Among other things, Nim Goldman was a wine buff. He had a keen nose and palate and especially like varietal wines from the Napa Valley, which were California's finest and in good years rated with the premium wines of France. So he was glad to go to the Napa Valley with Eric Humphrey-even in late November-though he wondered why the chairman had invited him along.

The occasion was to celebrate a homecoming. An honored, victorious, sentimental homecoming of one of California's most distinguished sons.

The Honorable Paul Sherman Yale.

Until two weeks earlier he had been a revered Associate justice of the United States Supreme Court.

If ever a single individual merited the accolade "Mr. California," un-questionably it was Paul Sherman Yale. All that a Californian might wish or strive to be had been exemplified in his distinguished career, now drawing to a close.

Since his early twenties when-two years ahead of most contemporaries-he was graduated with honors from Stanford Law School, until his eightieth birthday, which he recently celebrated, Paul Yale had filled a succession of increasingly important public roles. As a young lawyer he established a state wide reputation as a champion of the poor and powerless. He sought, and won, a seat in the California Assembly and, after two terms there, moved up to become the youngest member ever elected to the state Senate.

His legislative record in both houses was remarkable. He was the author of early legislation to protect minorities and outlaw sweatshops. He also sponsored laws which aided California farmers and fishermen.

Moving on from the Senate, Paul Sherman Yale was elected the state's Attorney General, in which office be declared war on organized crime and sent some of its big-narne practitioners to jail. A logical next step was to Governor, a post he could have had for the asking. Instead be accepted President Truman's invitation to fill a vacancy on the U. S. Supreme Court. His Senate confirmation hearings were brief, their outcome a foregone conclusion since-both then and later-no breath of scandal or corruption ever touched his name, and another sobriquet sometimes applied to him was "Mr. Integrity."

While serving on the highest court, he wrote many opinions which reflected his broad humanity, yet were praised by legal scholars as being pure law." Even his dissents were widely quoted, and some prompted legislative changes. amidst it all, Mr. Justice Yale never forgot that he and his wife Beth were Californians and, at every opportunity, declared his continuing affection for his native state.

When, in due season, be concluded that his work was done, he resigned quietly and the Yales left Washington, typically without fuss, returning-as Paul Yale expressed it to Newsweek-"westward and home." He turned down the suggestion of a massive testimonial banquet in Sacramento, yet consented to a more modest welcome luncheon in his beloved birthplace, the Napa Valley, where the Yales planned to live.

Among the guests-at Yale's suggestion-was the chairman of Golden State Power & Light. Humphrey requested, and obtained, an extra invitation for his assistant, Nim.

En route to Napa Valley in the chairman's chauffeur-driven limousine, Humphrey was affable while he and Nim worked on plans and problems, as was usual on such journeys. It was obvious that the chairman had put his displeasure with Nim behind him. The purpose of their present journey was not mentioned.

Even with winter close at hand, and several weeks after harvest time, the valley was extraordinarily beautiful. It was a clear, crisp, sunny day, following several days of rain. Already early shoots of bright yellow mustard weed were growing between the rows of grapevines-now stark and leafless, and soon to be pruned in readiness for next season. Within the next few weeks the mustard would grow in profusion, then be plowed under to fertilize and, some said, add a special pungency to the flavor of grapes and wine.

"Notice the spacing of the vines," Humphrey said; be had put aside his work as they entered the central portion of the valley where vineyards stretched far into the distance to the lush green hills on either side. "The spacing's much wider than it used to be. That's for mechanical harvesting-the grape growers' way of beating the unions. The union leaders cheated their own members out of jobs by empire building and intransigence, so labor will soon be minimal here, with most jobs done by machine, and more efficiently."

They passed through the township of Yountville. A few miles further, between Oakville and Rutherford, they turned through an entranceway, framed by adobe-colored curving walls, into the mission-style Robert Mondavi Winery, where the luncheon would be held.

The guest of honor and his wife had arrived early, and were in the winery's elegant Vineyard Room, ready to greet others as they came. Humphrey, who had met the Yales several times before, introduced Nim.

Paul Sherman Yale was small, spry and upright, with thinning white hair, intense gray eyes which seemed to bore into whatever they were looking at, and a general liveliness which belied his eighty years. To Nim's surprise he said, "I've been looking forward to meeting you, young man. Before you go back to the city we'll find a corner somewhere and have a talk."

Beth Yale, a warm, gracious woman who had married her husband more than fifty years ago when he was a young Assemblyman, and she his secretary, told Nim, "I think you'll enjoy working with Paul. Most people do."

As soon as he could, Nim eased Humphrey aside. Low-voiced, he asked, "Eric, what's happening? What's all this about?"

"I made a promise," Humphrey said. "If I told you, I'd be breaking it. Just wait."

As the arriving guests multiplied and the line of those waiting to shake hands with the Yales lengthened, the sense of occasion grew. It seemed as if the entire Napa Valley had turned out to pay its homage. Nim recognized faces attached to some of the great names of California wine making: Louis Martini, Joe Heitz, Jack Davies of Schramsberg, today's host Robert Mondavi, Peter Mondavi of Krug, Andre Tchelistcheff, Brother Timothy of Christian Brothers, Donn Chappellet, others. The Governor, who was out of the state, had sent the Lieutenant Governor as his representative. The media had arrived in force, including TV camera crews.

The occasion, which had been billed as private and informal, would be viewed or read about by most Californians tonight and tomorrow.

Lunch-with Napa Valley wines, of course-was followed by introductory speeches, mercifully brief. A toast to Paul and Beth Yale was drunk; a spontaneous standing ovation followed. The guest of honor rose, smiling, to respond. He spoke for a half hour-warmly, simply, eloquently-a casual, easy talk with friends. There was nothing earth shattering, no strident revelations, simply the words of the local boy at last come home. "I am not entirely ready to die," he said. "Who is? But when I leave for eternity, I want to board the bus from here."

The kicker came at the end.

"Until that bus arrives, I intend to be active and, I hope, useful. There is a job I have been told that I can do and which may be of service to California. After due thought, and consultation with my wife, who was uneasy about having me at home all day anyway . . . [Laughter] . . . I have agreed to join the staff of Golden State Power & Light. Not as a meter reader; unfortunately my eyesight is failing . . . [More laughter] . . .but as a member of the board and a public spokesman for the company. In deference to my hoary old age I am being allowed to set my own office hours, so I shall probably arrive -on the days I choose to show up at all-in time for an expense account lunch . . . [Loud laughter] . . . My new boss, Mr. Eric Humphrey, is here today, probably to collect my Social Security number and employment record . . . [Laughter and cheers].

There was more of the same.

Afterward, Humphrey would inform Nim: "The old boy insisted on secrecy while he and I were negotiating, and then he wanted to make the announcement himself in his own way. It's why I couldn't tell you in advance, even though you are the one who will work with him in helping him get oriented."

Meanwhile, as Mr. Justice Yale (he would retain the title for the remainder of his life) concluded his speech and sat down to sustained applause, reporters crowded around Eric Humphrey. "We have yet to work out full details," Humphrey told them, "but essentially Mr. Yale's role will be as be described it-a spokesman for our company, both to the public and before commissioners and legislators."

Humphrey looked pleased as he answered reporters' questions-as well he might, Nim thought. Lassoing Paul Sherman Yale, bringing him into the GSP & L orbit, was a tremendous coup. Not only did Yale have built-in public credence, but every official door in California, from the Governor's downward, was open to him. Clearly, what he would be was a lobbyist of highest caliber, though Nim was certain the word "lobbyist" would never be spoken in his presence.

Already, the TV crews were maneuvering GSP & L's new spokesman into position for a statement. It would be one of many, Nim supposed -some of them the kind of statements Nim himself might have continued making if he hadn't blown it. Watching it happen, be felt a pang of envy and regret.

6.

"Apart from anything else," Beth Yale told Nim with a frankness he would later find characteristic, "we can use the money. No one gets rich being on the Supreme Court, and living in Washington is so expensive we rarely managed to save anything. Paul's grandfather did set up a family trust fund, but it's been horribly mismanaged would you mind putting on another log?"

They were seated before a fieldstone fireplace in a small, comfortable house located in a vineyard, a mile or so from where they had had lunch.

The house had been loaned to the Yales by its owner, who used it during summers, until they were able to locate a place of their own.

Nim added a log to the fire and stirred two others, partially burned, to a cheerful blaze.

A half hour ago Mr. Justice Yale had excused himself to have, as he put it, "a battery charge catnap." He explained, "It's a trick I learned many years ago when I found my attention wandering. Some of my colleagues even do it on the bench."

Before that they had talked for more than two hours about the affairs of Golden State Power & Light.

The "talk in a corner" with Nim, which Paul Yale had spoken of before the luncheon, had not happened for the reason that there Was no way he could escape his admirers while he remained at the Mondavi winery. He had therefore suggested that Nim come back to the house. "If I'm going to do something, young man, I like to get moving. Eric tells me you can supply the best over-all view of your company, so let us start viewing."

They had done precisely that. While Nim described the status, policies and problems of GSP & L, Paul Yale injected sharp, pertinent questions.

Nim found it a stimulating mental exercise, in a way like playing chess with a skilled opponent. And Yale's remarkable memory astounded him. The old man seemed to have forgotten nothing of his earlier days in California and his knowledge of GSP & L history at times exceeded Nim's.

While her husband was having his "battery charge," Beth Yale served tea before the fire. Soon after, Paul Yale reappeared.

He announced, "I heard you talking about the family trust."

His wife put fresh water into the teapot and set a cup before him. "I've always said you have ears which reach around corners."

"That's from years in court-straining to hear lawyers when they mumble.

You'd be surprised how many do." Paul Yale addressed Nim. "That trust fund Beth spoke of was set up because my grandfather hoped public service would become a tradition in our family. He believed anyone who traveled that route should not have to worry about having an adequate income. It's not a fashionable viewpoint nowadays, but I happen to agree. I've seen too many people in Washington's high places have to scratch around for extra money. It leaves them open to temptations."

The justice drank the tea his wife had poured, and observed, "A civilized custom, afternoon tea. It's something we owe the British; that, and the great body of our law." He put his cup down. "Anyway, as Beth said, the trust fund has been mismanaged. While I was on the Court there was nothing I could do, but now I've begun to repair some of the damage." He chuckled. "That is, as well as working for GSP & L."

"It isn't for ourselves," Beth Yale added. "But we have grandchildren who show signs of going into public life. It may help them later."

Nim sensed that the family trust fund was a sore point with the Yales.

Confirming this, Paul Yale grumbled, "The trust owns a winery, a cattle feedlot, two apartment buildings in the city and-can you believe it?-all of them have been losing money, creating debts, eating into capital. Last week I leaned hard on the administrator-read him the riot act about cutting down expenses." He stopped abruptly. "Beth, we're boring this young man with our family problems. Let's get back to God's Power & Love."

Nim laughed at the name, used by old-timers in the state for GSP & L.

"I'm concerned, as I'm sure you are, about all the sabotage and killings that have been going on," Paul Yale said. "The people who claim responsibility-what is it they call themselves?"

"Friends of Freedom."

"Ah, yes. An interesting exercise in logic: 'Be free my way or I'll blow you to pieces.' Are the police any closer to tracking them down, do you know?"

"Apparently not."

"Why do those people do it?" Beth Yale asked. "That's what's so hard to understand."

"A few of us at the company have done some thinking and talking about that," Nim told her.

Paul Yale asked, "What kind of thinking?"

Nim hesitated. He had mentioned the subject on impulse and now, under Mr. Justice Yale's penetrating gaze, he wished he hadn't. However, the question had to be answered.

Nim explained the police theory that the Friends of Freedom group was small, with one man the brains and leader. "Assuming that to be true, we thought that if we could get, even partially, inside the mind of the leader-we call him X-we'd improve our chances of catching him. We might even get lucky, guess what he would plan next, and be ready."

What Nim did not say was that the idea had occurred to him after the latest bombings when the security guards were murdered. Since then he, Harry London, Teresa Van Buren and Oscar O'Brien had met three times for lengthy brainstorming sessions and, while nothing positive had developed, all four felt they were moving closer to an understanding of the unknown saboteurs and 'X.' O'Brien, who still harbored hostility to Nim because of the Tunipah hearings, had opposed the suggestion at first, calling it "time wasting." But later the general counsel relented and joined in. He was something of a scholar and, with his sharp lawyer's mind, contributed substantially to the discussions.

"You've assumed your X is a man," Paul Yale said. "Have you considered the possibility of a woman?"

"Yes, but the odds favor a man, mainly because those tape recordings, received after every bombing, are of a man's voice and it's a reasonable assumption be is 'X' Also we concluded that in history almost all leaders of armed revolutions have been men; psychologists say women's minds are too logical and the details of revolution seldom make sense. Joan of Arc was an exception."

Paul Yale smiled. "What other theories do you have?"

"Well, even though the leader isn't a woman, we're convinced there is a woman in the so-called Friends of Freedom, and almost certainly she's close to X- "Why do you believe that?"

"For several reasons. Number one, X is extremely vain. The tape recordings show that clearly; our 'think group' played all of them many times. Number two, he's strongly masculine. One thing we listened for was any hint of homosexuality, either in intonation or words. There wasn't any. On the contrary the tone, the choice of words . . . well, the description we all came up with after playing the tapes over and over was 'a young, robust male."'

Beth Yale had been listening intently. Now she said, "So your X is macho. Where does that lead you?"

"To a woman, we believe," Nim. answered. "Our reasoning was that a man like X would need to have a woman around; he couldn't exist without one. Also, she has to be a confidante-for the practical reason that she would be close, also because his vanity demands it. Look at it this way: X sees himself as a heroic figure, which is something else the tapes show. Therefore he would want his woman to view him the same way. So that's another reason she has to know about, and probably share in, what he's doing."

"Well," Paul Yale said, "you certainly have an abundance of theories." He sounded amused and skeptical. "I'd say, though, you've pushed supposition-pure conjecture, unsubstantiated-to the limits and beyond."

Nim conceded, "Yes, I suppose we have." He felt embarrassed, foolish. In light of a Supreme Court justice's reaction, all that he had just related seemed unconvincing, even absurd-especially now that he was away from the other three. He decided not to pass on the remainder of the think group's conclusions, though they were clear in his own mind.

The police were convinced, because of the modus operandi and a hint in the latest tape recording, that the Friends of Freedom leader, "X," was the actual murderer of the two guards. The quartet of Nim, London, Van Buren and O'Brien, after discussion, shared that view. Furthermore, they had argued at length among themselves and now believed that 'X"s woman was at the murder site. Their eventual reasoning: the project had been 'X"s most ambitious to date and, consciously or subconsciously, he would have wanted her to see him in action. Which made her not only a witness but an accessory to murder.

So how did that knowledge-or, rather, position-put them closer to learning the identity of "X"?

The answer: It didn't. But it revealed a potential weakness, a vulnerability, of "X," to be exploited. How to exploit it, if at all, was something unresolved.

Now, Nim thought, it all seemed way, way out.

He decided: Paul Yale's assessment was probably the kind of cold douche they all needed. Tomorrow he would consider dropping the whole "think tank" idea, leaving detective work where it belonged with the police, FBI, and various sheriff's departments, all of whom were working on the Friends of Freedom case.

His thoughts were interrupted by arrival of the Yales' housekeeper, who reported, "A car for Mr. Goldman has arrived."

"Thank you," Nim said. He rose to leave. A second company limousine had been ordered for him from the city since Eric Humphrey, who had a later engagement, had left the valley immediately after lunch.

Nim told the Yales, "It was a privilege to meet you both. And when you need me again, sir, I'm available."

"I'm sure I will soon," Paul Yale said, "and I enjoyed our talk." His eyes twinkled. "At least, the substantial part of it."

Nim resolved mentally that in future, when dealing with someone of Paul Sherman Yale's stature, he would confine himself to solid facts.

7.

The big break, for Harry London, came swiftly and unexpectedly.

The Property Protection chief was in his small, glass cubicle office the department had still not been given permanent quarters and continued to operate in makeshift space-when he heard his secretary's telephone ring outside. A moment later his own extension buzzed. He picked up the phone lazily because that was how he felt. The past two months had been a desultory period in which nothing major had occurred concerning theft of service. Routine prevailed. In late summer a computer study had revealed a staggering thirty thousand possible cases of power theft and, since then, London, his deputy Art Romeo, and their staff-now increased to five investigators-had been checking out the suspect cases one by one. As Harry London knew from his experience as a Los Angeles detective, it was like most police work-plodding, repetitious, wearying.

And results were mixed.

About ten percent of the investigations so far had produced sufficient evidence for GSP & L to charge customers with cheating and to claim payment for estimated arrears. Another ten percent showed changes in consumption levels to be for valid reasons, such as genuine conservation, the consumers innocent. The remainder of cases were inconclusive. Of the provable cases, only a handful had been sufficiently serious to merit prosecution. To all concerned the task seemed slow and endless. Which was why Harry London, his chair tilted back, feet up on his desk, had reached a state of ennui on this particular mid-December afternoon.

"Yeah?" he said into the phone.

A whispering, barely audible voice inquired, "This Mr. London?"

"Yes, it is."

"This here's Ernie, janitor at the Zaco Building. Mr. Romeo said to call him or you if them guys come back. They're here now."

Harry London's feet bit the floor like slingshots. He snapped upright in his chair. "The same ones who bypassed the meters?"

"It's them all right. They come in a truck, same's before. They're workin' now. Listen, cain't stay on this phone more'n a minute."

"You don't have to," London said, "so listen carefully. Get the license number of that truck."