John Lescroart - A Certain Justice

This brought her up short. She bit her lip, straightening, then put her arm around Glitsky and held herself against him. 'How did I ever let you go?' she whispered.

He got beeped and found that his father had succeeded in cajoling Rabbi Blume's reluctant witness to the riot – Rachel from one of the former Soviet republics – into talking to him. He wasn't fifteen blocks away, he could be there in ten minutes.

At the door he told Loretta that he wasn't going to get in her way over Kevin Shea. That was her bailiwick. It wasn't his habit, and it wasn't in his job description, to go public with his investigations. Actually he had few if any substantive doubts about Shea's involvement. But he did want to get the whole picture, a verifiable sequence of events so that when the time came any charges brought against Shea would stick.

'And you know,' he said finally, 'you might want to talk to your daughter.'

'What about Elaine?'

'From her perspective what counts is to prove Shea guilty. If we arrest him and she can't prove he did it, she's going to take the fall for it. If I were you, that would be a concern right now. That she gets it right.'

Glitsky was starting to walk to his car but Loretta held his arm. 'Abe?'

He stopped.

'Would you help her, too? Not let her get hurt?'

He nodded. 'I'll try,'he said. 'It's my job.'

What Glitsky 's father Nat had not told him was that he had picked up the boys – all three of them – and was taking them first out to Tommy's Joynt for sandwiches and then down the coast, maybe to Monterey, where there weren't any riots, see the Aquarium, do something constructive with their summer.

It was ridiculous to keep them cooped up the house all day every day. What did Abe think he was doing, being a good father?

'I'm trying to protect them, Dad. I don't want them hurt.'

Father and son were in Rabbi Blume's office, the boys visible outside the window shooting some hoops in the synagogue's playground, which was otherwise deserted. Blume and Rachel were waiting in the attached residence, and Abe was not in any hurry to see them until this got settled with his father, who was not exactly breaking down in the face of his son's wrath – 'What's going to hurt them, tell me that?'

'How can you even ask that? You look around lately? You see what's happening?'

Nat Glitsky shrugged. 'I drove downtown to see you. I drove back to Rachel's. We walk together here, on the street, from her house. Nobody bothers us. Nobody's out.'

'You might want to ask yourself why that is.'

'I know why that is, Abraham. Sit down, would you? You're overreacting.'

'I don't want to sit down. I'm not overreacting! These are my children and my responsibility and I'm not exposing them to… to this. I'm not going to lose any more of my family.'

In spite of saying he didn't want to, Abe sat heavily. Nat hesitated by the rabbi's desk, then walked across the room and pulled up a chair next to his son.

'You can lose them this way, too. Holding on too tight, Abraham.'

'I'm trying to protect them, I'm trying to do what's best.'

Nat nodded. 'Always. I know this. But I called this morning, trying to get you, and Jake answers the phone. I never hear him talk about you like this… "Dad's losing it, Pops. He doesn't have a clue." This kind of talk. And from Jacob, who you know worships the ground under you. It worries me.'

'It worries you …?' Glitsky barked a laugh, cut short.

'I know, I know, it worries you, too. Hey, who doesn't worry a little? And you, since Flo – '

'It's not me .' His voice was sharp. 'It's not my fault this is going on here. And it's not about Flo. It's me and them. Flo's not part of this.'

Nat put a hand on his son's knee. 'Flo is the whole thing, Abraham. Don't be kidding yourself.'

'That's bullshit, Dad.' Then, more strongly. 'That's pure bullshit!' He swatted the hand away, standing, striding across to the window, breathing hard, his face set.

'I think this is the first time you swear at your old man, huh?'

Abe tried to focus on his sons, the game outside. They were doing precision drills, the two older boys taking rebounds and feeding lay-up shots in to Orel. The patter was barely audible, though clearly loose and playful. 'I can't lose any more, Dad. I can't.'

Again, Nat crossed the room to his son. He stood behind Abe, much shorter, seeing the boys outside. 'We cannot hold onto anything, Abraham. It is not in our power and that is God's truth.'

Glitsky turned. 'All right, but what if-?'

Nat cut him off. 'That is what you are thinking and it doesn't mean anything.' Putting a hand on his son's arm, he went on. 'Abraham, think. What if they are locked in at home all day and someone decides to start a fire on your street? This is not in your control, none of this. There is nothing you can do here except second guess yourself to death. Let me take them. We go have some fun, come back when this is over.'

Glitsky's shoulders slumped as he let himself down onto the corner of the desk. 'When's life going to start feeling real again, Dad? I don't know what the hell I'm doing.'

'I know. When Emma… well, you remember.'

'You never changed.'

A short laugh. 'Abraham, I don't think I ever changed back . What I tried not to do was change how I treated you, how I acted. I kept up the motions, the habits, so how I was feeling wouldn't affect you, that's all. You had lost your mother. That was enough for you to deal with.'

Glitsky motioned outside. 'Like them now. That's the message, right?'

His father nodded. 'There are similarities. So now, you do your job, you keep at it, things get to feel normal in a new way maybe. It never does go back to the way it was. That's over.' He paused. 'And that's the hard part to accept. It isn't going back. So what is it going to be now?'

Glitsky brought a hand to his eyes and rubbed them. He stood again, walked a few steps, looked outside. 'If you go to Monterey, stop by the pier and pick me up some saltwater taffy, would you? I love that stuff.'

'You guys again?'

Ridley Banks stood grinning on Peter McKay's stoop. 'You know, Peter, you're hurting my feelings, that kind of talk. This is my partner, Marcel Lanier. Say you're glad to meet him, would you? He's sensitive.'

'Yeah, glad to meet you.'

Banks turned half-around. 'What did I tell you? You ask nice, you get a response. This is the kind of witness we should get to interview every day, makes life sweet. What do you say?'

'What do you guys want this time?'

'We want to talk to you a couple of minutes, discuss your statement of the other day.'

'Who's that, Petey?' A young woman with lank blonde hair appeared behind McKay in the doorway. A worn, flesh-colored tank top barely concealed boyish breasts. Skinny white legs under cut-off jeans, white socks and tennis shoes.

'Oh, excuse us,' Banks said. 'I didn't realize you were entertaining.'

McKay backed up a step. This is my wife, Patsy.'

'Your wife? I didn't know… how do you do, ma'am? How's the arm, by the way, Pete?'

McKay twisted his wrist, flexed his fingers. He was wearing a flannel shirt with long sleeves. 'Better every day,' he said.

'Bandage off?'

'Not yet. Couple more days.'

'Is Petey in trouble?' Patsy asked. She had a smoker's voice.

She'd moved forward a step into the light – Banks didn't think she looked fifteen. But, he noticed, there was a gold band on her finger.

'No, ma'am, not now. We're just double-checking a few things he said last time he talked to us.'

'Like what?' She got in front of her husband.

Marcel Lanier spoke from behind Banks, over his shoulder. 'Like how he hurt his arm, for example?'