J is for Judgment (Kinsey Millhone 10)

“I can’t think Brian’s having any fun where he is.”

“I don’t know what the story is on that. Brian’s talked about that one guy, Guevara I think his name is. He’s a real bad dude. They were in the same quad at one point, and Brian said he was always pulling shit, trying to get him in trouble with the deputies. He’s the one talked him into busting out.”

“Somebody told me yesterday he died.”

“Serves him right.”

“I take it you’ve talked to Brian since he got back. Your mother was in for a visit and so was I.”

“Just on the phone, so he couldn’t say much. Mostly he said don’t believe nothin’ until I heard it from him. He’s burnt.”

“‘Burnt’ meaning what?”

“What? Oh. He’s mad. Judge charged him with escape, robbery, grand theft auto, and felony murder. Can you believe it? What a crocka shit. Busting out of jail wasn’t even his idea.”

“Why’d he do it, then?”

“They threatened his life! Said if he didn’t go with ‘em, they were going to kill his ass. He was like a hostage, you know?”

“I didn’t realize that,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. Michael was so busy defending his brother, he didn’t seem to catch the skepticism.

“It’s the truth. Brian swears. He says Julio Rodriguez shot the lady on the road. He never killed anyone. Said the whole thing made him sick. He had no idea them beaners were going to pull that kind of shit. Premeditated murder. Jesus, come on.”

“Michael, that woman was killed in the perpetration of a felony, which automatically elevates the charge to murder one. Even if your brother never touched the gun, he’s considered an accomplice.”

“But that doesn’t make him guilty. Whole time he was trying to get away.”

I bit back the impulse to argue. I could tell he was getting irritated, and I knew I shouldn’t push it if I wanted his cooperation. “I guess his attorney will have to sort that out.” I decided I better shift the conversation onto neutral ground. “What about you? What sort of work do you do?”

“I work construction, finally making pretty good money. Mom wants me to go to college, but I can’t see the point. With Brendan so little, I don’t want Juliet to have to work. I don’t know what kind of job she could get anyway. She finished high school, but she couldn’t make much more than minimum wage, and with the cost of a baby-sitter, it doesn’t make any sense.”

We’d reached the corner market, ablaze with fluorescent lighting. We let our conversation lapse while Michael moved up and down the aisles, picking up the items he’d been sent to buy. I occupied myself at the magazine rack, scanning the latest issues of various “ladies” publications. Judging by the articles listed on the front covers, we were all obsessed with losing weight, sex, and cheap home decorating tips, in just about that order. I picked up a copy of Home & Hearth, leafing through until I came to one of those features called “Twenty-Five Things to Do for Twenty-five Dollars or Less.” One suggestion was to use old bedsheets to make little dresses with tie sashes for a set of metal folding chairs.

I glanced up and saw Michael at the front register. He’d apparently paid for his purchases, which the clerk was bagging. I’m not sure what it was, but I suddenly had the sensation that someone else was watching, too. I turned casually, doing a visual survey of the market. To my left I caught a flicker of movement, a blurred face reflected against the glass doors of the refrigerator cases that lined the wall across from the entrance. I turned to look, but the face was gone.

I moved to the entrance and pushed through the door, stepping out into the chill night air. There was no one visible in the parking lot. The street was devoid of traffic. No pedestrians, no stray dogs, no wind stirring in the shrubs. The feeling persisted, and I felt the hair rising up along my scalp. There was no reason to imagine that either Michael or I would warrant anyone’s attention. Unless, of course, it was Wendell or Renata. The wind was accelerating, sending a mist across the pavement like the blow back from a hose.

“What’s the matter?”

I turned to find Michael standing in the doorway with the loaded grocery bag in his arms. “I thought I saw someone standing in the doorway looking at you.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t see anyone.”

“Maybe it’s my inflamed imagination, but I don’t often do that sort of thing,” I said. I could feel a silver shiver wash across my frame.