The Hearing

A half-hour later, Damien was leaving the alley on his way downtown in the back seat of a squad car. Inspectors Banks and Falk waved goodbye, then went to lean against the bumper of the Skylark to wait for the police tow truck to come and impound the vehicle. By now, they were laughing about it.

'You were damn lucky I didn't pop you where you stood,' Banks said.

'I know. I realized that about a second too late. It just seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. I hate that little pecker. Haven't seen him in a couple of years.'

'How'd you know where I was going?'

'You said Excelsior. Drug overdose. I guessed. I'm made here, so I don't hang much about, but I saw you and thought it would be fun to stroll through the old neighborhood. And what do you know, we both run into Damien.'

Ridley phrased it carefully, not wanting to step on a fellow officer's toes. 'He wasn't very hard for me to find, you know.'

'No, we figure it takes maybe a half-hour for a new guy, one of us, to make one of them. Then we leave 'em alone.'

'But you just busted him.'

'That was purely for fun, Inspector. We got twenty Damiens in this square mile. If you hadn't connected with him, I wouldn't have done a thing. They're just literally holding the bags, not worth the trouble. Their only value is maybe leading us to their source, and even at that next level…' He shrugged. It was terrible, but it was reality. Every policeman knew that arresting the intermediaries in the drug trade was at best a stopgap measure, a nuisance for all concerned. Between Damien and his ultimate supplier (whom Damien would never meet, or know, or possibly even hear of), there were probably six to ten layers of intermediaries, each taking their money, most cutting the product. 'Anyway, you wanted something from him. I thought I might put him more in the mood to be cooperative. You find what you wanted?'

It was Ridley's turn to shrug. 'I have trouble believing insurance salesmen are telling me the truth. And Damien scores a little lower than they do.'

'What did you want to know?'

'If there was something new, super-pure, on the street. That's what my guy died of.'

'What did he say, Damien?'

'He said no. Same stuff all the time lately. Guaranteed. You know, I've got to say, I can't believe they put brand names on this stuff. Those bags Damien had on him. Heavenly Daze. Jesus.'

'Sure. There's all kinds of great shit – Nirvana. China Sleep. Tar Babies. But your guy had something else?'

'The coroner said – unofficially of course – that he thought it was nearly pure. And it wasn't in any container, just a plain baggie.'

Falk took his heel off the bumper and walked off a few steps. He stood there a couple of moments, nodding his head as though reaching some conclusion. Then he turned back around. 'This is why I came out looking for you after you left.'

'Why?'

'Cause I'm on a thing out of the Jupiter. There's a lot of cocaine in and out of there, and since it's mostly a law crowd, people want to see it cleaned up before it gets busted. Am I making it clear?'

'Yeah.'

'OK, so yesterday, I'm passing a slow afternoon and your man Cullen comes in, just like we all said today. But he's not like a little impatient – he's climbing the walls. So he's halfway through a beer, and he gets up and goes to the bathroom. Couple of minutes later, one of the guys today – the p.i., Visser? – he gets up and goes to the bathroom. Now I been in there, the bathroom, and it's one stall, one pisser, and those two guys are in there, swear to God, ten minutes, before Visser comes out first and sits back down in his booth. Of course, it's Jupiter, late afternoon, nobody's paying any attention. Except me.'

'So what?'

'Not what you're probably thinking. Another minute and out comes your guy, Cullen Leon Alsop. Now he's Mr Mellow. Sits and finishes his beer, has another one while Visser and his lawyer friend leave.'

Ridley shook his head. 'I must be missing something. This wasn't cocaine. This was heroin.'

But Falk had a scent. 'Either way,' he said, 'Visser was in there and gave him something. Then this morning the guy's dead? I never thought of it until you came in today asking questions, but as soon as I saw that kid's face, I'm going click click click, you know?'

'I know the feeling,' Ridley said. 'I'm getting it now.'

25

A decent legal mind?' Frannie whistled, impressed. 'David actually said those words?'

'Every one of them, in that order.'

Behind the bar of the Shamrock, Moses McGuire slid a black and tan – half Bass ale, half Guinness stout – across to his brother-in-law. 'He's buttering you up,' he said. 'I'll bet he raises your rent in the next few weeks. You watch.'

But Hardy was shaking his head. 'It was a sincere compliment. You had to be there. I doubt if he even realized he said it.'

'We're talking David Freeman?' Frannie said flatly. 'If he said it, he realized it.'

'Shameless flattery,' Moses said. 'And not much of it at that.'

Hardy sipped at his brew. 'Mose, I once heard Freeman say he thought Oliver Wendell Holmes wasn't too stupid. If the greatest jurist our country has produced is not too stupid and I've got a decent legal mind, you see where that puts me.'

'At least in line for the Supreme Court,' Frannie said. 'I can't wait.'

'In line for a rent increase, is more like it.' Moses wasn't to be persuaded. 'I wouldn't go anyplace expensive for dinner tonight. You're going to need the money.'

It was date night. Normally they didn't do the Redwood Room at the Clift followed by Charles Nob Hill. On a typical Wednesday, they would meet – Hardy from downtown and Frannie from their house out on 34th Ave. – at the Little Shamrock midway between them at 9th and Lincoln. They would have one drink, usually at the bar with Moses behind it, and then repair to dinner wherever the mood took them.

A young couple had seated themselves at the bar by the front window and Moses walked down to wait on them. Hardy covered Frannie's hand with his own, gave it a gentle squeeze, put on an apologetic face and reached for the beeper on his belt. 'Sorry. I meant to leave it in the car.'

'Now, though, since you didn't…' But she was used to it – the constant interruptions were always unwelcome, but they had ceased to be an issue. When they got to wherever they were going for dinner, she would remember to have him take the beeper off his belt, leave it in the glove compartment. She put her hand over his now, kissed him lightly on the cheek. 'It's OK, go ahead.'

He used the phone behind the bar, which he figured was the last working rotary in California. The callback number wasn't immediately familiar to him, and this was in itself a bit unusual – Hardy's legal mind might only be decent, but he had almost an idiot savant's knack for remembering telephone numbers, and this one seemed new to him.

'Banks,' he heard. 'Homicide.'

'Inspector. This is Dismas Hardy. Thanks for getting back to me.'

The voice wasn't enthusiastic. 'Sure. I try to return calls. What can I do for you? You said the lieutenant…' He didn't finish the sentence.

'I talked to Abe this afternoon. He said maybe this Cullen Alsop thing is related to Elaine. To Cole Burgess.'

'Maybe.' The voice wasn't any more inviting.

'I understand the gun story felt a little funny to you. And now the overdose the day he gets out…?' At some point, Hardy hoped Banks was going to catch up and run with it, but he also knew the cause of the reluctance, and respected it. 'Somebody might have wanted to shut him up.'

'Possible.' Banks was noncommittal. 'Strout's leaning toward calling it an accident.'

'What do you think?' Hardy let a silence develop. This wasn't working. He wasn't getting through to the young man. Professionally, they were still on opposite sides. He had to find a way to bridge the gap.

Banks said, 'Well…' About to end the call.

Hardy cut him off. 'Remember the other day at the funeral, Inspector? Asking Abe if there was anything you could do?'