Both of the televisions over the bar at Lou's had been carrying nothing else for the past several hours, while the pros and cons of the original police strategy had fueled an endless and passionate debate among the clientele.
By the time it had gotten dark, Amy had had six vodka martinis and was ready to go home and get some sleep. But an aggressively clever young defense attorney named Barry had outlasted the other hopefuls around her, and now he had his arm around her as they negotiated the doors and came out into the suddenly full-dark night.
At the top of the stairs, Barry turned to her and she found herself being kissed. Then they were walking together down the alley that ran alongside Lou's. She had herself tucked inside the jacket of his suit against the chill. She'd already told him she didn't think she should drive, but he said he was sober enough and could drive them both.
He was parked where she had parked. Where every visitor to the Hall parked. In the All-Day just up at the end of the alley.
The lot was one block wide, bounded by three-story buildings on both sides, closing the place in. Every spot, alley to alley, was filled during business hours every day. Now the place held only three cars- Amy's by the near building, and then Barry's car and another one parked in adjacent spaces on the far side. One light, burning from high on a pole by the deserted pay station, cast its pool over the area, leaving the borders in deep shadow.
When they got to his car, Barry opened the door for her and she lowered herself, taking care lest she collapse into the seat. As they backed out, the car's headlights raked the building in front of them, then washed over the car in the adjacent parking space.
Following the beam through heavy-lidded eyes, Amy sat up abruptly. "Wait a minute. Stop!"
"What?" Barry slammed on the brakes.
Before the car had fully stopped, Amy opened the door. She was halfway out, staggering. She fell once, cut her knees, then got up and moved forward again.
"What are you doing?" Barry, still in the car, called from behind her.
She turned and pointed. "Get your lights next to that car, over by the wall." She kept moving over toward a dark amorphous mound on the pavement up against the building. As the headlights hit it, its shape became obvious.
Barry came running up next to her. "Jesus Christ!"
The body was dressed in a business suit under a trenchcoat. It lay skewed on its side, the face visible now in the headlights. A dark pool had formed under the head, but Amy wasn't able to pay any attention to other details. She stood transfixed, unable to tear her eyes from the awful, vacant stare of the victim.
The dead man was Allan Boscacci.
PART TWO
12
Excuse me, are you a Mr. Hardy?"
It was all he could do to remain polite with the sweet young waitress. It was Date Night and he was out with his wife, having the world's best chicken at the Zuni Cafe. Everyone in his world orbit knew that Wednesday night with Frannie was the one time he was absolutely not to be disturbed. To further that end, he had taken to leaving his cellphone and pager at home. He put down his fork mid-bite, used his napkin, nodded and forced a polite smile. "I have that distinction," he said.
"You have a telephone call."
Frannie, thinking the same thought as Hardy- that it must be one of the kids and if they were interrupting Date Night it was a true emergency- was halfway out of her chair when the waitress added, "An Amy Wu."
Glitsky, in his uniform and on his way to the ring of police cars in the lot, stopped in his tracks, changed directions and walked over to a subdued group who stood in a knot under the pool of light from the pole lamp by the pay booth. He nodded all around, said to Hardy and Frannie, "What are you two doing here?"
Hardy motioned to the circle that was now crawling with police. "They asked us not to leave until they'd talked to us. We're waiting." He half-turned. "You remember my associate, Amy Wu." Hardy paused, came out with it. "She discovered the body."
Wu came forward, still a bit unsteady, and gave Glitsky her hand. "Good to see you again, sir."
Glitsky held onto her hand, squinted down into her face. "Have you been drinking?"
"Yes, sir," she said. "A few down at Lou the Greek's. Barry and I. But we're fine now."
The other man came forward, introduced himself- Barry Hess- said he was who'd called 911. Glitsky took that in, stepped toward the crowd by the body, stopped again. "Anybody get statements from you two yet?" he asked both Hess and Wu. As the people who'd discovered the body, both could probably look forward to a long night in a small interrogation room.
"No, sir," Hess replied.
"I'll try to get somebody over here soon," Glitsky said. Then he closed in on Frannie. "I can see your husband, who lives for parties like this one, but why are you here?"
She forced a weak smile. "It started out as Date Night."
"Right. Of course. Great timing," Glitsky said. "You okay?"
Frannie nodded. "But maybe we'd be more comfortable in a car with the heat on."
Glitsky tossed his head toward Hardy's car. "Go on ahead. I'll send somebody over."
After Wu's short interview at the scene with Sergeant Belou- she had promised to come and give a better, more coherent statement at the Hall tomorrow- she didn't want to be with Barry anymore. It was obvious to Frannie that, badly shaken by the murder, and still very drunk, she didn't want to go home alone, either, so she asked Wu to come and stay with them at their house tonight. Then Dismas could take her down here tomorrow, where she could do any more business that needed to be done at the Hall, pick up her car.
Wu passed out on the drive home. They had to wake her up to let her off at the house with Frannie while Hardy drove around the neighborhood- a constant ritual- and tried to find a parking place. By the time he got back to the house, she was asleep again on the fold-out bed in the family room behind the kitchen.
Hardy couldn't sleep. Sometime well after midnight, he swung quietly out of bed, pulled on a pair of drawstring gray sweatpants and went downstairs.
A bulb over the stove threw out about fifteen watts in the otherwise dark room, and Hardy opened the refrigerator and stared into it. What he craved was some alcohol, get his brain to stop its endless looping. Today there'd been the long nap in the afternoon, no wine with lunch, an interrupted dinner. The drunken condition of Amy Wu, passed out on the fold-a-bed, and Frannie's lack of interest in a nightcap, had somehow constrained him from a drink when they'd gotten home.
Nightcap. A harmless little old nightcap.
Maybe he'd have it now- a couple of fingers of gin and peppermint schnapps over crushed ice. It would help him sleep, finally. And God knew he had to get some sleep if he was going to be any good at work tomorrow. Sleep had to be the first priority. If he had one short one now, the only effect would be sleep. He'd wake up refreshed, strong for whatever challenges the day might bring.
And with Boscacci's murder, there would be lots of them.
But something kept him from opening the freezer, from reaching for the crushed ice.
They kept a three-legged stool in the kitchen because Frannie needed it to reach the higher shelves, and suddenly, the refrigerator still open, Hardy found himself sitting on it, leaning over, elbows on his knees.
In the dimness- stove light, refrigerator light- he turned his hands over, looked at his palms. There was no shake. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head, sighed audibly.