John Lescroart - A Plague of Secrets

“That’s fine, Your Honor.”

“All right, then.” Braun tapped her gavel. “Court’s adjourned until one-thirty.”

Stier might havesimply decided to ignore the Ruiz murder as a factor in Maya’s case, but as head of homicide, Glitsky could not do that, even if he was of a mind to. Which he most assuredly was not.

Over the past several months, while Abe had been perpetually brooding over his son’s accident and ultimate prognosis and his own karma, Hardy had grown unhappily accustomed to his new, low-affect persona, to the point that now-meeting with him behind a curtain in a private booth at Sam’s-the full flower of evident rage emanating from his friend’s demeanor struck him as perhaps actually dangerous. To Abe’s own health, maybe, but more to his inspectors, the source of this anger.

“And, if you can imagine,” he was saying with a guttural intensity, “now Schiff is all bent out of shape because I didn’t put them on Ruiz. After what they’ve done to Vogler and Preslee, they should be happy they’re not busted down to robbery, or even patrol. Learn a few of the basics over again.”

Hardy smeared butter on some sourdough. “Maybe you could drop by the courtroom after we’re done here and share some of these thoughts with Braun. She needs to hear them.”

“I’m not saying your client’s innocent, Diz.”

“No. Of course not. You just asked me here to talk secretly because no one else would have lunch with you. And I can’t say that I blame them. Although I’m a little surprised about Treya. You’d think, being your wife and all, she’d at least feel sorry for you.” He popped the bread into his mouth. “Why did Schiff want Ruiz? And Bracco, too, I assume.”

“Why do you think?”

“Obviously, because it’s BBW again. And if that’s the case, they’ve got doubts about Maya.”

“No, they don’t. Not even one. Don’t even ask them.”

“How about you?”

“Not so much doubt about Maya, Diz.” Glitsky tipped up his water glass and chewed some ice. “I just don’t know how they moved the case even this far along.”

“ You don’t know? I know. It’s Jerry Glass and Schiff. They got the whole thing out of whack. As a righteous murder, much less two, it hasn’t made any sense from the beginning. Not that Maya couldn’t have actually done these guys, but there’s never been any case, evidencewise. You know this.”

“Well, at least I’m thinking it now. I just wonder what else is going to pop that’s going to make the detail look even more incompetent.”

“You mean like Lori Bradford?”

“Close enough. Have you talked to her?”

“Not yet, but Wyatt Hunt did. I put her on my witness list, which is great for the good guys, but not for you.”

“Schiff and Bracco knew all about her and decided she wasn’t important.”

“That’s what I gathered. I think, though, she might be.”

Glitsky sat back as the tuxedoed, ultimate professional waiter drew back the curtain and took their orders-Hardy’s every-time-he-came-here sand dabs and a Crab Louis for Glitsky. When he’d gone, a small silence settled, until Hardy said, “So. You didn’t invite me down here to help me get Maya off.”

“True.”

“So?”

“So the bottom line is the case is starting to look like a loser for us. Certainly the Preslee side.”

“As it should be.”

“Okay, granted, maybe. That’s the problem when things start out so sloppy and get all political.”

“I’m more or less aware of that, Abe. What do you want?”

Glitsky took a beat. “I want to know if you’ve got something I need to know on Ruiz.”

“Like what?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t need to ask, would I?”

“If I do know something, how’s it going to help my client?”

“It probably won’t.”

Hardy broke a grin. “Wow, you really make it tempting. What do you have so far?”

“Essentially, nothing. If he hadn’t worked at BBW, we’d be at absolute zero.” Glitsky chewed another piece of ice. “As you may have surmised, this goes a little up the food chain.”

Hardy considered for a second, remained deadpan against the urge to show his surprise and pleasure. “Kathy?”

A nod. “Backstage, of course, and always deniable. But through Clarence, then Batiste.” The DA and the chief of police, respectively. Serious high-level pressure from above. “Her mayorship has made her case, especially after hearing about this Lori Bradford fiasco yesterday, that somehow a solid investigation into another BBW-related murder will set Maya free. I’m not so sure of that. It might help on Vogler, though I think she’s going down for that, and she won’t need it on Preslee. But whatever, Kathy thinks Ruiz is going to open a door, and she’s more or less dared us to do something on it, and fast, or maybe a head or two will roll.”

“Yours?”

“Not impossible. Maybe even the chief’s too. Who, you remember, serves at the mayor’s pleasure.”

The waiter knocked, opened the drapes, and delivered their plates. As the curtain closed, Hardy said to Glitsky, “So where were we?”

“Kathy West and Eugenio Ruiz.”

Hardy forked a bite of fish, taking his time. Finally, he made his decision and came out with his answer. “I might have something.”

“Might. I like that.”

“I knew you would. Hence my careful locution. I might have something if you’ve got something to trade.”

“Probably not. But what?”

“If you find something based on what I give you, I want it too.”

Glitsky didn’t hesitate an instant, shaking his head from side to side. “I can’t do that.”

“Fine.”

“Diz.”

“No argument, Abe. You can’t do it, you can’t do it.”

“You mean if it helps your case?”

“I mean whatever.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

Hardy chewed and swallowed. “Not my issue. My issue is my client.”

“What if it doesn’t help her?”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Sorry, but those are the rules.” He hesitated. “Look, if it’s any help, give it to Stier too. I just wouldn’t like to see whatever it might be disappear, the way Lori Bradford did.”

Hardy, by now unexpectedly hopeful at the possibility of having the resources of the entire police department working on his behalf, nevertheless didn’t want to push. He had the cards here and Glitsky either would recognize that fact or not. He took a sip of his club soda, pushed some buttered capers onto his fish.

“It would be discoverable,” Glitsky said.

Hardy shook his head. “Before that. Under the table-under this very table if you want-but before it goes through Stier and company. From what you say, Jackman’s going to back you and so’s Batiste.”

“They’re my troops,” he said. “Bracco and Schiff. I undermine their case…”

“I get it. Though one could argue that it’s already undermined and they deserve whatever happens. But again, Abe, not my problem. And, hey, what I have might be nothing.”

It took Glitsky another full minute, maybe more, Hardy eating with gusto and apparent contentment, tasting none of it.

Finally, Glitsky capitulated. “You want me to sign an affadavit, or is my word good enough?”

Hardy put down his fork. Took a steadying breath against the rush. “There’s a guy who may or may not be named Paco who knew both Levon Preslee and Dylan Vogler back in college and who showed up from time to time at BBW to buy his weed. But not since October.”

“May or may not be named Paco.” Now dismissively. “That’s what we’ve been negotiating about?”

Hardy shrugged. “It’s what I got, Abe. Ruiz was looking out for him.”