Marlene Ash sipped her iced tea. "I can't talk about it, Jeff. It's the grand jury, get it? I'm not even saying who I talked to. You want to think it was Ross, you go ahead."
"It was today, though, right? The grand jury still meets Tuesdays and Thursdays?"
Gina Roake joined in. "Anybody else here for repealing the First Amendment?" But the words were innocent banter, lightly delivered. "She can't talk about it, Jeff. Really. Even to an ace reporter like yourself."
"And far be it from me to try to make her." Elliot shook his head, truly amused at the games these lawyers played, and apparently even took seriously. He flashed a smile around the table. "However, for our own edification, Dr. Ross has a secretary, Joanne, who told me when I called that that's where he was. I don't think she's been let in on the top secret part."
"She talked to you," Roake asked incredulously, "after what you did to her boss last week?"
Elliot nodded soberly. "She might have gotten the impression that I called to apologize or something."
As Freeman and Jackman fell into a more serious discussion about last week's issue-the possibly fraudulent outpatient billings-Hardy leaned over and spoke quietly to Elliot. "How'd you hear about Sinustop?"
"Same way I found out Ross was at the grand jury. I'm a reporter. I ask. You'd be surprised. People talk."
"Not as surprised as you'd think. I've talked to a few people myself. Have you found anything on Kensing's list?"
Elliot gave the high sign and stopped as Lou came around and described today's special, which involved eggplant, tofu, squid, and some kind of sesame oil-based sweet-and-sour sauce. Really good, he promised, maybe even a culinary breakthrough, although those weren't the exact words he used.
When they'd all ordered the special, since there was no other choice, Lou moved to another table, and the buzz resumed at Jackman's. Elliot leaned back toward Hardy. "But about those unexplained deaths? I know one thing is true. It's a definite rumor."
Hardy's face fell. Was Jeff ahead of him on checking out the names on Kensing's list? Maybe he'd discovered that eight of the others had died, like James Lector, of natural causes. "What do you mean?" Hardy asked.
"I said that wrong, I think. Calm down." Elliot put a hand on Hardy's sleeve. "I don't mean it's only a rumor, as in there's no truth to it. What I mean is it's a rumor, a lot of people are talking about it. If I could find a few more items like that, I'd like to patch them all together and get another column, but there's no story there yet. I've talked to some people at Portola, but nobody has even one small factoid. It sucks."
"What about our friend Ross?"
A shrug. "I did him already, you might recall. And after that, it's pretty much a one-note samba. Ross and Mother Teresa don't share a common worldview, but other than the fact that he's greedy, heartless, and rich, I can't seem to get another column inch out of it."
"I may have something for you. Pay attention."
Hardy then directed his attention across the table. "John." He raised his voice so Strout could hear him. "I almost forgot."
He took an envelope from his pocket and passed it across. "Do me a favor. Next time I give ten-to-one odds on anything, remind me about this one."
As Hardy had intended, this little show engaged everyone's interest. He'd originally planned the move as a way to make his case indirectly to Glitsky. If he could draw the group into a discussion on the Lector autopsy without having to labor over it, Abe might come to see that Hardy's position wasn't entirely self-serving, that it wasn't a lawyer's cheap smoke screen, either, that the idea had merit on its own and had been worth pursuing. Now, though, he realized that he could make a similar impression on Treya and trust that it would get back to Abe through her. For the truth remained-if he couldn't get Glitsky working on his side, he would almost certainly never completely clear his client's name.
Also, though still raw with anger, he wasn't inclined to lose his best friend over his job. He already had sacrificed enough to his career.
To the chorus of questions, Hardy replied that it was merely the payment of a debt of honor. "I felt strongly that James Lector had been killed at Portola, as Tim Markham had been, although maybe not in the exact same way. And I put my money where my mouth was."
Jackman and Freeman disagreed as to whether this was noble or idiotic, but the discussion did give Hardy the opportunity to segue into Wes Farrell's situation with Mrs. Loring, which had been his other intention all along.
Elliot, he noticed, started taking notes.
But Jackman wasn't letting Hardy off without some kind of a warning. They were standing on the corner of Seventh and Bryant just after lunch, waiting for the light. Jackman had held Hardy back under the guise of telling him an off-color joke about Arkansas vasectomies. These were quite common, it seemed, and involved a can of beer, a cherry bomb, and the inability to count to ten without using your fingers. When Hardy finished laughing, he found that they'd hung back enough now to be alone at the curb. Jackman was good with jokes because he never laughed at his own punch lines. No part of him was laughing now. "I did want to make one serious point, Diz, if you can spare another minute."
The switch in tone was abrupt enough to be surprising, and Hardy's expression showed it. "All right," he said. "Of course."
"Due to the nature of our deal, I've been working under an assumption that I've taken to be true, but-Marlene mentioned this to me last night, just before I decided to okay your request for John's second autopsy-"
"That wasn't me, sir. That was Wes Farrell. It's his client."
"Diz." The voice was deep, nearly caressing. Avuncular, Jackman laid a hand that seemed to weigh about thirty pounds on Hardy's shoulder. "Let's not go there."
Hardy thought these were as impressive and effective a few syllables as he'd ever heard. "Sorry," he said, and he meant it.
"As I was saying"-Jackman's hand was back in his pocket, they were strolling now in the crosswalk-"I've been working under the assumption that we are sharing our information. We're giving you our discovery, and you in turn are giving us your client's cooperation before the grand jury when he gets there. But beyond that, I would hope you're also giving us-giving Abe, specifically-whatever information you uncover that doesn't implicate your client."
They walked a few steps in silence. Hardy finally spoke. "He's not been in much of a listening mood lately."
"I realize that, but I'd appreciate it if you'd keep trying."
"That's been my intention. But the deal was that my client would talk to the grand jury, not a bunch of cops in a small room with a videotape machine."
"I take your point. But Abe seems to be skating toward the erroneous conclusion that somehow we're all conniving to circumvent due process." They'd reached the steps of the Hall of Justice and stopped walking. Jackman was frowning deeply. "I'm extremely sensitive to this issue. To even the appearance of it."
"Has Abe actually said that?"
"No. But he doesn't like being ordered not to arrest someone."
"With respect, Clarence, that's nothing like what you did. You admitted when we cut the deal that you probably didn't have enough for a conviction, even with the so-called confession. And now he doesn't even have that."
"Which, I need hardly point out, is the latest complaint."
Hardy nodded. "He's in a complaining mood, Clarence. He thinks I saw the opportunity for emotional blackmail and took it. Which, I need hardly point out, kind of pisses me off. I didn't and wouldn't do that, and Abe of all people ought to know it."
"Well, one of you big boys is going to have to find a way to settle your differences. And meanwhile, Marlene would probably like to be kept informed of what you've discovered, whether it comes through Abe or not. You've obviously got a few things going on. These autopsies, for example. And as an aside, let me say that as a courtesy, and in keeping with our spirit of mutual cooperation, it might have been appropriate to call them to our attention a bit sooner." He waved off Hardy's apology before it began. "It doesn't matter. That's water under the bridge. But don't forget that I've gone out on a limb here, especially with the chief of homicide, on this call to let Strout go ahead. I'm hoping these…unusual exercises have a point, that your client isn't going to do something stupid, or go sideways and refuse to talk at the grand jury. That would make me feel foolish."