“Yes. It is.”

“What’s in the files?”

“Pleadings.” Those she could reproduce, with copies from the clerk’s office. Those were public documents. The Decree of Dissolution with the attached Marital Settlement Agreement in Kevin Cruz’s case, for instance. “And business correspondence,” mostly boring. Innocuous or technical lawyer letters from the other side. Transmittal memos to the court.

“And?” asked Matthias. Both officers now stood side by side waiting to hear the rest. They already knew, but they wanted her to say it.

“Confidential material.”

Officer Scholl wrote. “That would include what?”

“My attorney work-product, including my legal research notes, my notes of consultations with experts. Confidential.”

“Uh huh. Like what?”

“Like my client-intake notes. I can’t give details. Most of it is protected by the attorney-client privilege.”

“Written documents?”

“Right,” Nina said, picturing the client-intake forms in her mind. Addresses for people who did not want to be found. Figures for a hefty insurance settlement that would make some people sit up and take greedy notice if they knew about it. Kevin’s secret.

The ramifications rushed at her like a Roman phalanx. Kevin Cruz was a local cop. He would hear about the auto theft and the files and would want to know if his could be involved. He would be concerned.

The custody hearing continued at eleven-thirty this morning.

How could she manage this catastrophe? She had to get into the office, talk to Sandy.

“Because what I’m wondering…” said Officer Scholl, digging around in a pocket and putting on expensive-looking mirrored sunglasses against the glare of sun. She faced Nina directly: “Is the auto theft ancillary? You know? Did this thief want your files?”

“How could anyone know I’d be taking them home last night? I don’t often do that,” Nina said.

“You don’t take files home?”

“Well, yes. But these particular files-”

“Could someone have seen you leave and followed you home?”

“I didn’t notice anyone, but I wasn’t looking either.”

“This young lady, Nicole Zack. She left after you had arrived.”

“I’m sure she had nothing to do with it.”

“Maybe. But it’s raining, it’s dark, she’s supposed to be biking home. Maybe she opens the Bronco door-”

“It was locked. I locked it.”

“Maybe. But maybe she sees a key on the seat. You dropped it there. Maybe she decides to borrow the Bronco just to get herself home.”

“She’d have to break in, because as I keep telling you, the Bronco was locked with my spare key.”

“You were tired. Maybe you just thought you locked it,” Officer Matthias put in.

“Talk to her if you want,” Nina said. “But it wasn’t her. I locked the doors. I didn’t hear anything.”

“Well, but, you know? Nikki Zack, right here last night, walking along this very driveway on a noisy, stormy night. We know her. You defended her once.”

“I know what you’re thinking, but she was acquitted. She was proven to be innocent of that crime.”

Scholl sighed. Here police butted heads with defense attorneys daily. “Maybe she was proven innocent of that crime,” she said. “But, speaking generally, involvement with the law, meaning us, gets to be a bad habit. Like cigarettes.” She smiled in an overly friendly fashion. “People get hooked before they know it. They can’t quit.” Below his own sunglasses, Matthias’s pale mouth wiggled in response to her joke.

“That may be the opinion around the good old police department,” Nina said, knowing better but unwilling to conceal her disdain, “but she’s a friend of my son’s, and I trust her.” She didn’t, but they didn’t have to know that.

“She know any of the people whose files got stolen? Any people who might be mentioned in the files?”

Nina thought about her cases. “No. Look. This is simple auto theft. I believe that, but it’s an emergency for me because of the briefcase. The files. This is urgent, Officer.”

Scholl snapped her notebook shut. “We’ll give it the same urgent attention we’d give any theft of property.” She delivered the news in that same controlled officious monotone that made Nina think paranoiacally of all sorts of things: whether she was more unpopular than she knew with law enforcement, whether they might actually put the theft on the back burner to cause her further discomfiture, whether Scholl was laughing at her problems behind those unfashionable glasses, for starters.

“I have to get to my office,” Nina said. “I have to call a taxi. I-”

“Call me if you find your files at your office,” Scholl said, handing Nina her card.

“I won’t. They were in the truck.”

“Check anyway.” Officer Scholl asked for Nikki’s address and phone number and Nina gave the information. As soon as the two officers pulled out, Nina got on the phone to the taxi company. Another half hour passed before she arrived at the Starlake Building and rushed down the hall to her office, feeling naked without her briefcase, stripped, vulnerable, mad, and frightened all at once.

“Three questions,” said Sandy as Nina came into the office. “These points and authorities on the summary-judgment motion…”

“I have one for you,” Nina said, tossing her things into her office and turning back to face her secretary. “Did I by any chance leave a pile of files on your desk last night?”

“You always leave a pile.” Sandy pointed to a stack of paperwork Nina had left. Sandy Whitefeather, a member of the local Native American Washoe tribe, had been working with Nina ever since Nina had left her marriage and job in San Francisco and moved to South Lake Tahoe several years before.

“Not those.” But she rummaged through the papers on Sandy’s desk anyway.

“Whoa, Nellie,” Sandy said, putting a smooth brown hand with short nails and a heavy silver wristband down on the stack of files just in front of her. “You lost some files?”

“I lost the Bronco.”

“What?”

“I lost the entire Bronco, and my briefcase happened to be in it.” Sandy’s eyebrow rose perceptibly as she tapped her fingertip against the tip of her nose, listening while Nina told her in a few words what had happened. “I know, I know,” Nina said. “I never should have left them sitting there on the floor of the backseat. That was foolish. I can’t believe my rotten luck. The Cruz case. That’s up in the air, and there’s something strange going on with Lisa Cruz, who went nuts on the stand yesterday. The third day of Kevin’s temporary-custody hearing is in two hours. He wants those kids and she gives him a hard time about letting them visit.”

“He’s been waiting a long time. He’s not gonna let you put it over.”

“No, he won’t. He shouldn’t have to.” Interject a massive guilt attack into the hellish clash of emotions she was feeling. “But Kevin told me something in strictest confidence. It’s on the client-intake form, information that could ruin his chances to get joint custody of his kids if-if-”

“If his wife finds out. Can you handle the hearing without the file, that’s what I wonder.”

“Of course that’s my biggest concern at the moment. The basics-most of the prep work for the hearing-we have the computer file.”

“I’ll make you a printout.” Sandy started hitting the keyboard keys as they talked. The printer clicked and hummed and sucked in a sheet of paper. They watched the paper fill with words.

“What about the exhibits?” Sandy asked.

“Kevin was bringing the originals to court. I only had copies in the file. This hearing I can manage.”

“What about the others? Kao Vang and the two sisters?”

“All those files contained were my client-intake notes. But they are crucial. Oh, this is such a mess. It’s the same as with Kevin’s file. Those notes contained material that can’t get out.”

Sandy heaved herself out of the tight black swivel chair. “Well, before we get all panicked, let’s look around here. Car key. Briefcase. Three files.” She moved around the two rooms, sandals light-footed, long blue cotton skirt swaying, long glass earrings tinkling.