Tourist Trap (Rebecca Schwartz #3) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

of the fight we had the night before—about how I thought he was seeing another woman. But that wasn’t it. See, I figured he’d killed the guy.”
    “The man on the cross.”
    “Yeah. And I thought if he knew I suspected, he’d kill me, too. I’m a real bad drunk, remember—I never know what I might say if I get drunk enough. So I left and pretty soon I hooked up with Mean-Mouth and he put me to work in one of those naked-lady places—to meet johns. It wasn’t really too bad.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. When she raised her head, she looked like a small girl trying to explain that it was okay about the way her parents beat her. “I mean, it was the best I could do. I didn’t know how to do nothin’ else. I didn’t think I could till now. But I can’t live with those dreams. I gotta do something.”
    She’d strayed pretty far from the subject. I said, “Did you ever see Les again?”
    She looked at her lap again, not at me. “No.”
    “You saw my ad—you must read the paper. Didn’t you think Les might be the Trapper?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why didn’t you tell the police?”
    Looking down, she said, “I don’t know.”
    Rob said, “Rebecca, it’s seven-fifteen.”
    “I’ve got to be in court by nine,” I said. “Will you testify, Miranda? I’ll get a recess and you can do it tomorrow.”
    Once again the panicked look. “No. Today.”
    I was so shocked that she’d agreed I barely heard the demand. “You’ll do it?”
    “Only if I can do it today. I can’t go to sleep one more time before I do it.”
    “Because of the dreams?”
    “Yes. See, I don’t dream it the way it happened.”
    “No?”
    “In the dreams it’s me on the cross.”
    Trying to put aside my dismay at having to present my case with green hair, I dressed while Miranda showered. I found a black suit for her to wear, blow-dried her hair, and put some makeup on her. When I was done, she looked close to pesentable, though my suit hung on her gaunt frame.
    It was five after eight when we left, which meant I had to speed to get to San Jose. If the CHP had caught us, we’d have been dead, but we made it just under the wire. As we drove, I was concentrating so hard on getting there, I didn’t talk much, but Rob and Miranda spoke briefly from time to time. Mostly, Miranda looked out the window, a look of utter despondency on her face. As we passed the airport, Rob said, “Why do you think you have the dreams?”
    “Sometimes,” said Miranda, “I think it’s because I deserve to die.”
    After that no one said a word.
    * * *
     
    Liz tried everything she could to stop Miranda’s testimony, saying Miranda was a drunk, she was unreliable, she was a surprise, and thus and therefore, but the fact remained that she was most certainly a witness at the scene of the crime. And I impressed on the judge that she was sober and reliable today, but might not be so tomorrow. It was 10:30 before we got out of chambers, and the spectators were restless. Looking white and waiflike, Miranda took the stand.
    A ripple went through the courtroom when I stood up. You’d have thought no one in San Jose had ever seen green hair before.
    “State your name, please.”
    “Miranda Waring.” Gasps and whispers from the spectators.
    “Occupation?”
    “None.”
    “Ms. Waring, would you describe yourself as an alcoholic?”
    “Yes, I would.”
    “Are you sober now?”
    “Yes.”
    “Would you tell the court how you know me, please?”
    “My boyfriend got mad and tied me up. I think he was going to kill me. You found me last night and stopped him.”
    “Objection!” cried Liz. “Irrelevant.”
    “Sustained.”
    “Very well. Ms. Waring, had you ever seen me before that?”
    “Yes. Last Easter morning—at Mount Davidson. We got into a fight.”
    “Did you ever know a man named Les Mathison?”
    “We used to live at the same hotel in the Tenderloin. I was in love with him.”
    “Was he in love with you?”
    She looked unhappy. “We fought a lot.”
    “And did you fight on the Saturday night before Easter?”
    “Yes.”
    “Will you tell the court what happened that night?”
    “He said he had to go out. We got into it because I thought he was going to meet another woman. I was pretty drunk, so I got the idea I’d hide in his car to find out for sure.”
    “Why did you do that? Did you plan to confront the other woman?”
    “I just did it because I was drunk.” Miranda turned up her palms.