Does this make me a murderer?
Section 187 of the California Penal Code says that murder is the unlawful killing of a human being with malice aforethought. I swear to you on my mother’s grave that I didn’t know that Frankie was going to rob the store, and if I had known, I would have stopped him. I had a chance to play pro ball and I had a beautiful daughter. Frankie ruined his life–and mine–for a hundred and fifty-seven dollars and change.
I know in my soul that I never meant to hurt anyone and I would give everything to replay that night. You are the only people who know the truth, and I am leaving the final verdict in your hands. I hope you will find it in your heart to judge me kindly. I thank you from the bottom of mine for helping me. I know it wasn’t easy and I will always be grateful. You are kind and far more generous than I deserve and my prayers will always be with you.
Peace, love and hope.
Leon
PS: Frankie admitted to me later that he did, in fact, shoot the clerk. I’m sorry that I lied to you about it.
We reread the letter several times. Rosie swallows back tears and I stroke my chin. We sit in silence for what seems like a long time. She finishes her Diet Coke and says, “What’s your last judgment of Leon Walker?”
I study the artwork on my wall and try to sort it out. “I think he was a good man who got caught in the middle of bad circumstances. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time–twice.”
She takes my hand and says, “I’m sorry I doubted you ten years ago, Mike.”
“And I’m sorry I was so stubborn.”
She gives me a sad smile and says, “There was plenty of blame to go around.”
“Yes, there was, but we shouldn’t have taken it out on each other.”
She takes off her wire-rimmed glasses and yawns. Then she says, “Maybe Roosevelt was right. We should try to let it go this time.”
I reach across and touch her cheek. “I’m willing to try.”
“Me, too.”
“Maybe we’re maturing,” I say.
“Maybe we’re learning to pick our fights a little more carefully,” she counters.
We don’t say anything for the longest time as we continue to put Leon’s files into the boxes. Finally, Rosie takes a final look at The Last Judgment. Then she turns to me and says, “We can finish the filing tomorrow. Let’s go home and see Grace.”
*****
Chapter 60
“I Need to Talk to You About Something”
“We’ve decided not to take on any murder cases for the foreseeable future.”
— Michael Daley. San Francisco Chronicle. Tuesday, June 14.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask Rosie.
We’re standing on her back porch a few minutes after midnight. She’s holding a can of Caffeine Free Diet Coke as she inhales the cool air. Grace is asleep and it’s the first night in a week and a half where we’ve had a chance to get our bearings. She looks out at the star jasmine plants on her fence and says in a faraway voice, “A lot of things.”
“Such as?”
She takes a deep breath and says, “You did a nice job on Leon’s case.”
“So did you.”
“I didn’t want to do it.”
“We promised that we aren’t going to beat ourselves up.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then her tone turns subdued as she says, “I think I’m burning out, Mike. I don’t know if I have the stomach for the hard cases anymore.”
Not true. “Sure you do, Rosie. You’ve covered a lot of ground in the last couple of years. We’ve had some tough cases and we’ve had to deal with your health issues. You’ve never been a quitter, Rosita, and you never will be.”
She touches my cheek with her hand and says, “You’re sweet when you give pep talks.”
“This isn’t a pep talk. This is one of those rare times when the hyperbole actually matches up with the truth.”
The corner of her mouth turns up slightly, but I don’t get the full-blown grin that I was hoping for. I finish my glass of Merlot and pull her close to me. I can feel her warm breath on my cheek when I whisper, “What is it, Rosie?”
Her eyes take on a serious cast. She looks down for an instant, and then looks up at me. “I need to talk to you about something.”
It’s the same tone that she used when she first told me about her cancer. I realize the blood is rushing to my face when I ask, “What’s going on?”
“I went to see Dr. Urbach to find out what was causing my stomach problems.”
I try to sound encouraging. “I’m glad you did.”
She clears her throat and says, “Something’s come up.”
I wait for a moment, then I finally blurt out, “Is it cancer?”
“No, no.” she responds quickly. She nods emphatically to reassure me–and perhaps herself–as she repeats, “No.”
Relief. I’m still treading lightly. “Menopause?”
A quick smile. “Nope. She says I haven’t turned the corner there, either.”
I try to offer a lighter note. “I knew you were still too young.”
“I guess so.”
My mind races. The possibilities are endless. Something she ate? Stomach flu? I think of all the more serious stuff. Diabetes? Stomach cancer? I brush the hair out of her eyes and say, “Are you sick, Rosie?”
She hesitates for a long moment, then she looks directly into my eyes. Her voice cracks as she says, “No, Mike. I’m pregnant.”
Oh my God!
At moments like this, the human mind goes into sensory overload and rational thought gives way to an uncontrollable frenzy that is manifested first in the form of stunned silence, and is immediately followed by incoherent babbling. My initial reaction is to hold her tightly and offer the traditional inane question. “Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Her face breaks into a tentative grin, and then she bursts into tears. I stroke her hair softly as she sobs uncontrollably into my shoulder. I hold her as she lets the emotions pour out. She grabs my waist and won’t let go. Her shoulders heave. Finally, she leans back and gasps for breath.
I wipe the tears from her eyes and search for the correct platitude. “Everything’s going to be fine,” I tell her.
She’s still crying when she says, “I know.”
“It’s going to be a beautiful baby.”
“I know that, too.”
I ease her onto one of the plastic patio chairs and take her hands in mine. I try to find the priest voice, but I’m still working on the adrenaline rush. I force myself to start slowly. “Are you all right?” I ask.
“I hadn’t really planned for this, but all things considered, I’m fine.”
“Any complications?”
She shakes her head. “The tests looked great for a forty-five year-old pregnant woman.”
So far, so good. “And the baby?”
“According to Dr. Urbach, he’s doing great, too.”
“A boy?”
“She was pretty sure from the sonogram. Let’s just say that certain important parts of his anatomy north of the knees and south of the naval are quite distinctive.”
I’m glad she’s making jokes. Then I think about our daughter, who is sleeping twenty feet from where we’re sitting. She’s always talked about having a little brother. “Rosie,” I say, “have you talked to Grace?”
“Not yet. I was planning to talk to her about it after I talked to the baby’s father.”
I freeze for an instant, then my voice becomes tentative when I ask, “When were you planning to do that?”
“I’m doing it right now.”
Relief, followed by the formation of a lump in the back of my throat. I look into her eyes and say, “We have a lot to talk about.”
“Indeed, we do.”
I visualize the baby as a miniature Nick the Dick, complete with the toupee, boutonniere and cigar. I say, “This is going to complicate our lives, Rosie.”
“Yes, it is.”
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“Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll understand if you want to consider all of our options.”
She gives me a sideways look and says, “What kind of talk is that from an ex-priest?”
“My propensity for taking liberties with the party line was not well received by my superiors and is one of the reasons I got out of that line of work.”
Her tone leaves no doubt when she says, “We’re going to keep this baby, Mike.” Her eyes lock in on mine. “Are you okay with that?”
At least we’re on the same page on the first big issue. “Absolutely.”
She fills in the details. The baby is due in January. Although the sonogram looked fine and she has no unusual symptoms, women in their forties fall into the high risk category. The doctor recommended a battery of tests, including an amnio. We talk about OBs, hospitals and Lamaze classes. It’s been awhile, but it’s familiar territory, and I find myself getting excited as we talk. Rosie is more subdued. I’m not the one who has to deal with morning sickness and bloated ankles for the next seven months.
I ask, “Have you told your mother?”
“Yeah. She’s thrilled.”
Good. “Does anybody else know?”
“Not yet. I want to finish a few more tests.”
“That’s fine with me. Can I tell Pete?”
“Sure, but tell him to keep his mouth shut.”
“I will.” He’s very good at keeping secrets.
We spend the next couple of hours talking and planning. She says she’ll need to cut back on her practice while she’s pregnant and while the baby is little. I tell her that Carolyn and I will bear the burden. “We can always bring in another lawyer,” I say.
“Let’s hold off for now. One new mouth to feed is probably enough.”
“Indeed.” I give her a playful look and ask, “Have you thought about names?”
“A little. Grace was named after my grandmother. I thought we might name him after your older brother.”
It’s a kind thought. Tommy was my best friend and he didn’t live long enough to get married and have kids.
She asks, “How does Thomas Michael Daley Fernandez sound to you?”
I can feel tears welling up the back of my eyes. “It sounds great to me,” I whisper.
It’s almost three in the morning and we’re still sitting on the porch. Rosie’s eyes turn down when she asks, “Can I ask you something serious?”
We’ve already covered a lot of territory tonight, but I’m game. “Shoot.”
“Do you think we need do something about us?”
I tread cautiously. “What did you have in mind?”
“Do you think we should think about getting married again?”
The sirens go off. “That would be two life cycle events in one night,” I say. “That may be more than our quota.”
She isn’t letting me off the hook. “Do you think we should consider it?”
“I would never rule anything out.” I take her hand and say, “I’m still getting used to the idea of being a daddy again at the age of fifty. I’ll be sixty-eight when the baby goes to college.”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You’ll still be a babe at sixty-three.”
“Shut up, Mike.”
I offer a smile and say, “I think I might want to hold off until at least tomorrow.”
“Can we talk about it then?”
“Sure.”
She gives me a knowing grin and says, “I was thinking of adopting a policy against making any other major decisions until my hormones are in balance.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“Maybe we’re mellowing a bit.”
“Maybe.”
We don’t say anything for a few minutes. Then she looks up at the stars and says, “What are you doing later today?”
“For the first time in a week and a half, nothing.”
“Do we have to get up early?”
“Nope. You can sleep late as late as you want. I’ll take Grace to school.”
“That’s nice. Do we have any other plans?”
“I was thinking of calling in sick.”
“I’ll have to report you to the managing partner.”
“I fully expect to be docked.”
She leans forward and kisses me. Then she winks and says, “I’m starting to feel better. If I recall correctly, there are no limitations on sex during the early stages of pregnancy.”
I smile and say, “I believe you’re right.”
“Are you interested in getting reacquainted after you take Grace to school?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
She will. She smiles and says, “Would you be interested in viewing some coming attractions?”
I peck her on the cheek and say, “Indeed I would.”
I’m about to stand up when Rosie’s eyes open wide. “I may have to take a rain check for now,” she whispers.
“Why?”
She looks over my shoulder and smiles. “Good morning Grace,” she says.
“Good morning, Mommy.”
“You’re up early, sweetie.”
Our daughter has a sheepish look when she says, “I’m hungry.”
Rosie hugs her and says, “Why don’t we make some pancakes?”
Her eyes light up. She looks at Rosie and asks, “Are you okay, Mommy?”
“Just fine, sweetie. Daddy and I will meet you in the kitchen in a few minutes.” She winks at me and says to Grace, “We need to talk to you about something, honey.”
*****
Acknowledgments
It has not gone unnoticed by many of my readers that the acknowledgments in my books are longer than some of the chapters. I am extraordinarily fortunate that many knowledgeable people give generously of their time to help me write my stories and this is my chance to say thanks.
Thanks to my wonderful wife, Linda, who reads my early drafts, provides excellent comments, maintains my website and puts up with me when I’m on deadline. I am more grateful than you can imagine. Thanks also to our twin sons, Alan and Stephen, who help me write my stories and are very patient with me.
Thanks to Neil Nyren, my patient and perceptive editor and friend, for your boundless energy and enthusiasm. Thanks also to everybody at Putnam for your hard work, dedication and good humor. I really appreciate it.
Thanks to my extraordinary agent, Margret McBride, and to Kris Wallace, Donna DeGutis and Renee Vincent at the Margret McBride Literary Agency. I can’t to do this without you.
Thanks to my teachers, Katherine V. Forrest and Michael Nava, and to the Every Other Thursday Night Writers’ Group: Bonnie DeClark, Gerry Klor, Meg Stiefvater, Kris Brandenburger, Anne Maczulak, Liz Hartka, Janet Wallace and Priscilla Royal.
Thanks to Inspector Sergeant Thomas Eisenmann and Officer Jeff Roth of the San Francisco Police Department, and to Inspector Phil Dito of the Alameda County District Attorney’s Office, and to Linda Allen of the San Francisco District Attorney’s Office and Jack Allen of the Solono County District Attorney’s Office. I have great admiration for your work and I am very grateful for your assistance.
A special thanks to Sister Karen Marie Franks of St. Dominic’s Convent in San Francisco, who helps me with theological issues.
Thanks to Dr. Joe Elson of the Haight Ashbury Free Clinic, who generously provided information about San Francisco’s homeless and medical care for the needy. Keep fighting the good fight.
Thanks to my wonderful friends and colleagues at Sheppard, Mullin, Richter & Hampton (and your spouses and significant others), who have been so supportive through the birth of four stories. In particular, thanks to Randy and Mary Short, Cheryl Holmes, Chris and Debbie Neils, Bob Thompson, Joan Story and Robert Kidd, Lori Wider and Tim Mangan, Becky and Steve Hlebasko, Donna Andrews, Phil and Wendy Atkins-Pattenson, Julie and Jim Ebert, Geri Freeman and David Nickerson, Kristen Jensen and
Allen Carr, Bill and Barbara Manierre, Betsy McDaniel, Ted and Vicki Lindquist, John and Joanne Murphy, Tom and Beth Nevins, Joe Petrillo, Maria Pracher, Chris and Karen Jaenike, Ron and Rita Ryland, Kathleen Shugar, John and Judy Sears, Dave Lanferman, AvitalElad, MathildeKapuano, Jerry Slaby, Guy Halgren, Dick Brunette, Aline Pearl, Bob and Elizabeth Stumpf, Steve Winick, Chuck MacNab, Sue Lenzi, Larry Braun and Bob Zuber.
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