The Hearing

'Anytime you need to, Mr Hardy. You know that.'

'As long as I have an appointment.'

'Those are Mr Freeman's rules, not mine.'

'Well, thank you, Phyllis.'

'You're welcome.'

As he closed Freeman's door behind him, Hardy was grinning. 'I've got it.'

Chewing on the nub of a pencil, the old man sat at a desk completely littered with case files. He looked up. 'Got what?'

'The automated voice on all those phone message menus. You know the ones.' He put on a voice. '"For security and training purposes, and to help us serve you better, this call may be monitored for your convenience." I especially love the convenience part. But that voice.'

Freeman put the pencil down. 'What about it?'

'It's Phyllis.' He'd put his briefcase down and was over at the side counter pouring himself a cup of coffee. 'I can't believe I didn't recognize it until this morning. I think it's probably because we don't talk as much now as we used to. But it's her, David, I'm sure of it – that same girlish enthusiasm, the clarity of purpose, the joie de vivre humming through every syllable. Why do you think she hasn't told us? A celebrity in our midst, imagine.'

Freeman let him go on in the same vein, waiting until he'd taken the seat in front of his desk, had his first sip of coffee. 'I've got a friend who's got a client,' he began without preamble. 'The client's name is Abby Oberlin.' He went on for a few more minutes, outlining the case as Gina Roake had done for him that morning, ending with a question. 'And who would be your guess for Abby's brother Jim's attorney?'

'At least I know why you wanted to talk to me,' Hardy said.

'I assumed it would occur to you. That asshole.' Freeman almost never got truly upset, although the mention of Dash Logan was one of the things that could do it. He was spinning his pencil rapidly between his fingers. 'I've been living with this thing for an hour now, and I wanted to bounce it off a decent legal mind before I decide what I'm going to do with it.'

However the phrase 'decent legal mind' sounded, Hardy knew that Freeman meant this as high praise. 'OK, hit me,' he said, and Freeman told him what was on his mind.

In his office upstairs, Hardy removed his coat and hung it over the back of his chair. The come-and-go fog had this morning gone again, so he raised the blinds in both of his windows, letting in a feeble winter light. For a few minutes, he stood looking down at the traffic on Sutler Street, then he whirled and went over to his desk, where he punched the buttons on his telephone.

Rich McNeil's secretary told him that her boss wasn't expected in until midday. Could she take a message? Hardy considered for a moment and said he'd be at Sam's at one o'clock. He had some news. If Rich couldn't make it, he should call – otherwise, he'd expect him there.

He had just hung up, intending to call next to check on Glitsky's progress, when the telephone rang. Perfect, he thought. Here's the son of a bitch now, calling him back at precisely the wrong moment. Well, he'd let his machine answer. Except it wasn't Logan. It was Glitsky himself, saying something about the Burgess case. Hardy grabbed at the receiver.

Glitsky started over. 'You'll never guess who I just talked to.'

'Don't tell me,' Hardy said. 'Joe Montana?'

'Allison Garbutt.'

'I'm proud of you. Who is she?'

'She's the inspector on the case where Elaine acted as special master. They just turned the seized documents over to Judge Thomasino.'

'OK. And this is important because…?'

'I don't know if it is.'

'And yet you're telling me about it?'

'It's a fact we don't know anything about, that's all. I know you and Thomasino get along all right.' This was true enough. Hardy and Thomasino weren't close friends by any means, but they knew each other from the courtroom and shared a mutual respect. 'There might be something there.'

Hardy wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Glitsky was giving him a free fact – possibly just another in the endless accretion of them surrounding a murder case – and experience had taught him that all facts were worth collecting. You simply never knew. 'You're right,' he said. 'There might be. What was the name of the case?'

'Petrof. Insurance fraud of some kind.'

'And what do you know about it?'

'Completely nothing beyond that, except that Elaine was around it, working on it the day she died. It occurred to me as I was lying here. I thought it might give you something to do to while away your many idle hours.'

'I appreciate it.'

'Don't mention it.'

The two men traded health and beauty tips for a few more minutes, talked logistics about Glitsky's eventual release from the hospital. After they hung up, Hardy paced his office for a while, unable to say why his adrenaline was flowing. He realized that it made little sense. He hadn't even been thinking about Cole Burgess, but suddenly here at least was something to do for his client, a lead to follow. Finally he picked up the telephone again and punched some numbers he knew by heart.

It wasn't yet nine o'clock, and court wouldn't be in session until nine thirty. In a perfect world, Judge Thomasino would be in his chambers right now. Or at least his clerk would be in. As it transpired, for an instant all was perfection.

'Judge,' Hardy said after their greetings, 'I understand you signed off on a warrant on an insurance fraud case. I don't even know if it's been settled or tried. People v. Sergei Petrof.'

The judge sounded weary of it. 'No. It's not been settled. Yes, they're still doing motions. Bunch of Russians faking car accidents. What about it?'

'You appointed Elaine Wager special master in connection with it.'

'Yes. And then she gets herself killed in the middle of it, as I'm sure you've heard.' The judge's tone reflected his frustration. 'That's the way the entire investigation has gone. You wouldn't believe – one delay after another. Some cases. Now it seems I'll need another special master for more warrants before we can proceed, and I don't know…' His voice brightened up. 'You wouldn't be on the list, would you, Diz?'

In fact, he was, although he hadn't been called to serve in years. He told that to the judge. 'But my plate's pretty full right now, your honor. And I've more than heard about Elaine's death. I'm representing the accused in that case. Cole Burgess.'

A dissatisfied grunt. 'So I can't use you. All right, what was your question?'

'Well, I'm afraid it's not too specific. I was curious because Elaine was involved in it. Wondered if it might somehow be related to anything I could use.'

'In your murder case?'

'Stranger things have happened, Judge. I thought you might be able to tell me a little about it. See if something might be worth pursuing.'

Thomasino gave it a beat. 'Well, all right. It isn't any secret.' He began. 'The fraud unit starts getting calls from insurance companies about a rash of similar accidents in the last six months – all Russian surnames, same doctor, same type of car, same lawyer for half of 'em. So I sign a warrant to pull the records, and Elaine's got to go along and supervise. Normally, you know, a piece of cake. Except if one of your colleagues is particularly uncooperative, won't give the special master any direction, won't even tell her where any of the files are. Says "Find ' em yourself. This whole investigation is bogus anyway." The belligerent son of a bitch.'

'What do you mean, one of my colleagues? Is this a friend of mine?'

'No. Sorry. I just mean it was another lawyer, not to lump you all together. Certainly not in this case.'

Hardy went with his hunch. 'You wouldn't be talking about Dash Logan, would you?'

'Maybe. With my apologies if he's a friend of yours.'

'He's not,' Hardy replied.

'No.' The judge sighed. 'Somehow I didn't think he would be.'

On his way down to the Hall, Hardy decided to stop by the Chronicle's main office and see if Jeff Elliot was in, a virtual certainty at this time of the morning. He'd just gotten into the reporter's office and said hello when the building began to shake. Reflexively, Hardy backed up under the door, said, 'Earthquake. Get under a beam.'