John Lescroart - Guilt

The contractions were irregular, but they were continuing. She got into the bed, turned the television on, and pulled the covers up around her.

Farrell had reached Glitsky at his office near the end of the day, and told him he'd remembered something Abe hadn't known. It wasn't in the Trang file, but it might be important. About Jim Flaherty.

Since he'd made Lieutenant, Glitsky had learned that it was bad luck to subvert the regular channels and lines of command. Credibility was all. If Abe called on the DA in his official capacity as the head of Homicide and requested a meeting, the DA had to know he wasn't trying to sell bingo tickets.

Glitsky first discussed Farrell's information with Dan Rigby, the Chief of Police, and Rigby told him that if the DA said it might go somewhere, he could move on it. Otherwise, it was a waste of company time. Having obtained Rigby's permission, Glitsky called the DA.

Which was why he was back downtown on this Friday night after a quick meal at home with Rita and the boys. He and Paul Thieu walked into the office of the new District Attorney Alan Reston. (Chris Locke, who had been the DA during the Dooher trial, had gotten himself killed – shot to death during one of the race riots that had rocked the city the preceding summer.)

Glitsky had come to admire Reston, a mid-thirties African-American. He was as political as Locke had been but, unlike Locke, had within this century put quite a few actual criminals behind bars.

Reston's face was black marble, smooth and unlined, under a closely trimmed Afro. His tie alone had more colors than Glitsky's entire closet, and the suit couldn't be bought for a week of Abe's pay. But he was a professional prosecutor, and for that, Glitsky could forgive the fancy clothes.

Everybody shook hands. The politician naturally remembered Paul Thieu by name, and he directed both the officers to chairs in front of his desk. He went around to his own seat and didn't waste anymore time on amenities. 'What do you have?' he asked, straight out.

'How much do you know about Mark Dooher?'

Reston hadn't been in the city during the Dooher trial, so his recollection of it was vague. Glitsky went over the facts. Reston had his hands crossed on his desk and, listening, didn't so much as twiddle his thumbs. When Glitsky wound it up, he waited ten seconds to make sure he'd finished, then spoke. 'And the point is?'

Paul Thieu popped in. 'We never tried him for Trang, sir. Locke pulled us off the case, and Thomasino ruled any mention of our investigation inadmissible at the trial.'

Reston looked confused. 'Who's Trang?'

'Paul.' Glitsky, stopping his subordinate. 'The point, Alan, is that this man's a multiple murderer and I'm afraid he's going to do it again.'

Reston remained cool. 'Well, then, isn't the usual procedure to wait until he does, then collect the evidence he's so kindly left us.'

'Yes, sir, no question that is s.o.p.'

Reston opened his hands. 'Well?'

'Well, that brings us back to Victor Trang.' He turned to Thieu. 'All right, Paul. Now.'

It was a little bit like turning a terrier loose. In under five minutes, Thieu outlined the entire history on the death of Victor Trang – the proposed settlement on the amended complaint with the Archdiocese, the computer notes, his mother and girlfriend, Dooher, the Vietnam connection, the bayonet – wiping the blood, the cellphone…

Again, Glitsky cut in. Paul could get a lot of information on the table in a hurry, but it could overwhelm, and Reston's eyes had begun to glaze. 'We had a case building – circumstantial, but righteous. And then Locke pulled it.'

'Why did he do that?'

'I think he did a favor for the Archbishop.'

Reston frowned. 'You're saying Chris Locke downloaded a murder investigation? That's a hell of a strong accusation, Abe, especially against someone who isn't around to deny it.'

This response was expected, and Glitsky shrugged it off. 'Locke told Rigby' – the Chief of Police – 'that he wasn't going to try a circumstantial case against Dooher. He wanted to see physical evidence – the bayonet, an eyewitness or two, fibers or soils or fabrics, something.'

This made sense to Reston. 'He wanted to win if it went to trial. There's nothing sinister there.'

'I understand that. And as it turned out, we got a warrant and tore his place apart and didn't find anything.'

Reston shook his head. 'I'm afraid I don't see where this is going. You got some new evidence?'

Thieu, unable to restrain himself, up on the front of his chair. 'The Archbishop. Flaherty.'

'What about him?'

Glitsky: 'He's the one who convinced Locke to back off. He talked Locke into keeping the Trang murder out of Dooher's trial. I talked to Dooher's old lawyer today – Wes Farrell…'

'A defense lawyer?'

'Farrell's a good guy. He and Dooher don't get along anymore. His news was that Flaherty went sideways on Dooher's character testimony. He found something out.'

'You think?'

'We can find out. Flaherty's not a fan of mine or I'd ask him myself. Since the trial he's pulled the plug on all contacts with Dooher's firm. He should have led the cheering when Dooher got off. Instead, he cut him out.'

'I'm listening.'

'Ask Flaherty.'

'Ask him what?'

'Ask him why he and Dooher aren't playmates anymore.'

'And?'

'Then we know something, don't we? We've got new evidence. We try to build the case. We brought up all the files – you can check ' em out. A guy named Chas Brown-'

Reston held up a hand. 'I will.'

'Fine. And meanwhile we keep looking for the good stuff. Above all, we take Dooher off the street again. Maybe save a life or two.'

'Whose?'

'I don't know. His new wife's maybe. My guess is she's leaving him, and that's going to stir up the pot.'

'Saving lives isn't the job, Abe.'

'I never said it was, Alan. But wouldn't it be nice?'

'You want to get him, don't you? You got a hard-on for Dooher?'

But Glitsky had been down this road enough times. He knew where the potholes were. 'I see a way to take a dangerous man off the street legally. It's a skull case we can close. That's all Dooher is. It's nothing personal.'

Reston considered. 'That's a very good answer.' Telling Glitsky he didn't believe him. But he nodded. 'Okay. I'll call Flaherty, see what he says.'

It didn't take any time at all.

Glitsky and Thieu were talking over the relative merits of a no-warrant arrest – picking up a suspect without a warrant signed by a magistrate – and had pretty much reached the conclusion that in Dooher's case, it wouldn't be a great idea. Dooher wasn't acting like he was going to flee the jurisdiction. He'd committed no new crimes that they knew of. If Glitsky and Thieu just went in and arrested him on their suspicions, they'd open themselves up to charges of false arrest, harassment, police brutality.

On his desk, the telephone sounded. 'Glitsky.'

When he hung up, he told Thieu that it had been the DA. 'Flaherty told Reston he's got no personal knowledge of any crimes committed by Mr Dooher. Emphasis added. If there's evidence he committed a crime, we ought to pursue it vigorously. His words.'

Thieu broke a grin. 'What do you say? Let's do that very thing.'

At 10:18, Sam had her feet up and was reclining in the barco-lounger. She was vastly enjoying the political philosophy of Al Franken, laughing aloud every two minutes. Bart slept under the table and Wes was in a chair at that table perusing the Trang file – there had to be something in it.

The doorbell rang and Bart raised his head and barked. Wes looked a question over at Sam. 'This time of night?'

'We don't want any,' Sam said. 'I know.'

He closed the Trang file and stood up. Crossing the living room, giving an affectionate tug on Sam's toe as he passed her, he got to the stairs and turned on the outside light.