John Lescroart - Damage

The only problem was that Mark Dooher-pillar of the community, wonderful father and husband, legal face of the Archdiocese-had, in fact, been guilty of killing his wife. And also guilty of raping a woman while he’d been in college. And killing another man with whom he’d been selling drugs in Vietnam. And gutting with a bayonet another young attorney with whom he’d been in litigation.

And then he had tried to kill Farrell, too.

Now, with Ro Curtlee, Wes felt that he was once again up against a true sociopath who might have given Mark Dooher a run for his money. He’d been out of prison for less than a month and he’d almost undoubtedly already killed three people, including Farrell’s own investigator. And no one, apparently, seemed to be able to stop him. Vi Lapeer had volunteered to put a watch on him around the clock until the grand jury could issue an indictment against him, but she wouldn’t have had time to do that yet today. Ro could be out there on Farrell’s street right now, sitting in a car, lying in wait. He might break in here and light the place on fire.

One thing seemed certain-Ro was committed to staying out of jail. It seemed obvious to Farrell that he’d prefer to die resisting arrest-look how he’d fought with Glitsky and his two men-than go back to prison. So he wasn’t afraid of anything. He would attack any and every person whom he wanted to punish or who threatened his freedom. Felicia Nuñez, Janice Durbin, Matt Lewis. Gloria Gonzalvez, wherever she was. And to that list Farrell felt he could confidently add Amanda Jenkins, Glitsky, and his family.

And himself.

Glitsky turned the keys-first the dead bolt, then the regular lock-in his front door as quietly as he could. It was sometime after midnight. Inside, he untied his shoes and slipped out of them, then picked them up and went around the corner to his small living room, where Treya stood up from where she was sitting on the couch and said, “Thank God you’re home. If you could spare one, I could use a hug.”

She stepped forward into his arms. Held him as tightly as she could. He dropped his shoes onto the floor and she felt something give in him and she reached up behind him and pulled his head down to the crook of her neck. He let his head rest where it was, heavy, and she could feel the thick, strong muscles in his neck letting go of the tension in them. After another moment, his arms came up around her, too, pressing her against him, so hard she almost, for a second, couldn’t breathe.

She didn’t care. This was all she wanted. If she couldn’t catch a breath, she would do without it.

He exhaled completely, nuzzled his head into her neck and kissed it two, three times. Then straightened up. “You’ve been up all this time?”

“Apparently.”

“How’s Amanda?”

“As bad as you’d think. Maybe worse. She thinks it’s her fault.”

“It’s not.”

“No. I know that. It’s going to take her a while, though. You want to sit?”

“I believe I could.”

Treya sat back down where she’d been waiting on the couch and pulled the blanket she’d brought out of their bedroom up around her. Glitsky eased himself down sideways at the other end of the couch.

“You get anything?” she asked.

“Do you want to count getting rejected on the search warrant?”

“Even with the chief herself requesting it?’

“Even then. Same rules for the chief. You need probable cause.”

“How about Matt Lewis was following him and Ro shot him?”

“How do we know Lewis was following him?”

“That was his assignment.”

“How do we know he ever caught up with him?”

“Because we do. Didn’t he call Amanda?”

“At lunchtime. This, the shooting, was at least an hour later, maybe more. Maybe in that time he lost them and went on to something else, and whatever that was got him killed.”

“Does anybody really believe that?”

“No.”

“And who’s ‘them’ now?”

“Another guy was driving, not Ro. Matt Lewis didn’t know him but told Amanda he looked more or less American Indian. They came out of the Curtlees’ house together. I’m thinking it’s the bodyguard I met the first time I went out there.”

“So Matt Lewis followed them for an hour. Isn’t that probable cause right there? They must know the chief isn’t making this up.”

“They might know it, but they’re not signing the little piece of paper.” Glitsky drew a hand down the side of his face as though he were wiping dirt off it. “A law enforcement officer, Matt Lewis, is shot execution-style in his car on a deserted street in a very bad part of town. Crawling with the drug trade. Fifty people within the sound of the shot could plausibly have done it. Why pick on Ro Curtlee?”

“Because we know he did it?”

“Well, one little bit of proof, and the judge signs off. But…” He shrugged.

“So who was the judge?”

“Chomorro.”

Treya clucked disapproval. “So now there’s three of them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Baretto, Donahoe, Chomorro. Doesn’t anybody on the bench want to put this guy in jail?”

“Not more than they want to protect his civil rights.” Glitsky went on, “Do you know what it takes to win a contested judicial race, Trey? A hundred and fifty grand walking away, two fifty if you want a landslide, and there’s no limit on contributions to a judicial race. Slick, huh. Bottom line, the whole bench is terrified of the Curtlees.”

“So who did his initial trial, again?”

“Thomasino.”

“How about taking him your warrant to sign?”

Glitsky was shaking his head. “No. You want a warrant signed, you’ve got to go to the sitting magistrate, and this week it’s Chomorro. Randomly. This, I need hardly tell you, ensures the impartiality of the law.”

“I don’t want impartial. Not in this case.”

“Well,” Glitsky said, “in fact, you do. But it wouldn’t break my heart if we got lucky now and again.”

Treya tightened the blanket around her shoulders. Sitting with her thoughts for a minute, she said in a small voice, “Do you think we need to be worried? Us, I mean.”

Glitsky heaved a sigh and moved down the couch next to her. “I’d say I’m worried enough for all of us, but that’s probably not what you want to hear.” He took her hand in both of his. “I like to think he’s made his point with us just to rattle my chain. Hurting you or the kids doesn’t get him anything, and he knows I’d hunt him down and kill him. Coming after me or us doesn’t help him with his retrial, either. So, logically I think he’s probably done with us. I hope. Beyond which, the chief’s putting on a few teams to follow him around the clock.”

“You don’t think he’ll be able to shake them?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Treya closed her eyes, took in a breath. “Well, be that as it may, after tonight… I mean, I’ve been thinking. I don’t know if I can feel right leaving the kids with Rita anymore. Or at school. Even if you say there’s no risk…”

“I’m not saying that.”

“I know.” She took another shaky breath. “This isn’t like anything else, Abe. This is a truly crazy person.”

After a moment, Glitsky nodded. “I can’t argue with you. You’re right. What do you want to do?”

“I think I want to go away for a while. All of us. Until this blows over somehow.”

Glitsky’s nostrils flared and his mouth went tight, the scar going white through his lips. “I can’t do that, Trey. Not in the middle of this.”

“Why not?”

“Well, if for no other reason, that’s telling Ro he wins.”