John Lescroart - The First Law

"Which is something we don't have."

"Isn't that a little dramatic, Diz?" Roake asked. "We get the FBI involved in a week or so, there's plenty of…"

But Hardy was shaking his head. "If they do anything, it will take years. Wiretaps, following people, background investigations. Maybe trying to infiltrate the gang. By then, all of our physical evidence has disappeared. That's if they do anything at all. And meanwhile, we're dead."

"Besides which," Glitsky added, "these people have just killed Paul Thieu…"

"Allegedly." Roake's knee-jerk reaction.

"No, really." Glitsky's dark scowl ended that debate. "And there's every reason to think they're at this moment planning the same thing for Diz or me, or our families. Diz is right, Gina. It's not overdramatic. Drama happens. There's no time."

"So what do you propose to do?" Roake asked.

Glitsky sat quietly, looked down at his feet, said in an uncharacteristic, almost inaudible voice. "I was hoping… I'm going to go down and make some arrests myself."

Hardy stared, looking for a sign that Glitsky was being ironic. He saw none. Which made his friend's message clear and unambiguous, at least to Hardy. And it shocked him.

First Moses, now Abe.

Glitsky raised his eyes to Hardy, then Roake, continued with the charade. "Maybe park 'em in San Mateo County overnight, get some judge to listen." This, Hardy knew, would never happen. No judge would ever listen under those circumstances. As no judge had given Hardy the time of day this morning. This wasn't what judges did and he, Glitsky and Roake all knew it. But it didn't make any difference. Glitsky was simply padding the pretense.

But Hardy didn't get to call him on it. At that moment, there was a quick knock, the door to Hardy's office opened and John Holiday introduced his lanky figure to the proceedings. "Howdy, y'all," he said, a genial grin in place. He wore a heavy sheepskin coat that reached midway down his thighs. He'd tucked his longish blond hair into an Australian shepherd's hat, one side of the brim tacked against the crown. Smiling all around with the obvious surprise he'd pulled off, he turned to close the door behind him.

By the time he turned back around to face them again, Glitsky had stood up. And now Hardy did the same, saying, "John, what in the hell are you doing here?"

Glitsky, a baleful glance at Hardy, took a step forward. He had no choice. He was a cop and here was a man wanted for murder. "I'm afraid you're under arrest," he said.

For Holiday, the surprise element suddenly and completely lost its charm. He glared with startled incomprehension at Glitsky for a beat, shot a look at Hardy, then with no hesitation half turned again, as though he were going back to the door. But when he came back around, he was holding a gun in his right hand. It was pointed down at the floor, but nobody in the room missed it or its import.

"I don't think anybody's gettin' arrested just right now," he said, the quiet tone and soft Tennessee accent taking nothing away from his resolve. "Now, Lieutenant, you just sit down, would you? I won't ask for your gun because I'm gonna assume you'll act like a gentleman. But please keep your hands out where I can see them. Then we can have a civil discussion, all four of us."

Glitsky found his chair and took it.

Hardy remained standing, folded his arms over his chest. "Jesus, John, what are you doing? How'd you get here?"

Holiday made no effort to put up the gun. "My lady dropped me by the alley in the back. I came in through the garage and up the elevator. Don't worry, nobody followed me. I'm sure."

"That's not what I was worried about. Haven't you ever heard that when you've already dug yourself into a hole, you ought to stop digging?"

Glitsky concurred. "This is a big mistake."

Holiday was all agreement. "I can see that now, Lieutenant; you're probably right. But I didn't know anybody else was going to be here."

"Why don't you put away the gun, though?" Roake asked. Then, to Hardy, "This is your client, I presume?"

Hardy made the introductions, and Holiday bowed in a courtly fashion, although without ever taking his eyes from Glitsky.

"So why did you come here?" Hardy asked again.

"Tell you the truth, Diz, part of it was cabin fever. Mostly, though, I was thinking you and I might come up with a way to turn me in and guarantee my safety. That thing with your kids…" The words petered out. "Anyway, I figure if Panos thinks they got me, that ends. Am I right?"

Hardy shrugged. "Maybe not all wrong. But the kid thing. You know Abe's got the same problem?"

Holiday looked across the room at Glitsky. "Have I got to keep this gun out, Lieutenant, or could we come to an understanding for the time being?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you're still under arrest. When I leave here, you're coming with me."

"I don't think so."

Glitsky almost laughed. "You going to shoot to stop me? So you can do whatever you want with the gun. It's not helping your case, as I'm sure your lawyer will agree." He shot a glance over to Hardy, an invitation to back him up.

But Hardy had gone bolt upright in his chair, his eyes glazed and faraway.

Roake, across from him, spoke up. "Diz? Are you all right?"

He came back with them. "What? Yeah, sure. John, put the damn gun away, would you? The rule is you don't wave one around if you're not prepared to use it."

"What if I am?"

"Then you're a bigger idiot than even I think you are, which is hard to imagine. Nobody here thinks you killed anybody, okay? You're not about to start now." He didn't wait to give Holiday a chance to respond, but turned directly to the other two. "Abe and Gina, check me on something, would you? We're assuming that Gerson pushed Thieu off the roof, right?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Holiday moving, sticking the gun back under his belt. "The question is why? Why right then?"

Glitsky had clearly given this a great deal of thought. "Because Thieu put Sephia and Rez at Holiday's when they denied they'd ever been there."

"And, John"-Hardy turned-"have they ever, to your knowledge, been to your place?"

"Are you kidding?"

"I'll take that as a 'no.' That's what I thought. So." He came back to the others. "Doesn't this mean that Gerson must have thought Thieu was the only person with this information? Otherwise, why kill him if somebody else is going to show up tomorrow and confront him with the same problem?"

"Except by now Gerson has probably destroyed the tape," Glitsky said.

"Maybe not," Roake said. "Especially if he figures nobody else knew about it."

Hardy nodded at Glitsky. "Assume, Abe, that Gerson doesn't know that you know."

"I'm sure he doesn't. I specifically asked Paul to keep you and me out of it, and if anybody in the world was capable of that, it was him."

"Well, there you go." He held up his hands as though he'd proven something.

"Where, though?" Glitsky asked. "Call me slow, but I don't see where you're going."

"Okay, Slow. What exactly did Paul tell you?"

Glitsky wasn't sure where this was going, but Hardy seemed to have an idea, and at this point, anything was worth pursuing. "Just that he'd lifted Sephia's and Rez's prints from Holiday's house. He had this tape. He was going down to play it for Gerson." He lifted and dropped his shoulders. "That's about it."

Hardy looked across the room. "Gina, you see it?"

She nodded.

Back at Glitsky. "Abe, now you can go to a judge and do an affidavit, which ought to be probable cause to search Gerson's office, maybe even his home, for the tape. Odds are they'll even have a copy of Thieu's original fingerprint request and the results with the tape, showing Gerson knew its significance."

Roake had come forward to the edge of the couch. "So you're saying Abe should get a warrant for Gerson's house and office without telling anyone else in the PD?"