Glitsky picked it up. ‘I haven’t seen any documents.’
‘They weren’t any part of the original investigation.’ Pratt was hustling to put her finger in the dike, but the water was spraying all around her. ‘Caloco came to us, voluntarily.’
‘With what, exactly? And when?’ Glitsky, suddenly, was glad he’d come in on this lovely Saturday afternoon. But he had to give it to Pratt, she didn’t break.
Boosting herself on to the desk again, she gave a little apologetic smile. ‘Ms Beaumont had been a valued employee and a couple of weeks after she was killed, when no suspect had turned up, Caloco called my office and offered all the files they had related to her.’
‘And naturally,’ Glitsky said, his voice thick with sarcasm, ‘because they related to a murder, you informed my detail immediately so we could evaluate all the information.’
‘You’d already dumped the case,’ Randall said.
For another moment, Glitsky stood in the doorway. He had straightened up from his slouch long ago. This was not just petty politics, but a serious breach of legal ethics. Formal obstruction of justice out of the DA’s office. Glitsky was having trouble accepting it.
But he knew what he was going to do with it. ‘I’ll expect that box and all its contents on my desk within the hour.’
Glitsky hadn’t received the box from the DA by the time Dismas Hardy appeared at his office minutes after leaving his wife at the jail. ‘Working on the sabbath?’ he said from the doorway.
Glitsky, slumped over bunches of paper, gave him the evil eye. ‘Don’t start. Really.’
‘OK. Meanwhile, while I’m not starting.’ He tossed a bag on to the desk in front of him. ‘I figured I was here, I’d see if you were and give you the leftovers.’
‘Today’s my day for leftovers.’ He pulled the bag over to him. ‘What is this?’ Glitsky’s face didn’t exactly light up – Hardy thought that would be impossible – but Hardy was gratified by the expression. ‘Is this lox? Tell me this is lox.’
‘Your favorite. There’d be more except the desk sergeant at the jail ate the first two pounds.’
Glitsky had ripped the bag open and was spreading out the contents on the brown paper. ‘You got this into the jail?’
‘Technically, the answer to that would be no, though they do love me down there, I can tell. But no food inside, so they held it at the desk while I visited Frannie. Can I come in?’
‘Since when do you ask?’
Hardy shrugged, moving forward. ‘New policy. Ask first. I’m trying it out.’ He sat on the wooden chair across from Glitsky’s desk. ‘While you’re eating,’ he said, ‘I’ve got to tell you about these three leprechauns.’
Glitsky rolled his eyes. Hardy’s jokes were a constant torture. ‘You ever wonder why it’s always three?’ But his mouth was full and he was chewing happily.
‘So they’re all standing outside the Guinness Book of World Records building and the first one says he’s got the smallest hands in the world and he’s going to show them to the Guinness people and get in the book. A couple of minutes later, he comes out, all thrilled-’
‘OK.’ Glitsky was between bites. ‘Second guy’s the feet, third guy’s the dick. What’s the punch line?’
Hardy was used to this, Glitsky’s perennial cut to the chase. ‘Third leprechaun comes out and he looks depressed and his friends ask him what’s the matter – does he have the smallest dick in the world or what?’
‘I can’t wait.’ Another bite of lox and bagel.
‘Guy shakes his head, looks at his friends and says, “Who the hell is Abe Glitsky?” ’
With the expected reaction – that is, none – Glitsky sat back. ‘I had a good time recently. Want to hear about it?’ He outlined the events from his recent meeting with Pratt and the rest of them, and the withholding of Caloco’s documents.
By the time he’d finished, Hardy was sitting back in a kind of shock. ‘You’re telling me Dan Rigby was in on this, too? Do you realize you could have a good shot at taking down Pratt’s office? In fact, I know a local lawyer who’d be happy to help you. Get yourself promoted to chief.’
Glitsky made a face. ‘I don’t want to be chief. Sometimes I don’t even want to be head of homicide. I just want to be a cop again. Catch bad guys.’
‘You might be doing that here. What do you think’s going to turn up in the box?’
‘Whatever’s in there.’ He’d find out soon enough. ‘Can you believe the arrogance, though? It never occurred to any of them that they didn’t have every right to that evidence. It came to their office so it was theirs and whatever they should legally do be damned.’
‘You better watch out,’ Hardy said, ‘You’re starting to sound like a lawyer.’ He pushed back his chair a couple of inches. ‘So that’s what brought you down here today?’
Glitsky nodded. ‘More or less.’
‘And here I thought it might have been your two inspectors – checking into Carl Griffin’s investigation as your best friend had suggested – had stumbled on to something.’
‘Well, since you mention it.’ Glitsky bunched the brown paper bag and tossed it into his wastebasket. The papers he’d been studying before Hardy’s arrival didn’t appear to be in any order, but he started picking through them as though he’d arranged them in some way. ‘Here’s copies of some notes from Griffin’s notebook. He was working the building where Bree lived. No sign he’d gotten anywhere with witnesses, but it was Carl and he didn’t write any follow-up’ – he glanced up at Hardy and shrugged – ‘so who knows?’
Glitsky picked up another stapled group of pages. ‘Crime scene. Zip. No glass anywhere to match what was in her scalp.’
‘Which was what?’
A flip of a page. ‘The theory is that it was from a leaded crystal wine or champagne glass. The Beaumonts didn’t have anything to match on hand.’
Hardy was into Griffin’s notes. ‘Here’s Jim Pierce again. Damon Kerry. Al Valens. How’d Griffin get these guys?’
‘The grieving husband, your friend Ron. Wanted to help find whoever killed her.’
‘And he thought one of these guys…?’
But Glitsky was shaking his head. ‘He just gave Carl a bunch of names, Diz. People Bree had hung out with.’ A pause. ‘Why did you say Jim Pierce again?’
‘What?’
‘You said “Here’s Jim Pierce again.” ’
Hardy smiled. ‘That wasn’t me. It must have been somebody else.’ Then, relenting. ‘It’d be neat if the odd slip of the tongue got by you once in a while. Anyway, I just visited him – Pierce – and his wife a couple of hours ago. You’ll be gratified to know that your inspectors had already been there.’
A nod. ‘Rattling his cage is all. He’s got a decent alibi.’
‘Just decent?’
‘Driving to work. Left home around eight, at the Embarcadero office forty minutes later.’
‘Forty minutes? I just did it in fifteen.’
‘This is Saturday afternoon. Try it on a weekday morning, rush hour. Coleman and Batavia did it last night and it took ’em an hour. And he was at his desk forty minutes later.‘ Glitsky shrugged. ’OK, anything’s possible as we know, but nobody’s put him anywhere near her place. He told my guys he hadn’t seen her in four months. They’re checking, but so far they hear the same thing. No contact.‘
‘What about Damon Kerry?’
This time, Glitsky’s mouth tightened. ‘He’s running for governor, Diz. I just don’t think so.’
‘I don’t either, but was he around at least?’
Glitsky nodded. ‘He was in town, shooting TV spots.’
‘Seeing her?’
‘Sometimes. Often.’
‘Were they sleeping together?’