Scott Randall was in Sharron Pratt’s office with her lordship, the DA’s investigator Peter Struler, Chief of Police Dan Rigby and Abe’s predecessor as head of homicide, Captain Frank Batiste, who was now an assistant chief. And my, weren’t things heating up? Four of the five of them – everyone but Batiste – were already in a friendly discussion about something that abruptly halted as Glitsky’s shadow crossed the room’s lintel.
‘Ah, Lieutenant Glitsky.’ Pratt was sitting on her desk and actually clapped her hands as though in delighted surprise that Abe had dropped in.
Batiste, Glitsky noticed, had found a convenient neutral corner and was memorizing the stains on the ceiling tiles. He was a good guy and his body language was telling Abe a lot. This wasn’t his party, which meant that he’d been called down by the chief to neutralize Abe and make sure that homicide accepted the message, whatever it was.
Rigby and Randall sat on either end of the low couch looking at some papers spread on the table in front of them.
‘Ah, Ms Pratt.’ Unable to stop himself, Glitsky silently brought his own hands together. Sometimes imitation wasn’t the sincerest form of flattery. Sometimes it meant that you saw through pretense and were telling the pretender that she was full of shit.
He stopped in the doorway and went into his best at ease. He nodded at the men, but no smile. ‘Hey, guys.’
There was an awkward moment during which some glances were exchanged, Rigby evidently waiting for a signal that it was time to begin. He cleared his throat. ‘About this Beaumont thing, Abe. And now the newspaper stories about this woman in jail.’
Glitsky nodded. ‘Frannie. Her name’s Frannie Hardy.’
‘Yes, of course it is. Frannie.’ The chief looked over at Pratt, got some secret message, cleared his throat, and spoke again. ‘We’ve just about decided to put out an all points on Ron, the husband, and we wanted to run it by you first, to get your input.’
‘We wanted to be sure we kept you in the loop, Abe,’ Pratt added.
Glitsky did a quick take at Batiste and the two conducted a millisecond’s worth of non-verbal communication of their own. Then the lieutenant folded his arms and leaned his bulk against the door jamb. ‘I really appreciate your concern, Sharron, thank you. And this all points bulletin? It would be in light of new evidence that Investigator Struler’s come up with – would that be it?’
Scott Randall spoke up. ‘We want him for questioning, that’s all. We want to talk to him.’
‘You don’t need me to talk to him.’ Glitsky couldn’t have been more laid back. ‘You don’t need me for an APB. But I’m curious about what you plan to do if you find him after this all points manhunt.’ He looked at Struler, then Randall. Across the room, Batiste brought a hand up to his mouth and pulled on it to keep the corners down.
‘What do you mean?’ Struler asked. ‘We bring him in and-’
‘You arrest him, you mean?’
Cornered, Struler looked to Randall, then Pratt. He nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘With no evidence? No chance to even get past a prelim and go to trial, much less win? You want a lawsuit for false arrest, or what?’
Chief Rigby cleared his throat again, getting into the middle of it. ‘Come on, Abe, it’s not like there’s no evidence.’
Glitsky turned to him. ‘It isn’t? I haven’t seen any if there is.’
‘The man’s disappeared,’ Randall said.
Glitsky shrugged. ‘So? What’s new?’
‘The murder was at his house,’ Pratt added. ‘There’s no sign of anyone else. She may have been having an affair and told him she was leaving. Process of elimination leaves Ron.’
Glitsky withered her with a look of disbelief and wondered, not for the first time, if the City and County’s top attorney had passed the bar or ever won a case in court. It didn’t seem possible. ‘You want to take that to a jury and get beyond reasonable doubt, Sharron, you’ve got my sympathy.’
Rigby, a political animal himself, tried to smooth the waters. ‘The point is, Abe, that in the real world we’ve got to move along on this.’
But Pratt couldn’t keep herself out of it. ‘I’ve had calls from a lot of citizens plus we’re getting some very bad response to this woman being in jail.’ Pratt had made something of a career out of ignoring the rules of law. Now she seemed to be having a hard time reconciling herself to the fact that her political problems weren’t going to go away even if she broke more of them. ‘I got a call from the mayor this morning, do you realize that?’
Again, Glitsky shrugged. ‘Talk to Judge Braun about that.’
‘The mayor has talked to her.’
‘And?’ Although they wouldn’t be here if Glitsky didn’t know the answer. Braun wasn’t budging.
Randall butted in with the crux of his theory. ‘If we get Beaumont in custody, Abe,’ he said, ‘we can shift public opinion away from Frannie and on to Ron. He’ll be the bad guy for putting her in this position.’
Now Glitsky had it all on the table. These people were really from Mars. ‘If memory serves,’ he said, ‘it was you who put her in this position, wasn’t it, Scott?’
But the young attorney waved that off. ‘I was perfectly justified and Judge Braun was also well within her rights. It’s just that we’re starting to get a lot of political flack-’
‘And want to sacrifice Ron Beaumont. Same as yesterday.’ Glitsky’s eyes raked the room. ‘This is not how it works, guys.’ A shake of his head. He turned to Rigby and asked the direct question. ‘Chief, what do you want me to do?’
Rigby was by now sitting on the front two inches of the couch. He looked up balefully. ‘What have you got, Abe?’
‘We’ve got Griffin’s notes – basically nothing. I’ve got a better one for you.’ He turned back to Pratt. ‘Sharron, who, specifically, has been pressuring you to go get Beaumont?’
Again, some unspoken message seemed to pass among the airport staff – Struler, Pratt, Randall. Glitsky was getting a little tired of the secret handshake stupidity, but experience had told him that if he let it run its course, it might lead him somewhere.
Pratt slid off the desk and went around it, where she opened a drawer, then closed it. ‘Well, naturally, Caloco would like to see the case closed. They’re taking a lot of flack in the media, as you may know.’
‘And are they one of your contributors?’ From Pratt’s reaction, Glitsky could tell that the question had hit a mark. He hadn’t done twenty-five years of interrogations for nothing after all.
But Pratt didn’t blow. Her eyes narrowed slightly. Her game face appeared. ‘They contributed to my opponent as well, sergeant.’
‘And as long as whoever gets elected does them a favor whenever they ask, they keep the money coming, is that it? So what’s the favor here? Find a likely scapegoat and hang him out to dry?’
‘Sergeant, you’re out of line,’ Rigby barked.
But finally, Batiste took a few steps toward the group. He’d spent many years in homicide and suddenly had picked up a bad smell. ‘With all respect, sir, Abe’s asked a good question. If Caloco’s trying to influence the investigation, it increases the odds that they might somehow be involved.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Pratt exploded.
Randall was up now, supporting his boss. ‘Completely ridiculous. You can’t make that kind of baseless charge, captain. Caloco’s been the soul of cooperation…’
‘I haven’t made any kind of charge,’ Batiste retorted. ‘I’m saying the lieutenant, here, has the right to ask the question. Do you have anything on Caloco?’
‘There’s nothing on them. They came to us and gave us a case of documents,’ Struler said hotly. ‘And we got Ron implicated.’
For a long moment, nothing moved in the room. Finally, Scott Randall whispered ‘shit’ under his breath. Even Rigby the politician – there to steamroll Glitsky into official compliance – frowned. Into the well of silence, Batiste dropped a little echoing pebble. ‘What documents?’