McCone and Friends (23 page)

When I’m upset or need to concentrate, I often head for water, so I drove north to Torrey Pines State Beach and walked by the surf for an hour. Something was nagging at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t bring it forward. Something I’d read or heard somewhere. Something…

Knives at midnight, Winslip. Knives at midnight.

Renny D’s high-pitched, cackling voice in the answering machine tape kept playing and replaying for me.

After a while, I decided to do some research and drove to Adams Avenue to find a used bookshop with a large legal section.

Crimes against the person: homicide. Express and implied malice…burden of proving mitigation—no.

Second degree…penalty for person previously convicted—no.

Manslaughter committed during operation of a vessel—certainly not.

Death of victim within three years and a day—forget it.

What the hell was I combing the penal code for, anyway?

Mayhem? Hardly. Kidnapping? No. Troy went willingly, even eagerly. Conspiracy? Maybe. No, the situation’s too vague. Nothing there for me.

Knives at midnight, Winslip. Knives at midnight.

Can’t get it out of my head. Keep trying to connect it with something. Melodramatic words, as Troy told Pope. A little old-fashioned, as if Dominguez was challenging him to a—

That’s it!

Duels. Duels and challenges. Penal code, 225.

Defined. Combat with deadly weapons, fought between two or more persons, by previous agreement…

Punishment when death ensues: state prison for two, three, or four years.

Not much, but better than nothing.

I remember reading this now, one time when I was browsing through statutes that had been on the books for a long time. It’s as enforceable today as it was then in 1872. Especially sections 231; that’s got the part I really like.

Gotcha, Renny D.

“I’ll read it to you again.” I said to Gary Viner. He was leaning toward me across his desk, trying to absorb the impact of the dry, formal text from 1872.

“ ’Dueling beyond State. Every person who leaves this State with intent to evade any provisions of this chapter, and to commit any act out of the State as is prohibited by this chapter, and who does any act, although out of this State, which would be punishable by such provisions if committed within this State, is punishable in the same manner as he would have been
in case such act had been committed within this State.’

“And there you have it.” I closed the heavy tomb with an emphatic thump.

Gary nodded. “And there we have it.”

I began ticking off items on my fingers.”A taped challenge to a duel at knifepoint. A probable voiceprint match with the suspect. A record of where the call was made. An eyewitness who, in order to save his own sorry hide, will swear that it actually
was
a duel. And, finally, a death that resulted from it. Renny D goes away for two, three, or four years in state prison.”

“It’s not much time. I’m not sure the DA’ll think it’s worth the trouble of prosecuting him.”

“I remember the DA from high school. He’ll be happy with anything that’ll get a slimeball off the streets for a while. Besides, maybe we’ll get lucky and somebody’ll challenge Renny D to a duel in prison.”

Gary nodded thoughtfully, “I remember our DA from high school, too. Successfully prosecuting a high-profile case like this would provide the kind of limelight’s he likes—and it’s an election year.”

By the time my return flight to San Francisco left on Saturday, the DA had embarked on the 1872 statute on duels and challenges with a missionary-like zeal and planned to take the Winslip case to the grand jury. Daniel Pope would be on hand to give convincing testimony about traveling to Tijuana primed for hand-to-hand combat with Dominguez and his cohort. Renny D was as yet unsuspecting but would soon be behind bars.

And at a Friday-night dinner party, the other half of the “detecting duo” had regaled the San Diego branch of the McCone family with his highly colored version of our exploits.

I accepted a cup of coffee from the flight attendant and settled back in the seat with my beat-up copy of
Standard California Codes
. I had a more current one on the shelf in my office, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to part with this one. Besides, I needed something to read on the hour-and-a-half flight.

Disguised Firearms or Other Deadly Weapons. Interesting.

Lipstick Case Knife. Oh, them deadly dames, as they used to say.

Shobi-zue: a staff, crutch, rod, or pole with a knife enclosed. Well, if I ever break a leg…

Writing Pen Knife. That’s a good one. Proves the pen can be mightier that the sword.

But wait now, here’s one that’s
really
fascinating…

I’d been on the Conway case for close to twenty-four hours before I started paying serious attention to Adrian’s bedroom wall. A big oversight, considering it was dark purple and covered with a collage of clippings and photographs and junk that looked like it had been dug out of a garbage can. But then I’ve never been too quick on the uptake on Monday mornings, which was the only other time I’d seen it.

The wall, the missing girl’s mother had explained, was a form of therapy, and even though its creation had more or less trashed the room, she—the mother, Donna Conway—considered it well worth the cost. After all, a sixteen-year-old whose father had run off a year and a half ago with a woman of twenty whom she—the daughter, Adrian Conway—insisted on calling “Dad’s bimbo” needed
something
, didn’t she? And it was cheaper than paying for a shrink.