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That's right.'

'And if they – Dooher and Flaherty – if they didn't come through?'

'Then Victor was going to file, but he didn't think… no.' She folded her arms, too quickly, over her chest. Glitsky recognized the classic body language – she'd decided to clam up about something.

'No, what?'

'Nothing. I'm sorry. Go ahead.'

The interrogation room was small and windowless. There was no art on the walls. The furnishings consisted of three folding chairs around a pitted wooden table. This setting could play on the nerves of even the most cooperative witness. The air got stale. People froze, imagined things, got weirded out in any number of ways.

Suddenly Glitsky leaned back, straightened, shook his shoulders, getting loose. He lifted the corners of his mouth, scratched his face. Finally, there was the trick he did with the eyes, letting them go out of focus. He fancied this made people think there was something soft in there. He turned his head to include Paul Thieu. 'How about if we all take a break, get a cup of tea or something?'

'So then, after you talked this night…?'

'He was going to come to my place. He asked me not to call again – Dooher might be there. He'd call when he knew, or when it was over.'

'And when he didn't?'

'I just thought it must have gone real late. He just went home. I waited all the next day at work, but no call. I tried his office, his home… even Mr Dooher's office.'

'And what did he say?'

'He didn't talk to me.' Glitsky and Thieu exchanged glances. Lou the Greek's seemed unusually cavernous, nearly empty here in the mid-afternoon. It provided a better environment for talking than the tiny interrogation room at the Hall. 'So eventually I went by the office and knocked, but there wasn't any answer. Of course.' By now she was sniffling occasionally into a napkin. 'And then I called the police.'

Glitsky kept it casual. 'Why wouldn't Dooher talk to you?'

She shook her head. 'I don't think it's so much he wouldn 't, he just didn't. His secretary took my message, which was that I was a friend of Victor Trang's and did he have any idea where Victor was? Had he seen him? Then she called back and said he was concerned, too. Maybe we should both call the police. So that's where I left it.'

Glitsky was tearing his own napkin into tiny bits and piling them neatly on the table. 'Ms Martin. Upstairs a while ago there was something you didn't want to talk about, about the settlement with Dooher…'

She cast her eyes to the ceiling and sighed deeply. 'Okay,' she said.

That night, at the Glitsky home, it was almost the way it used to be. His sons were watching television, perhaps even doing some homework to the mindless background, in the bedroom shared by the two younger boys.

Flo was feeling better today. It went up and down. But tonight it was way up. She was dressed in tight bluejeans, gold sandals and no socks, a maroon blouse. Diamond stud earrings and a brush of makeup, a light touch of lipstick. A maroon scarf artfully curled around her head to hide the hair loss.

The nurse was off at night. And Flo had sent Glitsky's dad back to his home. She told him he needed some time for himself. He should take in a movie, go solve one of the mysteries of the Talmud.

Nat must be sick of taking care of things here and Flo was able to cope today. Who knew how long it was going to last, but for now – maybe a couple of days, maybe more – she craved some semblance of normalcy for them all.

And somehow – she was a genius – she'd done it. Created that feel. Made dinner of stuffed flank steak (everybody's favorite), home fries with onions and peppers, broccoli and cheese sauce, vanilla ice cream over cherry pie. 'You know, I just never seem to worry about cholesterol anymore.'

Jokes yet.

Now she was rinsing dishes – about a freightcar full – piling them carefully in the dishwasher. Glitsky sat on the counter next to her, telling her about his day, just like old times, about what Lily Martin had suddenly gone quiet about, which was that her boyfriend never really thought he would win the lawsuit if he filed it.

'You mean he was basically trying to extort money from the Church?'

'Lily didn't want to put it so bluntly, but essentially, yeah.'

'That is scuzzy.'

Glitsky shrugged. 'He's a lawyer. Was a lawyer.'

'You think that's why he got killed?'

'Just because he was a lawyer? I don't know, Flo, that's a tough theory. There's lot of lawyers out there and many of them are alive.'

She gave him the eye. 'Because of the deal, Abraham.'

He temporized. 'I don't know yet. I think it might be possible.'

Another look. 'Sergeant goes out on limb. Film at eleven.'

He smiled at her, his real smile. My problem is this: so what? This guy Dooher may have had all this against Victor Trang, but you don't go out and kill somebody who's suing your client. And this killing was personal.'

'How about if you thought you might lose your client if you lost?'

'But they weren't even playing yet. Nobody was going to lose that big. They were settling.'

'Maybe the client wasn't happy about the settlement terms. They'd go with this one because they had to, it had gone too far, whatever – but afterwards they fire the lawyer. Or he thinks they might.'

'So he kills the guy?' Abe shook his head. 'I just don't see it. It doesn't make any sense. Besides, this lawyer we're talking about, Dooher, he's managing partner of a big firm downtown. He's been at this all of his life. He's not going to kill a professional adversary over a case. Besides, they lose a case, they lose a client, it's not the end of the world. His firm's probably got a hundred clients.'

'Only probably? You didn't check?'

Glitsky had to smile. 'Yeah, Flo, in my free time I ran a D &B on them. Firms don't usually run on one client.'

Flo shrugged. 'Okay, so who then, if it's not money?'

'I know. I just hate to see a money motive go nowhere.'

She put the last dish into the dishwasher, closed it up, and came to stand in front of her husband, between his legs. She put her arms around him. They kissed.

'I remember that,' Glitsky said.

Flo nodded toward their bedroom. 'Race you.'

For a half-hour, he'd forgotten all about real life.

Then she was breathing regularly and he was back in it. The clock said 9:45. It was a school night – he had to get the boys down to bed. He had to move, but if he didn't, maybe it would all just stop right here, where he was, where they all were.

She shifted slightly. 'Abe?' Not sleeping after all. 'Find somebody else. Promise me that.'

There was a tremor, a tic, above his eye. The muscle of his jaw tightened. The scar through his lips went white with a surge of anger so sharp it grabbed his next breath.

'I don't want to talk about it.' He stood. 'It's time I got those kids to bed.'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Christina knew it had happened at the dinner on Saturday at Sam's… its aftermath.

On the drive back to her apartment, Joe going on and on. How could Christina think she knew Mark Dooher so well? What was with the two of them? Where did she get off, saying he was nothing like a bastard? And while they were at it, what was the real story behind her knowing about these retreats with Dooher and Farrell?

And she'd closed her eyes, too tired to fight him anymore, to explain, to care. The certainty had come in a flash – that Joe wasn't right for her, and all the rationalizing and wishing in the world wasn't going to change that.

He would never be right. She didn't love him.

There had been early admiration, then a desire born of curiosity, followed by a leap of faith. But the fact was that she didn't feel much about him one way or the other. Except when he started talking about /acts. And even then she didn't hate him – she just found him irritating and boring.