E Is for Evidence

said.
    "What makes you think it's me they're after? Why couldn't it be you?"
    "Because no one could be sure I'd be called in on this. These fire claims are assigned almost randomly, according to who's free. If it's me they want, they'd have to go about it differently. They're not going to burn down your ware-house on the off-chance that I'll be called to investigate."
    "I suppose not," he said.
    "What about you? What's going on in your life, aside from the divorce?"
    He picked up a pencil and began to loop it through his fingers, end over end, like a tiny baton. He watched its progress and then shot me an enigmatic look. "I have a sister who moved back here from Paris three months ago. Rumor has it she wants control of the plant."
    "Is this Ebony?"
    He seemed surprised. "You know her?"
    "Not well, but I know who she is."
    "She disapproves of the way I run things."
    "Enough to do this?"
    He stared at me for a moment and then reached for the phone. "I'd better call my attorney."
    "You and me both," I said.
    I left and headed back into town.
    As far as I knew, the D.A.'s office hadn't been notified, and no charges had been filed. A valid arrest warrant has to be based on a complaint supported by facts showing, first of all, that a crime has been committed, and second, that the informer or his information is reliable. At this point, all Mac had was an anonymous telephone call and some cir-cumstantial evidence. He'd have to take action. If the ac-cusation was correct, then CF had to be protected. My guess was that he'd go back through my workload, case by case, to see if there was any whisper of misconduct on my part. He might also hire a private detective to look into the affairs of Wood/Warren, Lance Wood, and possibly me-a novel idea. I wondered how my life would hold up if it were subjected to professional scrutiny. The five grand would certainly come to light. I wasn't sure what to do about that. The deposit was damning in itself, but if I tried to move the money, it would look even worse.
    I remember the rest of the day in fragments. I talked to Lonnie Kingman, a criminal attorney I'd done some work for in the past. He's in his early forties, with a face like a boxer; beetle-browed, broken nose. His hair is shaggy and his suits usually look too tight across the shoul-der blades. He's about five foot four and probably weighs two hundred and five. He lifts weights at the same gym I do and I see him in there doing squats with three hundred pounds of plates wobbling on either end of the bar like water buckets. He graduated summa cum laude from Stan-ford Law School and he wears silk shirts with his mono-gram on the cuff.
    Attorneys are the people who can say things in the mildest of tones that make you want to shriek and rend your clothes. Like doctors, they seem to feel obliged to acquaint you with the full extent of the horror you could face, given the current path your life is on. When I told him what was happening, he tossed out two possible addi-tions to the allegation of insurance fraud: that I'd be named with Lance Wood as co-conspirator, and charged as an aider and abettor to arson after the tact. And that was just what he came up with off the top of his head.
    I could feel myself pale. "I don't want to hear this shit," I said.
    He shrugged. "Well, it's what I'd go for if I were D.A.," he said offhandedly. "I could probably add a few counts once I had all the facts."
    "Facts, my ass. I never saw Lance Wood before in my life."
    "Sure, but can you prove it?"
    "Of course not! How would I do that?"
    Lonnie sighed like he was going to hate to see me in a shapeless prison dress.
    "Goddamn it, Lonnie, how come the law always helps the other guy? I swear to God, every time I turn around, the bad guys win and the little guys bite the Big Wienie. What am I supposed to do?"
    He smiled. "It's not as bad as all that," he said. "My advice is to keep away from Lance Wood."
    "How? I can't just sit back and see what happens next. I want to know who set me up."
    "I never said you couldn't look into it. You're an inves-tigator. Go investigate. But I'd be careful if I were you. Insurance fraud is bad enough. You don't want to take the rap for something worse."
    I was afraid to ask him what he meant.
    I went home and unloaded the boxes full of office files. I took a few minutes to reword the message on my answer-ing machine at home. I put a call through to Jonah Robb in Missing Persons at the Santa Teresa Police Department. As a lady