4th of July

Chapter 99

A SHRILL ALARM SHATTERED whatever nightmare had gripped me in its vise lock. I lay stiff and immobile, trying to get my bearings, when the alarm went off again, less strident now, less jarring.

I grabbed my cell phone from the night table and flipped it open, but the caller had disconnected.

Awake and grouchy at 6:00 a.m., I moved piles of Yuki’s stuff in the small second bedroom until I found my tracksuit and running shoes. I dressed quietly, collared and leashed Martha, and together we slipped out of the Crest Royal into dawn’s early light.

I ran through the route in my mind, pretty sure that I could do two miles on gentle hills and flatlands. Then Martha and I headed north for the straightaway of Jones Street at a slow jog, the twinge in my joints reminding me how much I really hated to run.

I slipped the lead from Martha’s collar so she wouldn’t wrap her leash around my legs and herd me into a pratfall. Then I forced myself into a faster pace on the downhill side of Jones, until the still-irksome pain from my shoulder and leg dissolved into an overall ache of my rusty muscles.

As much as I hated it, running was my only hope of escaping my obsession with the trial because it was the best way to shift from a mental state to a more manageable physical one. And even though my tendons screamed, it was good to feel my sneakers pounding the sidewalk, my sweat drying in the cool air as the dawn faded into morning.

I kept running north on Jones across Vallejo Street until I reached the summit of Russian Hill. Straight ahead was Alcatraz Island with its flashing lighthouse and the glorious view of Angel Island.

It was there that my mind floated free and my heart hammered from exertion rather than from stress and fear.

I blew through the wall as I crossed onto Hyde and the wonderful endorphins warmed me. To my right was the crooked block of Lombard, an endlessly charming street that runs down the hill to Leavenworth. I pumped my arms and jogged in place waiting for a red light to change, delighted that I was still ahead of the commuter crowd that a half hour from now would totally clog the streets and sidewalks.

The light changed and I pushed off. The path I’d chosen took me through some of the city’s prettiest blocks of gorgeous old homes and postcard views, even with the fog still drifting around the bay. Martha and I had reached the edge of Chinatown when I heard the shushing of car wheels following close on my heels.

Someone called out, “Miss, you have to put your dog on a leash.”

I was ticked off at the interruption of my new blissful mood and swung around to see a black-and-white unit dogging me. I stopped running and called Martha to my side.

“Oh, my gosh. Lieutenant. It’s you.”

“Good morning, Nicolo,” I panted to the young officer riding shotgun. “Hello, Friedman,” I said to the driver.

“We’re all behind you, Lou,” Friedman said. “I don’t mean, like, literally this moment,” he sputtered. “I mean we really miss you, man, uh, Lieutenant.”

“Thanks.” I smiled. “That means a lot. Especially today.”

“Never mind about the dog, okay?”

“Hey, you were right the first time, Nicolo. She stays on the leash.”

“Following procedures?”

“Yup, that’s me.”

“Good luck, okay, Lieutenant?”

“Thanks, guys.”

Friedman flashed the car’s headlights as they pulled past me. Holding Martha’s lead with both hands so that it crossed tightly against my body, I turned up Clay Street and headed back up the hill toward Jones.

By the time I stumbled into the lobby of Yuki’s building, all of the knots and snarls had melted out of my system. Minutes later I soaked under the hot shower I’d earned, and it was a stupendous reward.

I toweled myself off with one of Yuki’s giant terry cloth bath jobbies and then I wiped the condensation off the mirror.

I gave myself a good hard look.

My skin was pink. My eyes were clear. I’d run my miles in decent time, including the dog leash stop. I was okay. Win or lose, I was still the same person I’d always been.

Even Mason Broyles couldn’t take that away from me.