I was finally on the farside of the canal. “Of course not, Judge, but the transcript did raise a number of interesting procedural questions.”

“Why did you read the transcript?” he demanded.

Of all the questions he might have asked, that was the oddest. “Looking for traces of Steve Sawyer, Judge. It was exciting to see your name there. Mine, too. My dad was the cop they sent to make the collar.”

Cellphones don’t give you good reception, but I thought I heard a quick intake of breath, almost a gasp. “You have questions about the trial, ask your father.”

“He’s been dead for years, Judge, and I’m not a big believer in séances.”

“You were a smart-ass know-it-all when you worked in the courts, Warshawski, and it doesn’t sound to me like you’ve changed any. I don’t owe you a damned thing, but I’m still going to tell you for your own good to leave all that old history in the archives. Merton, Newsome, the boy who killed her, leave it alone.”

He cut the connection before I could thank him. Just as well. I couldn’t have kept the savagery out of my voice much longer.

19 - EXUBERANT COUSIN

19

EXUBERANT COUSIN

WHEN YOU GET HOME FEELING THAT YOU’VE BEEN pummeled by all sides in the Hundred Years’ War and you’re longing to lie in the tub for a decade or so to soak away your wounds, the last thing you want is to see your high-spirited cousin’s shiny Pathfinder parked out front. I tried to slink past my neighbor’s place unnoticed, but the dogs betrayed me, whining and scratching at his front door. A moment later, they all bounded into the hall, dogs, cousin, and Mr. Contreras.

“Uncle Sal’s picture got me a kind of promotion,” Petra called. “We’re celebrating! Come on in.”

I protested feebly that I was exhausted, but they ignored that. Mr. Contreras bustled inside to get a glass of Spumante while the dogs circled me, yipping as if I really had been away for a century. The commotion brought the neighbor across the hall into the entryway. She’s a plastic-surgery intern who is perpetually affronted by the dogs. She keeps trying to get the co-op board to declare the building pet-free, but the Korean family on the second floor, who have three cats, was so far fighting on Mr. Contreras’s and my side.

“Really, the dogs won’t hurt you, they’re super-friendly!” Petra called to the doctor. “See Mitch? He’ll take food right out of my mouth, won’t you, boy?”

She put a taco chip between her lips and invited the dog to jump up on her. Before the intern had a stroke or called the cops, I bundled my team into Mr. Contreras’s living room.