McGuire swore violently, pulled himself away, banging his head against the passenger window, dropping his Scotch. His face was a mask of terror. Hardy was startled too, slamming on the brakes, tires squealing. He swerved right. 'Jesus, Abe…!'
But, quick as he'd come forward, Glitsky was leaning back into his seat, getting comfortable, replacing the gun in his shoulder holster. In the rearview, Hardy saw the scar burning white in his lips. Glitsky was actually smiling enough to show a few teeth, which was almost unheard of. 'Acting,' he said, nodding. 'I think I could do that. I had you guys for a minute there, didn't I?'
The rest of the way downtown, McGuire didn't say a word.
Parking on a normal day was bad enough, but Elaine's memorial service drew a substantial crowd. Hardy couldn't find anyplace within five blocks. Since Grace Cathedral is at the summit of Nob Hill, they had a long walk, all of it steeply up. When they rounded the last corner and came in sight of the church's steps, they stopped, and McGuire took the opportunity to tell them he wanted to go inside early, make sure he got a spot where he could see his wife.
Glitsky and Hardy hung back. Hardy didn't think it was because they needed to catch their breaths. 'That was a nice little moment back there. Subtle. Though I did almost crash the car.'
'I knew you wouldn't. I wasn't worried about it.' Glitsky's mouth lifted a quarter inch.
'Well,' Hardy said, 'that made one of us.' Hardy felt as though he wanted to say a little more about it, but realized that the subject had been thoroughly covered. All issues resolved, messages delivered.
They stood together awhile in silence. Glitsky got out his sunglasses again. Put them on, perhaps against the glare of all the people he recognized from his work. Police brass were showing up in significant numbers.
'You sure you want to do this?' Hardy asked.
There was no trace of a smile now. 'I've got to do this.'
This was what he'd told Hardy over the weekend. He hadn't been there for his daughter's birth, or in her life. He was damn well going to be here for this. And this was the only reason Hardy had decided to come – moral support for his pal, who in the wake of recent events could certainly use some. Now, though, catching some sense of the mood of the place, Hardy wondered if it would turn out to be a good idea after all. 'Yeah, but you don't have to be seen here with me.'
Glitsky shrugged.
'I mean, you and me together…'
'I know what you mean,' he said. 'I'll try to keep my hands off you, I promise.'
There was no impetus to move inside. In the open area by the cathedral's main entrance, people continued arriving on foot, got let out of cars and taxis. Singles, couples, small groups. It was twenty minutes until the service was scheduled to begin and already the forecourt was packed.
A snatch of narration carried from somewhere. '… expecting close to five hundred mourners from every walk of the city's public life, this charismatic young woman's tragic death has fired the imaginations of…'
It being San Francisco, of course there were already several groups of demonstrators hanging around – any excuse for a party. They were just starting to get organized. On the periphery of the crowd, Hardy could see placards for and against the death penalty. In the park across the street, he could make out where earnest groups had set up tables giving out literature on drug abuse awareness programs, the Nation of Islam, homeless advocates, gun control lobbyists and their opponents.
A mime, dressed as a World War I doughboy, had sprayed himself head to toe in bronze paint and gotten himself up on the pillar by the cathedral's door. He didn't move a muscle, a living statue with his rifle trained down on the crowd.
Three of the local news vans had scored some primo reserved parking nearby, and teams with their reporters and cameras were unloading and shooting, getting some B-roll local color.
A limo slowly pulled up through the congestion and stopped behind several others. As the mayor emerged from behind the tinted windows, one of the news crews recognized him and yelled something about it. Around Hardy and Glitsky, the crowd seemed to become more dense, pressing into itself. It no longer seemed cold.
'Lieutenant?'
Glitsky turned around, nodding matter-of-factly. 'How you doing, Ridley?'
The young cop shifted uncomfortably. 'Not too good, I guess.' Tongue-tied.
It wasn't much Glitsky's nature to give anything away, but he'd considered himself in some ways the boy's mentor in the years since he'd come up to homicide, so he cut him some slack, making conversation, indicating Hardy. 'You know my friend?'
Banks said sure, nodded again, didn't offer a handshake, though. He kept his attention on Abe. 'I thought you'd be here,' he said awkwardly.
'Looks like you were right.' Glitsky could throw him a bone, but he wasn't about to spoon-feed him. If Ridley wanted to say something, he'd have to figure out how.
It took him a minute. 'The thing is,' he began, 'OK, I'm not blaming anybody else. It was completely my fault, but you should know that Torrey sandbagged me.'
No response. None.
The sergeant continued. 'When the arraignment got over, we were standing around outside in the hallway afterward, you know, talking about it, all of us pretty pissed off, mostly at… uh…' He made a gesture.
'Let me guess,' Hardy put in. 'That would have been me.'
Banks seemed grateful for the help. 'Yeah. So anyway… I knew you had problems with the tape, I knew you and Hardy here, you went back. So Torrey is all bitching and moaning about how'd Hardy know so much about everything so soon. And I just blurted out that I wouldn't be surprised if you showed him the tape.'
'Sometimes blurting out is a strategic error.'
Banks looked directly at Hardy. 'Yeah, but in court you made it pretty clear you'd seen it.' Back to Glitsky. 'Torrey didn't seem to remember that, but I did. So I figured it had to be you, Abe.'
Glitsky finally was moved to speak. 'Deduction's a great tool.' It didn't come out as a compliment.
Ridley kept on. 'But I didn't think he'd… I mean, I didn't know it was going to go this way. That wasn't why I brought up the tape, to get at you. I know we disagreed about it, you and me, and I didn't want you to think… What it was, was we were just all talking, wondering out loud, and I guess I got caught up in it…' The rambling narrative wound down. Ridley looked as though he'd been having a miserable few days worrying about all this.
Glitsky couldn't say that the boy's malaise bothered him too much – maybe Ridley would pick up a useful lesson about politics that would serve him well in his dotage. But in the here and now, the sergeant had messed up his lieutenant's life pretty good. Now he was saying he hadn't meant to do it. Which helped exactly zero. Glitsky removed his sunglasses and folded his arms over his chest. His voice, when he spoke, had a resigned quality to it, the anger all leached out. 'Well, I guess we both got caught up in it then, didn't we, Rid?'
After a moment, Banks realized that this was about all he was going to get from Glitsky in the way of absolution. He took in a breath, let it out heavily. 'So what are you going to do now?'
'I'm waiting until somebody in Rigby's office decides something.' A shrug, a glance at Hardy. 'Meanwhile, I'm exploring some other career opportunities.'
'He's thinking of opening a chop house.' Hardy, poker-faced.
'Not really?' Banks asked.
'It could happen,' Glitsky replied, equally deadpan. 'You never know.'
The church bells began to peal, cutting off the riff. It was a quarter to ten, still fifteen minutes until the service, but at the signal, the crowd shifted, began to move.
Ridley wasn't ready for that, yet. He still wanted some more resolution. 'Anyway, Abe, listen, if there's anything I can do…'