But both of them wanted to stay near him, and Abe couldn't say it bothered him. More, their obvious concern for him touched him deeply. It was good to have his family back together. Who could say when it might happen again? They gave Rita the afternoon off, then called Nat and asked him what he was doing. He came over with Chinese food -chicken chow mein and Happy Garden – and after lunch the three generations played hearts at the kitchen table for three hours. For the first time in years, the small kitchen echoed with actual laughter. Everybody caught up with each other, their lives in the last couple of years, swearing genially at bad play or bad luck, reconnecting.
When Orel got home from school, Nat left for the synagogue and the boys decided they'd get outside and shoot some hoops at the park down the street until it got dark. Glitsky had taken out his book and sat in his Barca-Lounger in the living room. In five minutes he had transported himself to the Mediterranean, where he prowled the shipping lanes off the Costa Brava looking for prize ships and booty.
The duplex had a west-facing front and on clear days, there was a short window of time just before dusk when the sun sprayed the room with light before it sank into the buildings across the street. The sudden glare made Abe look up from his book. He closed it.
Motes of dust hung in the room's air.
Elaine was walking with someone she knew. It was very late, nearly one o'clock in the morning. She'd left Treya that Sunday at Rand and Jackman in the late afternoon, and if Jonas was to be believed, hadn't come home to Tiburon. So she had stayed in the city – the two of them had probably met for dinner downtown.
Six hours? A very long dinner. Much to discuss, or one topic that consumed them? Perhaps cocktails afterwards.
She was leaving Jonas. It may not have been a dinner after all, but a romantic tryst at a hotel, or even the new man's place. That would at least account for the hours.
But at some point, they left together. Why? They could have stayed the night either at a hotel or the man's place. He assumed that some other nights she would stay in the city after a late meeting – Jonas would not need to suspect anything.
But she was going home this night, which again seemed to make a restaurant more likely. Her car was parked under the building in the Rand and Jackman lot, so she had walked to wherever it was, meeting him there. She must have thought they had settled whatever it was. He was accompanying her as she walked back to get her car…
Had any policeman looked in her car?
Probably not. There would have been no reason to. From the first minutes, they'd had a suspect. No one was looking for a killer.
Glitsky had a city map out on the coffee table and was hunched over it. The sun was down behind the buildings now. He had switched on a couple of floor lamps and drawn a circle with Rand and Jackman in its center. There was a finite number of restaurants – and perhaps bars afterwards – in the circle from which to choose.
The fact that it had been a Sunday night would eliminate those few that closed on that day. More importantly, the others would have been far less crowded than on the other weekend nights. Ten days had passed since the shooting, it was true, but a waiter, a maltre d', someone would remember.
This was police work. It was way past time for him to get proactive here. If Cole hadn't killed Elaine, then someone else had, and there would be some positive trace of it. He would supply Hardy's three musketeers with a photograph of Elaine and between them, they should have no trouble covering every restaurant within the circle over the weekend. It would be a start.
Folding up his map, he walked into the kitchen to call Ridley Banks. When the young inspector had called Abe in the hospital on Wednesday, he'd sounded as though he'd begun to suspect that he'd made some kind of mistake with Cole Burgess. He still hadn't admitted any wrongdoing in his interrogation, but the door was open. Clearly, Banks understood that Cullen was tied to Cole in some way. Evidence at the scene of Cullen's death might bear upon Elaine's and if that were the case, Banks would be a critical source.
It was no surprise that he wasn't in, but Abe was sure he'd check his messages and get back to him in a matter of hours.
They stopped where the dark alley met the dark street. Did Elaine think she was about to be kissed? Certainly the killer was close beside her, one hand at the nape of her neck. He checked the street in either direction, the alley off to his left. The shot rang into Union Square on the cold night. Someone – a bellman at one of the hotels? – would have heard it.
Then he'd caught her. Brutally, cold-bloodedly taken her life, knowing he was going to do it at least since they'd left dinner, but walking along with her, perhaps chatting easily, ostensibly satisfied with whatever conclusion they'd reached. And then gently broken her fall.
Suddenly, another terrible conjecture, but so compelling it immediately felt like fact. He 'd apologized as he let her down! Glitsky could hear it, could hear the son of a bitch. 'I'm sorry, Elaine, but you made me do this.'
Outside, it was now dark. Glitsky was standing, leaning over, resting his weight on his hands on either side of the kitchen sink. His face, reflected in the window in front of him, had broken a light sheen of sweat. His jaw trembled, and the scar between his lips stood out fresh as a new wound.
'Dad? Dad?'
He hadn't heard them come up the steps or open the door. Turning on the water quickly, he filled his hands and threw it into his face. When they got to the kitchen, he was drying himself with a dish towel. 'Hey, guys,' he said easily. 'How'd it go?'
'All right, all right,' he said. 'I'll see if I can get the number.'
Hardy and Rita both showed up independently in the half hour after the boys arrived, and now the two men sat at the kitchen table while Rita put together a tuna fish casserole on the counter behind them. The boys were down in their 'wing', taking showers and watching television. And Abe finally conceded that he ought to try Ridley Banks at his home.
Sergeant Paul Thieu was manning the homicide detail and gave Glitsky the number he needed off the top of his head.
'Scary,' Glitsky said to Hardy. 'The guy knows everything.' He was punching at the phone, listening, leaving another message. 'Rid, it's Abe again. Still trying to reach you. Sorry to nag, but whenever you get any of these…' He left his own number, hung up, looked at Hardy. 'He's a bachelor. It's Friday night.'
'Swell,' Hardy said. 'I'm married. It's Friday night. Speaking of which, did you ever talk to Treya?'
'How's that connected to you being married and it being Friday night? But yeah, she called this morning, wanted to make sure I was avoiding the near occasion of stress.'
'Which, I notice, you're not.'
'Close enough.' End of subject. 'So what did you have her doing?'
'Directing the kids, mostly, but I also wanted to see if she had run into any files Elaine might have kept on Dash Logan.' To Glitsky, this was clearly an unexpected direction.
'Dash Logan? What about him?'
Hardy ran it down for him, including suitable disclaimers about how far-fetched it all was, how coincidental. 'But,' he ended hopefully, 'as Saul Westbrook told me just this morning, coincidences do happen.'
'It's not whether they happen,' Glitsky said, 'it's whether they mean anything. Who's Saul Westbrook?'
'Cullen Alsop's public defender, who knew nothing about Cullen's deal.'
Glitsky was still trying to find some thread. 'And he's somehow with Logan too?'
'No,' Hardy admitted.
'Then I'm officially confused.' Abe touched his head. 'Must be the drugs.'