Guilt

Hanging up with exaggerated care, Dooher sat immobile on the kitchen stool.

Farrell, that ne'er-do-well busybody. Doesn't he know better by now – he ought to – than to go head up against Mark Dooher? If it came to a fight, Mark would destroy him. He always had, always would.

Christina hadn't been lying to Farrell and Glitsky – she didn't know what she was going to do. The only certainty was that she had to get away from Mark. She had to protect the baby.

She would stay near her doctor, Jess Yamagi. If he delivered the baby, it would be fine. It was about all she was sure of anymore.

She had checked into a motel room on 19th Avenue near Golden Gate Park, not far from the hospital. A kind of exhausted clarity had kicked in. She was too pregnant to get to her parents' house anyway, to do any real traveling at all. With the stress, she'd had contractions on and off throughout the day.

The thought of having to face her parents with another failure was almost worse than the failure itself. She would have to call them eventually to let them know, downplaying it at first to get them used to the idea, but it was going to be awful. It would have to be done, she knew that – but later.

She realized she didn't have any important phone numbers. The Duncan/ Farrell home was unlisted. She had to call information for Farrell's number and left a message with him. The Crisis Center was also closed up for the night. She didn't leave a message.

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

CHAPTER FOURTY EIGHT

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.'