Until the Final Verdict by Christine McGuire Page B

wrong?”
    â€œLet’s talk about it at home, okay?”
    Emma rode in silence for several minutes, then asked, “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
    â€œI know you’re anxious, but please, let’s wait until we get home.”
    She turned into the small shopping center where Sophia’s Taqueria occupied an inconspicuous rear space, dug in her purse, pulled out her cell phone and a wadded-up twenty-dollar bill, and handed the cash to Emma. “Would you mind getting our food while I make a phone call?”
    â€œSure. Plain quesadilla with a side order of guacamole, right?”
    â€œYou know me so well.” Kathryn tried to smile, but it turned out to be a grimace, which Emma noticed.
    â€œYou should talk to me about what’s bothering you now. I love you, and I’m a good listener, you know.”
    Kathryn felt tears well up again, but willed them to stop, then leaned over and kissed her daughter’s cheek.
    â€œI know you are, Em, and you can’t imagine how important that is to me right now. But run along and get the food so I can make my call.”
    Kathryn had spent most of the day sitting alone in her car parked near the beach, unable to think of how to tell a young girl that her mother was a murder suspect. But she needed to break the news soon to avoid Emma hearing it first on the evening news or, worse, from a girlfriend who called to ask about it.
    She tried to contact Dave Granz several times, but he was out of his office. His secretary said she’d heard the news. She had just hung up from another unsuccessful attempt when Emma returned.
    They drove home silently. As she pulled the car into the driveway of her condo, Emma said, “Mom, there are some men in a car parked in front of our carport.”
    â€œYes, I see.”
    The unmarked Ford Taurus backed into her parking space belonged to the DA Inspectors’ motor pool. When the two men in the car spotted her, they started to open the doors.
    Kathryn zipped into an empty parking space, shut off the engine, and climbed out.
    â€œTake the food inside, Em, I need to talk with these men for a minute.”
    â€œMom, I’m scared.”
    â€œThey’re from my office, honey.” Kathryn gave Emma a hug. “Everything’s all right, I promise. But please go inside now.”
    Kathryn watched until Emma was inside, then turned to face DA Chief of Inspectors James Fields and Neal McCaskill.
    McCaskill had buttoned his coat against the cold, causing his jowls to hang over the collar.
    Stocky and dark with a face that bore the aftermath of teenage acne, Fields wore only a suit that was damp and wrinkled. The right sleeve of his coat was gathered and tucked into itself where his right hand had been before a bomb blew up a courtroom and his hand years before. After months of intense rehabilitation that taught him to shoot left-handed, he had been restored to full duty as a DA Inspector. One of Kathryn’s first acts as DA was to appoint him Chief of her Inspectors Division. He had rewarded her with quiet competence, dogged determination, and fierce loyalty.
    McCaskill walked ahead of Fields, stopping with his pudgy face just inches from Mackay’s. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Robert Simmons.”
    â€œYou can’t arrest me without a warrant.”
    â€œI have a warrant. I think Judge Keefe rather enjoyed signing it.”
    She looked at Fields. “Is this for real?”
    â€œI’m afraid so.”
    McCaskill grabbed her upper arm. “Turn around, Mackay.” He looked at Fields. “Cuff her.”
    â€œJesus Christ, Mac, that’s not necessary.”
    â€œDA’s policy. She’s a felon.”
    She struggled to break free. “You bastard, let me go,” she demanded.
    â€œYou’re not going anyplace except Blaine Street.” McCaskill sneered at the mention of the women’s detention facility. “Now, turn around