Then what happened?
A miraculous thing. As you know, you can't get to heaven unless you die, so your mother died, but she didn't die until the second that you opened your mouth and took your first breath. When your mouth was its widest, the soul of Samantha Jaffe jumped right inside of you and went straight to a spot next to your heart.
Which is where she is today?
Which is where she is every minute of every day, Frank had answered, giving Amanda's hand a gentle squeeze.
Amanda remembered the story of her miraculous birth every time she and Frank made their birthday pilgrimage to the cemetery. For years Amanda really believed that Samantha lived next to her heart. As a small girl, at night, snug in her bed, she talked to Samantha about the things daughters confide to their mothers. As a teenager, it became a ritual before she mounted the blocks in each swim meet for Amanda to press her fist against her heart and silently ask her mother for strength.
Frank had never remarried, and an older Amanda wondered if her father really believed that Samantha dwelt with them. She had asked him once why he never married again. Frank told her that he had come close twice but had backed out in the end because neither woman could make him forget the love of his life. This saddened Amanda, because she wanted her father to be happy, but Frank always seemed at peace with himself, and she guessed that someone as strong as Frank would have married again if he had fallen in love.
Frank's sacrifice, if it was one, also impressed upon Amanda the power of true love. The emotion was not something to be trifled with, and she did not give herself easily. Love was very serious business. It was, as she learned from her father's example, something that could truly last forever.
Frank and Amanda had been lucky. A hard rain had fallen on the morning of March tenth, but it quit a little after noon and never resumed. The sun had even come out for a while when they were visiting Samantha's grave. As usual, Frank and Amanda were silent after leaving the cemetery. March tenth was always a hard day for both of them, and they used the drive home as a time to think.
A Porsche was idling in their driveway. As soon as Frank pulled next to it, the door to the Porsche opened and Vincent Cardoni started toward them wearing loose-fitting sweatpants and a faded UCLA sweatshirt. He was six-two and well muscled, with long black hair combed back from a high forehead. Cardoni's jaw was square and his nose classically Roman, but his complexion was washed out and his cheeks were sunken, as if he was not eating properly. A hard edge showed in the doctor's eyes, and anger forced his lips into a tight line.
There are cops at my house, Cardoni said as soon as Frank's door was open.
It's a bit cold out here, Vince, Frank said with a friendly smile. Why don't we talk inside?
Did you hear me, Frank? I said cops. More than one. I counted three cars. They were looking in the bushes around my house. The door was open. They were inside.
If they're in your house, the damage is done. We'll need to discuss this calmly if I' m going to repair it.
I want those motherfuckers out of my house, now!
Frank's face darkened when Cardoni swore. I don't believe I've ever introduced you to my daughter. Amanda is a fine attorney. She's just finished a clerkship at the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. That's a very prestigious job. Now she's lowered herself and is working in my firm. Amanda, this is Dr. Vincent Cardoni. He's a surgeon at St. Francis.
Cardoni stared at Amanda as if seeing her for the first time.
Pleased to meet you, Dr. Cardoni, Amanda said, extending her hand.
Cardoni gripped her hand hard, and his eyes stayed on hers for a brief moment before sliding down her body. Amanda felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She released Cardoni's hand. His eyes held hers for a moment, then shifted back to her father.
Let's go inside, Cardoni said in a tone that made the words sound more like an order than the acceptance of an invitation. Frank led the way, and the doctor followed. Amanda hung back to allow a bit of distance between her and Frank's client. Inside, Frank turned on the lights and escorted Cardoni into the living room, where he indicated a couch.
Tell me what's going on, Frank said when they were all seated.
I have no idea. I was out for a run in Forest Park. When I drove back, I saw cops swarming over my yard and my house. I didn't stop to ask them why. He paused for a moment. This can't have anything to do with the scrape you got me out of last year, can it?
Doubtful. The case was dismissed with prejudice.
Then what's going on?
No use speculating. What's your phone number at home?
Cardoni looked puzzled.
I' m going straight to the horse's mouth. The police are probably still at your house. I'll ask the man in charge what's going on.
Cardoni rattled off his number, and Frank left the room. Amanda did not like being left alone with Cardoni, but he showed no interest in her. He fidgeted, then stood and began to pace around the living room, glancing briefly at the artwork and fingering curios. Cardoni walked behind Amanda and stopped moving. She waited for Cardoni to move again, but he did not. When she could not stand the stillness any longer, Amanda turned sideways on the sofa so she could see the surgeon. He was standing behind her, his eyes on the painting across the room from him. If he had been watching her, there was no way Amanda could prove it.
We're going to drive over to your house, Vince, Frank said as he reentered the living room.
Did they tell you what's going on?
No. I spoke with Sean McCarthy, the detective in charge. He wouldn't answer any of my questions. Vince, Sean is a homicide detective.
Homicide?
Frank nodded, watching Cardoni for his reaction. Sean is a sharp cookie, very sharp. He said he wants to talk to you. When I hemmed and hawed, he threatened to get an arrest warrant.
You're kidding.
He sounded very serious. Is there something we need to worry about? I don't like walking a client into a meeting with a homicide detective when I' m not fully prepared.
Cardoni shook his head.
Okay, then. Listen up. I have lost damn few cases, but when a client of mine has been convicted it is usually his mouth that's done him in. Do not speak unless I give you the okay, and when you do respond to questions, listen to what you're asked. Do not volunteer anything. Do you have that straight?
Cardoni nodded.
Then let's go.
Frank turned to Amanda. I'll ride with Vincent. You follow in our car.
On the ride to Cardoni's house, Amanda decided that she did not like Frank's client. She didn't appreciate the way he had moved his eyes over her when Frank had introduced her. It was unnerving to be examined so clinically, without lust or friendliness. The speed with which the doctor had switched off his anger while he studied her was also unsettling. However, Amanda's concerns about the doctor were quickly forgotten in the excitement of being included by Frank in what might be a murder investigation.
Since joining Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi, Amanda, like most first-year associates, had been given the jobs no one else wanted to do. She liked legal research, so she had not resented her time in the law library. But she really wanted to try cases, and the bigger the stakes, the better. She wasn't certain if Frank had asked her along because he wanted her involved in Cardoni's case or because he might need a ride home. She didn't care. Either way, she would be in at the start of a murder case.