John Lescroart - Damage

“We’d take them in a minute, Michael,” Chuck said. “But it’s not going to happen.”

“I’m glad you’re so sure.”

“You said it yourself. He can’t have any evidence against you since you didn’t do anything. No evidence, no trial.”

“Yeah, but even if I’m arrested, all that time before the trial I’m in jail.”

Kathy jumped in at that. “We’d bail you out, Michael.”

“Thank you, but only if you could.”

“Well,” Chuck said, “that’s putting the cart way before the horse at this point. I don’t believe Glitsky’s anywhere near arresting you.”

“I was with him today, Chuck. I heard him. He’s closer than you think. And forget about me, what would that do to the kids? Jon already thinks it might have been me. If I lost all of them over this…” He picked up his glass and took a drink. “I don’t know what I’d do. I couldn’t let them see me go through it.”

“Sure you could,” Kathy said. “You’d fight it. We’d all fight it.”

“I don’t know if it would be worth it.”

“Of course it would.” Kathy came around the edge of the counter and picked up Michael’s still half-full glass, then kissed him on the cheek, and went back around to the sink. She poured out the wine. “It’s obvious that this red stuff isn’t helping your state of mind at the moment. First, nobody’s going to arrest you. And if they do, we’re all on your side to get you back out. Okay? You hear me?”

“Okay.” He let out a deep sigh. “I’m just so tired. Tired of the suspicion, tired of my son’s doubts, tired of Glitsky and of living without Janice. Of living, period.”

“Don’t say that, Michael.”

He looked up at her with an unfocused, bleary-eyed gaze. “Oh, okay, then,” he said. “I won’t.”

With a stifled cry, Glitsky jerked and sat up straight in bed, his hand over his heart. His breathing came in heavy gasps.

Beside him, Treya was immediately awake, one hand on his back, the other reaching around to rest over his heart. “Babe, what is it? Are you all right?”

He shook his head from side to side and kept taking heavy breaths.

“Abe! Answer me. Is it your heart again? Should I call nine-one-one?”

He finally got out some words. “No. No, I’m okay. I’m okay.” He took another enormous breath and let it out completely. “I’ve just got to get up.” Starting to rise.

“No, you don’t. Just stay here. Lie back down.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you darn well can. Calm down.”

But he stayed in a seated position. Gradually he brought a hand up and covered where his wife still had her hand pressed against his heart. “Okay,” he said again, as if to himself. “Okay.”

Treya whispered. “So what was that if it wasn’t a heart attack? A nightmare?”

“Not a nightmare,” Glitsky said. “I wasn’t asleep.”

“So what is it?”

“Janice Durbin,” he said. “Just another something I missed, but this one could be real.” He turned back to her. “I’ve got to get up.”

“Abe, it’s the middle of the night. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, but sleep’s out of the question.”

He was waiting in the spacious back parking lot to Janice Durbin’s office building and saw the African American woman he’d met before get out of her own car at a few minutes before eight. Summoning all of the patience he possessed, Glitsky gave her another ten minutes to let her get settled, and then he went to the door and into the building, heading upstairs again to suite 207.

She recognized him right away, greeting him with a warm smile. “But I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“Glitsky,” he told her. “Lieutenant Abe Glitsky.”

“And I’m Roberta. So what can I do for you, Lieutenant Abe Glitsky?”

“Well, you’ll remember yesterday I was asking about who in the building might have known or been close to Janice Durbin. It turns out that might not have been the right question. I talked to Holly down the hall and she told me that Janice had admitted to her that she was seeing someone outside of her marriage, and that that person had apparently come by here to this building after hours, maybe several times. So I noticed you seem to have video cameras mounted over the doors and I wonder if one of them might have picked up a picture of either this guy or his car.”

Roberta scrunched up her face in disappointment. “This would have been more than a week ago, then, wouldn’t it?”

“Right. At least eleven days, maybe a lot more.”

She tsked. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re going to be in luck. We’re on a seven-day cycle on this building and most of the others we monitor. If we’re going to need to identify somebody, usually we know the next day, if you know what I mean. When the robbery or vandalism is reported. Three days at the most, if it’s over a weekend. You’re sure it would have been that long ago?”

“At least, I’m afraid.” Glitsky’s mouth tightened in frustration. “Would you mind telling me how else you monitor the building? I notice you’ve got alarms at the doors. People punch in a code when they go in or out?”

“Right. But that’s only for off-hours. Normal business hours, we’re wide-open.” Roberta suddenly perked up, snapping her fingers. “But wait, here’s something else, maybe.” She got up from behind her desk and walked over to a bank of filing cabinets against Glitsky’s right-hand wall. “We’ve got a nighttime drive-by service every two hours from six P.M. to eight A.M. That’s every night. Physical inspection of the building and parking lot. Patients and clients and tenants are welcome to use the lot whenever they need to, but generally at night it’s pretty empty. And if it’s a nontenant car, they make a note of it-license number, make, and model. Or they’re supposed to.” She reached into the file and pulled out two relatively thin binders. “Here’s the hard-copy reports from January and last December. February’s probably still out with the unit. You’re welcome to look at them.”

At a quarter to four that afternoon, Novio turned his cell phone on as soon as he got back to his office from his last class. “Chuck. It’s Michael,” he heard. Durbin’s voice on his voice mail was hoarse with emotion. “Please call me as soon as you get this. It’s urgent.”

Frowning at the tension in his brother-in-law’s voice, he hit the “call back” graphic on his iPhone and waited for the connection.

It came before the end of the first ring. “Chuck. Thank God. Where are you?”

“My office. Just finishing up.”

“Can you meet me at Janice’s right away?”

“Janice’s office?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure. What’s wrong?”

“Everything. I just talked to Glitsky. I think he’s coming down to your house to arrest me. I had to get out of there. I’m not going to jail.” A pause. “I’ve got my shotgun with me.”

Novio swore. Then, “Don’t do anything stupid, Michael. I’ll be right there. Hang tight.”

Less than ten minutes later, Chuck knocked on Janice’s office door.

“Come on in.”

Michael sat back, his hands clasped in his lap, at one end of the couch that was under the window. His face looked pasty, drawn with fatigue and stress. His shotgun lay on the top of the file cabinets next to him, the barrels broken open, the brass backs of the shells visible in them.