"Why not?"
"He thinks I want his job."
Jackman pushed himself back a bit, folded his hands on the desk. "You haven't made that much of a secret, Abe. You've told me the same thing ten times in the past year and a half."
Glitsky took one of the chairs in front of Jackman's desk. "True. But for some reason he's thinking I'm interfering with one of his investigations, trying to make him look bad, get him fired or transferred so I can get back in."
"Why do you think that would be?"
"That's a long story, but essentially because I've asked him for some information on the Silverman homicide, which has turned out to be connected to a few other cases."
"You're right." Jackman delivered it as a surprise. "Ger-son is thinking that."
Glitsky crossed a leg, scratched at his scar. "You've talked to him?"
A nod. "Yesterday." All trace of warmth had left Jackman's face. "On Sunday. At home. Actually, it was both Lieutenant Gerson and Dan Rigby, conferenced in."
Glitsky sucked in a breath. Dan Rigby was the chief of police.
Jackman continued. "The chief said that since you and Treya were in my inner circle, as he called it, as is Dismas, maybe I should have a word with some or all of you and see if between us we can bring some reason to bear here. So your dropping in today is fortuitous after all. And, as you say, important."
His formal smile appeared briefly, then vanished. "The chief mentioned the possibility of filing charges against both you and Diz for conspiracy to obstruct justice in this rash of homicides for which his client-Holiday is it?-has been accused. But the chief thought that in view of your record, your past heroism and so forth, I might be able to exert some influence and get you to stop what he called this misguided campaign to smear Wade Panos."
Glitsky shook his head in anger and disbelief. "This is not misguided, Clarence. This is real. They shot at Diz. You know what they've done to Freeman-you've seen him."
"And that was Panos?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Yes, sir. Absolutely."
"And your certainty is based upon what? Incriminating physical evidence?"
At this, Glitsky sat back, planted his elbows on the arms of his chair. A muscle worked at the side of his jaw. "I've got a witness," he said, "who gave them something that strongly indicates that their evidence is bogus. I'm assuming that's what they called about. Sadie Silverman."
"That's accurate." Jackman inclined his head an inch. "Let me ask you this, Abe. Why did you get this witness? What's your role here? Why are you even involved at all?"
"She came to me, Clarence. Through my father. I didn't seek her out."
"All right, grant that. Did you then speak with her about her testimony?"
"I didn't coach her, if that's what you're implying. I heard what she had to say, then told her to call homicide."
"You didn't indicate to her that perhaps one of Mr. Panos's men planted some bogus evidence?"
Glitsky squirmed in the chair, chewed at the inside of his lip.
"I'll take your silence for a yes." The DA sighed. "You know, Abe, I hate to say this, but some people seem to think you're involved in this for your own personal gain."
"I won't dignify that with-"
Jackman held up a hand. "If you're any part of Diz's team in this lawsuit and he wins, some people think you'd stand to make a bundle. And at the expense of the city and the police department."
"But I'm not on his team."
"You haven't supplied him with information about this lawsuit against Mr. Panos?"
"Yes, but…"
"Then you'll admit there's an appearance."
"Nobody's paying me anything, Clarence. Even if they win."
"I don't know if I'd brag about that if I were you," Jack-man said. "It doesn't make you look very astute." He paused. "But I'm not getting into the truth or falsehood, or even the wisdom, of any of this. I'm simply telling you as a friend that the money motive is plausible to the point of certainty to several men of good will within the police department. You are on very, very thin ice here, Abe."
"Clarence-"
The hand again. "Let me just add a personal note, if I may." The voice was modulated, controlled, no sign of anger, but Glitsky wasn't much fooled. This was the sound of Jackman's purest fury-he'd heard him press for the death penalty with the same inflections. "It's absolutely true that you and Treya, even Dismas and Gina Roake- and certainly David Freeman-are all in my 'inner circle.' We're professional colleagues, but more than that, I think, we've developed a real bond in the years since we've been meeting at Lou's. We're friends."
"Yes, sir. I feel the same way."
"Good. So you'll understand." He came forward. "Can you possibly imagine that I wouldn't do all I can to use the power of this office to help any one of you if there were facts, evidence, proof, anything at all, that could justify an investigation of Mr. Panos and his activities? Or anybody else. Of course I would. It hurts me that you could doubt that."
"I don't doubt it, Clarence. It's why I've come to you today."
"But you don't have anything I can use, Abe. And by contrast, Lieutenant Gerson has two experienced inspectors, eyewitness testimony and lots of physical evidence. I cannot in good conscience ignore all of that. Frankly, I'm not even inclined to. And closer to home, I will not let it appear that I'm willing to manipulate the system to help my friends. My problem is not Mr. Panos. It's you and Diz, putting me in an untenable position. Surely you can see that?"
"That's not our intention."
"No. I'm sure it's not. But it is the result." Jackman straightened up, drew a deep breath. "Now I told Diz the same thing that I'm going to tell you now. Unless and until new evidence comes to light through the proper channels, and that means the homicide department, I don't want to have to discuss this with you again. I won't discuss it with you again. Is that clear, Abe?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right, then."
22
Michelle was out shopping for food, picking up something they could eat at home since dining in a restaurant together was not in the cards. Holiday stared out through the blinds at the overcast day, then brought his eyes back to the sheet of paper in front of him on Michelle's kitchen table. It was a little past noon and, out of habit, he'd poured himself the last couple of ounces, neat, from the bottle of bourbon he'd bought maybe a week ago and nipped at nearly every day since.
But today the taste for it wasn't there. He hadn't touched the glass. Looking at it now, his hand started to reach for it, then stopped.
He came back to the paper, on which he'd written four names-Tom, Evan, Bryan (or Ryan?), Leslie. He knew there had been at least four others, maybe five, at the bar with him the night that Clint and Randy had been killed, but he couldn't dredge them up from the sludge of his unconscious. Hardy, when he finally got over berating him for not calling sooner, said it could be extremely important, the verification of his alibi. His friend Glitsky, the cop, had evidently suggested he try to come up with his customers' names. Holiday had been his usual confident self, telling his lawyer no problem, he'd have some kind of a list for him within an hour at the most. And then Hardy could run around checking up on them.
Well, he had made up some weak kind of list, true, but it wasn't likely to do him or anybody else much good. These were the first names of his customers, who were not even acquaintances of his, and no sooner had he begun in earnest than he realized he had no more notion of their last names than he did of their occupations, addresses, the kinds of cars they drove. They were, in essence, complete strangers. Cash customers.
He found it ironic that any one of them, if they could be found, might be able to save him from a murder conviction. But what was the likelihood of that? They were talking about last Wednesday night, already five days into the past. It was the last night Holiday had worked the bar, and now even he, highly motivated, could only remember four possible names.