had driven to a small town to take a
deposition. An hour and a half up and an hour and a half back. As he
had got out, Vail had leaned back through the car window and said,
'Abel, we just drove for three hours and you said exactly twelve words,
two of which were "hello" and "goodbye",' to which Stenner had replied,
'I'm sorry. Next time I'll be more succinct.' He had said it without a
smile or a trace of humour. Later, Vail had realized he was serious.
They drove for fifteen minutes in silence, then: 'We're going to end
up with this one,' Stenner said as they neared the city.
'Always do,' Vail said without opening his eyes.
'Very messy.'
'Most homicides are.'
Not another word was spoken until Stenner turned down the alley
behind Butterfly's and stopped. While he propped the OFFICIAL CAR,
DISTRICT ATTORNEY'S OFFICE placard against the inside of the
windshield, Vail rapped on the door. It opened a crack and a
scruffy-looking stranger, who was about six-three with machine-moulded
muscles, peered out.
'We ain't open yet.'
'It's Martin Vail. We'll wait inside.'
'Vail?'
'New in town?' Stenner said from behind Vail.
'Yeah.'
'This man is the DA. We'll wait inside.'
'Oh. Righto. You betcha.'
'Assistant DA,' Vail corrected as they entered the steamy kitchen.
'I'm the new bartender,' the stranger said.
'What's your name?'
'Louis. But you can call me Lou.'
'Glad to meet you, Lou,' Vail said, and shook his hand. Vail and
Stenner walked through the kitchen. It was a fairly large room with
stainless-steel stoves and ovens and a large walk-in refrigerator with
a thermal glass door. Bobby Wo, the Chinese cook, was slicing an onion
so quickly, his hand was a blur.
Chock, chock, chock, chock
.
Vail stopped to check the 'Special of the Day' pot.
'Shit on a shingle,' Wo said without slowing down.
'That's three times a week,' Vail complained.
'Tell the lady.'
Chock, chock, chock, chock, chock
.
'Quit bellyachin',' a growl for a voice said from across the room.
Butterfly, who was anything but at five-four and two hundred and fifty
pounds, entered the kitchen. 'There was a special on chipped beef,
okay?'
'Know what I've been thinking about, Butterfly? Crepes.'
'Crepes?'
'You know, those little French pancakes, thin with
Three
Shana Parver rushed through the frigid morning air and climbed the
steps of the county criminal courthouse. Overly sentimental and
idealistic by nature, although she shielded it with a tough, aggressive
facade, Parver always got a rush when she saw the front of the hulking
building. 'The law is the only thing that separates us from animals,'
Vail had once said. Of course, he had added his own cynical postscript:
'Although, these days, you'd never know it.' But looking up at the
Doric columns soaring above the entrance, each surmounted by
allegorical figures representing Law, Justice, Wisdom, Truth, Might,
Love, Liberty, and Peace, reassured her faith in the sanctity of the
law and reaffirmed her belief in the profession she had chosen while
still in grammar school.
She was early this morning. In forty-five minutes she would be
face-to-face with James Wayne Darby, and while it wasn't a courtroom,
the interrogation was the next best thing, a chance to match wits with
the flabby, smart-alec chauvinist. She would take a few last minutes to
prepare herself mentally for the meeting.
Naomi Chance had beat her there as usual. The coffee was made in
Vail's giant urn, and she was at her desk ready to do battle when
Parver burst in at eight-fifteen. Naomi was always the first to arrive,
walking through the sprawling office, flicking on lights before making
Vail's coffee. Her look was regal and intimidating. She was a stunning
ramrod-straight woman, the colour of milk chocolate, almost
Egyptian-looking with high cheekbones and wide brown eyes, her black
hair cut fashionably short and just beginning to show a little grey. A
widow at fifty, she had the wisdom of an eighty-year-old with the body
of a
deposition. An hour and a half up and an hour and a half back. As he
had got out, Vail had leaned back through the car window and said,
'Abel, we just drove for three hours and you said exactly twelve words,
two of which were "hello" and "goodbye",' to which Stenner had replied,
'I'm sorry. Next time I'll be more succinct.' He had said it without a
smile or a trace of humour. Later, Vail had realized he was serious.
They drove for fifteen minutes in silence, then: 'We're going to end
up with this one,' Stenner said as they neared the city.
'Always do,' Vail said without opening his eyes.
'Very messy.'
'Most homicides are.'
Not another word was spoken until Stenner turned down the alley
behind Butterfly's and stopped. While he propped the OFFICIAL CAR,
DISTRICT ATTORNEY'S OFFICE placard against the inside of the
windshield, Vail rapped on the door. It opened a crack and a
scruffy-looking stranger, who was about six-three with machine-moulded
muscles, peered out.
'We ain't open yet.'
'It's Martin Vail. We'll wait inside.'
'Vail?'
'New in town?' Stenner said from behind Vail.
'Yeah.'
'This man is the DA. We'll wait inside.'
'Oh. Righto. You betcha.'
'Assistant DA,' Vail corrected as they entered the steamy kitchen.
'I'm the new bartender,' the stranger said.
'What's your name?'
'Louis. But you can call me Lou.'
'Glad to meet you, Lou,' Vail said, and shook his hand. Vail and
Stenner walked through the kitchen. It was a fairly large room with
stainless-steel stoves and ovens and a large walk-in refrigerator with
a thermal glass door. Bobby Wo, the Chinese cook, was slicing an onion
so quickly, his hand was a blur.
Chock, chock, chock, chock
.
Vail stopped to check the 'Special of the Day' pot.
'Shit on a shingle,' Wo said without slowing down.
'That's three times a week,' Vail complained.
'Tell the lady.'
Chock, chock, chock, chock, chock
.
'Quit bellyachin',' a growl for a voice said from across the room.
Butterfly, who was anything but at five-four and two hundred and fifty
pounds, entered the kitchen. 'There was a special on chipped beef,
okay?'
'Know what I've been thinking about, Butterfly? Crepes.'
'Crepes?'
'You know, those little French pancakes, thin with
Three
Shana Parver rushed through the frigid morning air and climbed the
steps of the county criminal courthouse. Overly sentimental and
idealistic by nature, although she shielded it with a tough, aggressive
facade, Parver always got a rush when she saw the front of the hulking
building. 'The law is the only thing that separates us from animals,'
Vail had once said. Of course, he had added his own cynical postscript:
'Although, these days, you'd never know it.' But looking up at the
Doric columns soaring above the entrance, each surmounted by
allegorical figures representing Law, Justice, Wisdom, Truth, Might,
Love, Liberty, and Peace, reassured her faith in the sanctity of the
law and reaffirmed her belief in the profession she had chosen while
still in grammar school.
She was early this morning. In forty-five minutes she would be
face-to-face with James Wayne Darby, and while it wasn't a courtroom,
the interrogation was the next best thing, a chance to match wits with
the flabby, smart-alec chauvinist. She would take a few last minutes to
prepare herself mentally for the meeting.
Naomi Chance had beat her there as usual. The coffee was made in
Vail's giant urn, and she was at her desk ready to do battle when
Parver burst in at eight-fifteen. Naomi was always the first to arrive,
walking through the sprawling office, flicking on lights before making
Vail's coffee. Her look was regal and intimidating. She was a stunning
ramrod-straight woman, the colour of milk chocolate, almost
Egyptian-looking with high cheekbones and wide brown eyes, her black
hair cut fashionably short and just beginning to show a little grey. A
widow at fifty, she had the wisdom of an eighty-year-old with the body
of a
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