Glitsky put his jacket over his knees. ‘I think you might want to put your trip on hold,’ he said. ‘And maybe see about retaining a lawyer.’
He thought about taking her downtown now, but knew that he’d be asking for repercussions if he did. It was premature. He really had no evidence. It had been a week since the gun had been fired, and even the most sophisticated laser analysis wouldn’t show powder on the hands after that long. What May had told him was plausible, though pretty unlikely, and there was still plenty of legwork to try and verify her alibi or not, maybe neighbors hearing her walking around and so forth. If she agreed to put off going to Japan, there wasn’t any risk of imminent flight, and he didn’t really have any probable cause.
Plus, she being Oriental and he being half black, he didn’t want to give anybody any ammunition to be able to accuse him of hassling her on racial grounds. She had invited him, without a warrant, into her apartment. It was bad luck to arrest somebody under those conditions. Now if she took flight, it would be a different story.
But she was standing, too. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I understand.’
Glitsky was picking up his shoes. ‘Can you get a refund on that ticket? If you can’t, we may be able to help you.’
She shook her head. ‘They should refund it. God knows I paid full price, they should.’
So she’d bought the ticket recently, Abe thought. Probably since last Saturday. He hesitated. Strike two and a half. Tough call, but he was still an invited guest in her house, and she’d promised to stay around. He’d really prefer to have an indictment before he decided to arrest somebody on a murder charge.
He thought he’d bring his suspicions to Hardy and Hardy could decide whether they wanted to try to persuade the grand jury. But he doubted there was enough yet. Two and a half strikes didn’t make an out.
He said goodbye and she closed the door, gently, behind him.
Abe didn’t love himself for it, but it was too close and he thought with a little patience he would at least not have to worry over the weekend. He pulled his Plymouth away from the curb and made a point of turning west at the corner under the turret window. He drove three blocks, turning north again on Van Ness, left on Geary and back up to Union. He parked at the far end of May’s block on her side of the street.
Even with the windows down, in the shade, it was hot. Fortunately, he didn’t have long to wait.
A cab pulled up in front of the corner apartment building and honked its horn twice. Glitsky waited as May came out of the building. He let the driver load her suitcases into the trunk, let May get settled into the back seat before he pulled out into the street.
As the cab rounded the first corner, Abe turned on his red light and hit his siren. The cab, directly in front of him, pulled over immediately.
Abe came up to the window and flashed his badge. The driver asked what he’d done; Abe had him get out of the car, then asked him where this fare had asked to be taken.
‘Down the airport,’ he said. ‘Goin’ to Japan at eight o’clock.‘
Glitsky thanked the man, then opened the back door and looked in at May. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but I’m afraid you’re under arrest.’
17
It was after five, but yesterday Hardy had gone home early after the beach, so today he felt compelled to check in after his visit with Farris instead of going directly home from the field. He parked under the freeway and stopped for a moment to admire the huge hole in the ground that now, after a year of political struggle, was the beginning of the new county jail.
Like everything else in San Francisco government, the decision to build a larger county jail had been arrived at after a fair and wide-ranging debate of other uses to which the alloted money should, in a perfect world, be put. Although the electorate had approved the bond measure that would provide the funds, the board of supervisors had at first leaned toward using this money to buy electronic bracelets to keep track of prisoners – Hardy grinned involuntarily whenever the thought crossed his mind – and using the remainder for AIDS research. This enlightened plan was discussed by the mayor, the board and various agencies for eleven months. Finally, over the threatened resignations of both Police Chief Dan Rigby and County Sheriff Herbert Montoya, the jail had been approved.
Hardy gazed down into the hole as the last of the workmen were wrapping it up for the day. He had a vision of five gang members in an old Ford cruising out to one of the projects to shoot whoever might be standing around, each of them wearing a Captain Video wrist bracelet to keep him from committing crimes because, see, if the cops knew where you were at all times, then it would be the same as being in jail, wouldn’t it?
The first time he’d seen her she’d had mascara running down her face, hair witched out in shanks, so Hardy didn’t immediately recognize Celine Nash, who was coming out of the coroner’s office, on Hardy’s left, thirty feet in front of him.
The ashen hair – or was it blonde? – was thick and combed straight back, to just below her shoulders, looking like it had been professionally done about ten minutes before. She wore a peacock-blue leotard on top that disappeared into a pair of designer blue jeans, cinched at the waist with a red scarf. Watching the body approach him from the side, he was almost preternaturally aware of its substance, the solid thereness of a splendid female -the movement almost feline, the rock of hip and jounce of breast. He stopped breathing.
Then she turned toward him, and he recognized her.
‘Ms Nash?’ he said.
She was still ten feet away when she halted. Hardy introduced himself again, coming up to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘there’s been so many…’ She let it trail off. ‘Were you with the coroner?’
Hardy explained his connection, that he would be handling the case when it got to the district attorney. ‘I just got back from seeing Ken Farris. He told me you might be up here. He’s pretty broken up.’
‘I imagine he is.’ Her eyes were light blue, almost gray. He thought he might as well be invisible – the eyes looked past him, then came back to him, waiting.
‘I’m sorry about your father,’ he said, meaning it.
She nodded, without any time for him, or simply lost inside herself.
‘Well, I’m keeping you.’ He took a step and she touched the sleeve of his jacket, leaving her hand there, her eyes following an instant later.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s all this keeping up appearances.’
Her hand was like a brand on his lower arm – he felt it through the sleeve of his coat, a grip like steel. He caught her eyes, still distant; her face a mask. He wondered if she might be in some kind of shock.
‘Are you all right?’
She took a deep breath, then seemed to realize she had his arm. A flush began at the top of her leotard. She let go of Hardy and brought her hand to her neck, embarrassed. ‘It’s one of the main traumas, death of a parent,’ she said. ‘I guess I’m not prepared for it.’
‘I don’t think we get prepared for it,’ Hardy said. ‘That’s the point.’
‘I do things… I don’t know why.’ Letting go of her neck, she brought the palm of her hand down across her breasts. The flush was still on her chest. ‘Like I’m just going through motions, you know? Doing what has to be done, but all this other stuff is going on inside me.’
‘Would you like to take a break? Come up to the office? Go get a drink somewhere?’