mountain?"
"Because of Anna," Collier said, looking straight ahead instead of at her. "Maybe I’ll never be ready."
"You know," she said, her voice catching a little, "Jewish people have a ceremony I’ve always admired, the kaddish. One year after someone dies, the kaddish signifies the end of official mourning. I don’t mean to sound hard, but life is too short to put on hold forever, Collier."
"She wanted to talk with me that night, but I was too busy," Collier repeated to himself as if he’d said it a thousand times already. "I let her go."
"How did it happen?" Nina asked. She didn’t really want to know, but he obviously wanted to tell her.
"She went to the grocery store to buy bread and milk. Someone ran her down at Raley’s and left her to bleed to death."
"You know I’m sorry. But—"
"Three years since she died," Collier said. "Three years following a cold trail. While her killer eats steak at the next table, stands in line in front of me at the post office ... she lies in her grave. I’m a fucking prosecutor with all the right connections, and even I can’t find the driver. Sometimes the rage, the feeling of loss, gets unbearable. I look at the defendants in court and think, this one might have done it.... No, no, it was that one ... I dream about her several times a week. "
"I didn’t know," said Nina. "I thought ... Whatever I thought, you can’t keep on like this. It’s not healthy. You need to see someone who can help you."
He laughed without humor. "A shrink? Now, there’s a standard California solution. That won’t help. Whether I accept her death or not doesn’t matter. I can’t let go until her killer pays for what he did to her. I owe her that, and that’s who I am. That’s what I’m all about."
Nina thought, then said, "Have you tried hiring a private investigator?"
"What for? Believe me, this investigation went beyond exhaustive before anyone would give up. Everyone here got involved, from the chief on down."
"Some people won’t talk to the police."
"Little Miss Fix-It," Collier said, but he seemed to be thinking about what she had said.
"Remember Paul van Wagoner, the Carmel PI? He is a wonderful investigator."
"I remember you think he’s wonderful."
"He’s helped me on several cases. He used to work the homicide division in San Francisco and Monterey before he went out on his own. Can’t hurt to give him a call, can it?"
"God, I am so sleepy," Collier said, covering a yawn with his hand. "Okay, since you insist. Give me his number."
"And go to bed early."
"I’m finishing up a three-defendant murder trial tomorrow against Jeff Riesner. I have to prepare my final rebuttal tonight and give it tomorrow. When it’s finally over, I’ll have to start some real electioneering. A speech at the Elks, then there’s the League of Women Voters...."
Nina said, "Well, bye, then," feeling forlorn. His words reminded her that she had a divorce trial that afternoon herself, opposite the bellicose Riesner, the most unpleasant lawyer she had met at Tahoe, and clients waiting back at the office.
"Look, I’ll call you," Collier said. And she had to be content with that.
4
ON WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, IN LIGHT RAIN, RAYMOND de Beers went into the ground. The Tahoe Mirror carried a late obituary on Thursday morning, which Nina read with interest while waiting for her personal injury case to come up on the Law and Motion docket at court.
Nina always read the obituaries. These condensations of people’s lives, showing how they ended up, were revealing reports on the human condition. From the obituaries you could tell whether the person had been happy or unhappy, loved or unloved, deep in the sea of life or beached and isolated. She found herself paying closest attention to the women in their seventies and eighties who had been lifelong members of their churches, kept house, and raised a slew of children who had gone on to have more children who had more children, in exponential
"Because of Anna," Collier said, looking straight ahead instead of at her. "Maybe I’ll never be ready."
"You know," she said, her voice catching a little, "Jewish people have a ceremony I’ve always admired, the kaddish. One year after someone dies, the kaddish signifies the end of official mourning. I don’t mean to sound hard, but life is too short to put on hold forever, Collier."
"She wanted to talk with me that night, but I was too busy," Collier repeated to himself as if he’d said it a thousand times already. "I let her go."
"How did it happen?" Nina asked. She didn’t really want to know, but he obviously wanted to tell her.
"She went to the grocery store to buy bread and milk. Someone ran her down at Raley’s and left her to bleed to death."
"You know I’m sorry. But—"
"Three years since she died," Collier said. "Three years following a cold trail. While her killer eats steak at the next table, stands in line in front of me at the post office ... she lies in her grave. I’m a fucking prosecutor with all the right connections, and even I can’t find the driver. Sometimes the rage, the feeling of loss, gets unbearable. I look at the defendants in court and think, this one might have done it.... No, no, it was that one ... I dream about her several times a week. "
"I didn’t know," said Nina. "I thought ... Whatever I thought, you can’t keep on like this. It’s not healthy. You need to see someone who can help you."
He laughed without humor. "A shrink? Now, there’s a standard California solution. That won’t help. Whether I accept her death or not doesn’t matter. I can’t let go until her killer pays for what he did to her. I owe her that, and that’s who I am. That’s what I’m all about."
Nina thought, then said, "Have you tried hiring a private investigator?"
"What for? Believe me, this investigation went beyond exhaustive before anyone would give up. Everyone here got involved, from the chief on down."
"Some people won’t talk to the police."
"Little Miss Fix-It," Collier said, but he seemed to be thinking about what she had said.
"Remember Paul van Wagoner, the Carmel PI? He is a wonderful investigator."
"I remember you think he’s wonderful."
"He’s helped me on several cases. He used to work the homicide division in San Francisco and Monterey before he went out on his own. Can’t hurt to give him a call, can it?"
"God, I am so sleepy," Collier said, covering a yawn with his hand. "Okay, since you insist. Give me his number."
"And go to bed early."
"I’m finishing up a three-defendant murder trial tomorrow against Jeff Riesner. I have to prepare my final rebuttal tonight and give it tomorrow. When it’s finally over, I’ll have to start some real electioneering. A speech at the Elks, then there’s the League of Women Voters...."
Nina said, "Well, bye, then," feeling forlorn. His words reminded her that she had a divorce trial that afternoon herself, opposite the bellicose Riesner, the most unpleasant lawyer she had met at Tahoe, and clients waiting back at the office.
"Look, I’ll call you," Collier said. And she had to be content with that.
4
ON WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, IN LIGHT RAIN, RAYMOND de Beers went into the ground. The Tahoe Mirror carried a late obituary on Thursday morning, which Nina read with interest while waiting for her personal injury case to come up on the Law and Motion docket at court.
Nina always read the obituaries. These condensations of people’s lives, showing how they ended up, were revealing reports on the human condition. From the obituaries you could tell whether the person had been happy or unhappy, loved or unloved, deep in the sea of life or beached and isolated. She found herself paying closest attention to the women in their seventies and eighties who had been lifelong members of their churches, kept house, and raised a slew of children who had gone on to have more children who had more children, in exponential
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