"More than I want to know about what 'zip' stands for? I can't believe that."
"This dinner tonight at Abe's? He asked me what kind of champagne to buy."
"Abe's drinking champagne?"
"I got the impression he intended to."
"Wow. Not sarcastic," she added. "When's the last time you saw him drink anything with alcohol in it?"
"Somewhere far back in the mists of time. Certainly not in the past few years."
"So what's the occasion?"
"I don't know. But it's got to be a good one."
Hardy found a spot to park within a block of Glitsky's house, and figuring he'd won the lottery, pulled his convertible to the curb. Setting the brake, he brought the top back up, turned off the engine and reached for the door handle. Frannie put a hand on his leg and said, "Do you mind if we just sit here a minute?"
He stopped and looked questioningly over at her. "Whatever you want." He took her hand. "Is everything all right?"
"That's what I wanted to ask you." "If everything was all right with me?"
"Yes."
"You mean with us?" "Us. You. Everything."
He stared for a moment out through the windshield. He squeezed her hand, turned toward her. "Look at us right now. Look at where we are. It's a good place."
"Not if you're unhappy in it."
"I'm not unhappy. I wouldn't trade this, what I've got with you, for anything. What's got you thinking this?"
"It just seems you've been… distant, especially since the trial, now that you've stopped seeing her every day."
He said nothing.
"It makes me wonder if what we have isn't enough for you."
"Enough what?"
"Enough anything. Excitement, maybe. Fun. It's all kid stuff and routines and bickering sometimes."
"And you think Catherine was more fun? That it was fun at all?"
"You want me to be honest? I think you loved every minute you spent with her."
This was close to the bone. Hardy chose his words with some care. "That's not the same as wanting to be with her now. It seems to me that the way this marriage thing works is you keep making a choice to be in it every day."
"Even if it makes you unhappy?"
"But it doesn't make me unhappy, not at all. To the contrary, in fact. And here's an unfashionable thought: Unhappiness is a choice. And it's one I don't choose to make." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "What I want is what we've already got. But I guess I'm not communicating that too well, am I? For which I apologize. Really. Maybe you ought to leave me for making you worry."
"I would never leave you. I don't even think about it."
"Well, you know, I never think about leaving you. Ever. We're together, period. The topic's not open for discussion. We've got our family and our life together, and nobody has as much fun together as we do ninety-nine percent of the time. I wouldn't trade it for anything."
A silence gathered in the closed-in space and finally Frannie sighed. "I'm sorry I need reassurance once in a while."
"That's acceptable. I'm sorry if I've been distant."
"I'm sorry you're sorry." She squeezed his hand. "Between us, we are two sorry campers, aren't we?"
"Apparently." He caught her eye, broke a trace of a grin. "Two sorry campers on their way to break bread with People Not Laughing."
"Sounds like a good time. Should we go on up?"
As one, they opened the doors of the car and stepped out into the warm evening. The neighborhood in early dusk smelled of orange blossoms, coffee and the ocean.
People Not Laughing was in his kitchen with a cold bottle of Dom Perignon held awkwardly in his hands. He'd already struggled first with the foil wrapper, then with the wire, and now he was looking at the cork as though it was one of life's profound mysteries.
"Don't point it at your face!" Hardy said. "They've been known to just blow off and take out the random eyeball."
"He's not used to this," Treya said, somewhat unnecessarily.
"So how do you get it off?" Glitsky asked.
Hardy reached for the bottle. "Why don't you just let a professional handle it? My partner will attend the window."
"The window?"
Frannie bowed graciously, crossed to the window over the sink and threw it open. Hardy turned to face the opening. "Now, one carefully turns the bottle, not the cork, and…" With a satisfying pop, the cork flew out the window into the warm evening. "Voila."
And then the glasses were poured and the four adults stood together in the tiny kitchen. "If I might ask," Hardy said, "what's the occasion? Frannie's guess is you're pregnant again."
Glitsky let out a mock scream.
"Read that as a no," Treya said simply. "But I'll propose the toast, okay? Here's to former homicide inspector Dan Cuneo. May his new position bring him happiness and success."
Hardy looked at Glitsky. "What new position?"
"He just got named head ofsecurity for Bayshore Auto-tow. Marcel called me this morning and thought I'd want to know. Cuneo's out of the department with a big raise and great benefits."
"How did that happen?" Hardy asked.
"Well, you might not be surprised to hear that his stock in homicide fell a bit after Hanover, Diz. He felt that people were starting to look over his shoulder when he picked up new cases. They even made him take a new partner whose main job seemed to be to keep him in line. I guess he saw the writing on the wall."
"Yeah, but I'd heard he was up for the Tow/Hold gig way back when, not Bayshore."
"Right, but it's the same job. If he's qualified for one, he can do it for anybody."
"It's the qualified thing I'm thinking about. If he was known to be in such low standing in homicide…"
Glitsky's face was a mask. "I heard Harlan Fisk might have put in a good word to Bayshore on his behalf."
"But Harlan…"
"Kathy West's nephew Harlan, remember." "Okay, but why would he…?" Hardy asked. Treya jumped in. "You can't blame Cuneo for wanting out of homicide. They obviously didn't want him anymore. Now this new job gets him off the force and everybody's happy."
"So it's over," Hardy said.
Glitsky nodded. "He was essentially through when you finished with him in court, Diz. But now he's not just through. He's really, truly gone."
"That really does call for a toast," Frannie said.
But Hardy had a last question. "I'm just wondering how it happened. I can see Kathy passing the information along to Harlan, but how would she have heard about an opening like that?"
A glint showed in Glitsky's eyes. He shrugged with an exaggerated nonchalance. "Somebody must have told her," he said. Without further ado, he raised his glass. "Well, dear and true friends, here's to life. L'chaim!"
Acknowledgments
This book was born in fire.
I knew it would begin with a blaze in a San Francisco residence. I also knew next to nothing about the workings of fire departments or arson inspectors. So I asked my friend Josh Marone, a Santa Rosa fireman, if he could introduce me to some of his colleagues, which he was kind enough to do-thank you, Josh, for getting the ball rolling. Also in Santa Rosa, thanks to Paul Lowenthal and to Mark Pedroia, senior fire inspector, and especially to Charles J. Hanley, division chief, Santa Rosa Fire Department. Chas in turn introduced me to Thomas A. Siragusa, assistant deputy chief, San Francisco Fire Department; and Brendan O'Leary, fire investigator, Arson Task Force, San Francisco Fire Department. Thanks to all of these gentlemen for the fun and informative sessions.
Other technical advice came from forensic odontolo-gist James Wood, DDS; from Curtis Ripley, for the critical ceramics instruction that too many of us neglect; on banking matters, from Kelly Binger and John DiMichele of Yolo Community Bank in Woodland, California; on general legal and other really cool stuff, from Peter J. Diedrich. Additionally, Peter S. Dietrich, MD, MPH, provided some very fine libations over the course of the past year and still found the time and energy to correct medical errors in the first draft. Thank you to one and all. If any of the technical details in this book are wrong, it's entirely the fault of the author.