“Cervantes is a good bet to be the bad guy himself. I don’t trust him.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ll stay around other people. Besides, I have a different take on him. Why would he offer to take me if he didn’t want to find out what happened? If he already knows, he’s not going to get involved with us like this.”

“He’s attracted to you. He’s using the situation to get you alone.”

“Come on, Paul, give me a break. You sound like a preacher talking to a thirteen-year-old.”

“This isn’t about jealousy, Nina.”

“No. It’s about power. It’s about you controlling me,” Nina said.

Paul pulled into the curb in front of the fire hydrant, leaving the car in drive. He didn’t say anything.

“I should be finished by four.” She twisted around and retrieved her briefcase from the back seat, feeling regret at what she had said. But not enough regret to unsay it.

She talked to the bondsman while he ate his sub sandwich and set an account for fast action that afternoon, leaving her own credit-card number. Then she walked rapidly back to the big white concrete building with its concrete courtyard, found the right wing, and climbed the stairs to the courtroom, arriving with fifteen minutes to spare.

Wish had already been brought in and sat in the jury box with the other prisoners. Seeing him, hair lank, eyes downturned, hurt her. At least his eyes were almost back to normal. He must have gotten treatment for the poison oak while in jail. It added to her feeling of kinship with him.

When he noticed her, he gave her a thumbs-up. She passed through the gate to the attorney seating and had barely sat down when a face from the past came over and said, “It’s been a few years.”

Jaime Sandoval had aged prematurely in the eight years since they had graduated from the Monterey College of Law together. Law does that to you, if you’re any good. The thick hair she remembered was streaked with white above his forehead. The narrow black specs were new too. On the other hand, the shy Mexican-American boy who never raised a hand in class looked a lot more self-confident these days. As a deputy D.A., he had the state of California behind him, always a confidence builder.

Nina smiled. “Good to see you, Jaime.”

He sat down beside her, holding his briefcase. He wore a wedding ring now and she smelled his spicy aftershave.

“You look good.”

“So do you. I’m surprised you went into the D.A.’s office.”

“Oh yeah, when I knew you I was going to be a corporate lawyer. I tried that for a year at a small firm in Monterey. Got so bored with the paper pushing I decided to try this out. They told me I was stepping down but I decided downward mobility beats terminal ennui. So here I am. What about you? I thought you headed for the city lights.”

“Long story,” Nina said. “San Francisco, Tahoe. Solo practice the last few years. I’m down here for the summer.”

“A lot has happened since you left. We actually got a Latino judge. Of course, they’re still trying to trump up some way to kick him out.”

“How long did it take? A hundred fifty-five years, right?”

“Counting from when the U.S. took the place from us, yes.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“So you came back home. What are you doing for an office?”

“Well, uh, I’m borrowing some space right now.” That didn’t sound too impressive, but a fancy office wouldn’t impress Jaime either. “You covering the Whitefeather bail hearing?” she went on.

“I’m covering all the bail hearings, in about three minutes. So you’re here for the arson-homicide case?”

Nina’s heart sank. “Last time I looked, it was a trespassing case. And I’m thinking he ought to be let out on his own recognizance this afternoon.”

“Sorry I can’t help you,” Jaime said. “It’s not just trespassing, it never was. We just got the complaint amended. Here you go.” He handed her a document with several counts listed. Nina scanned it, staying cool, searching for a quick way out for Wish.

The charges were worse, far worse, than she had expected.

At this stage, she had anticipated a couple of arson counts, but as she read she saw in Count Four that Wish was being charged with second-degree murder under the felony-accessory rule. He and his accomplice, Daniel Cervantes, according to the amended complaint, had committed felony arsons, and during the commission of one of the felonies Daniel Cervantes had died. That made Wish as responsible as if he had killed Danny himself.

Still reeling from Count Four, Nina came to Count Five. According to this one, Wish had with malice aforethought killed Daniel Cervantes and attempted to cover up the murder with a fire.

“I don’t believe it! Talk about trumping things up!” she said. “Premeditated murder? Are you nuts?”

“We had to rush it some, because we couldn’t let him out,” Jaime said.

“You don’t have the evidence. You’re making a mistake, Jaime.”

“It’s a murder. The coroner found kerosene traces all over the body. Somebody wanted to make sure it burned.”

“But-”

“And your guy’s camera was the murder weapon, according to a forensics report I received approximately ninety minutes ago,” Jaime said. “Like I said, it’s been a rush.”

“You-you have fingerprints?”

“Not with the heat and flames. The camera’s enough.”

“But the arsonist was up there too! Listen, Jaime, I’m going to tell you in a nutshell what happened up there.” She told him about the reward and the arsonist, leaning her head close to his. He listened carefully and nodded.

“That’s what happened,” she finished.

“Very interesting. You have any proof? Any hard evidence? Since you’re not letting your client talk?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Good. Anything you come up with, we’ll talk.” Another lawyer had caught his eye. He started to get up.

“Wait,” Nina said. She practically grabbed his coattail. She would have kissed his ring if he had held it out. She really wanted Wish out, today.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Jaime said. “Words are cheap.” He looked down at her and she thought she saw a trace of triumph in his eyes. She had given something for nothing.

“I can’t talk like this to you again, Jaime,” she said. “I see that I made a mistake.”

“I have to go. See you later.”

“I want a copy of that forensics report.”

“As provided by law.”

“Don’t do this. Let him out on the trespassing charge and let’s talk. You’ll be glad you did.”

“It’s outta my hands. He stays in jail, those are my instructions.”

“Wait. Just one more thing-”

“What?” He balanced on his toes, ready to go, his face impassive.

“Did you find film in the camera?”

“Yeah. It’s a Canon digital SLR, hefty for such a high-tech item. Has a memory card, not film.”

He watched Nina’s body tense, watched her bite her lip, trying to decide if she really wanted to know the answer to her last question.

“No shots had been taken,” he said. He went off on his next errand of whatever the opposite of mercy was. She sagged against the table. So he had no bomb to explode, no photo that somehow implicated Wish in any of it.

But hadn’t Wish told her that he took many shots?

The bailiff had come in. “All rise,” he said. Nina got up. Judge Salas stepped up to the dais and sat down in his black robes. “Good afternoon,” he said, not looking at anybody.

“You may be seated.” A rustle. Nina looked at Wish, who smiled at her with total confidence that she would deliver him from his travails.

His case came last and when it was called she was waging a final battle with a flare-up of the poison-oak rash on her hip, trying not to scratch. Wish must be feeling far worse. She stood up and moved to the counsel table.

“We have an amended complaint just filed, Judge,” Jaime said.

“You have given a copy to Counsel?” Judge Salas said. He was young for the job, high-voiced, in contrast with the thick brows that come with a high testosterone level.