I stopped with that. The offer was on the table. There was nothing more to say.
“I have to think about this,” Kitchens said. “I want to talk to my daughter.”
I nodded and smiled.
“How old is she?” I asked.
It wasn’t just a get-to-know-you question. I wasn’t asking because I had a daughter too but because her child could be a tell. Children are idealistic when young and become pragmatic the older they get. I wanted to know whether Kitchens had a pragmatic daughter who would tell her to play it safe and not get involved.
“She’s nineteen,” Kitchens said. “She goes to USF.”
“What’s she studying?” I asked.
“Psychology. She wants to be a social worker.”
“Good for her.”
A student at the University of San Francisco who wanted to be a social worker — that all tilted toward idealism to me. I reached down for my briefcase and brought it up to my lap.
“Of course you should talk to her,” I said. “I’m going to give you a phone. It’s charged up and already has my number saved in it. Use it to call or text me at any time. After you talk to your daughter, let me know. If it’s a no, toss the phone. If it’s not, we’ll use it to communicate and I’ll give you instructions on how to send me what you’ve got.”
I took the phone out of the case and put it on the table in front of her. She looked at it but didn’t pick it up.
“It feels like spy work,” Kitchens said.
“Yes,” I said. “But as you know, we need to take precautions. Tidalwaiv has a lot at stake, and I want to protect you. We’re going to leave now so you can enjoy your lunch.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know. But thank you for your time.”
McEvoy and I stood up and left her there. The burner was still on the table. I don’t know if paranoia is contagious, but outside the restaurant, I scanned the parked cars and the other businesses to see if I could pick up on anybody watching us. McEvoy noticed.
“You think she’s right?” he asked. “They’re watching her?”
“Hard to say,” I said. “If not physical surveillance, I’m sure they’ve got their sniffers on her. That’s why I brought the burner.”
“You always carry phones like that?”
“Not always. But sometimes. Going to make a good book, huh?”
“Yeah. If you win.”
“I plan to. I need to call my ex. She was blowing up my phone the whole time we were in there.”
“Lorna?”
“No, my first ex-wife.”
“She in the legal business too?”
“Sort of. She’s the DA.”
“What? Of L.A. County? You mean Maggie McFierce?”
I nodded.
“I was the one who gave her that nickname,” I said. “Then they used it as a campaign slogan.”
I had already pulled my phone and hit Maggie’s number in my contacts. My hope was that she was calling to say she was going to return the external hard drive with the contents of Aaron Colton’s laptop downloaded onto it.
She answered right away. I could tell she was in a car.
“Mickey, where have you been? Did you listen to my messages?”
Her voice was adrenalized and panicked.
“No, I just called back. What’s going on? Is Hay—”
“The fires. My house is in an evacuation zone. I’m going home to try to grab things. Pictures and clothes.”
“What fires?”
“What are you talking about? Where are you?”
“Palo Alto. Maggie, calm down and tell me what’s going on.”
“The wind is causing fires all over the place. Palisades, Malibu, Altadena — big fires. I’ve got to get home and get things. I want to know, can I stay at your place?”
“Of course, if it’s safe.”
Her house was in Altadena. My house was on Fareholm Drive in the hills at the southern end of Laurel Canyon, an area also vulnerable to wildfires.
“Right now your house isn’t in the fire zone,” Maggie said. “I’ll go there. Is the extra key in the same spot?”
I had to think back to when we were married and shared the house.
“Yes, same spot. Hayley’s frog.”
Our daughter had made a frog at a pottery-painting party.
“I’ll see you at the house,” I said. “I’m heading to the airport now, and we’re landing at Burbank around six.”
“No, you’re not,” she said. “Burbank is closing. Probably LAX too. It’s hurricane-force winds.”
I remembered the warning Lorna had mentioned in the office yesterday. I hadn’t watched the news or read a newspaper since then. I had been consumed by the Tidalwaiv case.
“All right, I’ll see what’s going on and I’ll get to the house as soon as I can, Mags. Stay safe.”
“You too.”
I disconnected. Once we were in the rental but before we left, I filled McEvoy in. “Sounds like L.A. is burning and Burbank is grounding flights.”
“Shit. Where are the fires?”
“She mentioned the Palisades, Malibu, and Altadena.”
“Only?”
“I don’t know. Where do you live?”
“Sherman Oaks. In the flats.”
“You should be okay.”
“You?”
“In the hills at the front of Laurel Canyon.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
I looked at the JSX app to see if there was an earlier flight we could take, but there wasn’t; all flights out of Monterey and Oakland to Burbank were either canceled or delayed due to high winds.
I had apps for Delta and American, and I told McEvoy to check United and Southwest for any flights from Bay Area airports to L.A. or Burbank. Every flight I found that was still going to LAX or Burbank or John Wayne Airport in Orange County was booked, likely with travelers who had been moved off canceled flights. McEvoy found the same on the airlines he checked.
“We’re fucked,” he said.
“No,” I said. “We’re driving.”
12
We cut over to the 5 freeway, but it still took us six hours in heavy traffic to get down to L.A. The rental had satellite radio and we listened to what seemed like around-the-clock wildfire coverage on CNN, NPR, and Fox. McEvoy was also occasionally able to get video feeds on his phone from the KTLA Channel 5 website. Los Angeles was burning in what appeared to be catastrophic firestorms that flanked the county on the west and northeast sides. Maggie called me when she got to my house. She was panicked and angry, reporting that she had not been allowed to get to her home to salvage anything. Despite her standing as the elected district attorney of Los Angeles County, the roadblocks to her neighborhood in Altadena were enforced. Sheriff’s deputies refused to let her through, saying all lanes on the roads were being used for fire department vehicles and to evacuate citizens. Nobody could go in, only out.
The fact that she was safely in my home seemed to be of little consolation to her. After getting instructions from me on how to use the television remote, she said she was parking herself in front of the wall-to-wall coverage on the local channels and hoped there would be a home for her to go back to in the morning.
My daughter checked in from Hawaii as news of the fires spread far and wide. I told her that her mother was safe and that all we could do was wait it out and see what the morning brought in terms of wind and damage.
We crested the Tehachapi Mountains on the Grapevine, and as we traversed the Santa Susanas down into the basin of the San Fernando Valley, we could see the glow of fire on the ridgeline up ahead.
The Santa Monica Mountains cut through the heart of the city, separating the Valley from the Westside. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, knowing that homes were burning on the other side of the mountain chain.