for the regular PD, where he thought he'd have the inside track. His life goal was to become a homicide inspector, and he'd been thinking he was well on his way.
Until last Thursday, when he hadn't seen a damn thing, and of what he'd seen he noticed even less. Although he was the only real witness to any part of the crime, he'd been little enough help, no more than coffee gofer, when Wade Panos-the big boss himself!-had been at Silverman's Thursday night. Even worse, he had a sickening feeling that he'd let himself be manipulated when Roy had come by with the two real-life homicide inspectors. Because he'd so wanted to please them, to be important, he'd picked up the thread of their suspicions and let himself more or less volunteer Randy Wills and Clint Terry as suspects.
Creed had run into Randy Wills a few times in the Ark, but he didn't know him except to nod at. Terry, on the other hand, was a pretty good guy who, back when they'd still been clients in the beat, had often given Creed a free coffee or a Coke when he'd stopped in. In reality, he hadn't seen enough of the two forward runners in his chase last week to say for sure whether or not they were two-headed Martians. And as to the shooter? Sure, he'd seemed like a pretty good-size guy, but again, running away at seventy-five feet in the dark and wearing a heavy coat against the weather, he could have been anybody. Hell, he could have been a she.
But now Creed worried that he might have helped direct the homicide cops to some innocent people. More, because it had been so nonspecific, he didn't know how to undo what he might have done.
Suddenly, he found himself standing inside the Ark. It was Monday night, slow as death, two patrons at the bar, and the huge, really hulking form of Clint Terry stood behind it, right up by him, by the front door. Suddenly, forcefully, it struck him that the shooter surely couldn't have been that big. Creed would have retained that as a positive memory rather than a vague sense.
'Hey, Matt. Checking up on us? You cold?'
'It's not warm, Clint.'
'I've got some go-cups. You want one? Two sugars and cream, right?'
'That'd be good, thanks. Everything okay in here?'
'Good.' A pause. 'Roy was in here the other night with a couple of inspectors from homicide.'
'Yeah, they told me. The Silverman thing, huh?'
'That's what he said. I was working here, though, just at that time. You might remember.'
'I never crossed over, Clint. Never looked in. Sorry.'
'Yeah, well, it probably don't matter. The cops haven't been back, but listen, from now on, you want to poke your head in here when you pass, the coffee's on me.'
The cup did warm him up, but neither Clint's hospitality nor the steaming brew made him feel much better. By the time he got to Ellis, he'd pretty much decided he would have to talk to Russell and Cuneo, back off from his earlier stance. And this might be his opportunity now. The lights were on at Silverman's.
When abreast of the door, Creed saw an old man sitting on a chair by the counter, an old woman standing in the center aisle facing the shelves, writing on a clipboard. For a few seconds, he watched them. They appeared relaxed if somewhat subdued, and were having some kind of conversation between the woman's notes. When Creed knocked on the glass, it startled both of them, but then they noticed the uniform and the woman came to the door and unlocked it.
'Can I help you?' she asked. To Creed, she looked to be in her late sixties, early seventies. Her face was sharp-featured, birdlike under her wispy white hair. He would be surprised if she weighed more than a hundred pounds. But there wasn't anything frail or timid about her. Her eyes- no glasses-narrowed down critically at him.
'I was going to ask you the same thing,' Creed said.
'How would you be able to help me? You're with WGP, aren't you?' She peered closely at the name tag over his pocket. 'Well, Mr. Creed, I'm Sadie Silverman, Sam's wife. We're not with the beat anymore.'
'Yes, ma'am, I realize that. I just saw the light and…' He came to an end, shrugged.
Suddenly the man was up with both of them. He put a hand on Sadie's shoulder, pulled the door open, and motioned Creed inside. 'I'm Nat Glitsky,' he said, extending his hand. 'A friend of the family. We thought it would be smart to take an inventory. Were you here the night it happened?' He closed the door, threw the deadbolt.
'Yes, sir. I was the…' Again, he stopped. 'I discovered the body,' he said.
'Do you know if the police took anything?'
'No. I don't think so. From the shelves, you mean?'
'They haven't told me anything,' Sadie snapped. 'I can't get anybody to call me back. I just came down here with Nat and opened up myself.'
Nat laid a hand on the woman's arm. 'All they told Sadie was that Sam had been killed in a robbery attempt. Three men, apparently. Did you see them?'
Creed temporized. 'From a distance. One of them shot at me twice. I chased them but couldn't catch up.'
'So if you'd come by just a couple of minutes earlier…' Sadie let out a heavy breath. 'What about these robbers, these killers? Why did they pick here? Why was it Sam who…'
A small tremor began in her jaw, and Nat put an arm over her shoulders. 'It's all right, Sadie; it's all right.' He walked her back to the chair he'd been sitting in by the jewelry case, sat her down, then turned and came halfway back down the center aisle, to where Creed was now standing. 'It would be nice to know if anybody's interested in what happened here,' he said. 'That's all. Is anybody looking for who did this?'
'They're looking. The inspectors came by and interviewed me on Friday night.'
'And what did you tell them? What did you know?'
'Pretty much what I told you. Three guys. At least one of them with a gun. Mr. Panos thought they probably got away with Mr. Silverman's bank deposit. This old leather pouch he was supposed to be carrying.'
'That's what it was,' Sadie said. 'Thursday was his deposit night.'
'Who's Mr. Panos?' Nat asked.
'My boss,' Creed said.
Sadie had recovered enough to stand up again. 'He owns the security patrol we used to pay. But he raised his rates last summer and we had to drop it.'
But Nat wore a confused expression. 'Wait a minute. If this guy Panos didn't do security here anymore, why was he here on Thursday?'
'Because I was,' Creed said. 'The cops asked him the same question. Also, he and Sam knew each other.' He turned to Sadie. 'He was really upset about this, ma'am. He told the inspectors he'd give them any help he could, and I know he was working with them as of Friday'-he included Nat-'when they interviewed me.'
'How do you know that?' Nat asked.
'His brother, Roy-that's Mr. Panos's brother-was with them, interviewing suspects.'
'So they have suspects, after all?' Sadie asked.
Creed made a pained face. 'They were looking at a few guys who'd been at a poker game. Apparently one of them lost a lot of money the night before, and the thought was he might have come back to get it. Mr. Panos had given the inspectors a list of who'd been there, and that's where they started.'
A sharp rapping on the front door made them all turn. A dark, menacing hatchet face scowled through the glass, and Creed reached for his gun. Nat, though, put a hand on his arm, stopping him. 'It's my son,' he said.
'What are you doing here, Dad?' The intimidating black man took up a lot of room in the cramped aisle. He turned impatiently to Creed and held up a badge. 'I'm Glitsky, SFPD. Who are you?' 'I'm assistant patrol special Matt Creed, sir.'
But Glitsky had already whirled. 'Nat, you shouldn't be in the room. '
The old man was unbowed. 'Sadie wanted…' He stopped. 'We thought it would be a good idea to do an inventory. Nobody's gotten back to her, and she has the key, so we thought we'd let ourselves in, find out what they took. Find out something at least, Abraham, since nobody seems to want to tell us anything.'
'I got that much from your message.' Shaking his head disgustedly, Glitsky looked around. He walked to the entrance to the back room, glanced down at the brownish stain on the floor, then threw a cursory glance over the jewelry case. Then he was back at his father. 'I told you I'd talk to Gerson as soon as I could, Dad, find out what I could. He wasn't in today.'
He took a deep breath, focused on Sadie. 'Mrs. Silverman,' he said, 'I know it's very hard to wait to learn
