“Yes,” she said.
“Then you’re golden,” Duncan said. “They’re insured for stuff like this. The insurance company will settle for a million and you won’t have to do a thing.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Are you done with your paperwork?”
“Just about,” she said.
“That’s good enough,” he said, standing up. “You’re done. I’m taking you back to your hotel. I don’t want to see you until at least noon tomorrow. Better yet, take a sick day.”
“You’re going to miss the Hilton’s breakfast buffet?”
“That should tell you how concerned I am.”
They went outside, got into Duncan’s Buick, and drove out. They were almost to the Hilton, and Eve was already half-asleep, her head against the window, when she remembered something important. She sat up straight.
“Wait, you can’t take me home yet.”
“Why not?”
“We need to talk to Mr. Alvarez. Face-to-face. He can’t learn about what happened to his wife and unborn child from the evening news . . . or in a phone call.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I’ll handle it before I go home.”
“I’ll go with you. You shouldn’t have to do something like this alone.”
“It’s better if I do, especially with you like this,” Duncan said. “You don’t have the strength left, emotionally or otherwise, to deal with it.”
Eve knew he was right, but even so, she felt like she was neglecting her duty. But she was also relieved. Because the truth was, she was terrified to face Alejandro Alvarez and tell him the horror story that would destroy his life. How could she do it without breaking down herself? She needed to learn that skill. But it wouldn’t be tonight.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be,” Duncan said. “You solved the case. Let me close it.”
She started to get out of the car, but then stopped. “How do you tell somebody something like this and not fall apart yourself?”
“I’ve got a calloused heart,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Eve slept for fourteen hours, awaking at noon. But instead of feeling refreshed, she felt like she’d been beaten. She took a long, hot shower, got dressed in casual off-duty clothes—a V-neck, short-sleeve top and jeans and her off-duty weapon, a Glock 42, in an underwire bra holster—and walked over to the Commons for lunch.
She went to the Corner Bakery, ordered a club panini and a Diet Coke, and carried her number to the back table facing the door. Someone had left the Los Angeles Times behind, so she took a look at the front page.
Garvey’s arrest of Justin Marriott was the lead story, apparently judged by the editors to be of equal, or more, importance to Los Angelenos than a mass shooting in Milwaukee or a tsunami in Thailand. The story about Anna McCaig and the fetal abduction was buried in the California section, but Eve suspected that was only because the news came in shortly before the paper’s deadline. Neither she nor Duncan was mentioned by name, which she was glad to see. There would probably be a larger follow-up in tomorrow’s paper with all the sordid details. She wondered if McCaig’s husband had heard about his wife’s crime yet in Berlin. If she were him, she’d stay there for a while and put the house on the market, though it would be a hard sale to make.
Thinking about owning a home that was a violent crime scene reminded her about the death that had occurred in her condo and the lawsuit that had been filed against her. She had to start thinking about her defense.
The waiter delivered Eve’s sandwich. She wolfed it down, as if someone might take it away from her if she didn’t hurry, and then called the County Counsel’s office to find out what steps the department was taking on the lawsuit. The County Counsel provided legal advice and representation to the county’s various departments and agencies, as well as to the board of supervisors and other county officers.
Eve was transferred several times until she finally managed to reach the lawyer assigned to the case, a man named Peter Monsey. She introduced herself and told him that she’d been served.
Monsey said, “Actually, we were served with the lawsuit some time ago and I’m pleased to say that we’ve negotiated a settlement.”
Eve felt a wave of relief. She’d been dreading this suit for weeks and it was all for nothing. “Wow, that was fast.”
“That’s the power of reason. The wrongful death suit attempted to hold the county liable under section 1983 of the Civil Rights Act. Such cases usually involve excessive force, coerced confessions, or fabricating evidence, none of which applies in this case.”