The Hearing

'G? Maybe she had a file on me.' Meaning it as a joke.

'She did.' She raised her eyebrows and gave him a half-smile, then rummaged for a minute, found what she wanted, and handed over the thin manila folder.

Glitsky opened it up, and was startled to see an eight by ten glossy of himself – a copy of his Police Academy graduation photo. He couldn't believe he'd ever been so young. Where had Elaine ever gotten her hands on this? Glitsky didn't even have one himself.

As though reading his mind, Treya said, 'She was pretty good at getting what she wanted.'

He nodded dumbly. Behind the photo, there was an envelope and he removed the letter from it and scanned it quickly. It was from her mother, delivered after her death, informing Elaine of her true paternity. Re-folding the letter, he put it back where it had been.

Then there were twenty or more clippings cut from the newspaper – the few times in his career that Glitsky had been hailed as a hero, his promotion to lieutenant and head of homicide, various community involvement moments, including one featuring Glitsky as a private citizen – standing as the proud father with his arm draped around a beaming Orel when his son was chosen Pop Warner Player of the Month a year ago. Glitsky was the coach of Orel's team – the same picture still hung on the bulletin board in their kitchen. It was more than strange to see it here in this setting.

Here was a picture of himself and Elaine together, seated at the head table at Gino and Carlo's during a 'Champion of the People' roast they'd had when Art Drysdale had left the DA's office a couple of years back. Abe looked up quickly, flashes of that night coming back to him. It had been the closest he'd come to telling her since the first days after her mother had died. He remembered they'd laughed a lot – for Glitsky a rare enough event in itself. Funny, there was Gabe Torrey on the other side of Elaine. Abe had no memory of his presence, but that wasn't really surprising. He'd only just come on as Chief Assistant and Abe had had few dealings with him to that point. Also, with Elaine next to him, he wasn't much aware of anyone else.

Closing the folder, he let out a long breath. 'Well…'

This time when Treya put her hand over his, she left it. 'Let's go have lunch,' she said.

'God. Real food.' They were reading the menu at the window bar at Glitsky's favorite deli – David's, an old no-frills establishment on Geary. He looked at Treya. 'You ever wonder what they do to food in the hospital to give it that special bland quality?'

'It's a secret spice,' she didn't miss a beat, 'that makes everything taste like cardboard. It's really good for you. Promotes healing ten ways.'

'But tastes awful.'

A shrug. 'They tested it on mice,' she said. 'They loved it.'

'And this is why health food tastes like cardboard?'

'Only the real good stuff,' she said. 'The rest is pretty bad.'

Glitsky, chuckling, was back at the menu. 'There's nothing I can eat here anymore. You wouldn't believe the list of what I'm supposed to avoid from now on.'

She looked over at him. 'I would bet the chicken soup here is good.'

And that's what he decided upon, along with a toasted bagel, no butter, and a slice of kosher pickle. She ordered a pastrami and coleslaw on rye.

'And to drink?' the waitress asked.

'I'll have a celery soda,' Treya said.

'Wait a minute.' Sitting back, Glitsky nearly fell off his stool. 'You can't order celery soda. I was going to order celery soda.'

Treya patted his hand. 'I bet they have more than one.'

'No,' Glitsky said, 'what I mean is that nobody I know drinks celery soda.'

'Well, you know somebody now.'

The waitress put in her two cents. 'Actually, it's fairly popular. I've never had one myself, but I'm sure we've got tons in the back.'

'See?' Treya was smiling triumphantly. 'Tons.' Then, to the waitress, 'We're living large today. Can we get a whole bottle each? You might even try one yourself- they're really pretty good.'

By two fifteen, Hardy had left a message with Dash Logan to call him. He'd left another message with Ridley Banks – a callback at any old time would be fine. Glitsky at home. Strout. Even Torrey to ask for further discovery in Burgess, specifically any transcripts that might have come in on the Cullen Alsop interviews with the police or with prosecutors.

Since it appeared that no one was ever going to call him again, he decided to get some work done in his office. He did have other clients, after all. So he reviewed some documents in a few of these cases, reached his party three phone calls in a row, and decided to run a victory lap down the stairs and across the lobby to the coffee machine.

The phone rang, stopping him, before he'd reached the door. He crossed his office in a couple of strides and picked it up before it rang a second time.

'Diz.'

'David,' he said. 'What's up?'

'I wondered if you could spare me a minute.'

'Have you cleared it with Phyllis?'

'She'll be holding the door open for you.'

'I'll be right down.'

Phyllis was not in fact manning the door, but she waved him by the reception area with barely so much as a glance. When Hardy entered the office, he saw that Freeman wasn't alone. There was some kind of associates' meeting in progress. Hardy knew all three of them, although none of them very well. Jon Ingalls, Amy Wu, Curtis Rhodin. Since Freeman didn't offer partnerships in his firm, his associates didn't tend to stick around for long. They did, however, tend to work like slaves and learn a lot of law in very little time.

The old man cleared his throat. 'I've made a decision about the Burgess matter,' he began in a gruff tone, 'but I'll need your permission before I proceed.'

Hardy glanced at the associates, back to his landlord. 'I'm listening.'

'Here's the situation. I'm beginning to believe that this case is going to dominate the news once it gets to court. I know that after the hearing, you'll be handling the guilt phase.' In California, a capital case such as this had two components – a guilt phase and a penalty phase. Typically, each phase had its own, different lawyer. The lawyer in the penalty phase was termed Keenan counsel after the appeals decision that had created the precedent. Freeman was going on. 'I want to offer my services as Keenan counsel. With the profile the case has already achieved, the advertising value alone is priceless. I want to be involved.'

Hardy's fondest dream had been to ask Freeman to fill this role all along if it came to it. He'd hesitated up to this point because of money – Jody Burgess had retained him, not Freeman, to represent Cole. And Freeman's standard rates were nearly double his own, nearly triple for courtroom time. Jody could never afford him. And now the city's most famous lawyer was volunteering for the case's advertising value.

Not that Hardy for a minute believed advertising was the reason. But he'd certainly accept it. 'That's a generous offer, David,' he said. 'I'll take it under advisement.'

Freeman kept up the charade. 'I do have one demand. I will insist on using my own able associates to help investigate Factor K elements, if any.' This included other potential suspects or anything else that might produce lingering doubt in a sentencing jury. 'They can be under your immediate supervision and direction, but their time will be charged to the firm, for my administrative oversight.' He kept it up straight-faced, a sales pitch. 'I really believe this partnership could be beneficial to both of us, Diz. It's just too good a business opportunity to pass up. I hope you agree.'

Hardy glanced at the young and eager associates, the three musketeers, apparently ready to go to work immediately. He nodded. 'I think I could live with it,' he said.

Glitsky went back to Rand and Jackman with Treya after their lunch and spent the afternoon looking through miles of files. Near the end of the day, he checked his messages at home, got Hardy's, and called him at his office. Treya had a meeting with Jackman planned for after close of business, and Hardy volunteered to swing by and drive Glitsky home, which he was doing now.