John Lescroart - The First Law

Now Lanier knocked at the window to Panos's car, opened the back door and slid in. Reaching a hand over the seat, he shook hands all around, offered condolences, everybody's pal. He then took out his pocket recorder, and, getting their permission, placed it on the seatback between them. He got right to it. "So, do you have any idea what this is about?"

"Damn straight I do, and a pretty good one."

"Tell me."

"He didn't really say that, that he thought I was actually there ?"Glitsky shook his head in disbelief. "That man's a piece of work. Was there any physical indication that I was?"

"You didn't carve your initials into anything, did you, Abe?" Treya, calm and relaxed, making a joke. "It's an old habit he's trying to break, Marcel. Everywhere he goes, if there's a tree… He's worse than a dog."

Lanier smiled. "No trees there. No initials, either."

"How can I put this, Marcel? That's because I wasn't there."

Glitsky had crossed a leg and leaned back on the couch, his arm around his wife. It was close to eight o'clock, and the family, including grandfather, had finished dinner about twenty minutes before. Because Inspector Lanier had come by, Nat offered to baby-sit Rachel in her playpen while he did the dishes, and they could all hear him singing songs from Fiddler on the Roof to keep her entertained. Now Lanier sat across from them in the living room with a Diet Coke.

Lanier made an apologetic face. "I've got to ask, Abe. Panos didn't actually say you were, he said he thought you might have been. Then when I found you hadn't been at work…"

"Sure, of course, no offense. I'd ask the same thing." Glitsky came forward. "Look, I'm not making any secret of it, Marcel. Panos isn't a friend of mine. I told you about him when? A week ago? So you could warn Barry. Not that it did him any good."

"But you weren't at work."

"That's right. And I wasn't sick either. So where was I?"

"Right. That's the question."

"What time, more or less?"

"Two-ish."

Glitsky remembered right away. "I was at David Freeman's apartment with Gina Roake. You know Freeman?"

"Sure."

"Well, you may not have heard, but he died today, too. Around noon. Roake wanted to get some of Freeman's clothes picked out for the funeral and I thought she could use the company. She was a mess, Marcel. Anyway, Freeman had this one suit, but it had gotten ruined and she'd forgotten… anyway, long afternoon. Sorry, but she'll vouch for it. Unless Panos thinks she was there, too. Out at the pier, I mean."

"Maybe she brought a howitzer," Treya added with scorn. "Was there any sign of a howitzer shell out there, Marcel?"

"Easy," Glitsky said to his wife. "It's just the job."

"I hate it," Treya said, and stood up abruptly. "Sorry, Marcel. I'm a little impatient lately." She went into the kitchen.

"Roake will back me up, Marcel. I was there. If she's not at her office," Glitsky said, "R-O-A-K-E, try Freeman's. They'll know where to find her. Dismas Hardy probably will have her number, too."

Lanier scribbled on his pad, let some air out. "Okay, one more, Abe, if you don't mind. If you were working with Hardy, how'd you get connected with Roake?"

Glitsky sat back again, relaxed. "She came by to check with Freeman's office, which is where Hardy works. He and I were just about finished, and Roake needed some help at Freeman's. So I went with her. Good Samaritan."

"And what were you doing at Hardy's in the first place?"

"It's why I took the two days off. We were both trying to get somebody interested in investigating these same guys who got killed today."

"Why?"

"Because somebody had threatened us, and Hardy thought he knew who it was." The plan they'd all agreed upon-Hardy, Glitsky, McGuire, Roake-was to keep as close to the truth as possible during all the interrogations that were likely to follow. "So did I."

"So who'd you try to get interested? Management and Control?" This was the department, formerly called Internal Affairs, that investigated police misconduct.

"No. Let's just say Hardy went to some judges and I went to another law enforcement agency."

"Outside the department? You're saying you went to the FBI?"

"I went to another agency," Glitsky repeated. "It's moot anyway, Marcel. The point was I was doing some work at Hardy's office because it could have been embarrassing at the Hall." Glitsky held up his hands, palms out, all innocence. "Look, you know about Gerson calling me off Silverman right after I talked to you?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I didn't stay all the way out." He leaned back again, matter of fact. "Sam Silverman's widow is a friend of mine. She had a question and asked me. I forwarded it on to Cuneo and Russell. Then Paul Thieu had a bit of a moral dilemma about some evidence and he came to me about it."

"And you talked to him?"

"Briefly."

"You think any of this had to do with his death?"

"I think it's possible. I don't think he killed himself."

"Then who killed him?"

"I don't know, Marcel. I wish I did know."

Lanier grimaced. "An objective observer might say you were involved at this point, Abe."

"I never said I wasn't. After my family got threatened, I got proactive. You would have, too."

"All right. That's what Panos said today. You were trying to take these boys down. The same ones who got shot."

"And I wanted to take out Barry Gerson, too?" Glitsky allowed a trace of asperity. "And I wanted to do all of this with the help of John Holiday, who was wanted for murder? Are you saying you believe I could have been part of that, Marcel?" He leaned back, softened his tone. "I was trying to find a way to do this kosher." He sighed. "All right. I might as well tell you. You know Bill Schuyler, FBI? Talk to him."

"So what was Hardy doing?"

"Hardy thought these guys were trying to frame Holiday. He was calling judges. You can ask around on that, too. Look, Marcel, I don't know what got Barry down there to the pier, or Holiday for that matter, but these guys are bad people. I'm not surprised they got themselves killed. But if you think I was there or had anything to do with it…" He let the words hang in the room.

Marcel put down his empty glass and sighed heavily. "If you weren't there, you weren't there, Abe. I've just got to touch all the bases. Tell your wife I'm sorry I upset her, would you? And you, too."

When Lanier got to the door, Glitsky held it for him, stopped him for a second. "So, Panos aside, Marcel, how many people are they saying were down there?"

Lanier's eyes were drawn with fatigue. "CSFs saying at least six, maybe as many as ten. Lots of hardware, different calibers, but people might have been doubled up. At least one shotgun. Could have been seven thousand Macedonians in full battle array." He shrugged wearily. "You ask me, Abe, nobody's got a clue."

"That was Norma," Hardy said, "from the office."

Frannie was at the dining room table, studying. She looked up. "How is she?"

"Okay, considering."

She put the book down. "What?"

"She just got a call from Lieutenant Lanier, homicide. One of the associates was working late and gave him her home number. He wanted to know where I'd been all afternoon. She'd never had anyone from the police call and ask her that before. She hoped it was okay with me that she just went ahead and told them without checking with me first. I told her sure, why not? She gave him Phyllis's number, too. Wanted to know what it was all about."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I had no idea."

Frannie pushed her chair back, brushed a rogue hair from her forehead. She rested her hand over her heart. "And what did she tell him? Lanier."

"That I'd been in my office."

"The whole afternoon?"

"Until a little after three. Working."