"That's about right. Maybe a little less."
Another thought occurred. "Ross went in, too? Why was that?"
"I don't know," Bracco said.
"But he's a doctor, you know," Fisk added. "He's got the run of the place. He was in there with Kensing right after they got him up from OR."
After a moment of silence, Glitsky finally nodded. "Okay. That it?"
Bracco flipped a page or two, then lifted his head and looked across at Glitsky and Treya. He brought his head back up and nodded. "For today, sir." Then he added, "I'm sorry we interrupted your night for you."
"Don't be silly," Treya said quickly, standing up. Then wagged a finger at them, joking. "Just don't do it again."
Glitsky took her lead and was on his feet. "Working late's part of the job." He had meant it sincerely as a simple statement of fact, but as soon as the words were out, he realized from Fisk's expression he took it as another Glitsky reminder of his failings as a cop.
Which wasn't fair. These two inexperienced inspectors had finally done some investigative work. They'd stayed late to make their report to him. They were trying hard. They had worked a long day. Glitsky knew that a kind word to them wouldn't kill him. He tried to put some enthusiasm into his voice. "That's a good day's work, guys. Really. Keep at it," he said. "One thing, though. Tomorrow morning, make sure you get your tapes into transcription ASAP. I want to get all this into the record."
The two men froze, threw a concerned glance at each other.
Glitsky read it right. "You did tape all these interviews, didn't you?"
Hardy remembered to buy the flowers. Beautiful bouquets, too, both of them. Baby pink roses for his daughter, the Spring Extravaganza for his wife. They were next to him on the passenger seat of his car even as he drove around looking for a parking place in his neighborhood. He didn't think there was much chance that Frannie and the Beck would appreciate them much just now, since they were probably both asleep.
It was ten minutes until midnight.
He'd left Strout's office in high spirits. The warm night, the fragrant air, a true sense of accomplishment. He'd cut a great deal for his client with Jackman, convinced the medical examiner to autopsy James Lector as soon as he cleared the way for it with his family. He called Frannie on his cell phone and told her he didn't think that would take more than an hour, and then he'd be home. Maybe on the way he could also pick up some fresh salmon and they'd have the first barbecue of the season.
And back at his office the good luck had held. Lector's death notice was in yesterday's Chronicle, and it named the next of kin, who were listed in the phone book. Hardy called the eldest son, Clark, reached him at his home on Arguello, halfway out to Hardy's own. He made an appointment for when he got there. Perhaps most astoundingly, he only had one message on his answering machine-Pico with the sad news that Francis the shark finally hadn't made it. He just thought Hardy would want to know.
But even Pico's disappointing news couldn't bring him down. In fact, he was half tempted to call him back at the Steinhart and invite him and his family over at the last minute for the salmon barbecue, cheer them all right up. Then he remembered that he'd done pretty much the same thing with Moses and Susan the night before, and he reconsidered. Maybe it should just be his family, together, for tonight.
But after the first half hour with Clark and Patti Lector, and James's widow, Ellen, he called Frannie again and told her he was sorry, but it might be a while. The Lectors were not in favor of an autopsy. It was going to be a long, hard sell. He'd try to get home as soon as he could, but she might want to go ahead with the kids and not wait on him for dinner. There was no anger, not even real disappointment in her voice when she'd told him it was all right. The only thing he thought he discerned was a bone weariness, and in some ways that bothered him more than if she'd thrown a fit.
He finally found a parking spot three long blocks from his house. Bedraggled bouquets in hand, he undid the latch on his picket fence, closed it back behind him, then in five steps crossed the walk that bisected his tiny front lawn. At long last, he'd succeeded in getting the Lectors' permission, but only after tomorrow's service, which would not end with Mr. Lector's body in the ground at the family's burial plot in Colma, but rather on John Strout's metal table at the morgue.
Dragging himself up his front steps, he vowed that he had had enough of this getting home at all hours. He had to change something, not just for himself, but for his children, his wife, his marriage.
Of course, no light shone anywhere. He let himself in quietly, although the wood had swollen with the warm weather, and he had to push the door to get it closed. Tomorrow, he thought, he'd fix that-plane it true. Working with wood was something he'd once been good at, even passionate about. Then maybe he'd do some more household chores. Spring cleaning. They could open all the windows and let the air blow out the last of the winter's must, maybe put on some old Beach Boys, or the Eagles, and turn it up loud, get that peaceful easy feelin' going while they all worked together putting the house into summertime shape. Unplug all the telephones.
Flicking on the hall light, he stepped into the living room and dropped the flowers into his reading chair. Frannie's note was under one of the elephants on his mantel, just where she knew he'd see it when he got in.
"Dismas. Decided to take the kids to Monterey for the weekend. Back late Sunday afternoon. Fran."
No "dear," no "love," not even "Frannie."
He crumpled the note in one hand, leaned against the mantel with the other. His head dropped as though he'd been struck.
20
By 8:00 the next morning, Hardy was on the road.
He didn't know in which of the dozens if not hundreds of hotels and motels they'd be staying, but if Frannie and the kids were in Monterey, he considered it a dead lock that they'd hit the aquarium first.
The place wouldn't open for another fifteen minutes, but already a long line of visitors stretched up the hill from the entrance. He started there, got to the end, then found a low wall across the street on which he could sit, keeping an eye on the line as it grew while he waited.
He'd seen no coastal fog as he'd driven down Highway 1, and there was no sign of any now. Normally Monterey was as fog-bound as San Francisco, but clearly it was going to be a postcard day-soon he wouldn't even need the light jacket he was wearing.
They came around the corner two blocks uphill. The kids were in the midst of some of their typical goofiness-even from this distance, Vincent's giggle carried down to him, then Rebecca's scream as she lunged back at him. Frannie walked a few steps behind them, head down, tolerant or uninvolved, her hands shoved into the pockets of a Stanford sweatshirt. She was in shorts and running shoes, and with her long red hair down and loose, she could have easily passed for the other kids' older sister, maybe eighteen or twenty years old.
Hardy stood up by his low wall, continuing to watch their approach. The kids were playing like puppies, poking at each other, tickling and laughing. This silliness often if not always drove Hardy crazy at home, especially in the past few months. Suddenly, at this remove, he could view it a little more objectively. His children were doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing. They were good kids suddenly on a surprise vacation, and they were having a great, appropriate, carefree, and healthy time with each other.
What, Hardy wondered, was his problem that he couldn't enjoy them more?
Now Rebecca had her arm around Vincent's shoulder-they were almost exactly the same height. Suddenly Frannie skipped a couple of quick steps downhill and caught up with them with a joyous yell, a tickling goose under each of their ribs. "Gotcha!" More screams, more laughing, the kids turning back on their mother now, darting in and out of her reach while she parried and thrusted to keep them away. Hardy almost couldn't imagine the level of pure fun they all seemed to be having.