possessed what people referred to as an addictive personality. If it wasn’t cigarettes, it was booze. If itwasn’t booze, it would probably be something worse. Shit, he thought, opening the bottle and taking a long swig, he was even addicted to television. Slice about six hours of TV out of his day, and he would have probably sold enough houses to cover his expenses.
Once the burning sensation passed, the alcohol began to warm his body. He pulled out a Camel and fired it up, the match creating an amber flash in the darkness. The smoke filled his lungs, the nicotine enabling him to comprehend the magnitude of his actions. Standing under a large sycamore tree, he reached up and grabbed onto a branch, puffing out a stream of cigarette smoke. For every problem there was a solution. In the garage was a heavy rope he’d used to strap last year’s Christmas tree to the top of the car. He wouldn’t do it here, of course. He wouldn’t kill himself where Shana would be the one to find him. About two blocks away was a park with trees strong enough to support the weight of a man his size. When your child no longer respected you, your role as a father was over. Burying him would set her free. First, though, he’d finish off the bottle, allow himself this one last indulgence.
8
A fter the harried phone call from Shana, Lily tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. Waking at five Wednesday morning, she dressed and headed downtown, hoping to get a head start on the day.
The district attorney’s office was located in a newer building directly across the street from the old courthouse. In addition to the district attorneys and investigators, the building also housed what had formerly been the municipal court. Now that the county of Santa Barbara had its own court system, private attorneys found it difficult to tell if a case was a misdemeanor or a felony simply by the court where the hearing was scheduled.
Lily classified the architecture of the building where she worked as fifties tacky. It resembled her old elementary school with the blue aluminum trim around the windows, the center courtyard, the cheapness of the construction materials. The building was certainly a contrast to the beauty and history attached to the original courthouse. She’d heard rumors that the city council members were considering taking people on guided tours, and that weekend they were having an art show on the front lawn.
Located at the end of a long corridor, her office was far from plush. Most janitors’ closets were more spacious. Although the temperature was only in the high sixties, she cranked open the casement window behind her desk in anticipation of the midday heat. Once she began working, her surroundings disappeared.
Flopping down in a worn black vinyl chair, she placed both of her palms on top of her mahogany desk. In the past Lily could work in the midst of chaos. These days she relied on rituals and organization. She drank out of the same coffee cup bearing an FBI insignia, always placing it on a coaster next to her computer when she left at the end of the day. Every month or so she wouldcarry the cup home and sterilize it in the dishwasher. The rest of the time she simply wiped the inside out with a damp paper towel. Since she hadn’t been in the mood to put up a pot of coffee in the employee kitchen on the first floor, as she generally did when she arrived this early in the morning, she’d stopped at Starbucks on the way in and treated herself to an overpriced cup of mocha latte. Dumping the liquid into her FBI mug, she took a sip, deciding the brew smelled better than it tasted.
The walls of her office were painted institutional white. Due to the age of the underlying plaster and the building’s close proximity to the ocean, several spots were already chipped and the office had only recently been repainted. Other than her certificates and diplomas, the available wall space would accommodate no more than two pictures. One was
Once the burning sensation passed, the alcohol began to warm his body. He pulled out a Camel and fired it up, the match creating an amber flash in the darkness. The smoke filled his lungs, the nicotine enabling him to comprehend the magnitude of his actions. Standing under a large sycamore tree, he reached up and grabbed onto a branch, puffing out a stream of cigarette smoke. For every problem there was a solution. In the garage was a heavy rope he’d used to strap last year’s Christmas tree to the top of the car. He wouldn’t do it here, of course. He wouldn’t kill himself where Shana would be the one to find him. About two blocks away was a park with trees strong enough to support the weight of a man his size. When your child no longer respected you, your role as a father was over. Burying him would set her free. First, though, he’d finish off the bottle, allow himself this one last indulgence.
8
A fter the harried phone call from Shana, Lily tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. Waking at five Wednesday morning, she dressed and headed downtown, hoping to get a head start on the day.
The district attorney’s office was located in a newer building directly across the street from the old courthouse. In addition to the district attorneys and investigators, the building also housed what had formerly been the municipal court. Now that the county of Santa Barbara had its own court system, private attorneys found it difficult to tell if a case was a misdemeanor or a felony simply by the court where the hearing was scheduled.
Lily classified the architecture of the building where she worked as fifties tacky. It resembled her old elementary school with the blue aluminum trim around the windows, the center courtyard, the cheapness of the construction materials. The building was certainly a contrast to the beauty and history attached to the original courthouse. She’d heard rumors that the city council members were considering taking people on guided tours, and that weekend they were having an art show on the front lawn.
Located at the end of a long corridor, her office was far from plush. Most janitors’ closets were more spacious. Although the temperature was only in the high sixties, she cranked open the casement window behind her desk in anticipation of the midday heat. Once she began working, her surroundings disappeared.
Flopping down in a worn black vinyl chair, she placed both of her palms on top of her mahogany desk. In the past Lily could work in the midst of chaos. These days she relied on rituals and organization. She drank out of the same coffee cup bearing an FBI insignia, always placing it on a coaster next to her computer when she left at the end of the day. Every month or so she wouldcarry the cup home and sterilize it in the dishwasher. The rest of the time she simply wiped the inside out with a damp paper towel. Since she hadn’t been in the mood to put up a pot of coffee in the employee kitchen on the first floor, as she generally did when she arrived this early in the morning, she’d stopped at Starbucks on the way in and treated herself to an overpriced cup of mocha latte. Dumping the liquid into her FBI mug, she took a sip, deciding the brew smelled better than it tasted.
The walls of her office were painted institutional white. Due to the age of the underlying plaster and the building’s close proximity to the ocean, several spots were already chipped and the office had only recently been repainted. Other than her certificates and diplomas, the available wall space would accommodate no more than two pictures. One was
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