The Hearing

Hardy wanted to tell Westbrook to give him a break – the list of good works by addicts to protect or save their friends was short indeed. In his experience, addicts did not have friends in the usual meaning of the word. They had sources, but no friends. But he didn't wish to antagonize Westbrook, so he was matter of fact. 'Maybe somebody made it up for him. And it got him his OR -' out of jail on his own recognizance '- so he could stay high. That's why.'

The idea was distasteful, and Saul shook his head. 'Who would have done that? I'm his lawyer. If I was sharp and crooked, I might have dreamed up something like that. But I'm the only one who would have been motivated, and I'm not and I didn't.'

'How about someone who wanted to strengthen the case against Cole Burgess?'

'But that would be…'He stopped, then spoke carefully. 'One of the DAs?'

Hardy shrugged. 'It's Torrey's case.'

'But that would mean, if Cullen was killed…' The young man's voice trailed off. It was the kind of moment, Hardy knew, that would eventually put some age on Saul's face.

'It's a long shot,' Hardy admitted. 'I don't have any idea if Cullen was an accident or a suicide or what he was. I was hoping you might have an opinion.'

They shared a look. Saul sat back in his chair, picked a paper clip off his desk, opened it up. 'You know Ridley Banks?'

'I talked to him last night.'

A nod. 'He came by yesterday, asking about the same thing. Which, for a cop, I thought was a little weird. What did he say to you?'

But here Hardy was stymied. He'd had the impression Ridley was going to tell him something about his suspicions, but with the no-show, he never did. 'He kept it pretty vague.' Hardy could do vague, too. 'But I got the strong impression the coincidence made him nervous.'

The discussion was threatening Westbrook's world view, and his reply came out sounding defensive. 'But coincidences do happen.'

Spoken like a true defense lawyer, Hardy thought. But he said, 'Undoubtedly. This would be a particularly unlucky coincidence for my client, though, so I'd like to be a little more sure it was one. I'm waiting for Banks to get back to me now, which I'm sure he will. But listen, in the meanwhile, if you don't mind, I wanted to ask you how this whole plea thing came down.' At Saul's dubious look, Hardy prodded. 'I don't see how it can hurt your client now.'

The face softened. 'You're right.' Still working the paper clip, he rocked back in his chair. 'Actually, the first I heard of it, I got a call from Cullen, from the jail. And it was already pretty much a done deal.'

'This was over the weekend? He just remembered?'

'Yeah, maybe Monday.'

'So he'd been in jail how long on his own thing?'

Westbrook came forward now, opened a black calendar book on his desk and leafed through it briefly. 'He was arrested on the second.' His expression became confused. 'So he started trying to cut the deal on… I guess the eighth.'

'Six days in jail,' Hardy said. 'I wonder what made him think about it? Or more to the point, made him forget it for so long?'

'That's a good question.'

'Has he ever snitched before? How'd he know who to go to? How'd he know the gun was the missing link in my case?'

Suddenly, the young man's face looked miserable. 'I don't know,' he said at last. 'I think you've got to talk to Banks.'

27

They dropped Nat off at the synagogue, where he liked to spend his mornings. After that, Isaac drove them home, where Glitsky climbed into bed and told the boys they should go out and enjoy the city. They'd have dinner together tonight – maybe Rita could whip up some of her famous enchiladas. As soon as the door closed after them, he was out of bed. He shaved and changed into slightly stylish clothes – pressed slacks, a beige merino collared sweater, tasseled brown loafers. Then he called a cab and took it downtown, arriving at Rand and Jackman well before noon.

At Elaine's office, he knocked. Treya sat behind a stack of files piled high on the desk. Checking her watch, she looked up in surprise. 'It can't be lunchtime already?' Then, apparently concerned for him, 'How are you feeling?'

'I'm moving a little slow, but I'm moving.'

She tilted her head fetchingly to one side. 'Are you sure you're all right, being out like this?'

He made light of it. 'I don't think it's much more strenuous than laying in my bed.' He pulled up a folding chair and sat in it. 'See? I walk a few feet and sit back down. Don't even break a sweat. I could do this all day.' She'd hung the gray jacket to her business suit over the back of her chair. She was wearing a thin gold chain around her neck, gold stud earrings, a sleeveless teal silk blouse and under it, he couldn't help but notice, a black bra. He felt the beating of his heart – under the circumstances both comforting and scary.

Last night on the phone, they had discussed Elaine and the case, both pretending that there was nothing personal in Abe calling her at home at ten o'clock. Then, just before they hung up, Treya had said, 'If you're not feeling well enough tomorrow, promise me you'll stay there. Don't feel like you have to come down to the office just because you said you would.'

'But then I won't see you.'

'I could call and tell you what I've found.'

'That's not what I meant.'

There had been a long pause, after which, in a different tone, she'd whispered, 'I know. I know what you meant. But first you need to take care of yourself.'

'That's my plan.'

'It's a good one. Stick to it.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

Then she'd added, 'Please, Abe. If you need to stay there longer, you can just call me and I'll come, all right?'

Now, a foot away from her, his arm resting on the desk between them, he wanted to say something personal – how nice she looked, how grateful he'd been for her visit, for talking to him last night, the scent she was wearing – but he found he couldn't take the step. It was too soon, too uncertain, too perilous.

Instead, he straightened up, his back against the back of his chair. 'I did connect with Jonas Walsh, by the way. At St Mary's.'

'You talked to him?'

'Two hours ago. He seemed to think he and Elaine were doing fine.'

Her brow clouded. She pursed her lips. 'Well, that's not… he told me… I don't think that's true.'

'I don't either.' Now that they were on his business, talking came more easily. 'But I don't know it means anything. Maybe he's convinced himself they were going to get back together, so nobody needs to know.'

'But he told me.'

'You're different. You were a friend. I'm a cop. Plus, he didn't know I'd talked to you. It might be something, but by itself it isn't much. Not as much, for example, as the fact that he had no alibi for the time of her death. You told me that Elaine had this appointment Sunday night, after which she was going home. Do you remember that?'

'That's what she said.'

'OK. Did you get any idea at all that the appointment might have been with Walsh? That then they would go home together?'

She reflected for only a second. 'No, I don't think so. It was somebody else.'

'Dash Logan maybe?'

She shook her head. 'I doubt it. She really wanted to avoid him. When she got back from his office, she told me how glad she was he had been in better shape than the first time, how the search was so much easier. He still refused to help, but she didn't even have to talk to him.'

Glitsky drummed his fingers on the desk. 'And there's nothing in her calendar?'

'No.' She touched his hand for an instant, then quickly, instantly, pulled hers back. 'I would have told you.' Frustration was written all over her. 'She just said she had a meeting, then she was going home. That's all she said.'

'But when we first talked, you said you thought she was a little detached.'

'Maybe, yes, a little. But I don't know what from. It could have been anything.'

He indicated the mass of stuff on the desk. 'So how's all this coming?'

'I'm only just starting on the g's.'