Guilt

One step in, she stopped. 'Oh, I'm sorry. Janey said-. I didn't mean to interrupt.'

Dooher was coming forward. 'It's all right, Christina. Mr Trang and I were just about finished.'

He introduced them. Trang shook her cool and firm hand with his own hot and damp one.

There was, from Trang's perspective, a long and awkward moment, eye contact between the woman and Dooher. She seemed overly self-conscious that she was interrupting, that there was another person in the room. It was clear she had expected a personal moment, and was somehow disappointed.

At the same time, Dooher's bravado faltered. She was obviously one of his young associates, and yet it was clear that he was tongue-tied with her.

No, Trang thought, it was mutual, both of them somehow at risk. 'I could step outside,' he said.

Christina recovered. 'No, really. It's just a short message.' She was back at Dooher. 'I just wanted to tell you that I left my resume with Joe, as promised.'

'Good.'

She shrugged. 'Joe says from here on it's out of his hands.' She deepened the pitch of her voice, put on a stern face. 'After this, Christina, it all gets pretty objective.' A flash of that connection again between them.

'Objective works in your favor, Christina. I'm glad you let me know. We'll talk later?'

Trang thought he caught a note of panic in the question. It was nowhere near as casual as it sounded. Dooher desperately wanted to see her again, needed to see her again. He could put on any act he wanted in their negotiations, but here in this moment Trang was certain he glimpsed an underlying vulnerability.

But she kept it light, said sure, and apologized to Trang again before turning and leaving them.

When she'd gone, Dooher was lost another instant, staring after her. Then, as though surprised to find Trang still with him, he put on his smile again. The animation. 'So, Mr Trang – Victor – you want to use my phone, call Mrs Diep now? Feel free.'

But the woman's entrance had ruined Dooher's rhythm. He wasn't the same power broker he'd been. Suddenly the pushing to settle right now seemed overdone. It gave Trang some hope. Dooher wasn't as tough as the game he was playing. He could be beaten, and certainly Trang would never know if he didn't play it out at least a little further. 'I think Mrs Diep and I should confer in person.'

Dooher shrugged. No show of disappointment. He was back in his persona. 'Well, that's your decision. The check will be here until noon tomorrow. After that, the offer is rescinded. You understand that?'

Trang was standing. 'Yes, I do. And thank you for the warning. I'll consider it very strongly.'

A dim shadow fell across Sergeant Glitsky's desk and he lifted his eyes from the report he was pretending to read. A woman stood, back-lit from the fluorescents overhead. Wearily, he pushed his chair back, glanced up at the clock on the wall. Five to five, and here's a random witness come to the Hall. His lucky day. 'Help you?' he asked.

'I might have remembered something.'

Glitsky had no idea who she was. He stood up. 'I'm sorry, you are…?'

She put her hand out. 'Christina Cairera. Tania Willows? We met this morning at the Rape Crisis Center.'

Glitsky narrowed his eyes. It was possible, he supposed. He really wasn't noticing women these days. The woman this morning wore jeans and a wet jacket and had soaking hair hanging down in front of her face. But he still didn't think he could have picked this woman out of a line-up as the person he'd interviewed in the morning.

He ran a hand across his forehead, assayed a broken smile. 'Keen eye for detail. It's what makes a good cop.' He sat back down, motioned she do the same, on the wooden chair by his desk. 'So what did you remember?'

'I'm not sure it's anything. I was downtown applying for a job. I thought it would be okay if I stopped in without an appointment.'

'It's fine,' Glitsky said, then repeated, 'what did you remember?'

'He has a tattoo.'

In the distant future, Glitsky thought, these days would be remembered as the Age of Bodily Mutilation. Everybody had a tattoo. Or a nipple ring, or at least something metal pushed through some erectile tissue somewhere.

But unless Tania Willows's rapist/killer had a tattoo of his full name with middle initial, it probably wasn't going to be distinctive enough to help Glitsky identify him. But the woman, Christina, was going on.

'I don't know why I didn't think of it this morning, when we were talking.' She touched her head. 'It just wasn't here. There were a lot of other things going on. And then I was thinking about Tania, what had happened – waiting for the bus, and I saw this guy in an ad with a tattoo…'

'Okay.'

She paused a minute, swallowed. 'It was on his penis.'

Glitsky pulled himself back up to the desk, sat up straighten Okay, this might be something.

'On his penis?'

She nodded. 'He asked her if she wanted to see his tattoo, and she said sure, thinking it was… I mean, you know. Not there. She never thought that.'

Glitsky broke a rare smile. 'The old "come up and see my etchings" trick, updated for the romantic nineties. Did Tania happen to notice what it said?'

Christina shook her head no. 'I'm sure she didn't. She would have…' She trailed off, but the pretty head kept shaking, looking down – embarrassed, Glitsky surmised, by the topic. Her eyes came up to his, and he saw that in fact she was trying to control herself, her laughter.

He knew exactly what she was thinking.

'Not Wendy then?'

'It's not funny,' she said. 'I don't mean to laugh. No, it wasn't Wendy, I don't think.'

The Wendy joke: when the man got an erection, the tattoo read: Welcome to Jamaica. Have a nice day.

Suddenly, Glitsky, whose professional life was a litany of violent deaths, who hadn't slept more than four hours any night in the past month, who had little money, three young children, and whose thirty-nine-year-old wife was dying of cancer – suddenly something broke in him, as it had done in Christina that morning, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing. Out loud.

The Chief of Homicide, Lieutenant Frank Batiste, had come out of his cubicle to see if anything was wrong. Glitsky hadn't laughed here in the Homicide Detail in his memory. Maybe nowhere else either.

'You okay, Abe?'

Glitsky had it back under control. He raised a hand to Batiste, looked over at Christina. 'That never happens to me. I'm very sorry.' His eyes glistened with tears. The fit had gone on for nearly half a minute.

'It's okay.' Christina had lost it for a second or two herself. 'It's supposed to be good for you.'

Glitsky wiped his eyes, took in a breath, sighed. 'Whew.' Batiste went back inside his office. 'Sorry anyway,' he repeated. Then, unexpected: 'I don't know what I'm doing here.'

'What do you mean?'

'I don't recognize you four hours after our interview. I crack up over some rapist's tattoo. I ought to take a leave, come back when I'm worth something.'

She didn't know how to respond to such a personal exposure, but felt she should say something. 'You said your wife was sick. Maybe your brain is concentrating on her?'

Truly sobered now, Glitsky reached for the Willows file. 'That could be it,' he said.

'Maybe you should call her? See if she's feeling better?'

He waited, deciding whether he should say it. Denial didn't seem to help, so maybe admission once in a while wouldn't hurt. 'She's not going to get better,' he said. 'She has cancer.'

Christina sat back. 'Oh, I'm so sorry.'

He waved it off, opened the file, stared at it for a few seconds. 'Was there anything else you remembered?'

CHAPTER SEVEN

Outside Dooher's windows, the city lights glowed up through the clouds. He sat in his darkened office, elbows on the arms of his chair, his fingers templed at his lips. In the hallways, he could hear the occasional voice – all of the associates at McCabe & Roth worked late.