The Hearing

'What?' The eyes pleaded with him. 'What?'

And he gave in. 'This will sound strange, even downright weird, but it's as though she's finally talking to me, telling me there has to be a better reason than a chance encounter with some junkie. And after all the denial I've had with her up to now, I just can't make myself ignore it.' A pause. 'Dumb, I know.'

She pondered a moment. 'Why did you come to me first?'

A shrug. 'As opposed to who else?'

'I don't know. Maybe Jonas? Her fiance?'

'I would have gotten to him. But you were close by. I talked to Clarence Jackman and he told me that if she was involved in something squirrelly with her work or any of her projects, you'd probably know about it.'

A rueful expression. 'Probably.'

'But you said there was nothing.'

Treya shook her head. 'That was that first day. I was so furious at you, at who you were, that I wasn't going to help you, period. No matter what you were asking. I didn't believe you were working for Elaine's interests.'

'I was. I am.'

'I see that now.'

'And? Was she working on something?'

'Honestly, I don't know. Nothing's jumping up at me.' She gave him a hopeful smile. 'But at least now I'm disposed to look.'

'There's progress,' Glitsky said. 'But before you even start that, why did you mention her fiance? Were they having problems?'

Treya made a face, hesitated. 'Maybe you should talk to him?'

'I intend to, but you're here now.' He waited.

Finally, she came to the decision. 'Well, a couple of things.' She told him about the argument in the Rand and Jackman conference room on the day of the arraignment, how Jonas had been so adamantly opposed to any discussion of the validity of Cole's confession. 'He just didn't want to go there at all.'

'And this meant what?'

She shrugged. 'I don't know. I thought it was pretty understandable myself. But other people thought it was funny. They said if Cole didn't do it, shouldn't Jonas want to find Elaine's killer? Whoever it might be? Of course, this was a room full of lawyers and law students, so we're not talking about a typical cross-section of humanity.'

'Or humanity at all.'

'Well…' But she acknowledged his point with a nod. 'Still, everybody seemed to think he should have cared more somehow.'

Glitsky pondered that a moment. 'What's the second thing?' he asked.

'Well, this is more…' She hesitated. 'He told me she was leaving him.'

'Did you already know that?'

'No.'

A questioning look. 'Wouldn't that be odd, you not knowing? Her not telling you?'

'I thought so. Maybe she hadn't finally decided. Maybe she was too embarrassed to admit it to me.'

'Why would that be?'

'Maybe because when she was first getting together with Jonas, we were kind of conspirators together – Elaine and I – to keep anybody from finding out. Then, after that, when they were together, Jonas changed a little.'

'Changed how?'

A shrug. She didn't like these revelations, but they seemed relevant. 'A little more impatient.' Then she added, 'Like I was the help, not a friend anymore.' Another small pause. 'If I ever had been. Anyway, Elaine saw he hurt my feelings, and she tried to smooth it over a few times, make excuses for him. So then if she was thinking about leaving him after all… I could see where she'd feel embarrassed with me.'

'But Jonas told you?' Glitsky asked with an air of disappointment.

'Yes. Why does that bother you?'

A shake of the head. 'Because if it was a motive for murder…'

'A motive for murder? You mean Jonas?' She shook her head in surprise or disbelief.

'That's who we're talking about, right? Her fiance.'

'I know, but I never thought he killed her.'

'You may be right,' Glitsky said. 'At least if she was leaving him and that was his motive for killing her, I can't see him telling anybody about it.'

She came forward on her chair. 'Except if he thought I already knew. Then his not mentioning it would be significant, right? So he had to say something about it to cover himself.'

Glitsky allowed himself a smile. 'Not a bad point.'

Suddenly, her eyes opened wider in surprise. 'Are you wearing contact lenses?' she asked.

'No.'

She was staring at him. 'You've got blue eyes,' she said.

'I do? You're kidding me.'

'I'm not. It's not all that common for a black man to have blue eyes.'

'It's not all that uncommon when the black man's father has them. Actually, I like to think of them as the color of cold blue steel. That's a good color for a cop's eyes, don't you think? Ice in the veins, steel blue eyes…' He narrowed his gaze, fixed her with one of his hard looks. 'How can you be smiling right now?' he asked. 'That look strikes terror into the hearts of hardened criminals.'

'It's terrifying,' she admitted. 'It's very good. If I didn't know you were putting it on for show, I'd be very scared at this moment, Lieutenant.'

He relaxed the scowl. 'By the way, you can call me Abe,' he said.

'Al. The song is "You Can Call Me Al", not Abe.'

'The cop is Abe, not Al.'

The loudspeaker came on announcing the end of visiting hours. Treya looked at her watch, frowned. 'Did you say you were getting out on Thursday? I could have a good look at Elaine's files by then, now that I know what I'm looking for.'

'Thursday's the plan. If all goes well tomorrow.'

'What's tomorrow?'

He shrugged it off. 'Just some tests, make sure my arteries are working. So should we make an appointment, say Thursday, your lunchtime, your office?'

She stood up. 'That sounds good. I'll be ready.'

'If I get hung up here for some reason, I'll call and leave a message.'

She was just saying goodbye when a thought struck her. She got her wallet and a pen from her purse. Withdrawing a business card, she wrote on it, handed it to him. 'Save you from having to look it up. And that's my home number, if you need anything else.'

He used the card as a bookmark. Thanks. While you've got your pen out…' He gave her his telephone number as well and she wrote it on another card.

'OK, then…' She shrugged awkwardly. She lifted a hand slightly, Abe did the same, and she turned to go.

As she reached the door, Glitsky called after her. 'Treya.' She stopped and turned. 'Thanks for coming back. And for the flowers.'

'You're welcome.' She pointed to the bedside table. 'Enjoy your book. Goodnight, Abe.'

21

An excellent French restaurant, the Rue Charmaine, occupied the ground floor of David Freeman's apartment building. Freeman sometimes ate there as often as four times a week, after which he'd walk up the flight of stairs to his own spacious one-bedroom flat. Last night, he'd had dinner there with a forty-year-old female attorney named Gina Roake. They'd shared an extraordinary bottle of Romanee-Conti, talked law and politics, law and the theater, law and the recently-concluded football season. After dinner, Gina had asked if David would mind her staying over, and he said he thought that would be very nice.

Now, just after dawn, Freeman was whistling tunelessly, puttering about his cluttered kitchen in an ancient and threadbare maroon bathrobe and his lounging slippers. Normally, his battered and pitted kitchen table sagged with documents, law books, and files on his cases, but this morning he'd cleared all that away, covered the wood with a white linen tablecloth, and laid out a formal coffee service – sugar, cream, butter, jams and jellies, and a still warm and crusty morning baguette from the Rue Charmaine's morning delivery.

Freeman paused and smiled appreciatively as the strains of Mahler's Fifth began to emanate from his living room at a barely audible volume. A moment later, Gina made her appearance, combing out her still-damp hair, delightfully filling out the still plush bathrobe he'd once purchased from the Bel Air Hotel.

'You look lovely,' he said.

She crossed the few steps over and leaned up to kiss him. Then she withdrew to arm's length, smiling up at him. 'I feel lovely,' she said.