"Of course it does, Andrew. Don't lose hope now."
"Okay."
"Really," she said. "Don't."
He shook his head. "Okay, sure, good idea, Mom. Except that it's starting to look I'm never going to get out of custody."
"Don't say that." She reached out over the counter. "Here, hold my hand," she said.
"That's not going to help anything."
"Please," she said. "Humor me, okay?"
He sighed again and put his hand in hers. "So there's this hearing on Tuesday to see if I stay here. Did she tell you it doesn't look too good?"
"Not really so much that. She said it was kind of like a dress rehearsal for the trial, where we get to see what they've got. Which is really an advantage."
"I bet."
"It is."
He shrugged again. "Either way, Mom, I didn't do this and still they got me in here. If they can do that, I don't think they're ever going to let me get out."
Linda didn't want to argue with him. "Well," she said, "let's just wait for Tuesday and hope for the best."
"Mom, the best, even if we win on Tuesday, is eight years."
"No. If they have the trial down here, then the worst is eight years."
"Great," he said, "maybe we should throw a party."
"Andrew."
"All right, all right."
"Let's just see, okay. Keep your chin up." She gave him a quick buck-up smile, squeezed his hand.
"Sure."
A longish silence settled. Finally, she said, "I want to ask you something."
"Okay."
"And I want to know how you really feel."
"All right."
She took in a lungful of air. "Well, you know the Newport Open…" This was a tennis tournament in Southern California that they'd attended for the past several years. "It starts tomorrow and-"
He pulled his hand out of hers. "Go."
"You're sure?" She searched his face for any sign of wavering, and saw none. "You won't mind?"
"Why would I mind?"
"It's just we won't be able to visit you."
"That's all right. I'm going to be working with Amy most of the days anyway. It doesn't matter."
"You keep saying that."
"That's 'cause it's true. It doesn't matter."
"We'd stay here if it made any difference to you at all, you know. At all, even the tiniest little bit. No question."
"I know that."
"But we've had these tickets for months. They're really expensive, you know, but we'd give them up gladly. We would."
"You don't need to."
"And even if we do go, we'll be back by Monday, in plenty of time for the hearing. We'd be there for you for that."
"Mom, I said go. I mean it. It's no big deal."
"You're sure? I mean completely positive?"
"Completely," he said. "A hundred percent. Go. Have a good time."
It wasn't yet completely dark out, but Wu had drawn the blinds in her apartment and turned out the lights. She was completely wrung out and badly shaken by the thought that Glitsky might actually entertain the thought that she could have killed Allan. When she had at last gotten home after the interview, she'd swallowed more aspirin, brushed her teeth twice, then taken a shower.
Her head still throbbed, but she let herself believe that it was marginally better. By the time she woke up in the morning, she might be halfway to human again. Collapsing into bed, she had just pulled the covers up over her head, turned onto her side and closed her eyes when the doorbell sounded. This time she was going to ignore it. She'd already had the day from hell and all she wanted it to do was end, which it would when she slept. Whoever it was would go away.
Another ring.
Leave me alone! She pulled the covers tighter around her.
The knock, when it came, was authoritative. Three sharp raps. "Amy! Come on, open up." Brandt.
She threw her blankets off and padded over the hardwood to the door, spoke through it. "What do you want, Jason? I'm trying to sleep. I don't feel good."
"I want to talk to you."
"Talk to me in the morning."
"Two minutes, that's all."
"You can apologize through the door."
"It's not just that."
"No? Well, it should be." She hesitated another moment, then sighed. "All right, let me get some clothes on." Hitting the light switch by the door, she grabbed her jeans, stepped into them, then tucked in the yellow spaghetti strap cotton blouse she'd gone to bed in.
She considered taking thirty extra seconds and putting on a bra- she didn't want to send any kind of sexual signal- but if it was going to be two minutes, she might as well hear it and then get back in bed. Besides, she wore no makeup, her hair was still damp, her eyes must be ravaged. She was a train wreck.
She opened the door.
In a gray business suit, white shirt, rep tie, Brandt stood awkwardly. Hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat. "Can I come in?"
Stepping back without a word, she let him pass, closed the door behind them.
He crossed over to her all-purpose table, pulled a chair around and sat in it, looking around, getting his bearings, really seeing the room for the first time. The other night they hadn't paused for the grand tour before dragging each other into bed. Afterward she didn't think he'd even turned on the lights, just pulled his clothes on and let himself out.
Arms crossed, waiting, she leaned against the counter by the sink.
"I was down in the street for a while and saw your shadow moving up here, then the lights went out. I thought if I was going to get you, it had to be now."
"Okay, you got me." Then his phrase caught her. "You were down in the street for a while? Doing what?"
"Just standing there." He shrugged again. "Deciding whether to come up and try to talk to you."
Something in his tone stopped what would have been another harsh reply. She cocked her head. "All right. Talk."
"First," he began, "I wanted to apologize."
"Okay."
"But beyond that, I guess I'm having trouble figuring you out." He took a breath, pushed on. "I don't understand what's happening exactly, first the other night with us, then the next morning at my office-"
She cut him off. "Then you accuse me of murder. Talk about not understanding what's happening."
"Amy, I swear to God. I never accused you of anything like murder. I didn't accuse you of anything at all."
"That's funny. I just got back from the Hall of Justice, where Abe Glitsky said you told him there was bad blood between me and Allan. He seemed to think I was some kind of a suspect."
"That couldn't have been me."
"You're saying you didn't talk to him?"
"No. I talked to him. But just telling him about what's happened with Bartlett-"
"And me and Allan."
"Okay. But never even implying… I mean, come on. If Glitsky came to that on his own… If you want, I'll call him tomorrow. I never meant anything like that. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…" He looked up at her. "I'm sorry," he said again.
Her tone softened. She was too exhausted for another round. "All right, apology accepted, okay? Now if you don't mind, I'm exhausted and your two minutes are up."
But he didn't move. "I didn't just want to apologize." He scratched at the table, took a quick breath. "I wanted to ask you about you and me."
"You and me?" She pulled a chair around and sat on it. "First you accuse me of screwing you for advantage in a case, then you go to Glitsky and somehow give him the idea I might have killed Allan. I don't see any 'you and me' in this picture." She paused, let out a breath. "Look, I don't expect anything from you, Jason. That night was that night. I'm not telling anybody about it, so our jobs are both safe. So now you can go. In fact, you really should go now."
"That's not it," he said.
"No? Then tell me what it is." Sighing again, she shook her head. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I thought it was a game to you, too."
"No. Okay, maybe it started that way at first." He walked over to one of the windows, turned back to her. "For a minute, I thought we had something going. I mean personally." He tapped his chest. "In here." He waited, eyes on her. "I guess not."