"How are you going to prove it? That was six years ago."

"For starters, I have two eyewitnesses," I said. "One actually saw you pull away from the scene of the accident. The other witness saw you at the southbound off-ramp on San Vicente shortly afterward. You want to tell me what happened?"

Her gaze flickered away from mine and the color came up in her cheeks. "I want a lawyer."

"Why don't you tell me your side of it. I'd like to hear."

"I don't have to tell you anything," she said. "You can't make me say a word unless I have an attorney present. That's the law." She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms.

I smirked and rolled my eyes. "No, it's not. That's Miranda . The cops have to Mirandize you. I don't. I'm a private eye. I get to play by a different set of rules. Come on. Just tell me what happened. You'll feel better about it."

"Why would I tell you anything? I don't even like you."

"Let me take a guess. You were living at your dad's and he was out and these friends of yours called you up and just wanted to go out for a little while. So you borrowed the truck and picked them up and the three of you or the four of you, however many it was, were just messing around, drinking a couple of six-packs down at the beach. Suddenly it was midnight and you realized you better get home before your father did so you quick took everybody home. You were barreling home yourself when you hit the guy. You took off in a panic because you knew you'd be in big trouble if you got caught. How's that sound? Close enough to suit?"

Her face was still stony, but I could see that she was fighting back tears, working hard to keep her lips from trembling.

"Did anybody ever tell you about the fellow you hit? His name was Noah McKell. He was ninety-two years old and he'd been staying at that convalescent hospital up the street. He had the wanderlust, I guess. His son told me he was probably trying to get home. Isn't that pathetic? Poor old guy used to live in San Francisco. He thought he was still up there and he was worried about his cat. I guess he forgot the cat had been dead for years. He was heading for home to feed it, only he never got there."

She put a finger to her lips as if to seal them. The tears began. "I've tried to be good. I really have. I'm AA and everything and I cleaned up my act."

"Sure you did and that's great. But your gut must send you little messages, doesn't it? Eventually, you'll get back into booze just to silence that voice."

Her voice shifted up into the squeaky range. "God, I'm sorry. I really am. I'm so sorry. It was an accident. I didn't mean to do it." She hugged herself, bending over, the sobs as noisy as those of a child, which is what she was. I watched with compassion, but made no move to comfort her. It wasn't up to me to make life easier. Let her experience remorse, all the grief and guilt. I didn't know that she'd ever let herself assimilate the full impact of what she'd done. The tears came in uncontrollable waves, great gut-wrenching sobs that seemed to shake her from head to toe. She sounded more like a howling beast than a young girl filled with shame. I let it happen, almost unable to look at her until the pain subsided some. Finally, the storm passed like a fit of helpless laughter that peters out at long last. She groped in her purse and pulled out a wad of tissues, using one to mop her eyes and blow her nose. "God." She clutched the fistful of tissues against her mouth for a moment. She nearly lost it again, but she collected herself. "I haven't had a drop of alcohol since the night it happened. That's been hard." She was feeling sorry for herself, maybe hoping to stimulate pity or compassion or amnesty.

"I'll bet it has," I said, "and I applaud that. You've done a lot of hard work. Now it's time to tell the truth. You can't skip over that and expect recovery to work."

"You don't have to lecture me."

"Apparently I do. You've had six years to think about this, Tootsie, and you haven't done the right thing yet. I'll tell you this: It's going to look a lot better if you walk into the police station of your own accord. I know you didn't mean to do it. I'm sure you were horrified, but the truth is the truth. I'll give you some time to think, but by Friday I intend to have a conversation with the cops. You'd be smart to get your butt in there and talk to them before I do."

I got up and slung my big leather bag across my shoulder. She made no move to follow. When I reached the front door, I looked back at her. "One more thing and then I'll leave you to your conscience. Did you see David Barney that night?"