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him?”
    Sam shrugged. “Drury says she walked out in front of him. How’s Caplan going to prove otherwise? His word against a dead girl’s.”
    â€œSam, he dragged her half a mile down the road.”
    â€œHe says his foot slipped when he tried to hit the brake. And there were no alcohol or drugs in the guy’s blood—that’ll work against Caplan.”
    â€œYou’ve heard the rumors.”
    Sam nodded. Every cop had. Drury was a known maniac on the road. Short-fused, he took his anger out behind the wheel. He’d been pulled over time and again by uniforms, but he was Drury for heaven’s sake. He usually signed an autograph and went on his way.
    â€œYeah, Sonora, but you can’t take rumors to court. I’ve worked with Caplan a couple of times, no question he’s good. Most of ’em, you hand them the case file, they look it over fifteen minutes before they go into the courtroom, if you’re lucky. Caplan does his advance work, and he charms the shit out of the jury.”
    â€œGee, Sam, thanks for the visual.” Sonora’s foot itched. She rubbed her shoe against the carpet, wondering if she should take it off and go for total ecstasy.
    Sam turned sideways, so he could look at her. “Julia Winchell left a lot of little notes behind in that briefcase, Sonora. She saw a murder. Or thinks she did.”
    Sonora gave Sam a lopsided smile. “By chance she mention the killer’s name?”
    Sam grimaced and Sonora thought he looked sad. He tapped the news clipping in Sonora’s hand. The one with Gage Caplan, ace District Attorney. “As a matter of fact, she did.”
    Sonora tilted her head to one side. “Somebody he’s putting away?”
    â€œNo, Sonora. Him.”

4
    Sonora looked at Sam. Looked back at the picture in the clipping. “Did I understand you? You’re telling me Julia Winchell saw a murder—”
    â€œI’m saying she thinks she did.”
    â€œAnd the killer was Gage Caplan? This Gage Caplan?” Sonora waved the clipping. “Champion of the underdog, defender of law and order, friend to cops, kids, yada yada yada?”
    â€œHow many times do I have to say yes?”
    â€œUntil I get you to say no. Who’s he supposed to have killed?”
    â€œHis wife.”
    â€œHis wife? That establishes a motive, I guess.”
    â€œSeriously, Sonora—”
    â€œSeriously, Sam, his wife is alive and well. They had a picture in last week. Caplan the family man. Wife and little kiddy.”
    â€œ First wife, Sonora. This all happened eight years ago.”
    â€œSo why didn’t she bring it up eight years ago?”
    â€œShe did. Nobody believed her. And she only saw the guy, she didn’t know his name. Till she picked up the newspaper two weeks ago, and there he is.”
    â€œGive me details, Sam.”
    â€œI don’t have details.” He stood up, pointed to the sheaf of papers on the desk. “This is all I got. Notes. Stuff she jotted down.”
    â€œIt’s thin. Except …”
    â€œExcept what?”
    â€œThis list of calls she made. I thought one of those numbers was familiar. She was calling the DA’s office.”
    â€œLook, Sonora, I’m not saying it’s true. Calling the DA’s office proves not a thing, except she may have had a screw loose.”
    â€œHer husband doesn’t describe her that way.”
    â€œHe maybe is the one who killed her.”
    â€œIf she’s dead.”
    â€œThere is that.”
    Sonora smoothed the clipping out on her knee. Frowned at the headline. Caplan Closes In. The picture had been taken in the courtroom, from the side, Caplan talking to the jury. He was a big man in a nice suit—not too nice, you’d never picture this guy in a pinkie ring. He was attractive—carrying a lot of extra weight, the way ex-athletes often do, but it sat well on him. His hair was thick