"Because we do. Didn't he call Amanda?"
"At lunchtime. This, the shooting, was at least an hour later, maybe more. Maybe in that time he lost them and went on to something else, and whatever that was got him killed."
"Does anybody really believe that?"
"No."
"And who's 'them' now?"
"Another guy was driving, not Ro. Matt Lewis didn't know him but told Amanda he looked more or less American Indian. They came out of the Curtlees' house together. I'm thinking it's the bodyguard I met the first time I went out there."
"So Matt Lewis followed them for an hour. Isn't that probable cause right there? They must know the chief isn't making this up."
"They might know it, but they're not signing the little piece of paper." Glitsky drew a hand down the side of his face as though he were wiping dirt off it. "A law enforcement officer, Matt Lewis, is shot execution-style in his car on a deserted street in a very bad part of town. Crawling with the drug trade. Fifty people within the sound of the shot could plausibly have done it. Why pick on Ro Curtlee?"
"Because we know he did it?"
"Well, one little bit of proof, and the judge signs off. But…" He shrugged.
"So who was the judge?"
"Chomorro."
Treya clucked disapproval. "So now there's three of them?"
"What do you mean?"
"Baretto, Donahoe, Chomorro. Doesn't anybody on the bench want to put this guy in jail?"
"Not more than they want to protect his civil rights." Glitsky went on, "Do you know what it takes to win a contested judicial race, Trey? A hundred and fifty grand walking away, two fifty if you want a landslide, and there's no limit on contributions to a judicial race. Slick, huh. Bottom line, the whole bench is terrified of the Curtlees."
"So who did his initial trial, again?"
"Thomasino."
"How about taking him your warrant to sign?"
Glitsky was shaking his head. "No. You want a warrant signed, you've got to go to the sitting magistrate, and this week it's Chomorro. Randomly. This, I need hardly tell you, ensures the impartiality of the law."
"I don't want impartial. Not in this case."
"Well," Glitsky said, "in fact, you do. But it wouldn't break my heart if we got lucky now and again."
Treya tightened the blanket around her shoulders. Sitting with her thoughts for a minute, she said in a small voice, "Do you think we need to be worried? Us, I mean."
Glitsky heaved a sigh and moved down the couch next to her. "I'd say I'm worried enough for all of us, but that's probably not what you want to hear." He took her hand in both of his. "I like to think he's made his point with us just to rattle my chain. Hurting you or the kids doesn't get him anything, and he knows I'd hunt him down and kill him. Coming after me or us doesn't help him with his retrial, either. So, logically I think he's probably done with us. I hope. Beyond which, the chief's putting on a few teams to follow him around the clock."
"You don't think he'll be able to shake them?"
"I don't know. I wouldn't rule it out."
Treya closed her eyes, took in a breath. "Well, be that as it may, after tonight… I mean, I've been thinking. I don't know if I can feel right leaving the kids with Rita anymore. Or at school. Even if you say there's no risk…"
"I'm not saying that."
"I know." She took another shaky breath. "This isn't like anything else, Abe. This is a truly crazy person."
After a moment, Glitsky nodded. "I can't argue with you. You're right. What do you want to do?"
"I think I want to go away for a while. All of us. Until this blows over somehow."
Glitsky's nostrils flared and his mouth went tight, the scar going white through his lips. "I can't do that, Trey. Not in the middle of this."
"Why not?"
"Well, if for no other reason, that's telling Ro he wins."
"So what if he wins?" Treya's voice took on an edge. "It's not you against him."
"I'm not so sure about that."
"Well, then, all the more reason." She brought her hands together over his. "If it's that personal, then you really are in danger. Don't you see that?"
"I do, okay. But I can't run just because some psychopath is out to get me. There are protections in place and there's no reason to think they're not going to work."
"There isn't? Tell that to Mr. Lewis."
But Glitsky shook his head. "I don't really think he can touch me or you or the kids. Or that he has any reason to."
"And you're willing to bet all of our lives, or any of our lives, on that?"
"Trey," he said. "That might be a little dramatic, don't you think?"
She let go of his hands, and now very suddenly Glitsky realized that she'd quickly worked herself into a cold and unaccustomed fury. "I'm willing to take grief for being dramatic when our children's lives have been threatened, Abe. And in fact I'm kind of outraged you're not taking it a lot more seriously."
"I am."
"No, you're not. You're thinking of all this in terms of your job, of you versus Ro Curtlee, and who's going to win, and you're willing to risk losing all of this, our home"-she gestured at the room around them-"losing Rachel or Zack or you and me…"
"We're not going to…"
Now, tears of anger and frustration in her eyes, Treya slammed both fists into her lap. "We will if one of us is dead, Abe! Don't you see that? How close does it have to get? Just like poor Matt Lewis, all the sudden, poof, gone forever. And never even saw it coming."
"Hey." Reaching out, he touched her shoulder. "Treya…"
Brushing his hand off, she turned on him. "Don't touch me! I'm not being hysterical or dramatic. I don't need to get calmed down. You're talking logic, but don't you see that that man can take all this away, on a whim, everything we've ever built together and care about? And you're willing to risk that? Why? Because of your job? Your career in law enforcement? I can't even believe we're having this discussion."
"I told you I don't think the likelihood…"
"Fuck likelihood, Abe! Fuck that!"
The profanity hit Glitsky with a titanic force, snapping his head back. She knew that he had a visceral intolerance for that kind of language, and in all the time they'd been together, she'd never said anything like that around him. He ran his hand over his forehead-his blood was rushing to his head, his stomach roiling-and he stood up and walked over to the front windows, trying to grab a breath.
"I didn't mean-" he finally got out. "Whatever I said, I didn't mean it. Of course you can go. Of course, no risk is tolerable. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to criticize you. You are completely right. If you need to go, you need to go. The children need to go."
"And what about you?"
He turned back to face her, met her eyes, waited, shook his head no.
"How is this possible?" she asked. "How can we have come this far and I don't even know you?"
"Trey," he began, "you know me. You know who I am. I've been a cop ever since…"
She held up a hand, stopping him. "Oh, spare me," she said. "Spare me, please." And standing up, she gathered the blanket around her and spun on her heel around the corner and back to their bedroom, closing the door hard behind her.
21
At seven forty-five the next morning, a homicide sergeant inspector named Darrel Bracco knocked at the door to Glitsky's office, which was open, although the lights inside were off. The lieutenant slumped in his chair, nearly reclined in fact, his outstretched arm around a cup of something on the desk. "You wanted to see me, Abe?"
"I did. Come on in."
"Lights?"
"No. Leave'em, please. Take a chair."
Obeying orders, Bracco entered the office and sat. Glitsky made no effort to sit up straighter. Even in the dim light, Bracco could see a grayish pallor under the lieutenant's light brown skin. His body language screamed exhaustion, although when he spoke, the words came out with a clipped precision. "You heard about Matt Lewis."
It wasn't really a question. Even if word of the shooting hadn't permeated as if by osmosis into every inch of the Hall of Justice building itself, the shooting of the DA inspector had been the lead story on all the local network news programs last night, and had made headlines in both the Chronicle and the Courier this morning.