John Lescroart - Damage

“Ahh, here you are. Looking even more lovely than usual, I might add.”

“Oh, stop, you flatterer.” But she was smiling as she stood and came around the desk, offering first one cheek to Cliff, then the other one, kissing the air on either side. By long custom, when Cliff came down to her office to visit, they sat on either end of the leather couch that ran along under the window with the view down onto Castro Street.

“So how’d the lunch with the mayor go?” Cliff asked by way of warm-up.

“His press secretary,” she corrected him, “but it went very well. She’s very quotable. I got some good stuff. You’ll see.” She shifted, facing him on the couch, tucking one leg up under her. “But you’ve got something hotter.”

“Not so much hot as in sexy,” he said, “as hot as in urgent. It’s Ro and the police again.”

A small bubble of laughter shook her. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’d think after last week they would have learned.”

“I don’t know if they’re capable of learning.”

“I don’t, either. Was this Glitsky again?”

“No, although with Glitsky running homicide, it’s obvious where the orders came from. This is an inspector named Bracco.”

Marrenas nodded. “Darrel. I know who he is. What did he do?”

“Well, maybe we should thank him, actually, since he’s giving us this story. But he came up to Tristan Denardi’s office today to ask Ro some questions. Tristan didn’t want to let that happen under any circumstances, but on reflection I thought since you weren’t available, it might be a good idea if Tristan and Ro went ahead so long as Theresa and I came along to represent our interests.”

Her eyebrows went up in surprise. “Go on.”

Cliff, sitting sideways on the couch, leaned in toward her. “Anyway, Glitsky, it turns out, is working on another murder, just some random murder across the city out in the Sunset. Although Glitsky naturally thinks maybe it isn’t really random. He thinks Ro’s got something to do with this one, too, and he had Bracco ask for the meet today to get Ro’s alibi for the time of the murder.”

“This other murder, you mean?”

“Yes, and I know. It’s bizarre.”

“So what’s the possible connection to Ro?”

“You’ll love this. You remember that difficult jury foreman at Ro’s trial?”

“Michael Durbin.” Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “That’s who it was!” she said, her eyes flashing.

“Who?”

“This guy outside the courtroom last week who wouldn’t give me the time of day. It was Durbin. I knew I’d seen him before.”

“At Ro’s arraignment? Why was he there?”

“I have no idea.” She shook her head. “So, what are you saying? Somebody killed him?”

“No. Somebody killed his wife. And then burned down the house around her.”

Marrenas took in a quick breath and let it out in a rush. “That’s not very nice.”

“No. But the point is that the police apparently somehow think, by some tortuous logic, that Ro had something to do with it. In fact, it’s so obscure that I can’t believe anyone really thinks it, but it seems like it’s going to be the next point of attack on Ro. And this in spite of the fact, as Ro told Bracco this morning, and Theresa and I backed him up because it was true, that he was sleeping at home at the time that this murder occurred.” Lowering his voice, Cliff went on, “And here’s the thing, Sheila. He was sleeping in his room. This was last Friday. I remember distinctly and so does Theresa. He came down and had breakfast with us at around nine or nine thirty and I promise you on my word of honor that he hadn’t been out killing some woman in the Sunset an hour before, and then setting her house on fire. That just didn’t happen.”

Sheila picked up his thread. “But the cops still came to question him?”

“Right. And you want to hear another one? That DA investigator who got shot yesterday out in the Fillmore?”

“Yes?”

“Evidently that was Ro, too. If you ask Bracco or Glitsky.”

Marrenas nodded admiringly. “Wow. Ro’s been busy.”

“Hasn’t he? Isn’t this just totally outrageous? In fact, he had lunch yesterday with Tristan Denardi at Tadich’s, the two of them talking about their legal strategy, then he and Ez went to the planetarium together. They did not stop and kill a DA investigator on the way.” He let out a deep sigh. “This is long past amusing, I must tell you.”

Marrenas got up, stretched her back, showing off the merchandise, and walked across her office. When she turned around, she asked, “So what do you want to do?”

Cliff came forward to the last few inches of the couch’s seat. “Well, the story itself, the cops suspecting Ro for every murder committed since he’s gotten out of jail, that’s got to get out. But more particularly, there’s got to be another story around this Durbin murder, and one that doesn’t have squat all to do with Ro, since it’s absolutely definite that he didn’t kill her. Or anybody else.

“Now we’ve got public opinion largely on our side, I think, especially after your last couple of brilliant articles on police brutality. It would be interesting to illustrate how badly the police can get off course when they’ve got a preconceived idea and they’re out to get an innocent man. Do you think you could do some looking around and write that story?”

“With my eyes closed, sir. With my eyes closed.”

“Are you and Mommy mad at each other?” Rachel asked.

They had parked at the airport in the hourly lot, and now they were walking out to the terminal. Treya had wanted Abe to just drop them off at the curb by the departures lane, but he had overruled her and said he wanted to be with them all for as long as he could. To which Treya’s response had been silence.

And which, in turn, led to Rachel’s question.

The two of them, father and daughter, were about fifteen feet behind Treya and Zachary, lagging on purpose. Glitsky’s daughter was holding his hand with one of hers, pulling her small pink rolling suitcase with the other one. Her monkey doll, Alice, rode on Rachel’s back, its hands Velcro’d together under her chin.

Glitsky said, “No. We’re having a disagreement, that’s all.”

“But you’re not mad at her.”

“I said no.”

“I know, but I think she’s mad at you.”

“She might be at that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not going with you.”

“Why aren’t you? Isn’t this a vacation? Mommy said it was like a vacation.”

“I know. But ‘like’ a vacation isn’t the same as a vacation. If it was a real vacation, I’d be going.”

“But why can’t you go on this one?”

“See if you can guess.”

She looked up and over at him. “You’ll get mad.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Okay, then. Work.”

“Correct.”

“It’s always work.”

“Now you do sound like your mother.”

“But do you have to work this time?”

“If I didn’t think I did, don’t you think I’d be going with you?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“No. Definitely. And you know why? Because I love you. I love all of you.”

“Even Mommy?”

“Especially Mommy.”

At this moment, Treya and Zachary got to the escalator leading up to the security checkpoint, and Treya turned around, yelling back to them. “C’mon, you two, can’t you try a little harder to keep up?”

Rachel again looked up at her father. “I don’t care what she says, she’s mad.”

“I think you’re right,” Glitsky whispered.