Paul Martin was barely visible behind the mountain of paper on his desk. It was a wonder he was able to find anything amid the chaos and clutter that was his office. Thankfully, in court he was organized and methodical and was always able to produce a document upon demand. She liked working with him. He was respectful and eager to learn. Like her father, he lived for this stuff.
She cleared her throat to announce her presence and he leapt from his seat as if he’d been ejected. “I’m going through the documents in box nineteen and nothing is jumping out at me,” he said.
“Read the depositions of Oliver Santori’s friends. He was with three of his buddies that night. One of them, Joe Riley, states that they left the club around one a.m. and went to Denny’s on Mission and 4th, a few blocks from the crime scene. If that’s true, then there’s no way Oliver could’ve committed the rape.
“Witnesses reported seeing the victim as late as one thirty a.m. at the dance club in South Beach, just a few blocks from Denny’s. The victim herself said that the rape happened behind the club just after two a.m. She called 911 at 2:20 a.m. Call Denny’s and ask for the surveillance tape from that night. If Santori was at Denny’s when Riley said they were, you’ll have your golden ticket.”
“Okay, but the rape was two months ago. Surely they don’t keep surveillance tapes that long?” Paul asked.
“I think the real rapist is counting on that. But they’ll have it. Trust me.”
“But why didn’t Santori or his other two friends mention this visit to Denny’s in their depos?”
“Good question, Paul. My guess is that someone slipped them a little something in their drinks. Maybe Joe Riley wasn’t as affected by the drug as the others. In fact, maybe Joe Riley wasn’t affected at all. Ask for another tox screen on all four and it might lead you to the real rapist.”
Paul shook his head. “You mean, Joe Riley—”
Isabel smiled. “Just do as I ask, Paul.”
“Will do, boss, but why are you—”
“Handing the case off to you? Because I’m leaving the firm, Paul. Effective immediately.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry—you’re going to do great. I have faith in you. I’m sorry I never told you that before, Paul, but you’re a good lawyer. I’ve enjoyed working with you. But Paul, if you want to be taken seriously in this business, you’ve got to dress the part. Do yourself a favor and go buy some new suits. Go to Gustav at Nordstrom. Tell him I sent you. He’ll have you looking like the fine lawyer you are in no time. Then go to Tommie at Studio B and have her trim and style your hair. You’ll have the case settled before you leave tonight, so go tomorrow. And tuck your tie in when you eat oatmeal.”
He glanced down at his tie and his face flushed. “Okay, boss. I’ll do you proud, don’t worry. And good luck with...well, wherever it is your going.”
She glanced at her watch. “Thanks, Paul. Gotta run.”
After saying a quick goodbye to Erin and the others, Isabel hurried down the stairs and into the garage. It was just after noon and she still had a lot to do.
After making one final stop, she drove toward Ocean Beach, stopping briefly to pick up a Philly Cheesesteak and a large order of fries from her favorite place on Divisadero. Truth be told, she was still full from breakfast, but she didn’t want her last day on Earth to pass without tasting all of her favorite foods one last time.
She pulled into the near-empty lot at the beach and parked. It had stopped raining, and if she remembered the weather patterns correctly, she had about four hours before the rain came again. She grabbed the blanket she always kept in her car and chose a prime spot to lay it down. She closed her eyes and took in the sound of the ocean.
The waves pounded the sand as if they were angry about something. If anyone had a right to be angry about anything it was her, but she refused to give in to anger today. She took a deep breath and smiled as the spray of the ocean misted her face. She’d lived in San Francisco almost her entire life and had spent very little time at the beach. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.
After eating her lunch and savoring each bite, she opened the journal she’d purchased that morning to the first page. She wrote the title: The Last Day, by Isabel Jameson Stevens.
The words flew off her pen and onto the page. It felt as though no time had passed when the first raindrop splashed onto her forehead. She looked up at the sky and kept writing. When the rain came in earnest, she sprinted back to her car and tossed her things inside. Rather than climb inside after them, she pushed the door closed and stood outside in the parking lot, letting the rain wash over her.
It came in sheets and pelted her from every direction. She laughed, twirled around, and stomped through every puddle in the parking lot. Just like she had when she was young. She laughed and laughed, and laughed some more. And then she fell to her knees and cried.
She knew it would do no good to beg, or plead, or to even ask why. She knew why. She had to die so Alan Rosenberg could live. So millions of people could live their lives free from cancer. She turned her face up to the heavens and closed her eyes. Her tears fell freely, steadily, mixing with the rain as the cold settled in. She hugged herself as her body shivered, and though her heart was heavy, she’d never felt more alive. Or more afraid. Why, oh, why had she volunteered to be so selfless? So noble?
But it didn’t matter why. She had, and there was no backing out now.
Drenched and drained from the emotion of the day, she climbed back into the car and checked the time. Almost six. She hadn’t even noticed the darkness settling into the evening sky. She removed a towel from her gym bag and dried herself off as best she could. Then she started the car and steered toward the Matterhorn Swiss.
She arrived at the restaurant and handed the keys to the parking attendant. Their eyes met and the young man smiled. She glanced at his name tag and a rush of air filled her lungs. His name was Faruk. Startled, she looked into the eyes of the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy with the wild, surfer-dude look but didn’t see any recognition in them.
“That’s an interesting name you have,” she said.
The boy rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it. Can you imagine the grief I’ve endured over the years because of it? Forget about it.”
Isabel smiled and nodded. “Well, I think it’s a nice name. I knew someone with the same name once, and he was quite a remarkable guy. Oh, he could be a little irritating at times, but overall, he was an angel.”
The boy smiled and jangled the keys in his hand. “Well, have a nice evening, miss. We’ll take good care of her for you.”