Guilt

'What?' Wes asked.

'I don't want to do that. I don't want to eat anybody for lunch. I feel sorry for her. Don't you guys understand that?'

'I do,' Mark said.

'Excuse me, but fuck that! I'm glad you two are so sensitive. It gives me a warm feeling deep down inside.' Farrell spun himself, a little circle in the tiny room. 'Here's lesson one – a trial is a war. You don't take prisoners. You destroy everything in your path because if you don't, make no mistake, it will destroy you. Sympathy does not belong here.' Farrell reined himself in slightly. 'Listen, Christina, this Diane Price is trying to send your client to jail for most of the rest of his life, and that makes her my enemy. And she's lying! That makes her your enemy.'

'I'm not used to thinking that way.'

Dooher to the rescue. 'Wes, you could do it. It doesn't have to be Christina.'

Farrell got to escape velocity in record time. 'Of course I could do it! Mister Goddamn Rogers could do it! We could phone it in and get it done. But Christina here, being a woman, could do it best, and that's what we've got to go with. Our best shot every time out. That's how you win. It's the only way you win.' Farrell glared at them both.

'All right, Wes, all right. You're cute when you're mad. Anybody ever tell you that?'

'No,' he said. 'Nobody ever has. Christina, how about you?' Farrell was gratified to see that she'd gone a little pale. Maybe she was finally beginning to understand what she'd gotten herself into. But she put up a brave front.

'No,' she said, 'I think you're cuter when you're not mad.'

When Thomasino called the lunch recess, Glitsky made his way out through the tide of humanity in the gallery and then 'No comment-ed' his way past the reporters in the hallway. He took the stairs, rather than the crowded elevator, up to Homicide, to his 120 square feet partially enclosed by dry wall. He intended to eat his bagel and apple in peace and maybe get in some administrative work before court reconvened at 1:30.

But there was Paul Thieu, up out of his own desk before Glitsky was a step into the room. And another person – long hair, eyes burning, pumped-up, unhappy and unkempt. At a glance Glitsky recognized the symptoms; this guy was cranked up, high on methamphetamines.

'You remember Chas Brown?' Thieu asked.

Glitsky was about to nod, shake his hand, be polite, but Brown didn't give him the chance. 'What's this I don't get to be a witness? All the time I spend with you guys and what do I get out of it for me, huh?'

Thieu popped in. 'Chas heard about Thomasino's ruling from his friends in the courtroom. He'd been kind of hoping he'd get a couple more days at the Marriot.' The city put its witnesses in various hotels, and Chas had evidently been looking forward to a bit of a longer vacation.

Abe was low affect. 'It wasn't our decision, Chas. We wanted you there, but the Judge ruled against us. We lose.'

'Why? The guy kills one guy, then another guy, then his wife. You're telling me they're not related?'

'No, I think they're related.'

'Then why, man?'

'No proof. No proof there was even a murder.'

'Me saying it? That's not proof?'

Glitsky kept it cool. 'You didn't see it, Chas. You weren't a witness. All the Saigon records, if any, were destroyed.' He shrugged, repeated it. 'We lose.'

'We've been over this,' Thieu said. 'What do you want us to do, Chas? You want another night at the Marriot?' He threw a hopeful glance at Glitsky.

'No, I want… I mean, I told everybody I was going to be in this trial.'

And now, Glitsky thought, even that tiny drop of limelight had evaporated. He imagined it was probably disappointing, but mostly he just wanted Chas to go away. He wasn't needed anymore, and cranked-up 800s in the Hall of Justice were something he could do without.

'And Dooher's going to get off, isn't he?'

'We hope not, Chas. That's why we're having a trial.'

'But they can't hear about the guy he killed over there?'

'No, I'm afraid not.'

'That son of a bitch,' he repeated. 'He never pays for anything, does he?'

In that moment, something shifted for Glitsky. He'd met Brown before, and always he'd been less than completely sober, but never particularly hostile to Dooher. Now, granted, he was cranked up and that could do it, but suddenly there seemed to be a different edge. 'I thought you didn't really have any personal gripe with Dooher,' Glitsky said.

Defiant. 'I don't. Who said I did?'

'You're acting like it, Chas. Nobody said it.'

'I'm not acting like anything. I haven't seen the dude in like ten years.'

This straightened Thieu up. He had interviewed Brown at least five times and had never heard this. 'I thought it had been more like twenty-five, Chas.'

Brown's eyes shined, flashed from Glitsky to Thieu. He backed up a step, put his hands into his jeans pockets. 'Ten, twenty-five, what's the difference?'

'Fifteen years,' Glitsky said.

Brown shrugged. 'So?'

'So which one is it, Chas?' Thieu picked it up. 'Did you see Dooher ten years ago?'

'Maybe. Maybe eleven, I don't know.'

Glitsky. 'What about?'

'I don't know. This same thing.'

The two Inspectors looked at each other. Glitsky nodded and Thieu talked. 'You talked to Mark Dooher about this Saigon murder ten years ago? What about it?'

Brown scratched at his beard, rolled his eyes around, let out a long breath. 'I was having, you know… like I couldn't find much work. I was looking through the paper and saw Dooher at this charity thing, and it said he did a lot of that, so I figured, hey, he's doin' pretty good, maybe he could help out an old buddy.'

'You tried to blackmail him,' Glitsky said.

'First I just asked him if he could spare a little, you know? It wasn't like strong-arm.'

'And what'd he do? Did he pay you?'

Chas was shaking his head. 'He threw me out, the son of a bitch. Said nobody'd believe a low-life like me anyway. He just laughed at me. Didn't give a shit my life was in the toilet.'

'Why didn't you ever mention this before, Chas?' Thieu asked.

'I thought it would make me look bad. I don't know.'

'And you wanted to testify to get back at him?' It made perfect sense to Glitsky. It was all about macho posturing – power and payback.

'Yeah. Show the bastard.' He looked at the faces of the two Inspectors. 'Hey, it don't mean he didn't kill the guy.'

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Idon't know about you, but I could use a hug.

Dooher kept reliving the moment, savoring the sweetness of it, the smell of her, the press of her breasts up against him, her arms around him inside the coat of his suit.

They'd stood there, holding fast to one another for a long time – perhaps thirty seconds, forty. He'd started to become aroused, and she felt it, making a small noise deep in her throat, leaning into him. Then pulling back, looking up, inviting the kiss that came – tentative and gentle at first, then open-mouthed, consuming.

Then Wes was outside, saying something to someone in the hall. She crossed over to the window and he sat on the desk.

That night – the defense team was all-but living together- they'd all had dinner at a French restaurant on Clement Street. As was their routine, Farrell drove Dooher home. Both of them were beat after the long day in the courtroom. There would be plenty of time to second-guess jury selection.