John Lescroart - Damage

“I don’t know why I agonize about taking days off,” Glitsky said. “Nobody else even seems to notice when I do.”

“Maybe,” Amanda Jenkins said, “that’s because you’re actually physically here in the building talking about a case, so to someone who isn’t paying close attention it seems like you’re on the job somehow. And just for the record, can you explain to me how it would be different if you weren’t taking a day off?”

“Not too, I guess. You put it that way.”

“Well, there you go.” She pushed her chair back from her desk, leaned back, and put her feet up on its surface, displaying a good 80 percent of her extraordinary legs in the process. “You want to get the door? Certain people see us talking, they’re liable to think we’re colluding to obstruct justice, like we did last time.”

Glitsky turned and closed it.

Jenkins crossed her arms, gave him a flat look. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here talking to you. You might have an idea.”

“Not any that I’m proud of. Well, that’s not true. I’ve got one.”

“Hit me.”

“Before anything else, I’d rule out arresting Ro again.”

Glitsky allowed himself a small, grim smile. “That was my thought, too. Which, of course, leaves him free to go around killing other people whenever the mood strikes him. But hey, that’s not my decision.”

“Don’t be bitter.”

“No. Why would I be bitter?”

“Good. For a minute there, I thought I detected a trace.”

“Nope. Bitter-free, that’s me.” A wooden chair sat along the wall next to the cabinets, and Glitsky pulled it around and straddled it backward. “But in actual fact, I’ve pretty much decided that I’m going to pretend Ro isn’t any part of this Durbin murder, lower my own profile.”

“That’s probably smart. You show up around Ro again, it’s a circus before it even starts.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not going to be all over it.”

“No. I didn’t think it did. So what’s the plan?”

“The plan is I don’t make the connection to Ro. Not in public, anyway.”

“And what’s that get you?”

“Time, if nothing else. Maybe the Curtlees back off. Meanwhile, I go out and talk to people like any homicide inspector would. Develop a theory of the case, maybe even a list of suspects. I don’t get near Ro until something, some solid evidence, leads back to him, which is what we’re going to need anyway if the good Mr. Farrell is ever going to charge him with anything again in our lifetimes.”

“Except you’ve already got that up front. Something leading back to Ro.”

“What’s that?”

“The shoe, the MO, the jury foreman’s wife. Take your pick. The guy all but drew you a picture.”

“Well, that’s the other thing.”

“What?”

“Arnie Becker’s theory is that this is Ro flipping me off. Actually, flipping both of us off, you and me.”

“I’m flattered.”

Glitsky shrugged. “So how’s he going to feel if he’s gone to all the trouble of killing somebody else and leaving all these clues to rub what he can get away with in our faces, and I don’t put it together? Instead, I go barking up another tree and don’t give him the satisfaction.”

It took her a moment, but then she nodded. “He’s going to want to tell us what he did. And dare us to try and prove it.”

“ Need is more like it. It’s going to flush him. Or, it might. At least it’s a shot.”

Glitsky was thinking that Treya was right about her boss. Without her organizational presence and staff sergeant demeanor, he’d be lost as an administrator. So much so, apparently, that in her absence this afternoon he’d simply closed up shop and disappeared. The lights in the outer office-Treya’s domain-were dark when Glitsky showed up, no visitors waited for their appointments with the DA himself, and the door to Farrell’s office was closed. Crossing the room and putting an ear to the door, he heard no sound. Not expecting to get an answer, nevertheless, he rapped sharply on the door three times.

Nothing.

And then, just as he was turning to go, the sound of footsteps came from within. Glitsky stopped and was all but at attention, facing the door when Farrell opened it. The district attorney was in his shirtsleeves and the lights in his own office were turned off, the blinds pulled against the bright sunshine outside. Glitsky thought he might have just interrupted a nap. “If this isn’t a good time…,” he began.

“No. It’s fine. I was just meditating for a minute. You ever do that, Abe?”

“Not so much. I don’t get much free time.”

“Twenty minutes a day, that’s all it takes. Everybody ought to be able to find twenty minutes.”

“I keep looking for them,” Glitsky said. “I think the kids must steal ’em.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your kids are still at home, aren’t they?”

“Only for another eighteen or twenty years. But who’s counting?”

“You’re right. I don’t think I would, either, under those conditions. Probably wouldn’t meditate, either.” Suddenly Farrell seemed to remember not just where he was, but who he was. His face went slack for a moment, then reanimated itself. “But here you are. What can I do for you? You want to come in and sit down for a minute? Is everything all right with Treya? How’s she feeling?”

“Better,” Glitsky said.

“She’ll be back in on Monday, I hope.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Good. Good. Well, come on in.” Farrell hesitated, then moved back a step. When Glitsky had gotten past the door, Farrell closed it behind them. He turned on the room’s overhead lights, then walked over to one of his couches and sat on it, motioning for Glitsky to do the same. But Glitsky remained standing.

“What do you got?” Farrell asked.

“Ro’s done it again.”

Farrell dropped his head, then slowly brought it back up. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“No, sir. Janice Durbin. Wife of the foreman of his jury. Set her on fire either before or after he killed her, burned the house down around her. Naked, with shoes on her feet. Might as well have left a business card.”

“Sounds like he did.” Farrell brought a hand up and rubbed the side of his face. “Jesus Christ, Abe, what are we going to do?”

“I thought you might go back to Baretto.”

Farrell’s shoulders heaved, a spasm of bitter laughter. “He wouldn’t touch this thing, not after Donahoe. Now two judges have ruled Ro’s no danger to the community. No way does Baretto pull him back in.”

“So at what point do the shoes and the MO count as evidence?”

“Honestly, probably no point.”

“Maybe I should go talk to him, make the case.”

Farrell shook his head. “Your credibility around Ro is in the shitter, Abe. This is all coming across as a personal vendetta.” He hesitated. “Maybe I shouldn’t mention this, but I had Vi Lapeer stop by here this morning. Unexpectedly.”

“What’d she know?”

“It’s not what she knew. It’s what she wanted. She wanted advice.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that Leland told her he wants you out. Not just out of this investigation, but completely out. The political heat’s just too much for him. According to him, half the city thinks you guys are the Gestapo. And you’re the poster child.”

“That’s Marrenas. The woman’s toxic.” Glitsky finally took a seat across from Farrell. Coming forward, he let out a breath. “So what was your advice?”