The Christmas Present. Tracy Wolff

      “Besides,” she said again, “Diego hasn’t been in any trouble since then—no fights, no problems at school, no drugs. His school counselor seems to think he’s had a pretty rough time of it.”

      “Yeah, well, the vic sure as hell didn’t have an easy time of it either. Pregnant at sixteen, living with two of the scummiest dealers in—” He stopped abruptly, but it was too late and he seemed to know it.

      Vivian was careful to keep a neutral expression as she seized on the opportunity Turner had inadvertently provided.

      “So, you do know Esme’s brothers deal drugs?” She made sure to direct the question to both detectives, then watched as Turner’s face turned beet-red. But his reaction wasn’t nearly as interesting as Barnes’s was. The young detective started drumming on the table with the same nervous energy Diego had displayed when she was questioning him a few nights before.

      Trying to capitalize on his obvious discomfort, she leaned forward and asked softly, “Why didn’t you at least look at the brothers—or their rivals—when Esme turned up dead, Anthony?”

      “We did.” Once again it was Turner who answered. “There was nothing there.”

      “Nothing there? They’re gang members and drug dealers, and both have been in and out of the system for years. How can there be nothing there?”

      “Because they didn’t kill her!”

      “Maybe, but what about other gangs? Other dealers? I hear there’s always a turf war going on in this neighborhood.”

      “What do you know about this neighborhood?” Turner didn’t bother to hide his contempt. “You’re over here doing your little pro bono case, and as soon as it’s done you’ll run as far and as fast as you can back to where you belong.”

      “Where I’m from is not the issue here.”

      “Well, it should be. You do-gooders are all alike. You come over here thinking you can save some kid who doesn’t deserve to be saved. Maybe you save him, maybe you don’t, but either way you make life ten times harder for the victim’s family while you’re doing it. And then you just walk away.”

      “What about arresting an innocent man?” she asked quietly. “How does that affect the victim’s family?”

      Turner’s face went from red to purple, and for a second Vivian feared he might be having a stroke, but when he spoke, his voice was steady and poisonous. “I wouldn’t know. Your client did it and he’s going down for it. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get a needle in the arm by the time the D.A.’s done with him. Killing a pregnant woman counts as special circumstances.”

      “Yes, well, the judge didn’t think that scenario was very likely. Otherwise Diego never would have had a chance to make bail.” She gave as good as she got, refusing to back down.

      “Look, lady, we’ve got motive, means and opportunity. That’s a slam dunk.”

      “Really? Because when I was looking through the file, it seemed to me that you had nothing. What’s the motive again?”

      “He didn’t want the baby. According to Esme’s friends and brothers, Diego was getting cold feet.”

      “These are the same brothers that we’ve already established deal drugs?” she asked. “The ones with the shady rivals?”

      “That doesn’t make them liars.”

      “No, but it doesn’t make them paragons of reliability, either. What else have you got?”

      “He could come and go any time from Esme’s place—that’s opportunity.”

      “Yeah, but nobody saw him there and he has an alibi.”

      “Somebody did see him—the woman who lives across the street—and his alibi’s shaky.”

      “So’s your evidence, but you don’t see me whining about that, do you? Your witness is a ninety-three-year old Chinese woman with cataracts. If I paraded Santa Claus in front of her, she’d finger him as the killer.”

      “But she didn’t finger Santa Claus, did she? She fingered your client.”

      “Because he was the only Mexican in the lineup. I can’t wait to see what a judge has to say about that.”

      Turner shook his head in disgust. “Jesus, you’re just as bad as all the other defense attorneys, you know that? I thought a divorce attorney might have more sense.”

      She started to snap back another smart-ass comment, but then his words sunk in. “How do you know what kind of lawyer I am? I never mentioned it to you.”

      “What, are you keeping it a secret?” Turner shot his partner a furious look and then pushed back from the table. “This conversation is over. And don’t call me again. If you want to talk to me, you can do it in court.” He stormed off.

      Barnes smiled awkwardly as he stood. “Sorry about that, Ms. Wentworth. He gets a little excited sometimes.”

      “It’s fine.” She studied him for a second, more than a little intrigued by his discomfort. “Tell me something, Anthony. If Turner hadn’t been pushing for it, would you have arrested Diego Sanchez for murder?”

      “Absolutely.” His voice was firm, resolute, but his eyes never made it past the bridge of her nose. “I have to go now.”

      “I know. Thanks again for meeting me.”

      “No problem.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet, but she stopped him.

      “Don’t worry about it—coffee’s on me. It’s the least I can do after pulling you down here for nothing.”

      He didn’t say anything, just nodded and walked quickly away.