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said.
    “What do you know about the law, sister?” Raines scoffed. “You think the penal code was designed to protect psychopaths like your video-rapist Marsalis or grubby parasites like Cruz?”
    “I smell a vendetta, Sidney.” Levi explained to Bragg, “The D.A. lost the Marsalis case, a case they should have won, so they concocted this scheme to discredit Ms. Neuwirth.”
    “That is complete, unadulterated”—Raines searched for the right words—“ dog poop! ” He frisbee’ed his briefcase across the floor.
    “ ‘ Dog poop ’?” Summer, Levi, and Bragg guffawed.
    Levi maneuvered Summer out of the courtroom, away from Bragg and to a block of elevators. “Stay out of Hightower’s court for a while,” he said.
    Summer thought of the resignation letter she had drafted the night before. But now wasn’t the time. “What do you think will happen to Cruz?”
    “Depends on what Bragg writes; depends on whether the mayor gets wind; depends on whether Raines is getting laid or not. Somehow I doubt he’ll have to do major time. Who’d have thunk a specimen like Cruz would have a conscience? The least I can do is try my damndest for him.”
    They got into the elevator and Levi pushed ‘L’ for the lobby. “One more thing,” he said as the doors hushed closed, “Gundy’s funeral is tomorrow. I have to put in an appearance, but I advise you to stay away. No need to stir things up even more.”
     

Chapter 5

 
    Rosie wanted to spend Gundy’s funeral at a bar owned by a former client she had once defended on a morals charge, but Summer wanted to stay in, cook, maybe watch a movie. That was many martinis ago. Now they were picking Chinese food out of cartons. The DVD was still in a plastic bag, on top of the TV.
    “Then what happened?” Rosie wore black nail polish and even blacker lipstick. Her way of mourning for Gundy.
    “Hightower told me I’d better watch myself in his courtroom.” Summer licked hoisin sauce off her fingers. “I’m lucky Cruz hates authority.”
    “You’re luckier that gutter triber likes pretty girls.” Rosie leaned back and lit a cigarette. “How are you getting on these days? You know, the, uh—”
    Summer got up to open a window. “Rape? You can say it.”
    “Fine. I said it.”
    Air streamed in from the outside. “I feel guilty about raping the poor guy, though he had it coming.”
    Rosie laughed, spilling martini on the floor. She soaked it up with a used napkin.
    Summer looked out to the ocean, listening to the waves rumble.
    “Are you still getting your head shrunk?” Rosie asked.
    “I couldn’t see the point,” Summer said, “so I decided to work harder, give myself less time to think about it.”
    “Too close to home? I’m the same way. Mother trouble? Father failings?”
    “Mother trouble.” Summer settled at the table and took one of Rosie’s cigarettes. She broke it in half, sprinkling crumbs. She weighed whether to let Rosie in on the turmoil that absorbed more and more of her thoughts: the rape, her mother’s disappearance eight months ago, job stress, the fear that Marsalis would make good on his threats. Her reticence eroded by good gin, she started talking.
    “From the time I could walk, my mother put rouge on my cheeks, painted my lips, stuck me in clingy dresses and tight pants, the same stuff she wore. She wouldn’t even let me call her ‘Mom.’ It was always ‘Sonia.’ When I was in grammar school, she’d confide in me, tell me all about her affairs with movie stars, her sexual hang-ups, her unfulfilled dreams of stardom.”
    Rosie’s eyes widened over her near-empty glass, but she didn’t say anything. Summer knew Rosie wouldn’t push because that would mean she’d have to talk about her father.
    But Summer needed to tell someone. “It was like instead of being my mom, she wanted to be my best friend. You know, for months after the rape, I felt like I had somehow brought it on myself. But then I had this major epiphany one