John Lescroart - The First Law

When Creed realized that he had been in the room with Lieutenant Glitsky, formerly head of homicide, he decided that even if it delayed him for a few stops in his rounds, he was going to talk to him after his father and Mrs. Silverman had been sent on their way. Even a low-level connection with someone of Glitsky's rank and experience might translate to a letter of recommendation, or something, later on. He might also get some advice on how to approach Cuneo and Russell about his perhaps-squirrelly identification of Clint Terry.

So as Glitsky left with his father and Silverman's wife, Creed trailed along behind, invisible, while the trio walked down the street and across it into the underground level of the Macy's parking lot.

Hanging back by an overhang until Mrs. Silverman's car had driven away, Creed tried to time his moment. In his best mood, Glitsky didn't exactly invite an easy familiarity, and now-standing with his hands on his hips, looking after the taillights of the Lexus-he positively simmered over a low flame of anger, frustration, maybe fatigue. After a minute, he brought a hand to his forehead and squeezed at his temples.

"Are you all right, sir?"

The return to professional mode was immediate and impressive. "I'm fine, Mr. Creed. I didn't realize you were still with us."

"Yes, sir."

Glitsky was walking and Creed fell into step next to him. "I'm sorry I snapped at you back there at the shop. I was upset with my father. It wasn't your fault."

"Thanks." It seemed to be a chance at an opening. They'd come to the mouth of the garage, up on the street level again. "Crime scene stayed till about four in the morning."

Glitsky stopped and faced him. Between the garage and streetlights, they stood in a pool of visibility. "How do you know that? You stay around, too?"

"I came back after my shift." Creed shrugged. "I'm taking crim courses in school. I'd been the first person on the scene and nobody seemed to mind if I stayed. I wanted to see how it worked in real life."

"And how was that?"

"I thought they were pretty thorough, from what I know, which isn't much."

Glitsky put his hands into his jacket pockets. Several seconds passed. "So what happened that you got there first? Did you get a call?"

"No. Really it was just mostly a coincidence. I was on the block, right over there"-he pointed to a spot across the street-"when the alarm went off at Silverman's. I saw some guys running out the door. So I yelled after them to stop, and one of them shot at me. Twice."

Glitsky's mouth moved, an impulse to smile. "And missed, I see."

"Yes, sir."

"You're lucky." His eyes went to the shop. "Though maybe not so much from that distance. But either way, you don't want to get shot."

"It's never been in my plan."

"Yeah. Well, it was never in mine either. It just goes to show you."

Creed couldn't stop himself. "You got shot?"

It was the wrong question. The lieutenant's face closed up. "Nothing to brag about," he said, clipping the words.

Glitsky was wrestling with himself. He'd only come downtown-fifteen minutes after he'd arrived home-to keep his father from getting him into more trouble. He hadn't even had dinner yet, and knew that Treya would be waiting for him. Rachel was still feverish, and in some low-level but constant way he was worried about that, too. Certainly, he didn't want to stay in any kind of private conversation with this young rent-a-cop, even if he did seem bright, interested and idealistic. These were not traits Glitsky normally associated with Panos's crew, especially since he'd been reviewing the police reports on behalf of Hardy and his pending lawsuit. He'd had innumerable dealings with WGP on his own as well, and few of them had been pleasant.

On the other hand, this boy had been the first person on the scene, had actually been a witness to the crime in progress. Undoubtedly, he had been interviewed by the case inspectors, and Glitsky had no reason to believe that they were less than adequate. He didn't know Cuneo and Russell at all. They'd been brought up in Gerson's watch and might, for all he knew, be the most competent and committed policemen in San Francisco, although most of his recent experience in the department argued against that.

"Nothing to brag about," he said, and realized that he sounded too harsh. "But… so you actually saw these guys?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, Lieutenant, I saw three figures running away from me in the dark. I couldn't identify any of them to save my life."

"That happens. I wouldn't worry too much about it." The open face of the young man took on a troubled look, and Glitsky said "What?"

Creed blew out heavily, a deep sigh. He seemed suddenly ashamed of himself. "Except maybe I was trying too hard to be helpful."

"Helpful's generally good, son. What's the problem?"

A shrug. "I might have given your guys some bad information."

Glitsky had seen enough confessions to know when somebody wanted to talk. He leaned against a parking meter, crossed his arms, met Creed's eyes, waited.

"I had told them-your inspectors-that the person who'd shot at me seemed like he was kind of big. So then they came back the next day and said they were looking at this other guy who works in the neighborhood, a bartender over at the Ark, do I know him? Do I think it could have been him? And I'm thinking, I don't know what I'm thinking, to tell you the truth, probably just wanting to be important, you know? So I give them the impression that, yeah, maybe it was this guy. I mean, I say it could have been, and then I told the inspectors he's got these two friends he hangs with…" The recitation ground down to a stop.

"And now you don't think it was?"

Creed shook his head miserably. "I really don't know. I went by there tonight-the Ark-and he was behind the bar. I mean, it could have been him, I suppose, maybe, but I was a lot stronger than that when I talked with the inspectors. It was like I gave them the impression that I could positively ID him."

"So call them up and tell them," Glitsky said.

"Just like that?"

"Yep. They're probably working half a dozen leads right now. They'll be glad to know sooner rather than later. Believe me, they'll thank you for it."

"And think I'm an idiot."

Glitsky actually broke a smile. "Possibly, but if you're not an idiot next time nobody will remember. But I'm curious. How'd they get on to this guy, the big guy, in the first place? There must have been something."

"Yeah. There was. It was the Ark. The connection there."

"Which is what?"

"This guy John Holiday owns the place. Evidently he was at Silverman's poker game-you know about the poker game? Wednesday nights? Anyway, Holiday was there the night before and lost a lot of money. Mr. Panos knew about it and told the inspectors and they went by the Ark to talk to him-Holiday. But since he wasn't there, they got Clint. The big guy. The bartender. And after that, of course, they came to me."

"Talk to the inspectors," Glitsky said. "Maybe they've got something else on these guys, too."

"I just wouldn't want them to waste their time because of what I told them. And also, I've got to tell you…"

"What's that?"

"These guys. Holiday, Clint and Randy Wills. I think they're pretty harmless. I'd hate to get them in trouble if they had nothing to do with this."

Glitsky chewed on the inside of his cheek, his brain fully engaged. "I wouldn't worry about that," he said. "If they did it, some evidence of it will likely turn up, and that's what they'll get them on. They're not going down on your ID, I promise you that. Meanwhile, I'm keeping you and my wife thinks I'm on my way home." He pointed a ringer at Creed. "Call the inspectors, though, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

Forty-five minutes later, Creed was working the beat south of Market and saw Roy Panos taking a break in a booth at Carr's coffee shop. Like Creed, he was on duty tonight, and in uniform. Roy was engaged in an animated conversation and after Creed was inside, he realized that one of the two men facing away from him was Nick Sephia. Not a big fan of Nick's, whom he'd worked with a few times before he went to the Diamond Center, he considered turning around and walking out, but by then Roy had seen him and motioned him over, sliding over to the wall to make room.