of earth planted with shade trees and serving as barriers 
 between traffic and houses. All this had been wetlands ten years ago, with 
 nothing on it but sawgrass and alligators.
  At the gate Dan automatically showed his driver's license to the security 
 guard, who glanced at it, then ran his finger down a list of names on a  
clipboard. "Galindo . . . Galindo. Here it is. Six-thirty." He checked his 
 watch. "It's six-oh-five."
  �And?�
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   63

  "We're not supposed to admit you till within fifteen minutes of the time 
 stated."
   "Are you serious? Come on, you know me."
  The level brim of the guard's Boy Scout leader hat shaded his face from the 
 setting sun. "We've been told to tighten up on procedures, sir."
  "What am I going to do, run to your boss?" A horn tooted. Dan glanced in 
 the rearview mirror. There were two cars behind him.
  The security guard's mouth tightened. He turned to his computer, which was 
 bolted to a rolling cart. An extension cord ran through the door. He tapped 
 the keyboard and a piece of tractor-feed paper rolled out of the printer. 
  "Now what?"
  The guard handed it through the window. "This is your entrance pass. Please 
 stay on the main road. Your exit code appears in the lower corner. Punch it 
 in when you leave to raise the exit gate. Enjoy your visit."

  The house Dan used to live in was a warm beige color, like the others on 
 the street. A short concrete walkway, bordered with pink and red flowers, 
 led to a white door flanked by a glass panel through which he could see an 
 artificial topiary tree and the fringe on a Persian rug. The dog that Lisa 
 had bought after Dan moved out, a cocker spaniel, watched him through the 
 glass. Dan rang the bell, then stood with his hands in his pockets.   Ex-
husband waiting on the porch.
         64   BARBARA PARKER

  The door opened. Lisa put a hand on her hip. "What a surprise."
  "I said I'd be here."
  "You say a lot of things." The cool gaze lasted a second or two, then Lisa 
 sighed and stepped back into the foyer. "Come on in, Dan. Would you like  
something to drink?"
   "Thanks. Where's josh?"
   "Putting on his uniform. He'll be out in a minute."
  She strode through the living room, then around the corner to the kitchen, 
 the dog right behind her, its nails clicking on the tiled floor, tags  
jingling. Dan had forgotten its name. He thought it was a male. The pooch  
had set her back $500.
  Lisa had the confident walk of a woman who took care of herself-tanned from 
 tennis, slim from lunches of salad and mineral water with her friends at  
the real estate office where she had her license. She was pretty at   thirty-
two-more than pretty, even in jeans and a Lakewood Tornadoes team  
sweatshirt. Her pale blond hair, trimmed precisely at shoulder level,  
glimmered when she moved. Dan had stared at her the night Rick

 introduced his sister at a rock concert, this blue-eyed college girl from 
Florida State. This is Lisa. Did 1 tell you she was gorgeous, or what? Lisa, 
this is Dan. He just got his acceptance to law school.
  Lisa opened the refrigerator. "I have iced tea, soda . . . wine?"
  "Iced tea, thanks."
  She fixed him a glass and set it on the counter, then
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE  65

 pivoted toward the dishwasher, her hair swinging. Rinsing plates and pots 
from dinner, she told him about the neighbors across the street. They were 
moving back to Ohio. Bob got a promotion. Meredith was just sick about it, 
because they hadn't been getting along, the counselor wasn't helping a bit, 
and the kids had so many friends in Lakewood.
  Dan felt awkward sitting in this kitchen, watching Lisa tidy up, listening 
 to stories about people he never saw anymore. Their old life hung like  
wisps of cobweb in the high ceilings, visible but out of reach.
  "Lisa?" When she looked around, he said, "I came a little early because I 
 wanted to talk to you about taking Josh fishing in the Bahamas with me for 
 a week. This would be a real adventure for him. For both of us. Cat Cay is 
 a paradise for divers."
  She had a handful of silverware. "You want to take him diving? Joshua  
doesn't dive. He's only seven years old."
  "Sure, he's small for scuba tanks, but he could handle a snorkel. The reef 
 fish are so pretty over there. I'd get him a small speargun and we could  
hunt hogfish. They beg to be speared. Good eating too. I know a lagoon, not 
 deep, that would be perfect for Josh. We'd go over on a boat and live right 
 there at the marina, or moor wherever we wanted."
   "What boat? Not your Mako."
  "No, I'd borrow something with a cabin. Or rent one. I don't know yet."          66   BARBARA PARKER

  She aimed the silverware into the dishwasher basket. "What about school?"
"He's in first grade, how important is it?" ,�

  "Okay, we could go during spring break." Dan suddenly laughed. "The  
craziest thing happened yesterday. I was free-diving off Triumph Reef,  
sixty feet down, trying to do a minute and a half like I used to. Lisa, I  
nearly didn't make it back up. It was scary as hell, coming that close. A  
lot went through my mind. I thought about Josh."
  She poured soap into the dispenser. "So that's where this sudden streak of 
 parental involvement came from."
  "Don't say that. I've been involved."
  "Involved is not a phone call, Dan. Involved is coming when you say you  
will. Spending time with him."
  "Am I not here? I believe this is his father sitting here, isn't it?"   Her
eyes went past him at the same moment Dan heard the clatter of soccer  
cleats on the floor. Josh sped around the corner and into the kitchen.  
"Dad!"
  The cocker spaniel leaped up off the rug beside the back door and ran in 
 circles, barking.
  "Hey, bud." Dan swung Josh up and kissed him, then held him on his arm.  
"How's my boy?"
  "I have a game tonight!"
  "That's why I'm here. You gonna be on the starting lineup?"
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   67

  "Probably not, but you know what happened last time?"
  "What?" Dan straightened Josh's glasses on his nose.
  "I got an assist for a goal. I set it up and we scored. It was stupendous." 
  "Wow. I'm sorry I had to miss it."
   "It's okay. We lost that game."
   "Oh, well," Dan said.
  "Oh, well." Josh repeated Dan's shrug. His uniform was a little too big. 
 His white shorts were baggy and his red socks were turned down over heavy 
 shin pads.
  Dan ruffled Josh's hair. "Guess what? We're going on a fishing trip."   
"Really? Where?"
   "To the Bahamas."
  "Way, way cool!" He bounced up and down on Dan's arm.
   "If it's okay with your mom," Dan said.
   "Mom! Say yes!"
  Lisa shot Dan a look across the kitchen. Then she smiled at Josh. "What  
fun. But Daddy isn't sure yet. We'll talk about it."

  At the soccer field the sun had set, leaving stripes of purple and orange 
 in the west. Parents stood along the sides or sat on the small set of  
bleachers. The other team gathered across the field. Josh and his teammates 
 huddled near the coach for a pre-game pep talk.
  Lisa arrived a moment later, carrying a folding chair.
         68   BARBARA PARKER

 Dan caught up to her. "Lisa, you know I wouldn't take Josh on a trip without 
your approval."
  She kept walking. "Are you taking your little friend along?"
   "What friend?"
  "The one with the nose ring. Rick told me about her."
   "No. This trip is for Josh and me."
  She arched her brows. "Well, don't assume he's going.�
  "I'd like to take my son fishing, Lisa. A normal request for a father to 
 make."
  Putting down her lawn chair, she said, "It's so easy, isn't it? You make 
 promises to him-which you may or may not follow through on. But if I don't 
 say he can go, I'm the meanie."
  "Fine. I'll tell Josh I have to find a bigger boat first. That should give 
 you some time to think about it."
  She sighed. "Dan. You are so screwed up." She picked up the chair and went 
 to sit with her friends.
  After a moment he zipped his jacket and wandered off. The evening was  
chilly, in the mid-fifties. He watched the game for a while and talked to  
some of the other men, fathers of kids on the team. He knew a few of them. 
 Two were talking about investing in emerging growth funds. He got into a  
conversation with another about the Miami Heat, heading for the basement  
this year. When Lakewood drove the ball into the net, everyone cheered. Dan 
 scanned the field for Josh, then found him among the kids still on the          CRIMINAL JUSTICE   69

 bench. They were giving each other high-fives. Josh turned around and Dan 
made a thumbs-up.
  At halftime Dan paid a dollar for a cup of soda, then walked over to talk 
 to Lisa. The other women in the group looked at him out of the corners of 
 their eyes. They knew who he was. He sat on his heels beside Lisa's chair. 
 "I had dinner with Rick yesterday. He wants me to take a case for hind, a 
 girl in a band he's managing. Her boyfriend lives out here, and Rick says 
 you know the guy. Miguel Salazar."
  Lisa crossed her legs and slowly bounced one sneakered foot. "I've met him. 
 His niece plays soccer with Josh."
  "Right. That's what Rick said. What do you know about him?"
  "Well, he bought a house recently in the Estates section, an incredible  
piece of property. He has a business in Miami, something with videos and  
CD's. I think he's starting a chain of music stores in South America."  
"He's . . . legitimate? As far as you know?"
  "Of course he is. Stop being so suspicious of people. He's a widower. His 
 son is in boarding school. His sister and her family live with him, and I 
 believe a few other relatives. He comes to parent-teacher meetings at the 
 school. He plays tennis at the dub. If he's here tonight, I'll point him  
out. He likes to watch Anita play." She leaned a little closer. "I've met  
Martha Cruz. What was she arrested for?"
  "She hit a cop." Dan shrugged.
         70   BARBARA PARKER

 "Really."
  "Keep it to yourself, though. Where did you meet her?"
  "At Miguel Salazar's house on Sunday. Joshua went to a birthday party for 
 Anita." Lisa pointed. "There, the one with the red ribbon on her ponytail. 
 Miguel's niece."
  The teams lined up for the kickoff, and all the parents moved closer to the 
 sidelines. Standing beside Lisa, Dan asked, "Is Martha Cruz living with  
Salazar too?"
  Lisa crossed her arms to keep warm. "I don't know. I'm not even sure what's 
 going on between them. He introduced her as the daughter of a friend of  
his. She doesn't seem his type. I hardly got a word out of her at the  
party. She reminds me of a cat-very quiet, just sits around watching what's 
 going on. I guess she's pretty-if you can overlook the tattoos."
  She had her eyes on the soccer field, where the coach had called a   time-
out. "Look, Joshua's going in." She cupped her hands and yelled, "Go,  
Joshua! Tornadoes, yaaay!"
  Dan whistled through his teeth. Josh looked back and waved. He ran  
downfield, his hair flopping on his forehead. He kicked the ball a couple  
of times. The kids thundered by, a jostling herd of red and blue. The other 
 team tied the score, and a subdued groan rose up from the parents on the  
Tornado side, then polite applause for a good play.
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          71

  Lisa touched Dan's arm. "Ibere's Miguel. Do you want me to introduce you?" 
 He hesitated. A dark-haired man about forty stood a little off to one side 
 watching the game. Dan had an appointment to meet Martha Cruz at Rick's  
office tomorrow, but Rick hadn't said whether Salazar would be present.  
"All right. Don't mention Martha's case. This is supposed to be
  confidential."
  Lisa ambled over to speak to him, and Dan followed. -Miguel, hi!"
  Miguel Salazar looked around, then held out his hands. "Lisa!" He pulled 
 her closer and gave her a quick Latin kiss on the cheek. "I missed the  
first half. What's the score?"
  "It's tied, three all. The Tornadoes are kickin' up a storm tonight." She 
 had her Miss America smile on. "Dan, this is Miguel Salazar. His niece  
plays on Josh's team. Miguel, this is Josh's father, Dan Galindo."   "Of
course." Salazar's eyebrows arched. "The lawyer from Miami."
  "Fhat's right." Dan shook his hand-the man had skin as soft as a woman's 
 and a surprisingly strong grip. One strand of Salazar's hair had come out 
 of his short ponytail and curled down his temple. Indian blood showed in  
the high cheekbones and dark, slightly pockmarked skin. Not a handsome  
face, but with the full lips, good build, and monogrammed white cashmere  
sweater, the whole package was pretty compelling.
  "I understand you live in Lakewood, Miguel."
         72   BARBARA PARKER

  "Yes, Lisa's brother-you know Rick-he recommended it to me. A beautiful  
place. I lived in Miami before, so much noise! And traffic!"
  Lisa said, "Miguel was born in Potopaxi, a small town in the mountains in 
 Ecuador. Elevation four thousand, two hundred meters."
  He laughed. "You remember!" Lisa beamed when he put a hand on her shoulder. 
 Gold flashed on his wrist-a heavy link bracelet.
  Dan felt a stirring of jealousy, a reaction that occurred too fast for him 
 to slam the door on it. Habit, he thought. Lisa had been his wife for nine 
 years.
  The upward-tilting eyes turned back in his direction. "My friend Rick says 
 to me, Miguel, I have a good lawyer for you, to help Martha." Salazar said 
 to Lisa, "You remember Martha? A Miami Beach policeman pushed her out of  
the way after a concert, and she pushed him back. I said, oh, my God,  
Martica, you have to show respect to the police! Maybe Dan told you about  
this? Yes? That's all right."
  Lisa said, "Dan is an excellent lawyer."
  "I hope so." Salazar smiled at both of them. "Please, come to my house  
after the game. Martha will be there. Have a drink with us. And bring Josh, 
 of course. Anita loves to have her friends visit."
  "Tonight?" Lisa seemed a little surprised.
  "Yes, why not?"
  "Well-" She glanced sideways at Dan.
  Dan said, "You can take Josh home if it's too late for him. I'll go. I'd 
 like to meet my client." He gave her a
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   73

 subtle look that used to mean only one thing between them: Stay out of this. 
 Lisa smiled at him, then turned to Salazar. "We'd love to come-but only one 
 drink. It's a school night."
  "Marvelous." Again the eyes were on Dan. "I think we will have a lot to  
talk about."

  Across the soccer field, in an unmarked van parked along the street,  
Vincent Hooper asked Carlos Herrera if he had gotten a shot of Salazar  
shaking hands with Galindo.
  "I have it," Carlos said. He was still looking through the telephoto. The 
 camera clicked and whirred through half a dozen more frames. "I didn't know 
 Galindo and Salazar were friends."
  Vincent trained his binoculars on the three figures. "This could be a  
problem, Carlos."
    CHAPTER 6.

     Lisa had taken Dan aside and said it was just too weird for them to go 
    in the same car. Josh would only be confused. Her minivan followed     
Salazar's black Lexus, and Dan came last with Josh.
  At the gated entrance to Lakewood Estates, Salazar's window slid down, then 
 the guard waved all three cars through. Dan had never been in this area.  
The road curved past the golf course and around lakes, silver in the  
moonlight. Sprinklers fanned out on the greens like vaporous ghosts. After 
 a mile or so, Salazar's blinker came on, a right turn onto a narrow road  
leading to the Isles of Lakewood. Another guard shack, another gate.   Josh
talked about the game, which the Tornadoes had won by two points. He   had
spent most of the game on the bench. Dan reached over from time to time   and
patted his shoulder.
  That a public elementary school soccer team had
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   75

 brand-new equipment and a professional coach was due to the generosity of 
parents and local businesses. The schools here were the best in the county 
because the Village residents supplemented the measly budget with books, 
computers, teachers' aides, and tutors. The kids were multicultural-mostly 
white or fspanic, with some Asians and a smattering of black kids. Anybody 
could live in Lakewood who had the money to afford the real estate. Dan had 
never thought of seeking custody or asking Lisa to sell the house. If Josh 
lived in Miami, he would be thrown into a dusty, overcrowded public school 
with a metal detector at the door, where too many of the kids could hardly 
speak English, and Josh would get his little butt kicked.
 "Are we really going fishing?"
  "Yes, we're going. I don't know when, exactly, but I promise, we'll go." 
 "The Atlantic Ocean is really, really deep, right?" Over his glasses,  
Josh's brow furrowed.
  "Yes, son, but we're going to a shallow lagoon. You can touch the bottom." 
 Dan took his hand. "Would I let anything happen to you, bud? We'll have a 
 great time. You might have to skip school, though. Could you stand that?" 
 "Skip school?" Josh stared up at him. And then laughed. "Okay."

  On Alamanda Way the houses were spaced -out on huge lots. Each seemed more 
 imposing than the
         76   BARBARA PARKER

 one before, with two-story porticos and chandeliers glowing through high 
windows. He turned into the Salazar driveway, paved in fake cobblestones. 
The construction was no different from the houses in Heron Hills, only there 
was about ten times more of it.
  A short-legged woman with braided hair opened the door. Salazar spoke to 
 her in fast, idiomatic Spanish. Tell Martha to come downstairs and bring  
the papers. The lawyer is here. Josh went with the woman to find Anita, who 
 was waiting in the playroom.
  Salazar led Dan and Lisa through a massive marblefloored living room with 
 ceiling fans and indoor trees and white furniture, then into a room done up 
 in wood and leather. Salazar asked them what they wanted. Lisa took a glass 
 of dessert sherry and Dan a single malt scotch on the rocks.
  Black leather sofas faced each other across a glass table mounted on curved 
 animal horns. Beneath it lay a rug woven in what Dan guessed was an Ecua- 
doran Indian design. Lighted shelves featured a collection of pottery. Lisa 
 explained, with the authority of one who had been here before, that the  
pieces were from tombs in the Andes. Dan noticed a squat male figure with  
overdone private parts and a necklace of hammered gold.
  A stereo system and video screen took up the wall opposite the French  
doors. Salazar opened a set of them. Beyond the terrace Dan saw the long  
rectangle of swimming pool, an acre or so of grass, then a lake.
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          77

 Lights from houses on the other side shone on the black water.
  Dan declined a Cohiba cigar from Havana. Salazar lit up with a gold  
lighter, and the aroma of expensive tobacco drifted across the room.  
Sipping his scotch, Dan decided a comment on the house was in order.  
"Impressive place you've got."
  "Thank you. For many, many years, in Ecuador as a young boy, I dreamed of 
 the U.S., to come here and start a profitable company, and to have a house 
 like this one. God listened to my prayers." He laughed modestly, then his 
 attention shifted across the room. "Martha, come in."
  She was young and slender, wearing a jersey wool dress to mid-calf and a 
 pair of flat-heeled boots. A long sweater had been pushed to her elbows.  
Black hair curled around her face and strained to escape the tight braid  
that hung heavily down her back. Her only jewelry was a pair of silver  
earrings and a narrow black bracelet on her right wrist. Her lips were lush 
 and full. Her dark eyes settled on Dan.
  "Mr. Galindo? Hi. I'm Martha Cruz." Her voice was low, and the words were 
 clearly enunciated. She stepped forward with an extended hand. The fingers 
 were delicate and cool. Dan noticed that what he'd thought was a bracelet 
 was a tattoo of tiny leaves. Salazar asked Martha if she remembered Lisa  
Galindo, and she said she did. "Hi."
  Lisa smiled at her. "Nice to see you again."
  Salazar asked if she'd brought the police report with
         78   BARBARA PARKER

 her. He held out his hand, and she gave him some folded sheets of paper from 
her pocket. "We'll discuss this in a moment," he said, and put them on the 
bar. "Would you like a drink?"
  With a small shake of her head, she sat on one of the leather couches, one 
 leg underneath her, the other foot swinging.
  Lisa sat beside her. "We didn't get a chance to talk at the party on  
Sunday. Are you from Ecuador too?"
   "I was born in Miami. So were my parents."
  Lisa's smile didn't waver. "My brother says you're very talented. How did 
 you get your start in music?"
   She shrugged. "I learned piano when I was little."
  Salazar squeezed her shoulder. "'This woman learned music before she could 
 talk. It's in her blood. Martha will be very big in the U.S. and Latin  
America, even Europe. But I think she should change the name of the band.  
Mayhem. I don't like it."
  While Lisa gave her opinion, Dan wandered to the bar and set down his empty 
 glass. He was reaching for the police report on Martha's arrest when he  
noticed something he'd missed before-a big color photo on the wall. Several 
 framed photographs hung there, but this one showed a silvery blue sailfish 
 hanging by its gills from a gaff hook, and beside the fish, a bare-chested 
 Miguel Salazar in shorts and sunglasses. At the dock was a Bertram  
sportfisher, the name Basil6n-Spanish for good time-painted on the stern.  
Forty-two, maybe forty-six feet of gleaming white fiberglass and chrome.  
Ladder to the flying bridge,
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          79

 tower above that. The salon was just visible through the open door. No shag 
carpeting or plastic flowers. This baby was made to run.
  "A big fish, no?" Miguel Salazar walked over, drink in hand.
  "I was looking at the boat, but yes, a very nice fish."
  "He weighed ninety-five pounds." Salazar gestured with his cigar.
   Lisa walked over to see. "He's huge."
  Dan came in closer. "Ninety-five? Did you weigh him? I doubt he'd clear  
ninety."
   "He was ninety-five."
   "You caught him off the back of the Bertram there?"
  "He fought for over two hours. He was very tough." Salazar laughed. "A  
macho fish."
  "Yeah, ninety-five's pretty common, fishing with a hook and line," Dan  
said. "I got a fifty-eight-pounder once, but I was free-diving with a  
speargun."
   "A speargun," Salazar repeated.
  Lisa gave Dan a warning look.
  "Two pounds off the world record," he added. He noticed that on the sofa 
 Martha Cruz was smiling, biting her lower lip. He said, "That's a great  
boat, though. Is it yours?"
  "Yes. I keep it in Coconut Grove."
  "I'm going to take my son fishing in the Bahamas. A boat like that would
be   ideal."
  "Oh, you don't have a boat?"
  "Only a twenty-foot runabout."
         80   BARBARA PARKER

  Martha said, "Why don't you lend him your boat, Miguel? If he wins my case, 
 let him borrow it."
   "You want the boat?" Salazar asked.
   Lisa said, "Wait a second."
  Dan looked at Lisa, then at Salazar. "No. I couldn't do that." Nor wanted 
 to. Accepting Salazar's offer would be indebting himself to this man.  
"Yes, I insist. If you win Martha's case, you can borrow my boat."   He felt
his resolve slipping. "Thanks, Miguel, but Rick's already paying my   fees."
  From the sofa he heard Martha Cruz say, "Take the boat while you can, Mr. 
 Galindo. Miguel hardly ever uses it."
  Lisa held up her hand. "Excuse me? I'm Josh's mother. I have a say in  
this."
  Salazar looked at her, surprised. "And what do you say, Lisa?"
  "Yes, fishing's loads of fun, but Dan wants to take Josh spear fishing." 
 "And you're opposed." Salazar took her empty glass from her and went back 
 to the bar and uncorked the sherry for a refill. "Why?"
  She glanced at Dan, who made a slight shrug. He wanted to see where this 
 was going.
  Lips compressed, Lisa widened her eyes at himtraitor-then said to Salazar, 
 "Joshua is only seven years old. A rod and reel is one thing; a speargun is 
 entirely different. The blood attracts sharks. It's very dangerous."         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   81

  "But, Lisa-" Salazar poured sherry into her glass. "We have to teach our 
 boys to become men. When my son was eight years old, we went hunting in  
Costa Rica, each of us carrying a rifle. We saw a wild pig, and I let my  
son have the first shot. He hit the leg, so I had to finish it. I showed  
him how to hang an animal from a tree and cut its throat to drain the  
blood. We built a fire and ate until we couldn't hold any more, and we  
slept in the forest that night." He held out the glass to Lisa; she was  
staring up at him. "You don't like the sherry?"
  "What? Oh." Lisa took it. "Thank you. Yes, it's very good."
  Miguel Salazar looked over at Dan and took a puff on his Cuban cigar. "So. 
 Tell me what you plan for Martha's defense. This case could be very bad  
publicity. Rick said he explained that to you."
  Martha unfolded her legs and stood up. "We're going to go outside and talk, 
 Mr. Galindo and L"
  Salazar frowned. "You can talk here."
  "No, the lawyer has to speak to the client alone. That's how it's done." 
 She went over to the bar and grabbed the papers. "Tell Lisa all about me, 
 why don't you?"
  Martha walked out onto the terrace. Dan said to Salazar, "Excuse us." He 
 looked at Lisa, whose expression clearly said she wanted to get the hell  
out of there. "We won't be long."
  The moon shone brightly, nearly full. A hundred yards or so south, long  
mounds of white indicated
         82   BARBARA PARKER

 where a dragline had been digging another lake, throwing the rock into 
piles. The behemoth machine sat idle now. Apparently this part of the Isles 
of Lakewood was still under development. The lot next door was vacant, and 
beyond that lay barren ground.
  They walked past the pool. Palm trees marked the perimeter of the terrace. 
 At the far end Martha Cruz threw herself into a chair.
  "Sorry he's such a jerk," she said, putting one booted foot up on the  
railing.
  "Don't apologize," Dan said. "Lisa will think spearfishing is sissy  
compared to eating a wild pig. Did he cook it first?"
  Martha smiled, then held out the papers. "This is a police report and a  
notice that I'm supposed to show up next week for an arraignment, whatever 
 that is."
  "That's part of the routine." Tilting the report toward the house lights, 
 he could make it out. There was nothing he hadn't expected. Subject  
verbally threatened officer and attacked him with her fists- "Were you  
intoxicated? On any drugs?"
  "No," she said firmly. "It's B.S. The cop was trying to arrest somebody for 
 drinking a beer, and I told him to stop. He shoved me and said to shut up, 
 bitch, and I hit him. I'd do it again." She got up and leaned on the  
railing, facing the lake. "No, maybe not. I don't need this."
  Dan glanced at the paper again, looking for her birthday. "How old are  
you?"
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   83

 "Twenty-one."
  He folded the report to fit into his jacket. "I might work out a deal, get 
 you probation. There shouldn't be a problem. Then in a few months, you keep 
 yourself out of trouble, we'll move to seal the file and have your arrest 
 record expunged."
  "And that's it?" She turned around and stared at him.
  "Well, if the officer has it in for you, he could cause us some grief, but 
 I can't see the judge giving you any jail time."
  She nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. "Good. What I'd really like
is   to get out of this jail."
  "This house, you mean?"
  "The house, the neighborhood. Lakewood Village. Miguel tells me how lucky 
 I am to live here. I hate it. People are zombies out here, and they don't 
 even know it. They hire guards to protect them. From what?"
  "Why don't you leave?"
  "Well, I don't pay rent. I've got my own rehearsal room and recording  
equipment." The moonlight turned her skin silvery, and the earrings shone  
against her long neck. "You used to live here, didn't you?"
  "Not in this section," he said. "Heron Hills."
  "Why are you with Lisa? Aren't you divorced?"
  "Yes, but we were at our son's soccer game at the same time, and Miguel  
invited us over. We get along all right, Lisa and I. Most of the time."   "I
met her at Anita's party. She was jonesing on this
         84   BARBARA PARKER

 house. 'Oh, Miguel, what a lovely home!"Wow, I just love the kitchen."' 
"Don't make fun of her. Lisa is truly a good person."
  Martha sighed. "Yeah, right. My mother was like that. A saint. Nothing you 
 do is enough. I wrote a song. It goes, Purely, goodness. Give me mercy.  
Kill me, darkness, let me go. I'm here dyin', on the altar-" Her quiet  
voice, husky and melodic, suddenly stopped. "Oh, well. Whatever." She  
pointed at him. "Hey. You really liked Miguel's boat, didn't you? You're a 
 fisherman. I can tell. You have those little squint lines around your eyes. 
 I hope you get to go. Miguel can be unpredictable. He brought you here to 
 check you out, you know. He isn't sure he wants you for my lawyer."   "I'm
not representing Miguel," Dan said, "and he's not paying my fees. It's   up
to you."
  "Up to me, huh?"
  "We were going to meet at Rick's office. Why don't you come to mine?" He 
 took a business card out of his wallet. Martha read it, then slid it into 
 a pocket of her sweater.
  Dan asked, "What's with you and Miguel?"
   �Why?�

  "I like to know my clfents."
  Martha stretched her arms out on the railing, a boot propped behind her. 
 "I'm his hobby. He wants to see me on TV."
  Dan let it go at that. He asked, "Are you going to get there?"
  "It's the only thing in this world I am sure of." Her
        CRIMINAL JusTicE   85

 generous lips parted in a smile, revealing perfect teeth. "I liked that, 
what you said to him. You caught a fifty-eight-pound fish with a
 speargun."
 "I did."
 "I believed you."
  Hands in his pockets, Dan shrugged. "It was pretty silly. My fish is  
bigger than your fish."
  She swung her upraised knee side to side. "You haven't come to any of our 
 rehearsals. Why not?"
  "You don't mind? Kelly told me the band doesn't like strangers at the  
studio."
  "Oh, that's dumb. We have visitors. You should come listen to us. I  
hereby invite you."
  "All right. Maybe I will, then."
  Martha Cruz walked farther along the railing. Dan followed. She asked,  
"Are you a good lawyer?"
  He took awhile to answer. "I get the job done when I have to. Is that  
what you mean?"
  "Kelly told me you used to be a U.S. attorney."
  "That's right."
  "Why aren't you anymore?"
  "The office and I had a philosophical difference."
  "What does that mean, they fired you?"
  "I resigned."
 �Why?�

  Dan said, "You're pretty direct, aren't you?"
  "I like to get answers."
  "The answer is, it's personal."
         86   BARBARA PARKER

  "If you resigned-whatever-is the judge in my case going to listen to you?" 
 Dan realized that she honestly didn't know. Like many people, this girl had 
 no idea how the system worked. He said, "I'll be defending you in state  
court, Martha. I used to be a prosecutor in the federal courts. It's a  
different ball game."
  "If I hire you," she said. "You said it was up to me."
   "Well? Do I pass?"
  She tilted her head and looked at him sideways. "You'd be my attorney. Not 
 Miguel's. Not Rick's. Mine."
   "Correct."
  "So . . . if I told you something, it would be confidential. You couldn't 
 tell anyone. Is that right?"
  "Yes. Like a priest."
  A smile played across her lips. "Whatever."
  "Is there something about this case I should know?"
  "Does it have to be about this case?"
  "Not necessarily."
  Martha searched his face. "Kelly says you're not like a lawyer. Not like 
 most of them, I mean."
  "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
  "From her it is."
  "Well, then. Am I hired?"
  "Sure." Martha Cruz held out her hand, and they shook on it. She laughed 
 suddenly, an unexpected burst of gaiety. "My lawyer. This is too cool."  
"You want to tell me what's on your mind?" Dan
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          87

 asked. "The 'whatever' that doesn't necessarily relate to the case you hired 
me for?"
  She faced the lake again and grabbed the terrace railing. She leaned back, 
 arms extended, and her black braid swung. "Not now. Maybe when I see you  
next week." The sweater fell open. Under the jersey dress her breasts moved 
 as if unconfined, and her slender waist was supple and firm.
  Dan took a step toward the open French doors. "We should go back inside." 
 Martha Cruz exhaled and turned around. Her dark eyes swept over the high  
stucco walls, the red-tile roof, and the glittering windows. If her gaze  
had been napalm, the house would have gone up in one immense fireball.     CHAPTER 7.

     It was close to ten o'clock when Dan arrived at his apartment in a small 
    building a few blocks from the bay. Turning into the parking lot, he saw 
    Kelly Dorff's old green Thunderbird under a tree along the street.  
Coming up the walkway to his front entrance, he could hear music rattling  
the glass louvers in the windows. He unlocked the front door and came  
inside. Kelly's purse and denim jacket were tossed on the kitchen counter. 
 He went to the bookcase and turned off the stereo. Beside it was a metal  
stand with a salt water aquarium. Someone had left a cigarette burning in  
a saucer on top of the tank. He crushed it out.
  "There you are." Kelly stood in the open archway to the kitchen, putting
a   square of cheese on a cracker. "I was getting worried." She was barefoot, 
 wearing only underwear and a T-shirt.
  "I went to my son's soccer game." Dan held up the
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   89

 cigarette butt. "I wish you wouldn't smoke in the apartment. I don't like 
it."
  "Okay, sorry. Why are you being such a grouch?" She popped the cracker into 
 her mouth and came to kiss him.
  Dan walked past her into the kitchen and put the saucer in the sink and the 
 cigarette butt in the trash. He turned around and said quietly, "Kelly, do 
 you recall my telling you that if you wanted to come over, to ask me  
first?"
  "I called! Check your answering machine if you don't believe me. I got out 
 of rehearsal and I called, but you weren't here. So I decided to surprise 
 you, okay? I brought some wine and a movie." She came over and put her arms 
 around his waist. "I thought we could stay home instead of going out. We  
could act like we have a relationship."
  As it sometimes did-and he usually managed to ignore it-her voice achieved 
 a balance of accusation and self-pity. "It's late." Dan unzipped his jacket 
 and headed for his bedroom. On his double bed one pillow was bunched up,  
and her shoes and jeans were on the floor. He hung up his jacket in the  
closet.
  Kelly came in and leaned against the door frame. Dan glanced at her without 
 speaking and put his car keys and wallet in a tray on his dresser.   "Aren't
you glad to see me? At all?"
  He hesitated. "Kelly . . . let's go sit down in the living room for a  
minute."

 'IT  yV�
         90   BARBARA PARKER

  "Because we need to talk."
  "What do you want to tell me? I should leave? God forbid I drop by like a 
 normal girlfriend. You never come to my place. What am I supposed to do,  
wait till you call me?"
  He stood by the door and held out his hand. "Kelly, come on."
  She sat on the edge of his bed and pushed her hair back. "I got here and
it   was dark, and I brought this bottle of wine, and I thought you'd be here 
 any minute-"
   "Kelly-"
  "A fucking twenty-five-dollar bottle of wine! What did I do wrong? You  
don't give me a clue, then you say we need to talk. Like I don't know what 
 that means."
  He sat down and put his arm around her. "Listen. I admire you very much. 
 You're very talented. Very pretty. But we're going in different directions. 
 Neither of us expected anything long-term."
  She put her head on his chest. He could see the part in her blond hair,  
wandering unevenly through the tangles. "If people want something bad  
enough, it has to work out. I mean, we have fun together, don't we?"   "Sure,
but there has to be more than that. You and I just aren't suited for   each
other."
   "We are! I thought you cared about me."
   "I do. I care a lot about you."
  She started to cry. "That's a horrible thing to say! What's next? Let's be 
 friends? Please, Dan." She held
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   91

 his face. "You're so sweet. The nicest man to me. Everybody I've ever known 
has been such a loser. Please don't be like them. Just tell me what you want 
me to do, I'll do it. Let's go to bed, okay?"
  He stood up. "I'm sorry. Look, I have to be up early-"
  She flinched as if he had struck her. "Thanks for the good time, there's 
 the door?"
  He picked up her jeans. "I'll give you a call tomorrow or later in the  
week."
  "Why? Like maybe when you get all horned out?" She laughed. "You're not  
that great a lover, believe me. I've had better." She grabbed her jeans and 
 put them on.
  "Right." Dan opened the bottom drawer of his dresser. "You've got some  
things here you'll probably want to take with you."
  "Well, keep the box of condoms for the next idiot." She stepped into her 
 shoes.
  He tossed her T-shirts and underwear on the bed. "Kel, please. You know  
it's for the best."
  She rushed across the room, shoving him so hard he fell. Dan held up his 
 hands. She screamed 'at him. "Fuck you! User! You suck! You made me think 
 you actually gave a shit!" She kicked his nightstand into the wall. "I hate 
 you! Son of a bitch user!" The lamp went over.
  "Kelly, stop it!"
  She ran out of the bedroom. Dan scrambled to his feet and went after her. 
 His dive gear was stacked in
         92   BARBARA PARKER

 the hall. She pushed over an air tank, which rolled into his spearguns. He 
leaped over them as they clattered into his path.
  She shoved his aquarium as she went by. It rocked
 on its metal stand, water sloshing. In the kitchen Kelly
 flung open the refrigerator and grabbed a heavy green
 bottle-the wine she'd brought and threw it at Dan.
 The bottle smashed against the wall.
  Grabbing her jacket and car keys, Kelly ran out the front door. He heard 
 the screech of her tires and saw her taillights disappearing down the  
street.
    CHAPTER 8.

    Just outside the rehearsal room, Vincent Hooper looked down the corridor 
   with its stained brown carpet and the walls plastered with rock posters. 
   A fluorescent light buzzed overhead. Where the hell was Rick Robbins?  
The band had arrived already. They were outside with a six-pack.
  Vincent lit a cigarette.
  Music was coming from behind other doors, a chaos of styles and rhythms. 
 DEA was using Manatee Studios because the owner had been caught dealing up 
 in Fort Lauderdale. In exchange for staying out of jail, he agreed to keep 
 his mouth shut about who was renting the studio. The building itself was in 
 North Miami, one of a row of warehouses containing, among other marginal  
businesses, a builder of cheap kitchen cabinets and an auto repair that the 
 DEA, in nosing around, had discovered to be a chop shop. As soon as this  
operation
      94    BARBARA PARKER

 was over, they would pass that information on to the local police.
  As Vince smoked, he could hear the crash of drums and cymbals behind   him-
Arlo Pate filling in for the sound check. Bam, bam, ching, ka-bam, a   beat
like a piledriver. Pate lived over Salazar's garage, keeping the grass  
mowed and the dogs fed. First time he'd spotted Vince, Pate had filled the 
 hall with his shoulders, a low-watt intelligence flickering in those sun- 
faded eyes. Vince had smiled genially. I'm waiting for Mr. Robbins. My name 
 is Victor Ramirez. My company is recording the demo tape for Mayhem. Pate 
 had stared at him, then moved aside. Yeah. Okay.
  Vince dropped his cigarette butt into an empty soda can in the trash and 
 went the back way into a dimly lit control room. The ceiling and walls were 
 covered in gray foam soundproofing. Cables and wires-the recording engineer 
 called them snakes-ran in all directions. A big Mackie console took up half 
 the room. A reel-to-reel, ADAT, and CD backup were within easy reach. The 
 engineer's hands were moving over dials, buttons, and switches. Vincent had 
 insisted on hiring Willy Silva, a top-flight man out of New York. He wasn't 
 DEA, but they could trust him.
  Willy flipped the talk-back button. "Arlo, that's fine. Stay where you are. 
 Looks like the bassist isn't here yet. Scott, can you give us a sound check 
 on 'Rainbow Baby'?"
  Scott Irwin, the undercover agent at Coral Rock, was plugging in an amp. 
 "Sure, hang on a second." He
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   95

 picked up a bass guitar from a stand, put the strap over his shoulder, and 
turned a knob. Arlo Pate clicked the sticks together to set the tempo, then 
Scott came in as the sticks crashed down on the drums. Bass notes thudded 
like a huge heart.
  Scott had gone more radical with his hair. Shaved it up the sides, dyed the 
 rest of it blue, and combed it over to one side. He wore jeans with a rip 
 in the seat and a ragged T-shirt from DisneyWorld. The guitar hung low,  
resting on his thigh. Scott moved to the beat, facing the drummer. He and  
Arlo Pate were jamming.
  Willy saw Vincent standing beside him and spoke loud enough to be heard  
above the studio monitors. "Hey, Scott's pretty good. If he wants another  
line of work, I could line him up some gigs."
  Vince smiled slightly. "Don't count on it. He's DEA to the bone."
  "Looks like a rocker to me." Willy turned a dial and cut the volume. "I  
gather Rick hasn't showed up yet."
  "No. Maybe Arlo Pate told him I was here. Looks like Rick is avoiding me." 
 "Relax, Vince. What can you do? Either Salazar comes through or he doesn't. 
 It's not up to you."
  "Jesus, I hate waiting. I'd rather be shot at than have to wait around." 
 Vincent cracked his knuckles, a bad habit, but he'd broken so many bones in 
 his hands over the years that it felt good loosening them up.
  The music suddenly stopped.
  The studio door had opened. The band's drummer,
         96   BARBARA PARKER

 Leon Davila, came in. He set down his can of MelloYello, peeled off his 
leather jacket, and motioned for Arlo Pate to get out of the way. Pate took 
his time, reaching down to pick up a long-neck beer in one big paw. He stood 
up slowly, towering over Davila by a foot or more, making him wait.   "Move
it, man." Davila's voice sounded distant on the open mikes. He jerked   his
head to get his shoulderlength hair out of his face. He wore an   unbuttoned
black vest, and his body, corded with muscle, had an emaciated,   hungry look
to it. Tattoos circled his biceps like armbands. His legs were   sticks in
black jeans, ending in filthy red high-tops.
  A month ago Leon Davila had been photographed coming out of a motel near 
 the Miami airport dressed like a tourist, a travel bag over his shoulder. 
 He got into the passenger seat of a waiting Grand Cherokee with tinted  
windows, which the DEA then tailed to a branch of the Banco Nacional de  
Quito on Brickell Avenue downtown. The car turned into the parking garage, 
 and a security gate came rattling down. A confidential informant at the  
bank said that the bag had contained $275,000 in cash to be laundered by  
Miguel Salazar for the Guayaquil cartel. When the U.S. marshals served the 
 arrest warrants, Davila's name would be on the list.
  Willy said, "Check it out. See how he's wiping his nose? He must've stopped 
 in the men's room for a bump. He keeps a little bag in his undies. By the 
 time we quit tonight, he's gonna be ripped." Willy leaned
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   97

 back in his chair and put one foot on the edge of the console. "I don't know 
how Rick Robbins is going to keep this group together. Kelly skipped out 
early last night. Now the bass player's late-again. They all play this  game-
it's a race to see who's last."
  The two women finally wandered in, Kelly Dorff and Martha Cruz. Kelly was 
 a skinny blonde. Martha had some curves. Her black hair stood out in wild 
 waves. Baggy jeans hung off her hips. She had three silver rings in her  
navel, and the chain looping through them ran up under a cropped T-shirt.  
If she had a bra on, Vincent couldn't tell.
  "That is one sexy chick," Willy said. "Come on, Vince, admit it."
  Vince smiled and smoothed his mustache into his beard.
  Martha Cruz spoke into the studio mike. "Willy? You there? What about that 
 chord change in 'Last Man Out'? Did you get that on tape?"
  "Wait a minute!" Kelly looked up from plugging in her guitar. "Excuse me? 
 I wrote that song."
  "Yes, Kelly, but listen to the progression. It goes nowhere." Martha's  
hands came down on the keyboard. "See what I mean? Now listen while I do it 
 the other way."
  The chords were drowned out by the buzzing shriek of Kelly's guitar.  
After a moment of complete silence, Kelly threw her hair back over her  
shoulder and said quietly, "We are not a techno band."
         98   BARBARA PARKER

  "It isn't techno. Would you just use your ears? It's totally new."   "What
are you trying to do? Be different just to say you're different?"   Martha
stared at her. "You really don't get it. You don't even hear it."   Leon was
bouncing on his seat behind the drums, laughing at the girls.   Martha Cruz
yelled across the room, "Leon, shut your-" Her curses
  disappeared under a barrage of drum volleys. Bam, ka-bam, chingching, bam- 
More complex than Arlo Pate's steady thuds but just as loud.
  In the control room Vincent asked Willy, "What do you think of this stuff?" 
  Willy turned around to look at him. "The music?"
   "Yeah. What the hell is it?"
  "Man, you need to get out more. It's brilliant. I'd say it's . . . well, 
 sort of a rave core, add some blues, like the bastard son of Thrill Kill  
Kult and John Lee Hooker. Love it or hate it, man. They're great. Martha's 
 phenomenal. If I wasn't working for you guys, I'd love to record this  
band."
  Vince glanced at the studio door, which was opening again. Rick Robbins  
came in with another man close behind. About six-two, one-eighty. Brown  
hair and eyes, early thirties. Jeans, sneakers, blue pullover sweater.  
"What in hell-" Vince moved back from the window.

  "Who's the guy with Rick?" Willy asked.
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   99

  "Long story." Standing out of the light, Vincent watched Rick Robbins take 
 Dan Galindo over to talk to the musicians. Leon Davila put down his drum- 
sticks long enough to shake Galindo's hand. Kelly Dorff stayed where she  
was, not speaking to him. She went through some fingering on her guitar  
with the volume turned off. Her glance moved for an instant to the   control-
room window. She made a tense, wideeyed shrug. 1 don't know what   he's doing
here. Vincent didn't believe that.
  He had last seen Dan Galindo two years ago in a gray pinstripe suit outside 
 a federal courtroom. He might have beat the shit out of him if another  
agent hadn't pulled him back. Now Vince was fifteen pounds heavier and  
wearing a beard, but this operation would be over if he were recognized.  
Second problem-Kelly Dorff. He wanted to shoot the idiot desk jockey who  
had picked her for a CI on this case. Kelly had been at a party last year  
when a DEA raid went down. Luis Barrios-now deceasedhad been there as well. 
 Kelly had promised not to mention this to Dan Galindo. She knew what would 
 happen if she did. Ms. Dorff,1 will personally escort you to the Atlanta  
federal pen. You will not jeopardize this operation. Do we understand each 
 other? You will not mention the name Barrios to Mr. Galindo; nor will you 
 allow him to attend your rehearsals.
  Now Galindo was here. He wouldn't be able to see much more than Willy at 
 the mixing board, the lights flickering on the recording equipment, and his 
 own
         100   BARBARA PARKER

 reflection thrown back at him. Even so, Vince stayed well away from the 
window.
  "Willy, there's nothing I'd rather do than stick around and see what's  
going on, but if I have to run out the back door, make my apologies."   Just
then Rick Robbins stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled for Leon  
Davila to be quiet on the drums. He looked around at the musicians. "We're 
 short-handed tonight, people. Bill-E got an offer to play with a band in  
Atlanta. He says it's starting to happen there, and he has to go. Don't  
worry, we'll find another bassist."
   "Ay-yi-yi," Willy said.
   "Is that bad?" Vincent asked.
  "Bad? If Robbins isn't about to cry right now, he's the biggest B.S. artist 
 I know. It's real bad."
  The musicians stared at Robbins, who kept smiling. "Soon as we find a  
replacement, we'll lay in the bass tracks. No problem. You guys are  
fantastic, okay? You can work around this. Come on. Do I hear a yes?"   They
all looked at each other. Martha Cruz said, "We can do it. We have   to."
  Leon Davila did a drum roll. "And when we get signed, Bill-E can kiss my 
 ass."
  Kelly Dorff said, "Rick, we can't rehearse without a bass!"
  "Let's try it with a click," Martha said. "Where are the headphones?"  
Kelly swung around, glaring at her. "I know what you're trying to do.  
You're saying that my time sucks."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   101

 "Don't be so insecure, Kelly."
 "I'm not the insecure one."
  "Let's just get it done. We'll worry about the bass later."
  "Stop ordering everyone around! It's not your fucking band!"
  Leon was banging on his drums, drowning the women out, playing his  
double-kick pedal, crashing the cymbals. Rick yelled at them all to shut  
up.
  In the control room, Vincent asked, "What's a click?"
  "Essentially a metronome," Willy said. "They all hear it through their  
headphones. It's usually for the drummer, or if somebody doesn't have a  
good sense of rhythm. For Martha to suggest it is an insult to Kelly.  
They've had a running argument on the subject."
  Martha Cruz hit the keys, and the sound of a bass guitar came out of a  
speaker. "How's that? We can use that for now."
  "It's inhuman," Kelly said. "We can't play with a damned machine."   "It
could do lead guitar too."
  "Martha!" Rick pointed at her. "I said be quiet. We don't need this right 
 now." His finger, still extended, swept around the room and stopped. "You! 
 Scott."
  "Me?" Scott Irwin straightened up from where he had been leaning against 
 the wall.
  "You jammed with Rage when they came through on tour. Right?"
  "Yeah, but----"
  "Get your guitar and come over here." Everyone
         102   BARBARA PARKER

 stared at Scott. Rick said, "He knows the tunes. He's been listening to you 
play long enough. Let's try him out for tonight."
  Vincent could hear Scott's incredulous laughter over the studio main.  
Martha crossed her arms, a hip cocked to one side. "I'm not playing with  
him," she said. "He's too Van Halen. This isn't the eighties."
   "So what? He's got the rhythm," Kelly said.
  "Rhythm? Is that all? But what do you know, you don't even read music."  
"I said, it's okay for rehearsal! We can't rehearse without a bass!"    "Be
honest, Kelly. You can't."
  "Shut up!" She threw the first thing she could grab, a beer bottle, which 
 flew past Martha's keyboard and hit Leon's high-hat cymbal.
  "Hey!" That brought Leon out of his seat. "iQue haces? You gonna break my 
 fuckin' drums, bitch!"
  "That's it!" Kelly took her guitar off and dropped it on the floor. It  
bounced and squealed.
  Willy looked around at Vincent. "Kelly's freaking out tonight."
  Rick Robbins rushed over and put his arm around her. "For the love of  
Christ, what is the matter with you people? Martha, keep your remarks to  
yourself, will you? The only thing that counts now is getting the demo tape 
 done. Come on, you guys, please!" Even from the control room Vincent could 
 see the sweat on his face.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   103

 Scott said, "You want me in or not?"
  Martha shrugged. "Fine-for rehearsal." Leon did a roll, going across the 
 drums, ending with a bass thud.
  "And we don't need a damned click track," Kelly said.
  Looking through the window as if he were watching a movie, Willy whooped. 
 "Scott's in the band! I do not believe this!"
  Robbins held up his hands as if to a dog about to bite. "Okay? Everybody 
 all right now? All taken care of?" They nodded. "Good. You're terrific.  
Okay, guys, what do you want to do first?"
  Kelly picked up her guitar. "Let's do 'Miss the Point.' Willy! Wait till
we   run through it with Scott a couple of times. Ready, Scott?"
  "Let's do it."
  Leon made four clicks with his drumsticks, and on the downbeat Kelly hit
a   foot pedal and slammed her right hand across the strings of her guitar. 
 Scott came in, then Martha. Kelly leaned forward and screamed the lyrics  
into her microphone. Leon's arms were a blur, and his hair danced on his  
shoulders. Scott focused on his fingers climbing up and down the frets. He 
 shook his head as if he'd missed a few notes. Martha glared at him, but the 
 band kept going.
  "Smokin'!" Willy said. "Vince, he's gonna resign from the agency, what do 
 you think?"
  Vince had his eyes on Dan Galindo, who had sat on one end of a broken-down 
 sofa in the corner. So far he hadn't moved.
         104   BARBARA PARKER

  When the music ended, Rick Robbins sank to his knees, arms raised. "Yes! 
 Yes! Thank you, Jesus." He grabbed Scott Irwin's head and kissed him on the 
 cheek. "Not there yet, but it's coming. You're going to be brilliant. It's 
 going to happen. Go over it again while I speak to the engineer."
  The musicians huddled for a talk, then started fooling around on their  
instruments, making a racket. When Robbins came inside the control room,  
Willy wheeled around. "Your new bass player kicks major butt."
  "Think so?"
  "Yeah, no lie. You going to use him for the demo?" Behind Robbins's back, 
 Willy winked at Vince.
  "I might have to, if I can't find anybody else. At least he's got a steady 
 beat. Kelly gets lost without one, and Leon can't give it to her." Robbins 
 slit open a roll of antacids with his thumbnail. His hands were shaking  
slightly. He brought his eyes up to Vincent, who was leaning against the  
back wall out of the light. "Hey, Victor. I saw you through the window."   
"It's been awhile since we talked, Rick."
  "What do you think of the band?"
  "Rock and roll-it's not my thing, man." Victor Ramirez, born in Puerto  
Rico, spoke with an accent. "You have an answer for me, Rick?"
  "Just about. I'm still working on it. But it looks good."
  Vincent tilted his head toward the studio. "Who's the guy that came in with 
 you?"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   105

  "Him?" Robbins looked through the window. "He's my lawyer."
   "What's he doing here?"
  "Checking the place out." Robbins spread his palms and made a small laugh. 
 "Is there a problem?"
   Vince said, "Does he know about us?"
   "More or less. But he's cool."
  "I don't want him in here. Out there, okay. But not here."
   "Fine. Whatever."
  There was an extra chair against the wall. Vince sat in it and crossed his 
 legs. "Rick, I think you're playing a game."
   "Not at all."
  "What's the problem that you have no answer from Miguel? We're waiting two 
 weeks already. I got funds coming in. If Miguel wants to take care of it  
for me, okay. If not-" He shrugged. "You pay me for the work on the tape,  
find some other studio."
  "Believe me, Vic, I'm not trying to jack you guys around. He's cautious.
He   doesn't know who you are."
   "Who could we be?" Willy asked.
  "I don't know, maybe he thinks you're DEA." Robbins laughed.
  Willy and Vince laughed too, then Vince looked up into Robbins's face. "I'm 
 going to ask you, are we doing business or no? I want you to be sure. If  
you're not sure, Rick, you tell me, all right? Now. You don't waste my  
time."
   "I'm okay with the deal. It's Miguel that's not sure."
        106   BARBARA PARKER

  "What do you think, Willy? Maybe Rick wants to get the demo tape, then he 
 says, fuck you guys."
  "No. Absolutely not. I can't make the man's mind up for him, can I? But I'm 
 telling you, it looks good."
  Beyond the glass Vince saw Dan Galindo analyzing the routing of the cables 
 from Martha's computer to her keyboard, and Kelly's effects pedals to the 
 amp, then to the shoulder-high speakers behind them. Then his eyes went to 
 the control room. He walked across the studio.
  "Your lawyer's coming. I told you, I don't want anyone in here."
  Robbins went to the door as it opened. For an instant Galindo's eyes  
focused on Vince. Then Willy stood up, casually blocking Vince from view.  
Robbins motioned for Galindo to step back; then they went out, dosing the  
door. The noise from the band diminished.
  Willy glanced around at Vince. "Now what?"
  "I'm going to split. If Galindo asks any questions, handle it."
    CHAPTER 9.

     In a bar near the airport, a neighborhood tavern whose clientele     
consisted largely of baggage handlers and machinists, Vincent Hooper had   
  a couple of drinks and waited for Scott Irwin. When Scott arrived, his   
  blue-dyed hair was under a Marlins baseball cap and his skull earring    
 was gone. It wasn't a place a rock musician could walk into without     
arousing comment.
  Scott sat next to Vincent at the bar and ordered a bourbon. The handful of 
 patrons in the place were watching an NBA game on the television at the  
other end. Vince told the bartender to bring another vodka and soda as  
well, and put the drinks on his tab.
  He asked Scott what had happened at the studio after he'd left.
  "Not a lot. We took a break around eight-thirty, and Martha Cruz went  
outside to talk to Dan Galindo. I don't know what they talked about."          108   BARBARA PARKER

  Vince said, "According to Rick Robbins, Galindo's in on this deal with  
Salazar."
  "Willy told me. I haven't seen Galindo around Coral Rock, though."   "Check
it out for us," Vince said. "You're closer to the action now. Lucky   break
for us, the bassist taking off for Atlanta."
  "Very. And completely unexpected. I spoke to him yesterday. He didn't  
mention Atlanta. He was completely into the band. And then boom. Gone."  
Scott looked around at Vince, studied him for a moment, then put down his  
drink. "Hooper, what did you do?"
  "Like you said, a lucky break." Vince couldn't keep his face straight. "All 
 right. A guy I know on the Miami narcotics squad did me a favor. Willy was 
 going to recommend you as a replacement, but Rick Robbins made it easy."  
 Scott shook his head. "Amazing."
  "But I'm worried about you, Irwin. What if you like it? Fame and fortune 
 could be too tempting."
   " LJh-huh." Scott picked up his bourbon.
  He was a good kid. Vince had to remember not to
 call him that kid. His fake ID said he was twenty
 
 five, but he only looked young. He was almost thirty.
 A good man. He'd go further than Vincent in the
 agency because Vincent despised the bureaucrats
 who ran it and had told them so. Scott had more sense.
 Already a G-11. It had taken Vince seven years to
 get there, even with a drawer full of commendations,
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   109

 and another ten to work up to G-13, and he doubted he'd go any higher. The 
next level was supervisory anyway, a desk job. A few more years he could 
take early retirement. Then what? Open a security business. Work for one of 
the South American intelligence agencies that had made offers. It pleased 
Vince to know that Scott paid attention, but he still had a lot to learn.  
"Another thing I want you to do," Vince said, "is keep an eye on Kelly  
Dorff. Be careful. Don't give her a chance to suspect who you are."   "I
know."
  As Vince talked, he had been breaking a plastic stir stick into pieces. He 
 tossed them into the ashtray. "Galindo came close to seeing me tonight. If 
 he gets any closer, it's Barrios all over again." Vince finished his drink, 
 then signaled the bartender for two more.
  Scott waved his off. His glass was only halfway down. "One's enough. I have 
 to be in court in the morning."
  "In court." Vince smiled. "What do they do, give you a sobriety test at the 
 door? Learn to hold your liquor, my friend-"
  "I can hold my liquor just fine."
  "Because you're going to be in a situation, believe me, where you have to 
 drink with the enemy, and if you don't know how to stay in control, you  
could be in trouble." He laughed. "It takes years of practice."
  The bartender set down Vincent's drink, picked up his empty, and wiped the 
 bar. He went back down to
         110   BARBARA PARKER

 watch the game, crossing his big arms over his stomach. The light from the 
TV flickered on his face.
  Scott said, "How did you know that Galindo threw the Barrios case?"  
Watching the television, Vincent said, "I didn't. That's the truth. At the 
 time I highly suspected." He picked up his drink. "Dan Galindo was an  
experienced prosecutor. It's like a top contender slipping on the mat,  
going down. You can't believe it could go that way. Galindo said the C.I.  
was dirty. No snitch is lily white, he knew that. A prosecutor has a duty, 
 and that duty is not to be the judge or jury. That's the problem, see. The 
 worst traitors aren't the ones who have the guts to draw down on you. You 
 know where you stand with them. No, you have to watch out for the ones who 
 whine about truth and justice and the American way, then complain when we 
 have to take up the slack."
  Vincent took a swallow from his glass, then said, "Barrios. As I say, when 
 Luis Barrios walked, thanks to Galindo, it just didn't smell right, and  
I've operated on gut instinct so many years that I believed he threw the  
case, and I came out of that courtroom wanting to kill him for it. Well,  
not literally. I would have done some damage, you might say. After I cooled 
 down, I could've let it go. Sure. But now?" Vincent shook his head,  
smiling. "Don't ever believe in coincidence. You'll live longer."
  Scott pivoted around on his stool and put his elbows on the bar. "Barrios 
 did some deals with Miguel Salazar,
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   111

 did you hear about that? The FBI seized documents from the Bank of Quito, 
and there it was."
  "Yes, indeed. Let's give the Feebies their due on that one," Vince said. 
 "Consider. Barrios, Salazar . . . Galindo. No, I can't prove anything. I  
don't know, in the strict sense of the word, but it does give me pause.  
Indeed it does."
  Scott caught the bartender's attention and pointed at his glass.
  The clock over the -bar said 11:15. Vince had told Elaine McHale he might 
 be by tonight, but don't wait up. Now it was too late. He would go home,  
catch a few hours, then be up early. He had to give a deposition in the  
morning, meet with a federal prosecutor about another case, then go back to 
 the office and do paperwork. And tomorrow night, a stakeout in Key Largo. 
 The schedule had killed his first marriage and was putting a strain on his 
 second. He didn't know what could be done about it.
  When Scott lit a cigarette, the match flared, and Vince noticed his hand. 
 "What'd you do?"
  The flesh on his fingertips was ripped open. Blood had dried under his  
nails. Scott flexed his fingers. "This is from playing guitar for four  
hours. Bleeding for the cause, Vince."
  "Oh, Jesus." Vince coughed on some smoke, then laughed. "Playing a guitar. 
 Wait till you take a bullet, then talk to me about bleeding for the fucking 
 cause." He unbuttoned his cuff and pushed up the sleeve,
         112  BARBARA PARKER

 working the fabric over his bicep, turning his arm around. "Mexico, August 
1991. I got another one in my back, just missed my kidney. We were tracking 
a shipment through Quintana Roo, and the Mexican federales in the area were 
working for the dopers. Customs knew it. The CIA knew it. Did they tell us? 
Fuck, no. And after we limped home, did Congress raise hell? No way. Don't 
disturb NAFTA. Don't piss off our trading partner, even if half the 
government of Mexico is paid off by the cartels. Look at Salinas, the 
fucking president. You think our government didn't know what he was doing? 
Not only do you have to fight the bad guys, you have to dodge the morons in 
your own agency."
  He felt his pager buzzing and reached into his pocket. "Somebody-don't ask 
 me who because I can't remember-said the greatest danger to a republic is 
 the absence of war. Well, we are in a war, my friend. We are in a fucking 
 war here, don't doubt that for a minute."
  Looking at the screen, Vince expected to see Elaine McHale's number-again. 
 She would want him to call her back, tell her where the hell he was, when 
 he was coming. He frowned, turning the pager more toward the light.   "Who
is it?"
  "Our favorite C.I., Kelly Dorff. You have any idea what this is about?"  
Scott shook his head. "Call her."
    CHAPTER 10.

     The task force on Operation Manatee met every other Friday at the U.S. 
    attorney's office in Miami-prosecutors, DEA, FBI, and representatives  
   from four local police departments. There were coffee and donuts on a   
  side table. Four dozen donuts-two dozen glazed, one jelly-filled, one    
 plain. In six months it had never varied.
  The smell of sugar and grease made Elaine McHale want to gag. She sat at 
 one end of the long conference table with a bitch of a hangover and tried 
 not to breathe.
  Everybody was arguing over when to serve arrest warrants. DEA and FBI  
disagreed-as usual. Leaning back in her chair, Elaine doodled in the margin 
 of her legal pad, staying out of Vincent Hooper's line of sight. She  
couldn't bear to look at him. Last night she'd had too much to drink and  
made a perfect ass of herself on his voice mail. Finally he called. Five          114   BARBARA PARKER

 seconds to tell her he wouldn't be there, stop calling. Elaine woke up at 
dawn on the sofa, fully dressed, with her drink overturned on the floor. Not 
a weekend. A workday. It had scared the hell out of her.
  The agent who ran the show for the FBI was a guy named Tom Braslow. She  
didn't like him. He had a red, ugly face and a tight collar. She drew a  
caricature of him on her legal pad.
  He was saying, "Any more delay, there's going to be a leak somewhere.  
You'll start seeing these guys take the next Avianca flight south, and it's 
 hell trying to extradite them back here."
  "No, let's nail Miguel Salazar first." Vincent Hooper's voice came from  
over by the windows. "He's being coy, but he's interested. If we start  
busting his contacts now, we could lose him." Elaine could guess what Vince 
 was thinking. Damned Feebies. Out to run the show and claim the credit.  
"Salazar's not the only target in this operation, Hooper. We've got a list 
 of Brickell Avenue bankers and major narcotics traffickers to take down." 
 "We need him," Vince said. "The cartel he works for has run over a hundred 
 million dollars in drug money through South Florida in the past five years. 
 Salazar goes after legitimate businesses. When he's finished with them,  
they fold. The man is a cancer."
  "We're aware of the statistics." Braslow's face had become even redder.  
"While you're busy running after Salazar, we could lose the major dealers  
and distributors."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   115

  "We're not going to lose them," John Paxton said. This was Paxton's  
meeting. He was the senior prosecutor on the operation. "We have time. This 
 office wants Salazar along with the others, but we need more evidence. Most 
 of it has been supplied by informants. Dopers and couriers. Guys trying to 
 keep their asses out of prison, if they're not there already. Any defense 
 lawyer who isn't asleep at the wheel would try to make every one of those 
 witnesses look like the self-serving scumbags that they probably
  are-truthful scumbags, but the jury won't see that, will they?"
  Vince said, "As soon as we put this deal together with Salazar, he's ours. 
 What about his bank accounts? Do we have a subpoena?"
  "We'll have that early next week, I should think." There was a pause.  
"Elaine?"
  She sat forward until she could see Paxton at the other end of the table. 
 "I'll ask the grand jury for the subpoena this afternoon."
  "Excellent."
  For the past month Elaine had been presenting evidence to a federal grand 
 jury, and so far the government had obtained indictments on sixteen targets 
 of the investigation, including drug dealers, bankers, and a variety of  
couriers and go-betweens. She was still working on Miguel Salazar. Much of 
 the cartel's income was routed through his hands.
  Braslow turned around in his chair and eyed Scott Irwin, the DEA agent  
standing by the windows next to
         116   BARBARA PARKER

 Vincent. "You're the one in the band? The guitar player."
 "Correct."
  "Well, my goodness," Braslow said. "We can't move on the warrants till  
after the show. Agent Irwin is having a debut with a rock band. I heard you 
 dyed your hair blue. Take the hat off, let's see it."
  Scott Irwin said quietly, "I'll get you tickets to the show if you wear  
your leather."
  Braslow looked at him, then snorted a laugh. "Smartass." The Metro-Dade  
detective next to him snickered.
  While the rest of them talked about subpoenas to be served on downtown  
banks, Elaine studied Vincent and his latest sidekick. They stood apart  
from the group, more by choice than exclusion. The same casual slouch, the 
 same blank look that hid whatever was really going through their minds-in 
 Vincent's case, boredom and disdain. Elaine knew what he thought of these 
 interminable meetings. He was ready to go out and do his Latino thing  
today, gold chains and a guayabera. The loose shirt would hide his  
semiautomatic pistol.
  She found herself doodling again and put away her pen.
  Daisy Estrada, the woman on the DEA team, was in the middle of a story.  
"Guess who Robbins brought to the studio? Dan Galindo-his lawyer. Oh, my  
God, I wish I'd been there, it must've been so funny. Vince was afraid  
Galindo would recognize him, and he had to hide in the control room."           CRIMINAL JUSTICE          117

 Laughter went around the table.
  "And this tells me . . . what?" Paxton spread his hands as if she might  
toss him an answer.
  "Ah. Then Robbins says that Galindo knows about the deal with Salazar. This 
 is supported by information we received last night from our C.I. at Coral 
 Rock."
  Paxton seemed a little stunned. He exchanged a look with Elaine. She leaned 
 forward to see around a detective from Broward County. "What C.I.? Do you 
 mean Kelly Dorff?"
  From his post by the window Vincent said, "Kelly Dorff corroborated what 
 Robbins told me-what he told Victor Ramirez, rather. I talked to Ms. Dorff 
 last night. She said she overheard a conversation between Galindo and  
Robbins outside the studio during a break. I had already left at this  
point. They were discussing Salazar's deals through the company, Coral  
Rock. Galindo was asking Robbins how much he expected to make on the next  
one. That's all the C.I. could hear distinctly."
  Paxton said, "Good God. Do you think she was being truthful?"
  "She was dating Dan Galindo for a while, and she just broke up with him.
In   a situation like that, you always wonder if emotions are involved. I
don't   think so because of the other evidence." Vincent made a quick nod in 
 Braslow's direction. "The FBI has just established a connection between  
Miguel Salazar and Luis Barrios. Two years ago, Galindo prosecuted Barrios 
 and threw in the towel before it got to trial. This
         118   BARBARA PARKER

 past Tuesday night we spotted Salazar, Galindo, and Galindo's ex-wife at a 
soccer field in Lakewood Village. The ex is also Rick Robbins's sister. We 
trailed them to the gatehouse, then went to the surveillance position across 
the lake. They had a few drinks and talked until around ten o'clock."  
Across the table, Braslow said to Paxton, "So there's an ex-federal  
prosecutor in on this. Interesting, John."
  "Wait a second before you draw conclusions," Elaine said. "No one knows  
what we've got at this point, and we shouldn't speculate."
  He smiled at her. "Au contraire, Ms. McHale. If a former assistant United 
 States attorney-who has jumped the fence to join the ranks of criminal  
defense lawyers-if that man is friendly with one of the biggest money  
launderers in South Florida, I'm going to speculate the hell out of it."  
She smiled back. " 'Friendly' doesn't mean anything. And if Dan Galindo is 
 Rick Robbins's lawyer, he can't inform on his client. It would be
  unethical."
  Daisy Estrada took a last bite of donut. "You used to work with Dan  
Galindo, didn't you?"
  Before Elaine could respond, Paxton was waving a hand at Daisy, telling her 
 not to draw conclusions like that. "Dan had a lot of friends in the office, 
 myself included, and we all regret what happened."
  "Regret? Luis Barrios murdered two of our agents and dismembered their  
bodies."
  "Yes, yes, yes. And Luis Barrios is dead now too. I'm trying to be  
philosophical here, Daisy. Let it go."
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          119

  The conversation turned to other topics, and it was finally agreed to allow 
 more time to see if Miguel Salazar would take the DEA's bait. When the  
meeting was over, detectives and agents milled around for a few minutes  
talking, then slowly filed out. Elaine waited until Vincent Hooper had left 
 to gather her notes and stand up.
  "John, could I speak to you for a minute?"
  Paxton looked back at her. "All right." He finished what he was saying to 
 one of the detectives, then closed the door. "What's up?"
  Elaine told him she wanted to talk to Kelly Dorff. "Do I have to go through 
 the DEA for this?"
  "That question says you don't want to."
  "Exactly. Kelly might be more open if I spoke to her alone. Here's my  
concern. This allegation about Dan Galindo and Miguel Salazar bothers me.  
It's not so much a question of Dan's guilt or innocence, but of Kelly  
Dorff's veracity. They've been intimate. Say she's angry and implicated him 
 falsely. I need to know that. Or perhaps she told the truth. If so, she  
betrayed the man she slept with. I don't care what anybody says, a jury  
would hate her for it. Before we use her testimony-or continue to use her  
as an informantI'd like to know her motives."
  "Good point." Paxton frowned at the floor, his eyes half hidden under heavy 
 gray brows. "You could add another ingredient to the mix. The DEA are  
convinced that Dan sabotaged a case they spent a year building. They could 
 be predisposed to judge him guilty. Of
         120   BARBARA PARKER

 course, a lying informant shouldn't be put on the stand, but Dan refused to 
consider any other course of action. He went to the judge. He shot off his 
mouth to the media. That's what really ticked everyone off."
  In one intemperate blast to TV reporters after the Barrios case had been 
 thrown out of court, Dan had criticized the policies of the DEA, the U.S. 
 attorney in Miami, and the Justice Department. Elaine had seen him on the 
 evening news standing on the steps of the courthouse, wind ruffling his  
hair. His wide brown eyes. His righteous, stupid response. The government  
didn't lose today. We made the system play by the rules. Winning is never  
as important as defending the truth. Elaine had moaned and buried her face 
 in a sofa pillow.
  She said to Paxton, "I can't believe that Dan Galindo would get involved
in   money laundering."
  "You don't want to believe it, Elaine. I don't either, but you and I both 
 know that not every person we prosecute is a career criminal. We've seen  
good people have terrible lapses of judgment. Look at it from Dan's point  
of view. He has no love for us after what happened. We kicked him in the  
teeth for doing his duty. His law practice is marginal. His ex-wife is  
probably after him for alimony and child support. He was sleeping with a  
girl arrested for possession of heroin. What does that tell you? Answer  
this: Why should a man in Dan's position go on believing in a clear line  
between right and wrong? What's it brought him so far? He ought to start  
looking out for himself. He
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   121

 trusts Rick Robbins. They're friends. If he could do this one deal-just one-
Oh, yes, Elaine. It does happen."
 "I could find out from Kelly Dorff," Elaine said.
  After a moment Paxton shook his head. "No, I wouldn't advise it. She's the 
 DEA's informant. Let Vince deal with her."

  Vincent Hooper was waiting in the corridor outside, leaning a shoulder  
against the wall. He nodded at Paxton as he passed, then spoke quietly to  
Elaine. "Are you okay? You seemed a little dragged out in the meeting."   "I
didn't sleep well, that's all."
  "Sorry I couldn't come over last night," he said.
  "Forget it."
  "What about breakfast in bed tomorrow? Sleep late. I'll wake you up."   At
the end of the hall the other agents were talking with one of the  
prosecutors. Scott Irwin glanced their way. He knew. Elaine was becoming  
certain that everyone knew, and it made her queasy.
  She said quietly, "Vince, if I asked you-please-to ignore my messages on 
 your voice mail for a while, would you?"
  He drew his fingers down his beard. "Are you asking?"
  "I should."
  "Why do you get so worked up, Elaine?"
  "Because it's lousy. We're lousy for each other." .
         122   BARBARA PARKER

  "Well, my love. Who isn't, when you really think about it?"
  "Don't say that." She made a short laugh. "Even if it is true."
  "That's why we get along. We understand each other." He squeezed her arm. 
 "See you tomorrow."
   "No. I need to work."
  He looked at her for a moment longer. "Whatever you say."
  In her office, Elaine closed the door and sat down, willing herself not to 
 go after him. If she hurried, he would still be in the lobby outside,  
waiting with the others to take the elevator downstairs. She counted off  
seconds until it was too late.
    CHAPTER 11.

     'E'' laine met Kelly Dorff at a Denny's restaurant near the beach in  
   Hollywood, and they found a booth in the back. Elaine unwrapped the     
scarf at the neck of her suit and took a menu from the waitress. She     
told Kelly to order whatever she wanted.
 "Just some coffee."
 "That's all?"
 "I'm not hungry."
 "The same for me, then."
  Kelly Dorff slumped into the corner of the booth. The fur-trimmed hood of 
 her jacket pillowed her shoulders, and hair parted in the center framed a 
 narrow face. The rims of her green eyes looked as if she'd either been  
crying or smoking dope.
 "Are you wearing a microphone?" she asked sullenly. "No." Elaine had to 
smile. "This is just you and me." "Sorry. I feel like everything I do, they 
want to know about it."
         124   BARBARA PARKER

  Elaine had debated calling Vincent Hooper for clearance in speaking to  
Kelly Dorff. Aware of her resolution not to call him at all, she had  
decided to tell him later. Or not, depending.
  Kelly unzipped her jacket and took it off, folding it on the seat. Her  
collarbones showed at the neckline of a thin pullover, and her hair fell to 
 cover her small breasts. She hesitated in reaching for her purse. "Do you 
 mind if I have a cigarette?"
  "Go ahead."
  The purse was leather with brass trim, an expensive make. Battered and  
scuffed now, but still good. She lit a cigarette from a book of matches and 
 slid the ashtray closer.
   "How is everything with you?" Elaine asked.
  She exhaled smoke. "How am I? Oh, simply marvelous, thank you. Did you ask 
 about getting me off this case? I called you two weeks ago, and you never 
 said one way or the other."
  "Well, it's really up to the DEA," Elaine said, "but I did mention to agent 
 Hooper a week ago that you had cooperated fully, according to the terms of 
 your plea agreement. I don't know what else they could want you to do."  
"I can't do this anymore. I can't. If anybody ever finds out- Oh, my   Go-o-
ood. Kelly Dorff, a snitch for the narcs? Good-bye. I might as well   shoot
myself."
  "I suppose the music business isn't very forgiving."
  "Oh, generally people don't care what you do, but this? Uh-uh. I should  
have taken my chances in court.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   125

 The guy I was with jumped bond, did you know that? And I'm stuck in this 
nightmare."
  Eight months ago Kelly Dorff had given a ride to her German boyfriend at 
 two o'clock in the morning, a condo in Coconut Grove to a club on South  
Beach. A patrol officer had spotted her running a stop sign. The boyfriend 
 threw a kilo of heroin out of the window. Kelly claimed she didn't know he 
 had it, but he said it was hers. At the station a narcotics detective  
recognized the name of Kelly's employer, Coral Rock Productions, and called 
 the DEA.
  Kelly was staring out the window. The sun had gone down, and the road was 
 a steady stream of taillights. Elaine could see a pale face reflected in  
the dark glass. When the waitress came with their coffee, Kelly turned  
around and picked up the little metal pitcher. She asked Elaine if she  
wanted cream. Elaine said please, and Kelly poured as if the pitcher were  
sterling silver and the cups were porcelain. Yet the girl had ragged nails 
 and a ring through her left nostril.
  "Did Vincent send you to talk to me?"
  "No. Tell him if you want," Elaine said.
  "Shit, I'm not going to say anything." Kelly laughed. "I saw him last night 
 at the studio. Victor Ramirez. I think he gets off on it." She stirred her 
 coffee. "Are they going to give us the studio master tapes?"
  "I don't know. I haven't heard about that."
  "They have to. The band is working on the songs, over and over, and in the 
 back of my mind I'm afraid it's for nothing. We need the tapes, Elaine.  
You're the
         126   BARBARA PARKER

 prosecutor. Tell Vincent Hooper he has to give them to us."
 "Kelly, that's really not up to me."
  Letting her head drop back on the booth, Kelly dosed her eyes. "God, I'm
so   tired of this. They take more and more and more. First they said they
just   wanted to know about Miguel. So I said okay. I didn't know Miguel,
except   that he was Martha's boyfriend. Then they wanted me to look around
Rick's   office because I was working there. Oh, it wouldn't be much, just
take a   little peek. And then I have to tell them who Rids talks to, where
he goes.   It's horrible. But if I say no? What do we have for Miss Dorff
behind door   number one? Minimum mandatory ten years in prison!"
  That wasn't likely to happen, Elaine knew, but she couldn't make promises. 
 She said, "I heard you broke up with the man you've been seeing. The  
lawyer?"
  "One of the breed."
   "What does that mean?"
  "Oops. I forgot you're one too." Kelly put her fingers over her mouth.  
"Did you ever tell him about your arrest?"
  "Of course not. He's like totally straight."
  "Straight?"
  "You know. Thinks he's so fuckin' perfect. No smoking, no bad words. Wears 
 these preppy clothes." She laughed. "Washes out his bottles and peels the 
 labels off before he puts them in the recycling bin. Uses shoe trees. My  
grandfather used shoe trees."
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          127

  "Not the kind of man to keep grass in his nightstand, I suppose."
   "I never saw any."
  Elaine nodded. "So if you had told him about your arrest-"
  "What could I have said? I'm spying for the DEA? Right. He'd have told  
Rick, and then Vincent Hooper would have found out and he'd break my neck." 
  "There's no way-"
  "Oh, please. The DEA shoot people. I think about that every time I see his 
 ugly face." Kelly stared at the ashes she tapped off the end of her  
cigarette. "We need those tapes. He'd keep them just to be the son of a  
bitch he is."
  "Fine, I'll ask agent Hooper about the tapes," Elaine said.
   "Swear."
  "All right, I swear. Why are they so important to you?"
   "Because we're making a demo out of them."
   "A demo. I don't know what that is."
  "It's for the talent scouts from the record companies. There's this guy  
from Capitol Records who says he'll come to our concert if he likes our  
demo. We'll have three songs on it-if we can ever decide which ones." She  
exhaled. "Martha's into rave. The drummer has a background in salsa. Our  
new bassist likes thrash metal. And me? Well, I'm more toward alternative, 
 but I like blues."

  She picked up her cigarette from the ashtray. The
         128   BARBARA PARKER

 calluses on her fingertips were smooth, but gave her slender fingers an 
almost spatulate shape. She saw Elaine looking and held up her hands. The 
smoke curled as she turned her palms one way, then the other. The muscles 
and tendons moved in her arms. The nails on the thumb and first two fingers 
of her right hand were worn down, and the cuticles were ripped.

 "Ugly," she said.
  "They're strong," Elaine said. "How long have you been playing guitar?"  
"Since I was thirteen. I started on my brother's Fender Telecaster. He  
didn't like it, so he made our mother buy him a new Stratocaster, and he  
gave me the old one. I begged for a guitar, but no daughter of hers was  
going to play rock and roll."
  Kelly lit another match. When it was burning brightly, she lowered the tip 
 of her left forefinger into the flame till it went out. She studied the  
burned spot, her eyes going a little crossed. She brushed some soot away  
and tossed the match into the ashtray.
  "My brother had a band in high school, and I liked the drummer. I thought 
 the best way to get his attention was to learn to do what they did. They  
tolerated me. I was cute. My brother and his friends got drunk and smoked  
pot, and I practiced. I stayed in my room for hours and hours playing,  
headphones on so nobody could hear how bad I was. But I kept doing it, and 
 one day I was as good as they were. Better. After that they didn't want me 
 around. The band broke up
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   129

 after the bass player committed suicide. My brother got kicked out of about 
six private schools-we're from Baltimore. I don't know where he is now." 
"Your parents are living?"
  "The last I heard. My dad's a doctor, a big deal at Johns Hopkins, but such 
 a shit. He more or less wrote me off. My mother's in Montreal with husband 
 number three or four. She'll send me money when I get completely desperate, 
 as long as I beg and do the daughter routine. They sent me down here to go 
 to school. That didn't work out too well. I got into the club scene and  
started playing guitar again, mostly to scream my guts out when I felt like 
 screaming. I was in about five different bands and sang backup on a couple 
 of albums that went nowhere. At first Mayhem was myself, a bassist, and a 
 drummer. Then this girl I met at the clubs, Martha Cruz, wanted to join, so 
 I said sure. I was working part-time at Coral Rock, and Rick heard us and 
 wanted to be our manager. He made some changes in our sound. I thought he 
 was out of his mind, but it worked. We've done some gigs, and people like 
 us. So now we're doing a demo."
  Elaine said, "And after that you'll get a record contract?"
  "Ha! I wish. We could record with one of the companies down here, but Rick 
 wants a deal with a major label. He almost makes me believe it could  
happen. We wouldn't get rich, necessarily. People think, oh, you got  
signed. Next stop, MTV. Well, MTV pays the band like five bucks each time  
they play your song,
         130   BARBARA PARKER

 which sucks unless you're some huge name. And the label takes back every 
dime they spent on us, right off the top. Publicity, road expenses, 
promotioneverything. We'll go on tour and all sleep in the same hotel room, 
bust our buns for a couple of years, then it's over. But you never know. We 
might take off. I think, God, if it does work out. This band is probably the 
last one I'll be in as lead guitar that has any chance of making it. I'm 
twenty-six. For a guitarist, that's getting into my prime, so if it's going 
to happen, it better be now. I don't expect a lot. A car that runs. My own 
house. Is that too much to ask for, a place where you can paint the walls 
any color you want? I could go back to school. Maybe even have kids before 
I'm too old." She exhaled smoke and crushed out her cigarette.
  "Maybe. Maybe. Everybody wants to be a star. Martha especially, and if you 
 ask her she'll tell you, 'I am going to be a star.' She's young, you know? 
 I've been in the business almost ten years, but this is her first real  
band, and she thinks it's easy. Miguel just bought her a synth, a MIDI  
board, and a computerized notation system for-God, what was it?-about forty 
 thousand dollars. I nearly freaked."
  Elaine asked, "What's he like? Miguel Salazar."
  "Scary. Sexy."
  "I've seen photos. He's not all that good-looking."
  "You don't think he's hot?" Kelly's mouth twisted into a smile. "If you saw 
 him in person, you would." She sat back with her coffee. "I don't like to 
 be around
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   131

 him. Well, I guess that's because I know who he is, right? He's got Martha 
like this." She made a fist. "Jesus, I'll be glad when this is over. You're 
going to put him in jail, aren't you?"
 "I hope so."
  "What about Rick? He's not like Miguel. What are you going to do with  
Rick?"
  "I . . . really can't talk about that," Elaine said. "Let me ask you, as 
 long as we're here. What about that conversation you overheard between Rick 
 and Dan Galindo? They mentioned a deal with Miguel Salazar. Is that what  
you heard?"
  "That's right."
  "What led you to assume it involved laundering drug money?"
  "Because that's what Dan said. He used those words. Launder. Money. Drugs. 
 Rick's doing a deal with Miguel and doesn't want to get screwed. He wanted 
 Dan to talk to Salazar about it, sort of make sure they all understood the 
 terms."
  "Mr. Galindo specifically mentioned 'drug money'?"
  "That's what I just told you." She dropped her cup back into its saucer. 
 "And where did this take place?"
  "Outside the studio on a break. I'd already gone out to have a cigarette, 
 and they didn't see me. They passed by, and I could hear them talking. Then 
 they were too far away. I went back inside and pretended I'd been in the  
ladies room."
   "Is there anything else you can tell me about the
         132   BARBARA PARKER

 conversation? The amount of money involved? How the deal is to be
 transacted?"
 "No. That's all I heard."
  Elaine nodded slowly, making no other reaction. She said, "Were you  
initially told to gather evidence on Dan Galindo? Or did that come later,  
after you were already involved with him?"
  After a second or two, Kelly's face flushed. "They didn't say to seduce  
him. They sent me to his office with a fake traffic ticket. I was supposed 
 to ask him out for a drink or something, then see if he was working with  
Rick. Okay, we had sex, but I didn't do it because anyone told me to."   "You
liked him."
   "I guess so."
   "Were you in love with him?"
   "Not really."
   "But you slept with him."
  The green eyes rolled upward again. "Yes, Elaine. Duh."
  "Why did you break off your relationship?"
  "Why? Because it was a dead end. I have to work on my career right now. He 
 was a user anyway. He's a guy, what can I tell you? They get you in bed,  
then they start looking for a way out."
  Elaine was silent for a while, occupying the empty space of time by  
aligning the handle of her cup with the edge of the table. As a witness  
Kelly Dorff would be flayed alive by a defense lawyer with half a brain.  
"I don't quite understand something. You say that
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          133

 Dan is so straight he won't keep a joint in his house, but he was talking 
with Rick Robbins about laundering drug money. That doesn't seem to fit."  
"Well, you don't have to be into drugs to want to make money off it. I've  
met a lot of people who would surprise you."
  Elaine carefully phrased her next question before asking, "Did
  anyone-Vincent Hooper or anyone else -ever suggest to you that if you found 
 evidence against Mr. Galindo, the DEA would treat you more favorably?"  
Kelly pushed her hair behind her ears. "They never said that."
  "But did it occur to you?" Elaine waited for an answer.
  "No."

  "If Mr. Galindo is involved in money laundering, and we can prove it, he 
 would go to prison. Do you feel that would be appropriate?"
  "I don't know."
  "Would you testify in court as to what you heard?"
  "You said you wouldn't make me testify."
  Elaine shook her head. "Our agreement had to do with Rick or Miguel. If you 
 have new evidence about Dan Galindo, that's another matter."
  "Well, I'm not going to court."
  "You will if I have a subpoena issued," Elaine said.
  "You promised I wouldn't have to. I can't!"
  "I told you and your attorney that you probably would not have to testify 
 against Mr. Robbins or Mr.
         134   BARBARA PARKER

 Salazar. Are you prepared to tell a jury what you heard Mr. Galindo say last 
night?"
  Kelly bit down on her lips, making them disappear for a moment into a thin 
 line. "If I said it didn't happen, would you still call me as a witness?" 
 "If the conversation did not actually take place, then no. I'd have no  
reason to put you on the stand," Elaine said.
  The unblinking green eyes seemed enormous. "You know Dan, don't you?"   "He
was a prosecutor in my office."
   "That's not what I mean."
  "We worked together." Elaine added, "Yes, I know him.
  Kelly sat back in the booth, smiling. "Right. I was so dense."
   "Excuse me?"
  "I've been sitting here trying to remember something that Dan told me, and 
 voila, it finally clicked. Dan said he had a friend, a really great woman 
 friend, at the U.S. attorney's office. She got him a job where he is now. 
 Was that you?"
  "Kelly, please. I'm trying to determine the truth here, that's all."  
"Ooooh, sneaky, Elaine. What if I told the DEA? What if I told them that  
you wanted me to change my story to keep your friend Dan out of jail?"  
"That is not so!"
  Kelly lurched forward, fists on the table. "Then you
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   135

 better tell them to get off my back. I want out of this. Now!" Her face  had
gone white with fury.
  The people at the next table were listening, turning around in their  
seats.
  Elaine whispered, "It isn't up to me!"
  "Liar. What are you doing here?" Kelly grabbed her matches and cigarettes 
 and dumped them into her purse and picked up her coat. "Making sure I'm  
all right. Just a little chat to see if I need anything. Bullshit. You're  
all users. All of you!"
  "Kelly, sit down."
  She bumped the table going out, and coffee sloshed into the saucers.         CHAPTER 12.

     Charlie Dunavoy played piano sometimes at the Northside Club, a little 
    place in a strip of storefronts on the north end of Miami Beach. Strings 
    of lights twinkled in the windows, where posters announced upcoming    
 gigs. A sparse crowd was listening to Charlie and a stand-up bass. By     
nine the place would be packed with people waiting for the main show.     
A jazz combo would be playing later. Elaine had read it on the hand-    
written events calendar. A stack of them lay on the bar.
  The bartender said that Charlie's set had just started. Elaine asked her 
 for a vodka tonic with lime.
  Charlie was at the piano. The spotlights lit up the white V of his shirt 
 under a dark jacket and shone on the sideman's bald head. The bassist was 
 old and black, and kept his eyes closed behind his glasses. He hummed along 
 with the music, head bobbing, hands moving on the strings. Elaine didn't  
know the name of
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          137

 the tune, only that she liked it. She sat at the end of the bar, her back
to  the adjacent empty stool. She wanted no company. Not many single women
in  here, mostly middle-aged couples and a few stray men. Even sitting alone
at  the bar, she knew she wouldn't be mistaken for a hooker. She wore very 
little makeup, she dressed plainly, and didn't do a damn thing to her hair 
except have it trimmed every month or so. She brushed the sides back, 
fluffed the top, and ignored the few gray hairs among the light brown ones. 
With her habit of staring straight back at people when they spoke to her, 
nobody was ever surprised when she told them what she did. I'm a federal 
prosecutor. Boo.
  She listened to the music and had another drink. She tried not to look past 
 the stage at the narrow hallway in the back. The bathrooms were down the  
hall, a telephone booth between them. She could drop in a quarter, punch  
the right numbers. Vincent Hooper lived in North Miami, not so far away. He 
 would look at his beeper screen and see the code to call his voice mail. He 
 might come over and have a drink with her.
  Elaine sipped through the little plastic straw. If she could finish that 
 one without getting out of her chair, she thought she would be all right. 
 She read silently the different kinds of liqueurs behind the bar. Chambord. 
 Sambuca. Midori.
  If he decided to come by, he would tell his wife some lie or other as a  
matter of courtesy. They had separate bedrooms, and he could do what he  
wanted
         138   BARBARA PARKER

 as long as she didn't hear about it. Before Elaine and Vincent had become 
involved, he had explained the situation to her. He would stay married to 
his wife until their younger daughter finished high school. Until then he 
wanted a monogamous sexual relationship with a woman he could trust. No 
games, no pressure, total honesty. If both were in the mood, fine. If one of 
them wasn't, just say so. He had put it to her this way: 1 respect you, 
Elaine. I think this would be good for both of us. What about it? Surprising 
herself, she had told him to give her a few days to think about it. She 
considered his proposal carefully. They liked each other. Vince Hooper was 
attractive and intelligent. Now thirty-five, Elaine had been single since 
her husband's death four years ago. Her job scared off most men, even if she 
had time for dating. The singles scene was depressing. So she told him yes. 
 It had sounded reasonable a year ago. Exciting, not tawdry. She had even  
hoped-still hoped-that it would last. Maybe Kelly Dorff had the low-down.  
They get you in bed, then they start looking for a way out.
  The bartender was leaning over the sink washing glasses. Her frizzy blond 
 ponytail bounced against her neck. She smiled at Elaine. "Are you
  celebrating? I heard you laughing."
  "No, I was just thinking about the guy I'm going out with."
  "Yeah, I laugh about that all the time." The bartender dried her hands.  
"Can I get you a refill?"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   139

  "Sure. Maybe it'll keep me away from the telephone."
   "Did you have a fight?"
  "Not really." Picking salt off a pretzel, Elaine watched the bartender  
measure vodka. Then the bottle clattered back into the rack. Soda bubbled  
out of the mixer nozzle. "It's tiresome to talk about. What's your name?  
I'm sorry I've forgotten."
  "Terry." She set down the drink. "And you're Elaine. A friend of
  Charlie's."
  "Yes. He and my dad went to law school together. Charlie's a peach, isn't 
 he?"
  The stand-up bass player was off on a solo riff now. The notes reverberated 
 deep in the wood, then grew thin as the bass man worked close to the tuning 
 pegs. His mouth twisted into odd shapes. Charlie stood up and clapped his 
 hands in time with the beat. Then he sat back down at the piano, taking  
over the melody. A man at a front table whistled, and everyone applauded.  
"Whoooo!" Terry raised both arms, then went to see what they wanted at the 
 other end of the bar.
  When Charlie's set was over, and he had chatted with some friends, Elaine 
 waved at him to come sit with her. He settled down on the next stool,  
straightening his jacket. "Hey, toots. How's it going?"
  She put an arm across his shoulders. "Let me buy you a drink, sailor. I  
want to talk to you."
   "A lady who buys the drinks. I won't say no to
         140   BARBARA PARKER

 that." He told Terry, "Seven and soda, my love. Make it light."
 Elaine said, "I haven't seen you in a while, Charlie."
 "That's right. Where have you been?"
 "Too busy. How's Alva? Tell her I send a kiss."
  "I will do that. You know our daughter Lucy is expecting again?"
  "Is she? That's wonderful." Elaine remarked how long it had been since she 
 had seen Charlie's daughter, and how quickly people lose touch these days. 
 Terry brought the drinks. Elaine put down some bills and told her to keep 
 the change. Charlie lifted his glass to hers. "To the most beautiful girl 
 in the joint."
  She laughed. "You're a sweetie, aren't you?"
  The bass player came over, and Elaine shook his thick, dry hand. Now she 
 could see he was blind in one eye. Charlie told her that George had played 
 with Cab Calloway. George smiled widely, showing gaps in his teeth. Ooooo, 
 that's a looong time ago. Before you was born, 1 bet. Then he waved across 
 the room and said he had to go, his harem awaited. A woman stood up,  
holding her arms out, shimmying. Another with gray hair was telling her to 
 sit herself down this minute.
  "What a nutty place," Charlie said.
  Elaine turned to face him. "Charlie, how's Dan? I was thinking of him  
today."
  "Dan's fine."
  "Really? He's doing all right?"
  "He bitches and moans, but I told him, buddy, if
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   141

 you were meant to be anyplace else, you'd be there, right?" Charlie laughed, 
his belly moving. "We don't have the penthouse office at the Sun Trust 
building. He's bringing in some business, though."
  "I wouldn't have suggested that he work with you if I hadn't thought he was 
 a decent sort of guy. How do you tell about people, Charlie? I always  
considered myself a good judge of character. But maybe not. How do you  
know?"
  "Hell, don't ask me. Just pay attention, I guess."
  "I do. I thought I could tell. Dan, for instance. This is funny, Charlie. 
 I had the biggest crush on him a couple of years ago. Don't you dare tell 
 him."
   "I won't," he said.
  "Thank you. So I paid a lot of attention, and I thought I knew who he was. 
 But if Dan isn't what I thought, then who is?"
  Charlie looked at her. "What brings this on?"
   "Nothing, I was just using that as an example."
  The bass man, George, was heading for the stage. Charlie finished his  
drink. "Time to go. Why don't you come around to the office, Elaine? We'll 
 all go out to lunch."
  "I wish I could get away." She set down her empty glass. "Terry?"
  "No, honey, I should have cut you off already."
  Elaine shook her head. "How much do I owe you?"
  "You already paid."
  "Oh. Right. Did I leave you a tip?"
  "Yes, you left me a good tip."
        142   BARBARA PARKER

  Charlie said, "Whoa, you better not drive. I could call you a cab."  
"Maybe I'll sit here awhile. I didn't have any dinner. It goes straight   to
my head."
  "You bet it does. Terry, get this girl something to eat. It's on me." He 
 gave Elaine a squeeze. "Don't forget. Come see us."
  "Bye, Charlie."
  Stepping onto the small stage, Charlie leaned over to hear a request from 
 a woman at a table in front.
  Elaine opened her wallet and poked among the coins there. "Terry? Do you 
 have a quarter?"
  "Lots of 'em."
  She realized what she was doing and put the wallet away. "No. Never  
mind."
    CHAPTER 13.

     Standing on the edge of the pool at the Lakewood Village Country Club, 
    Dan flipped a quarter in a high, spinning arc. It went in with a plonk, 
    and josh, holding onto his dive mask, jumped in to find it. Dan saw his 
    son wriggling along in his red swim trunks and bright green fins, skinny 
    arms and legs moving as if he were trying to crawl through the water.  
   Josh swung his head around, getting a fix through the mask, and spotted 
    the quarter.
  Bribery-the only way to coax Josh underwater. He had clutched the ladder
at   the shallow end, shivering. His eyes had pleaded through the glass in
his   face mask. Thirty bucks, top-of-the-line silicone in a small size,
pulled   so tightly under his nose it made his upper lip stick out. Dan had
told him   he had to learn how to dive if he wanted to go see the fish. It
had taken   a buck-fifty to lure him to the four-foot depth.
         144   BARBARA PARKER

  The water was clean as crystal, from the unblemished turquoise bottom to 
 the decorative mosaics at the edges, where the water lapped over the sides 
 and was routed under the Mexican-tiled deck to a hidden stainless steel  
machine that filtered out the occasional stray leaf or bird feather. Not  
many people were out now; the temperature barely nudged seventy. A foursome 
 played cards at an umbrella table. Two teenage girls lay facedown on  
chaises listening to Y-100 Top 40 on their boombox. A white-haired man with 
 oiled, sun-browned skin turned a page in the Sunday New York Times. In the 
 distance lay the undulating green expanse of the Lakewood Estates golf  
course.
  Josh popped up with the quarter in his fist and dogpaddled over to put it 
 in his stack. He grabbed the edge. "Dad! Throw one real far!" Dan spun out 
 a quarter toward the six-foot mark.
  Usually on weekends Dan took Josh to see a movie or whatever, but today he 
 wanted him to try out the new mask and flippers. Lisa was still opposed to 
 spearfishing in the Bahamas, but Miguel Salazar's bloody little tale about 
 hunting wild pigs had pushed her toward a long weekend in the Keys.   Lisa,
who was playing tennis, had signed Dan in as her guest today. He kept   up
the membership for her and Josh, part of the divorce settlement. He used  
to play golf with two guys on his street, none of them anywhere close to  
par, having no time to devote to the game. He hated the sweaty pounding of 
 tennis and had rarely used the pool, preferring the ocean and the
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   145

 pull of the tides. On weekends, if he wasn't preparing for a trial, he had 
used the weight room. Through the glass he had watched the step-aerobics 
class. The women would be there, incredibly fit women, ponytails bobbing, 
their thong leotards showing mount-me moons of bright pink tights. He had 
never gone after them. He had been in love with his wife, in those days.  
Had he been happy then? His life had been pleasant. One season flowing into 
 the next, distinguished only by the variation in the slant of the sun at  
the end of a forty-minute commute home or the bill for air conditioning. He 
 had ridden his bicycle along green and tranquil streets. No graffiti, no  
trash. There had been evening concerts lakeside in the town park. Fireworks 
 on the Fourth of July. The Lakewood Plaza shopping center had a cappuccino 
 shop between the hair salon and Birkenstock. Store clerks smiled. Minivans 
 were filled with Evian and merlot, fresh pasta, prosciutto, raddicchio, a 
 paperback best-seller, instantstarting charcoal, rock salt for the water  
filter-
  The weekends were quiet, not even the racket of lawn mowers-the yard men 
 came and went Monday through Friday. The kids played in the streets. There 
 would be the smell of backyard cookouts, and the sound of football games on 
 television. If a car alarm went off, it was only accidental. The local  
chapter of Kids in Distress had to go outside Lakewood to find enough  
constituents.
  The nights were starry this far from the city. He had lain in bed listening 
 to crickets. Or to tree frogs in their
         146   BARBARA PARKER

 season. He had heard Lisa's steady breathing. She used to wear a thin cotton 
nightgown, a white one with narrow straps that he would slowly push off her 
shoulders.
  "Dad!" Josh held up another quarter. Dan showed his empty palms. He put on 
 his mask and flippers and somersaulted into the pool. He angled for the  
bottom, stayed out of sight behind an air mattress, then shot upward,  
grabbing Josh around the belly. The boy sputtered and shrieked happily.   Dan
told Josh to hang on tight and hold his breath, they were going under.   Josh
locked his arms around Dan's neck. They cruised along at a depth of   about
six feet.
  The water flowed over Dan's body, cool and clean. Through the mask  
everything was visible. An arm hanging off a red air mattress, the slow  
kicks of a chubby girl on a bright yellow boogie board. Light flickered and 
 danced. He missed this place, he realized. He missed the order and purpose 
 of it. How in the name of God had he thrown all this away? He ached for his 
 son. For his family. Lisa. His wife. The thought ran through Dan's mind  
with startling clarity. He missed his wife.
  They broke the surface at the edge, and Dan stood up, Josh still clinging. 
 As water ran off his face mask, the view on the pool deck wavered, then  
cleared. Dan could see a pair of heavy black sandals, narrow ankles, and  
golden brown skin. Around one ankle curled a tattoo of leaves and tendrils. 
 A skirt of some
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          147

 silvery gray material hung loosely at the knee, then hugged closer at thighs 
and hips. A hand with unpainted nails held a cigarette. The cigarette rose, 
and he followed its progress past a tight, long-sleeved gray top and ropes 
of black and silver chains.
 Dan pushed his face mask to his forehead.
  Martha Cruz. She smiled down at him through shiny green oval sunglasses. 
 "Hi. I saw you from the restaurant." Her hair was unbound, a cloud of black 
 around her shoulders. "Nobody can smoke up there." She gestured with the  
cigarette to the second-floor windows.
  "Hey, Josh." Her voice was low. "You met me at Anita's party, remember? I 
 played piano for you guys." Splaying her fingers, Martha Cruz rocked side 
 to side, singing softly, "Where ya gonna go when the sun goes down-"  
"Yeah." Josh smiled.
  Lifting him by an elbow, Dan deposited Josh on the deck. "He's learning how 
 to dive. Next comes the snorkel, then the tanks, when he's older."   "Too
cool." The lenses of her sunglasses sent his tiny, doubled image back   to
him in green. "I haven't seen you here before."
  "Lisa has a membership. I visit."
  "Visit your son, I assume."
  Dan took off his mask and fins. He placed his palms on the edge and vaulted 
 out of the pool in one, move, dripping water. Martha Cruz looked him over 
 and
         148   BARBARA PARKER

 exhaled smoke to one side. Dan pushed his wet hair back with both hands. 
"Dad, I'm free-e-e-zing."
  "Go get your towel." He turned back around. Martha was still watching him. 
 Her mouth was deep burgundy. There were four earrings in each earlobe.   Dan
reached for his own towel, which hung over the back of a chair. The old   guy
with the Sunday paper was looking at them. Dan dried his face and   chest,
then hung the towel around his neck.
  He said, "You don't strike me as the country club type. 11
  "I'm not. Miguel pretends he is, and he likes me to come along." Her elbow 
 rested in her palm, and the light breeze shifted the smoke. She said, "I  
got the names and addresses of witnesses, like you asked me to. There are  
only a couple of people, though, and they're such flakes they might not  
show up for the trial."
  "I don't expect a trial, Martha. The witnesses are primarily to say we have 
 some. Bring the list with you on Wednesday." They had arranged to meet at 
 Dan's office prior to the arraignment at the criminal courts building,  
where Dan would enter a plea of not guilty on her behalf. Martha didn't  
even have to be there. It wasn't much of a case, Dan had reported to Rick, 
 who had called to check on things. Hearing that, Rick had tried to weasel 
 out of paying the thousand bucks for legal fees. Not a chance, Dan had told 
 him.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   149

  "Don't wear that dress," Dan said, "or jeans either. Do you have anything 
 conservative?"
  Martha smiled. "I think I can figure out what to wear." Then she traced the 
 edge of a tile with the toe of her sandal, shifting so that her back was to 
 the clubhouse. "Can I come a little early? I'd like to talk to you about  
something else."
  "All right."
  "Great. I'll see you Wednesday," Martha said.
  As she turned to go, Dan saw her eyes over the top of the sunglasses. She 
 glanced upward for an instant before walking toward the gate. She moved  
like liquid, the hem of her skirt swaying. She took a last pull on her  
cigarette and sent it into a hedge of red hibiscus flowers.
  Dan looked toward the high windows in the upper level. A man in a jacket 
 and open-collared shirt stood there watching Martha Cruz. Then the dark  
eyes with their slightly Asian tilt fixed on Dan.
    CHAPTER 14.

     The hot tub was busted again, so Arlo Pate was on his knees at the    
 little door with his flashlight. He peered into the works. A gasket on    
 the pump this time. Last week it had been the electricity. Miguel     
Salazar had called him a few minutes ago, said bring your toolbox.   Arlo
rose up far enough to tell Martha Cruz that the motor would be back to  
running in a few minutes. She nodded but didn't say anything. She was  
pissed, looking icepicks at Leon Davila, who was tapping his drumsticks all 
 over the patio-the wood deck, the wet bar, the vine-covered lattice  
screens. Miguel had wanted screens so that he and whoever could come out  
here and get naked and the neighbors wouldn't see. Lately the whoever  
happened to be Martha.
  In a way, Arlo felt the house was his. He had operated the dragline that 
 dug the lakes, had smoothed the ground with a bulldozer, and had laid the 
 foundation.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   151

 When Miguel bought the house, he hired Arlo off the construction crew 
because he could build things. The other reason was, Arlo had broken the arm 
of a sheetrock worker who had tried to take the cell phone out of Miguel's 
car.
  Right now Miguel was in his bedroom getting on his swimsuit and making some 
 phone calls, like he usually did after a deal went down. He didn't use the 
 phone out here because he wanted to keep Martha out of his business.   Leon
tapped his drumsticks on the hanging pots with orchids in them, then   across
the umbrella table, then along the edge of the hot tub itself, where   Martha
sat drinking her wine. Steam was rising out of the water. She'd be   warm
enough in there. It was pretty chilly otherwise, the patio being open   to
the night sky.
  Shining his flashlight around the pump, Arlo found the loose gasket. He  
lifted a tray in his tool box to get his pipe wrench. He looked at Leon and 
 slapped the wrench into his palm a couple of times, then went in to tighten 
 the nut.
  Leon had just come back from delivering some cash to one of Miguel's  
customers, and now he wanted to be patted on the head for it. He got too  
close to Martha, and she grabbed for one of his sticks and missed. He  
laughed at her. Martha called him a name and sank farther into the soap  
bubbles.
  "Don't hide from me, girl. I know what you look like."
  "You do not."
         152   BARBARA PARKER

  "No? Who was that girl up here the other night with a tattoo of a bird on 
 her ass? That wasn't you?"
  "Stay away from me, you shit. I'll tell Miguel."
   "Go ahead. I'm family."
  Arlo kept working. People as stupid as Leon usually had their mistakes  
pointed out to them one way or another. If Leon hadn't been related to one 
 of Miguel's partners back in Guayaquil, he would have been gone already.  
Now Leon was saying that he could feel the vibrations from the moon. He  
jumped off the edge of the hot tub, his shirt flapping behind him. He  
tapped his drumsticks against the air, like the moon was a big drumhead.  
Breathing hard from all the exercise, he fell into a chair. His hair hung  
over the back. "Martha, you need to loosen up, girl."
   "I'm trying to. Why don't you leave?"
  "Because I'm waiting for you to stand up." Giggling, Leon took a joint out 
 of his shirt pocket and lit it.
  Arlo gave the nut another turn, then said, "Leon, if I was you, I'd put  
that away. Miguel will be back in a minute, and he don't like it around."  
Leon sucked in smoke, held it, then said, "That's ironic. You know what  
that word means, Arlo? Ironic?"
  "I don't give a fart, Leon."
  "No, that's 'apathy."' He made one of his highpitched laughs. "It's ironic 
 that Miguel doesn't like grass around."
  "You better shut up," Arlo said, jerking his head toward Martha.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   153

  "Like she don't know. She knows. She knows everything. Don't you, Martha? 
 You so smart." Leon sucked on the joint again, smiling at her. "Martha  
Cruz. Big star."
  Steam floated over the hot tub like fog. Martha reached out and grabbed her 
 wineglass. "The band stunk until I got into it. You don't want to hear  
that, do you?"
  Leon wasn't paying attention. He was staring at the sky again, grinning  
like the idiot he was. Arlo reached inside the door and felt if the nut was 
 tight yet. Almost. He didn't mind working with his hands. He had arrived in 
 Miami with twenty dollars in his pocket. That had been right after  
Hurricane Andrew had buzzsawed through, the whole county looking like a big 
 fist had come down on it. They needed construction workers. A good time to 
 leave Memphis anyway, after he accidentally killed a guy who jumped him in 
 a bar, but try to explain that to a cop.
  When Miguel Salazar didn't have anything for him to do, Arlo worked for  
Rick Robbins. He was a grip for the bands that came through town. That  
meant he toted and carried. When he wasn't a grip, he wore a black T-shirt 
 that said Security, and he could keep order at the door. At punk rock  
concerts he would supervise the mosh pit and kick some skinhead ass, if  
need be.
  Rick also let him drive Mayhem around to gigs and set up the equipment.  
Arlo didn't give a hairy rat's tit
        154   BARBARA PARKER

 about the others-Leon most of all-but he liked Martha. Arlo had some talent 
himself, not as much as hers, but some. He used to hang out at a blues bar 
on Beale Street, where he had once backed up Stevie Ray Vaughan, God rest 
his soul. They said, Arlo, you got a job here if you want it. A memory like 
that could keep a man going for a long time.
  Last night he'd been lying on the roof looking at the stars-they were in
a   little different position than back home, but they were still the same 
 stars. And as he lay there he was playing a TV show in his mind. What if he 
 was the one behind those shiny red drums, not Leon? What if it was his name 
 going to be in the magazines? Maybe even at the Grammys. Best new band- 
Mayhem. It griped him to think of Leon up there. Leon was a little roach.  
Arlo wanted to smack him. His hands itched to do it. He wouldn't hit him  
with his fists, though. Since Martha had told Arlo a couple of months ago  
that she liked the way he played drums, he'd been more careful with his  
hands. If he slammed Leon in the teeth, which he dearly wanted to do, he  
might cut a knuckle.
  Arlo threw the switch, and the water started bubbling and rolling in the 
 hot tub. He dosed the little door and wiped his hands on a rag. He said,  
"How's that, Martha?"
  "Alihhhh, you're wonderful, Arlo."
  Leon was drinking Miguel's liquor now, still waiting for him. He took his 
 drink to the table, making up a new song. "Soy el poeta. La voz del aire, 
 del sol, del
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   155

 cielo." He banged out a rhythm on the top with his sticks. "I am the voice 
of the universe--"
 "Shut up!" Martha Cruz yelled. "Leon, please!"
 "You want those sticks down your throat, Leon?"
  Leon banged harder, the sticks turning into blurs. "Listen to me, girl.  
Take you to my world. A mi mundo, al fondo de mi alma-"
  "Stop it! Arlo, make him stop."
  Arlo walked over and took the sticks away and snapped them. "My cat could 
 play drums better than you. You're stoned half the time and can't keep the 
 beat. Martha and Kelly have to cover your ass. You better get straight  
before the concert, man."
  Leon sat on the edge of the hot tub. "You like to cover my ass, Martha?" 
 With a splash Martha stood up. Arlo turned his head, but not before he got 
 a good glimpse of her in the lights coming up through the water. Didn't  
have a stitch on. Her breasts were slick, and the soap was running down her 
 stomach, between her legs.
  He saw her arm reach for a towel.
  "Arlo's right. You're a stoner. The band would be better without you in it. 
 I wish you'd go back to Ecuador. I don't know why Miguel lets you stay  
here."
  Leon smiled in her face. "At least I don't have to fuck him, do I?"   Arlo
grabbed the little greaseball around the neck.
  "i Quitelo 1 Arlo, let him go."
  Miguel Salazar was standing in the doorway. He
         156   BARBARA PARKER

 had one of his heavy silk robes on. Arlo wondered how long he'd been there. 
He gave Leon a shake and let him go.
  Martha stomped over to Miguel, leaving shiny footprints across the wood  
deck. She was crying. "I can't take this anymore. He's ruining the band.  
We're never going to get a record contract. Never! 1No puedo suportarlo  
mksl" She threw her glass. It hit the faucet on the hot tub and shattered. 
 Her towel fell halfway off. She grabbed it around herself and ran inside. 
 Miguel turned to watch her go.
  Arlo cursed under his breath. Now he would have to filter the water. It  
would be a bitch finding every last piece of glass.
  When Miguel turned back toward Leon, there was a cold flash in his eyes. 
 Then it was gone. Leon started talking in Spanish, and Arlo gathered that 
 Leon had delivered whatever it was he had to drop off.
  Arlo wanted to take Leon over to that vacant lot behind one of those rock 
 mounds and straighten him out. Arlo would use his work boots. He started  
thinking of where exactly to kick Leon, not to ruin Leon's hands either,  
because they needed him for the band.
  Miguel said a few words, like Leon had made a good point. Then he shook the 
 ice cubes in his glass and said he needed another drink. He smiled to  
include Arlo. "And for you?"
  "No, I'd better go. The pump's working now."
  Leon said, "Yeah. Miguel and I have stuff to talk
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   157

 about." He sat on the wooden bench by the hot tub, which was all lit up, the 
water bubbling.
  Arlo looked down at his hands. The big knuckles. The cobra tattoo on one 
 hand, a Harley insignia on the other. The reddish hairs. Maybe putting just 
 one in Leon's gut wouldn't do any damage. He shook his head and picked up 
 his toolbox. "See you in the morning, Miguel."
  "No, stay awhile. Have a drink with us."
  Leon flipped his greaser hair out of his eyes and stared at Arlo. Arlo  
said, "Yeah, okay." He put his toolbox on the table.
  Miguel opened and shut the little refrigerator under the bar. He filled  
three glasses with ice and poured in some liquor. Usually Miguel made some 
 small talk. Leon was too ticked off to speak, and Arlo couldn't think of  
anything to say. He heard the motor under the hot tub. He felt a cold  
breeze drift through the vines. The moon went in and out of some clouds.  
"Leon, come get your drink."
  He stood up, a black outline in front of the hot tub.
  Miguel reached into his robe, pulled out a pistol with a long barrel, and 
 fired it twice. Two flashes of light. Two quick pops.
  Arlo jerked from the surprise of it, then watched Leon cough, eyes wide  
open. Miguel still held the pistol pointed straight at him. A little black 
 one, a .22 with a silencer.
  Miguel shot him again, and Leon fell over backward.
  After a second or two, Arlo walked over to look
        158   BARBARA PARKER

 down into the water. Turning red now, the steam still rising, Leon rolling 
around in there like meat in a soup pot. "bang."
  He looked back at Miguel, who was pouring Leon's drink out. Miguel couldn't 
 see behind him. Couldn't see Martha standing way back in the darkened room. 
 Arlo made a tiny nod. She opened the door. The sliver of light widened for 
 a second, then got narrower till it was gone. He figured she was smart  
enough to keep this to herself.
    CHAPTER 15.

     The arraignment in State of Florida v. Martha Cruz was scheduled for  
   Wednesday. Dan dropped by the prosecutor's office first thing Tuesday   
  morning and knocked on her door.
 "Hi, Ruthie. Got a minute?"
  "Sure, babe, come on in." He and Ruthie Martin knew each other, having met 
 on other cases. "What's up?"
  "Martha Cruz," he said. "Arraignment tomorrow."
  Ruthie found the Cruz file in one of the boxes on the floor. "Here it is. 
 What was this one about, Dan? Oh, yes. Your client slugged the Miami Beach 
 cop. What do you want?"
  "What are you offering?"
  "This is contingent on the officer's approval, of course." Ruthie scanned 
 the arrest affidavit. "Jim Purdy. Oops. Well, I could probably talk him  
into probation if your client agreed to counseling. You might even get a          160   BARBARA PARKER

 withhold of adjudication. How about it?" She took off her glasses and 
whirled them by one stem.
  Plea bargaining. Most of Dan's cases went that way-he and an overworked  
prosecutor trying to cut a deal. For the most part, his clients were  
ordinary folks who through stupidity, bad temper, or bad luck got
  themselves into trouble. They rarely had much money. The Martha Cruz case 
 fell outside the usual pattern, however. Mentally adding up the $1,000 that 
 Rick would pay him, plus another $4,000-the value of one forty-six-foot,  
fully equipped Bertram sportfisher for a week-then dividing by the time he 
 expected to spend on this case-two hours-he had arrived at a pretty damned 
 good hourly rate. The two hours included the five minutes he had spent  
yesterday on a call to Miami Beach.
  Dan said, "Ordinarily I'd say sure, Ruthie, that sounds fine, but I think 
 you've got a little problem here. Your cop. He's retiring."
   ' So.
  "Going back to the old hometown-Evanston, Illinois." Dan drummed a rhythm 
 on the edge of her desk.
  Ruthie Martin sighed, a hand on her hip. "Tell me you're lying."
  "I called the Miami Beach Police Department to see if he'd talk to   me-
sometimes they do. Nope. He's gone, as of next Monday. Check it out if   you
want."
  She tossed the file onto her desk. "He can fly down for the trial. He'd  
come back. Get out of all that snow? You bet he would."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   161

  "Are you telling me that your office would authorize a high-season,  
short-notice, round-trip ticket to Miami, plus hotel and meals for two  
days-"
   "What two days? This is a half-day trial, max."
   "You haven't seen my list of witnesses yet."
  "Forget the counseling, then. Plead nolo contendere and take a withhold." 
 Dan shook his head. "Can't do it, Ruthie. The girl is a talented young  
singer, right on the verge of a major record contract, a real sweet kid.  
Any kind of legal problem at this point could ruin her career. I'm repre- 
senting Martha as a favor to her manager, a good friend of mine. The  
situation just got a little out of hand after Officer Purdy roughed up one 
 of her fans. She's sorry-sincerely sorry."
  A smile started to work through. "How much of this is bullshit?"
   "Ruthie. You've got better things to do."
   "I never liked Purdy anyway," she said.

  In the lobby downstairs Dan called Martha Cruz at the Salazar house in  
Lakewood. She was rehearsing at the studio. He left a message for her to  
call him, hung up, then looked in the case file for the number of Salazar's 
 company in Miami. A woman with a Spanish accent answered. Senor Salazar was 
 in conference. "Tell him Daniel Galindo called. The matter we discussed has 
 concluded satisfactorily. Let me know when to pick up my payment. He'll  
know what that means. Thanks."
         162   BARBARA PARKER

  The last call was to Coral Rock Productions. Rick Robbins was out. Dan left 
 a message with the receptionist. "Tell Rick I just scored a bull's-eye on 
 that case he gave me. It's time to pay up."

  Dan picked up his mail from Alva Dunavoy's desk, where a fifties doo-wop 
 tune was playing on the radio. He could see Alva at the open front door,  
bitching to Charlie about the flowers that had been stolen out of the  
planters-again. Dan heard Charlie asking why she had to have flowers at  
all, and Alva retorting that they gave the office some class. Charlie's  
bass voice boomed out, "My God, Alva, put in some plastic plants. Nobody  
would steal those, and you don't have to water the damn things."
  Smiling a little, Dan shook his head. He would miss these people. Charlie 
 had taken in an unknown lawyer without a single client to bring with him. 
 Dan had opened his door that first Monday to the smell of lemon wax. Alva 
 had polished the old furniture in the spare office till it gleamed and put 
 a potted plant on his credenza. Dan got right to work on the cases Charlie 
 had given him, most of them routine criminal or family matters. Charlie had 
 laughed and slapped him on the back. You and me, Dan, we're simple swabbies 
 on the great ship jurisprudence.
  Dan had done all right in this office, but it was time to move on.   He
took the Business Review off Alva's desk and flipped to the classified  
section as he went to find
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          163

 some coffee. The pot in the tiny kitchen was empty, so he made some more. 
Waiting for it to drizzle through, he leaned against the counter to read the 
ads for professional employment. Hialeah wanted a city attorney, $45,000. 
Quite a few ads for personal injury -lawyers. Coral Gables area. Associate 
litigator wanted. Must be able to successfully try personal injury and 
employment discrimination cases. Salary 40-70K depending on experience. Not 
criminal law, but a courtroom was a courtroom. He circled that one.  He
turned a page, reading the ads for offices to rent.
 Fort Lauderdale. Trial and/or criminal lawyer wanted to share space, 
secretarial services incl., walk to courthouse, $1,OOOjmo. Dan read it 
again. Fort Lauderdale. Twentyfive miles due north. Closer to Josh and Lisa. 
It would mean starting over. Losing his clients here, finding new ones in 
Broward County. A thousand a month. Possible.
 Dan scanned the list for Miami. Space avail in estab-
 lished criminal law firm with elegant offices in bank bldg,
 walk to courthouse. Conf room, library, etc. $2,000/mo.
 Perfect but not yet.
  He laughed at the next one-a way to avoid rent altogether. A law office on 
 Brickell Avenue offered a "business identity" for $80. He could interview 
 clients in the living room of his apartment.
  Charlie came in and took down a mug. "What's so funny?�
  Dan folded the paper. "Just reading about the latest city commission  
meeting."
         164   BARBARA PARKER

  "Hey, I meant to tell you, but I didn't see you yesterday. I ran into  
Elaine McHale at the club last weekend. She's not doing too well."    "What
do you mean? Is she sick?"
  "I don't know. I couldn't make much sense of what she was saying. She was 
 drinking. She sounded depressed as hell." Charlie filled his mug. "Elaine's 
 a great gal. A shame to see her that way." He poked the spoon at the caked 
 sugar in the bowl. "She asked about you. Maybe you should give her a call." 
  "I will. Definitely."
  Taking his coffee to his desk, Dan dialed her number from memory. They had 
 worked together on dozens of cases during the six years he had been  
employed at the U.S. attorney's office. Elaine had always been so steady,  
so assured. Even after her husband, Mack, had diedwhat was it?-four years  
ago, she hadn't lost her equilibrium. Henry McHale had been a lieutenant  
with Metro-Dade. He had died at the scene of a bank robbery, protecting one 
 of the hostages with his own body. A hero. Elaine had received a letter  
from the White House. She had not remarried, and she lived alone. Her  
solitude must have become too much to bear.
  The ringing at the other end switched over to her voice mail. Dan smiled 
 into the phone. "This is one of your many admirers. Where are you, in  
court? How about lunch? You name the place, my treat. Call me at the  
office-and if you don't know who this is, shame on you."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   165

  Watching Kelly Dorff walk out of the restaurant last week, Elaine McHale 
 had experienced a quick surge of panic. She had gone against John Paxton's 
 advice not to talk to a confidential informant, and that same C.I. had  
threatened to tell the DEA about their meeting. Elaine had calmly finished 
 her coffee. She decided to talk it over with Vincent Hooper.
  He came to her office on Tuesday.
  Vince looked at the ceiling, rubbing his fingers through his beard.  
"Elaine, Elaine."
  "I had to find out for myself where Kelly was coming from with this story 
 of hers about Dan Galindo. I'm the one who'll have to put her on the  
stand."
  "And I'm waiting for Rick Robbins to hook me up with Salazar. This  
operation is balanced right on that one point, and the slightest thing  
could tip it over."
  "Okay. You're right. Did Kelly contact you, by the way?"
  "Not about you, no."
  "I told her I'd ask you about the master tapes from the studio," Elaine  
said. "The band needs them to make a demo for a New York talent scout."   "I
know," Vince said. "Rick Robbins was whining about it over the weekend.  
Here's what I told him. If this meeting with Salazar goes as planned, he  
can have the tapes."
  "I feel sorry for that girl."
  "Kelly? Give me a break. People put themselves where they are, Elaine.  
Feeling sorry won't save her,
         166   BARBARA PARKER

 and it sure as hell won't help you prosecute Miguel Salazar."
 "Vince."
  He held up his hands. "All right. You're the last person I want to preach 
 at."
  "How much longer are you going to need her?"
  "Hell, I don't know," he said. "Till it's over. I wish I could say thanks 
 and good-bye, have a nice life, see you on the cover of Rolling Stone."   
"I don't want to put her on the stand," Elaine said.
   "You might have to."
  "Kelly Dorff will make a lousy witness. She's desperate not to testify  
because she thinks her career would be over. Based on what I saw last  
Friday, a good defense lawyer would have her crying in two minutes, how the 
 DEA-specifically agent Hooperthreatened her if she didn't ="
  "Oh, good God almighty. What was I going to do, beat her with a rubber  
hose? Throw her in a dungeon? Where do people get these ideas?"
   "She was talking about Luis Barrios again."
  "Really? Why am I not surprised? Now, there's a nifty reason not to use her 
 as a C.I. on this operation. Did anybody figure that out? No. I go to  
Ecuador, come back, and there she is. And then I find Dan Galindo at the  
studio."
  "I think she was lying about him," Elaine said.
  "Oh, you do? Rick Robbins tells us he's involved, Kelly Dorff tells us the 
 same thing, and that isn't enough for you?"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   167

 "I think Kelly Dorff had a motive to lie."
 "Which is?"
  "She wanted to give you some scrap as. her ticket out. And second, she's 
 intensely angry at Dan. She told me her father wrote her off. Her brother 
 got what he wanted, and she was ignored. She trusted her last boyfriend  
enough to carry a kilo of smack for him, and he lets her take the fall.  
Then Dan comes along. He's kind, he's smart, he's good-looking. A lawyer,  
no less. Of course she falls for him. When he broke it off, she felt  
betrayed-again-and she wanted to strike back."
  "Wait. She told me she broke it off with him, not the other way around." 
 "Trust me, Vince. No."
  Vince was silent for a moment. "All right. I can buy that, but you've still 
 got Rick Robbins. He says Galindo is involved."
  After a second or two, Elaine rolled her eyes to the ceiling and shrugged. 
 He smiled at her, his cheek propped on a fist.
  Elaine loved him when he looked at her that way. The feeling was so real 
 she could imagine wrapping herself up in it. She could almost forget what 
 else went along with loving Vincent Hooper. Waiting. Pretending the other 
 half of his life didn't exist.
  "I haven't talked to John Paxton yet," she said.
  "About what?"
  "Meeting Kelly. He told me not to. Well, he said he advised against it." 
 They both knew what she was asking.
         168   BARBARA PARKER

  Vince said, "I don't think you should worry about John.
   "You're sure?"
  "Why bring up a non-issue? He's such a stickler for the rules he'd see  
problems where there aren't any." Vince came around Elaine's desk to kiss  
her on top of the head. "I have to go, sweetheart." Then he kissed her on  
the lips.
   "I like that," she said. "Do it again."
  "Oh, now you want me back, since I promised not to rat on you."
  She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him back down for another 
 kiss. "Too bad for me. I always want you."
     CHAPTER 16.

     Martha Cruz told Dan to meet her at the marina in Coconut Grove. He   
  arrived just after six o'clock, having first changed his suit for khaki  
   pants and well-worn canvas deck shoes. The marina was a sprawling     
facility behind Miami City Hall, and docks fanned out into the water.     
This time of year every slip was taken, and dozens of sailboats and     
cruisers were moored just offshore. The old wooden docks where Raid     
Galindo used to keep his fishing boat had been torn out years ago,     
replaced with concrete.
  Coming from the parking lot, Dan saw a blackhaired girl sitting on a bench 
 along the seawall. She wore green sunglasses. Her face turned toward him, 
 and in one quick motion she rose to her feet.
  "Hi." She lightly kissed his cheek, a gesture more formal than
  affectionate. "I was about to wonder if you were coming." Her black hair 
 was a riot of curls around her face and down her back.
        170   BARBARA PARKER

  "To see the boat that's going to take me to the Bahamas, believe me, I'll 
 be here. Just don't tell me Miguel changed his mind."
  Martha reached into the pocket of her jeans and withdrew a set of keys,  
which swung from one finger, jingling softly. Dan reached out, but the keys 
 disappeared into her hand. "Come on." She crossed the walkway and unlocked 
 the gate.
  They walked along the dock, passing people in swimsuits and shorts going 
 the other way. Without much daylight left, boats were coming back in, tying 
 up. The Basildn was in a slip near the end. Forty-six feet of boat, close 
 to a million dollars' worth of fiberglass, stainless steel, electronic  
gear, and living quarters, with two big diesel engines to push it all  
through the water at a thirtyknot cruising speed. Tinted windows, long  
foredeck.
  Dan stepped onto the gunwale, then down to the cockpit. The boat barely  
dipped under his weight. He ran his hand up the smooth metal ladder that  
led to the bridge.
  "I think you're in love."
  "Oh, yeah. Absolutely." Dan examined the baitprep station on the bulkhead. 
 "You say Miguel never takes the boat out?"
  "Hardly ever." Martha jumped aboard, landing lightly in her sneakers,  
steadying herself on Dan's shoulder. "He lets his friends use it, but he  
never does. I think he gets seasick."
  "What a shame."
  Martha put her sunglasses away in a small purse,
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          171

 then unlocked the salon and turned on the lights. Dan went inside. The 
interior was done in dark blue and teak. Built-in sofas and cabinets. Bar, 
TV, VCR. Steps led to the galley, then a hall to a master stateroom, head, 
and guest bunks in the bow. He took a quick look around, Martha pointing 
things out to him.
  On the way back through the galley, she said, "How did you make the state 
 attorney dismiss my case?"
  "If I told you, you wouldn't need me next time."
  "Miguel thinks you paid off the police."
  Dan shook his head and laughed, letting her go first up the steps to the 
 salon.
  "Whatever you did, thanks." Her manner was subdued tonight, as if she were 
 so fatigued from anxiety that good news couldn't touch it. He gave her a  
quick squeeze around the shoulders.
  They went back outside. She locked the salon door, then suddenly turned to 
 him with an open-mouthed smile, a sudden burst of energy.
  "You want to take the boat out?"
  "Now?"
  "I can show you how to run it," she said. "We could go for a ride if we  
don't stay out too long. The band has rehearsal tonight." She grabbed the  
ladder to the bridge and took a step up. "Okay?"
  "Why not?"
  Under her sweater she wore a short top that exposed a few inches of bare 
 skin and three silver rings in her navel. A chain went through the rings  
and dropped below the waistband of her low-slung jeans. She turned          172   BARBARA PARKER

 to climb the ladder. The seat of her jeans had worn to threads in a couple 
of places, only bare skin underneath.
  Martha stood at the captain's seat and unlocked the helm. "If Miguel  
happens to ask-just in case-tell him that you picked up the keys from Rick, 
 okay?"
  '-Why?-
  She pushed back the helm cover. "Well . . . Miguel gets jealous over  
nothing. He almost didn't let me hire you."
   "He doesn't know you're here?"
  "Not really. He knows you're borrowing the boat. We have to be careful,  
that's all. See that switch? You have to flip that first."
   "Martha, what are you getting me into?"
   "Nothing. Go untie the ropes."
  "It's called casting off,- Dan said.
  "Okay, let's cast off."
  "After we start the engines."
  "Whatever."

  At no-wake speed they maneuvered out of the marina, going around the  
mangrove island that shielded the harbor from the bay. The setting sun had 
 turned the clouds pink and purple. Martha let Dan have the wheel, then sat 
 back in the other chair with her sneakers propped on the helm.
  Dan pushed forward on the throttle as they got into deeper water. The boat 
 surged ahead, water hissing past the sides. Martha spoke louder to be  
heard. "You like it?"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE  173

  "Are you kidding? I love it." Steering due south, Dan planned to make a  
long loop. He pushed the speed up to twenty knots, twenty-five. The water  
was calm, and the boat seemed to lift over it. On Sunday he would take josh 
 out. And Lisa, if he could talk her into it. She would see this boat and  
want to go to Cat Cay herself.
  Martha's hair was whirling around her face. Her brows drew together, making 
 a crease in the smooth skin between them. She said, "I suppose you think  
I'm a slut for being with Miguel."
  "No. You have your reasons."
  "We get along all right," she said. "He's very sexual and romantic, you  
know? I like that. Up to a point. He doesn't want to let me go, but he's  
going to have to. Soon as we finish that demo, I'm out of here. If it  
doesn't happen, I'll kill myself."
  If her mood had been less serious, Dan might have smiled. "Come on, Martha. 
 Your career doesn't depend on one demo tape."
  "It does. In this business? If you don't get that one break, it's over." 
 "You're only twenty-one years old, for God's sake."
  She pulled her sweater tightly around herself and hugged her knees. "I  
could be dead next week too."
  "No. You'll make it. You're very talented."
  "This is true. I can hear things other people can't. In my mind, you know? 
 It's like . . . seeing colors, and most people are color-blind." She smiled 
 at Dan and pushed her hair away from her face. "I've been like that since 
 I was a baby. When I was two years old, my
         174   BARBARA PARKER

 dad split, and my mom had no money, and so she, my sister, and me lived in 
a shelter. Somebody gave me this toy xylophone. All the notes were different 
colors. One octave, eight colors. You could sing a song and I could play it 
back to you. We had to move after a while, and they said I couldn't take the 
xylophone, and I cried and cried. I can't tell you what my dad looked like, 
or where we lived back then, but I can still hear that xylophone. I can see 
it, like it's right here. When I was about six, my mom joined some evan-
gelical church in Hialeah. They had a keyboard, and I found that thing, and 
wow, they couldn't pull me off it. They were, like, Hey, would you stop 
already? The pastor said for them to give me lessons for free. Then of 
course they wanted me to play for services, this really stupid-ass music, so 
I stopped going."
  Martha scooted down a bit to stay out of the wind. The temperature was  
falling as the light faded. She said, "I never finished high school. I got 
 pregnant and dropped out. My mom made me have the baby, then somebody  
adopted it. I never went back to school. I'm smart, but I can't read very  
well. Isn't that a horrible thing to admit? It's true. I can read music,  
though. I taught myself. I'm a better musician than Kelly. It's funny to  
realize that about people you used to think were so amazing. Music is all  
I do. It's like my obsession. I would do anything before I'd give that up. 
 I would die first. I mean that sincerely. If you told me I couldn't sing  
anymore, that I would have to stop playing music, I would die. I told  
Miguel that. He
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   175

 understood, you know? He said he'd help me, and he did, so I have this, 
like, loyalty to some extent. But lately-like in the last few days-I've been 
thinking about leaving. I think about that a lot."
  "You could leave," Dan said. "Rick and Sandy would let you live with them. 
 Or stay with Kelly."
  She was silent, hugging her knees.
   Dan asked, "Is Miguel violent? Does he hit you?"
  She gave her head a quick shake. "Don't worry about it. I wouldn't stay if 
 I thought he would hurt me. He's in love with me. He'd do anything for me, 
 is what he said. He yells when he's mad, but he's never hit me." She  
pressed her full lips tightly together. "I just- It's complicated."   "What
are you waiting for, the concert to be over?" Dan asked.
  "The demo tape, the concert. Yes. If I left now-" With a sudden groaning 
 exhalation she dropped her forehead to her knees. After a second she raised 
 her face, laughing. "I might show up at your door some night. Help! Help! 
 Would you let me in?"
  "What's going on, Martha?"
  "Would you?"
  "Yes, if you were in trouble. Of course. But if you want to leave him, then 
 leave."
  "No, I don't want to. Not really. Things are just, like, tense right now, 
 that's all. A teeny bit tense."
  Dan watched her for a moment, then said, "Last time we talked, you had  
something on your mind. What was it about? Miguel?"
         176  BARBARA PARKER

  She kept her eyes on the water rushing toward them. "No. The demo tape. Who 
 owns it? Say we finish the demo, but the studio won't let us have it. It's 
 still ours, isn't it? We did the work. We wrote the songs."
  "Why wouldn't they let you have it?"
   "I don't know. Like . . . they didn't get paid."
  "Is that going to be a problem?"
  "It's an example, okay?"
  "Well, I'm not up on the standard practices in studio recording, but my  
guess is, the studio doesn't have to release anything they haven't been  
paid for. Talk to Rick if you're concerned about it. He's your manager."  
Dan added, "I'm not much good at giving legal advice when clients don't  
give me all the facts."
  Martha stood up and leaned on the helm. "We lost our drummer. Did Rick tell 
 you?"
  "I haven't talked to Rick." Dan turned the wheel sharply, seeing what the 
 boat would do. Steady. No wallowing. The horizon seemed to tilt. Dan made 
 a tight circle, then came out of it heading north. "What happened to the  
drummer?"
  "Leon went back to Ecuador, but we've got another drummer already, Arlo  
Pate. The tall red-haired man? He was at the studio the night you came."  
"How's Rick taking this?"
  "He's okay with it. Arlo's better than Leon. I think so, anyway. Kelly  
disagrees, but she and I disagree about a lot of things. Arlo has to work  
on the songs. That's why I have to get back tonight."
  "Why did Leon quit?"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   177

  Martha shrugged. "Miguel told him to. They wereThey're like cousins or  
something. Leon was living at the house, but Miguel didn't like him, so he 
 told him to get out."
  "All the way back to Ecuador?"
  "Well, Leon never cared that much about the band." Martha grabbed Dan's  
arm. "Listen, we're having a party Friday night on South Beach, in a  
penthouse suite on Ocean Drive. You're invited. Miguel's paying for it,  
naturally, but Rick has invited all kinds of people. Please say you'll  
come."
   "Well . . . I might drop in."
  "You have to be there. The band's going to playour first time with the new 
 guys. You don't want to come because of Kelly?" Martha hugged his arm  
closer, and he could feel her breast. "She won't care. I'll talk to her."  
"No, no, it's not that. I told my son I'd take him out on Friday." Dan took 
 his arm away and turned on the running lights. "The concert. I'll be at the 
 concert, count on it."
  That sent Martha spinning into another mood. "If we make it to the concert. 
 We have to. Yes!" She threw her head back. "The man from Capitol Records  
will love us. What a band! You're amazing! Sign here, Ms. Cruz. Please."  
She suddenly swung out over the edge of the bridge, hanging onto the tower 
 ladder.
  "Be careful!"
  Martha only laughed, bending backward into an arch, her sweater blowing  
open, her hair whipping
         178   BARBARA PARKER

 like a dark flag. Dan could hear her singing but couldn't make out the 
words. He glanced ahead of them to check for other boats, then yelled, "I 
hope you like swimming in the ocean."
  Holding on by one hand, she balanced on the edge of the bridge. She shouted 
 back, "I know why you left the U.S. attorney's office. You wouldn't tell  
me, but I found out."
  "What did you find out?"
  "That you lost a case against a drug dealer, and they wanted to fire you, 
 so you quit."
   "Not exactly, but close. Who told you that?"
   "Someone. I know a lot about you."
   "Is that right?"
  "Like you wear silk boxers to bed, but you always take them off in the  
middle of the night."
  "No offense, Martha, but what I wear-or do-in bed is none of your
  business."
  Her laughter came clearly over the steady growl of the engines. "Maybe I'll 
 find out for myself." Her arms were over her head, and the silver chain  
through her navel rings bounced slightly on her taut, tanned abdomen.   He
felt the heat build in his groin. "Are you trying to get me in trouble?"  
"With who? Miguel?"
  "He might hang me up like that sailfish he caught."
  She laughed. "I don't see Miguel out here, do you?"
  Dan slid his hands over the ship's wheel and took a slow breath. He could 
 cut the engines and drop
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   179

 the anchor. Take her below. Explore the staterooms. See where that chain 
went. He said, "You're awfully young.�
  "Miguel is forty-one, and he doesn't think so. How old are you?"
  "Thirty-five next week."
  "Yeah, that's so old." Balancing on the edge, she stepped toward the bow, 
 then dropped out of sight. She reappeared on the foredeck, whirling around, 
 arms extended. The boat hit a trough and sent up a spray. She screamed,  
delighted, and grabbed the railing.
  "Hey! Don't do that! Martha!" He took the engines out of gear.
  For a while the boat glided forward on its own momentum. Martha Cruz stayed 
 on the foredeck, dancing. The boat was rising and falling on the swells.  
The sky had turned colorless, a few stars coming out. Over the low pulse of 
 the engines, Dan heard her singing one of her songs. "Hey, yeah, touch me, 
 be with me. We're okay. We're all right now, doin' so fine, baby, yeah,  
yeah, yeah."
  Dan said under his breath, "Don't. Don't. You will regret it."
  She sat down suddenly on the deck and hit it with both fists. Then again. 
 Her hair fell around her. Water slapped against the hull. A speedboat  
angled by, heading in to port before the light was gone completely.   He
called out, "Martha?"
  She raised her face, as blank and empty as the sky. She said, "It's late. 
 I have to get back."
    CHAPTER 17. 

     The band picked a hot blues number, "Goiri Down," for the last song in 
    the set. Last song, toughest one too. Might as well go for it, Rick    
 thought, standing at the edge of the crowd, chewing his thumbnail.   The
band had been nervous as cats all week, Martha pushing them hard, Kelly  
screaming at Martha, the guys fucking up every other song. But tonight they 
 were pulling it all together. By God, they were. They were playing to a  
couple hundred people jammed into a South Beach penthouse, the place all  
lit up with neon, the music screaming off the turquoise and pink walls.  
"Come on, baby. Come on," Rick murmured to himself, watching Scott Irwin.  
His solo was coming up. "Right on the beat. Come on."
  Going into the bridge, Scott reached out to tap an effects pedal with the 
 toe of his high-top sneaker. Kelly was singing, her face red, spittle  
flying out,
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          181

 working her head around the mike as if her mouth were a pivot. Scott hit the 
pedal again. Waited for the drum. Did his four bars of fast fretwork. Then 
back into the blues beat.
 Rick thrust a fist into the air. "Yes!"
  Now Kelly was jumping up and down with her guitar. Martha grabbed the  
microphone over her keyboard with one hand, and Scott leaned over to sing  
into his. Arlo Pate just pounded the drums, sweat pouring down his face,  
scraggly red hair bouncing under a bandanna. He had a big gut and big arms; 
 he could have bench-pressed a cow. Rick had felt his heart seize up when  
Arlo told him that Leon had gone back to Ecuador. It didn't make sense. A  
guy didn't just walk away from a band on the verge of making it. He was  
afraid that Arlo had taken Leon to the Everglades to play with the  
alligators and land crabs.
  People were dancing where there was room for it. A bunch of them had  
spilled outside onto the terrace.
  Miguel had wanted to throw this party in his backyard, but Rick had said
no   way would anybody drive forty miles to the Broward County suburbs for
an   unknown band, didn't matter how much free booze you gave them. It just 
 wasn't hip. Rick had told him, What you do is, you rent a penthouse in an 
 Art Deco hotel on Ocean Drive. You get a caterer to lay out stuff like goat 
 cheese, thin-sliced raw tuna, and curried black bean dip. The bartenders  
are very buff, preferably models. Buy a dozen cases of pretty good cham- 
pagne, invite the pivotal people in the dub scene, the
         182   BARBARA PARKER

 local music critics, a few literary types, a couple of drag queens, and 
whatever B-list rock musician might be in town that weekend. Put out the 
rumor that Madonna might drop by. Then stand back.
  Martha had set up her tape machine in the other room, recording it all.  
Tomorrow they would pick it apart, see what they needed to fix. Rick had  
never seen her so frantic. He told her to chill, that these people wouldn't 
 make or break the band, but she had barely looked up from her cables and  
amps. Next week the band would do some final bass guitar overdubs and patch 
 up the vocal tracks a bit, if they had time. If they got into the goddamn 
 studio.
  Rick felt queasy with dread. He had told the manager of the studio, Victor 
 Ramirez, that he could get him a deal with Miguel, but so far, Miguel  
hadn't responded. Ramirez wanted an answer and he was starting to be a  
prick about it. He'd said, No deal, no demo tape. Rick needed to get Miguel 
 alone, find out what was going on.
  He stood on tiptoe and looked around one of the drag queens, who was  
dressed like Courtney Love. Miguel was over there with some of his buddies, 
 the silk-jacket-and-Rolex crowd from South America. Rick put a fist to his 
 sternum and pressed hard. Was it the speakers making his bones shake, or  
was he having a coronary?
  The band was getting near the end of the song now. Scott Irwin shuffled  
across the floor toward Kelly. They sawed the air with the necks of their  
guitars. Her
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   183

 hair hung over her face. She hit the reverb and leaned back into the final 
chord. Martha slammed her hands onto the keys, and that was that.
  The people applauded and cheered and whistled. Rick wondered if they had 
 liked it. Most of them were either drunk or stoned. Aside from the few  
important people who had showed up, they were various hangers-on, party  
people, and out-of-town asswipes. One guy saying he knew the president of  
MCA. Another who owned a gallery in SoHo. Experts in how to wear black and 
 look cool. Maybe they were waiting to see if anybody jumped up on the bar 
 and started stripping.
  Rick went over and gave each of the musicians a hug. Except for Arlo Pate. 
 Rick said, "Good job, Arlo."
  "Yeah. Thanks." He mopped his face with a towel and reached for a long-neck 
 beer, which he chugged in three seconds flat.
  An arm went around Rick's waist. Sandy had come up behind him.
  "What'd you think, cookie?"
  She said, "I'm ready to get on back home. This is the most phony-baloney 
 bunch I ever did see." Sandy had teased her hair and put on a tight,  
fringed miniskirt and a sequined cowboy shirt, making people snicker behind 
 her back. Rick knew she got a charge out of it, and if he'd had the guts he 
 would have worn his Elvis costume from last Halloween.
  He said, "No, what'd you think of the band?"
  She looked up at him-long black lashes and shiny
         184   BARBARA PARKER

 blue eye shadow. The corners of her eyes crinkled when she smiled. "Honey, 
I think you got yourself a winner."
  "It's ours, baby. You and me." He kissed her forehead. "Go find us a drink. 
 I need to talk to Miguel."

  Kelly signed a few autographs and had her picture taken with people she  
didn't know, then asked Martha if she could use Miguel's telephone. Kelly  
took the phone out onto the terrace, found a more or less quiet spot, and  
dialed Elaine McHale's office number, waiting for the voice mail to pick  
up. Nobody would be at the U.S. attorney's office at midnight, but Kelly  
didn't want to talk to a real person, who would start asking questions.  
Leaning on the railing on the sixth floor, Kelly
 stared out at the black ocean, no way to tell sea from
 sky, except for the tiny dots of light boats, way out
 there. Below her, cars moved slowly by on Ocean
 Drive. People filled the sidewalks, looking funny from
 this angle.
  Elaine McHale's voice said to leave a message. Kelly cleared her throat, 
 raw from so much singing. "Hi. This is Kelly 'Dorff. I'm sorry for the way 
 I acted at the restaurant. I was like totally freaked. I'm really sorry. I 
 already called Vincent and took back what I said about Dan. And listen. I 
 didn't tell him about you and Dan being friends and everything, okay?" She 
 exhaled. "I guess that's it. Oh. Don't forget about the demo tapes. You  
promised. Bye."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   185

  Kelly disconnected, then stared at the phone for a moment. "Okay, you  
bastard." She punched in Vincent Hooper's number, not expecting him to  
answer. He never did. There was never even a message on the other end, only 
 a beep. "This is Kelly. I need to talk to you. Call me at my apartment  
before ten o'clock tomorrow morning. After that I won't be there. You'd  
better do it."
  More people started coming out to the terrace with their drinks, laughing 
 and talking. Kelly retreated behind a potted tree with a braided trunk. She 
 dialed Dan Galindo's number at home. She counted four rings. Then his  
answering machine came on.
  "Dan? If you're there, pick up." She waited. "You're there, aren't you? Or 
 maybe you have company. Hey, chick. He's a dangerous man. Be careful." She 
 laughed. "Or maybe you're really out. Well, what I wanted to tell you- Here 
 I am on the sixth floor of a fabulous penthouse on Ocean Drive " Kelly  
crooked her arm over her eyes, moved the phone away from her mouth to take 
 a few breaths, then said, "The party went really great, in case you're  
interested. What I called about was . . . I'm really sorry for freaking out 
 on you. I left some stuff at your house. Maybe I could come get it  
sometime. Or you could bring it to me. I'll be staying with Martha for a  
while."
  A long beep came from the other end of the line.
  Kelly clicked the off button and let her head fall on her arm. After a  
while she squinted to find the redial button in the dark. She poked around 
 and finally
        186   BARBARA PARKER

 heard the tones again. Then his message. She wiped under her nose with the 
hem of her T-shirt.
  "It's me again." She felt tears burning her eyes. The line was silent. "I 
 have to go back in. They want us to do another number, I think. Leave me a 
 message or something. And . . . I hope you're happy. No lie, okay?"

  By the time Rick got to him through the crowd,
 Miguel Salazar was telling one of the suckups that
 he himself would pay for publicity--spots on radio,
 ads in the Miami Herald if the man would book
 Mayhem into his club in Coconut Grove the night
 before the concert at the Abyss, three weekends away.
 The important thing, he told him, was to make sure
 that the A&R scout from Capitol Records, and the
 others who might be at the Abyss, all believed that the
 band was popular in Miami.
  The man's hair was gelled to stand straight up, and his glasses were long 
 black rectangles. "Three weeks? Oh, please. If you'd called me before  
Christmas, then maybe. But look. We're not the right venue for a rock band. 
 Miami likes dance music, you know? The town where disco never died. It's  
the demographics. Half Latin, twenty percent black. Dance music. Cutting- 
edge rock and roll just limps along. Oh sure, the dubs on South Beach, but 
 it's so derivative. Miami has only two presumptive rock stations, and those 
 are so into, like, pop rock and altie you could just gag."
  "How much do you think to get a single on the radio?" Miguel asked.         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   187

  Martha, standing next to him, rolled her eyes. "Miguel, forget it."   "Oh,
she's right," the man said. "You can't get on a P-1 station. That's   like
the Holy Grail. They only do national hits. You can't even pay to get   on,
and if you did, it wouldn't affect the national market, would it? Drop   in
the bucket. There's a local music show on Sundays, but like, is anybody  
listening?"
  He came in closer to Miguel and reached out to pull Rick over, fingers like 
 spiders crawling around his wrist. "Rick, my friend, come here. Can I offer 
 an irreverent prediction? You're gonna restructure this band sooner or  
later."
  "You think so?"
  "Oh, yeah. Martha is way too much for these guys. Mayhem. Oh, God. Excuse 
 me, but is that juvenile or what? She'd get further on her own with a  
backup band."
  "What should we call it?" Miguel asked.
  "I'd call it simply 'Cruz.' It's ethnic, but not too. Can you see the  
headline in Billboard? 'New band on Cruz control.' Subhead-'Martha Cruz  
goes platinum.' What do you think? Perfect?"
  "I like it," Miguel said.
  Rick said, "Hey, Miguel. I need to talk to you."

  Kneeling on the wood floor, hiding behind the drums, Kelly wiped off her 
 guitar while Arlo and Scott started packing everything away. She shined the 
 chrome tuning pegs and worked the cloth down the strings.
         188   BARBARA PARKER

  It was a Fender Jaguar made in 1969, worth about $2,000. The old hippie who 
 had sold her the Jag thought he was ripping her off for the four-fifty  
she'd paid him. He said that Jimi Hendrix had played it, then passed it on 
 to Carlos Santana. A total lie, but she liked the sound of it and the  
color-Lake Placid blue-and the curves of the body, and she liked to imagine 
 that his stories were really true.
  She noticed that her arms were shaking. It was partly muscle fatigue. The 
 rest was . . . cold, stone fear. Knowing she had been at the furthest edge 
 tonight, playing as well as she could, and it wasn't good enough. Her hands 
 had felt stiff, and she couldn't concentrate. In her solo on "Let It Ride," 
 she had screwed up for a bar and a half. Martha had covered her. Scott got 
 a little confused, but Arlo didn't miss a beat. Rick had looked scared for 
 a second, but nobody else had noticed.
  She saw a pair of blurry canvas high-tops. She dried her eyes with the  
cloth. Scott asked her what was wrong. "I'm okay." She stood up.
  He grabbed her arm before she tripped. "Kelly, what's the matter with you?" 
 "I have to get out of here." She gulped in a breath, feeling like she might 
 scream.
  Sandy Robbins put her arm around her. "C'mon, honey. We gon' find ourselves 
 a glass of nice cool water. Maybe just lie down for a sec. Thank you,  
Scott. She's okay. She's just fine. Aren't you, hon?"
  "I wanted to play my music, that's all. That's all I wanted." Kelly let  
Sandy walk her down the narrow
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   189

 hall away from the penthouse living room. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry. Sandy, I'm 
sorry."
 "You hush. Not a thing to be sorry for."
 "There is, there is."
  Voices behind them were curious, asking if she was sick, or what. Sandy  
yelled, "Y'all leave her alone. She's all right. Where's Rick?"
  There was a bedroom down the hall. It had a picture of Marilyn Monroe, a 
 white chenille bedspread, and a little table shaped like a flying saucer. 
 Sandy made Kelly lie down, then got her a glass of water out of the  
bathroom and a wet washcloth. Told her to sip the water. Sandy wiped off  
her face. Kelly felt so heavy she couldn't move. After a while she stopped 
 crying.
  "Are you all right now, hon?" The sequins twinkled on Sandy's cowgirl  
shirt. There were gold lassos on the pockets, and the buttons were   mother-
of-pearl.
  "You're very nice, Sandy."
  "Oh, well. We girls have to look out for each other." Sandy wagged a  
finger. "You gonna start bawlin again?" Her face softened. "Anything you  
wanta talk about, Kelly? Man trouble? I think I know who."
  "No. I'm okay now." Kelly closed her eyes. "I'll take care of it."

  Out on the terrace, Miguel told Rick to go find his telephone. Martha had 
 it, he thought. Rick got it from her, then came back out. Miguel lit a  
cigar and talked with some of his friends while Rick dialed the
         190   BARBARA PARKER

 number that Victor Ramirez had given him. Victor came on the line.
  Rick told him who he was, and that someone wanted to talk to him. He tapped 
 Miguel on the shoulder. "Hey. Can you possibly do this now?"
  In Spanish Miguel told the other guys to excuse him for a minute. He took 
 the telephone, walked a little farther down the terrace, and put an elbow 
 on the railing.
  "Victor? This is Miguel, how are you? . . . Yes, the band is sounding  
great. Rick says you're doing a good job for him at the studio. We should  
talk about it sometime. Maybe lunch, what do you say? . . . Monday is  
better . . . I'll call you that morning and let you know where . . . . Not 
 yet. First let's get to know each other, okay? Then maybe we'll do business 
 .... Good, I'll see you then." He hung up and handed the phone to Rick.  
Sweat was running under Rick's arms and down his back. He forced a laugh.  
"Finally. For this you should give me a break on what I owe you."
  Miguel eyed Rick over the glowing end of his cigar, then walked back to his 
 buddies. A bimbo in a tight minidress glanced past Miguel's shoulder for a 
 second, then started laughing at whatever it was he said to her.
  Rick gripped the railing, stared over the side, and wondered if six floors 
 were far enough to fall.
    CHAPTER 18.

     On Sunday morning Elaine McHale sat cross-legged on the floor of her  
   living room, going through stacks of personal papers, filling garbage   
  bags with trash. Last night she had noticed how much junk had
     accumulated in her bedroom closet. She had pulled unworn clothes off  
   hangers and out of dresser drawers, thrown out faded sheets and     
threadbare towels, then attacked the guest room closet and the
     bookshelves in the living room. She had worked until two o'clock in the 
    morning and was awake at dawn. Now the living room was strewn with     
papers, and six black plastic bags were stacked behind the privacy fence   
  on the front porch.
  Sometimes she and Vince Hooper would read the Sunday paper and have  
breakfast together, but he would usually call the night before to tell her 
 he was coming. He hadn't called, and to her surprise, she hadn't minded so 
 much. She had scrubbed her face,
        192   BARBARA PARKER

 but her hair was still uncombed. She had on an old Miami police T-shirt, 
running shorts, and the red socks she had worn to bed. The radio was tuned 
to a classical music station. The solitude was delicious.
  One of her two cats lay in a patch of sunshine, toes splayed, yawning so 
 widely his tongue lolled out. Elaine patted his tummy, then reached for  
another cardboard box. Inside were folders of notes from law school.  
Christmas cards in a rubber band that broke when she touched it. A glass  
doorknob from her grandmother's house. A flamingo swizzle stick. Labels  
from bottles of wine. Old bank statements for Henry and Elaine McHale. Then 
 undated photographs with people whose names she couldn't remember. All  
these she tossed away. She found an announcement of Mack's graduation from 
 the police academy and set that aside to send to his parents in Ohio. They 
 already had his citations for bravery, posthumously given.
  The Mozart violin concerto on the radio ended, followed by an ad for  
Cadillac. She aimed the remote and turned down the volume, then took  
another sip of tea. Mango-strawberry, which she hadn't tried before.   The
next box contained loose photographs that she had never found time to   put
into an album. She flipped through the photos. Nothing she wanted, but   she
couldn't just throw them out. Could she? The Siamese cat was playing in   the
trash bag. She pulled the cat out and tossed in the photographs by the  
handful.
  A cool breeze came in through the open door to the
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   193

 tiny backyard, and the sunlight shifted into patterns of leaves. A wind 
chime tinkled softly. The people in the apartment next door were having 
breakfast on their patio. Elaine stood up to dump an entire box of old bank 
statements and tax returns and receipts into the bag. Some fluttered to the 
floor. She scraped them together, hurled them in, then jerked the top of the 
bag into a knot.
  Leaning back against the weight, she carried the bag outside and dumped it 
 with the others. She turned to go inside. Then someone called her name.  
Dan Galindo was coming up the walkway to her porch, veering around an  
elephant-ear plant that had grown past the flower bed. "This is lucky. I  
wasn't sure I remembered which apartment was yours."
  "Dan? What are you doing here?"
  He held up a bag from the deli around the corner. "Surprise."
  "Bagels?"
  "Six assorted, still warm, plus three flavors of cream cheese. I got your 
 message the other night, and said, gee, it's been months since I've seen  
that woman. Let me go say hello." He came onto the porch. "Hey, sexy red  
socks you've got on."
  "You should have called." Elaine quickly fingercombed her hair. "Three  
flavors of cream cheese? How cruel."
  "That's for turning me down for lunch." He held out his arms. "Don't I get 
 a hug?" Before she could speak, her nose was pressing into his collarbone          194   BARBARA PARKER

 through a striped crew neck sweater. He kissed her cheek, then looked at the 
bags on the porch. "You're not moving out, are you?"
  "No, just cleaning my closets." At the door the Siamese cat yowled softly, 
 staring at them with round blue eyes. Elaine reached over and pulled the  
door shut. "Where are you going, dressed like that? On a boat? Make me  
jealous, Dan."
  He glanced down at his khaki shorts and well-worn canvas deck shoes. "I  
borrowed a really slick forty-sixfoot Bertram from a client-the client's  
boyfriend, more accurately. I'm going to take Josh out, maybe go around Key 
 Biscayne and back. He's a little afraid of the ocean, and I want to get him 
 over it, because the big plan is- We're going to Cat Cay. That's just north 
 of Eleuthera."
   She smiled. "Such an adventure."
  "I'll tell you about it." He handed the bag to Elaine. "How about some  
coffee to go with these? Orange juice?"
  She took the bag reluctantly. It had occurred to her with a sudden stab of 
 regret that she shouldn't be talking to him at all. Worse, she couldn't  
tell him why: The DEA suspected he was involved with Miguel Salazar.   "Dan
. . . I'd invite you in, but I'm just about to get dressed. I'm   expecting
company any minute now."
  He came closer, having to look down at her. His eyes searched her face.  
"How are you doing? I mean, generally speaking, are you all right?"           CRIMINAL JUSTICE          195

 "Of course. Why?"
  "Charlie Dunavoy told me he saw you the other night."
  "Charlie. Yes, at the Northside."
   "He said you seemed a little depressed."
   "Depressed? Me?"
   "He said he hated to see you in such a bad way."
   She laughed. "What?"
   "You were too smashed to drive yourself home."
  There was a silence. Elaine said, "I had a few drinks. Big deal."
   "On a Thursday night?"
  "Excuse me? I don't see you in months, then you show up asking me
  questions."
  "You know I didn't mean it that way," he said, gently chastising.
  There were some dead leaves on the ivy that wound through the wooden slats 
 in the privacy fence. She picked them off, one by one. "Sorry. I was up  
till all hours last night going through all the stuff in my closets. It  
accumulates so fast you feel buried. Some of it's been in boxes for years-" 
 Dan was still looking at her. He used to look at witnesses that way in the 
 courtroom. Concerned. Expectant. Brown eyes wide open, eyebrows slightly  
raised. Not accusing, just waiting for the witness to say too much. She  
smiled and tucked the leaves into one of the trash bags. "Well. Thank you  
for the bagels. Tell Charlie I'm fine. Not to worry."
  She could tell Dan wasn't satisfied with that. If she
         196   BARBARA PARKER

 were more duplicitous, and if he weren't an old friend, she would bring him 
into her kitchen, slice a bagel, pour the coffee. Tell me, Dan, why you and 
your former wife were having drinks at the home of the chief money launderer 
for the Guayaquil cartel.
 He asked, "How are things downtown?"
 "You know. Same old, same old."
 "Are you dating anybody?"
  "No. Not really." She smiled at him. "What about you?"
   "Me either."
  "Wait a minute. Somebody told me you were going with a rock guitarist. Now 
 where did I hear that?"
  "Well, I was dating a rock guitarist. Yeah, I know. Bad idea. We split up." 
 Dan leaned against the stucco wall with his hands in his pockets. "Listen, 
 don't mention this to Charlie, but I'm looking for a job closer to Lakewood 
 Village, maybe something in Fort Lauderdale."
   � vhy?�
  "Well . . . it's closer to josh. And Lisa. I've been thinking of making  
another go at it-if she'll have me."
   "That's great," Elaine said. "I guess."
   "You guess?"
   "No, it is. Definitely."
  He nodded. "Lisa's a terrific person. She's attractive, smart. A great mom. 
 I've dated since the divorce-not a lot, but enough to know that it's  
depressing, what's out there these days. She and I split up a year ago, and 
 now I can't explain why. I took a nose dive after the
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          197

 Barrios case and never recovered. Oh, well. That's history. I'd like to see 
if I can rewind the tape. Get it right this time. I'm hoping for that." Dan 
smiled as if it were he who had revealed too much.
  "Be careful," Elaine said. "Statistics prove that a second marriage between 
 the same people doesn't usually work out any better than the first one  
did."
   He said, "You've done a study."
  "Oh, yes. I always read Cosmo in the grocery store checkout line." She  
smiled when he did, then said, "Well. I have to go now."
  He reached for her hand. "I'm going to call you more often."
  "No need." She backed away. "Thank you. And stay out of trouble."
  At the sidewalk he waved good-bye, car keys in his hand. When he was out
of   sight, Elaine leaned against the fence and thanked all manner of deities 
 that Vincent Hooper was not waiting inside with his ear at the door. He  
would tell her that Dan Galindo was a manipulator who expected that half a 
 dozen bagels and a hug would buy him information about Operation Manatee  
from a former pal at the U.S. attorney's office.

  In his car, parked along the street under a banyan tree, Dan sat staring 
 through the windshield at the shady entrance to Elaine's apartment. He had 
 last seen her in October, a chance meeting on the street downtown, leading 
 to a shot of espresso outside a Cuban
         198   BARBARA PARKER

 diner and a slow walk back to the federal building, where they had parted 
company at the revolving glass door. Even so, he decided that he still knew 
Elaine McHale well enough to rely on his instincts. She had been hiding 
something.
  He considered briefly the presence of another person-a man-in her house, 
 then discarded the idea. No woman would wear a stained T-shirt and red  
socks with a man around-unless they had been married for years. Was her  
house in such a state she would be embarrassed for anyone to see it? Were  
there empty liquor bottles sitting around? An X-rated movie on the video?  
Dan was not reassured about her state of mind, but if she didn't want to  
talk about it, there was nothing he could do.
  He started the engine. As he reached the end of the block, a late-model  
sedan pulled along the curb on the other side of the street and the door  
opened. A man got out. At the stop sign, Dan put on his turn signal and  
glanced automatically at the rearview mirror. The man seemed to be going up 
 the walkway to Elaine's apartment.
  Dan stared across the intersection. He waited for a bus to go by. Then a 
 bicycle. He glanced in the mirror again, then made a fast U-turn and went 
 back the way he had come. Driving slowly, his hand at his face as if to  
scratch his temple, Dan looked through the passenger window at Elaine's  
front porch. The man was waiting by the door, his profile to the street. A 
 second later the door opened. He went inside. A dark-haired
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   199

 man with a beard. Black windbreaker, heavy shoulders. Five-ten, mid-forties, 
probably Hispanic. Dan made another U-turn.
  At the intersection he studied the man's car. Dark blue Chevy Caprice. No 
 bumper stickers. Regular state of Florida license plate. No blue light on 
 the dash, no extra radio antenna. But an undercover cop car, sure as hell. 
 As Dan turned toward the expressway, heading north, he knew he had seen the 
 man before. He tried to grab it, but the memory skittered out of reach.     CHAPTER 19.

     Vincent Hooper had seen the white Acura coupe going the other way when 
    he parked at the end of Elaine's street. As it passed he noted the     
license plate, making sure he wasn't hallucinating.
 Dan Galindo.
  He didn't think Galindo had recognized him. It was possible but not likely. 
 When Elaine opened the door, he went inside and waited to see what she  
knew.
  She kissed him, then said, "This is a surprise."
  "I was on a stakeout all night and couldn't call. How about some coffee?" 
 He hung his windbreaker over the back of a chair, put his cellular phone on 
 the table, then took off his pistol and holster. He noticed a deli bag. He 
 unrolled the top and looked inside. Bagels.
  "We heard from Salazar," he said. "The meeting's on."
  "Congratulations." Elaine was fixing coffee. "What did he say?"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   201

  "Let's meet on Monday. He's going to let me know where. He's being cagey, 
 wants to sniff me out first." Vincent took a serrated knife out of the  
block and put a bagel on the counter to slice it.
  "Dan Galindo brought those," Elaine said. "He just left. I gather you  
didn't see him."
   Vincent dropped the bagel back into the bag.
   She laughed. "They aren't poisoned."
   "What was Galindo doing here?"
  "Well, obviously he was attempting to bribe a government official." Elaine 
 finished slicing the bagel, then put the halves in the toaster. "Look.  
Strawberry cream cheese. Maybe I should've said yes."
   "Funny, Elaine."
  "All right. He came by to say hello. I made some excuse about having no  
time to visit, we chitchatted on the porch for five minutes, and he left." 
 "Really? He shows up the morning after I speak with Miguel Salazar. What a 
 coincidence."
   "Good Lord." She thrust a coffee mug at him.
  He laughed. "Dan Galindo would have to be caught in flagrante delicto  
before you'd believe he'd so much as jaywalked. Listen to this. You know we 
 got photos of him and his former wife at Salazar's house having drinks.  
Last Tuesday we intercepted a call he made to Salazar, alluding to some  
business they had satisfactorily completed-1 think that's how he described 
 itand he wanted to be paid. Then Martha Cruz called Galindo and left a  
message about picking up 'keys.' What could that be, Elaine? Keys. Makes  
you wonder.
         202  BARBARA PARKER

 On Wednesday he and Martha Cruz got on Salazar's boat at the marina in 
Coconut Grove. Nobody knows where they went in it."
  She was staring at him, and the color had gone out of her face. Vincent  
kept his voice quiet. "But he brings you bagels on Sunday morning. For no  
reason, just to say hello. What a sweet fellow."
   "This is crazy," she said.
   "You tell me, Elaine. What do you think he's doing?"
   She shook her head.
  Then he watched her put the toasted bagel on a plate and smear cream cheese 
 on it. "You're going to eat that?"
  "Yes, Agent Hooper. It's fresh. I'm hungry. And there is no principle that 
 would be subverted by eating one damned bagel." She raised her eyebrows at 
 him.
  "I hope you enjoy it," he said. When she turned to tear off a paper towel, 
 Vincent swatted her on the back of her running shorts. "Let's go sit down. 
 I'm about to fall over."
  Generally her place was fairly neat, but today the living room was strewn 
 with boxes and loose papers. "What's this, spring cleaning?"
  "Excavation," she said, moving a box off the sofa. "Clearing out the debris 
 that's accumulated over the past ten or twelve years. Some I'll keep, most 
 of it just takes up space. I've been at it all night."
  "Don't save so much junk, you won't have to go through this," he said.           CRIMINAL JUSTICE          203

  Vince sank into the sofa and closed his eyes, exhausted to his bones. He 
 stretched his feet out on the coffee table, the only corner of it not  
stacked with papers. Before dawn he had been lying on his stomach on a  
Little Havana rooftop with a pair of night-vision binoculars watching for  
a drug shipment that never came.
  Elaine sat beside him. Kissed his cheek and combed her fingers though his 
 hair. Asked him about the meeting with Salazar, and he told her what he  
knew.
  The DEA had already lined up certain people who could verify to Miguel  
Salazar that Victor Ramirez was who he said: a freelancer out of Puerto  
Rico, handled heroin for the nightclub trade, very discreet. Vince could  
act more like a doper than the dopers. The trick was to adopt the target's 
 mannerisms and style of dress, make him feel he was talking to his kind of 
 guy. Depending on the situation, Vincent might wear a hooded sweatshirt and 
 gold chains or an Armani suit and a $15,000 Patek Phillipe wristwatch. The 
 DEA had a safe full of jewelry seized in drug busts. For Miguel Salazar he 
 would do an upscale suburban-a golf shirt, designer jeans, and a gold link 
 bracelet. He wouldn't be wired. Right now they were only at the
  hand-holding stage.
  If Salazar was interested, he would propose another meeting. The special 
 agent-in-charge of the DEA's Miami office would then frantically beg the  
Justice Department to release the $500,000 cash they had been told about  
several weeks ago, and which justice had promised in writing to release.  
There would be argu-
           204   BARBARA PARKER

 ments, whining, and threats. Justice might approve the money, but Vincent 
wouldn't get all of it. He would have a flash roll of maybe a hundred K and 
tell Salazar the rest was coming. If Salazar took the bait, they would nail 
his ass.
  Elaine had the plate in her lap. She took another bite of bagel. Crunched 
 into it, then licked pink cream cheese off her thumb. Strawberry. Vincent 
 had spent an extra half hour bullshitting with the Miami narcotics unit  
this morning, killing time. What if he'd come straight here instead? He and 
 Galindo could have had a few words. But then the deal with Salazar would be 
 off.
  Elaine McHale was a tough prosecutor, one reason Vincent had been drawn to 
 her. He had seen her destroy defense attorneys and make witnesses do a  
one-eighty on the stand. Her blind credulity about Daniel Galindo surprised 
 him. It could be a problem if she ever had to prosecute him. Vince wanted 
 to grab the bagel out of her hand and pitch it through the open door into 
 the backyard.
  He shifted on the sofa and stroked his fingers through her hair. "Put that 
 plate on the coffee table, Elaine, and come here."
  Smiling a little, she leaned over and dropped plate and bagel on a pile of 
 old newspapers. He was tired, but not that tired. He toed his shoes off,  
stretched out on the sofa, and watched Elaine cross her arms and pull her  
T-shirt over her head. She had small breasts. Pretty. He drew her down and 
 kissed one, then the
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   205

 other. She took his face and ruffled through his beard with her nose. "Make 
love to me, Vincent."
  He could smell the cream cheese. Strawberry cream cheese. Jesus Christ. He 
 shifted, making a little more room, and unzipped his pants.

  Awhile later his eyes drifted open. He might have dropped off to sleep. He 
 heard the toilet flush. Saw one of the cats curled up by the back door,  
staring at him. Then he noticed the clock on the VCR. "Holy mother of-" He 
 sat up quickly and put his briefs on.
  Elaine came out of the bathroom. "What's the matter?"
  "Kelly Dorff. I have to call her before ten o'clock. She's moving to  
Salazar's house, staying with Martha Cruz for a while. She said I'd better 
 call her, whatever that means. You wouldn't know, would you?" Vincent  
zipped his trousers.
  "No. I haven't talked to her since last week," Elaine said. "What a sad, 
 mixed-up girl she is."
  "Oh, please. People put themselves where they are. Nobody's responsible for 
 fucking up their own lives, are they?" He reached into his hip pocket for 
 the small notebook he kept there, then held out his hand. "Bring me my  
phone, will you?"
  She looked at him for a second, then went into the kitchen to get his  
cellular telephone. He'd have used her line, but it might show up on  
caller-ID. He dialed the number at Kelly's place. She lived in a condo her 
 father owned near Hollywood Beach. He checked his
        206   BARBARA PARKER

 watch. 9:52. She answered on the sixth ring, just as he was about to hang 
up.
 "This is Hooper," he said.
 Kelly Dorff talked; he listened.
  She sounded out of breath, which meant that she was either scared or lying, 
 or both. Elaine mouthed the words What's going on?, and he waved for her to 
 be quiet. He wondered what he'd been thinking, making this call with her  
standing there. He went into her bedroom and shut the door.
  He said, "Kelly, this is bullshit. You know it, I know it .... Don't fuck 
 around with me .... Yeah, that's extremely amusing .... Here's my
  counter-proposal. Pay attention. You keep your fucking mouth shut, I won't 
 let Salazar's friends find out who set him up. Okay? They're not nice guys, 
 sweetheart .... No. That's it. Good-bye."
  He hit the disconnect button and cursed under his breath. He looked at his 
 watch. No time to send somebody to pick her up. She must have dropped the 
 phone and scooted out the door. By now she was on her way to Lakewood  
Village.

  He came out to the living room, glanced at Elaine, then went back to the 
 kitchen. He put his phone down next to his holster. He heard footsteps. She 
 was going to ask him, so he told her.
  "Kelly Dorff just informed me that she was going to expose the so-called 
 Luis Barrios cover-up if we don't drop her as a C.I. and give the band the 
 master tapes from the studio. She's going to call the Miami Herald           CRIMINAL JUSTICE          207

 and the TV stations. She says she has a tape recording of the raid. She's 
got my voice on it. The sound of my gun blowing away Luis Barrios in cold 
blood. What do you think about that, Elaine?"
 "My God."
 "All bogus, of course, but it makes a hell of a story."
  Elaine let out a breath. "Kelly has mentioned Barrios to me a couple of  
times. She was there."
  "I know she was there!" He slammed his palm against the wall. "That's what 
 I have been telling everyone. She shouldn't be anywhere near this fucking 
 operation. What did she tell you? Agent Vincent Hooper shot Luis Barrios in 
 the back while he was on his knees praying the rosary, and the rest of  
them-DEA, City of Miami cops, and Florida Department of Law Enforcementthey 
 covered it up. They all lied. But I know the truth, by God, because 1 was 
 there. I recorded the whole thing on a hidden microphone."
  Elaine followed him back down the hall. She said, "Tell me about Barrios. 
 I read the reports. You never wanted to talk about it."
  Vincent sat on the edge of the sofa to put his shoes on. He looked up at 
 Elaine, then asked, "Did Dan Galindo come over here with that on his mind?" 
 The surprise on Elaine's face looked real. "I told you why he came."   "Oh,
right. He brought you some bagels. I thought you hadn't seen this   joker in
months. What did you talk about?"
        208   BARBARA PARKER

  "Nothing. He asked me how I was. He told me he split up with Kelly, and  
he's going back to his wife-"
  "What did you tell him about Kelly?"
   "Nothing! Dammit, Vince. Stop this."
  If he had not known her, if he had not been trained to observe such things, 
 he might have missed it. She wasn't leveling with him. That was more true 
 than not, the people he dealt with, but with Elaine he had counted on some 
 basic honesty. Or maybe he was the one not thinking straight, after thirty 
 hours without sleep. He couldn't go like he used to.
  Elaine went to the back door and shut it, then turned around. "What about 
 Luis Barrios? Could anyone interpret the events to say that you were too  
quick to do what you did? Could your credibility as a witness be attacked  
in the Salazar case? I want to be certain that we're not vulnerable."   "Is
that really what you want to know, Elaine?"
  She said quietly, "Maybe I want some reassurance. And maybe it's personal. 
 There is so much of you that's hidden from me. Our lives only meet in  
court, or at the U.S. attorney's office. Or here, in my apartment."   "Is
this a complaint?"
  "No. Just tell me about Barrios. Was he armed? Kelly says he wasn't."  
"Yes, Elaine. He was armed. He was most certainly armed. He had a Tec-9  
converted to automatic fire. Kelly wasn't in the fucking room, so how the  
hell can she open her mouth? They started shooting at us. A Miami cop was  
hit in the throat. He died, and two of
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   209

 our guys were shot up pretty bad. We got three of them, including Barrios, 
and I haven't lost one second of sleep over it. Jesus, why do I feel like 
I'm on trial here? There was a DEA inquiry. A Metro-Dade police inquiry. I 
was put on an automatic suspension with pay till the special agent-in-charge 
got the ruling: justifiable self-defense. We had a warrant. We were going to 
bust a drug buy. Two hundred kilos of cocaine, a house on the water in 
Coconut Grove. They were having some kind of party that we didn't know about 
beforehand. Kelly Dorff's band was there, and I think the owner of the 
house-he played guitar in a rock band in Mexico-fancied himself a musician, 
so they were letting him sit in. We couldn't cancel the raid. It had been 
planned for days. Our agent was inside, and he was wired. If we didn't get 
him out, he would be killed. But those other people were there too. Luis 
Barrios was among them. A surprise to me. I heard he'd flown to Quito after 
his case was dismissed. Maybe he did, but he was sure as hell back in town. 
We got the signal and came in. We screamed for everybody to get down, but 
the damned music was so loud. The place went nuts. Gunfire and smoke 
everywhere. Barrios ran for the back door with his weapon. I went after him. 
I told him to freeze. He didn't, and I shot him. End of story. If Danny boy 
had done his job, we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"  
Elaine was looking at him strangely, and he couldn't read it.
  He looked back at her, not able to tell-and maybe it
        210   BARBARA PARKER

 was his fatigue-if she was hiding something. He didn't want to think that. 
She had never lied to him that he knew of. He was with her because they had 
some honesty going on. Some loyalty. To imagine it any different had some 
consequences he didn't care to think about.
 She asked, "What are you going to do about Kelly?"
  "I don't know yet. Give her the studio tapes for Mayhem, probably. It's no 
 big deal. I've been using them to get Rick Robbins in the right frame of  
mind, and it looks like we're okay there, so maybe I'll let them have the  
tapes. I am mightily pissed off, however. I hate it when a C.I. threatens  
me. I get truly perturbed."
  "Why does she say she has a tape of the Barrios raid? Where would it come 
 from?"
  "They were recording that night. That's right. Had their little
  reel-to-reels going." Vincent made circles with his extended forefingers. 
 "As I say, the target thought he was some kind of musician, and he wanted 
 a recording of himself. Yes, there was a tape. We listened to it. There was 
 nothing on it. Well, gunfire and a lot of yelling."
  "Where is it now?"
  "In a property room somewhere. Destroyed, lost, I don't know. All the  
targets of the raid pleaded guilty-we got them with their pants down-so the 
 tape wasn't an issue. If Kelly Dorff says she has it, she's lying. But it 
 is still a bother."
  "Because this might get back to Salazar and scare
 him off?".
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          211

  "No, Jesus, I hadn't even thought of that." Vincent sat down heavily in her 
 armchair. "No, because it would give the boys in D.C. a reason to ship me 
 off to Kansas or some damn place. Doesn't matter if it's true or not, it's 
 bad publicity. People believe what the media tells them. Never mind that I 
 was cleared. Here we go again. The suits getting tired of Vincent Hooper's 
 big mouth, so they find him a nice desk job. You don't like it, retire.  
Yeah, why not? I'm forty-four years old. I've put in my time. I could  
collect a pension. I'm not a rich man, Elaine. What have I got? A pension. 
 A pension and my reputation. I'm not going out like this. I will not do  
it."
  She came over and sat on the arm of the chair, put her arms around him.  
"You could resign. You could do something else."
  "What?" He stood up and smoothed his hair back into place. "What would I 
 do?"
  "You've mentioned jobs with security companies." She looked up at him.  
"I've got to go. I need to get to the office before I go home."
  "Stay awhile." She held onto his hand.
  "No, I've got some reports to finish." Laughing, he headed toward the  
kitchen. "God, I love this job."
  She followed. "I wish you would quit. What I said to you before, Vince- 
You're right. It was a complaint. You come when you like, you leave when  
you like-"
        212  BARBARA PARKER

  He picked up his holster off the table. "You never bring me flowers. What's 
 a girl to think?"
   "Dammit, don't trivialize this!" she shouted.
  Weariness pressed down on him. "What do you want me to do?"
  "I want to be able to walk into a restaurant with you. To take your hand
in   public. Something that simple. That's what I want."
  He noticed the pattern in her wallpaper. Little tulips. He ran his belt  
through his holster, then rebuckled it. He dropped his pistol in and  
pressed down the safety strap. "We'll talk about it."
   "You bet."
  "We will." He looked at her, then cupped her cheek with his palm. "We  
will." She held his hand tightly and kissed it. Curled his fingers around  
hers and pressed them to her face. Her skin felt feverish and damp, and her 
 eyes were closed. After a while, he said, "Elaine, I have to go."
    CHAPTER 20.

     At the security gate outside Heron Hills the guard was standing by his 
    shack. Dan Galindo showed him his driver's license.
  "I'm here to pick up my son at Lisa Galindo's house. She said she'd call 
 and let you know."
  The guard checked off his name, then told him to wait a moment. He went  
inside and came back with a camera. "We're starting a new procedure with  
our frequent visitors, such as yourself. This is digital We scan the photo 
 into our computer, then we can bring it up on the monitor. You want to look 
 this way, please?"
  "Hold it." Dan held up a hand, fingers spread. "I don't want my picture in 
 your computer."
  The guard looked back at the other cars in line. The brim of his hat cast 
 a shadow over his gold-framed glasses. He said to Dan, "Sir, we're trying 
 to save everyone some time here."
        214   BARBARA PARKER

 "I said no."
  "Suit yourself." He went over to his computer and tapped on the keyboard. 
 Dan said, "Tell me something. Do these crimefighting efforts pay off?"  
"Well, it makes the residents feel more secure. People can't just come up  
here and drive around looking for a house to burglarize."
  "Right. Let them stay in Miami. Do it in their own neighborhoods."   The
guard shifted his eyes toward Dan, then ripped the entry pass out of   the
printer and handed it through the window. "Have a pleasant day."    The gate
arm went up, and Dan went through it.
  Two minutes later, he was parking behind Lisa's minivan. A neighbor smiled 
 brightly from the adjoining yard. He couldn't remember her name, but he  
waved back. She was weeding a bed of caladiums. He spotted Josh shooting  
hoops in the woman's driveway with two other boys. They had one of those  
bright plastic, kid-sized basketball goals on wheels to roll back into the 
 garage at night. Dan cupped his hands at his mouth. "Hey, Shaquille  
O'Neal!"
  Josh stopped running so suddenly he staggered in his big shoes. "Dad! I  
gotta finish this game."
  Dan pointed at the house. "I'm talking to your mom."
  He rang the doorbell, then went inside. The sliding glass doors beyond the 
 dining area were open, and he could see straight through to the small  
backyard, the
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   215

 wood fence around it, and swing set under the shade tree. The roof overhang 
kept the barbecue grill out of the weather. Music came from farther back in 
the house. Hootie and the Blowfish. He walked down the hall leading to the 
bedrooms.
  Lisa's cocker spaniel came out of the master bedroom to see who was there. 
 The dog yipped once, ran back in, then out again.
  "Lisa, it's me." Dan could smell paint. The furniture in the master bedroom 
 was shoved to one side, plastic drop cloths thrown over it, and Lisa, in  
jeans and longsleeved shirt, was pushing a paint roller up the wall,  
changing pale blue to creamy white. Strands of blond hair had fallen from  
her ponytail.
  Lisa turned to dip the roller into the pan and noticed him standing at the 
 door. "Early again. Gee. You used to run half an hour late. I'm amazed."  
Her voice echoed on the bare walls. Even the curtains were gone, and the  
carpet had been torn out.
  "What's all this for?" he asked.
  "I'm redecorating. I'd have someone come in and do it, but I don't have  
money to spend like that." She lifted the roller and resumed her path up  
the wall, around the window that faced the street. "Josh is next door, I  
think. I put his bag by the front door. Be sure he uses his sunscreen." The 
 dog sniffed at the paint. "Poppy, out. Go on."
  The cocker spaniel flopped down in a corner with its chin on its paws, ears 
 to either side, its eyes rolling from Lisa, then to Dan, and back again.         216   BARBARA PARKER

  Dan lifted a corner of the tarp covering the bed. She hadn't changed the 
 mattress. He said, "How would you like to go out with Josh and me in the  
boat? We could dock it over on Key Biscayne and have lunch at the Rusty  
Pelican." Two days ago, arranging to pick up Josh, Dan had described Miguel 
 Salazar's boat to her in detail-the engines, the electronics, the galley  
and staterooms. He had not mentioned that Martha Cruz had been aboard, an  
irrelevancy that would only be misconstrued.
  Lisa's roller made a sticky, crackling noise in the wet paint. "I'm a  
little busy right now."
  "Do it later. I'll help you clean up," Dan said. "Josh would like to have 
 you along. So would L"
  "You?"
   "Sure."
  She looked at him steadily. "Why?"
  He shrugged. "I've missed you."
  "Really." She lowered the roller to the pan. "What is that supposed to  
mean?"
  "I think I'm asking you for a date."
  Her mouth opened slightly, then her eyes went to the ceiling. "Oh, my God." 
 "Come on. It would be fun."
  "I'm sure it would." Putting some energy into it, she pressed out the extra 
 paint, and the pan screeched on the bare concrete. "Are you still dating  
that lovely girl with the nose ring?"
  "No. That's over. Lisa, it was nothing."
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          217

  "A tattooed rock singer. My God. I would love to know what you saw in her." 
 "She was there. It's not worth talking about. Come with Josh and me. It's 
 a beautiful day, too good to waste inside."
  Lisa glanced at him. "I'm meeting someone at the club at two o'clock. We're 
 playing tennis."
  Dan felt a little twist in the pit of his stomach. "Who? Am I allowed to 
 ask?"
  "You don't know him." She erased another section of blue. "He's a lawyer. 
 You'd think I'd learn, wouldn't you? He's a senior partner in a firm in  
Boca Raton. I met him when I went up to visit Mom and Dad."
  "Is it serious?"
  "What, as if I were ill?" She laughed and submerged the roller in the pan 
 again. "I do date. I lead a normal life. But I think this guy just wants to 
 get into my knickers."
  "Who could blame him?" Dan picked a smudge of dried paint off the marble 
 windowsill. "Right after we bought this place, we christened it by making 
 love in every room-even the closets, remember?"
  Lisa stared at the opposite wall. "Don't do this. Please."
  "I think of you with somebody else-Josh coming home to some creep sitting 
 on my sofa, watching my TV, sleeping with my wife-"
  "I'm not-"
  "I know," he said sharply. "I know you're not. But you were my wife for  
nine years, and it's a habit,
        218   BARBARA PARKER

 thinking of you that way. Ever since I left, something's been missing. A 
chunk right out of my middle." He drew a circle. "Right here. That's what it 
feels like."
  "Sentimental you." She smiled a little, her profile to him. Her skin was 
 still perfect and a dimple played at the corner of her mouth.
  He said, "A friend of mine in Fort Lauderdale says there's an opening for 
 a criminal lawyer in his firm. I'm going to redo my r6sum6 and take it up 
 there. What do you think?"
   "Why ask me?"
   "Because I want your opinion."
   "Fine. Do what you want. It's your life."
   "Busting my chops, Lisa?"
   "You deserve it."
  He took the handle of the paint roller and leaned it against the wall. "We 
 could do things differently this time," he said.
  "We? Excuse me? Look, Dan. I'm getting along just fine. I forced myself not 
 to think about you, or our marriage, or what you did, and I'm over it."  
"Are you really?" He bent his head to kiss her. She let him do it, opening 
 her mouth to him. Then he murmured into her ear, "Lisa, I want to come  
back."
  "Oh, you do." She pulled away, resting her hands on his chest. "You should 
 hear yourself. 1 want. It's always about what Dan wants. Like that damned 
 boat. It doesn't matter what I say, you're going to make the decisions."         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   219

  He nearly laughed. "Is this starting to be an issue with you?"
  She made a small noise of impatience with her tongue. "No. It illustrates 
 what I'm trying to tell you, which is: Nothing has changed. When you were 
 doing that trafficking case two years ago, I said, Dan, please let it go. 
 It doesn't matter. The man is a criminal. But you said, Oh, no, Lisa. I  
have a duty as a lawyer to seek justice. Well, fine, if you were trying to 
 save some innocent person from death row, but you turned a guilty man free. 
 Tell me where the justice is. You didn't do it for justice. You did it for 
 pride, like a medal to wear on your chest. Look how noble Daniel Galindo  
is. You wanted that more than anything."
  He took a breath. "I didn't know you saw it that way."
  "It's taken me a long time to sort out my feelings." Lisa slid her hand up 
 his cheek. "I'm not angry."
  "Oh, honey." Dan closed his eyes and held onto her hand, not letting go. 
 "Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night wondering how I managed to 
 screw things up so badly."
  "Well. At least you finally sound sorry."
  "Of course I am."
  She pulled her fingers out of his grasp. "Go on. Go for a ride in that  
million-dollar boat and have yourself a good time. Take josh to the Bahamas 
 for a week in it, you and josh and your macho speargun, pretending you  
aren't thirty-five, and when you figure out there's
         220   BARBARA PARKER

 a little more to life than that, then you come tell me how much you've 
missed me."
  Her blue eyes glistened with sudden tears, and she laughed
  self-consciously. "I've missed you too. Wild, huh? I have an investment in 
 this relationship, and I don't want to lose it all. So yes, send out your 
 r6sum-6. Get a job you can be proud of. Do something with your life."   She
picked up the paint roller and attacked the pan, and ivory paint   sloshed
onto the floor.

  From the passenger seat josh said, "Are you mad?" After a second, he said, 
 "Dad?"
  "What?" Dan loosened his grip on the steering wheel and looked back at his 
 son. "No, buddy, I'm not mad." He ruffled Josh's hair. "You ready to go on 
 that boat?"
  "Maximum. I told Evan next door about it. He wanted to go, but his mom said 
 no."
  "Is it okay, just the two of us?"
  "Yeah. It's fun." josh smiled. The glasses made him look wise. "I'm making 
 a card for you on my computer, but you can't see it till your birthday. Can 
 you come get it?"
  "Sure I will."
  At the guard shack at the entrance to the Isles of Lakewood, Miguel  
Salazar's subdivision of the Village, Dan gave his name and ID, tapped idly 
 on the steering wheel while they took down his license tag number and made 
 a phone call.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   221

  Josh was peeling the wrapper off a low-fat granola bar. Lisa had packed two 
 of them in his bag, along with an apple, some carrots, and a bottle of  
filtered water. He rose up in the seat to see out the window. "This is the 
 way to Anita's house."
  Dan said, "We're going by for just a minute. I have to drop some things  
off."
  After Kelly Dorff left her message on his answering machine, he had packed 
 her things for her, the clothes she had left at his house, along with some 
 CD's and stray earrings, a comb, a bottle of shampoo. At least he could do 
 that much for her. He had put a note inside the box. Regrets, no hard  
feelings. Good luck with the band.
  As he parked in the circular driveway, he noticed a monstrous black  
Harley-Davidson leaning on its kickstand in front of the triple garage. A  
red-haired man built like a pro wrestler was shining the spokes. Arlo   Pate-
the band's new drummer. With his eyes fixed on Dan, he slowly stood up   and
tossed the rag back and forth in his hands.
  Dan opened his trunk and took out the box. "I'm here to see Kelly Dorff." 
 "Kelly's busy."
  "Can you give this to her?"
  "Martha said for you to take it out back."
  Going through the house, following the short Indian woman with braids, Dan 
 thought he heard the wail of a guitar, muffled and slow. He remembered that 
 Martha had a rehearsal studio on the property, and he imagined
        222   BARBARA PARKER

 that Kelly Dorff was out there behind the soundproof walls, avoiding him. 
 White curtains billowed at the open back doors. Through the windows Dan  
could see the green lawn stretching down to the lake and the line of royal 
 palms along its shore. The red and yellow sail of a beached catamaran  
luffed in the wind. Dan walked under a trellis thick with deep pink  
bougainvillea, then onto the terrace. He squinted. Sunlight reflected off  
the pool, creating a nimbus around a table where Miguel Salazar sat reading 
 the paper.
  When he saw Dan and josh, he lowered the newspaper but didn't get up. His 
 white terry cloth robe was open, revealing a turquoise Speedo and a darkly 
 tanned, hairy chest. His bare feet were propped in another chair.
  He smiled briefly at josh, then raised his black eyes to Dan. "Good  
morning." The greeting was quizzical.
  "Some clothes of Kelly's," Dan said. "She's staying here now, I
  understand?"
  "Yes. Martha's guest." He didn't sound happy about it. Recovering his  
manners, he extended an arm. "Please, sit down. Have some orange juice."  
Over Salazar's head fluttered the scalloped edges of a white umbrella. He  
sat in its shade. There was a tray with pastries, napkins, and an insulated 
 silver pitcher.
  Josh spotted Salazar's niece and sped off to tell her where he was going 
 today. Several people were splashing around in the pool, and a yellow boom 
 box
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   223

 at the far end played a salsa tune, all brass and popping drumbeats.   Dan
put the box beside his chair and poured himself a glass of juice. "The   man
out front cleaning his motorcycle said to give the box to Martha."   "She's
swimming. I think she saw you." Salazar pointed out the other people   on the
terrace. Relatives from Ecuador-an uncle and his wife, their   daughterin-
law, her baby in a playpen. Salazar's sister paddled on an air   mattress.
In the middle of the pool a woman's slender arms steadily rose   and fell as
she knifed through the water, coming closer.
  "I thank you again for helping her in the court."
  "And thank you for the boat," Dan said.
  "Did you take the boy fishing already?"
  "We're going out this afternoon. Maybe we'll do some fishing. He says okay, 
 Dad, but I'm not putting any worms on hooks."
  Salazar smiled. "When will you go to the Bahamas?" His hand hovered over 
 the tray of pastries, then selected a small roll crusted with almonds.  
"Well . . . I'm not sure. I still have to work that out with Lisa."   That
brought a soft laugh. The pockmarked skin drew up along Salazar's high  
cheekbones and narrowed his black eyes to slits. "No, my friend. You want  
to go? Go. You say to Lisa, I'm going to the Bahamas with my son- Oh, you  
don't like it? Too bad." He bit the pastry in half, then gestured toward  
Dan. "Never beg a
        224   BARBARA PARKER

 woman. It's weak. You must stay in control. If you let women tell you what 
to do, they don't respect you."
 "I'll try to keep that in mind, Miguel."
  As they talked, their attention moved to the ladder where Martha would  
emerge from the pool. Dan saw the top of her head, then her hands curling  
around the shiny chrome, then the water was pouring off her body. The   one-
piece swimsuit was the same color as her golden-brown skin, giving the  
impression that she wore nothing at all, and the fabric of the suit was so 
 thin Dan could see the dark rose color at the point of each perfectly  
rounded breast. Her body was hard and sleek. She glanced at the table where 
 Dan and Salazar sat, then bent over to pick up a ribbon from a lounge  
chair. The swimsuit barely covered her backside. There was a tattoo of a  
bird on one buttock. Dan let his eyes wander down her legs to the leafy  
tattoo around her left ankle, then up again as she wrung out her heavy hair 
 and tied it into a ponytail. Her earrings sparkled against her neck.   Aware
suddenly that he was staring, he turned back around. Salazar was   looking
at him. Dan smiled. "She's a beautiful girl."
  "Thank you," Salazar said, as if his possession of this woman entitled him 
 to the compliment.
  With a towel over one shoulder, Martha put on her shiny green sunglasses 
 and came to say hello. Salazar held out an arm. She bent to give him a fast 
 peck on the cheek, but his hand tightened and pulled her back
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          225

 down. He murmured something in her ear, then let her go.
  Glancing at Dan, she wrapped the towel around herself and knotted it on one 
 hip. "What's in the box, Kelly's stuff?"
  "Dan is the delivery man today," Salazar said. He gripped the handle of the 
 silver pitcher and poured her some juice. "Sit down with us. Have a sweet." 
 "I just ate, Miguel, I'm not hungry."
   "Sit down."
  Dan hadn't touched his juice. He had brought the box, and now he could  
leave. But he wanted to stick around for a few minutes and see what was  
going on. He stood up and held a chair for Martha so that she and Salazar  
were on opposite sides of the table, his own chair between them.
  "Thanks." She smiled at him and sat down. Her shoulders glittered with  
drops of water. She smelled faintly of chlorine.
  Dan said, "Kelly told me she'd be staying here with you. Just curious-why 
 did she decide to do that?"
  Salazar laughed. "Because she wants to make sure Martha doesn't take over 
 the band."
  "That's not true, Miguel. My equipment is here. We're working on the songs. 
 Arlo is here too, so it's easier." She said to Dan, "At the party last  
night, Kelly messed up big-time, and I'm sure people noticed. She really  
needs to work on her timing. I don't know what we're going to do if she  
wigs out like that at the concert."
  Salazar leaned back in his chair and knitted his
        226   BARBARA PARKER

 fingers over his stomach. His gold bracelet glittered on his wrist. "Someone 
told us that Martha would do better on her own with a backup band. We can 
call it 'Cruz.' What do you think, Dan?"
  "I don't have an opinion. It's up to the band." He looked at Martha. "What 
 do you think?"
  "Well, I don't want to change anything now. It's two weeks till the  
concert." Martha was getting boldpossibly because her lawyer was sitting  
with her, Dan thought. She added, "Anyway, it's Kelly's band. She started  
it."
  Salazar smiled patiently at her. "What did the people tell you last night, 
 Martica? You're the best one. The star."
  Martha raised her arms to adjust her ponytail, and her breasts lifted.  
"Kelly's a better songwriter."
  "I can't understand her lyrics. She doesn't sing, she screams."
  "She has a lot to say, Miguel. You should try listening."
  "What does she say? This is such a bad country, such a terrible place. She 
 should go to Ecuador. When I was ten years old, my father took us to the  
city because there was no work in the mountains. In Guayaquil we lived in  
a house with a dirt floor. The police beat my father, and he went deaf.  
Then my mother died with her seventh baby, and we had to pick garbage to  
live. So I know what's terrible and what isn't. Kelly should go there."  
Salazar said to Dan, "Martha forgets how she lived before I met her."         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   227

  Martha made no response. She kept her sunglasses pointed toward the lake. 
 A drop of water slid down her neck out of her hair.
  Dan looked back at Salazar. "Martha's going to do all right. I wouldn't  
worry about her one bit."
  "Yes, Miguel. This time next year, I'll be on a national tour. We'll be  
famous. Kelly and me and Scott and Arlo."
  "You can see her on Saturday Nig)zt Live," Dan said.
  Salazar sat up in his chair, smiling across the table at her. "What will
I   see? A fat cowboy playing the drums. Kelly Dorff in rags like a beggar,
and   Scott, the punk with his blue hair, like a mnrac6n! And youMartha Cruz
with   her culo hanging out of her pants."
   "If you don't like it, complain to Rick."
  Salazar slapped her, a loud crack. Her glasses went flying off. Martha made 
 a single, sharp intake of breath and held her cheek.
  The people at the other end of the pool stopped their conversations for a 
 second, then turned their backs.
  Dan realized he was standing. He looked down at Salazar. The black eyes  
were deadly. Dan took a breath. "What the hell did you do that for?"   "I
think you should leave."
  "Yeah?" He took another breath. His head swam with fear. "Martha, I'll take 
 you out of here right now. Go get whatever you need and I'll wait."  
Salazar stood up. The white robe hung open, and his muscled belly glistened 
 with suntan oil. "She doesn't go anywhere with you."
         228   BARBARA PARKER

  "If she wants to leave, I'll take her. If that causes you a problem,  
tough."
  Salazar smiled. "Not a problem for me. For you, I think.
  "Don't!" Martha's shrill voice pierced the air between them. She grabbed 
 Miguel's arm. "Leave right now, Dan."
   He stared at her.
  "I want to stay. Okay? Just go." The mark of Miguel Salazar's hand flamed 
 on her cheek, and her eyes pleaded. "Miguel's right. This isn't your  
business. Please go."
   "Are you sure?"
   "Yes. I want to stay here."
   Salazar said, "You have the keys to my boat?"
  "At my apartment. I'll drop them in the mail today. Then you can drive the 
 boat up your culo."
  Quick as a snake, Salazar's hands shot out and closed on the front of Dan's 
 sweater. "I think I'm going to kill you." He laughed as if somebody had  
suggested he held the winning lottery numbers.
  "Miguel, stop it!" Martha dug her fingers into his fists. "His son is over 
 there playing. Let go!"
  Josh. It was thinking of Josh that kept Dan from wrestling Salazar into the 
 pool, where he knew he would have the advantage. Keep him under till he ran 
 out of breath and choked. Then leave him on the deck

 gagging.
  Salazar shoved him away. "Go on. Take your boy and get out."
    CHAPTER 21.

     Under a bright sun, the big sportfisher flew across the water, twin   
  diesels roaring. Dan stood at the wheel, and josh sat to his left in the 
    mate's seat. The bay was alive with pleasure craft, sailboarders, speed- 
   boats, and multicolored sails tilting in the wind.
  Dan had decided that his manhood did not depend on mailing back the keys 
 immediately. Josh had expected a boat ride; he could have one. They had  
already made a complete circuit of Key Biscayne, then had raced up the  
Atlantic side of Miami Beach, about five miles out, the boat crashing into 
 the swells and throwing up a spray, leaving a half mile of wake behind it. 
 Now they were coming back south through the intracoastal, just cruising. As 
 they passed under the causeways that connected the mainland to Miami Beach, 
 josh clambered down the ladder to the cockpit and waved at the fishermen  
dangling lines in the water. Dan had told him the truth of the situation,          230   BARBARA PARKER

 more or less: The man who owned the boat needed it back sooner than 
expected. But they would take a trip together, count on it. He smiled and 
laughed and hid his anger. He wanted to pull the drain cock and scuttle the 
miserable boat. He was angry at himself as well. He had goaded Salazar, like 
sticking pins in a rattlesnake, and Salazar had taken it out on Martha.  
Gradually the open blue sky and the task of steering the boat calmed his  
churning frustration. By the time they reached the marina and the Bertram  
backed obediently into its slip, the sun was a fading memory on the horizon 
 and the fuel tanks were sucking air. Dan drove josh back to Lakewood  
Village. Lisa barely spoke. Exhausted, dispirited, Dan headed home.   As his
car rose higher on the tangle of roads that made up the Golden   Glades
interchange, Dan could see the lights of Miami spread out to the   south and
west, and over to the east, where the land stopped, a line of   darkness
indicated the ocean. Beyond that, over the curve of the Atlantic,   lay the
Bahamas.
  He would collect the thousand dollars that Rick owed him for taking Martha 
 Cruz's case. That and a MasterCard would get him and josh to Cat Cay for a 
 week. Rick would send the demo tape to the A&R guy from Capitol, who would 
 come to the concert, love it, sign the band, and Martha would be on her way 
 to New York. Adios, Miguel.
  Dan passed over 151st Street, then 125th Street to North Miami, then 119th. 
 He was bearing down on 103rd when a face jumped into his memory. He jerked           CRIMINAL JUSTICE          231

 the wheel right, cut across three lanes, exited the interstate, then got 
back on. At 125th Street he headed for North Miami. He had to find Manatee 
Studios.
  Maybe it was thinking of the demo tape that
 had jogged his memory. Quick as a strobe light, off
 and on, he had seen a dark-haired man with a beard. If
 he could find the. studio-it would be open, they
 were always open at night he might remember who
 it was.
  It took him almost half an hour to find the studio. Sodium-vapor crime  
lights cast their yellowish glare onto the empty parking lot. Dan
  recognized a dumpster, then a weedy pile of wooden pallets. His headlights 
 picked up a sign: MANATEE STmios. He turned off the engine and looked  
through the glass door.
  It came to Dan slowly. He had seen the man twice. Once here, a couple of 
 weeks ago, then again this morning outside Elaine McHale's apartment. Her 
 guest was the same man he had glimpsed in the studio's dimly lighted  
control room. Not the engineer, the other one. Looking for Rick, Dan had  
opened the control room door. The man had remained absolutely still, as if 
 any motion would give him away. For a split second their eyes had met, then 
 the engineer stood up, casually blocking Dan's view. And Rick had taken Dan 
 back out and closed the door.
  If it was the same man, then why would a record producer visit a federal 
 prosecutor? Dan wiped his sweating palms on the thighs of his shorts. He  
knew he could be wrong about this. Dead wrong.
        232  BARBARA PARKER

  Standing in a pool of light on his ex-brother-in-law's front porch he heard 
 Rick yelling okay, okay. Then a pause, like he was looking through the  
peephole. Then the click of the door opening.
  Rick was belting his plaid bathrobe. "What is this? Don't you call first?" 
 "I didn't think you'd be in bed," Dan said quietly. "Is Sandy asleep?"  
"No, she's waiting for me, ready to boogie, if you get my drift." Rick's  
hair was standing up, and he smelled of cologne. "Dan, you look like shit. 
 What's going on, man?"
  Dan heard a creak and glanced toward the stairs. He called out, "Sandy?  
It's only me. Dan. I need to talk with Rick for a minute. Don't bother  
getting up." He grasped Rick's arm and drew him toward the den, a small TV 
 room off the main living area, which glittered, even in the semidarkness, 
 with mirrors and polished tile.
  "What the-"
  "Be quiet and listen."
  He was halfway through telling Rick what he had seen when the door swung 
 open. Sandy stood there in a sleep shirt, arms crossed, hair tousled. "You 
 boys mind tellin' me what the hell is goin' on?"
  "Go on back to bed, pumpkin."
  When Rick tried to turn her around, she slapped his hand away. "Don't you 
 do that. I asked a question. This is my damn house too, by God."
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          233

 "It's nothing, baby-"
  "Rick, I mean it!" She looked from one of them to the other. Rick breathing 
 too fast. Dan frozen. She clenched her shirt over her heart. "Oh, my God. 
 Did somebody die? Is Josh okay?"
  Dan said, "Josh is fine. I'm sorry to have disturbed you so late, Sandy.
I   had to ask Rick some personal questions-personal to me, I mean."
  "You were bangin' on the door like an ax murderer was after you."
  "I wasn't sure if you were awake."
   "Why didn't you call?"
   "Well, I don't have a car phone, and I was nearby."
  She looked at him hard. "You're lyin' to me, mister."
  Rick said, "Jesus! This is between me and Dan. Okay? Man to man? Now would 
 you get back upstairs?" There was sweat on his upper lip.
   ' No. 11

  Dan put a hand on Rick's arm. "I'll give you a call in the morning."  
"Aaah, shit." Rick sank down on his chair, hands dangling between his  
knees. His bald spot shone in the light from the reading lamp. He raised  
his head and looked at Dan. "Tell her. There won't be any peace and quiet  
around here tonight if we don't."
  After a second Dan said, "Sandy, I didn't use a telephone because I was  
concerned that your lines might be tapped. It's possible-not certain-that  
a man I saw by chance on the street this morning, who appeared to
        234   BARBARA PARKER

 be an undercover police officer, may also be the man I saw in the control 
booth at Manatee Studios. Rick told me his name is Victor Ramirez. I just 
realized this on the way back from taking Josh home, or I would have come 
sooner. I was asking Rick what he knows about Ramirez."
 "Oh, my God. Rick-"
  "It's okay," he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.
  "What have you done?"
  "Nothing. I swear." Rick cleared his throat. "I met Victor Ramirez about 
 two months ago. He gave me some references, and I checked them out. The man 
 is a record producer. The engineer, Willy Silva, is the real deal. Their  
equipment was exactly what we needed to do the recording for Mayhem. They  
had Mesa-Boogie Mark III amps, a dynamite console, DAT tapes, computer  
backup. How many studios you know have computer backup?"
  Dan said, "But if Ranurez and Silva are so good, why are they in that  
rathole of a building in North Miami?"
  "Why not? In recording, you don't pay high rent. You don't need to impress 
 anybody. All you need is the hardware, and they've got it. Victor is an  
investor. He has a couple of nightclubs in Puerto Rico, one in Atlantic  
City-"
  Dan let out a slow breath, and Sandy glanced at him as if reading his  
thoughts.
  Rick said, "Come on, guys. He's legit. Being in
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   235

 the entertainment field, Victor wants his own label. People do it all the 
time. He wants to start his label here, not so much competition as New York. 
So Victor comes to Coral Rock one day. We have lunch. He says he heard about 
the band, heard they were hot, and he wants to record them and distribute 
the CD's. I say, no thanks, we're going for a deal with a major label. And 
he goes, okay, that's cool. Let us do your demo. If the band gets signed, we 
can work a deal with Capitol or Atlantic or whatever, or at the very least 
get some good publicity. I go, no, this demo has to be done right. I mean, 
perfect quality. We need super-experienced people. He says no problem, talk 
to our engineer. And I did. I talked to Willy Silva. I checked his
 credentials. I listened to some of his mixes, and they blew me away."   Rick
laughed, "Dan, undercover cops do not go to this much trouble. It   would've
cost- Jesus, the equipment alone! Cops don't have recording   equipment like
that around."
  "They could rent it," Dan said. "But I doubt Ramirez is with North Miami
or   Metro-Dade. I'm thinking he's a federal agent, and his credentials are 
 forged, or else he tells a damned good story."
  Sandy stifled a gasp with her fingertips. Dan glanced at her, then said, 
 "I'll tell you where I saw Ramirezthe man who could be Ramirez. Going into 
 the apartment of a friend of mine, an assistant U.S. attorney. That's  
federal, Rick. FBI, DEA, Customs- It could be that Manatee Studios is a  
front. A sting operation, but I don't know what they're after."
        236   BARBARA PARKER

  For a second Rick sat there as if somebody had dipped him in concrete.  
Finally he said, "What . . . does this mean, exactly?"
  Dan said, "Did Ramirez tell you he owns the building?"
  "No. He just rents space there, a couple of the studio rooms, including the 
 one we're using for the demo tape.
  Dan tapped his fingers on his knees. "Is it possible there are any deals 
 going down on the premises? You notice people coming and going who might  
not belong there?"

  "Drug deals, Rick. Narcotics? Cocaine? Are you with me?"
  "I-I don't It's possible, I guess."
  Sandy was staring at Rick, not saying anything.
  Rick said, "No. Uh-uh. Wait a minute, now. I'm
 trying to think. We've got the IRS off our back. I keep
 my nose clean. If Victor is DEA-let's say he is, for the
 hell of it why would he look at me? I didn't do any
 thing. I mean, I don't hang out with drug dealers. I
 don't involve myself with that. It's suicide."
  Dan didn't like that answer. He closed in. "Who do you know, Rick? Who do 
 you know that the feds would be interested in?"
  "I know tons of people. And yeah, some of them are shady, but it's not  
something we chat about over cocktails, you understand? It doesn't come  
up."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   237

  "Which of them are involved with Manatee Studios?" Dan waited, then said, 
 "Only the band, right?"
  "Mayhem? Oh, no way. I know these people," Rick said. "Right, Sandy? They 
 do music, that's all. Okay, they might smoke a little dope, but deal?" He 
 laughed.
  "I heard today," Dan said, "that Leon Davila went back to Ecuador. Do you 
 have any information on that?"
  "He didn't say anything to me. I don't care, I didn't like him. And they 
 put Arlo Pate in there so fast, it didn't matter. See, Dan, artists are  
notoriously unreliable. Like our bassist. He split for Atlanta. They get  
better offers, they go."
  "What about the new bassist?"
  "Scott Irwin. He was interning with me before I met Ramirez. He's a student 
 at the local broadcasting college. And Kelly Dorff? You know her better  
than I do, so you answer that one. Arlo Pate- He's a strange dude, but I  
can't see the feds after him. Martha? Never. She's too smart to fall into  
that life. All she wants is a record contract."
  Dan said, "What about Miguel Salazar?"
  "Oh, no. No way. He's fine."
  "You think so? I was over at his place in Lakewood this morning. Martha  
said something he disagreed with, and he hit her."
  "He hit Martha?" Rick sucked in a breath. "Oh, man. Is she okay?"
   "Sure, except she won't leave the SOB."
   "Well, no. She can't. We talked about it. First the
        238   BARBARA PARKER
 concert, then she'll be okay. Man, I knew she was having problems, but- He 
hit her?"
  "Salazar gives me the creeps, Rick. I think he may be the one they're  
looking at."
  Sandy reached out a hand, grabbing Rick's arm. "Darlin'?"
  Rick ignored her. "Salazar's got a company in Miami, and he bankrolls the 
 band. If he's doing something else in his spare time, I don't know about  
it. Dan, I think you're making too much out of this." Rick finally looked  
down at Sandy, who was tapping his arm. "What?"
  Sandy stood up on her knees. "Last night when Kelly was so upset, crying 
 and all? Before you came in to see about her, she was going on and on, and 
 I didn't pay much attention, but she said she had been arrested with a kilo 
 of heroin, and how it started everything. Did she ever tell you about  
that?" She looked from Rick to Dan.
  "Heroin?" Rick threw himself back in his chair, arms dangling over the  
sides. "Oh, what next? Take me now, God."
  "I didn't know either," Dan said. "She never said anything about it. When 
 was this? Was the case dismissed for some reason?"
  "I didn't ask her, she was bawlin' so hard. I got her calmed down, then she 
 didn't say another word."
  "What did she mean, 'It started everything'?"
  "Hon, I don't know any more'n you do, but we could ask her."
   "Rick, did you ever see Kelly with any dopers?
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          239

 Don't tell me you don't know who they are," he said. "In this business you 
know."
  "When she was with her prior band, Black Mango, their manager was
  connected." Rick stared at the ceiling. "Out of Philadelphia, I think. He 
 was arrested in that raid down in Coconut Grove. That was when that other 
 guy, the one from Ecuador, shot it out with the cops. Who was that? You  
know, the one you lost your job over."
   "Luis Barrios."
  "Right. Black Mango's manager was arrested along with a bunch of other  
people in that raid, then convicted of big-time cocaine trafficking. I knew 
 Kelly at the time, and I'd met Martha and Leon, who were also in the band, 
 but I wasn't their manager till later."
  Rick sat up. "Wait a minute. We might be getting our shorts twisted up for 
 nothing. You asked me if Kelly could be dealing? No way. She used to do  
coke on a fairly regular basis, but not lately. I haven't seen it, and I've 
 had every opportunity to see it, believe me."
  Smiling now, Rick smoothed his hair. "You don't know it was Ramirez you  
saw. You saw some guy with a beard, about the same age, same build." He  
stood up, and Dan followed him with his eyes. "Right? Is that what you saw? 
 Is that what you got me out of bed to tell me?"
  Dan said, "I could be wrong. As I say, I only caught a glimpse of the man." 
 "Oh, jeez-" Rick buried his face in his hands for a second, then threw them 
 into the air. He grabbed Dan
        240   BARBARA PARKER

 and kissed his cheek. "Dan, I love you, but you're full of shit. Now get out 
of here, will you?" He waggled his fingers at Sandy, motioning her to get 
up. "Beddy-bye."
 "Rick." There was an edge to Dan's voice.
 "What?"
  "I'm going to give you some advice, okay? Legal advice. Right here in front 
 of your wife, so you can't tell me later that I didn't warn you. You're not 
 playing straight with me. We both know it. Whatever is going on with you, 
 you'd better tell me now-as your lawyer-because later on it could be too  
late." Dan was speaking slowly, each word like the ringing of a low,  
muffled bell. "Do not screw around with the feds. If you do, they will send 
 you to prison for the rest of your life on principle."
  Rick made a little laugh, looking at Dan, then at Sandy. He said to her,
"I   think he's going mental on us. He sees a guy, and all of a sudden I'm 
 dealing coke."
  "I'm trying to help you, dammit."
  Rick pointed his finger at Dan. "I'm sorry I ever asked you to take  
Martha's case. I was doing you a favor, pal, because my sister asked me to. 
 I shoulda got some ambulance chaser down on the Boulevard, wouldn't think 
 he was God's gift to the fuckin' American justice system."
  Dan pressed the heels of his hands together to keep from shoving Rick into 
 the wall. "Okay. Fine. Tell you what. The U.S. marshals show up, call  
somebody else. I've had it with you."
  "I haven't done anything!"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   241

  A low wail came from over by the chair, where Sandy still sat on the  
footstool. "Rick?" She was shaking. "Please don't do this."
  Dan put his hands on his hips. "Tell her about Salazar's loan."
  "Oh, for the love of God."
   "Tell her."
  "I borrowed money from Miguel Salazar. So what! If that makes me a goddamn 
 criminal-if that makes me connected to whatever the hell he's doing, and I 
 don't know what the guy's doing-then I plead guilty."
  Sandy stared up at him. "How much?"
  "A hundred thousand."
  "Why, Rick?"
  He only shook his head.
 �Why?�

  "Because . . . you wanted a new car and the furniture-"
  "You're blaming me, you son of a bitch?"
  "-and I couldn't get it for you. The business was off this year. I didn't 
 want you to know how far off. And I didn't want. . . to lose you." Rick's 
 voice was shaking. He was on the edge and going over. "I'll pay him back. 
 He's being good about it. I gotta get this demo done. Then we'll have the 
 concert. It's gonna be okay. I promise you, it will."
  "Dammit, Rick!" She threw herself at him, and he stumbled backward. "What 
 have you done? I knew it. I knew it!" She was screaming now, hitting him.          242   BARBARA PARKER

  Rick had his hands up. "Stop it! Sandy!" He moved away, grabbed a pillow 
 off the sofa, and hit her with it. She came in low and punched him in his 
 belly. Rick sat down hard on the sofa, his robe falling off one shoulder. 
 Dan pulled her off him. She screamed once more, then silence fell. Rick  
patted down his hair with a shaking hand. He wiped some blood off his nose 
 with the belt of his robe, then got up and retied it.
  She sat down in a chair and closed her eyes. "How much am I supposed to  
take, Lord?"
  "Sandy?"
   "I can't stand it anymore. I'm out of here."
   "Don't leave me, pumpkin."
  "I damn sure will. I'm going back to Georgia. You're making me old real  
fast."
  "No. You're the most beautiful woman in the world." He got down on his  
knees. "Please, Sandy. I'll pay him back, as soon as the band gets a  
contract-"
  "Soon as the pope sprouts horns."
  "I'm begging you. Please, baby. Give me another chance. Don't leave."  
"You said that last time too, and I stayed, and now look!"
  "I love you so much. Oh, God. Please don't leave me. I wouldn't have a  
reason to go on. I'd kill myself, I swear. Sandy, you're all I live for.  
Don't go. Please. Please don't."
  His face was buried in her lap, muffling his words. His shoulders shook. 
 Tentatively at first, Sandy touched
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   243

 the back of his head, the wisps of hair curling between her fingers. "You 
dumb-ass little peckerhead."
 Dan said quietly that he would let himself out.

  A kilo of heroin. A kilo. Not a few grams but 2.2 pounds of the stuff. Dan 
 knew the penalty in federal court. Ten years minimum mandatory. Kelly Dorff 
 had been arrested-but not convicted. And she had never mentioned it.   Dan
stopped for gas and stared at the pump until he remembered that he had  
already heard it click off a couple of minutes ago. He got back on the  
interstate, heading south. He overshot the exit to Biscayne Boulevard and  
kept going past downtown, finally getting off near Coral Gables.
  He drove past Elaine McHale's building, a quiet street with a park on the 
 other side. There was a light on. Her car was there, a small Ford sedan.  
Driving past again, he checked all the other cars, not finding a dark blue 
 Chevy Caprice among them.
  Cursing, barely moving his lips, he parked and walked up the sidewalk to 
 her porch. The bags of trash were gone. Light leaked from around
  mini-blinds at the window. He leaned on the buzzer. Nothing. Pressed it  
again. Put his ear to the crack. Not a sound.
  He slammed his fist on the door, then walked back to his car. As he drove 
 away, he realized how stupid he'd been, coming here. She wasn't a friend, 
 she was a federal prosecutor. He breathed deeply to quell the shakes.     CHAPTER 22.

     The dense banyan tree outside Dan's apartment cast such a shadow that 
    Dan had asked the landlord to install a sensor on the porch light. It  
   went on at sunset, off at dawn. It had failed to work a few times, so   
  Dan was not particularly surprised when he found his front entrance     
dark. It was an old building; something was always breaking.
  He came in, closed the door, and flipped the switch on the wall. The lamp 
 did not come on. He assumed the bulb had burned out. He could barely see  
his way inside. A gray rectangle marked the front windows, and the shapes  
of furniture--sofa, chair, a curve of lamp shade-were barely visible. There 
 was a glint of light on the TV screen. The place occupied by the aquarium 
 was dark and oddly silent without the usual watery bubble of the aerator. 
 Power failure, he thought. Then noticed a soft blue glow reflected on the 
 wall toward the kitchen-the
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          245

 digital clock on the microwave. In the.same instant he saw the tiny amber 
screen on his stereo: 11:08.
 And then a soft tick, a shift.
  He froze. It was completely dark where he stood. Nothing short of
  night-vision lenses could see him. He stood motionless, listening.  
Another tick, an odd noise he could not place. Not from outside. Not next  
door or overhead. Someone else was here in his apartment.
  He thought of going quickly back outside, but he had already turned the  
dead bolt, and he was several steps away from the door. If he moved, he  
would give away his position.
  It had to be a kid from the neighborhood, someone as scared as he was,  
scoping out the electronic equipment. There wasn't much Dan valued except  
for his dive equipment, worth several thousand dollars--tanks, regulators, 
 spearguns, underwater camera. He kept it in a corner of the living room  
near the hall.
  Dan didn't breathe, didn't move. He heard the shush of tires on the street. 
 The distant overhead grumble of a jet. Faint voices through the walls.  
Then the soft tick again. And another. Dan tilted his ear toward the sound. 
 It came from the area near his aquarium. He let out his breath. It was the 
 fish, his blue neon gobys. They were opening their mouths at the surface. 
 He usually fed them when he got home. The little guys were hungry.   He felt
foolish. He had imagined Miguel Salazar waiting to grab him and   stick a
knife through his ribs.
        246   BARBARA PARKER

  The power was off because a circuit breaker had flipped. That had happened 
 before. He decided to turn on the lights in the kitchen and take a look at 
 the breaker panel. Dan started carefully across the living room, hands in 
 front of him, when he wondered why, if the circuit breaker had flipped, the 
 stereo lights were on. The aquarium was off, and they were plugged into the 
 same outlet.
  He stepped in water. He could hear the splash under his rubber-soled shoe. 
 Then his foot shoved something across the wood floor. He bent down, groping 
 for a second before his fingers closed around a thin metallic cylinder. A 
 speargun, his short one with the two-foot barrel. The heavy rubber tubing 
 was loose, hanging free. The nylon cord had played out. The spear was gone; 
 the thing had been fired.
  A wave of heat swept over his body, then icy sweat. He let the gun down  
again quietly, carefully. Eyes adjusted now to the darkness, he could see  
the outline of the doorway to the kitchen. He stood up and felt his way,  
then fumbled for the light switch on the wall.
  The blaze of fluorescent tubes overhead half blinded him. He waited,  
hearing nothing, then looked around the corner. Past the armchair he could 
 see into the living room. An overturned lamp. The metal stand for his  
aquarium on its side, the glass smashed. Water, sand, seaweed. Bits of  
bright blue-his dead fish. A piece of white coral shaped like fingers. In  
the next instant he recalled there had been no coral in the tank. He walked 
 around his chair, able to see it now. Not
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          247

 coral. A hand, outflung. A sleeve, blue denim. Long blond hair.
  He ran across the room and dropped beside her. His knee skidded on the  
bloody floor. He felt a sharp jab of pain.
  "Kelly!" He pulled her upright. Her head lolled back, then fell forward.
He   felt the wetness on his hands. Her white T-shirt was soaked with blood.
A   line of it was drying on her cheek, running from her mouth. The light  
glimmered in her half-closed eyes.

  The homicide detective sat across the kitchen table from Dan, writing in
a   small spiral notebook.
  Dan had given him her name. Had told him who she was. Where she was living. 
 Had lived. Dan suggested that he contact Martha Cruz and Rick Robbins. Dan 
 explained that Rick was the manager for Kelly's band, Mayhem, and Martha  
was her best friend. Gonzalez wrote down their numbers.
  Slumped in his chair, Dan leaned his head against the wall. He had washed 
 his arms and legs. There was a bandage around his knee. The paramedics had 
 pulled out a piece of broken glass from the aquarium. The police had wanted 
 his clothes, and he had changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. There were  
still smears of blood on the telephone. Dialing 911, he had known it was  
too late to save her. The spear had gone completely through, entering just 
 under the sternum, nicking her spine on its way out. The medical examiner 
 had just lefk Dan had not seen the examination of
        248   BARBARA PARKER

 the body, but he had watched the gurney wheeled out the front door. In front 
of the building, crime scene tape ran from streetlight to tree to a series 
of folding wooden barricades, outlining a twenty-foot-wide corridor from the 
street to Dan's front porch, keeping back the few onlookers about at this 
hour. The backyard was similarly cordoned off. Crime-scene techs were now 
taking more photographs and dusting for prints.
  Dan noticed the clock on the microwave: 2:36. He had to concentrate to  
remember that it was A.M.
  The homicide detective was asking him how he had met the deceased. Dan told 
 him that she had come to his office to ask advice about a traffic ticket. 
 They had started dating. That had been six weeks ago, something like that. 
 A card lay on the table. Jesus A. Gonzalez, Detective Sergeant, Homicide  
Division. Gonzalez looked fairly hip for a cop. He had thinning gray hair, 
 longer in back, and a small diamond in his left earlobe. He found it  
interesting that Dan was a lawyer.

   "Eres cubano?"
  "No, my grandfather was Cuban. He came over in 1940. A fisherman."   "I see
the fish tank in there. You collect fish? They're pretty, those blue   ones.
What are they called?"
  "Neon gobys."
  A second detective, a younger man, was leaning casually against the sink, 
 arms crossed. A badge hung on the pocket of his sports coat.
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   249

  Gonzalez asked, "When did you split up with Miss Dorff ?"
  "A couple of weeks ago, I guess."
  "Why'd she come over tonight?"
  "I don't know. I haven't spoken to her since we broke up."
  "Was there any degree of rancor, let's say, between you and Ms. Dorff ?" 
 "Rancor? No. She wasn't happy that we broke up, but she didn't hold a  
grudge. I got a call from her Saturday wishing me well, in fact."
   "You just said you haven't spoken to her."
   "She left a message on the machine."
  "I see. And you haven't seen her since you broke up?�
  "No, I saw her at the studio a couple of days after that. This morning I 
 took some things of hers to her. She's staying--she was staying with Martha 
 Cruz. I didn't see her, but I heard her playing her guitar. They had  
rehearsal tonight. I don't know what time they finished. Ask Martha."   "I
will. Did Kelly have any enemies that you know of?"
  "Not that I know of."
  "It would be helpful," Gonzalez said, "if you could give us the names of 
 anybody who, you know, might want to do this young lady in. Could you help 
 us with that?"
  "Sure." Dan closed his eyes momentarily. Saw the speargun on the floor  
where he had dropped it. The
        250   BARBARA PARKER

 nylon cord that went through Kelly's body. The spear had a barbed steel 
point, and the police had pulled it out of the wall behind the aquarium.  
Gonzalez was saying, "Nobody broke in here tonight, did they? I'm thinking 
 maybe the house was broken into, Miss Dorff comes along, sees the
  intruder-"
  Dan shook his head. "The doors were locked. I didn't see any broken  
windows."
   "Did she have a key?"
  "No. Oh, wait. I keep a spare key under the back steps for emergencies. She 
 knew where it was. It's possible she used it to get in."
  Gonzalez looked at the other detective, who unfolded his arms and went  
outside to take a look. He said to Dan, "You want a glass of water? Mind if 
 I have one?"
  "The glasses are over the sink." Dan propped his forehead in his hand. He 
 heard the refrigerator door open. The gurgle of water. Water had been  
ticking out of the aerator tubes, the last few drops. Kelly had bled to  
death. If Dan had arrived ten minutes earlier, he could have caught the son 
 of a bitch. Around eleven o'clock the neighbor next door had heard a  
scream, then a crash. She had ignored it. Had gone back to her television. 
 Adjusting the knee of his trousers, Gonzalez sat down again. "Where were  
you coming from when you got home?"
  "My former brother-in-law's house in Pompano Beach. Rick Robbins."         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   251

  "The manager for Kelly's band. And you left his house when?"
  "Let's see. Got there about nine-thirty, left around ten o'clock."    "And
before that?"
  Dan blinked and rubbed his eyes. The kitchen seemed too bright. "I took my 
 son home. He lives with his mother, my former wife, in Lakewood Village.  
That's up in Broward County."
  "I know where Lakewood is," Gonzalez said. "Nice area. Your former wife is 
 . . . Mr. Robbins's sister? Do I have that right?"
  "Yes. Her name is Lisa Galindo. Do you want the address?"
  "I'll get it from you later if I need it. And you left her house at what 
 time?"
  "Around seven-thirty." Dan glanced up. The other detective was coming in 
 the back door.
  "No key," he said, "but the M.E. found a loose house key in the pocket of 
 her jeans."
  Dan said, "I just remembered that when I came in the door knob was locked 
 but the dead bolt was open. The same key fits both. Kelly would lock both 
 of them when she'd come over."
   The detective said, "So?"
  "So someone followed her in, then left by turning the thumb lock in the  
knob."
   "Which proves what?"
   "I don't know. She let someone in."
   "We'll get to that," Gonzalez said. His tone told the
        252   BARBARA PARKER

 younger man to butt out. He looked back at Dan. "Mind if I ask how long 
you've been divorced?"
 "Since last August."
 "You and your ex get along okay?"
  "Fine. We're trying to work things out. We might get back together."  
Gonzalez nodded. "Good luck. I'm divorced too. Last year. My ex is always  
giving me shit about the women I date." He laughed and propped his ankle on 
 his knee. "I'm going with this young chick, right? My ex hits the ceiling, 
 and I'm not even married to her anymore. Did your ex know Kelly?"
  "I think they met, probably through Rick."
   "They got along all right?"
  "They met. They didn't know each other," Dan said impatiently. "Are we  
done? I'd like to take a shower."
  "Almost." Gonzalez glanced down at his notes. "What was the nature of your 
 visit with Mr. Robbins?"
   "A legal matter. I'm his attorney."
  "What was this about?"
  "I'm sorry, it's confidential."
  "I assume it had to do with the band. He's the manager, correct?"
  "It's confidential, Sergeant."
  "Okay." Gonzalez rolled his pen between his flattened palms. "Help me  
figure this out. You leave your ex-wife's house at seven-thirty. You arrive 
 at Mr. Robbins's house in Pompano Beach, just north of Fort Lauderdale, at 
 nine-thirty. That's a half-hour trip, that time of night. I wonder if you 
 can help me pinpoint
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   253

 exactly where you were during that extra hour and a half."
  Dan remembered suddenly that he had been driving up and down the
  interstate, then around a warehouse district in North Miami, looking for 
 Manatee Studios, trying to find the man with the beard. "It's not relevant 
 where I was at that time. Kelly died at eleven."
  "Mr. Galindo, let me decide what's relevant. I like all the squares filled 
 in. I'm funny that way."
  Dan felt the first rush of anger, fueled by awareness of his own stupidity. 
 He'd walked right into this. A Miami homicide detective was interrogating 
 him. Daniel Galindo was a suspect in a murder. Of course he was. The   ex-
boyfriend. Dan had told his clients again and again: Don't talk to the  
police. Whatever you tell them, they'll think the worst. Give your name,  
your address, and then call a lawyer.
   "Mr. Galindo?"
  But he was a lawyer. There would be reporters crawling all over this case 
 at dawn, and the last thing he wanted to hear on the news was, Police say 
 that Miami lawyer and former assistant U.S. attorney Daniel Galindo refuses 
 to comment on the mysterious death of his former lover, rock singer Kelly 
 Dorff, whose body was found last night in his apartment.
  Dan crossed his arms. "Between eight and nine o'clock I made another stop 
 which had to do with Mr. Robbins-and which I am not prepared to discussand 
 after that I drove to his house in Pompano Beach, arriving, as I said,  
about nine-thirty. I left around ten,
        254   BARBARA PARKER

 arrived home, unlocked the door, came inside, and found Ms. Dorff dead in
my  living room."
 "You arrived here at eleven."
 "Eleven-oh-eight."
  "And you didn't see Kelly Dorff earlier tonight? Didn't speak to her by  
phone?"
  "No."

   "You came home and found her body."
  "That's what I just said. Eight minutes-more or less-after my neighbor  
heard a woman's scream and the crash of my aquarium going over. Are we  
finished now?"
  "Bear with me. You leave the Robbins place around ten o'clock. Ms. Dorff
is   killed around eleven, you arrive at 11:08, according to you."
  "According to the clock on the stereo," Dan said.
  "Right. Pompano to Miami is . . . what? Thirty miles? And it took you an 
 hour and eight minutes. On the interstate." Gonzalez was waiting. "Can you 
 explain that? Clear it up for me?"
  The underarms of Dan's shirt were soaked, and he could feel sweat tickling 
 down his spine. "Yes. I was at a friend's house. I went by to discuss some 
 business."
  "You just now remembered this?"
  "That's correct."
  "Who's the friend? I'd like to call him-or her."
  Dan shook his head. "I've answered enough questions. I'm going to make a 
 phone call."
  "Who are you calling?"
  "My lawyer."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   255

  "You need a lawyer? Come on. You?" Gonzalez put the notebook aside.  
"Listen. Wouldn't it be simpler if you just told me what happened?"   "I
did." Dan walked past him out of the kitchen and through the living   room,
not looking at the blood or the remains of his aquarium. Two officers   in
dark blue uniforms watched him. He could hear Gonzalez calling his name.  
In his bedroom, there was an answering machine built into the telephone.  
Dan noticed for the first time the green light that indicated two messages. 
 Standing at the door, Gonzalez pointed. "Don't touch that." A uniformed  
officer walked over, not sure what was going on. Gonzalez came in and  
pressed the button with the end of his pen.
  A beep. Then Lisa's voice, annoyed. "Dan? I hope you're on your way. You 
 said you'd have Joshua home by seven-thirty."
  Silence. Another beep. Then Kelly's husky voice.
  "Hi. It's me. I saw you when you came to Miguel's today. I should've come 
 out, but I was scared to. Stupid, huh? Thanks for the clothes and stuff.  
And for the note. Dan, I need to talk to you tonight. We've got rehearsal, 
 then I'll come over. It's important. Please don't be busy. See ya."  
Gonzalez hit the replay button. "Hi. It's me. . . ."
  In his mind Dan saw Kelly's narrow face, the thin lips. He could see her 
 speaking, tossing her hair out of her eyes.
  11 I'm going to take a wild guess and say that the first
        256   BARBARA PARKER

 one is your ex. And the other one is Kelly Dorff." With his handkerchief 
over his hand, Gonzalez opened the lid and took out the tape. "Your neighbor 
told me she recently heard some fighting in here. Yelling, screaming, 
profanity, some loud thumps. You saw her in the yard the next day, and she 
asked you about it. You apologized. Said it wouldn't happen again because 
Ms. Dorff wasn't coming back. You remember that?"
 "Get out. I have a call to make."
 "We're going to discuss this at the station."
  "Not unless you place me under arrest, and you don't have a warrant. You 
 don't even have probable cause to get a warrant."
  Gonzalez smiled at him. "Based on what we have already, I don't foresee a 
 problem."
  Dan kept his voice under control. "I can't kick you out of a crime scene, 
 but I'm going to call my lawyer. Then I'm leaving."

  Charlie Dunavoy arrived fifteen minutes later, rumpled and gruff, telling 
 the cops he wanted them out by noon and Dan's keys returned to his office. 
 Dan hung his suit bag in the back of the Cadillac.
  As they pulled out of the parking lot past the police cars and a
  crime-scene van, Dan could see Detective Gonzalez watching from the front 
 porch.
  "Good God. Charlie, I talked to the bastard. I don't believe it. I sat  
right there and answered his questions. I knew better and I still did it."         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   257

  "Oh, we'll get it all sorted out." Charlie turned left toward Biscayne  
Boulevard. "Lawyers are the worst. We think we can explain it all away.  
We're smart. And what will the Florida Bar say if we don't offer an  
explanation? What will our clients say?"
  The boulevard was dark and quiet, only a few cars in either direction.  
"They think I killed her! It's inconceivable. Why am I sweating like this?" 
 "You're sweating because you feel guilty. You feel guilty because we all do 
 when somebody we care about suffers. It's human nature. You're thinking,  
Oh, if I hadn't ended our affair, this wouldn't have happened to her.  
Right? Yeah. Two-bit psychology."
  "I should call Rick. He can't hear about this on the news."
  "We get to my place, we'll talk about what to do."
  "It's late."
  "I'm wide awake as a hooty owl myself. Alva's up waiting for us. She said 
 she'd put some coffee on."
  "I'll tell you everything I know, Charlie. It's going to take awhile."  
Kelly's face appeared in Dan's mind again, and he felt his throat tighten, 
 then ache.
    CHAPTER 23.

     The murder of Kelly Dorff sent a tremor through the Operation Manatee 
    task force. The U.S. attorney's office, the federal agencies involved, 
    and local law enforcement assumed that someone had found out who she   
  was: a confidential informant. Expecting that the targets of the     
investigation would start running for cover, the FBI wanted them     
arrested immediately. The DEA argued for a delay. When the targets     
continued in their normal routines, it was agreed that U.S. marshals     
would conduct their sweep as scheduled, after the DEA had arrested     
Miguel Salazar over the weekend.
  The initial meeting between Salazar and agent Vincent Hooper, posing as  
Victor Ramirez, had resulted in Salazar's proposing another. He would meet 
 Ramirez again on Sunday, this time to do business. Ramirez would bring  
$500,000 in cash; Salazar would deliver an equal amount in credits in a  
foreign bank, less his
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   259

 customary fee of ten percent. Salazar would handle the transaction in 
person. His usual courier, Leon Davila, had returned to Ecuador. At least 
that was the story. None of the contacts in Ecuador had seen him.
  With attention focused elsewhere, the investigation into Kelly Dorff's  
murder had been left solely to the Miami police. Elaine McHale had read the 
 newspapers. She knew that the police suspected Dan Galindo, assuming a  
quarrel between former lovers. She did not know who else might be on the  
list of suspects; nor did she know why Kelly had gone to see Dan that  
night. She was curious how the DEA had responded.
  DEA agent Scott Irwin appeared as a witness before the grand jury on  
Tuesday afternoon, one of the final sessions for Operation Manatee. Elaine 
 decided to ask him.
  The grand jury-actually two dozen separate panels, meeting on various  
days-convened on the ninth floor of the federal building. The nondescript  
gray lobby was strewn with newspapers and empty coffee containers so late  
in the afternoon. Coming out of one of the jury rooms, Elaine saw Irwin  
chatting with undercover police officers, all of them wearing ties and dark 
 sports coats. She had to look carefully to pick out Irwin, the one with  
curly dark blond hair. The wig looked real. His blue punk-rocker hair was  
completely out of sight.
  She nodded toward the other officers, then said, "Agent Irwin, I'd like to 
 talk to you for a minute."
         260   BARBARA PARKER

 They went into a conference room off the lobby, a small one facing west.  
Elaine tilted the blinds, and stripes of light angled across the gray walls 
 and carpet. Irwin said nothing. They were so good at this, she thought. The 
 blank stare. Neither hostile nor friendly. Waiting but not anxious about  
it. She felt like she was looking at a screen saver on a computer monitor. 
 She leaned on the edge of the table. "I want to find out what happened to 
 Kelly Dorff. She and I talked on several occasions, and I got to know her. 
 Whatever is in the Miami Herald is not, obviously, the whole story. I  
wonder if you could fill me in."
  Irwin said, "You should talk to the police."
  "Yes, but here you are," she said, "and I'd rather have the DEA's view of 
 it. Yours in particular. You were rehearsing with her in Martha's studio at 
 Salazar's house the night she died."
   "That's correct."
   "And she left around ten o'clock?"
   "Yes."
   "Well, what happened?"
  He took a small breath, as she had seen him do before answering a question 
 for the grand jury. "We rehearsed until shortly before ten. Kelly had  
already mentioned meeting Dan Galindo that night. Martha Cruz didn't want  
her to go. She was anxious to keep working. We were in the middle of a song 
 when Kelly unplugged her guitar and said she was leaving."
  "And then what?"
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          261

  "She and Martha had an argument about it. Martha said that Arlo and I  
needed more work to learn the parts before the concert. Kelly said we had  
all worked for ten hours already, and everyone was tired. She accused  
Martha of wanting to change the focus of the band-the same argument they've 
 had for weeks. Then Kelly walked out."
   "Did the rest of you continue working?"
  "No. Martha wanted to, but I told her I was too tired. I had hoped to  
follow Kelly, but by the time I got outside, her car was already gone. I  
drove by Galindo's apartment at ten forty-two. If she left at ten, that was 
 plenty of time to get there. The lights were off, and I didn't see either 
 his or Kelly's car, so I assumed they had met somewhere else. Then I con- 
tinued to a previously scheduled meeting with Agent Hooper."
   "Did Salazar know where Kelly was going?"
  "He knew. He asked her why she wanted to speak to Galindo. She wouldn't  
say."
   "Did you know why?"
  "No. I teased her about it. I asked if she and Galindo were getting it on 
 again, but she wouldn't discuss it."
  Elaine idly noticed how the strips of light through the blinds formed a  
jagged Z where they bent at the corner of the wall, then again at the  
floor. "Is it possible that Salazar suspected she was working for us?"  
"It's possible. Having seen the man up close, I can tell you he's very  
smart and very suspicious. The first meeting between him and Vince Hooper  
almost didn't
         262   BARBARA PARKER

 take place." Agent Irwin leaned on the edge of the desk, clasping his hands 
loosely in front of him. The bars of light curved around his jacket, tie, 
and white shirt. "If Salazar had suspected she was a C.I., he wouldn't 
necessarily have connected her with Victor Ramirez, however. The meeting 
Sunday is still on. That indicates that he doesn't suspect it's a sting." 
"Where was Salazar during the rehearsal?"
  "In and out. When Martha and Kelly started arguing, Salazar left the  
rehearsal room and didn't come back in. A few minutes later, when I was  
leaving, I checked the garage. There were several cars in and around it,  
but I didn't see Salazar's car. I went back in and on some pretext asked  
the maid where Salazar had gone. No s6, serlor. She didn't know. But the  
next day he told the police he was home all night playing cards with his  
sister. She backs him up."
  "Do the police know that Salazar's alibi may be false?"
  For the first time Elaine could see a blip on the computer screen. Then it 
 was gone. Irwin said, "I'm not certain whether that information has been  
conveyed to them or not."
  She couldn't help smiling. "You're not certain. Well, did you yourself  
convey that information to the police?"
  "No. I did not."
  "Why didn't you?"
  "I was not asked to comment on Salazar's alibi or lack thereof, Ms.  
McHale."
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          263

  "Information directly related to a homicide investigation, and you didn't 
 think it was worth bringing up?"
  "We're staying out of it."
  "I see. So that the police won't inadvertently disrupt the meeting between 
 Hooper and Salazar on Sunday."
   "Correct."
  "Even if in the meantime Daniel Galindo is arrested for murder."
 The agent had a smile that wasn't quite there. Look
 at it straight on, and it disappears. "If he's innocent,
 Ms. McHale-and I sincerely doubt that then he has
 nothing to worry about. Does he?"
  A small laugh escaped her. "You people are unbelievable."
  Irwin stood up from the edge of the table. "I'm sorry about Kelly Dorff. 
 You shouldn't feel bad, though, not personally. She hung out with dopers. 
 Cops arrested her for helping transport heroin. Nobody put her there but  
herself."
  "Yes. Exactly what Vincent Hooper said."
  "If we're finished," hwin said, "I have to be somewhere."
  She nodded. "Go ahead."
  He walked over and opened the door, the light sliding down the surface.  
"One more thing, if I may? Let Hooper attend to his job. If you want to  
fuck him, that's your business, but try to wait till this operation is  
over."
  The door closed behind him, and for several minutes Elaine was too stunned 
 to move from the room.
        264   BARBARA PARKER

  John Paxton, the lead prosecutor on the task force and Elaine's boss, had 
 scheduled a meeting with the U.S. attorney at five o'clock. They wanted to 
 go over details of the statement that would be read to the press next  
Wednesday morning.
  After crackdowns in the early 1990s on the massive flow of cocaine entering 
 the United States through Miami, the drug lords began to route it through 
 Mexico. When border surveillance tightened in the Southwest, shipments into 
 South Florida resumed. In 1995 it was common for Customs to come across 500 
 kilos hidden in cargo containers or false compartments in ships or  
airplanes. Soon the seizures became 1,000 kilos, then 3,000. The
  indictments and arrests in Operation Manatee would tell the public that the 
 authorities were fully responding to the situation.
  The press conference would be televised at noon. The United States attorney 
 for the Southern District of Florida would be at the podium. Agents from  
the FBI and DEA and local law enforcement would stand behind him. Two  
Florida congressmen would be on his right. John Paxton would be to his  
left, and then Paxton's chief assistant, Elaine McHale.
  Elaine waited for Paxton in his office until his meeting was over. He was 
 not surprised to find her there; they often dropped in on each other.   She
told him about her conversation with DEA agent Scott Irwin.
  Paxton, who had tented his fingers halfway through
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   265

 her recitation, began tapping them slowly on his chin, then lowered his 
hands to the desk. "Well. What do you suggest?"
  "I think it depends on what the Miami police are doing. Where are they in 
 the investigation? Do they have any leads besides Dan? Do they seriously  
want to arrest him?"
  "They plan to do it tomorrow morning," Paxton said. "He hasn't been told." 
  "Tomorrow?"
  "Crack of dawn. He's with his former wife in Lakewood Village, so the  
arrest will be made up there. That's the information I get from the state  
attorney's office. The homicide detective on the case is pretty sure he has 
 the evidence. Galindo couldn't supply an alibi. He has a motive. His  
fingerprints are on the murder weapon, a speargun, which he certainly knows 
 how to operate." The springs in Paxton's chair squeaked slightly when he  
leaned back. He said, "Maybe it was an accident that Dan doesn't want to  
own up to. I'd be willing to believe that."
  Elaine shook her head. "That isn't the point. The police should be told  
that Miguel Salazar is lying about his alibi. Do we stand around and watch 
 an innocent man charged with murder?"
  "I admire your concern, Elaine. It's noble, it's fairminded. But stay out 
 of it. I have to agree with the DEA on this one."
  She stood up and paced to the window. "Look. We simply tell the state  
attorney's office to hold off till
         266   BARBARA PARKER

 after Monday. Dan isn't going anywhere. The police can check out Salazar, 
then they can make a decision."
  Paxton said, "The DEA isn't going to allow that. They don't want anything 
 to jostle this case. They've got full bladders and no potty break till next 
 week. Don't expect Scott Irwin to go willingly, in any event. We could  
discuss it with Hooper, but at this point I can't see him getting
  involved."
   "I could go to the police myself," Elaine said.
  "Oh, Jesus. Then what? The press would start poking their noses up our  
skirts. It's bad enough having a former prosecutor suspected of murder,  
aside from the fact that he might be part of a money-laundering con- 
spiracy."
  "Kelly Dorff completely recanted that allegation," Elaine said. "She told 
 the DEA that she had made it up to get back at Dan for breaking up with  
her."
  "You are so eager to prove him innocent, aren't you?"
  "No, but I question the way this is being handled." She had raised her  
voice. She exhaled, then said, "Look. If we have exculpatory evidence, and 
 we do not come forward, what would the press say about that? Oh, we could 
 try to cover the fact that we knew about it but did nothing. Save ourselves 
 from embarrassment. We're good at that. Or maybe we could wait until  
Salazar is taken into custody. We can ask him where he was when Kelly Dorff 
 died. How forthcoming is he going to be? Dan Galindo will have been         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   267

 arrested for murder by then. Is Salazar going to say, 'Oh, no. Let him out. 
l did it'?"
 Paxton asked, "Did he do it?"
  "With a speargun? I doubt it. If Salazar were going to get rid of her, why 
 do it in Dan's house? He could just as easily-more easily-have taken her a 
 mile or two west and dumped her in the Everglades. But the point remains, 
 John. We're withholding evidence from the police."
  Paxton's attention seemed focused on his desk, on the twelve-sided white 
 plastic calendar that he turned one way, then the other, exposing June,  
then August, then March. "When was the last time you saw Dan Galindo?"   She
frowned, not understanding what he was getting at. Paxton flipped the  
calendar around again. September. July. Then raised his eyes. "When did you 
 last have a conversation, in person, with Dan Galindo? It's a simple  
question, Elaine."
  "He came by my house last Sunday morning. We talked for a few minutes  
outside on the porch. He came by to say hello. I didn't expect him. I told 
 him I was busy, and he left."
  Paxton was still looking at her.
  She said, "Why did you ask me that?"
  Pushing aside the calendar, Paxton said, "I didn't want to have this  
conversation with you, Elaine. You've been my right hand on Manatee. I've  
relied on you, and you've come through. But I have lost confidence in         268   BARBARA PARKER

 your ability to appear impartial. I want you off the task force. Now. 
Immediately."
  It was as though the floor tilted. Elaine automatically reached out to  
touch the back of a chair.
  "I think you're stuck on this issue of Dan Galindo. I don't get it. But be 
 that as it may-"
   "John, that is absolutely ridiculous!"
  "What really ices the cake," he went on, "is that you went against my  
instructions not to speak to a witness. You remember that discussion? I  
told you not to speak to Kelly Dorff. But you went right ahead-"
   "In no way did you expressly forbid me to-"
  "Expressly? Don't tell me you didn't understand. You went right ahead and 
 had a chat with a confidential informant for the DEA, without their  
knowledge, causing me to wonder whether that discussion had anything to   do-
" Paxton raised his voice, preventing her from speaking. "Anything to do  
with this."
  Shifting some papers on his desk, he picked one sheet out of the stack.  
"This. It's a transcript of a call made from Miguel Salazar's telephone  
last Friday night. It came to me today, part of the usual pack of
  transcripts from DEA-intercepted telephone calls. You might recognize this 
 one."
  He put on his glasses. "It says, in part, 'Hi. This is Kelly Dorff . . .
.   I called Vincent and took back what I said about Dan. And listen. I
didn't   tell him about you and Dan being friends and everything, okay? . .
. Don't   forget about the demo tapes. You promised.' "
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   269

  With the last word Paxton glanced up at Elaine. Waited for her to speak. 
 "I never told Kelly to do that, John. She was driven by her own guilt. She 
 was sorry for lying."
  "She may well have been. But assume that this transcript found its way, as 
 it probably will, into the hands of a defense lawyer. 'It's obvious, ladies 
 and gentlemen of the jury, that this confidential informant is a liar, and 
 the government knows it. Elaine McHale promised to obtain the studio tapes 
 for Kelly's rock and roll band if Kelly Dorff would take back what she said 
 about her former boyfriend, Dan Galindo.' "
  Elaine could only stand mutely while John Paxton continued his tirade.  
"Forget that. What is worse, by far, is that you chose to go behind my  
back. Nor did you tell me about this telephone call from Kelly Dorff. I  
find out in a transcript. And I am left wondering, because no one has  
filled me in here, exactly what you said to her, that was so sensitive she 
 couldn't tell the DEA about it. Why are you smiling? I don't think you're 
 in a position right now to find anything amusing, Elaine."
  "I don't. I was reminded of all the times I've argued inferences to a jury. 
 Giving them the prosecutorial slant. Then the defense gets up and does its 
 thing, and the jury has got to wonder if we're even talking about the same 
 case."
  Paxton slowly took off his glasses and laid them on his desk. "Don't you 
 know what I'm trying to tell you?"
   "Yes. I am sorry, John."
        270   BARBARA PARKER

  He rubbed the back of his neck "I refuse to believe you were trying to help 
 someone escape prosecution, but other people might. Other people do, in  
fact."
  "Who said that to you?"
  He shook his head. "I'm not able to share that information."
   "The DEA? Can I assume that much?"
  "Don't push, Elaine." Paxton dropped into his chair. "I want you to take
a   week off. Tell people in the office your mother is sick, or you're having 
 a root canal."
  "And watch the press conference on TV," she said. "We don't want to  
embarrass anyone."
  He shot her a look. "When you get back, tell me what you want to work on. 
 Anything but Manatee."
  "Never mind that I've done most of the work on it for the past six months." 
 "Elaine-" He held up a finger, a request for acceptance.
  She leaned on extended arms on the back of the chair, then lifted her head. 
 "Fine. I'll have the files in your office by Friday afternoon, memos  
attached."
  "Thank you." She was at the door when he said, "And, Elaine? You're dose
to   the line. Don't go over it. Do not contact Dan Galindo before tomorrow 
 morning. Do not talk to the Miami police about Miguel Salazar. Am I being 
 absolutely dear on that?"
  She nodded and went out.

  In her own office, Elaine left the light off and stood by the windows. The 
 sun was nearly down, just a few
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   271

 vague strips of light across the buildings and rushhour streets. She felt 
utterly spent. Ashamed, though it would be hard to say precisely why. She 
thought that she would probably go home and get deservedly drunk.
  Kelly Dorff did not have to be dead. Since hearing the news, Elaine had  
wondered what might have happened if she'd taken Kelly off the case. Let  
her go, which was what Kelly had wanted. Elaine could have said, Thanks for 
 your help, but go now. I don't need you to testify. Go on. Sing. Play your 
 guitar.
  It would have to be a good one, Elaine thought. Enough booze not to see  
Kelly Dorff sitting across the table at the restaurant, pouring cream into 
 heavy mugs as if they were the finest porcelain. Pushing her long hair back 
 behind her ears. Those surprisingly ugly, incredibly strong hands. Kelly  
had put a burning match out with her callused fingertips. She had been  
dismissive of her chances for success, but she had wanted it all the same. 
 My last chance, Kelly had said. If 1 don't do it this time, it's all over. 
 Enough booze so she wouldn't get up early in the morning. She didn't want 
 to stumble out of bed, turn on the radio, and hear Dan Galindo's name on  
the morning news.
    CHAPTER 24.

     Dan spent Monday night at Charlie's house, then asked Lisa if he could 
    use her guest room for a couple of days. He needed to get out of Miami. 
    Away from his apartment. He arranged for a thorough cleaning, someone  
   to replace the area rug and scrub the floors. Until then Dan didn't want 
    to see the place.
  Rick drove over to Lakewood to talk. He and Dan went out in the backyard 
 and had a couple of beers while Lisa cleared away the dinner dishes.   Dan
said, "You talked her into letting me stay here, didn't you?"
  "Yeah, well." Rick stared at the bottle in his hand. "What's gonna happen 
 to you?"
  "I don't know yet."
  "The cops gonna arrest you for this?"
  "Probably. I haven't told Lisa."
  "Oh, jeez. Tell me what I can do."
  "Take care of her and Josh, if I can't."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   273

 "No problem."
 They sat for a while in silence.
  Dan said, "I know they can't make a case, so I'm not too worried. Oh, to 
 hell with it. How's Martha taking Kelly's death? I haven't talked to her." 
 "Martha says get a new guitarist. This is true. Coldblooded little bitch, 
 isn't she?" Rick finished his beer, then belched softly and set the bottle 
 on the patio. "The others are ready to fold."
  "How about you?"
  He laughed softly. "I'm gonna be at the studio starting tomorrow night,  
checking out lead guitarists. I got a few guys lined up. No girls. Maybe  
one of them could wear a blond wig. Sing in falsetto." Rick sobbed  
suddenly, then clamped his teeth together. He took a breath. "Oh, Jesus.  
That poor kid. Everything's coming apart, Dan."
  Dan heard the screen slide back. Lisa's shadow fell onto the patio. "Dan? 
 Josh is ready for bed. Can you come say good night?"
   "Be there in two minutes."
  The screen slid shut.
   Rick got up. "I should go."
  "Wait." Dan said quietly, "Sunday night the band was rehearsing at  
Salazar's house. What time did they quit?"
  "I wasn't there," Rick said, "but Martha told me Kelly cut out for your  
place about ten o'clock, and when she didn't come back to Salazar's that  
night, Martha figured she'd stayed over."
         274   BARBARA PARKER

 "Does she know why Kelly wanted to talk to me?"
  "She says she doesn't. Those girls were pretty close, though. It's hard to 
 believe Kelly wouldn't tell her."
  "Who else knew where she was going?"
  "They all did. Kelly was antsy to finish early, and Martha wanted to keep 
 working. They'd been at it since noon. She and Kelly got into an argument, 
 then Kelly put away her guitar and said she was leaving, and they could  
keep playing without her."
   "Did they?"
   "No, they packed it in."
   "Where did they go?"
  Rick leaned over to pick up his beer bottles, and they clanked together. 
 "Arlo and Martha stayed at the house. Miguel was upstairs with the family. 
 Scott split when Kelly did. Martha doesn't know where he went."
  "He wouldn't have a reason to go after Kelly, would he?"
  "I can't figure it. They got along okay. He says he has a girlfriend."  
Dan said, "I guess the cops checked out where he was?"
  "No doubt. They even asked me where I was. I'm thinking one of your local 
 crackheads noticed her going in, followed her, got scared. Maybe that was 
 it."
  "Maybe."
  Rick tapped Dan on the chest with a bottle. "Hey. Sandy and I were talking. 
 We're getting you a new aquarium."
  "You don't have to do that."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   275

  "Marine Mart. I called them already. Whatever you want-up to a point. Don't 
 go crazy."

  Josh kept his room neat, everything in its place. Plastic storage crates 
 full of colorful games and toys were stacked along one wall. The curtains 
 matched the bedspreads. He had bunk beds for when his friends slept over. 
 A small fish tank bubbled under his window. There was no television, but he 
 had a new computer and color printer. No modem. Lisa didn't want him hooked 
 to the Internet until he was older.
  When Dan knocked lightly at the open door, Josh, in his pajamas, stood up 
 from his desk with an envelope in his hands. The lamp reflected in his  
glasses when he tilted his head up to look at his father.
  "What you got there, bud?"
  "Your card."
  "My birthday's not till tomorrow."
  "This is in case you aren't here tomorrow," Josh said. "I asked Mom and she 
 doesn't know yet."
  "Well, that's true. I might not be here." Dan squatted beside him. "May I 
 see the card?"
  "I made it on my computer." Josh glanced down at the envelope. "I'll do it 
 over if you want me to. This one's not very good."
  "What do you mean? It looks great." Dan sat crosslegged on the carpet, and 
 Josh stood next to him, looking over his shoulder, waiting for the verdict. 
 The yellow envelope said DAD on the front in red 3-D letters that slanted 
 from small to large. "Very
        276   BARBARA PARKER

 nice." Dan took out the card. On shiny white paper Josh had printed a 
cartoon boat and blue waves. Two tiny figures, hand-drawn, stood in the 
stern with fishing poles. In the upper right was a smiling yellow sun. 
Inside was printed, "To my dad. Your the best. Happy birthday. From your 
son, Joshua D. Galindo."
  Dan felt his eyes burning. He said quietly, "It's stupendous."
  "Mom said I misspelled 'your.' It should have an 'e' on the end." Josh  
pointed at the word.
  "That's all right. I bet she liked it, though."
  "She said I should do it over, but I didn't have any more paper like that." 
 "No. This one is fine." Dan kissed Josh, then pulled him onto his lap. "Did 
 your mother explain to you why my name was on TV?"
  "She said because somebody died at your house. She wouldn't let me watch 
 TV, though. My friend Taylor at school told me a woman got murdered by a  
spear. What happened?"
  "It was a friend of mine who came to visit, and I wasn't home yet.  
Someone-we don't know who yet-killed her, Josh. The police will find him.  
He won't hurt anyone else."
  Josh looked at Dan steadily through his glasses. "Was she, like, stabbed 
 and cut in pieces? That's what Taylor said."
  "No, son. She was shot with a speargun. One of mine." Dan added, "I threw 
 the rest of them out."
  "Did you see her dead?"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   277

  "Yes, but she looked very peaceful, like she was asleep."
  "Are you sad?"
  "Sure. She was my friend." Dan squeezed Josh's shoulder. "Her name was  
Kelly. She played guitar and sang in a rock and roll band."
   "No way."
  "It's true. She even had tattoos and a nose ring. You never met her, but
I   showed her your picture. She said you looked like a great kid, a junior 
 stud. Her exact words." Josh laughed, and Dan ruffled his hair and stood  
up. " 'Night, son. Thanks for the card. Why don't you write a poem to go  
with it?"
  "A poem?" Josh rolled his eyes back into his head and pretended to gag.  
"A story, then. A story about you and me going fishing."
  "That would take a long time, a story," he said.
   "We've got time."

  Lisa made up the sofa bed in the guest room. Unfolded a fresh sheet and  
flipped it to settle onto the mattress. Neat corners, tucked tightly. Held 
 a pillow under her chin, slid it into the pillowcase. Turning to take a  
blanket from the shelf in the closet, she noticed Dan at the door.   He took
the blanket away and dropped it on the bed. He put his arms around   her. The
small lamp made the room seem intimate and safe. He exhaled   heavily and
held her more closely.
        278   BARBARA PARKER

 "I need you, Lisa."
  She moved her hands on his back, up the tight muscles along his spine. Her 
 breasts were soft and warm. "I didn't think I'd ever hear you say that."  
"Let's go to bed." When she went still for a moment, Dan said, "I won't  
touch you if you don't want me to."
  Lisa raised her head, and her pale gold hair fell back from her face, a  
ripple of silk. She smiled slowly, the corners of her mouth curling into  
her smooth cheeks. "I do want you to." She put her lips next to his and  
whispered, "I'm glad you're back."

  He lay in the darkness listening to the night sounds and watching the  
digital numbers on the clock radio tick off the minutes: 11:56.
  The room still smelled like paint. The carpet would be installed next week, 
 Lisa had told him. A low shag, very plush, an ivory color to match the  
walls. Karastan, on sale for $42.95 per yard, installed.
  The sheets were new. The top sheet was folded down to Dan's waist so he  
could cool off. They had that crisp, just-out-of-the-package smell. A set, 
 together with pillow shams and a duvet, all of which Lisa had put on the  
bed for the occasion. She had laughed, refusing to tell him how much. But  
the bedroom would be fabulous.
  Lisa's cocker spaniel, Poppy, was down on his mat, awake, panting softly, 
 guarding the house from intruders. Dan had walked him earlier, trying to  
find on Heron Way a place where a dog could do his thing,
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   279

 finally letting him go in the backyard. Poppy had been to the groomer today, 
and he had a ribbon in his hair. Useless mutt.
  Lisa shifted. Sighed. Rubbed his upper arm. "Dan, it's all right."   "I
guess I'm tired," he said. "And my knee still hurts where I cut it." He  
found her hand. "I don't mean to be making excuses." He brought her hand to 
 his lips and kissed each knuckle.
   She said, "I was thinking."
  Dan turned her palm over and laid it against his cheek. "What were you  
thinking?"
  "Miguel Salazar's boat. I think it's for the best that you gave it back." 
  "Damn. I forgot to mail him the keys."
  Lisa said, "Not getting that boat means that you have to put some serious 
 thought into what you want to do. For instance, why the Bahamas? Why does 
 it have to be just you and Josh? Maybe we should all go." She propped  
herself on an elbow. She was naked, and the moonlight through the open  
window flooded across her skin, turning it silvery blue.
  He closed his eyes and turned to her, and put an arm around her waist.  
She said, "We could find a resort. Something for all of us. White sandy  
beach, calypso band, sunset cruises. Doesn't that sound romantic? Golf and 
 tennis. Josh could find kids to play with, and we-" She kissed him lightly, 
 quickly. "We could get to know each other again. I want you to think about 
 it. Okay?"
        280   BARBARA PARKER

 "I don't know."
  "Dan-" She shook his shoulder. "It would be good for us. I mean, if you're 
 serious about wanting to try again. That's what you said. I mean, you are 
 serious, aren't you?"
  "Of course. I've just got some things on my mind right now."
  "Oh."

   "Yes. Oh."
  She lay flat and looked at the ceiling. "Is it going to be all right with 
 the police?"
  "I'll be arrested. I don't know when. I have a friend at the state  
attorney's office who said the police sent the paperwork over."
   "Oh, my God. Why didn't you tell me?"
   "I was trying to decide how."
   "What does this mean?"
  "It means I'm going to jail, Lisa. There's no bond for murder. My law  
practice will probably be ruined. I won't see you or Josh except on  
visiting day. Jesus. What does it mean?"
  "All right. You don't need to snap at me."
  "Sorry." He reached for her, and she put her head on his chest.
  "What about a lawyer?" she said. "Charlie Dunavoy is your friend, but is
he   good enough?"
  "I'd have to hire someone else."
  For a while there was silence in the room. He heard her take a breath.  
"Dan, I can't sell the house. I can't."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   281

  "No. I never suggested that," he said. He rubbed her back. Her skin was  
like satin.
  "Even a mortgage- There just isn't that much equity left. There was the  
roof, then the back patioOh, Dan. I'm sorry. I feel so awful for even  
bringing it up." She rolled off him and stared up at the ceiling.
  "Lisa, it's okay."
  "Maybe my parents would help. Do you want me to ask them?"
  Dan laughed. "I can hear your father now. 'Lisa, you just divorced the  
man.' "
  She pressed her hands to her forehead, arms like pale inverted V's in the 
 dim light. "This is unreal. I can't believe this is happening."
  "Tomorrow I'll have Charlie call and ask what's going on. If they're going 
 to arrest me, I want to get it over with."
  "Would they come here?"
  "Possibly. Or I could turn myself in." Dan looked at her. "Should I go back 
 to Miami?"
  She shook her head. "You don't have to do that."
  "I will. Maybe it would be better."
  "No, don't." Lisa was quiet awhile. "All right. Maybe it would be better. 
 What if they came and Josh was here?"
  Dan sighed. "I'll go in the morning."
  "I wish-Oh, God. I don't know what to do," she said.
  "Don't worry," he said. "It's going to be all right."
        282   BARBARA PARKER

  He turned on his side, and before he closed his eyes he noticed the clock 
 on the nightstand: 12:07.
  Lisa said, "Why are you laughing?"
  "It's Wednesday. My birthday. So this is what thirty-five feels like."     CHAPTER 25.

      1 asked for the C shift," Gonzalez said. "Eleven p.m. to nine in the 
     morning. That's a good shift for Homicide. You'd think that most people 
     are murdered on the C shift, in the dark of night, the wee hours, so  
    to speak. Not so. Most of them are on B shift, three in the afternoon  
    to one a.m. That's when you've got people coming home from work,      
they're tired, they're cranky. Kids after school stabbing each other.      
Fights outside nightclubs, a large portion of your convenience store      
holdups, plus you got your drunk-driving vehicular homicides, and most     
 of your robberies and rapes that go bad. I don't like the A shift      
either. Seven to five is a zoo. Phones ringing, people running in and      
out. Of course, in Miami there are homicides around the clock, so      
whatever shift you're on, you always have something to keep you busy."  
Detective Gonzalez escorted Elaine to his desk and pulled out a chair for  
her.
        284   BARBARA PARKER

  The Homicide unit was on the fifth floor of the building, and Elaine got
a   good view out the window before she sat down. The city was a grid of
lights   under a black sky. On the perfectly flat land, the long ribbon of
the   interstate rose and dipped over cross streets on its way north into
Broward   County and beyond.
  Elaine had already explained over the telephone her connection to Kelly  
Dorff, and had told Detective Gonzalez that she might have information  
relevant to her death.
  She explained how she knew Dan Galindo. She began to explain the delicacy 
 of the situation-the DEA, the FBI, the-
  "I don't care," he said. "I do homicide cases. I want to find out who  
killed her. Anything else is a secondary consideration. You want a soda?"  
 "No, thanks."
         .

  Jesus Gonzalez put his ankle on his opposite knee, pulled up his sock, and 
 adjusted the hem of his trousers. He was a nice-looking man, forty or so, 
 going gray already. A diamond in one ear. He spoke English without an  
accent. He said, "Okay. Talk to me."
  "I have a question first," Elaine said. "The news reports said that Kelly 
 died around eleven o'clock. Is that correct?"
  "Ten fifty-nine, close enough to eleven. The lady next door was in bed  
watching TV when she heard a woman screaming, then a crash. The crash was  
the aquarium going over. Galindo kept a ten-gallon
        CRIMINAL JusTicE  285

 saltwater tank in his apartment, and we found Ms. Dorff's body next to it. 
Some of the cuts were from glass, but it was the spear that killed her." He 
touched a point a few inches above his waist. "Went in here, came out the 
back. We found it in the wall. I didn't know spearguns could do that. So the 
neighbor goes back to watching the news. She didn't call 911 because she'd 
heard a fight over there a couple of weeks ago, and she thought they were at 
it again."
 "Did she hear any other voices besides the scream?"
  "No. Dan Galindo told me that he arrived home at eight minutes past eleven. 
 We show his call to 911 coming in at 11:12, four minutes later. He was  
agitated but under control. We found his blood on the floorhe had a cut on 
 his knee. His fingerprints were on the speargun. Only his. He says he  
stepped on it in the dark and picked it up."
  Gonzalez stretched his arms up, then locked them behind his neck. His tie 
 was loose, and the collar of his long-sleeved pale yellow shirt was open. 
 "What else? We have the tape out of his answering machine. He went to see 
 Kelly in Lakewood Village that same morning. She'd moved up there to stay 
 with her friend, Martha Cruz. The girls were in the same band together. On 
 the tape Kelly says she didn't come out to speak to Galindo because she was 
 afraid to. But he left her a note, and I guess it alleviated whatever fears 
 she had because in the tape she says thank you very much, and can I come by 
 tonight after rehearsal, it's really important. I asked Martha Cruz about 
 the note, and
        286  BARBARA PARKER

 she says it got tossed, so we don't know what Galindo wrote, but she says 
Kelly placed the call to him around four o'clock in the afternoon. Let's 
see. Time. Okay, Galindo left his wife's place-ex-wife-at seven-thirty that 
night, after spending the day with his son. She confirms that. Galindo was 
at his brother-in-law's house from nine-thirty to ten. Check. He refused to 
tell me where he was between seven-thirty and ninethirty. It doesn't take 
two hours to get from Lakewood to Pompano Beach. And it doesn't take an hour 
and eight minutes to get from Pompano Beach to his apartment."
  Leaning back in his chair, Gonzalez tipped until the front legs came off 
 the floor. "So what I assume is that he came home around eight,
  eight-fifteen, heard the message, and took off for his brother-in-law's  
place. They had some kind of a discussion he won't tell me about.
  Attorney-client privilege. Whatever went on, he came back home, found  
Kelly, they argued, and he shot her. He forgot to erase the message."  
Gonzalez kept his chair balanced by one finger on the edge of his desk.  
"We're arresting him for first-degree murder. I personally think it's more 
 like second, even manslaughter. He's a decent guy. He and Kelly had fights 
 before, and he's now back with his wife. Maybe Kelly was causing problems 
 for him. I think a jury would give him a break." Gonzalez glanced at  
Elaine. "That's my story. Now tell me yours. What've you got?"
  "Two reasons he didn't kill her."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   287

 "Let's hear them."
  Elaine put an elbow on the desk and rested her head in her open palm. "The 
 fish are one reason. You said the aquarium was knocked over. Do you know  
what he had in there?"
  "I remember little blue fish on the floor."
  "Blue neon gobys. Dan caught them himself."
  Gonzalez took his finger off the edge of the desk, then caught his slight 
 forward momentum. "You're saying he wouldn't have put his fish in danger by 
 shooting a speargun in that direction. It's a thought. But let's say Kelly 
 ran into the tank trying to get away. Or maybe he shot her because she  
pulled it over. What's your other reason?"
  "An alibi. He wasn't there."
  "That might work. Alibis are very helpful."
  She smiled. "At 10:47 the night Kelly Dorff died, Dan Galindo was ringing 
 my doorbell. I didn't answer the door, and I suppose he thought I wasn't at 
 home. My living room lights were off. I was in bed going over files for the 
 next day. When I heard the doorbell I looked at my clock, which is accurate 
 to the minute, and then I went to see who was there. The porch light was  
on. I could see him clearly through the viewer in the door. Mr. Galindo  
rang the bell once more, then he left. He was there for no more than  
fifteen seconds, but I saw him clearly."
  The detective continued to rock slightly on the rear legs of his chair.  
Elaine sat up straighter in her own
        288 BARBARA PARKER

 and said, "I wouldn't invent this story to protect him. I haven't spoken 
to Dan since Kelly's death."
 "I believe you."
  Taking a deep breath, Elaine was surprised to find herself shaking with  
relief.
  Gonzalez said, "I might wonder about it, except for one thing. Galindo  
mentioned going by a friend's house just before he got home. He didn't   say
who, whether it was male, female, or what. Then he refused to answer   any
more questions, so I couldn't clear it up. Was that you? The friend?"  
"Apparently so," she said.
  "Where do you live?"
  "Coral Gables, near the University."
  "And he was at your house at 10:47."
 �   �
  Yes.
 "He says he got home at 11:08."
 "Twenty-one minutes," she said.
  "No way he could make it from your house to his house by 10:59."
  "I wouldn't think so," Elaine said.
  The front legs of Gonzalez's chair came down heavily on the floor.   "What
are you going to do?"
  "Call the Broward Sheriff's Office. They're serving the warrant for us.  
Can I ask you to sign a formal statement?"
  "Of course. Do you anticipate any problems in cancelling the arrest?"  
Gonzalez flipped through his Rolodex. "Nah. It's
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          289

 just paperwork." He punched in a number on his phone. "Blue neon gobys. I 
think you're right. After Kelly's body was taken out, Galindo picked up 
every one of those damn fish and flushed them." Gonzalez shook his head. 
"Burial at sea. Scooped them right out of all that glass and blood, wrapped 
them in tissues, then stood over the toilet and watched them go down. One by 
one. Well. He should've answered my next question. We wouldn't be going 
through all this at four o'clock in the morning, would we?"
    CHAPTER 26.

     The next morning, one of Dan's clients, a man charged with possession 
    of stolen property, said he had heard about Dan's troubles on the news. 
    He expressed sympathy. "Watch out they say you did it. The po-lice     
accuse folks all the time of shit they ain't did."
  The client signed a contract for representation and gave Dan $1,000 in  
jumbled bills out of a paper bag before he left. Dan counted it out on  
Alva's desk. Her radio was playing a Doris Day song. Que sera, sera,  
whatever will be, will be . . .
  "This is going to sound odd," Dan said, "but that client may be innocent." 
 "Is this a problem for you?" Alva licked the flap of an envelope and sealed 
 it shut.
  "Absolutely. When a client is guilty-and most of them are-you give it your 
 best shot, and if a jury convicts them, you don't feel too bad. But when  
they're innocent, you have the burden of knowing that you'd
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          291

 better not screw up, or they could go to jail for something they didn't do." 
 When the phone rang, she frowned at it. Her brows were penciled on. "It's 
 been doing this all day."
  "I'm sorry," he said.
  She picked it up. "Law offices of Dunavoy and Galindo .... No, he's not in 
 .... He won't be in and I'm not taking messages, so don't call back." She 
 slammed down the telephone so hard her bracelets jangled.
  Dan said, "Tell me that wasn't a client."
  "Another reporter," she said. "He was with Inside Edition."
  "Oh, Jesus."
  "You want to answer it next time?"
  He raised his hands and retreated to his office. Entertainment Tonight had 
 already run the story, losing no time. Rock singer found murdered inside  
ex-lover's apartment. They even had a video clip of one of Kelly's  
performances with her previous band, Black Mango. Dan had not seen it  
himself. He had not watched television all week.
  The odd thing was, the police had not shown up. The tension was making him 
 jumpy. He kept looking out the window, expecting to see Detective Jesus A. 
 Gonzalez with two uniformed officers and a set of handcuffs. Charlie had  
called Gonzalez, who would say only that the case was still under
  investigation. Dan's contact at the state attorney's office had been  
baffled.
  Dan let the blinds fall back into place. Alva Dunavoy had come in with a 
 chilled can of chocolate liquid
        292   BARBARA PARKER

 supplement for the geriatric crowd. She levered up the tab on the can with 
a long orange fingernail. The nail polish matched her tight jersey blouse, 
through which her bosom pointed dangerously at him, daring him to object.  
"Drink this," she commanded. "It's nearly three o'clock. If you don't have 
 something, you'll faint."
  "I have never fainted in my life, Alva. Stop mothering me."
  "That's a lousy attitude," she said. "Some people happen to give a damn." 
 It was her way of apologizing for her bad mood earlier. Dan took the can  
from her. "Well, I guess I am a little hungry. Thanks."
  After she was gone, Dan poured the chocolate drink into a potted plant,  
sorry to have to do it. He'd had no appetite since Sunday night. He was  
feeling hollowed out and fragile, but he doubted he would die of star- 
vation. After finishing some phone calls, Dan put a disk in his computer,  
searching the Supreme Court Reporter for opinions on involuntary
  confessions, but it was hard to concentrate. The text on the screen would 
 disappear, and he would be back in his apartment four nights ago, pulling 
 Kelly Dorff upright, not accepting that she was gone even as her blood,  
still warm, flowed onto his hands.
  Dan blinked, then pressed his fingertips momentarily against his eyes. He 
 turned off his computer and leaned back in his chair.
  There was something screwy about this case, and
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   293

 the sudden silence from the police was only part of it. They must have found 
some other lead. Dan did not believe that Kelly had been murdered by an 
opportunistic thief who had seen her use a spare key to get into his 
apartment.
  Heroin. He had thought of her arrest several timesthe one she hadn't told 
 him about. She couldn't have simply forgotten; a conviction would have sent 
 her to prison for ten years.
  Another image had flickered in his mind-that of the bearded man he had seen 
 last Sunday morning outside Elaine McHale's house. Elaine, a federal pro- 
secutor. Not the same man, Rick had assured him, as the person Dan had  
glimpsed so briefly at Manatee Studios. A resemblance, nothing more. Deja  
vu, a trick of light, an odd transference of memory.
  Dan swiveled his chair until he was looking squarely at his telephone. He 
 dialed a number, said who he was, and asked for Elaine McHale. He waited. 
 Waited some more.
  Another female voice picked up. "Mr. Galindo? This is Ms. McHale's  
assistant. I'm sorry, she's out of town for a family emergency."
  "Is she all right?"
  "Oh, yes. She'll be back a week from Monday."
  "Well, if she calls in, have her get in touch with me, will you? Thanks." 
 Dan hung up.
  A sound of knuckles on wood interrupted his
         294   BARBARA PARKER

 thoughts, and he swung his chair toward the door. "Come in."
  Charlie Dunavoy, just back from a hearing in probate court, sat down and 
 asked how he was doing.
  Dan told him he had managed to get some sleep last night. "The apartment 
 looks great. The cleaners moved the furniture around, and with the new rug 
 I hardly recognized the place. Rick and Sandy got me a new aquarium. I  
guess I'm doing all right."
  "You come on over and stay with Alva and me, if you need to."
   "I appreciate that."
  "Glad to do it. But listen. I want you to talk to one of your buddies about 
 your present situation. It's been too long for me, Dan. Too long. I handled 
 a first-degree murder trial in, oh, 1965, I think it was-a high school math 
 teacher who allegedly stabbed his wife for going out with the coach. Did I 
 tell you about that one?"
  Dan replied that he had. "You were pretty proud of getting an acquittal." 
 Charlie's veiny hands were planted on his knees, and his belly hung over  
his trousers. "Well, I like to talk about it because it was the only damn  
murder trial I've ever done, but I'll tell you, it was roughthe worry, do  
I know what the hell I'm doing, am I going to send this man to the electric 
 chair, and so forth. I'd taken the case because the defendant knew my  
brother, and the family had no money, and they trusted me. I'd done some  
criminal cases-robberies, thefts, things like that-so I wasn't a complete  
boob,
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          295

 but I was a kid, younger than you, and when you're that age you think you're 
smart. After it was over, I went into the men's room and puked. I told 
myself no more of that. I'd not be living up to my professional oath to take 
your case, Dan, if it turns into one. You find yourself a tiger, not an old 
dog like me. You young guys are more up on the law than I am. But if you 
need help with the fees, you say so. I mean it." He held up his hands. 
"Nope. Don't argue with me."
  "All right. Thanks." Dan had already spoken to a friend of his, a top  
criminal lawyer who would jump in if necessary. Then he said, "Charlie,  
I've been thinking about finding a job closer to Lakewood Village, probably 
 in a large firm, where I could have some financial stability while I work 
 my way up to a partnership. Lisa and I-well, we're thinking of trying  
again, and josh needs me around. I want you to know how much I appreciate  
what you've done for me. You took me in when I was going down for the  
count, and you didn't even know me."
  "Oh, Elaine twisted my arm." Charlie smiled, not wanting to be a bad sport 
 about it. "I hope it's not the money. I've made a decent living in a  
general practice. You're not doing too bad, you know, and it's getting  
better."
  "No, I need to get out of Miami. It drives me crazy. People are at each  
other's throats, nobody shuts up. The congestion, the noise, crime, trash-" 
  "I was born here too," Charlie said. "My father came
        296 BARBARA PARKER

 down in the Depression, rode a boxcar, just a kid, practically. He swore 
he'd never see another snowflake as long as he lived, and he didn't. Oh, I 
know Miami's not what it was, Lord a'mighty. It's a big city now. A lot of 
my friends moved away, and I was tempted to go with them, but I couldn't 
leave. Maybe I'm an egocentric old so-and-so, but I feel useful here. I 
wouldn't be, in Coral Springs or Boca Raton. They don't need me. They've got 
enough lawyers, a lot sharper than Charlie Dunavoy." With a sigh that turned 
into a little grunt when he pushed himself out of his chair, he said, "No, 
I understand, young guy like you, wants to make a place for himself in the 
world. I understand."
  Dan's phone buzzed-the intercom line. He glanced at it, then said, "Not  
that young. I turned thirty-five yesterday."
  Charlie ran his thumbs up under his suspenders. "I was there once myself. 
 Damned good age. Forty is better, though. You'll see."
  Dan picked up the phone to see what Alva wanted. Her voice was low, nearly 
 a whisper. "There's a girl out here to see you, Dan. I told her you're not 
 taking any visitors, but she says you know her. Martha Cruz?"
  "Yes, she's here to pick up some keys."

  Standing at the entrance door, looking out at the street, Martha might have 
 been a statue. Only the slight movement of her torso above a wide, silver- 
studded belt marked her breathing. Smoke drifted around her hair, which  
waved down her back in glossy
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          297

 curls. Her wine-colored dress held tightly to her arms, fell over her hips, 
and with a beaded fringe touched the tops of slouched black leather boots. 
The toe of one boot held the door open. A jacket, carelessly tossed onto the 
waiting room sofa, lay halfway on the floor.
  Perhaps from a small noise behind her, she sensed someone was there and  
turned around. Dan had never seen her face so pale. Her eyes looked bruised 
 and shadowed, and even her full, rich mouth seemed to have faded.
   "Come on in," Dan said.
  Martha sent the cigarette past the front steps, then picked up her jacket 
 and a fabric purse, which she slung over one shoulder. Her skirt swished  
around the tops of her boots as she followed him into his office. He closed 
 the door and gestured to the client chair facing his desk.
  She remained standing, scowling at him sideways, as if sidling up
  cautiously to whatever she had to say. "Did you do it?" Her voice cracked, 
 then grew stronger. "I can tell if somebody is lying. My people are into  
santeria, and it's in my blood. I can tell." She seemed ready to leap. Leap 
 out the door, leap at Dan, he couldn't tell.
  Halfway into his chair, he paused. "No. I came home and found her, Martha." 
 Martha Cruz pressed her lips together, staring at him for a few seconds  
longer. Her dark eyes seemed to bulge, and her brows were drawn in like a  
fist. "You knew Kelly was coming over. She called you."
        298   BARBARA PARKER

  "She left a message, which I didn't hear until the police played it at my 
 apartment."
  With a shudder Martha crossed her arms and dug her fingers in. "I was  
wondering, you know? I didn't think you did, but people can fool you  
sometimes."
   "Would you like to sit down?"
  After a second she nodded. She hung her bag over a corner of the chair, sat 
 down, and crossed her legs. The fringe on the hem of her skirt swung with 
 the steady movement of her boot, and the beads tapped on the leather.  
"Kelly's funeral is Saturday in Baltimore. Are you going?"
  Dan shook his head. He opened a drawer for the ring that held the keys to 
 Salazar's sportfisher and the gate to the marina.
  "Me either," Martha said. "Nobody's going. We have to work. She'll just  
have her mom and her dad and her brother. They'll probably put her in a  
cardboard coffin. Do you know what that asshole father of hers asked me?  
Where's Kelly's guitar? He wanted to sell it to pay for the funeral.  
Bastard. I hung up on him. We're going to send flowers, lots and lots of  
them. Miguel says order whatever I want, so that place is going to look  
like a flower garden, believe me. The guy at the funeral home is going to  
take pictures, I'll show you. We made up a little box to put with her. It's 
 got guitar picks and a cassette of the band. Kelly and I made the tape at 
 the party on South Beach. It came out all right. What Kelly would hate,  
more than anything, is if the band died too. We have to
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   299

 go on. Rick's finding a new guitarist-I hope. He knows more people than I 
do. The concert at the Abyss is in two weekends. It's all on me now. I'm the 
main singer. But we'll be all right. If we can get through the concert, 
we'll be okay. We're doing the final mix over the weekend, then we have to 
get the demo tape to Joel Friedman by next Monday. That's the man from Capi-
tol, and Rick promised him the demo. It won't have Kelly on it, that's the 
only thing, so we have to dub in the new guy, as soon as we have one. Rick's 
at the studio now, doing auditions."
  Martha, who had been staring into her lap, raised her eyes. "I don't mean 
 to disrupt your schedule. I can't stay long. You know how Miguel is."   
"Are you going to get in trouble for being here?"
  "No way." She waved a slender, silver-ringed hand. "He's at work. He  
doesn't even know you called me."
  "Don't take this so lightly," Dan said. "The man hit you."
  "Well, that was the last time." She laughed. "As soon as we get a record 
 contract, I'm gone, no matter whether he hits me or he doesn't. I can't  
believe you said that stuff to him. My God. That took guts."
  "It wasn't smart," Dan said. "I think I provoked him. Free advice, Martha. 
 Leave him now. Go stay with Rick." He heard the beaded fringe on her skirt 
 tap-tap-tapping on her boots.
  "That's sweet of you. Being worried about me like that." She made a quick 
 shrug and rose from her chair. "I'll think about it after the concert."         300   BARBARA PARKER

 He walked her back to the entrance to the law office. Dan said, "Martha, why 
did Kelly come to my apartment?"
 "I really don't know."
  "No clue? Rick says you and Kelly were close, that you talked to each  
other."
  "Yes, but mostly on stuff about the band." As they reached the waiting  
room, Martha slowly smiled. A warm glow had come back into her face, a rosy 
 tint under the olive tones. In a low voice she said, "I found out something 
 about you. I told you I would."
  Dan was not in the mood for this. He said, "You're a resourceful girl,  
Martha."
  "Remember on the terrace at Miguel's? You didn't want to tell me why you 
 weren't a prosecutor anymore, but I found out."
  "And I hope the search provided several days of amusement for you."   "More
like ten minutes." Martha put on her short black jacket and shook her   heavy
curls free of the collar. "I asked Rick. And Kelly told me some   things. I
wouldn't have done what you did myself-because look at the way it   turned
out."
  "Not only resourceful," he said. "Pragmatic. Or let's say, a keen sense of 
 ethics, ex post facto."
  She didn't care to venture into that terrain. "Whatever." She whirled out 
 the door, leaving Dan with his thoughts.
  Luis Barrios. The doper who got away, thanks to one young federal
  prosecutor's notion of right and
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   301

 wrong. Dan had taken a stand; he had fallen off. The point he'd been trying 
to hang onto was a narrow, windy precipice, and in the end it hadn't 
mattered, as Lisa had said. Let it go.
  Walking back into his room, he was stopped by Alva's honk.
  "Daaa-a-an. Phone."
  He backed up a step and asked her who it was.
  "It's not a reporter. He says he's a client, but he wouldn't give his name. 
 Says he needs to talk to you."
  "I'll take it in my office."
  The voice made him nearly drop the receiver.
  "This is Salazar. Why was Martha in your office just now?"
  Dan went to the window and pulled down a slat in the mini-blinds. "Where 
 are you?"
  "I saw her leave your office. Don't play with me. Why was she there?"  
"She came for the keys to your boat. What did you think?
  "I tell you this one time only. If you touch her, I will kill you. This is 
 a promise."
  The line went dead.
  Going to hang up the phone, he saw the key ring still on the desk.

  The criminal court building was on the Miami River under an expressway, an 
 eight-story square gray edifice where most of Dan's legal practice took  
place-not
         302   BARBARA PARKER

 the white-collar criminals and major drug traffickers found in federal 
court, but a clientele consisting for the most part of unlucky, usually 
poor, and sometimes violent men.
  In the clerk's office Dan showed his bar card at the line for lawyers and 
 court personnel. He wanted to see records for Kelly Dorff, any case within 
 the last two years. He did not have her Social Security number, but he knew 
 her birthdate. The clerk tapped at the computer and said there were two  
entries. Miami Beach, possession of marijuana, withhold of adjudication.  
Then eight months ago an arrest in Miami for possession of heroin.   He asked
about disposition of the latter case. None. It was still on hold.   He asked
who had represented Ms. Dorff. The public defender.
  Dan walked across the street and past the jail to the Public Defender's  
Office. It was swarming with people, most of them black or Hispanic, most  
of them poor. The receptionist sat behind thick glass. He asked her if  
George Everett was available.
  He and George had worked together a few times representing codefendants on 
 the same cases. George was a Miami native, a law-review editor at Yale who 
 had turned down offers from big firms in Boston and New York. He had  
planned to work a couple of years as a public defender before going back up 
 north, but here it was eight years later, and he was still kicking  
prosecutorial butts in his hometown.
  George was between clients and could afford a few
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   303

 minutes to speak to Dan. He had heard about the murder of the girl in Dan's 
apartment, and whatever he could do, ask.
  "It's about the same girl, George." Dan explained that Kelly Dorff had been 
 represented by someone in the P.D.'s office. The case, however, had never 
 been prosecuted. "What happened to it? People arrested with a kilo of  
heroin don't just walk away. There's got to be something else going on."  
"Ordinarily, I couldn't talk about this, you understand," said George after 
 a moment's reflection, "but the girl is dead- correct?-and you do seem to 
 have a legitimate interest."
  "No shit," Dan said.
  George looked at the computer. A lawyer by the name of Lori Rosen had  
handled the case. Lori Rosen had left the office a month ago-gone to  
Washington, in fact-but the file was still around somewhere.
  "Let's see what we can find in storage," George added.
  "You're sure this isn't a bother?"
  "No, you got my curiosity aroused now."
  Dan accompanied George to the storage room, and five minutes later George 
 pulled it out of a box on one of the dozens of rows of shelves. He blew off 
 some metaphorical dust and opened it up.
  A thin file. George read through it briefly, then looked at Dan. "On hold 
 per agreement with the U.S. attorney's office. Let's see . . . There's a  
note. 'Case not
        304   BARBARA PARKER

 to be prosecuted pending full cooperation with Justice Department, per  AUSA
Elaine McHale."'
 Dan took this in slowly.
  George said, "Kelly Dorff was a snitch for the feds, my man."
    CHAPTER 27.

     Miami rush-hour traffic was usually bad; today it was insane. Dan cursed 
    other drivers. They flipped him off. He cursed himself for not having  
   a car phone. It took him almost an hour to reach the exit for North     
Miami.
  He found the warehouse complex ten minutes later, screeched into the  
entrance, and gunned his engine along the road leading to the back, where  
Manatee Studios was located. In the graying light of dusk he saw Rick  
Robbins's yellow Mustang. He parked beside it and went inside, walking  
straight down the hallway past the office.
  A man stuck his head out. "Hey, who are you?"
  "It's okay. I'm looking for Rick Robbins."
  "He's in a closed session. Hey, you can't-"
  Dan heard another door opening behind him in the hall, glanced around, and 
 saw a man with a dark
        306   BARBARA PARKER

 beard and a windbreaker. The man shouted, "Stop where you are!"
 He ran.
  The sound of a rock guitar whanged through the hall from the studio behind 
 the last door. Dan sped toward it. Behind him came the pounding of  
footsteps. Dan reached for the doorknob, but the man caught up. He grabbed 
 Dan around the waist, and they both careened into a door on the opposite  
side of the hall. It fell open and they staggered inside. Teenage musicians 
 screamed and scattered. A drum set went over, crashing in a cascade of  
thumps and cymbals. The man threw Dan to the shag-carpeted floor and put a 
 knee in his spine.
  Dan craned his head around and found himself looking into the barrel of a 
 9mm pistol. He stared up into the man's eyes and he knew. He hadn't seen  
him up close in two years, but he knew who it was. Vincent Hooper, DEA.  
"Get off me, goddammit."
  "Shut up!" Hooper ordered the kids to get out. They did, leaving their  
instruments behind them.
  Pointing the pistol at Dan, Hooper went over and kicked the door shut. The 
 vibrations shook the slabs of gray foam rubber soundproofing.
  "Hands flat on the wall, feet out and spread. Do it! Now!"
  Enraged, Dan stood up. "Get out of my way, Hooper. You have no right to  
tell me to do a damn thing."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   307

  Hooper reholstered his pistol under his windbreaker. Dan moved back, his 
 arms automatically moving up to protect his face. Hooper slammed a fist  
into his stomach. "There's my right, asshole." When Dan gagged and dropped 
 to the floor, Hooper came down close and clenched his fingers in Dan's  
hair. "What are you doing here?"
  "None of your fucking business." He found himself suddenly flying toward 
 the wall, which was covered with ugly purple shag carpeting. Overhead,  
fluorescent bulbs buzzed and flickered.
  The door opened and a woman with short auburn hair burst in. She saw Hooper 
 with his fist drawn back. "Vince! That's not a good idea."
  Hooper gave Dan one more shove. He asked her, "What are they doing across 
 the hall?"
  "Still going through guitarists. They didn't hear anything." The woman  
looked down at Dan. "Now what do we do?"
  Ribs aching, Dan struggled to his knees. "Unless you're making an arrest 
 for a specific crime, I'm walking out of here."
  Hooper lifted Dan by his lapels. "I could have your ass right now on any 
 number of charges-"
  "Name one."
  "Interfering with an investigation. Battery on a federal agent."
  "Bullshit. I came in here looking for my client and you attacked me."  
Hooper threw Dan into a chair, which tipped, then
        308   BARBARA PARKER

 came back down on its legs. "Sit there with your mouth shut or I will break 
your fucking jaw." He pointed at Dan long enough to make sure he got the 
message, then went over to speak to the other agent. Their voices were 
quiet. The woman went out.
  Hooper turned another chair around and faced Dan. "We're going to sit here 
 for a minute. My colleague went to make a phone call. We want to find out 
 what to do with you. I asked a question, so answer it. What are you doing 
 here?"
   "Kiss my ass," Dan said.
  Hooper laughed. "Still the same pathetic jerkoff you always were, Galindo. 
 I should have taken you out two years ago."
   "You finally got Luis Barrios," Dan said.
  "Not on purpose. I didn't know he'd be there. We got lucky. 1 got lucky.
He   drew a Tec-9 on me and I blew him away. God watches out for the good
guys."   Dan knew that Vincent Hooper was looking for an excuse to get his
hands on   him again, so he sat quietly, trembling more from anger than fear.
Hooper   was even bigger now across the chest than he had been, and there was
some   gray in his beard, but he had lost none of the thuggish physicality.
His   thighs, straddling the chair, were tight with muscle. His scarred fists 
 rested lightly on the chair back, ready to reach for him. Hooper would  
probably enjoy fracturing his jaw more than shooting him.
  A flame leaped from Hooper's lighter and he drew deeply on his cigarette, 
 then clicked the lighter shut
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   309

 and slid it back into his shirt pocket. "I shouldn't complain. A major doper 
is gone, and you ended up in a rat-hole law office down on Biscayne 
Boulevard. Common street criminals for clients. A washed-up old fart for a 
partner. Now you're a murder suspect. No, I can't complain."
  Dan leaned back casually in the chair, just out of arm's reach. "Kelly  
Dorff was your confidential informant."
  Hooper exhaled smoke. "Is that why you killed her?"
   "Who was she spying on? Rick? Me?"
   "I told you to shut up."
  Smoke drifted upward to the acoustical tiles in the ceiling, which had been 
 painted black. Cold air and drops of condensation came out of a hole half 
 dogged with filthy yellow insulation. The metal vent was missing. Dan could 
 hear a rock guitar going across the hall. Start, stop. Start again.   The
female agent came back in and whispered into Hooper's ear. Hooper   nodded,
then said to Dan, "We're going to sit here for a little while   longer.
Fifteen minutes. I don't want to hear you whining about false   imprisonment.
I don't want to hear anything out of you. Got that?"   Dan tensed, ready to
duck away from a fist. "Where is my client? What are   you doing with him?"
  "Nothing. He's having a good time picking out a new lead guitarist. Rock 
 and roll."
        310   BARBARA PARKER

  A half hour later there was a knock at the door. The woman agent brought 
 John Paxton in. Paxton was not happy. Under his thick gray brows, his eyes 
 snapped with fury. He glanced down at Dan, then told the agents to leave, 
 both of them.
  As soon as they had gone, Dan exploded out of his chair. "You're all going 
 to be in deep shit for this, John. I want to see my client. Now."
  "If you walk through that door, we'll arrest Rick Robbins immediately." The 
 tone was sharp enough to make Dan look around. "I told Hooper to keep you 
 in here till I arrived. If there's any fault, it's mine. Give me a few  
minutes, Dan. You need to understand what's going on."
  John Paxton told him that a federal task force called Operation Manatee had 
 been gathering evidence against members of the Guayaquil cartel living in 
 South Florida. They had imported and distributed an average of 1,000 kilos 
 of cocaine per year for the past six years, which at approximately $18,000 
 to $20,000 per kilo-Miami wholesale prices-came to around $115,000,000.  
Miguel Salazar was the man who turned the proceeds into spendable cash. He 
 used several methods, most often bank manipulations and wire transfers.  
These were difficult to trace. Salazar also ran money through legitimate  
businesses. One in particular the DEA had been watching-Coral Rock  
Productions. By creating false reports of ticket sales and expenses,  
Salazar had sent over $3,000,000 through this company-with
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   311

 the knowledge and assistance of its owner, Richard Robbins.
  The grand jury had issued a sealed indictment against Richard Robbins,  
based in large part on evidence supplied by Kelly Dorff. The problem for  
the government, Paxton explained, was that evidence against Salazar was not 
 as solid as against other members of the cartel. The DEA had arranged a  
meeting between Salazar and agent Vincent Hooper, posing as Victor Ramirez, 
 the man whose company, Manatee Studios, was recording Rick Robbins's band. 
 Ramirez wanted Salazar to launder a half million dollars for him. If  
Salazar took the money, the DEA would have him. The meeting could not be  
rescheduled. The arrests would go down next week.
  Hooper had not known why Dan was here, but when he saw Dan rushing toward 
 the studio, he had to stop him.
  "Here's my offer for you," Paxton said. "Your client helps us out, we won't 
 send him away. Otherwise, he's looking at a minimum mandatory of twenty  
years plus a fine of two million. Based on the business this cartel has  
done, he could get so much time, he'd die owing us years. In any event, he 
 forfeits the business, his real estate, and his personal property.  
Everything. I want him to testify to the grand jury early next week, before 
 we announce the indictments and send the marshals out."
  Dan realized that the music across the hall had stopped awhile ago. He  
doubted that Rick had left.
        312   BARBARA PARKER

 Hooper would see to that. Rick might have headphones on, listening to the 
guitar played back with the bass, drums, and keyboard tracks. Not a clue 
that his world was about to end.
 "Are there any questions?" Paxton said.
 "I need to discuss it with Rick."
  "Of course. Take the weekend. I hope to see you both in my office at eight 
 o'clock Monday morning. We'll debrief him in the afternoon, and he can go 
 before the grand jury the next day. And tell him I expect the meeting with 
 Salazar to proceed as planned."
  "Rick has no control over what Salazar decides to do."
  "Just don't let us find out he warned him. That would be very bad for your 
 client." Paxton added, "And tell him to be careful. Most of these dopers  
are businessmen. Profit, loss. They try not to use violence. I don't think 
 it bothers Salazar. He was married awhile back. He caught his wife cheating 
 on him. He made her watch him castrate the guy, then he shot her."   Dan
blew out a breath as if he'd been holding it too long.
  Guitar music filtered in from the studio. Loud. Not the same player,  
someone else this time. A heavy, rocking blues beat. "What about the demo?" 
 Dan looked back at Paxton, who didn't know what he was talking about. "The 
 band is recording tracks for a demo tape, a sample of their music to send 
 to the labels. Someone is coming from New York next week
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   313

 and wants a copy before he attends their concert. The band members aren't 
targets of your investigation. Let them have the demo."
  "Well, that's up to the DEA. It's their studio," Paxton said.
  "Listen to me, John. If you want Rick, work with him on this. He lives for 
 the band. If all their effort comes to nothing, I'm not sure he wouldn't  
shoot himself."
   "All right. I'll talk to Vince Hooper."
   "No. You tell the son of a bitch."
  "Here's what we'll do," Paxton said. "If this meeting with Salazar goes off 
 without a hitch, your client can have the tapes. I remind you, however.  
He's not going to keep the company. If he makes any money on this band, it 
 will be forfeited."
  "If he pleads guilty," Dan said, keeping a hold on his temper. "If. I'm not 
 promising you a damn thing at this point."
  A slight smile twisted the lines in Paxton's face. "Combative as ever." He 
 uncrossed his legs and stood up. "We haven't talked to each other in a  
while, have we? I'm sorry it's under these circumstances, but it's good to 
 see you again."
  He offered his hand, and after a second or two, Dan took it. At the door, 
 Paxton said, "I'm glad to hear you're off the hook with that other matter. 
 I never thought you should have been charged."
  Dan looked at him. "What do you mean, off the hook?"
        314   BARBARA PARKER

  "For Ms. Dorff. They quashed the arrest warrant. You hadn't heard? A friend 
 of mine at the state attorney's office told me. The police say you had an 
 alibi."

  Paxton let out a laugh. "Someone who swears you were elsewhere at the time 
 of death, obviously. I don't know who."
  It took Dan a few seconds. At the time of death, he had been knocking on 
 Elaine McHale's door. For some reason she hadn't told Paxton. Dan could see 
 that Paxton was curious, but he shook his head as if he had no idea.   Dan
said, "I'd like to talk to my client."
    CHAPTER 28.

     Dan told Rick that they had a matter to discuss and that Rick had to  
   come with him. Now. It might have been his grim expression that kept    
 Rick from putting up much of an argument. Rick told the sound engineer    
 to close down for the evening, he'd see him tomorrow. There were some     
lank-haired guitarists sitting around. Rick had a fast conversation with   
  a tattooed bald guy while Dan paced by the door.
  In the hall, Rick said, "He's the one I'm gonna pick for the band. He  
played with Ozzy Osbourne. Would you slow down? What the hell is the matter 
 with you?"
  "Just keep walking."
  It was dark outside and getting cold. Dan headed around the comer out of 
 view of anyone inside. A security light on the roof filtered through the  
tree overhanging the parking lot. Rick was so impatient his shoulders were 
 jerking. He said, "Okay. What?"
  Dan told him.
        316   BARBARA PARKER

  Halfway through, Rick squinted his eyes as if he'd walked into a sandstorm. 
 "U.S. attorney's office," he said, moistening his lips. "Okay. Be there  
Monday. We do the overdubs on Saturday, the final mix on Sunday- There's  
time."
  "Rick-"
  "Did you hear that new guy? Bobby. He's fantastic." Rick laughed. "He's not 
 as pretty as Kelly Dorff, but we're gonna feature Martha now. We'll be  
okay. She can carry it."
  "Listen to me!" Dan grabbed him by the front of his tweed jacket. "They  
won't let it be okay. You are going to be indicted under the drug
  trafficking and conspiracy statute. They want to seize everything you  
own-your business, your house, cars, bank accounts. They want you to give  
them Salazar, and they'll burn you if you don't do it. If you plead not  
guilty and go to trial, and you lose, you would spend a minimum of twenty  
years in prison."
  Rick stared up at him. "What?"
  Quietly Dan said, "You're in trouble, Rick."
  "Drug trafficking? No. No way. I didn't do that, Dan. I would never do  
that."
  "Anyone who helps a drug cartel can be held liable for everything the  
cartel has done. That's the law. If the cartel has received more than ten  
million dollars-and this one has earned closer to a hundred million-a  
person who renders assistance will receive a sentence of mandatory life in 
 prison. If Paxton has the evidence he says he does, and they can prove it, 
 they've got you in
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   317

 the cross-hairs. If you don't co-operate, they'll tag you for the entire 
conspiracy." Dan took a breath. "But we're going to discuss this calmly, 
then we'll decide the best course of action."
  Even in the dim glow from the security light, Dan could see the sheen of 
 sweat on Rick's forehead. "I didn't know Victor was DEA. He offered me free 
 use of the studio, if I'd put him in touch with Salazar. That's all he  
wanted. Just to set up a deal with Miguel. And I did, trying to help him  
out. That's all. Was that such a crime that now they want my blood?"   "That
is not all, Rick."
   "Maybe they faked the evidence."
 �   �
  No.
  "They have the capacity to doctor evidence," Rick said. "The federal  
government has access to all kinds of advanced technology."
  "They don't, Rick. They don't do that. It would be stupid. They tapped  
Salazar's phones and they have you on tape discussing his business. They  
have your bank records showing that you profited from Salazar's
  activities."
  "Victor lied to me! How can they get away with that?"
  "Of course he lied. What did you think? That you could ask him, 'Are you
a   narc? No crossing your fingers, now. Be honest.' And he says, 'Why, no,
I'm   not a narc."Well, all right, then.' Is that what you thought?"
  "It was entrapment," Rick said. "They suckered me into this."
  "Maybe. We'll talk about it," Dan said. "I'll get your
        318   BARBARA PARKER

 side of it and we'll see. We might argue entrapment if the DEA led you into 
a crime that you weren't predisposed to commit. That the only reason you 
went sliding down the chute to hell was that the DEA greased it and gave you 
a push."
 "That's exactly how it was!"
  Dan said quietly, "But you were already involved with Miguel Salazar before 
 you met Victor."
  "I didn't mean to do this!"
  "Great argument. 'Your honor, I didn't mean to do it.' "
  Rick took a breath. When he spoke his tongue was so dry it clicked in his 
 mouth. "What I told you the other night at my house about Victor Ramirez  
was the truth, I swear. The guy was so damned convincing. Victor-whatever  
the hell his name is-said he owned some nightclubs and wanted his own  
record label. He also told me-which, okay, I didn't tell you aboutthat he  
had half a million in cash he wanted to make disappear, and he heard that  
Miguel Salazar could help him out. I didn't want to get into that, so I  
told him no way. Then he offered me a deal on the studio. I had to do a  
high-quality demo tape, and I didn't want Miguel involved any further than 
 he already was. He has his way, he'll make the band sound like Abba. Jesus 
 Christ, Dan, I swear to you, I got sucked into this. First Miguel, then the 
 DEA. Oh, Jesus, I'm gonna pass out. I might as well die right here."   
"Cahn down, Rick."
  "Oh, God. Sandy. Oh, what am I gonna tell her?"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   319

 Rick put a hand flat on his chest. "What about the demo? Did you ask him?" 
 "Yes. You can have the demo if you cooperate with them, but forget the  
demo, Rick. It's over."
  "How can it be over? The concert is a week from Saturday!"
  "I'm a little more concerned right now with keeping you out of prison."  
"They can't do this," Rick said. "I'm not a criminal, not like Miguel. I'll 
 happily give them Miguel. I'll testify, whatever. But why do they have to 
 take everything I've got?"
  "Because they can. Because they want to make a point."
  "I want you to get me off. I don't care what it costs, if I have to owe you 
 for the rest of my life."
  "There's a saying, Rick. 'You can beat the rap, but you can't beat the  
ride.' You know what that means?"
  He laughed without a trace of humor. "I'm not gonna like this, am I?"   "It
means, we can go to trial. We might win. But the minute they indict   you,
the public is going to believe you're guilty. Your business is going   to
head for the basement. Maybe you can pull it out, maybe not. The jury   might
acquit you-you could beat the rap. But hang on tight, Rick. You're   not
going to beat the ride."
   "Oh, my God."
  "We're going to my office," Dan said. "You're going to tell me everything 
 that happened between you and Miguel Salazar. How you got involved, what  
you did,
        320   BARBARA PARKER

 what he did. I need to find a defense for you, Rick. Forget the damned 
band."
  "I want to see Sandy," Rick said. "She's up at Coral Rock. I have to talk 
 to her."
   "Not now."
   "I want to talk to my wife!"
  "No. You're the client, I'm the lawyer. If she's angry enough, Sandy could 
 testify as to what you told me. I can't allow that."
  "She wouldn't," Rick said, "but if she did, I don't care. It's my decision, 
 right? I'm the client?"
   "You're an idiot."
  Rick said hoarsely, "Sandy would be better off if I had an accident, you 
 know that? I have life insurance."
  "No. It's never better that way." Dan put his arm across Rick's shoulders 
 and steered him back across the parking lot to their cars.

  "It's a tough business," Rick said. "You can be rich one day, poor the  
next, then rich again. I was okay, then I made some bad decisions. Had some 
 bad luck. Gigs fell through. I spent tons of money on promotion and nobody 
 showed up. Usually I'd make it back on the next concert, but about a year 
 ago I got in real deep. Sandy and I had been having troubles, so I said,  
baby, let's go to Paris. We got back, I bought her a car. She was happy, I 
 was happy. We threw some great parties. Everybody was there. I heard  
Kelly's band that season and knew I had to represent them. I gave
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   321

 Kelly a job part-time at Coral Rock. Leon Davila, their drummer, introduced 
me to Miguel Salazar, who said he'd make me a loan. It wasn't a hundred 
grand all at once, it came in dribs and drabs. I didn't tell Sandy, 
naturally, because she would have raised hell.
  "Did I know what Miguel was? Yeah, probably. Leon was such a cokehead,  
always hanging with guys I knew were dopers. They like the entertainment  
industry. If you're on the outside, it looks glamorous and exciting. Miguel 
 wanted to be inside. Did I care what else he was doing? Not really. That  
was his business. Then it became mine. You know, these things always start 
 off so small. He was pushing me to pay him back, but I didn't have the  
cash. He said okay, let me produce one of the shows, I'll take my money out 
 of that. Yes, I knew he was going to run money through the ticket sales,  
but after it was over, we'd be square. But we weren't. The Paten Beach  
winter festival was rained out, and I hadn't bought insurance. It never  
rains in the winter, right? He lent me thirty grand to cover office  
expenses. Now I see he kept me on the hook like that, reeling it in, little 
 by little. Early on I had a choice, but I didn't see it coming. No. I saw 
 it. It was easier not to care.
  "There was a point when I wanted out. I was scared he'd get busted, scared 
 I'd go down with him. After he did what I know had to be close to a million 
 bucks through that huge rave concert at the Orange Bowl last summer, I said 
 it's definitely over. No more or I'm going to the cops. He and Leon Davila 
 took me in Leon's Jeep out on Alligator Alley into the Everglades. I         322   BARBARA PARKER

 knew I was going to die. They made me kneel down. I was crying. Jesus, I wet 
my pants even. Begging him. I could see the sawgrass against the blue sky, 
and hear the damned mosquitoes, and feel the muck going through the knees of 
my pants, and I remember the regret. So sorry that I'd never see any of that 
again, and how little I'd valued a damn mosquito, you know? I thought of 
Sandy, and my last thought was, man, is she going to be mad at me. Miguel 
put his pistol to the back of my head and pulled the trigger. It wasn't 
loaded. He said, 'You see how easy I could do it? You see?'
  "After that I didn't say anything else. I denied it was even happening. You 
 take that attitude, all your problems go away.
  "Miguel's big interest was the band, which by then had changed names from 
 Black Mango to Mayhem. That was Kelly's choice. Miguel didn't like it, but 
 Martha did, and he's crazy about Martha. The way I heard it from Kelly,  
Miguel and Martha took one look at each other and bells went off. His  
money, her talent. She doesn't know about his other life. She thinks he  
made all his money shipping videos and CD's to South America. What Miguel  
wants is to make Martha a star. He said if I got Martha a contract, he'd  
consider my debt to him paid in full. My desire to get the band signed was 
 also a desire to get rid of Miguel.
  "I guess the DEA was already on to him. They used Kelly Dorff. Now I know 
 she had no choice, so I'm not going to think bad of her. I know how it is. 
 I can't throw stones. Whoever killed her, I blame the govern-
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE   323

 ment. But I can't make excuses, either. Not for her, not for myself. It's 
over."
  Rick spoke for almost an hour. The last of the employees had already gone, 
 and the office was quiet. They were alone, the three of them, Rick behind 
 his desk, Sandy and Dan in chairs facing him. When he finished, he smiled 
 slightly and straightened the edges of papers stacked next to his computer 
 monitor.
  "Sandy, I don't expect you to stay after this, and I'll make sure you don't 
 leave here with nothing. I've got stuff put away nobody knows about-not a 
 lot, but enough to set you up in a new life back in Georgia, wherever you 
 want. Dan can make the arrangements for that, if he's not too squeamish  
about lying to the U.S. government, who wants everything but the caps on my 
 teeth. Dan, you can say no if you want to, but I'd appreciate it if you'd 
 help Sandy out."
  He finally looked across the room at his wife, who only stared back at him. 
 "I won't sit here and say I'm sorry, pumpkin, even though God knows I'll be 
 sorry for a long time. Now Dan and I have to decide what to do, take their 
 offer or put my fate in the hands of a jury. Whatever happens-and maybe  
I'll go to prison for the rest of my life-I'll be all right as long as I  
can remember that you loved me. Those years with you were the best. You  
made me so happy."
  After a moment Sandy turned her head toward Dan and wiped her cheeks with 
 her fingers. Her hands were shaking. She spoke in a whisper. "Dan? I think 
 Rick and I need to be alone right now."
    CHAPTER 29.

     A cold front was coming through; the temperature would drop to the    
 mid-forties by morning. The palm fronds rattled, and the wind chime on    
 the back porch played its patternless five-note tune. The stars were icy  
   pinpoints. Elaine sat in a white chair made of two curves of mesh with  
   spindly legs that rested unevenly on the paving stones. The chair rocked 
    when she pulled her legs up and crossed her arms, tucking her hands    
 inside the sleeves of her sweater. She could hear Vincent in the kitchen  
   making drinks. She had asked for brandy.
  Vincent brought the drinks out and set them on a metal table between her 
 chair and the one that matched it. Still standing, he lit a cigarette, hand 
 cupped around the flame, cheeks going hollow for a second. The lighter  
clicked shut, and the smell of fluid vanished in a gust of air. The  
backyard was small, enclosed with a woven wood fence choked with ivy.         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   325

 It hadn't rained lately, and the plants were turning brown and brittle.  
"Go ahead and ask me, Vince. I can tell you're itching to get it off your  
mind."
  He picked up his drink. "I know why, Elaine. You believe he's innocent." 
  "Yes, perhaps my clock was wrong."
  "Perhaps," he said, mocking her tone, "you saw what you wanted to see."  
Elaine freed her hands from the sleeves of her sweater and took a sip of  
brandy.
  Vince said, "You could have discussed it with me first."
  "I wonder what advice you would have given." She balanced the brandy  
snifter on her knees. "How did Scott Irwin find out? You didn't say."   "He
was curious why Galindo hadn't been picked up, so he asked."
   "And then came running to you."
   "It wasn't like that," he said.
   "Batman and Robin."
  He looked at her as he brought the cigarette to his mouth.
  She laughed. "You know what Scott told me? That if I wanted to . . . to  
fuck you, I ought to wait till after this operation is over. I mean, u7hat? 
 You're the one who's married, not me. Maybe I'm sapping your strength,  
Vince. Delilah with her scissors, mucking around in the boys' tree house."         326   BARBARA PARKER

  The wind chime swung and tinkled. Elaine swallowed half her brandy. It  
burned her throat.
  "What was Galindo doing here?"
   "I do not know."
  They were circling now, ready to close in.
   "Was he here, Elaine?"
  "No, I gave him an alibi because Miguel Salazar paid me. Or maybe I'm  
fucking Dan Galindo too."
  With his back to the house, Vince's face was in shadow. The orange end of 
 the cigarette rose, then fell. "That morning I showed up unexpectedly, he 
 had been here. It bothered me. I kept wondering, thinking about it. How  
long had he been here? Five minutes? Two hours? All night? It went through 
 my mind."
  "Oh, for God's sake."
  "No, let me finish. I can accept five minutes. I believe it. But it never 
 used to occur to me to wonder." Vince spoke softly. He always did when they 
 came out in the backyard. Training. In case someone had an ear pressed to 
 the fence.
  "I trusted you absolutely. That's why we got together. Fidelity. Honesty. 
 Honesty above everything else. Now we're into these games. I hear about  
things going on I didn't know about. You met Kelly Dorff, and you told me  
only because she threatened you. Then you asked me not to say anything to  
Paxton about it. Maybe nothing's going on. That's probably the case. But I 
 don't like having to convince myself of that every time we're together."  
"Honesty. Oh, let's hear it for honesty." Elaine lifted
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   327

 her brandy glass. "John asked me, 'Elaine, when was the last time you saw 
Dan Galindo?' The way he said it, I could tell that he already knew the 
answer-last Sunday morning, right outside my front door. John wanted to see 
if I'd lie. How did he know, Vince? Let's see how honest you can be."   Vince
looked at her, but she couldn't see past the surface. "I don't know   why
John was asking you that. I didn't tell him."
  "Gee, I wonder who did? Robin? Did you two guys discuss it together?  
Honesty, Vince."
  "Of course we did," Vince said sharply. His voice dropped once more to just 
 above a murmur. "We talk about whatever might affect this case."
  "I suppose that means he told you he spoke to John? Well?"
  "I won't play these games with you, Elaine."
  "What a suspicious, cynical, bitter man you are. It makes me tired."   He
flicked his cigarette into the darkness. "I think I'd better go."   "Yes. Why
don't you?"
  So this is how it ends, she thought. Like cutting off a dead limb. Maybe 
 later there would be the rush of blood, but for now, there was no sensation 
 at all.
  Vincent paused beside the chair. "Be seeing you."
  "Probably not," she said.
  "No. Probably not." He reached down and patted her cheek. "Take care of  
yourself."
    CHAPTER 30.

     When Arlo Pate went to Miguel's study to tell him that Rick Robbins was 
    on his way with the new guitarist, the door was half open. Arlo crossed 
    his arms over his chest and came a few steps closer. He was wearing tan 
    lace-up boots with heavy rubber soles, but he made no noise on the     
marble floor.
  Miguel was talking on the phone. Arlo leaned closer to the door. Spanish. 
 He had picked up some of it on the construction site, enough to order a  
snack from the roach coach or understand a joke. He didn't usually  
eavesdrop on Miguel, but with everything going on lately, he wanted to  
figure out where he stood.
  Ice cubes dropped into a glass. There was a bar in the study with smoky  
mirrors and a gold sink. Arlo had installed it himself.
  ". . . el Domingo, si . . . . No hablamos de eso por telefono, Victor. ZMe 
 entiendes?"
  He was talking to Victor Ramirez, the guy who ran
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   329

 the studio. Arlo wondered what that was about. A meeting on Sunday. Don't 
talk about it on the phone.
  "Que me flames por la manana, okay? . . . Bueno. Nos vemos."
  He hung up. Arlo backed off a few paces, then walked back stomping his  
boots before he knocked on the door. Miguel turned around from the bar,  
putting his glass in the sink.
   "Rick is here with the guitarist."
   "Good. What do you think of him, Arlo?"
  "I haven't seen him. The guard shack called. Martha sent me to get you." 
 Miguel turned off the light in his study and closed the door. Following him 
 down the stairs that circled to the main floor, Arlo could see both of them 
 reflected in the big windows looking out over the lake. One guy had  
everything, and the other was an ugly redneck whose chances were just about 
 to run dry.
  Rick had told everybody in the band he wouldn't hold it against them if  
they quit. He had cried. Broke down and cried, talking about Kelly. He had 
 told them nobody could replace her, but she wouldn't have wanted them to  
give up. They decided to check out the guitarist, then decide what to do.  
For a little while Arlo had thought things would work out. Not that he'd  
get rich and famous, but that he'd be able to say he did more with his life 
 than mow lawns and fix toilets. Lying up on the roof at night, he would  
make up scenes, like riding his Harley home to Memphis, going into a music 
 store, and finding the
        330   BARBARA PARKER

 Mayhem CD in the racks. He'd pick it up, turn it over. Run his thumb over 
the shrink wrap and hear it crinkle. Read the list of songs, look at his own 
face right there with Kelly and Martha and Scott. Somebody would notice what 
he was holding and say, Hey, that's Mayhem. They kick it, man. Now, with 
Kelly gone, Arlo wondered if he would ever have that CD in his hands.   They
went out the kitchen door, then past the tennis court to the guest   cottage.
To please Martha, Arlo had ripped out the carpeting and blocked up   the
windows, making a rehearsal room out there where she could play and not  
bother the household.
  Coming closer, following the little lights along the walkway, Arlo could 
 hear guitar music right through the walls. A chill skidded down his chest 
 and landed in his gut. He could swear it was Kelly in there. What if it  
was? What if she wasn't really dead, but some other girl was dead who  
looked like her? And the real Kelly was in there like always, leaning way  
back on the high notes, tossing her hair out of her eyes. Those skinny arms 
 in the white tank top, that blue Fender Jag screaming.
  Miguel opened the door.
  It was the Jag, but it wasn't Kelly. It was some dude about thirty-five, 
 looked like he had TB. He was playing Kelly's guitar. The others stood  
around listening. Rick smiling like he'd found the Lord. Scott dancing, his 
 blue hair swinging over his forehead. Martha with her arms crossed. Arlo  
couldn't tell what she thought, but that was Martha.
        CRIMINAL JusTicE   331

  The guitarist kept playing till Rick went over and signaled him to stop. 
 Rick glanced their way, then said, "This is Bobby Doyle."
  The guitarist said, "Hey." He took the lit cigarette out of the strings at 
 the neck of the guitar, where he'd wedged it. Tattoos went from his wrists 
 all the way up under the sleeves of his black T-shirt. He was totally bald, 
 with a stripe of blond beard under his lower lip and about six earrings.  
His left hand hung over the top edge of the guitar like a dead fish.   Miguel
said, "He sounds like Kelly Dorff."
   "That's the point," Rick said. "He's perfect."
  "Sorry about Kelly, man," the guitarist said. "She was fine. I heard her
up   in Lauderdale at the Edge jamming with the Lunachicks. She had vibe." 
 Nobody said a word. Arlo guessed they were all thinking about Kelly Dorff 
 in their own ways. He was. Miguel had said that her boyfriend, Dan Galindo, 
 had done it, according to the newspapers. Nobody had seen him do it, but  
Miguel was sure he had. Last night, not being able to sleep, Arlo had  
thought about what he would do if he could get Galindo alone. He would  
probably bury him next to Leon, out past the vacant lot under one of those 
 piles of rock near the lake. If Galindo went to court, he wouldn't be  
convicted. The judge would throw out his confession. The lawyers would make 
 the jury think the DNA didn't match, or whatever. Arlo had gone to sleep  
making up scenes of how he would torture the guy before he buried him.   The
guitarist, Bobby Doyle, took another drag on
        332   BARBARA PARKER

 his cigarette and stuck it back in the strings. "Rick gave me the board 
mixes of the band yesterday, plus Kelly Dorff's tracks. I was up all night 
working with the songs. I've got a reputation for being able to duplicate 
particular styles. I've gotten some studio work as a result. I've done Jimi 
Hendrix, Eric Clapton, B. B. King, Stevie Ray Vaughan-"
 "Stevie Ray," Arlo said. "He's my man."
  "Dead now. Yeah. Stevie." The guitarist hit an effects pedal and his  
fingers moved over the strings, and Stevie Ray's "Cold Shot" came out.  
After a few bars the music slid into Kurt Cobain, then Peter Buck.    Scott
said, "Amazing."
  Rick said, "Just sound like Kelly Dorff for the concert, Bobby."
  Miguel stared at the guitarist. He walked closer. "You smell like you been 
 smoking funny stuff."
  Bobby smiled. His eyes were half-closed. "Rick? Who's this joker?"   Rick
was sweating through his shirt. "Be polite, Bobby. This is the person   who's
paying your salary."
  Miguel's black eyes bugged out a little. He said to Rick, "Why are you  
doing Kelly's songs at the concert?"
  "Because the guy from Capitol Records expects to hear basically what he  
heard when I played him the tape in New York. He liked Martha's part in it. 
 He'll hear her at the concert, but for the demo we have to stick with what 
 we've got."
   "I want more of Martha's songs."
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          333

 Bobby Doyle said, "Hey. It's not your band, dude."
 Miguel spun around and yelled, "Get out!"
 Martha screamed, "Miguel, you can't do that!"
  Arlo went over next to Miguel and turned his back on the rest of them. He 
 wanted to smack Miguel a couple of times, make him calm down. He barely  
moved his lips, saying, "I'll take care of it. Don't worry. Bobby gets out 
 of line, I'll take him out back and explain things."
  For a second Miguel held onto the doorknob, then he said to Martha,  
"Hablamos despues." The door slammed behind him. Arlo didn't plan on  
explaining anything to Bobby. Rick dropped into a chair and put his face in 
 his hands. "I'm gonna die. I am gonna drop dead. Please, God. Please."  
Arlo stood over his chair. "Is he playing in the band with us?"
  Blinking, Rick looked up. "If you like him. What do you say? Martha?"  
"Sure."
  "Arlo? Scott?"
  They all agreed to let Bobby Doyle in. Bobby Doyle said, "Cool."

  They rehearsed for a couple of hours. Getting into the music again, Arlo 
 felt better. He could close his eyes, Kelly would be in the room. In Bobby 
 Doyle's hands her guitar was singing her songs. Kelly would be happy if she 
 could've known a part of her was still making music.
        334   BARBARA PARKER

  They took a break. Martha wanted to work for a while, so the guys put on 
 their jackets and went out in the backyard with two six-packs. Arlo cut the 
 terrace lights off. He and Scott dragged some chairs to the lake. They all 
 sat down, and Bobby Doyle rolled a joint.
  They talked about the rehearsal for a while, then talked about the concert. 
 Bobby got up and moved his chair. He said, "I'm deaf in my left ear. The  
other one will go too if I don't wear earplugs."
  They drank some beer, then Bobby told Scott it didn't sound like he'd been 
 playing bass too long, but that was all right because basically the Mayhem 
 songs were pretty simple. There was a little blue tattoo in the shape of an 
 infinity sign next to Bobby's mouth, and in the starlight it gave him a  
crooked smile. The top of his shaved head shone. He rolled another joint  
and lit up. "Hey. What's the story with Martha's boyfriend? Is he
  Colombian?"
  "From Ecuador, I think," Scott said.
  Bobby laughed. "No, man. Is he a drug dealer?"
  Scott said, "I don't think so."
  "He looks like one."
  Arlo said, "You shouldn't say that, man."
  "What do you guys know about that dude that runs the studio? Victor."  
Arlo and Scott looked at each other. Scott said, "Yeah, he's doing our demo 
 tape. What do you mean?" He gave the joint back to Bobby Doyle.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   335

  Bobby held his breath. It took him awhile to answer. "I think Victor is a 
 cop."
  "Whoa," Scott said. "Why do you think that?"
  "I don't know, man. I'm getting these vibes all over. I'm sharing this with 
 you because I'm in the band now. That's why I asked you about Miguel. Call 
 it my narc radar."
  Arlo looked at Scott. "Miguel doesn't deal drugs. I know that for a fact. 
 But you think Victor could be a narc?"
  "I don't know any narcs that run recording studios. If he is, there's  
nothing we can do. Leave it be."
  "Yeah." Bobby nodded. "Don't carry anything in there, though. That's my  
advice at this point. We ought to tell Martha and Rick."
  "And Miguel," Arlo said.
  "No," Scott said. "Don't tell anybody. They'd ask Victor what's up, then
we   wouldn't get the demo tape. We'd be screwed. I say we wait till after
the   concert, like Bobby said. Okay?"
  Arlo thought about it. "What do you think, Bobby?"
  "Sounds reasonable. Leave it be."
  Scott opened another beer. "Where are you from, Bobby?"
  "Chicago. I was born there, but I've been all over."
  "Rick said you played with Ozzy Osbourne."
  The glowing orange dot passed over to Bobby again. They waited for him to 
 exhale. He said, "No. I auditioned with Ozzy in 1986 to play for his tour. 
 I was green, but they gave me the gig. You want to hear
        336   BARBARA PARKER

 a total screw-up? I got drunk the night before the first rehearsal and slept 
through it. They fired me. I said to myself, Oh, so what? I don't need this 
shit. Like you justify it in your own mind that you didn't really want to do 
it, you know? Play backup for a washed-up rocker. That was my mind-set at 
that stage of my existence. Yeah. But Ozzy is cool, man. He's all right." 
"But you did come close to making it," Scott said.
  "Close? I was a guitar tech for Aerosmith and Metallica, man. Year and a 
 half on the road."
  "No shit. Whoa."
  "Deluxe tour buses. Plenty to eat. We could have anything we wanted. The 
 best grass, the best beer. Any girl we wanted. Three at a time if we  
wanted. But it gets boring. That's hard for you to conceive of at this  
point in your careers, but after a while it gets to be a drag. Looking for 
 that perfect high. Looking for that woman who won't let you down."   Bobby
Doyle faked holding his guitar, and when he sang it sounded like a   file on
sheet metal. "Don't let me down, mama. Don't let me down, pretty   mama,
'cause here I am, girl, standin' at the edge of heaven, waitin' for   your
sweet, sweet touch to save me-" He strummed in the air.
  "Bah-dah-dah-da-da-daaah." Then he took the joint from Arlo. "Wow. We're 
 retro tonight, folks. Didn't mean to sound so . . . Nirvana." He fell off 
 his chair giggling.
  Arlo let out some smoke. "You just made that up right now?"
  "Yeah. My voice is shot."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   337

  "I like it," Arlo said. "What was that chick died of heroin in the  
sixties?"
  "Janis Joplin?" He laughed. "Great. I sound like Janis on smack."
  They opened another beer each.
  Bobby Doyle said, "You know what I like about
 Mayhem? The music is about unseen forces that want
 to control the human spirit. They hold the place in
 modern mythology that used to be occupied by the
 Devil. They foster an impulse to destroy. That's what
 my songs are about how people respond to annihila
 tion of the spirit in an age when violence is more
 acceptable and social constraints have loosened."
  Arlo nodded.
  "I don't know," Scott said. "Martha Cruz has her own ideas."
  "Yeah." Bobby Doyle made a little smile. "She'll learn. Nobody does it  
alone, man. I used to think so. Then I mellowed. I'm older now, I'm just  
happy to have a job."
  "How old are you?" Scott asked.
  "Guess."
   "Thirty-eight?"
  "Thirty-one. I only look ancient."

  Arlo fell asleep on the roof in a flat spot so he wouldn't roll off. Voices 
 woke him up. He opened his eyes and pushed down the top of the sleeping  
bag. Martha's voice, popping mad. Then Miguel, yelling back at her. This  
time of year, in winter, people would
        338   BARBARA PARKER

 leave the windows open to get some air, opposite what it was up north. 
Sometimes they forgot that other people could hear.
  Arlo was in his socks. Carefully picking his way over the barrel tiles so 
 he wouldn't crack them, he made his way down the slope, stepping over a  
vent pipe, bracing himself on a chimney. From forty feet up, he had a view 
 of the surrounding land-two or three huge houses already built and another 
 under construction, with a lake all the way around, except where the access 
 road came in. There was the big dragline that Arlo had worked on. In the  
darkness the water looked black, and the mounds of white rock were like  
jagged gray hills.
  Arlo finally stopped on the side of the house outside Miguel's bedroom.  
There was a little balcony down there, and light was coming through the  
doors. He could barely make out his watch. Two-thirty in the morning.   They
were yelling in Spanish. Miguel told her to shut up a couple of times.  
Their words would be clear, then get muffled, as though they were pacing  
around in the room, coming nearer to the windows, then going away.  
Shivering in the cold air, Arlo peered over the edge of the roof. He heard 
 a couple of sharp cracks. Martha cried out. Told him to stop it. Miguel  
shouted at her. Something about the keys. Where were the keys? Arlo shifted 
 his weight. Miguel had smacked her around before, but this was getting to 
 be too much. Martha had a mouth on her, and she could be stupid
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   339

 what she said, but still. He leaned out farther, holding onto the chimney. 
The door banged open, hitting the wall. Martha came out onto the balcony, 
and Arlo ducked back. She ran down the stairs barefoot, wearing nothing but 
a short red satin nightie. The balcony had a stone staircase going down the 
side of the house to a flower garden and a little fountain. Miguel was right 
behind her, just his black trousers on. He and Martha disappeared past some 
hedges. There was the sound of snapping twigs. Martha yelped once. Then 
silence.
  It was pretty dark out there, no moon or anything. Arlo waited. The  
fuzziness he'd had in his head when he woke was gone now. He was worried  
what might be going on. He looked down at the balcony, wondering if he  
could hang off the edge of the roof and drop without breaking his leg. Then 
 he saw them coming across the flower garden, Miguel dragging Martha along 
 by her elbow. The front of her nightie was ripped, and her hair was hanging 
 in her face.
  Arlo didn't wait for them to come back to the house and go inside. He knew 
 that if he stayed by the balcony and listened, he would hear them making  
love like wild animals. On all fours he went up the steep incline of the  
roof, then over the highest point of it, able to see his way in the  
starlight pouring down. He pulled his sleeping bag over his head, but he  
doubted he'd get much sleep the rest of the night.
    CHAPTER 31.

     Elaine was on her second vodka and tonic, listening to Charlie Dunavoy 
    play "Sophisticated Lady," when she heard someone pull out the stool   
  beside her. Fridays were busy. She couldn't expect solitude. She turned  
   her eyes, prepared to give someone a dismissive glance.
 It was Dan Galindo. "Well," she said.
  "Hi, Elaine." He gave her a peck on the cheek, then told the bartender to 
 bring him a draft.
   "Is this a coincidence?" she asked.
  "Not really. Charlie called and said why didn't I come over." Dan propped 
 the heel of his sneaker on a rung of the bar stool. "It's been a long time 
 since I've heard Charlie play. He's pretty good." A button-down collar  
showed above the neck of his blue pullover sweater. He smiled at the  
bartender when she set down his beer.
         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   341

  "Terry, don't take money from this man. Wednesday was his birthday, and I'm 
 buying him a drink."
  "Happy birthday," the bartender said.
   Dan looked at Elaine. "How'd you know that?"
  She shrugged. "We went out for a beer when you turned thirty, sort of a  
bitch-and-moan party because I lost a big jury trial the same day."    "Has
it been that long?"
  She touched her vodka tonic to his glass. "We'll do it again when you're 
 forty."
  Dan took a swallow of beer, then said, "Charlie told me forty would be  
better. I hope he's right."
  "Well, don't ask me, I'm certainly not there yet." Elaine reached for a  
pretzel, then scooted the bowl toward Dan. "I hear you're looking for  
another job."
  "It's time," he said. "Charlie's about to retire. I'm thinking Fort  
Lauderdale."
  "Oh, yes. Your ex lives up that way." Elaine picked salt off a pretzel. The 
 band swung into "Satin Doll," and she turned her head toward the stage. A 
 few couples got up to dance. Charlie and his bass player were accompanied 
 by a young saxophonist, a student at the school of the arts downtown. She 
 watched his cheeks fill, watched him lean back with his horn. A sweet  
sound.
  "I came to say thank you," Dan said. "If it weren't for you, I'd be in jail 
 right now. When I knocked on your door that night, I thought you weren't  
home."
  "I couldn't let you in." She smiled. "No, Dan. I
        342   BARBARA PARKER

 didn't have company. I just couldn't talk to you. Why were you there?"   Dan
came a little closer to be heard over the music. "I wanted to ask who   the
hell that bearded guy was outside your house last Sunday morning. He   looked
just like Victor Ramirez."
  Still watching the saxophonist, Elaine said, "I figured it was something 
 like that. Don't ask me about the case, Dan."
  "Are you still on it? When I called your office, they said you were out of 
 town on a family emergency, but here you sit. Did Paxton find out what you 
 did for me?"
  "Oh, it wasn't just that."
  "Well, what was it?"
  Poking the lime slice down into her drink, she shook her head.
  "Okay." Dan settled back on his stool, and his hands kept the rhythm of the 
 music. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up. He had long arms and  
angular, graceful hands. The skin was deep goldenmany hours on the water,  
she assumed.
  He said, "What do you know about Kelly's death? The police won't tell me 
 anything. Are there any leads?"
  "Not that I know of." She glanced at him. "The police don't keep in touch." 
 "Why did Kelly come to see me that night?"
  "I have no idea."
  Dan's shoulder was lightly touching hers. "She
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          343

 wanted to tell me something, Elaine. I wish I knew what it was. I'm asking 
you because I know that you were involved with bringing her in as a 
confidential informant, and I have to assume that you knew her pretty well, 
and that you must have talked to her."
  Elaine reached for another pretzel, nibbled it halfway down, then said, "We 
 didn't talk very often. I can tell you this. A couple of nights before she 
 died, she left a message at my office. She was sorry for having lied about 
 you. You see, she had told the DEA you were involved in money laundering  
with Miguel Salazar-" Dan dropped his hands on the bar and exhaled, and  
Elaine said, "I never believed that. She called me to apologize. I think  
she was going to see you for the same reason. When you ended your rela- 
tionship with her, she was devastated-maybe that's too strong a word. She  
was angry, and she wanted to hurt you."
  Dan took a moment to think about it. "If she was angry, I suppose she had 
 a reason. I let her think we had something when we didn't. She had her  
clothes in my bedroom and makeup in the bathroom, and I was ashamed to be  
seen with her. I look back now, and that's how it was. I made excuses not  
to introduce her to my friends. My son never saw her. I knew we had no  
future, and I kept sleeping with her. Pretty sad."
  "Easy to say all that, looking back," Elaine said, "but I think you're too 
 hard on yourself."
  The bartender came over to check on the level of
        344   BARBARA PARKER

 their drinks. Elaine said to bring her another. Dan's beer was only halfway 
down. He shook his head.
  "The last time I saw her," Elaine said, "she told me about her life, her 
 childhood. How she got into music. Her dreams. I want to grieve, Dan. I  
want to cry, but I feel just . . . numb. I feel responsible somehow, you  
know? Not legally, but-"
  He nodded.
  For a while they listened to the music. Charlie waved at them from behind 
 the keyboard. Lights played on his white hair, and the old bass man's hands 
 moved up and down the strings. Then the saxophonist came in-a rich, breathy 
 melody.
  "Vincent Hooper doesn't deserve you, Elaine."
  The words surprised her, they were spoken so simply and earnestly. From  
anyone else they would have sounded insincere. "Don't talk about what  
people deserve, Dan. That's funny, though. I'm the one sleeping with a  
married man, and he's the one who isn't good enough."
  "You should leave him."
  "Think so?"
  "Don't waste a minute."
  She saw them both in the dim, glass-sparkled surface of the mirror. Dan's 
 profile, his hair neatly parted to one side. Large brown eyes, slightly  
downturned at the corners, which she had always thought rather affecting.  
Juries invariably trusted him.
  "Well, it's already over, Vince and L"
  "When?"
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   345

  "Last night. I thought I'd celebrate." Dan glanced at her vodka tonic.  
"This is only my third. I might even stop with this, who knows?" She set it 
 down on the bar. His eyes were on her, that patient, wordless gaze. "Part 
 of the reason I split up with Vince, believe it or not, was you. He wasn't 
 sure what's going on with you and me. I told him the truth-nothing-but you 
 kept popping up. With a man like Hooper, you're either on his side or you 
 aren't. If you're part of the team, he would die for you. But if there's  
any doubt, he slams the door." She touched Dan's shoulder and gave it a  
little push for emphasis. "Bagels. That's what did it. You showed up on  
Sunday morning with a half dozen fresh bagels. What an underhanded tactic  
that was."
  "Don't expect me to apologize, seeing how it worked out."
  She picked up her drink, then put it down again. "Dan, what are you doing, 
 leaving Miami? If you go anywhere else, you'll throw away every one of your 
 clients. Okay, you want to go back to your wife and son, but make the  
commute for a while. Charlie says you're starting to build a good
  practice."
  "Wow. I'd forgotten how bossy you can be." Dan leaned on an elbow, cheek
in   his palm. "Why did you send me to Charlie?"
  "Because he needed someone younger and decent and competent to help him  
out. Because I like both of you. Dan, why am I talking to you? We're  
supposed to be shooting at each other."
        346   BARBARA PARKER

  He sipped his beer. "I spoke to John Paxton today. Dropped by the office
to   clear up some details on a possible plea bargain for Rick Robbins-which
I   guess we can't talk about-"
  "No, we can't."
  "Anyway, Paxton asked me about Luis Barrios. I don't know why he brought
it   up, I guess it still bugs him. He asked me if I'd do the same thing
again."    "What'd you tell him?"
  "That I didn't know. I've given it a lot of thought lately too. Luis  
Barrios. Dead but he keeps on coming. I can't get rid of him." Dan turned  
to face her. "What was your advice back then, Elaine?"
  "Mine? You never asked for an opinion."
  He laughed. "That sounds like me. I knew everything. After I got my ass  
kicked, you helped me fend off the criticism, but I never asked what you  
thought. Maybe I wanted to see my name in the paper. 'Young prosecutor  
upholds ideals of truth and justice.' Maybe that's why I did it."
  Elaine saw that he wanted to know. More than anything, he had to know-as
if   her opinion would have been listened to then, or if given now, two years 
 later, would make any difference.
  She said slowly, "I think-knowing you-that you did it because you believed 
 it was right."
  "But was it right?"
  "It may not have been wise, Dan, but . . . yes. It was
  right. Very right. That was about the most foolish-but
  the bravest thing I've ever seen from a lawyer." He
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   347

 gave her a wondering look. She retreated by laughing and sliding off her bar 
stool, tugging him by the wrist. "Okay, that's enough. Come with me."  "Where
are we going?"
  She pushed through the crowd on the dance floor. "Come along quietly.  
Charlie!" She pointed at Dan as she dragged him toward the band. "Guess who 
 has a birthday this week."
  Dan pulled backward. "Elaine, for God's sake."
  He put a hand over his face when the band went into a jazz version of  
"Happy Birthday." Terry, the bartender, made a loud whistle through her  
teeth. The people jammed into the bar sang along, ragged and off-key.     CHAPTER 32.

     Seeing who was on duty at the guard shack, Dan banged his head lightly 
    a few times on hands curled over the top of the steering wheel. When the 
    car ahead had gone through, Dan drifted forward. He held his driver's  
   license out the window.
  The guard glanced at the list of names on his clipboard. "You're here to 
 see Lisa Galindo, right? Your name isn't on here."
   "She must have forgotten to call you."
  "Apparently so. I'll see if she's home." He stepped back inside to use the 
 telephone.
  Dan's arm hung outside the car, and he tapped a rhythm on the door.  
Headlamps shone in his rearview. He had driven up last night; Rick had  
asked him to. He and Lisa had spoken for over an hour. At the end Dan had  
given her one piece of good news-the police had dropped him as a suspect.         CRIMINAL JusTicE   349

  The guard hung up and came out to say there was no answer. "I let it ring 
 seven times."
  "She took our son to Boca Raton. I guess she's not back yet. Well, look. 
 I'm spending the weekend. I'll be moving in next week, in fact. She gave me 
 a key."
   "Oh? Congratulations."
  "Thanks. But she didn't give me the spare gate opener."
  The guard was shaking his head. "If it was up to me, I'd let you in."   
"Who's going to know, for Pete's sake?"
  "Nope. Can't do it. I'll call her again in a while and see if it's okay for 
 you to come in. Meanwhile, there's a McDonald's in the shopping center you 
 could wait at." He pointed with his pen at the turnaround. "Would you clear 
 the road, sir?"
  Cursing silently, Dan took a fast left around the guard shack. His  
headlights swept across the flower beds, and his tires skidded on the  
herringboned bricks. He parked a half mile away in the lot outside the  
country dub. Parking was not allowed on the grass that edged the streets of 
 Lakewood Village. Cars would be towed. Dan walked back toward Heron Hills 
 as if he were out for a stroll.
  There was no way in except past the guard shackunless a person swam the  
moats or vaulted over the walls at the entrance. The landscaped, white  
stucco walls were six feet high and about twenty feet long, with the name  
of the subdivision cut into the concrete. Dan timed it so that he got near 
 the entrance just at
        350   BARBARA PARKER

 a break in traffic. He jogged to the wall, put a toe in the O of Heron, 
grabbed the top, and went over, landing lightly behind some bushes. He 
brushed the dirt off his jeans, pushed the branches aside, and cut behind 
someone's yard. He looked over his shoulder. The guard was checking the ID 
of some other poor bastard.
  It took Dan two minutes to walk to the house. He let himself in with his 
 key and flipped on the light in the foyer. Immediately the cocker spaniel 
 started its racket, coming across the living room, ears flopping.
   "Shut up!"
  The dog whined and slunk off to hide behind one of the sofas. There were 
 two, both upholstered in white, facing each other across a glass-topped  
table.
  Dan went to the kitchen to look for the gate opener. He opened and shut  
drawers. It wasn't sitting out on the counter or the table in the breakfast 
 nook. He checked Lisa's bedroom. The dresser, nightstand, desk. She had  
cleared out one side of the walk-in closet for him. In his car-which he  
would retrieve as soon as he found the damned gate opener-were most of his 
 shirts, ties, and suits. He thought he could bring boxes up each time he  
came. The furniture could stay in Miami. She already had everything she  
needed, and better quality than his.
  Passing Josh's room, he noticed the glow coming from the fish tank, heard 
 the aerator bubbling softly. He went inside and watched the goldfish and  
guppies for a minute. Dan had bought a new aquarium for
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   351

 himself, thanks to Rick and Sandy, a twenty-gallon beauty with two hundred 
dollars' worth of angel fish-which he should not have done since he would 
only have to dismantle the thing and transport it all the way up here to 
Lakewood, but oh, well. Turning to leave, he noticed the white envelope on 
josh's desk, the word DAD in Superman-style letters. Dan had left it there 
Wednesday morning, not meaning to. He read it again as he went back to the 
living room. To my dad. Your the best. Love, your son, Joshua D. Galindo.  
Dan read it again and smiled. Your the best. He slid the card into the  
envelope.
  The house was quiet. The dog sat by the sliding glass doors, looking out. 
 There was the dark glass, then the terrace splashed with light from inside. 
 Dan walked toward the doors, his own reflection coming closer. The gas  
barbecue grill was out there under a zip-up cover. Dan had bought it for  
$749 on sale at Home Depot, a top-of-the-line model. They'd had cookouts  
with the neighbors. He didn't think it had been used since he left. He  
wondered if Bob and Meredith had gone back to Ohio yet, and then remembered 
 he hadn't even liked Bob.
  Lisa would be here any minute. She had taken Josh to his grandparents'  
house for the weekend, although Dan had told her he would be spending most 
 of the time with Rick, getting his side of things, trying to decide what to 
 say to John Paxton in the meeting on Monday.
  She had cried. Angry tears. She had said it didn't
        352   BARBARA PARKER

 surprise her, really. Look at the kind of people Rick hangs out with-rock 
musicians and God knows what. Like that girl you dated. And Sandy! 1 knew 
what she was the first time 1 saw her. Look at that new BMW. That diamond on 
her finger. Flaunting it at family dinners. Daddy and Rick hardly speak to 
each other now. What am 1 going to tell them? And Josh! Oh, my God.   The
dog's head swiveled toward the front door, then its claws were   scrabbling
on the tiles. It barked at nothing for a while, then, satisfied   that the
intruder had gone away, it came back to watch Dan.
  Dan saw the gate opener on the console table in the foyer. He had walked 
 right past it on his way in. The table was glass on long, slender legs,  
with a beveled mirror above it and a pale blue rug on the floor. The style 
 in Lakewood Village went toward glass tables, tile floors, light wood, cool 
 colors. Potted plants to bring the outdoors in. Magazines in a neat row on 
 the coffee table. Lisa had done a good job decorating the house. Josh knew 
 not to leave his toys in the living room, and to straighten the fringe on 
 the rug if his shoe scuffed across it. She preferred him to come in by the 
 kitchen.
  The cocker spaniel was sitting at Dan's feet, panting softly. He knelt to 
 pet its long, silky ears. "Hey, Poppy." Hearing its name, the dog looked  
around at him. "I'm going to leave now. Be good."
  In one of the kitchen drawers Dan had seen a pad of lined note paper. He 
 found a pen beside it. He wrote, Dear Lisa, l waited for you awhile, but  
what I have to say is
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   353

 brief and there would be no point in our arguing over it. I have decided to 
stay in Miami. 1 had hoped we could start over, but 1 don't think it would 
work out. I'm sorry. Call me if you want. I'll be home tonight.
  He hesitated over how to close it. Love, Dan? Regards? Sincerely? He wrote, 
 All the best, Dan.
  A postscript: Please let josh make birthday cards on his computer the way 
 he wants to, without pointing out his spelling errors (unless he asks you). 
 He was embarrassed to give me my card. l thought it was great the way it  
was.
  He left the note on the counter, put the key and gate opener on the note, 
 and turned off the lights.
           CHAPTER 33.

     Dan parked as close as he could to his apartment and opened the trunk. 
    A garment bag of suits over one arm, he unlocked his front door. The new 
    aquarium filled the living room with its soft light. Dan hit the switch 
    for the lamp as he passed it, then made three more trips back and forth 
    from car to bedroom. He was dropping his suitcase near the closet when 
    he noticed the light blinking on his answering machine.
  He stood by the small table under the window and pushed the button, not  
surprised by the shrill voice that came out of it.
  This is Lisa. l can't believe you. l was just at my parents' house, and 1 
 told them- Oh, my God. Oh . . . damn you. Stay in Miami. And don't think  
you're going to take josh to the Bahamas! This is the most-
  Dan hit the button to erase the message. As the tape spun backward, a noise 
 came from the hall outside his bedroom door. A footstep. A squeak of wood.           CRIMINAL JUSTICE          355

 He turned slowly around.
  A person was there in the doorway, a figure in black jeans, black sweater. 
 He tensed at the same instant he recognized her. Martha Cruz was the first 
 to speak, pointing vaguely toward the living room. "The front door was  
open."
  Relief flooded through him so strongly he felt dizzy. He dragged in a  
breath. "What are you doing here?"
  Her eyes seemed enormous. "I have to talk to you."
   "I didn't see your car."
  "I left it around the corner," she said. "I came straight from rehearsal
at   the studio."
  "Afraid someone will come looking for you?"
  "Miguel? He can look all he wants, I'm not going back to him." When she  
came farther into the room, Dan could see by the one light on his dresser  
that there was a discoloration on her cheekbone, which he had first thought 
 was a shadow.
 "Come here, let me see your face." She lowered her
 head, but Dan took her chin and lifted her hair out of
 the way. There was an ugly purple bruise at the corner of her left eye. "Son 
of a bitch," he murmured.
  "Last night he lost his temper when I told him I left the boat keys at your 
 office. He thinks I did it on purpose, which I did not."
  "They're on my key ring." Dan took it out of his pocket. The silver ring 
 with Salazar's keys on it swung with the others. "I meant to mail them  
yesterday. I'll give them to a courier on Monday." He tossed the key ring  
onto his dresser, keeping himself calm in front of
        356   BARBARA PARKER

 her, wanting to ram the keys down Salazar's throat. In the mirror he could 
see Martha fluffing her hair over the bruise. All hidden now.
  Dan glanced in the direction of the front door. "I'd better lock up."   "He
doesn't know I came here." Martha followed Dan to the living room, then  
stood on the porch while he closed his car. He motioned her back inside and 
 locked the front door of his apartment, putting on the chain for good  
measure.
  "I was about to make some tea," he said.
   "I'll have some too. Thanks."
  In the kitchen she sat sideways in a chair and tossed a small shoulder bag 
 onto the table. Dan put on the kettle and took two mugs from the cabinet  
over the sink. "Martha, we'll have to decide where to put you. It wouldn't 
 be a good idea for you to stay here tonight, given the circumstances. What 
 if I call Rick and Sandy?" He turned to see what she thought.
  Her dark hair shadowed her eyes. "Rick's in trouble, isn't he?"
  Dan hesitated. "What do you mean?"
  "Is he going to jail?"
  "Jail?" Dan leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms.
  Martha said, "Our new guitarist, Bobby Doyle, told me that you came to the 
 studio on Thursday and made Rick go with you. And yesterday at Miguel's  
house, Rick was totally freaked and he wouldn't tell me any-
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE   357

 thing. I think it's because of Victor Ramirez. He's a narc."
 "Who told you that?"
 "It's true."
 "Just answer the question, Martha."
  She took awhile with it. "Tonight Arlo Pate said that Bobby Doyle has this 
 narc radar. Bobby is such a stoner, Arlo wasn't sure, but he's worried  
because he heard Miguel talking on the phone yesterday to Victor about  
meeting him on Sunday. Arlo doesn't know what it's about, but he thought he 
 should tell me."
  Standing at the counter, Dan could feel his control over Rick's case, so 
 tenuously grasped, beginning to slip from his fingers as if they were  
greased. He asked quietly, "Is Miguel aware of what Bobby Doyle thinks?.�  
She shook her head. "Bobby and Scott and Arlo all agreed not to tell him  
because the concert is so close, and if Miguel found out-"
  Dan said, "Martha, what's going on here?" The kettle behind him started to 
 tick on the stove.
  "Bobby is right about Victor. He works for the DEA. Kelly told me about two 
 months ago. She said they made her spy on Rick. She didn't want to, but  
Victor made her do it. Victor isn't his real name, it's Vincent Hooper.  
Kelly said they were trying to get Miguel, and they were going to use Rick 
 to do it-"
  At the sound of a car door slamming, Martha got up and walked to the open 
 archway, looking toward the living room.
         358   BARBARA PARKER

 "It's nothing," Dan said. "Come back and sit down." She took a breath, a 
ragged inhalation, then looked around at him. "Did you know about Kelly? You 
don't act surprised."
 "I found out recently," he said. How?"
 "Never mind that. What about Rick?"
  Martha returned to her chair. "I was Kelly's best friend, and she needed
to   tell someone. They arrested her for possession of heroin last summer.
When   she started dating you, she wanted to tell you everything-her arrest,
the   DEA, Miguel, Rick-but I said no, are you crazy? I hadn't met you then,
but   I knew you were Rick's lawyer, so I told her, Kelly, if you tell him,
he'll   go straight to Rick, and then Miguel will find out. It would be-
awful. So   she didn't say anything, and neither did I. We just waited for
the demo   tape to be done and waited for the concert. She couldn't stand it.
She   started making mistakes in the songs, she was so scared, but they
wanted   more and more information on Rick. And they kept after her and after
her."   "Hold it," Dan said. "Let me get this straight. You told Kelly to
keep her   mouth shut because you wanted a record contract?"
  "That wasn't the reason!"
  "You didn't let Kelly tell me because you didn't want to screw up your  
relationship with Miguel. He was paying for the band, wasn't he? Keep that 
 money coming in, never mind what happens to your manager."
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   359

  She stared back at him with her mouth half open, but an answer didn't occur 
 to her. She let out a breath. "Are they going to put Rick in jail?"   "They
might," Dan said. He thought of the meeting that he and Rick would   attend
on Monday morning at the U.S. attorney's office. Dan would be   pitching a
defense of threats and extortion. He had hoped it would buy some   time,
perhaps even persuade John Paxton to reconsider seizing all of Rick's  
assets. If Salazar got wind of who Victor was and canceled the meeting, the 
 DEA might blame Rick. But now it appeared that the DEA's cover could be  
blown by the pot-fuddled observations of one rock guitarist. And Martha  
Cruz had known for two months and had said nothing.
  A low whistle came from the teakettle, increasing steadily in pitch and  
volume. Dan turned off the stove. He heard Martha's whispery, tear-clogged 
 voice. "I was so scared."
  "You were selfish."
  She swung her head up, glaring at him. He could see the bruise beside her 
 eye. "Right! Selfish. I'm a selfish slut for sleeping with Miguel Salazar. 
 Think what you like, I don't care. He said he'd help me, and I let him. He 
 knew what I wanted. My music. That's all I've ever wanted. It's all I've  
got. I have my voice, my hands-" She held them up, slender and strong,  
rings on most of the fingers, short nails painted dark red. "That's what I 
 have. It's all Kelly had. No fancy college, no money. Can you possibly  
understand that? Mr. Lawyer?"
        360   BARBARA PARKER

  She dropped her hands back in her lap. "Kelly and I decided not to do  
anything that might hurt the band. We'd think about the demo, we'd get the 
 songs going for the concert, and that was all. After we got signed,  
everything would be all right. That's what we thought. Then it started  
getting worse, and then it was too late."
  She was crying silently. No sobs, just tears running slowly down her  
cheeks. "When Kelly told me Rick should be our manager, I said what? He's  
never had a band that made it. We need somebody good. Kelly told me shut  
up, you don't know everything." Martha laughed, then cleared her throat.  
"He kept us together. When we lost Bill-E, our bass player, then Leon, our 
 drummer, Rick wouldn't let us give up. Then Kelly." Her voice was tight.  
"Rick said, Martha, you can't give up now. So he found me a new guitar  
player. I know we're not going to get the demo from Victor-there's no   way-
but it doesn't matter. Mr. Friedman from Capitol Records, you can come   to
the concert or not, and if you don't sign us, too bad for you. Somebody  
will. But without Rick- I don't know the business. What would happen to me? 
 Maybe that's selfish, but like I said, think what you want to."
  A tear wobbled on the point of her chin, a speck of light. She dug her chin 
 into the shoulder of her sweater. "What's going to happen to him?"   "I'm
not sure yet, Martha, but don't expect him to be managing the band."   Dan
tore a sheet off the roll of towels over the sink. "The government   wants
to seize
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   361

 everything he's got, and he'll be lucky to stay out of prison. We're trying 
to work a deal with the prosecutors. I can't tell you any more than that." 
 She blew her nose. Her eyes were puffy and red. "I know a way to help Rick. 
 Maybe. That's why I came over here."
  Dan looked down at her. "What do you mean?"
  "It was Kelly's idea. You asked me why she wanted to see you that night.
I   said I didn't know, but I do know. She wanted you to help her get away
from   Victor."
  Martha fell silent. She stood up and walked toward the living room,  
stopping just beyond the opening. Dan heard footsteps along the walkway in 
 front of the building.
  "Is the door locked?" she said.
  "Yes. Don't worry." His heart raced.
  They stood without moving. A door slammed upstairs. Martha let out a  
breath. "I guess I'm just nervous."
  "Tell me about Kelly," Dan said.
  Martha turned around and said, "She had this tape recording of Victor  
shooting somebody in cold blood. She was going to the Miami Herald with it 
 if they didn't leave her alone. That's what she wanted to tell you about." 
 Dan stared at her. "What tape?"
  "Last summer she was at a party in the Grove, this big house on the water, 
 and the owner was a drug dealer-which she didn't know. She said that on the         362   BARBARA PARKER

 tape you hear this party, and the band, and then you hear all this shooting 
and yelling. It was the police coming in. The police and the DEA. She was 
there. She told me about it. She said it was horrible. People died, like 
right there. She saw Victor running after some guy. On the tape you can hear 
voices, like, Halt! Drop your gun! It's in Spanish, and it's definitely 
Victor. Then the other man says okay, okay, don't shoot. Then you hear bam, 
bam, bam! And Kelly said, Martha, if I tell Victor I have this, he'll stop 
bothering me. So now I'm thinking maybe we could use it to help Rick. Right? 
The DEA would drop the charges. They'd have to."
  "Hold it." Dan held up a hand. Her words had tumbled out so fast he  
couldn't grasp the meaning. "Whose party was this?"
  "I don't know whose party. Some guy she knew. He wanted her to bring the 
 band over so he could play with them. She had this band back then called  
Black Mango. Okay? So the DEA was going to arrest this guy, is what she  
said, but she didn't know that. They came in and shot this other guy. I  
mean, Victor shot him. The first guy, the one who lived there, was  
recording the band, and when the police came in, the tapes were going."  
"Kelly had a tape recording of a DEA raid?"
  "Yes." Martha let out a breath. "That's what I'm trying to tell you." She 
 turned her head toward the living room again.
  "Martha-'
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   363

 "Shhh!" Her palm rose to keep him quiet.
  Dan followed her around the corner. He saw her walk quickly toward the  
window, the leather soles of her boots tapping softly on the wood floor.  
Only the one lamp was on, and the aquarium light. The curtains were drawn. 
 Nothing was out of place in the apartment, and no unusual sounds came from 
 outside, yet Dan felt a tremor in the muscles of his chest, as if Martha's 
 fear-and she was trembling with it, visibly shaking-had set up a similar  
vibration in his own body. "What did you hear?"
  "A car. I know the sound of Miguel's car." She was breathing fast. "Look 
 out the window."
  Dan put a knee on the sofa and opened the curtain a crack. He dropped it 
 slowly back into place. "Good thing I locked the door," he said quietly.  
Martha spun around as if looking for somewhere to hide.
  "I won't let him in. He'll ask if you're here, and I'll say no. Your car
is   down the street. He'll go away." Dan's voice came out calmly, but when
he   heard the footsteps on the porch he involuntarily tensed.
  She ran toward his bedroom as the first knock came.
  He expected her to hide herself in the closet, but she reappeared a moment 
 later carrying his key chain, fumbling at the mechanism that would release 
 the fob from the ring. "What are you doing?"
  Martha whispered, "I wasn't here. Come to the marina. We can talk on the 
 boat. He'd never find us." She slid the keys to the Bertram off the ring  
from the
        364   BARBARA PARKER

 others, then tossed Dan his own keys. He grabbed for them, caught them 
against his sweater. Martha hurled herself across the living room, caught 
the corner at the kitchen, and disappeared. He ran in that direction in time 
to see the back door close.
 The knock came again at the front.
  Dan looked into the darkness of the backyard, seeing in the weak light of 
 a street lamp on the corner the pale outlines of rusty furniture the  
tenants of the building infrequently used. A line of trash cans stood along 
 the chain-link fence. Then to his right, at the edge of the property, he  
saw the hibiscus bushes swaying. They thickly covered the low concrete wall 
 on that side. A dog began to bark next door.
  Dan wondered about going inside. He could pretend not to be home. But it 
 might be wiser, under the circumstances, to go over the wall. He was on the 
 point of making the decision when Arlo Pate stepped around the corner and 
 into the light.
    CHAPTER 34.

     Miguel Salazar stood in the middle of Dan's living room, pivoting     
slowly.
  Arlo Pate's left arm circled Dan's neck. The big man's denim vest smelled 
 like sweat and engine oil. Dan strained to keep his eyes on Salazar. "I  
don't know where she is. I was taking out some trash and didn't hear you at 
 the door."
  Salazar walked into the kitchen. Came back with two mugs.
  "I'm expecting company from upstairs," Dan said. "My neighbor is a very  
nervous woman. She's going to see you guys and call the police." He pushed 
 at the hairy wrist under his chin. "Let go, I can't breathe."
  The mugs dropped to the floor. Thud. Thud. The handle snapped off one of 
 them, and the mug roiled. Salazar kicked it aside with one low-cut woven  
leather shoe. His hair was untied tonight, falling forward slightly as he  
bent to look at Dan. "Where is she?"
        366   BARBARA PARKER

 "I told you, I haven't seen her!"
  Salazar's black eyes shifted back and forth, white showing beneath the  
irises. "At the studio she went for a break and didn't come back. Rick  
doesn't know where she is. I'm worried what might happen to her, you know? 
 Miami. On the streets alone."
  "She didn't come here."
  Salazar glanced toward the bedroom, straightened, and went down the hall. 
 Arlo let Dan stand up, but kept a hand on his shoulder, the meaty fingers 
 digging in, the forearm bristling with red hairs.
   "Kelly died in here, didn't she?"
   Dan looked at him.
  The hand on Dan's shoulder increased its pressure. He thought his
  collarbone might crack. Arlo said, "I've decided what I'm gonna do to the 
 guy that killed her. I'm going to pull his guts out through his asshole,  
real slow. Make him watch."
  Dan heard the shower curtain rings slide across the rod. Heard a closet  
door open, then shut.
  "Arlo, I didn't kill Kelly."
  He let Dan go long enough to grab him again by the upper arms. Dan was over 
 six feet tall, but he had to look up to see into Arlo's face. Sun-bleached 
 brows were a pale ledge over eyes the color of faded denim. The sun had  
turned his skin dark red. His short nose had a bend to it, the result of a 
 fist or a beer bottle. Pushing thirty. Dumb as a stump.
  "I found her body, Arlo. That's all I did. The police
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   367

 know I was somewhere else when she died. I have a witness."
  The faded brows drew together. "Miguel says you did it."
  "Miguel is the guy who beats up your friends. I saw him hit Martha across 
 the face. What does he do when no one's watching? You let that happen to  
her?" In the depths of those blue eyes flickered a glimmer of light.   Dan
heard the slow, hollow sound of heels on a wood floor. Arlo Pate   released
him. Salazar came back out. He lifted his hand, thumb and   forefinger set
slightly apart. He showed Dan what he had. Silver glinted in   the space. An
earring.
  "I found this on the floor in your bedroom. Where is she?"
  Dan felt sweat around his hairline. "I think that was Kelly's. She told me 
 she lost an earring. That must be the one."
  Salazar looked at it. Frowned. "No. I bought these for Martha."
  "She must have lent them to Kelly." Dan's voice was husky, his mouth was 
 dry as dust. What had make him think he could handle this? He should have 
 gone over the wall with Martha.
  Arlo Pate's hand fell on Dan's shoulder, and he bent his neck to ease the 
 pain.
  Salazar said, "I don't like when things go on behind my back."
  "I can appreciate that," Dan said, "but I haven't seen Martha since  
Thursday."
        368   BARBARA PARKER

  "Yes. She came to your office. You told me she came for the keys to my  
boat, but she didn't have them when I asked her where they were."
  "She accidentally left them on my desk," Dan said. "I mailed them
  yesterday."
   "I love that woman. I love her."
   Dan nodded and pushed at Arlo Pate's fingers.
   "It bothers me when I don't know where she is."
   "I'm sure she feels the same way, Miguel."
  Salazar dropped the earring into the breast pocket of his jacket and came 
 out with a pistol. He stepped back and extended his arm. The pistol was a 
 small black one, a silenced .22. "She was here. Where did she go?"   From
raw animal fear, without thinking Dan dropped and ducked sideways. The  
sudden movement broke Arlo Pate's grip on his shoulder. He saw a flash,  
heard a pop like a single hand clap. As he ran for the door, he saw Salazar 
 turning, tracking him with the pistol. Saw Arlo Pate's arm knock it out of 
 the way. And behind them the shattered aquarium poured sea water and fish, 
 a silvery tide that gushed to the floor.

  The taxi driver who dropped Dan off in Coral Gables asked if he was all  
right. Dan said he was fine, gave him a twenty, and told him to wait.   He
rang the doorbell on Elaine McHale's front porch. Leaned on it. After a  
minute the curtain fluttered, then he heard the dead bolt click open.         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   369

 "Dan?"
  He waved for the cabbie to take off, and went inside.
  "My God, what's the matter? You're sweating."
  "I had to jog a mile or so before I found a taxi." He laughed, still out
of   breath, but from nerves, not exhaustion. "You like boats, Elaine? How
would   you like to go out on the water tonight?"

  "I must be out of my mind," Elaine said, clenching the wheel of her car  
with both hands. Her back barely touched the seat. "No, you're out of  
yours. Dan, you shouldn't talk to me. I'm the prosecution."
  "The prosecution fired you off the case, Elaine."
  She glanced at him. The street lights slid over her face. "I was not  
fired."
  Dan smiled at her. "Neither was I, after I lost the Barrios case. They  
didn't fire me, they just transferred me where I couldn't embarrass  
anyone."
  "Even if that were true, do you think I would switch loyalties so easily?" 
 "No," he said. "It means you're a person of integrity, and I could use  
someone like that right now."
  Her eyes moved to the rearview mirror. "How do you know Miguel Salazar  
isn't at the marina waiting for you?"
  "The man isn't clairvoyant." Dan looked behind them, then said, "Kelly  
never told me she was at that party where Luis Barrios was shot. It's too  
bizarre to be real."
        370   BARBARA PARKER

  "She was there. She couldn't tell you about it because she would be talking 
 about the DEA, and she was afraid of going to prison. Vincent Hooper was  
outraged when he found out she had been made an informant against Rick  
Robbins. He even yelled at me, although at the time I didn't know the  
connection. Vince was right; it was risky to have her on the case. But the 
 so-called Barrios tape doesn't exist."
  Elaine took a right into Coconut Grove, going south from the highway onto 
 a quieter, tree-lined street. It would dead-end at the bay. "Vince and I  
discussed it. And the reason we discussed it is because Kelly Dorff brought 
 it up. Vince was at my house when he returned her phone call. He told me  
that she claimed to have a tape of his shooting Luis Barrios after Barrios 
 threw down his weapon. Vince was angry about it, of course, but not because 
 it was true. He said he didn't like to be threatened by C.L's. Dan, the  
story about the raid was in the Herald. Didn't you read it?"
  "Yes. They didn't mention Hooper, though, except to say he was there. A few 
 witnesses at the scene claimed that the DEA shot without provocation, but 
 it was all tidied up by a board of inquiry." Dan looked at her. "Martha  
says Kelly's band was recording that night. Is that true or not?"
  Elaine lifted her hands from the wheel a moment, a quick gesture of  
acquiescence. "There was a tape recorder at the scene, but there was  
nothing on it but noise."
  "Where is the tape now?"
        CRIMINAL JusTicE   371

  "Vince said it's probably been destroyed." She glanced to her right, then 
 rolled her eyes. "Yes, it must have been a cover-up."
  Dan turned in his seat. "It doesn't even make you wonder? Not the least bit 
 curious? What if Kelly did have a copy of the tape? Maybe someone there had 
 a portable tape player going. What then? John Paxton, your esteemed boss, 
 the man who presumably has something to say about your future, is going to 
 stand in front of the TV cameras on Wednesday with the United States  
attorney and a bevy of high-kicking federal agents, and the first question 
 from the press is going to be, 'Is it true that the lead DEA agent on  
Operation Manatee committed murder?"'
  Elaine shifted gears, not looking at him.
  "Will you go to Paxton and say, 'John, you know, I had a chance to check 
 this out for you, but by golly, I just didn't think there was anything to 
 it.' I guess if you want to see the office sandbagged, you could do that, 
 but you're supposedly the person with loyalties."
  "I wish you'd shut up," she said unconvincingly. "You're a scumbag defense 
 lawyer."
  "This is true," he said. "I am working for my client-who, if truth be  
known, did not go willingly into money laundering. Miguel Salazar took him 
 out to the Everglades one sunny afternoon and put a pistol to the back of 
 his head. This is true, Elaine. No, Rick can't prove it, but Paxton himself 
 told me what Salazar did to his wife and her lover. Ah. I see you've heard 
 that story. You're right, I'm working for Rick
         372   BARBARA PARKER

 Robbins. And yes. If this tape proves what I think it does, then I, in my 
scumbag way, will probably take John Paxton aside and say, Here's the deal: 
The government drops charges against my client, and I won't take this to the 
Miami Herald. You and the DEA special agent-in-charge talk it over, let me 
know."
  Dan tugged Elaine's right hand off the steering wheel. "I don't mean to  
treat this lightly. I'm roaring on adrenaline right now. I'm sorry about  
you and Hooper. Not sorry for Hooper, because he is truly a vicious  
bastard, but sorry to bring you into this. I wish I didn't have to, but I  
don't know who else to ask."
  She pulled her hand away. "You want to even the score, don't you?"   "You
mean, I'm out to rub Hooper's nose in it? Do you mind?"
  "I thought you had more class," she said.
  "Well, I've been beaten up and shot at. Hooper and Salazar both hate my  
guts. And I'm pretty sure that one of them set me up with the police."  
Elaine looked around at him. "Why do you say that?"
  Dan pointed. "Take a left."

  At midnight on a Saturday, the marina was still busy enough not to look  
deserted, although the parking lot had emptied out. There were spaces near 
 the entrance to Pier Six. Elaine stopped under a tree, where the light did 
 not reach them.
  Dan took a breath.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   373

 "You think she's on the boat?" Elaine asked.
 "I hope so. And I hope she's alone."
 Elaine looked out both passenger windows.
  Dan opened the door. "Thanks for bringing me. There's a phone on the  
boat, and I'll call you at home in an hour."
  "Wait." She took her keys, and her fingers were visibly trembling. "I'll 
 go with you."
 �   �
  No.
  "Yes." Elaine gave him a look and got out of the car. "I want to speak to 
 Martha Cruz myself." She grabbed her purse and green fleece jacket.   They
walked casually along the covered, lighted sidewalk that curved around   the
water until they reached the gate to her Six. Her eyes darted around,   aware
of everyone. Dan touched the turquoise-painted bars. There was no way  
around or over.
  Elaine said, "Wait here."
  A minute later she came back with the dockmaster. He flipped through a  
heavy key ring, then unlocked the gate. She thanked him and, with a firm  
grip on Dan's arm, pulled him inside. "I showed him my badge."
  "Is that legal?"
  "Shut up, Dan."
  The dock was well lighted, fifty yards long. As they hurried toward the  
end, the sound of low conversation or music came from a few of the motor- 
boats, sportfishers, and sailboats in the slips on both sides. The Basil6n 
 was where Dan had left it a week
        374   BARBARA PARKER

 ago, mooring lines still neatly cleated off and taut. There were no lights 
coming from inside.
  "Nice boat," Elaine said. Her fingers were clamped on his arm.
  "Forty-six feet," he said. "Two 740-horse diesel engines. Sonar, radar, a 
 depth finder. You could catch a sperm whale with those outriggers."   She
looked at him. "Are we going on board or not?"
  Dan loosened her grip, then walked along the side of the boat and leaned 
 over the water to tap on the salon window. He waited, then tapped again.  
He saw the curtain move, Martha's face at the glass. Then her head, with  
its mane of black curls, poked out of the salon door. "Hey, you made it,"  
she said.
    CHAPTER 35.

     Before starting the engines, Dan noticed the fuel level. Last weekend, 
    taking Josh out, he had run the tanks nearly dry. The nearest marina   
  with diesel fuel was five miles away on Key Biscayne, and it was now     
closed. At slow speed he steered south, then moored the boat a hundred     
yards offshore in shallow water. It was as far as he dared go at night.    
 There were others in the area; no one would notice the Bertram.   He let the
anchor go and cleated the line at the bow. With no wind the bay   was calm,
and the boat barely rocked in the diminished wake of a speedboat   farther
out. He went inside. Martha Cruz had made coffee, and now she and   Elaine
sat on opposite sides of the salon, their mugs in their laps. Martha   had
resented Dan's bringing a federal prosecutor, but Elaine showed no sign   of
tension. She was good with witnesses, Dan recalled. He sat down in an  
armchair equidistant between the women.
        376   BARBARA PARKER

  In greater detail Martha repeated the story she had told Dan earlier. Her 
 hands shook when she lit her cigarette, and from time to time she would get 
 up and look out the open salon door.
  She said, "This is what Kelly told me. The house where it happened was  
owned by some guy from Mexico, and he had a bunch of people over that  
night. Kelly was there with her bassist, Bill-E, and another guy who played 
 drums. The owner was a guitarist, and he had turned one of the rooms into 
 a studio. He had money, so he had some pretty good equipment. They were in 
 there jamming while the party was going on. About ten o'clock they hear  
this big crash, then some yelling and screaming. Guns go off. They stop  
playing and open the door. Then there are gunshots and smoke and cops are  
yelling 'Federal agents! Get down! Get on the floor!'
  "Kelly threw away a couple of joints she had in her pockets and crouched 
 down behind an amp. She could see into the hall, a big open area, and  
people were diving behind the furniture to get out of the way. Then some  
guy, a friend of the owner, comes tearing down the hall with a gun. Not a  
regular gun, an Uzi or something. Right behind him was a man in a jacket  
that said DEA. They went onto the enclosed back porch right next to where  
Kelly was. She couldn't see them, but she heard the DEA agent say, 'Drop  
it, Luis!' He's screaming in Spanish to drop the gun or he'd blow him away. 
 And the other guy, Luis, goes, 'No me mates. Don't kill me.' But the agent 
 calls him a comemierda, and he shoots
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   377

 him anyway! You hear three loud bangs on the tape. Then a couple more agents 
go out there, and one says, 'What did you do, man?' And the first agent 
laughs. "What does it look like?' At the same time, cops are coming into the 
studio telling Kelly and the bassist to lie on the floor. She thought they 
were going to die. The DEA agents ripped out the reel-to-reel that was still 
going, and they took it with them."
  Dan glanced at Elaine McHale, who was still listening to Martha Cruz with 
 perfect composure. He knew that she had to be horrified. Had to know where 
 this story was going: If it was true, her former lover had committed murder 
 not once but twice-Luis Barrios and Kelly Dorff.
  Martha continued. "A few months ago Kelly met that same agent. His name was 
 Vincent Hooper. She almost didn't recognize him because he had grown a  
beard. She nearly fainted. This was the same guy. The same. She was afraid 
 to say anything, and nobody would believe her anyway. One day she told me 
 about it. I told her not to do anything, just be quiet and wait for it to 
 be over. After they arrested Miguel, it would be okay. We couldn't tell  
Rick because then Miguel would know. He might kill her, or Rick, or all of 
 us. But she was getting pushed by the DEA too, and she was afraid of Agent 
 Hooper. Then Kelly thought of a way out. She remembered the DAT tape. The 
 house had a studio with a reelto-reel and also a digital-analog tape used 
 for backup.
  "Kelly went to see the owner's wife. He was put in jail, but his wife still 
 had his equipment waiting for
        378   BARBARA PARKER

 when he gets out, just the way he left it. The DEA got the reel-to-reel, but 
not the DAT tape. If you don't know sound engineering, you'd miss it. The 
owner's wife let Kelly have the DAT tape, then Kelly called up Vincent 
Hooper and told him she wouldn't snitch for him anymore. I told her she had 
to. She couldn't even play anymore-"
  Martha Cruz stopped speaking, but her body and face were tensed as if for 
 the next words. She stared ahead of her. The smoke from her cigarette  
curled into two strands, intertwined, that drifted toward the open door.  
Dan glanced at Elaine. She made a small shake of her head. Wait.
  After a moment Martha's lips moved. She left them parted as if she had seen 
 a vision that stunned her. She spoke again. "Kelly was so scared she  
couldn't concentrate on the music. I said . . . make them leave you alone. 
 You have to. If you don't, I'll push you out of the band, I swear. I could 
 have, even if it was her band. Miguel didn't want to put any more money  
into it as long as she was in control. I don't know if . . . her death was 
 my fault. I couldn't stand that. Maybe I shouldn't have told her to call  
Vincent Hooper, but the band had to finish the demo. The concert is only  
next weekend, and Friedman is coming from New York, and I had to do  
something."
  As if waking, Martha Cruz looked down at her cigarette, then leaned over
to   crush it out in her empty coffee cup. She crossed her arms tightly over
her   chest.
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          379

  Through the salon door Dan could see that the boat had slowly revolved on 
 its pivot of anchor line, its stem swinging more to the south with the  
tide. There were no lights out there, only darkness.
  He heard Elaine get up and looked back to see her going over to the sofa. 
 She sat on the edge, hands in her lap. "Martha . . . where is the tape?"  
"I talked to you because Dan said to, but I'm not going to let you have the 
 tape."
  "Where is it?"
  Martha's eyes moved to Dan. "It's in my studio."
   "No." He exhaled. "Your studio or the DEA's?"
   "Mine."
  Dan made a pained smile in Elaine's direction. "Martha's studio is at  
Salazar's house."
  Elaine said, "Well, can't she go get it?"
  Martha pushed back her hair, exposing the left side of her face. Elaine  
winced. "Miguel did this to me last night. He said . . . if he ever caught 
 me with Dan Galindo again, he would kill me. Then at the studio
  today-Manatee Studios-we got into an argument. He took me to his car and 
 raped me in the backseat. He's done it before, and usually I do what he  
tells me after that. But this time I sneaked out during a break and I  
didn't come back." She was crying. "I didn't know, when I left the house  
today, that I wouldn't be back. I'd have brought you the tape if I'd known, 
 but I can't get it now!"
  Elaine put a hand on her shoulder.
  Dan said, "No. You won't go back there."
        380   BARBARA PARKER

 Martha looked at him. "You have to go."
 "Dan? Why should Dan go?"
  "Because he's the only one," Martha said. "I trust him. It wouldn't be  
hard. I have my key to the studio-"
  "Wait a minute," Dan said.
  Martha came across the salon and looked down at him as he sat in the  
armchair. "There's no fence, only some bushes. Nobody ever goes over there. 
 They keep the dogs inside-"
   "Absolutely not," Elaine said.
  "It wouldn't be hard. He just unlocks the door, takes it off the shelf, and 
 leaves."
  The two women argued over Dan's head. Elaine said, "Martha, did you ever 
 personally listen to this tape?"
  Martha hesitated. "Well, no, but Kelly told me what was on it."
   "Then how do you know she wasn't making it up?"
  "Make that up? I saw the tape! She gave it to me to keep for her."   Dan
said, "Wait. This is simple. Martha, just tell one of the maids to   bring
it to you."
  "Right. Find one who isn't loyal to Miguel. They tell him everything."  
Elaine said, "I need to check this out. I can make a few calls on Monday." 
 Dan said, "Monday is too late, Elaine. Rick and I have to meet Paxton on  
Monday and give him an answer."
  "I'll ask for an extension."
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          381

  "You do that. And tell him all about Agent Hooper while you're at it."  
Elaine gave him a sharp look and went over to the door. She put a hand on  
the frame and stared out.
  Dan said, "I refuse to send Rick onto Salazar's property. We can't send  
Arlo. Bobby Doyle is a pothead. How about the other guy, the bassist? What 
 about him.
  Martha said, "No. You're the only one."
   �Why?�

  "Scott can't do it. He'd ask me why. He's always asking questions. What  
would I tell him? What if he messed up? He doesn't care about Rick. I trust 
 you."
  "He cares about the band, though. You're in it. Tell him the truth. Miguel 
 beat you up."
  At the door Elaine had turned back around. "No. Not Scott Irwin."
  "Why not?" It took Dan about two seconds to get it. "He's DEA, isn't he?" 
 Martha screamed, "What!" She spun around and kicked the nearest thing, the 
 built-in cabinet holding the television and stereo. "He's a narc? I could 
 kill him. What about the concert? Oh, no. Another bass player. Rick is  
going to shit. How could this happen?"
  Dan turned her around. "Hey. Calm down. Tomorrow Miguel is going to meet 
 Vincent Hooper. The DEA is going to offer him a suitcase with money in it. 
 Hooper will be wired, and cameras will be going. If Salazar agrees to the 
 deal, the DEA will arrest him on the spot. Then you can go back to the  
house. I'll go with you."
        382   BARBARA PARKER

  Martha looked up at him, then nodded. "Okay. That would work."
  "Good. So tonight I want you to call Miguel-"
  "No!"
  "Tell him you went to a hotel, not to worry, and you'll be home tomorrow 
 night. We don't want him too nervous to miss the meeting."
  Elaine was shaking her head. "A hotel? And who is she with, Dan? You're  
obviously not home. If he has caller-ID and she calls from the boat-"  
"You're right." Dan dropped his hands by his sides. "We'll just have to  
hope the meeting goes as planned."
  Martha said, "It will. When it comes to business, Miguel doesn't let  
anything bother him. It's just his personal life that's so screwed."

  There were two staterooms below. Elaine said she and Martha would share the 
 one with two bunks, and Dan could have the master stateroom. He said he  
preferred to sleep on the sofa, not in Miguel Salazar's bed.
  They found something to eat in the cabinets: crackers, soup, and canned  
tuna. Around two in the morning Martha went off to sleep, leaving Dan and  
Elaine with the mess. "Let Miguel clean it up," Dan told her. "It makes me 
 sick, being on this damned boat. Sick to think I wanted to put Josh on it. 
 I hate breathing the air in here."
  Elaine turned around from the sink, a soapy dish in her hands. "Then go  
outside and cool off."
  Dan went on deck to make sure the anchor rope was
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   383

 secure and the running lights were on. The sky was clear and starry black. 
Light fell through the salon door and windows and shone on the water, where 
it wobbled slowly on the surface.
  Dan thought about what Martha had told them. It seemed incredible. He had 
 no doubt, however, that Vincent Hooper could have shot an unarmed man,  
particularly if that same man was a murdering doper who had slipped away  
from him the year beforeHooper s way of handing down some belated, but well 
 deserved, justice.
  Making his way aft along the port side, Dan heard Elaine call to him from 
 the tower. He climbed the ladder and they sat on the narrow seat up there 
 under the white canvas top, twenty feet above the water. She had brought  
two mugs of hot tea.
  "What are you thinking?" Dan asked.
  Elaine turned up the collar of her jacket. "I was thinking of Vince." Then 
 she glanced at Dan, smiling a little. "How sad this would be if it's true." 
 "You can't believe it."
  "I guess I don't want to." She sipped her tea. The steam rose from the  
insulated plastic mug.
  Dan propped his feet on the stainless steel railing in front of them.  
"Don't tell me you're sorry you and he broke up."
  "No. I can't say that. But . . . a person can't just . . . pretend it never 
 happened." She was looking at Dan. "You think he murdered Luis Barrios,  
don't you? Would that make you happier if he did?"
        384   BARBARA PARKER

  "I wouldn't be surprised, but I can't say it would make me happy," Dan  
said. Elaine's intelligent face was open without being naive. A light  
breeze ruffled her short hair-He asked, "What about Vince Hooper and  
Kelly?"
  "Well, I know he pushed her hard. He believed he had to. It occurred to me 
 that Kelly could have invented this story. She was there, of course, so she 
 has her own version of the events. Let's say she turned them around so  
convincingly, even in her own mind, that she believed it that way. Then she 
 made Martha believe it."
  Dan took her hand. "Oh, Elaine. That's not what I'm talking about. You  
can't even conceive of it, can you? He's not a nice guy."
  Her eyes widened slightly. "You mean... that Vince murdered Kelly Dorff? 
 No. He couldn't have. He was with Scott Irwin."
  "According to whom?"
  "Scott told me."
  Dan remembered him: Scott, the phony bass player. Blue hair shaved halfway 
 up one side of his head. "He wouldn't cover for Vince, would he?"
  "Good Lord, no. I think Miguel Salazar did it. If Kelly were gone, Martha 
 Cruz would be the star of the show. You heard her tonight. Salazar is  
obsessed with her. He could have killed Kelly and tried to frame you for  
it. He told the police he was home playing cards with his sister when Kelly 
 died. But Scott Irwin told
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   385

 me that Salazar left the house before Kelly did, knowing where she was 
going."
  Elaine shrugged. "In any event, we'll find out more tomorrow, once we have 
 the tape. If it exists."
  Dan put down his tea. He faced her and said, "You need to believe Hooper 
 didn't do it. You're still in love with that SOB. Aren't you?"
  "Oh, come on. If I can't immediately accept Kelly Dorff's story, it's not 
 personal. Since you seem to be concerned, my motivation is simply to find 
 out how far the U.S. attorney's office could be drawn into this."
  "Never let your emotions run away with you."
  She looked at him straight on. "I don't usually. Except with Vince. I know 
 what you're thinking. Maybe you're right. Poor Elaine, running out of  
control."
  "That's not what I meant," he said.
  "I'm sorry. I know you didn't."
  Dan said, "Tell me something. I need a woman's perspective here. Why would 
 a smart girl like Martha put up with Salazar? For the band? Is she that  
ambitious?"
  Elaine held her mug with both hands and took a sip. "Okay. This is what I 
 think. Kelly once told me that Salazar was 'hot.' That he's scary and sexy. 
 That appeals to some women, like it or not, at least in the fantasy stage. 
 Sex and danger. The fantasy doesn't last, of course, but by the time they 
 realize what they've gotten themselves into, it's too late. I think Martha 
 went into it thinking she would use him. She
        386   BARBARA PARKER

 stayed because he excited her. Then she couldn't get out.
  Sex and danger. Dan thought of Vincent Hooper, wondering if that had caught 
 Elaine's attention. He said, "Martha's pretty sexy herself. Before he shot 
 at me tonight, Salazar said he loved her. Or whatever he thinks is love.  
She must've driven him wild."
  Elaine raised her brows. "You find her attractive?"
   "Not really."
   "Yes, you do."
  "Well . . . in theory. I mean, I wouldn't consider, in real terms, sleeping 
 with a girl like that, but in an abstract sort of way she's attractive, I 
 suppose."
  Elaine laughed. Her face, usually so serious, glowed with amusement. She 
 trailed off with a sigh, hiccuped a giggle, then started again. Then she  
said, "You're too much."
  "Sexy and dangerous Daniel Galindo."
  "Well-" She put down her mug and leaned over laughing, then wiped her eyes 
 on the sleeve of her jacket. Looked at him and bit her lower lip.
  He smiled at her. "Thank you, Elaine."
  "I'm sorry, it's just . . . this whole night has been crazy." She let out 
 a breath, then frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
  "It just hit me. All these years I've known you, I never told you how  
pretty you are."
  "Oh, please." She darted a glance toward the heavens. Her lashes cast a  
faint shadow across her cheek.
  Dan leaned over and kissed her. Then put his arm
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   387

 around her and did it again. The fleecy jacket was soft and warm.
 She drew back. "Oh, my God."
 He looked at her. "That's so reassuring."
  "No, I didn't mean that. I meant . . . No, you're very attractive, Dan.  
I've always thought so. And . . . I like being with you, but please. After 
 a total disaster with a married man, I can't do that anymore. I won't."  
"Elaine-" He took her hand. "I'm not going back to Lisa."
  "You said you were."
  "Well . . . I'm not." He kissed her knuckles.
  "You're sure?"
  "Positive. She's just not the kind of woman who would drag me onto a dance 
 floor in a crowded bar and embarrass me by asking the band to play 'Happy 
 Birthday.'"
  "I see. And that's what you want?"
  He stood and pulled her up off the seat. She didn't object. Dan kissed her 
 forehead, then moved his nose slowly through her hair, taking in the clean, 
 fresh scent of it. He felt the blood surge through his body so fast it took 
 his breath. That useless pounding with Lisa. Trying to make something that 
 wasn't.
  He kissed each comer of Elaine's mouth, then nudged her lips apart and slid 
 his tongue inside. She welcomed him eagerly and moved her hands down his  
back to pull his hips tightly against her. No, he decided, there wouldn't  
be any problem here.
    CHAPTER 36.

     Setting up Manatee Studios, the DEA had built a new control room, the 
    original too cramped to hold the sophisticated recording equipment Rick 
    Bobbins had demanded. He had wanted top quality for the Mayhem demo    
 tape. The DEA had eaten the cost.
  Now, at two-thirty on Sunday afternoon, Vincent Hooper stood in the middle 
 of a space quickly being reduced to bare concrete and two-by-fours. The  
sound engineer and his men were loading the equipment on dollies to take  
back to wherever they had rented it from. Vincent would have to write up a 
 report on all this. How much money spent, and the result of the
  expenditures. The result, in this case, being nothing. Not precisely zero, 
 because they had netted Rick Bobbins. Thinking about Robbins, with his  
fruitflavored Turns, his nervous laughter, and his rumpled tweed jacket,  
Vincent preferred a perfect zero.
  At 11:54, a few minutes early, he had arrived at
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   389

 Venezia, a trendy hangout for the pasta-and-merlot crowd on Las Olas Avenue 
in downtown Fort Lauderdale. Vincent had dressed in his Victor Ramirez 
outfit of silk jacket, pleated slacks, and gold jewelry. His briefcase 
contained $200,000 in cash, with the rest of it-supposedly-in the trunk of 
a Porsche TurboCarrera behind the restaurant. He had a body mike. There were 
six DEA agents and four Broward County deputies ready to make an arrest.  
At 12:45 Vincent called Rick Robbins from his portable telephone. Robbins  
said he didn't know what had gone wrong, but he'd call him, he'd find out. 
 Vincent calmly said no, he would handle it himself.
  The maid at the Salazar house told him, Lo siento, el senor Salazar estd 
 fuera del pafs. Out of the country. Where? No se, senor. He had slipped  
through their fingers.
  "Vince, what about the tapes?"
  It took a second for the question to work through. Vincent looked around. 
 The engineer, Willy Silva, was holding a cardboard box filled with reels  
and cassettes and plastic cases.
  "What about them?" Vincent asked.
  "These are the tracks that the band cut over the last few weeks. I've got 
 some mixes as well, and the final demo tape. I finished it last night."  
Willy took out a cassette in a clear plastic box. "I don't mean to brag,  
but considering that I had to do overdubs on a new bassist, new drummer,  
and a new lead guitar, this is a great-sounding tape."
         390   BARBARA PARKER

  Vincent took the cassette from him, turned it over. It was labeled Mayhem 
 Demo, Manatee Studios, W. Silva, Sound Engineer. The cassette was dark gray 
 in color and oddly sized. "It's smaller than usual."
  "It's a digital tape," Willy said. His hand was poised to take it back.  
"What are you going to do with it?"
  "I can't let you keep it. We might need it for evidence. All of these tapes 
 will have to remain in our property room until the U.S. attorney's office 
 tells us what to do with them." Vincent nodded toward the boxes stacked in 
 the corner. "Put it over there for now."
  Willy Silva made an expression like Vincent had told him to leave his  
newborn son in the snow. "Well . . . let me make a copy," he said.   "Sorry.
Tell you what. You get in touch with me in a couple of months, I'll   have
an answer. Don't worry, it won't get lost."
  "You ought to make a copy for yourself, Vince. This demo might be valuable 
 someday."
   �Not my thing, Willy."
  Two DEA agents were up on ladders taking out wiring and speakers. Vincent 
 lit a cigarette and watched.
  Last night he had called Elaine. She hadn't answered. Or hadn't wanted to 
 answer. He was going to tell her . . . something. He wasn't sure what. He 
 had believed, truly, that Elaine understood what kind of a life he had. The 
 things he had to do because there was no one else to do them. He didn't  
feel betrayed, just disappointed. He had thought she was stronger than  
that.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   391

  Vincent noticed one of the agents point toward the door and laugh. The  
other whistled.
  Scott Irwin stood there grinning. He extended his arms and made a little 
 curtsy, then waved the men quiet. He had shaved his head. The blue hair was 
 gone, and so were the ragged jeans and T-shirt. He came over to speak to  
Vincent.
  "Cute," Vincent said.
  "Like it? I look like Bobby Doyle. Give me a cigarette." He drew one out
of   Vincent's pack and borrowed his lighter. "Tough luck about Salazar," he 
 said. "The SAC have anything to say about it?"
  "The usual. He's catching it from the Feebies. Told you so, that kind of 
 thing."
  Scott Irwin thumbed the lighter and drew in smoke. He exhaled, then looked 
 at Vincent. "What are you going to do?"
  Meaning, what will you do if you get transferred to a desk job. Vincent  
didn't know what he would do. He had run out of ideas. He knew he ought to 
 leave. Go to the office, start on his reports. He was tired. Standing and 
 talking to this kid made him feel old. Vince Hooper had been chasing Pablo 
 Escobar over the rooftops of Cali when Irwin was still at the academy.  
"Do? We've got two dozen dopers to pick up, and that's starting tonight."  
"I thought Wednesday."
  "No. I talked to John Paxton. He says let's do it. Salazar didn't make the 
 meeting, so he's probably on to us. That means the others could start  
taking off. Salazar
        392   BARBARA PARKER

 might still be around, though. We'll drop by his house tonight and see if 
he's home." Vincent looked at Scott Irwin's head again and laughed. "Jesus. 
We were all getting used to the punk haircut. I assume the concert is over." 
 "Mayhem won't be there. The band is over, as of last night, and I'll tell 
 you about that in a second. Where's Willy Silva? I'd like to get the demo 
 tape, or a copy of it. My life as a rocker."
  "The tape's over there in one of those boxes." Vincent tilted his head  
toward the stack of them. "Willy wanted it too. I told him we needed it for 
 evidence, but go ahead and make a copy for yourself. Not for general  
release."
   "Thanks."
  Scott Irwin watched the men loading the mixing board onto a dolly. "Martha 
 Cruz is gone. Vanished. I can't find Dan Galindo either."
  Vincent drew on his cigarette and said nothing. Scott had a way of drawing 
 stories out. Making them into a TV action drama. "Just cut to the chase,  
will you?"
  "Last night during a break Martha went to the ladies' room and didn't come 
 back. Salazar was here and he started asking, Where's Martha? Nobody knew. 
 So he left and took Arlo Pate with him. I decided to follow. I lost them, 
 but they'd been heading south, so on a hunch I went by Dan Galindo's place. 
 His car was out front, and so was Salazar's. A few minutes later, Salazar 
 and Arlo come out, they take off. I had two
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   393

 choices, see where they went or check out the apartment. I went inside. The 
back door was unlocked. Galindo wasn't there. I saw water and fish all over 
the floor. The glass in his fish tank was broken. His clothes were all over 
the bedroom, thrown into boxes. Looks like he had to leave in a hurry." 
"With Martha?"
  "That's my guess. When I saw Martha yesterday, I noticed she had a bruise 
 on her face. She took me aside and said that Salazar had beaten her up the 
 night before, and she wasn't going back to him. I'd say she went to  
Galindo's house. Before she left the studio, she told me that Bobby Doyle  
thinks Victor Ramirez is a narc. I said, 'Yeah, he told me the same thing, 
 but don't let Miguel know.' And she said she wouldn't, that she never told 
 Miguel anything she did."
  Scott turned his back on the room and flicked ashes onto the bare concrete. 
 "Martha said that something was about to go down, and Rick was going to be 
 arrested. I said, 'No way. Martha, what're we gonna do?' She said not to  
worry because she had a way to save the band. I pressed her to tell me more 
 about it, but she wouldn't."
  Scott Irwin's voice had dropped to barely a murmur, which Vincent had to 
 strain to hear over the wrenching metal noises from the control room. They 
 were ripping out an aluminum stud to get to the wiring under the floor.  
"I called Rick this morning. I said, 'Rick, what's going on? Martha split. 
 What about the band?' He
         394   BARBARA PARKER

 said, 'Sorry, man, Mayhem is history.' He said it was too bad and so forth 
and so on, thank you, good-bye. I said, 'Rick, where's Martha?' He told me 
not to worry about it, she was fine. Then he hung up."
 Vincent looked at him. "Any ideas?"
  The dolly and mixing board moved toward the door. The wheels squeaked, and 
 the sound echoed on the bare walls.
  "I thought of the tape that Kelly told you about."
  Vincent could feel the weight of it coming down on him again. "Scott, there 
 is no tape. I told you that."
  Scott dropped his cigarette on the floor and stepped on it. Black leather 
 shoes with heavy soles. "Okay, Vince."
  Vincent said, "Looks like Salazar is after Galindo. Might save me the  
trouble. I was thinking Galindo might have tipped Salazar off. Now I'm not 
 sure."
  "No, it was Bobby Doyle's narc radar that picked you up, Hooper."

   "Really? How come it didn't pick you up?"
  "Because when Bobby passed around the joint, I inhaled."
  "Very funny."
  The debris was piling up on the floor now. The agents came down off the  
ladders and started rolling the wires onto a spool.
    CHAPTER 37.

     Elaine waited for Dan to say something as he stood looking at the     
remains of his aquarium. It must have been a nice tank. The sides and     
back were still there, so that it looked like a stage set. A humming     
noise came from a small black box, uselessly blowing air through a dear    
 plastic tube. Jagged pieces of glass attached at the corners hung     
downward, and sea grasses were draped over the front, washed forward by    
 escaping water. The dead eyes of small striped fish stared up at the     
ceiling.
  Dan turned off the aerator, then squatted on one heel, picking up the dead 
 fish by their tails and placing them in a bowl. He got up and carried the 
 bowl into the bathroom. Elaine heard the repeated sound of the toilet  
flushing.
  They had driven to Dan's place so he could change into black pants and a 
 navy blue sweater. He would be walking onto Salazar's property after dark, 
 and in
        396   BARBARA PARKER

 case anyone was home, they would be less likely to see him unlocking the 
door to Martha Cruz's rehearsal room if he blended into the shadows.   A
telephone call that afternoon had determined that he and Martha could not  
simply drive in and retrieve the tape in broad daylight. Salazar might be  
there. Elaine had called John Paxton to ask if the DEA had taken him into  
custody. Paxton replied that Salazar had not shown up at the meeting with  
Victor Ramirez. "The DEA is pissed off. They know someone warned him, but  
they're not sure who. By the way, have you heard from Dan Galindo in the  
past twenty-four hours?"
   "No, John, I haven't. What's going on?"
  "He seems to have disappeared with Martha Cruz. The DEA can't find either 
 of them. Vince Hooper wants to ask him some questions."
  Elaine told him she would call Agent Hooper the minute she heard from Dan, 
 although she couldn't imagine why he would call her. Then she asked, "Where 
 is Miguel Salazar?"
  "The staff at his house say he's gone back to Ecuador, but they could be 
 lying."
  Lies. Feeling sick, Elaine had hung up the phone, then wiped her sweaty  
palm on the thigh of her jeans. Now her job was on the line. If they didn't 
 get the Barrios tape, she would be fired, and that would be the least of  
it. She could also be criminally prosecuted for assisting in a burglary.  
Elaine looked at her watch: 6:15 P.m. It would be dark in another hour.  
Leaning over the sofa, she looked
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          397

 through the crack in the curtains. Dan had already moved his car around the 
comer, and Martha had taken hers; she would leave it in a parking lot near 
Elaine's house.
 Water was running in the bathroom sink.
 "Dan? We should go."
  He came out drying his hands. "I'm getting bulletproof glass in my next  
aquarium," he said.

  At Elaine's house Martha Cruz spread a map of Broward County on the kitchen 
 table and showed Elaine the route. Dan would have Martha's electronic gate 
 opener, allowing them to get through the security gates at Lakewood Estates 
 and the Isles of Lakewood.
  Dan looked down at the map, hands on his hips. Elaine traced with her  
finger the access road into the Isles of Lakewood. It was a narrow road,  
more like a causeway a few hundred yards long, water on each side, ending  
in a free-form piece of land in the center of a lake. The road made a loop, 
 with room for no more than a half dozen estate-sized homes. Salazar's was 
 one of them. She remembered how isolated it had seemed as she looked across 
 from the surveillance house. She recalled the soaring red-tile roof, the  
tennis court and pool, two-acre lawn sloping down to a small white sandy  
beach, the luffing sail of a beached catamaran, the children running  
happily on the back terrace. To the south a separate guest quarters had  
been converted into a studio for Martha Cruz.
        398   BARBARA PARKER

  "It's a narrow road," Elaine observed. "Where can we park?"
  "Go around the loop," Martha said, tracing the road with her finger. "Let 
 us off at a vacant lot about here, then we'll go straight to the studio-" 
 "We?" Dan shook his head.
  Still leaning on her elbows, Martha looked up, her brow furrowing. Her  
black hair was twisted into a braid, and she had removed all her jewelry.  
"I'm going with you."
  "Rick is my client; I'll handle it. I don't want you along. It's
  potentially dangerous."
   "Miguel's not even home."
  Elaine asked, "What about Arlo Pate?"
  Dan said, "I'll take along a steak to throw at him. This won't take more 
 than five minutes. I've seen the house. You and Martha park down the street 
 at the vacant lot. I'll walk back, get in the car, and we'll leave."   "How
will you know which is the right tape?" Martha sat back in her chair   with
her arms crossed. "Kelly didn't write 'DEA raid' on it. There are   dozens
of tapes, and I'm the only one who knows where it is. Even if I tell   you,
you might pick up the wrong one, and we're not going back."
  Cocky bitch, Elaine thought.
  Dan's face was tight with anger. Or fear perhaps. He knew what this  
involved. Martha had no idea. Even so, she had a point.
  "Dan, she's right."
  He was looking at Martha Cruz. "If Miguel is at
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          399

 home, we're taking off. Understand? The tape isn't worth our lives, and I 
don't care what's on it."
  "He isn't home," she insisted. "While you and Elaine were gone I called the 
 house and made sure-"
   "Oh, my God. Caller-11)," Elaine said.
  "I used a pay phone, Elaine. Look, I'm not stupid. Believe me, I know what 
 Miguel is. I saw him shoot Leon Davila."
   They both looked at her.
  "It was on the second-floor terrace. Miguel shot Leon in the chest three 
 times, and he fell into the hot tub. Miguel doesn't know I saw. I'd gotten 
 out of the tub, but I came back to see what Leon had to say. He had been on 
 an errand for Miguel, delivering some cash. Arlo was up there fixing the  
plumbing, and he saw it too. I never asked, but I'm pretty sure that Arlo  
buried Leon's body out where they're widening the lake. Arlo used to work  
over there on the dragline."
   "Why did Miguel shoot Leon?" Dan asked.
  "Well, basically, aside from the fact that Leon was a cokehead and becoming 
 undependable, he saw me naked and he was bragging about it. That tells you 
 how coked out he was. I was surprised when Miguel shot him. I thought he'd 
 just send him back to Ecuador. Maybe-now that I think of it-Miguel did it 
 because of what I said about Leon. That he was ruining the band, and we'd 
 never get a record contract with him in it-which was totally true."   Dan
was staring at her. "Leon died because of what you said?"
        400   BARBARA PARKER

  She made a small laugh. "It's too bad what happened to Leon, but it wasn't 
 my fault."
  "No, you didn't shoot Leon. You expected Miguel to take care of it. Hadn't 
 you already proved to yourself how much he would do for you? He turned his 
 guest house into a studio, bought you a new keyboard. Paid everybody in the 
 band. Gave you a car, jewelry, clothes. No, let me finish. What did you  
want most, Martha? You wanted to be the star. When it came to a choice  
between your best friend and your career, hey, too bad for Kelly Dorff."  
"That's a lie! I never told him to get rid of Kelly!" Martha was on her  
feet now, fists clenched at her sides.
  "I'm sure you didn't say to him, 'Miguel, kill Kelly for me.' What was it 
 you said? I remember that last Sunday morning we were on the terrace of  
Miguel's house. I'd brought over a box of Kelly's things. Miguel didn't  
seem happy to have her as a guest. Then you said, in his presence, that you 
 were afraid that Kelly would ruin the concert. That you wished she weren't 
 in the band. How many other times had you said that to Miguel? And last  
Sunday were you holding back more than usual because I was there?"   Martha
laughed, a single short peal of astonishment. "You think I wanted   her
dead?"
  "You still needed her for the concert, but Miguel couldn't wait. Lucky  
thing that Rick came through with a new guitarist."
  She rushed at him, screaming. Dan deflected her fists,
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   401

 spun her around, and held her around the middle. Her flailing legs kicked 
over a kitchen chair.
  Elaine moved quickly out of the way. "Martha! Stop it!"
  She went limp, crying. "He didn't do it. He was upstairs with his sister." 
 Dan let her go, and Martha stumbled back into a chair.
  Elaine said, "No, Scott Irwin saw Miguel leave shortly before Kelly. And
he   knew where she was headed, correct? He could have arrived first, waited
for   her to let herself in using the spare key, then shot her with Dan's  
speargun. He hated Dan. Why not try to frame him for Kelly's murder?"  
"Kelly was my best friend." Martha took the tissue that Elaine gave her,  
but kept her head bowed. The braid had come half undone, and her hair hung 
 over her face. After a minute she looked up at Dan. "Are you still going to 
 help me?"
  "Let's get this straight," Dan said. "I'm going to get the tape, but I'm 
 not doing it for you, Martha. It's for Rick. If you indirectly benefit,  
great. But I don't care."
  Elaine put a hand on Martha's shoulder. "I'm going to talk to Dan for a  
minute. We'll be right back." She pulled on his wrist. In her bedroom, she 
 closed the door and leaned on it. "I've never seen such a perfect match.  
That girl's as ruthless as Salazar." She opened the nightstand by the  
double bed. "I want you to take this." She handed him a .38 Smith & Wesson 
 revolver in a brown leather belt holster.
   "You want me to shoot Martha with it?"
        402   BARBARA PARKER

  "Be serious." Elaine flipped out the cylinder, unloaded the six bullets, 
 then closed the gun and pulled the trigger. "Don't take it out unless you 
 mean to shoot. Hold it with both hands, arms extended. Squeeze slowly-"  
"I didn't know you were such a tough broad," Dan said. "Thanks, but if they 
 catch me for an armed burglary, I'd be in real trouble."
  "Yes, and if Salazar is at home, he'll kill you, and you can avoid jail  
completely."
  "Give me the gun." He dropped it into the holster, then put it back into 
 her nightstand.
  She threw her arms around his neck. "Please, Dan. I know you want to help 
 your client, but don't risk yourself for him. For me either. What I've done 
 has been my choice, and I'll live with it."
   He held her tightly. "I'll be careful."

  Driving into Lakewood Estates, Elaine could see the buildings of the  
country club to the right beyond a landscaped parking lot, then an empty  
expanse of black, marked here and there with the vague shapes of sand  
traps. The guard shack was dead ahead, occupying an island that divided the 
 road. Another two miles would bring them to the Isles of Lakewood. Martha 
 sat in the front seat, Dan in the back. Martha kept a gate opener in her  
car, and she had brought it with her. As they neared the guard shack she  
pressed the button. Elaine slowed. Martha's thumb went up and down,  
pressing without result. The striped arm did
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   403

 not move. "Dammit! Oh, my God! They've changed the access code again!" 
Elaine said quickly, "I have my badge."
  "No." Dan's hand gripped her shoulder. "Just go through and tell the guard 
 you took the wrong turn."
  They came back out and parked at the country club. Martha said, "I'm  
sorry."
  Elaine exhaled. "Now what?"
  "We can walk in," Martha said.
  "Dan, you've been to Salazar's house. What do you think.
  "It's risky," he said. "We might get around this guard gate, but the  
approach to the next one is narrow, with the lake on both sides. They might 
 notice us."
  Martha said, "We have to try!"
  "There's no way in," Elaine said.

  Elaine drove slowly along an unpaved road west of Lakewood Village. To  
their left was a swamp being drained for more houses. On the east side, a  
wide canal guarded the Isles of Lakewood, most of the home sites still  
vacant. Martha looked for landmarks. The overcast sky hid the sliver of  
moon.
  Turning her headlights off, Elaine parked behind a weedy hill of dirt  
pushed to the side when the road had been bulldozed. Martha said nobody  
ever came out here, except for kids smoking pot. Construction debris was  
scattered around-five-gallon paint cans, old lumber, some twisted rebars.  
Crickets chirred in the weeds.
  Dan explained that when the road was finished,
         404   BARBARA PARKER

 a long mound of earth would run alongside to keep motorists from seeing into 
the residential areas. Nothing had been planted yet; it was only weeds, bare 
rock, and black Everglades muck, which had dried to powdery dust.
  The three of them climbed to the top of the hill, Dan catching Elaine by
an   arm when she nearly slipped backward on the loose ground. Across the
lake,   some hundred yards distant, the Isles of Lakewood spread out ahead
of them,   most of the home sites still undeveloped. A light shone weakly
from a   construction shack, a temporary metal building. There were some fuel
tanks   for the dragline, which sat idle, a sleeping brontosaurus with a huge
steel   bucket Elaine could have driven her car into. Farther away, past the
vacant   lots and over the trees, were the roofs of the houses already built.
Martha   pointed out Miguel Salazar's. There were one or two lights in the
upper   windows; nothing could be seen below that.
  "My studio is on this side," Martha said. "The door faces the house, but 
 there are trees between, so no-
  
 body could possibly see us. The dogs stay in the garage at night."
  At Dan's direction, Elaine had driven to the nearest grocery store. He had 
 purchased a styrofoam cooler, black plastic bags to cover its whiteness,  
two darkcolored towels, and an airtight container for the tape. Dan and  
Martha would float their clothing across and get dressed again on the other 
 side.
  Martha Cruz bounded down the slope and sat on a
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   405

 rock to take off her boots, then her black jeans and sweater. She wore 
nothing underneath. She tossed her clothes into the cooler, then raised her 
arms over her head and moved as if she were dancing.
  Elaine shivered, more from nerves than the cold. Dan turned back to look
at   her. He was a silhouette in the faint light from the construction shack. 
 "We'll be back in ten minutes."

  On the roof Arlo Pate stared south into the darkness. He could see the tops 
 of trees, then the white, weedy ground of the vacant lot, and beyond that, 
 a couple hundred yards away at the edge of the lake, was the boom of the  
dragline. About five minutes ago he had noticed headlights moving on the  
dirt road. Then they had gone out.
  Usually it was high school kids smoking grass or making out or doing what 
 he was doing, which was having a couple of beers, but this was Sunday  
night. In Lakewood Village they didn't usually party on a school .night.  
He would have forgotten it and opened another beer, but he had seen  
silhouettes on top of the hill. He couldn't tell how many. Two or three.  
Whoever it was, they came on down the slope.
  It was when he saw someone go into the water that he stood up and kept  
watching. Swimming in this weather, sixty degrees. They had to be stoned or 
 crazy. Or they wanted something. If they came this way, he should probably 
 mention it to Miguel.
    CHAPTER 38.

     Martha Cruz shrieked getting into the water, and Dan told her to be   
  quiet. She rubbed her bare arms briskly, then submerged to her
     shoulders. Pushing the cooler out ahead, Dan stroked smoothly and     
silently into the lake. Martha dog-paddled behind him.
  The rocky ground angled sharply and vanished into the gloom. The steel  
teeth of the dragline bucket had left deep gouge marks about two feet apart 
 along the shore, as if a monster cat had clawed the earth. When he had  
lived in Lakewood, Dan used to hear in the distance the great clank and  
rattle of the machines as they chewed their way around a new subdivision,  
hoisting tons of pulverized rock from the ground, creating a lake here and 
 higher ground there.
  Reaching shore, Dan avoided the light from the construction shed and walked 
 into the shadow of the dragline, a rock-scarred, red and white machine sit- 
ting on rusty steel tracks as high as his head. He dried
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          407

 off quickly, then helped Martha out of the water. He turned his back to give 
her some privacy, although it was too dark to see much. Across the lake he 
looked for Elaine but could see only the long, jagged hill a hundred yards 
away.
  When Martha was dressed, she said urgently, "Let's go."
  Dan pulled her back. "Hold it. I'm going first. When I see that it's okay, 
 I'll flash my penlight two times." He picked his way by starlight through 
 the darkness. He knew that past the construction zone was a vacant lot,  
then the Salazar property, marked by a line of hedge. They would come at  
the house from the side. Lake and pool to the right, street to the left.  
Find an open spot in the hedge, walk fifty yards to the guest house. Martha 
 had the key. She would open the door while he stood guard. She would find 
 the Barrios tape, lock the door, and then they would return by the same  
route.
  Stopping at a pile of branches and old lumber, Dan turned and signaled.  
Martha ran across the open ground and stopped beside him, her breath light 
 and quick. He went ahead to a tree, then she followed. At Salazar's  
property line, they crouched for a moment behind the hedge. Dan said, "Wait 
 here." Martha nodded.
  He stepped onto the lawn and saw Miguel Salazar with his hands braced on 
 the terrace railing. Dan moved back quickly and dropped. "Stay down. It's 
 Miguel."
        408   BARBARA PARKER

 "What? He's not supposed to be-"
 "He's on the terrace. Let's get out of here."
 "He'll go back inside," she whispered.
 Dan pointed. "Right back the way you came. Now."
 "No, let's wait."
 Crouching, he dragged her by the arm.
  Martha looked back over her shoulder toward the house. "What about the  
tape?"
  "Forget the damned tape." Dan tightened his grip. At the same moment he  
heard heavy footsteps thudding from the right. "Get across the lake!" He  
shoved Martha and she took off.
  Arlo Pate crashed out of the underbrush with a flashlight. Dan sent his  
shoulder into Pate's stomach, and the big man rocked back a step. The beam 
 of the flashlight traced a wild arc through the branches overhead. Dan led 
 him away from the lake, knowing he could run faster, hoping that Martha  
would be across by the time he hit the water himself. He passed some palm  
trees made green and pink by small landscaping lights, then heard the thud 
 of a bullet hitting one of them.
  Dan dove behind a low wall enclosing a flower garden and flattened himself 
 in its shadow. Starlight revealed the silvery splash of water in a  
fountain. He heard low murmured voices then the shuffle of leaves. When the 
 flashlight beam swept over the hedges where he lay, he leaped up and ran  
toward the lake, stumbling over a fallen palrn frond in the dark, then         CRIMINAL JUSTICE   409

 scrambling up again. He saw the boom of the dragline and headed for it. 
Arlo Pate yelled, "This way!"
  Dan glanced around and saw Pate fifty yards behind. He broke into the open 
 and picked up his speed. The light from the construction shed was on him  
now. The ground spurted up just ahead to his left, and he heard the whine  
of a ricochet. Pulling his sweater over his head, he ran for the dragline. 
 In its shadow the lake was perfectly black, and he could get quickly out of 
 pistol range.
  He threw himself at the water. In that brief second of arc he filled his 
 lungs then submerged. The cold hit his bare chest like a slap. He would  
zigzag under the surface, coming up for air each time in an unexpected  
spot, then go down again, moving steadily toward the opposite shore.  
Nothing was visible, but Dan could gauge his depth by the variation in  
pressure on his ears. He stayed level at about four feet. He came up for  
air and dived again. When he surfaced the second time, a bullet pocked the 
 water a few inches from his head. He dropped under.
  As his arms moved in unison forward and around, he closed his eyes and let 
 his body relax. Counted slowly. Willed his heart rate to drop. He realized 
 suddenly that he had forgotten to notice his direction. He let himself sink 
 toward the bottom. The slope would tell him which way to go. His lungs were 
 already burning, desperate for air.
        410   BARBARA PARKER

  He put his feet on a rock. Strangely, the rock seemed to be vibrating.  
Through his eyelids he saw a flicker of light and looked up to see a  
steadily brightening glow as if dawn had arrived. At the same moment he  
heard the deep growl of an engine. He popped to the surface and pulled in  
a breath.
  The dragline was rolling forward on its enormous tracks, spotlights pointed 
 at Dan. He heard a squeal of metal and tilted his head back, looking  
upward. The bucket was rising, swinging out behind him. For an instant of  
incomprehension Dan could only stare at it. Then the cables let go and the 
 thing fell as if in slow motion, tons of steel. Dan inverted and kicked for 
 the bottom. He could feel the rush of water and pressure as the bucket  
swung past him horizontally, as if he were a small fish and a maniacal  
giant were trying to grab him in a net. He swam blindly, disoriented. The  
clank and roar were muffled, and he could tell which way was up only by the 
 light playing over the surface.
  If he came up Salazar could pick him off easily. As fear and a pounding  
heart burned away oxygen, Dan clamped his jaw shut. Curling up, losing his 
 strength, he felt the water break past his mouth. He thought of josh. And 
 of Elaine waiting terrified on the opposite shore, unable to help him. He 
 would rather have died in the ocean, where the water was clean and free.  
Not in this ugly, dark water with a bottom of unyielding rock covered by  
ooze.
  Above him, the lights swung across the surface of the water, and the awful 
 clank and groan went on.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   411

 Then he felt himself moving forward, rolling like a leaf in a rain gutter. 
A metal floor seemed to rise up beneath him. The air hit his face and he 
breathed, coughing and choking.
  Dan slid down the immense metal bucket, grit and rock under his bare back. 
 He saw the black sky above him, links of chain a foot across, three of them 
 connected to a heavy cable. The bucket was being winched upward, water  
pouring through the holes and slits in the metal. He looked through one of 
 them and saw the lights of Lakewood Village. Scrambling the ten feet or so 
 to the other side, he could see moonlight glinting on the windshield of  
Elaine McHale's car. She was lost in the shadows.
  The bucket swung closer to land. It was too late to jump out now. Dan saw 
 Miguel Salazar fifty feet below, both hands on the gun, holding it steady. 
 Dan saw a flash, heard a bullet ping off the bucket. Another one hit the  
chain, making sparks. The silencer hardly mattered over the shriek of the  
engine and slamming of the gears.
  He looked down again and saw a slender figure in black standing beside the 
 construction shed-Martha Cruz. She cupped her hands at her mouth and  
yelled. Salazar turned. The pistol dropped to his side and his left arm  
moved, a gesture of frustration. They were screaming at each other.   Dan
crawled up the floor of the bucket, which had shifted to a less   perilous
incline. The mouth of it faced the dragline, and the steel teeth   glinted
in the spotlights. He reached the edge and looked down.
        412   BARBARA PARKER

  Salazar was pointing at the bucket. Martha shook her head vehemently, braid 
 swinging. Then Salazar raised the pistol, aiming straight at her. Martha's 
 hands went out, placating, begging.
  Dan screamed, "No!"
  At the same instant, cables squealing, the bucket dropped under him. He  
grabbed for the edge and held on. The descent was fast, but just before he 
 slammed into the ground, the bucket slowed. With a reverberating crash of 
 metal the back end hit first, then the front. The breath was knocked from 
 his lungs.
  He pushed up on shaking arms.
  When his mind grasped what he was seeing between two of the steel teeth,
he   staggered backward and fell against the side. Miguel Salazar lay face
up,   trapped under the bucket. The edge had caught him mid-torso, and his
chest,   arms, and head were exposed. The teeth supported the front edge just
enough   not to have crushed him instantly. The front of his white shirt was
bright   red. Horror gleaming in his eyes, Salazar pushed at the massive
weight.   Blood streamed from his mouth and nose.
  Then he went limp, and his head hit the ground. The engine of the dragline 
 stopped roaring, and Dan could hear a last hiss of air from Salazar's  
chest.
  Martha Cruz screamed into the silence.
  Arlo Pate slid down the ladder from the cab and ran toward her, his heavy 
 boots kicking up bits of rock. Before Dan could shout to warn her, Pate had 
 picked
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   413

 Martha up like a child. He was patting her back, and she buried her face in 
his denim jacket.
  It took Dan a few seconds to stand. Holding onto the edge of the bucket,
he   managed not to stumble. He could hear Arlo Pate's heavy sobs, like the 
 starter of a truck engine that wouldn't quite catch. Dan inched over to the 
 pair of them. Pate looked over Martha's head at Dan.
  "Sorry, man. When I saw Miguel aim at Martha, I figured out you were on her 
 side." Still holding Martha on his shoulder, he pulled off his bandanna and 
 wiped his face. "I feel bad. I let him hurt her before. I feel real bad." 
 Elaine's frantic voice came from across the water. Dan walked to the  
shoreline and cupped his hands at his mouth. "Salazar is dead. We're all  
right." Looking around, Dan spotted his sweater and went to put it on. His 
 slacks were still dripping, and his socks squished in his shoes. His body 
 was shivering from the cold.
  Arlo Pate gently lowered Martha to her feet. She ran over and grabbed Dan 
 by the arm. "Let's go get the tape now." There were twigs in her tangled  
hair, and her face was dirty and tear-streaked.
  He knew she would go for the tape whatever he said. "All right, fine."  
Avoiding the front of the bucket, Dan told Arlo he ought to lift it off  
Miguel's body, then cut the spotlights. They would call the police from the 
 house.
  Arlo caught Dan's sleeve. "Are they going to arrest me?"
        414   BARBARA PARKER

  Dan stopped walking. All of them would be questioned. It would take the  
rest of the night. He would have to explain why he and Martha had come  
here, what they were after, and why. He said, "They won't arrest you.  
Here's what happened. We came for Martha's keyboard. We swam in because  
she's afraid of Miguel. Miguel saw us, tried to kill us, and you saved our 
 lives. Okay?"
  "Sure."
  Dan slapped Arlo on one shoulder, then walked to the water's edge. "Elaine! 
 I'll be right back."
  He could see a movement onshore. "You said that last time!"
    CHAPTER 39.

     In her studio Martha opened a cabinet and rummaged through a box while 
    Dan stood by the open door. He combed his fingers through his hair,    
 picking out bits of gravel. Under his sweater his skin burned from     
abrasions.
  Martha was saying, "I hope the police don't take all of this. Seize it or 
 whatever. I don't have receipts, but it's mine. Miguel bought it for me." 
 She told Dan how hard it would be to replace the keyboard, which was a Korg 
 Trinity worth almost $5,000. Plus the rest of it: computer backup, mixing 
 board, microphones, speakers, amps, headphones-
  "You know what?" Dan said. "I don't give a damn."
  Martha's eyes came up from the box. "What's your problem?"
  If she had been within range he might have slapped her. "My problem. Well, 
 after nearly drowning, getting shot at, then seeing a man crushed like a  
roach, I
        416   BARBARA PARKER

 just can't get too worked up over how hard it would be to replace your 
fucking keyboard!"
  She stared at him a moment then went back to the tapes.
  "What do you think? Did Miguel kill Kelly for you?"
  The only reply was the clicking of plastic.
  "Your best friend, remember her? The girl who paid the price for your  
ambition."
  Martha held up a tape then sent it toward Dan, an easy toss. He caught it 
 in one hand, a gray cassette inside a clear plastic case. The label said  
PARTY.
  When she spoke, her voice trembled. "That's what we came for. I've already 
 cried over Kelly. Now Miguel is dead. You may think I never loved him, but 
 you're wrong." She pushed past Dan. "I'm going to get some things from my 
 room."
  They walked in silence up the herringboned brick path to the terrace, their 
 way lit by small lamps making pools of light. Martha loosened her braid,  
and by the time they had crossed the terrace and were inside the living  
room, she was fluffing her hair into its usual dark cloud of curls. Dan  
watched her, both fascinated and repulsed, not able to decide if he admired 
 or hated Martha Cruz.
  "It's so quiet in here." Her voice seemed to echo on the marble floors and 
 high windows. "Everyone left for Guayaquil, that's what Arlo said. Miguel 
 would have been gone tomorrow." Martha trotted up the stairs.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   417

  "Don't be long," Dan said. "I want Arlo to drive me around to Elaine's car 
 so I can give her the tape before the police get here."
  Martha turned around on the stairs to look at him. "Give it to Elaine? She 
 works with the DEA."
  "No, she's a federal prosecutor," Dan said, "and I trust her."
  Martha came down the stairs. "They want to put Rick in jail."
   "Rick is my client. I'll handle this."
   "Well, he's my manager. Don't be stupid."
   "And don't you be such a bitch."
  Before he could think, Martha had snatched the cassette away. "This is  
mine, you know."
  Dan grabbed her wrist and peeled her fingers off the cassette. He gave her 
 a little shove toward the stairs. "Hurry up. I don't want to hear your  
mouth again."
  A loud knock on the front door made them both look in that direction. The 
 knock changed into deep thuds.
  At the same time a voice shouted, "Open up! Federal officers!" The door  
flew back and armed men came through it, a dozen or more. The letters DEA  
were printed like an insignia on the upper left of their dark zippered  
jackets. Martha jumped back and screamed.
  One of them shouted at her, "Where is Miguel Salazar?"
  Vincent Hooper spotted Dan and came across the living room, gun extended
in   both hands. "Get down on the floor, hands behind your head."
        418   BARBARA PARKER

 Others ran up the stairs or deeper into the house.
  "I said, get down!" Hooper's gun pointed straight at Dan's chest.
  Before Dan could reply, Martha dashed in front of him, grabbed the tape, 
 and ran toward the terrace. Another agent followed her. He had a shaved  
head, but Dan recognized him-Scott Irwin.
  He could see what was happening. Using the arrest of Miguel Salazar as a 
 cover, they had come in for the Barrios tape.
  Turning to look behind her, Martha's eyes widened and she stumbled to a  
stop. "Scott! You son of a bitch!" She kicked him in the shins with her  
boot. When Hooper's attention went for an instant to his partner, Dan  
elbowed him in the side of his head. Martha ran onto the terrace, and Irwin 
 pursued her. Dan followed. He heard the gunshot behind him, saw bits of  
glass from the door blow onto the terrace and fall like rain into the  
swimming pool. He skidded over the bits of glass and ran toward the  
railing. He planted his hands then vaulted over it, landing in the thick  
grass and rolling.
  Irwin was just ahead, and farther out, Martha Cruz. They disappeared into 
 the trees. As Dan raced over the lawn he glanced back and saw Hooper  
swinging a leg over the railing. Dan had the advantage; he knew where  
Martha was going.
  He broke through the hedge and ran across the vacant lot praying not to  
fall on the uneven ground. Ahead he could hear thuds and snapping twigs.  
Then Martha screamed. Dan saw the dragline, its colors
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   419

 barely visible in the dim light from the shed. The boom soared over it and 
the massive bucket lay on the ground draped with lengths of chain. At the 
rear of the dragline, directly behind the twin steel tracks, Scott Irwin had 
caught up to Martha Cruz. He grabbed her by the hair and swung her to the 
ground. He reached down to rip something from her hands, and she curled 
around it.
  Irwin did not notice Dan speeding toward the front of the bucket. A pistol 
 lay on the ground beside Miguel Salazar. Dan found it in the darkness,  
picked it up, and came around the .back of the dragline in the dark. Irwin 
 was bent over Martha. "Give me the fucking tape!" He punched her in the  
ribs.
  From just behind him Dan screamed, "I've got a gun! Get away from her." He 
 shouted across the water, "Elaine! Call the cops!" If she answered, he  
didn't hear it. Irwin seemed frozen in position, his weight on one knee.  
Martha was curled up, half hidden by his body.
  Irwin slowly turned his head. Dan stepped into the light and came around
so   that Irwin could see him. Both men were breathing heavily. He yelled
again,   "Let her go! Do it or I'll shoot." He heard his voice crack. The
barrel of   the pistol was three feet from Irwin's temple. Dan could see the
end of the   silencer jerking.
  "You're going to shoot me in the head?" Irwin spoke calmly. "Have you ever 
 killed a man, Galindo?"
   "Martha, give him the tape."
   "No! Shoot him!"
        420   BARBARA PARKER

 "Give him the damned tape!"
  Martha was sobbing. Irwin still held her by the hair. "If you pull that  
trigger you'll be sent away for murder."
  Dan's muscles were jumping. "I won't kill you. I'll put one in your ass. 
 Now let her go."
  As if to comply, Scott Irwin moved back slightly. Then his right hand  
reached into his open jacket and a gun barrel glinted in the light. He put 
 the gun under Martha's jaw. She screamed and kicked. Irwin jerked on her  
hair to shut her up.
  Dan yelled, "You want the tape, take it!"
   "Drop the gun or I'll blow her fucking head off!"
  Footsteps were coming closer. A heavy tread. Dan prayed for Arlo Pate.  
Vincent Hooper sped into the clearing. Dan heard his intake of breath as he 
 came to a dead stop. The light was in his eyes. In a crouch he swung his  
pistol toward Irwin, then toward Dan. The barrel of his pistol swung around 
 again, then back. He shouted,
 �
 Irwin,.�
  "I'm here! Galindo has a gun on me. Take him down!"
  Dan screamed, "You want the tape, you can have it. Martha, give it to him!" 
 Hooper was circling sideways, shifting his position to see them all.  
"What've you got there, Galindo? A .22? Not much of a weapon. You could  
miss. I'd blow you apart before you squeezed off a second round."
  "Martha! For God's sake give him the tape!"
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          421

  She awkwardly threw the cassette toward Vincent Hooper. The timing was off. 
 The cassette clattered to the ground in the space between them, and the  
tape fell out of its case.
  With his gun still pointing at Dan, Vincent Hooper looked over at what she 
 had thrown. "What is this?"
  "It's Barrios!" Irwin screamed, "Galindo! Drop it or I'll blow the bitch 
 away!"
  Hooper's head turned toward Scott Irwin, a momentary flicker of confusion. 
 In that instant Dan knew that only one of these agents had come for the  
tape. Then the memory of two facts burst into Dan's mind with such force  
that he nearly staggered. His spare key had been found in Kelly Dorff's  
pocket. The neighbor had heard a scream from inside the apartment.   "Irwin!"
His voice ripped into the darkness. "You shot Kelly Dorff with my   speargun!
It was you!"
  "He's flipping out, Vince. Shoot him!"
  "Listen to me!" Dan circled slowly left, keeping Scott Irwin between  
himself and Hooper. "Kelly had my spare key in her pocket when she died.  
The doors were locked. Whoever killed her went out the front and turned the 
 thumb lock, but he couldn't turn the dead bolt."
  Hooper leveled his 9mm pistol at Dan's heart. "Last chance, Galindo!"   Dan
forced his words through a throat clenched with fear. "She opened the   door
to somebody she trusted. I know this because the neighbor heard a   scream
from inside the apartment. A scream, then the crash of my
        422   BARBARA PARKER

 aquarium. The killer didn't force his way in. He had time to pick up a 
speargun, maybe asking her, Hey, what's this? When he aimed at her, she knew 
what he'd come for. She screamed. She pulled the tank over when she fell." 
"Shut him up, he's crazy!"
  Dan glanced at Irwin, then at Hooper, who was moving closer, closing the 
 gap. "Who would Kelly have opened the door to? Not Miguel Salazar. And not 
 you. She was scared to death of the DEA. Who, then? Her friend in the band. 
 The same guy who left Salazar's house a few minutes after she did that  
night. Scott Irwin knew where she was going."
  Dan's hands were shaking so hard he had to hold the gun with both of them. 
 Irwin turned his head to follow Dan as he circled slowly. Shadows shifted 
 on the ground.
  Hooper's voice was low and calm. "Lower the pistol. Nobody's going to get 
 hurt here. I'm not going to shoot you if you lower the gun."
  "Oh, Jesus," Dan choked out. He dropped the gun by his side, expecting a 
 bullet to tear into his chest.
   "Now talk to me."
   "Vince, what the hell-"
  "Be quiet," he said to Irwin. His dark eyes were still on Dan. "Talk to  
me."
  "I thought you might have done it, Hooper. You had a reason-to keep Kelly 
 quiet about Luis Barrios. She claimed you shot him in cold blood. But I  
don't think you killed Kelly, and I don't believe you sent
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          423

 Scott to do it. That would be gutless. You're a son of a bitch, Hooper, but 
you're not a coward. Right now your buddy has a pistol to that girl's head. 
Did you happen to notice that? Are you going to let him shoot an unarmed 
civilian?"
  "Vince, for God's sake! Take him out. He's a scumbag. He works for the  
dopers."
  "Did you know that Scott Irwin murdered Kelly?" Dan was talking faster. "I 
 don't think he told you. Elaine McHale says he claimed to have an alibi. He 
 was supposedly with you. Did you cover for him? You'd lie for a member of 
 your team, but I don't think you'd lie to protect a killer."
  Irwin was pivoting on his knee toward Dan. The barrel of his gun swung  
around. There were two flashes of light almost simultaneously and two loud 
 shots. Irwin's went wild. He sank to his knees and awkwardly crumpled.  
Martha Cruz scrambled out of the way.
  Holstering his gun, Vincent Hooper shouted at Dan as he ran. "You! Stay  
back!" He dropped beside Irwin and pulled open his jacket. "Oh, my God."  
From the darkness came the voices of the other agents who had heard the  
noise. Flashlights danced in the trees. Hooper yelled for somebody to call 
 air rescue.
  Irwin was gasping, "Why . . . did you-"
  "Because he was unarmed!" Hooper stripped off his own jacket and holster, 
 then a black pullover, which he pressed against Irwin's side.
        424   BARBARA PARKER

  One of the agents threw Dan to the ground and put a foot on the back of his 
 neck. "I didn't shoot him!" Dan yelled.
  "Shut up!"
  Through the legs of the dozen men milling around, Dan raised his head far 
 enough to see. One of the agents discovered Salazar's body, and flashlights 
 were trained on it. A familiar pair of blue jeans and sneakers hurried  
through the group, paused, then a moment later came toward Dan. By twisting 
 his head around he could see Elaine McHale. She told the man to let him up. 
 Elaine steadied Dan by grabbing his arm.
  "I drove around by the entrance and showed my badge to get in. Are you all 
 right?" She looked at him intently. Dan said that he was, then pulled her 
 out of earshot of the men and told her what had just happened.
  Her eyes slowly closed, then opened. She glanced over her shoulder at  
Vincent Hooper then walked over to stand behind him. Dan followed a few  
steps behind.
  Hooper had Irwin's head in his lap now. "Hey, you're going to make it.  
Don't give up on me. Come on, Scott."
  The younger agent's chest was working up and down.
  Elaine sat on one heel. "Scott? Can you see me? This is Elaine McHale."  
His eyes moved toward her.
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   425

 "Did you kill Kelly Dorff ?"
  Hooper looked fiercely at Elaine, this woman who by that question had  
placed herself on the other side.
  "Yes." The word was a whisper.
  "Oh, my God," Hooper groaned. "He said he needed an alibi for missing a  
meeting with a Miami narcotics cop."
  Elaine glanced at him, then leaned closer to Irwin. "Did you ever tell  
Agent Hooper what you did?"
   "No."

   "Leave him alone, Elaine."
  Irwin could barely mouth the words. "She was going to damage . . . the  
agency, and blow the operation. I had to."
  Hooper looked around and screamed, "Where the hell are the paramedics?"  
Scott Irwin weakly grabbed Hooper's arm to get his attention. "Vince . . . 
 I wanted . . . Galindo. Like you . . . and Barrios. You shot him. Dirty  
doper. They all are."
  "No. No. Barrios had a gun. I told you."
  "But . . . he threw it down first. Kelly said . . . it's on the tape."  
Irwin was breathing faster. "Oh, God, it hurts. Vince-"
  "Take it easy, Scott. Okay. Don't talk anymore. Hang on, buddy, you're  
going to be all right."
  A helicopter was coming in fast now, a Broward County sheriffs copter, its 
 spotlight playing over the ground, catching the lake, then the boom of the         426   BARBARA PARKER

 drag-line. The light settled on the people standing around Scott Irwin. He 
was pinned in a wash of blinding white.
  Dan felt the downdraft. His hair whipped in the wind, and the agents'  
jackets fluttered. Dust rose up, and dried weeds and trash swept across the 
 ground. Then the chopper settled a distance away, and two paramedics jumped 
 out with their equipment.
  Scott Irwin was still looking up. The dust was in his eyes, but he wasn't 
 blinking. Dan moved aside for the paramedics. He noticed Elaine speaking  
with Vincent Hooper, her hand on his forearm. Their words were inaudible in 
 the whine from the chopper. It was still running, ready to take off. Then 
 Elaine walked back to Dan.
  Her short hair was tousled. "I told Vince we're leaving. They can get in 
 touch with you later. Where's the tape?"
  "Martha tossed it to Hooper. He didn't pick it up. I don't know where it
is   now."
  She looked at Dan directly. "I have to turn it in to the U.S. attorney." 
 Dan said, "Sorry, Elaine. It's for Rick."
  "As a federal officer, I'm demanding that tape."
  "I don't have it."
  She exhaled and looked around. "Well, where is it?"
  "Martha might have picked it up. She was here a minute ago." Dan walked  
past the crowd to get a better view. Martha Cruz was nowhere in sight.     CHAPTER 40.

     From the driver's seat Elaine looked over at Dan. He could see her face 
    clearly by the lights of the interstate and oncoming traffic.
 "I'm fine," he said.
 "Your forehead is bruised," she said.
  "I have bruises all over, which you can check out later if you like." He 
 caressed her cheek. The amber glow made Elaine's eyes appear huge. "Thank 
 you for getting me out of there."
  She grabbed his hand. "I have never been so frightened, watching you in  
that bucket. Expecting it to tip, and I'd see you fall. Knowing that Miguel 
 Salazar was waiting. And then Scott!"
  Dan asked, "What did you say to Hooper about our reason for going to  
Salazar's house?"
  "The truth-that Martha wanted to give you the Barrios tape. Vince never  
believed it existed. He wants very badly to hear it."
        428   BARBARA PARKER

 "I'm sure."
  Elaine glanced over at Dan. "Understand something. Vince believed, truly
he   did, that Luis Barrios shot first. Now he wonders if he could have
imagined   Barrios shooting at him. There was so much noise and confusion,
and he has   to admit that he hated the man." She put a hand on Dan's arm.
"If I talk   about Vince, it isn't to excuse him."
  Dan saw the green interstate signs counting down the streets, heading  
toward the center of Miami. "You're saying that if Hooper killed Luis  
Barrios, it was an accident? Or his mind slipped? I don't think so. Not  
Hooper. You should've seen the amount of control he had tonight. Irwin's  
screaming, I nearly pass out, and Vincent Hooper is rock steady." Dan  
laughed in disbelief. "He blew away his own partner. He shot him. No  
hesitation. If it weren't for Hooper, I'd be dead."
  Elaine held Dan's hand. "I suppose he appreciates the irony of that as well 
 as you do."
  Dan asked, "Why did Scott Irwin do it? He said Kelly would have blown the 
 operation. That's no reason to commit murder."
  "No, he probably did it for Vince."
  Dan looked at her.
  "Oh, it wasn't what you're thinking. Scott was devoted to Vince. Many of 
 the younger agents admire him, but Scott took everything Vince said so  
seriously. 'We're the last line of defense, the only ones with any guts;  
that sort of thing. Scott believed that Kelly Dorff would have destroyed  
Vincent Hooper and that
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   429

 meant the destruction of everything noble and brave. I'm certain that Scott 
would have given anything to be like Vince."
  For a long moment Elaine seemed lost in her thoughts. Then she said,  
"Someday Vince is going to realize that he helped shape Scott Irwin into  
what he was. He'll carry that guilt with him as long as he lives."   "I'm
glad to know the guy has a heart," Dan said. "What is your office   going to
do with Rick Robbins?"
  "I really can't say. I'm not on the case anymore."
  "Well, give me an opinion, then. An agent on the case murdered the  
confidential informant and tried to kill the defense attorney. The man you 
 wanted Rick Bobbins to testify against is now dead. How can Rick possibly 
 be prosecuted? What jury would convict him?"
  "Dan, I can't discuss it."
  "Okay." He pointed at her car phone. "May I use that?"
  �Why?�

  "To order a pizza." When Elaine looked around, Dan said, "I want to call
my   client. It just occurred to me and I should have thought of it sooner-
that   the raid on Salazar's place wasn't to get the Barrios tapethat was
Scott   Irwin's agenda. The DEA wanted Salazar. This tells me there's a sweep
going   on tonight, and Rick may be on the list." Dan waited for a response
from   Elaine.
  "I don't know," she said honestly.
  "Then I need to find Rick. He has to stay out of sight
        430  BARBARA PARKER

 until after I talk to John Paxton tomorrow and persuade him not to
 prosecute. So may I use your phone?"
 She waved for him to go ahead.
 Dan dialed Rick's home number. Sandy answered.
  "Sandy, this is Dan. Let me talk to Rick." He listened for a while, then 
 said good-bye and disconnected. He put the telephone back in its holder.  
"What was that?" Elaine asked.
  "The man refuses to give up. Rick's wife says that he's taking Joel  
Friedman to dinner tonight, trying to sweettalk him into giving Martha Cruz 
 a special audition." Dan said, "Friedman's a talent scout with Capitol  
Records. Do you mind driving by Miami Beach? They're at the Delano."   Elaine
stared at him. "You're going into the Delano like that? Your pants   are
still wet and your sweater is torn."
  "It's a very hip place, the Delano. You don't have to go in. Find a place 
 to double-park. I'll only be a minute."
  She was still looking at him. "When you say that, I don't believe you."

  The hotel was on Ocean Drive, backing up to the Atlantic. Dan pointed at 
 the valet parking entrance, which swept up under a portico surrounded by  
high hedges. The valet took a look at Elaine's Ford sedan, then at Dan and 
 hesitated taking the keys.
  She showed him her badge.
  The lobby was bare except for avant-garde pieces
          CRIMINAL JUSTICE          431

 of furniture placed here and there, red or purple uphostered things on 
skinny black metal legs. The floors were wood, the ceilings high, and wide 
doors at the far end opened on the Atlantic. Long, gauzy white panels 
floated in the breeze coming through the building.
  Dan walked straight back through the lobby, then through a lounge area with 
 dimly lit ruches separated by more curtains. The people looked up from  
their wine or their cocktails, staring as Dan and Elaine passed. A maitre  
d' put himself in their path.
  "Sir, may I help you?"
  Elaine held up her badge, and the man melted away.
  The bar opened to a dining area. Rick was not there. Dan kept walking  
through the wide-open doors. The terrace was under a white canvas canopy,  
the tables were draped in white, and the waiters wore white jackets. The  
back garden of the Delano, with its topiary and long, shallow swimming  
pool, extended toward the ocean, stopping at a white picket fence. The  
narrow grounds were dotted with people out strolling and carrying drinks.  
Elaine saw them before Dan did, and pointed. There in a vine-covered niche 
 to one side sat three persons. One man he did not recognize. The other man 
 was Rick Robbins. The third person, in a long, slim black dress and her  
hair in a black cloud, was Martha Cruz. She was smoking a cigarette.   For
a moment Dan stopped, putting the image into focus. Martha Cruz and   Rick
Robbins. Two hours ago
        432   BARBARA PARKER

 she had been covered with dirt, sobbing for the DEA not to kill her.  
"That's Martha," Elaine said, astonished. "How did she get here?"
  "She's a resourceful girl," Dan said. He went quickly down the steps from 
 the terrace then followed the path running alongside the pool.
  Arlo Pate stepped in front of him. He had been leaning against a palm tree 
 several yards away from the group, and Dan had not noticed him.
  Dan said, "I need to talk to Rick."
  "Sorry, man. Martha and I just got here, and she needs to talk to Mr.  
Friedman."
  "Arlo, let me have a couple minutes with Rick, then I'll leave."
  "Yeah, well, you have to wait." He put his hand out, and the heavy fingers 
 lightly touched Dan's chest.
  At the same moment Rick glanced around. He stared at Dan, then spoke to the 
 man next to him. Rick stood up. Martha Cruz remained in her chair. Her lips 
 were deep red, and silver sparkled against her long neck. She put her  
cigarette to her lips, then turned back to her companion.
  Elaine touched Dan's shoulder. "I'm going to sit over here while you speak 
 with your client." She walked toward the terrace.
  Dan said to Arlo, "Could Rick and I have a minute?"
  "Yeah, sure."
  Rick had his hand on Dan's elbow, taking him farther
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE   433

 toward the rear fence. Dan could hear the pounding of the ocean behind it. 
"What the hell is going on?"
  Rick was grinning. "Hey, what a surprise. Where'd you come from? I mean, 
 Martha told me about your run-in out at Miguel's house. Must've been pretty 
 hairy for a while, right? Listen, that guy over there? That's Joel  
Friedman, and he's talking to Martha about a contract. We got him, Dan."  
Dan was staring at Martha Cruz. She was leaning on her arms on the small  
table, laughing at something Friedman said. Friedman was early forties,  
pale and pudgy, wearing jeans and a tan jacket, looking slick. For the  
first time Dan noticed what was on the table
 an odd-looking machine resembling a tape player. He took Rick's hand off his 
elbow and walked quickly toward Martha Cruz.
  He heard Rick's footsteps behind him. "Dan! Wait up! They're talking  
business over there." Rick tugged his arm. "Hey, listen, I'll give you a  
call tomorrow."
  Dan looked down at Martha Cruz. "What is this?"
  She glanced at Rick, then back to Dan.
  Dan hit the eject button. The door fell slowly open, revealing a gray  
cassette, smaller than the usual size. The label said Party.
  He slammed the door shut again and pressed Play. Party noises. Laughter. 
 Voices in the background. Then rock music blared from the little speakers. 
 Mayhem.
  Joel Friedman set his drink down and stared. "Who is this guy?"
  "He's my lawyer. Never mind him." Rick turned off
        434   BARBARA PARKER

 the music then dragged Dan several yards away. "Listen to me. This is her 
chance. She had to do it. We didn't have a demo."

 "Had to do what?"
  Rick's nervous laughter mixed with the soft background chatter and the  
sound of the sea. "You know. Get the tape. It was their party on South  
Beach last week. The girls recorded it in case we didn't get the demo tapes 
 from Manatee Studios. Really, you should've been at the party. It was a  
super performance."
  Dan stared at Martha, then back at Rick, who was still talking. "Friedman 
 loved it. I knew he would. We're gonna find a new bass player-do you  
believe that Scott guy was DEA? Arlo's gonna do drums, Bobby's coming with 
 us, too."
  "Martha took me after the party tape," Dan said numbly.
  Rick said, "Hey, whatever works, right?"
  "Where is the Barrios tape?" His head felt offbalance. "Did Martha tell you 
 about the Barrios tape?"
  "Well . . . yes. It never actually existed. Kelly made it up. She had to 
 get the DEA off her back."
  It was starting to make sense. Dan managed to speak calmly. "Okay. Martha 
 knew about me and the Barrios case from you and Kelly. She used a tape that 
 didn't exist to get me to escort her to Salazar's placeCorrect so far?"  
Rick nodded. "Because she couldn't go back herself to get a tape she and  
Kelly made of a party on South Beach. Right? And I was shot at twice,           CRIMINAL JUSTICE          435

 nearly drowned by a fucking dragline, and only by the grace of God am I 
standing here now."
  "Dan, we had no idea Miguel was home, I swear. Then the DEA-"
   "We. Meaning you helped her in this?"
  Rick hesitated, then said, "This was my last chance for a deal with a major 
 label. I thought I was going to prison, but if I could do this one thing, 
 even if they took it all away-" He forced out a laugh. "But it worked out. 
 Didn't it? You were great. You saved my life, man. They can't do anything 
 to me now. Look. They had crooked DEA agents all over the place. Tomorrow 
 with what's-his-name, Paxton, at the U.S. attorney's office, I want you to 
 tell the guy, we're pleading not guilty. Let them take me to court, see  
what they get."
  Dan grabbed Rick's lapels and shook him. "You knew. You knew what you were 
 sending me into."
   "He wasn't supposed to be home!"
  "Wasn't supposed to be?" Dan was screaming. People nearby moved away, then 
 scattered. "They nearly killed me! I could be dead, you stupid son of a  
bitch."
  Arlo Pate unhooked Dan's fingers from the front of Rick's jacket. "Well, 
 you're not, are you?"
    CHAPTER 41.

     It took awhile to arrange things, but in June, with josh out for the  
   summer, Dan took him fishing near Islamorada for a week. Dan pulled the 
    old twentyfoot Mako down on a trailer, and they slept in a motel at    
 night, but Josh didn't seem to mind. He was getting brown from the sun,   
  and he had learned how to handle the new rod and reel Dan had bought     
him. Dan had not replaced his spearguns and doubted that he ever would.    
 Using a net, he and josh had caught some nice tropicals, which they     
would take back to Miami and put in Dan's new aquarium.
  At the moment Josh was asleep, and Dan lay on the end of the pier behind 
 the motel looking south into the vast blackness of the ocean.
  It still surprised him that he was here, and alive, thanks to Vincent  
Hooper. Shaken by a nonexistent recording of a phony incident, Hooper had  
gone off to South America, though it remained unclear exactly
        CRIMINAL JUSTICE  437

 which country, to fight in some other battle. One where the moral ground 
wasn't so rocky, if such a place existed.
  What surprised Dan as much, if not more, was how easily he had given up the 
 trip to Cat Cay. Dan did not feel defeated, far from it. Being with Josh, 
 catching a few fish and cooking them on the grill in the motel's
  backyard-it was enough. He had known that it would be, and he could  
pinpoint the moment it had become clear to him: when he was underneath that 
 black water in the lake, feeling his way in the ooze, certain he would  
never see daylight again.
  He had invited Elaine to come with him and Josh, meaning it sincerely, but 
 she had declined. You guys go. She would be waiting for him when he got  
back.
  Elaine still had a job, which she had said was a miracle. The newspaper had 
 praised her: Assistant U.S. attorney helps bust DEA killer. This had been 
 a subhead of a splashy story about the successful roundup of two dozen  
members of the Guayaquil cartel. The office could hardly have fired her  
after that.
  Sitting up, Dan pressed the light on his dive watch: 11:36. If he went back 
 to the room he could see Martha Cruz on Saturday Night Live-the motel had 
 cable TV. But Rick had promised to send him the video clip.
  Dan lay back down and locked his hands under his head. He remembered his 
 father's boat, a little trawler used for shrimping or, in season, taking on 
 lobster traps. They used to go south off Marathon at sundown in the winter, 
 taking the boat out beyond the glow of
        438   BARBARA PARKER

 the city on the horizon, halfway to Cuba, it seemed. They turned off 
everything but the red and green running lights, but they could see each 
other clearly by the light of the stars as they baited hooks and tossed them 
into the sea. They had no radio. They were only a speck on the ocean, so far 
out that if they signaled no one would ever notice, but Dan had not felt the 
slightest edge of fear. He saw stars wheel up out of the sea and sweep 
overhead. Then in the depths of the night a faint yellow glow toward the 
east, a pale ghost, a slice of moon.
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