decided, albeit before Silverman had been shot, that no matter what came up-and there would always be something that came up-he was going to keep the appointment. Mental health.
To quell the voice of his conscience before it could change his mind, he called his partner on Saturday morning and gave him the news that he was calling in sick Monday. Russell, who lived in Sunnyvale, forty-five miles south of San Francisco, took this as an opportunity to make plans to go fishing on the Bay. He had three unused sick days in his bank, and like every other city employee he knew except Cuneo, he believed that it was bad luck to let too many of them pile up. So on Monday he went fishing.
This morning, Tuesday, after three days out of the office, both inspectors had enormous amounts of busywork waiting for them when they checked in at a little after 7:45-a couple of dozen phone calls for each to return, transcripts of the tapes of witness interviews to proofread for accuracy-and they stayed at their desks for three and a half hours before breaking for lunch, which took up most of an hour at the McDonald's next to the Hall.
At one, they had to be out at the Academy for a mandatory, previously scheduled four-hour sensitivity training class. Every cop in San Francisco made fun of these attempts to create social workers out of law enforcers. But if you didn't go, your pay got docked.
Today's topic had been transgender issues, timely and relevant because the city had recently decided to extend the insurance of city workers to cover sex-change operations. This change in policy also brought to light some sensitivity shortcomings among city service personnel. Especially the police, who needed guidelines on how to refer to those of questionable gender during the arrest and booking process. The critical element was the person's self-definition-if someone defined herself as a transsexual, officers should refer to her as a female; if she possessed a penis, however, she should be booked as a male.
But even with all the education, the concepts remained mostly elusive to some people. Drumming 'Wipeout' on the steering wheel as he drove back downtown after the class, dusk descending, Cuneo turned to his partner. 'So if I don't want 'em to cut off my dick, I can't be a girl.'
Russell threw him a frown. 'You've just failed the course. You realize that?' Then, seeing that Cuneo was apparently sincere, he continued, 'It's not a matter of wanting, Dan. You can be all the way to a woman in your brain and still have a dick. You might not want to get rid of it anymore, or it might be too expensive…'
'Not here. It's covered by insurance.'
'Okay, not here. But most places.'
'If it were me,' Cuneo said, 'I'd just move here, get a job with the city, lop that sucker right off.'
So it went, variations on the theme until they got back to the homicide detail where Cuneo hoped they could put in some time, finally, on Silverman. At least get caught up if there'd been any developments. But by now, the inspectors had each put in ten hours and he knew Russell was going to want to go home to his family. So more or less casually, Cuneo walked over and stood outside the open door to Gerson's office until the lieutenant happened to look up.
'Dan, there you are. You and Lincoln got a minute?'
The room had changed since Glitsky's tenure. It wasn't a large space by any definition, but in the old days the big desk in the center of it had kept any meetings, by necessity, small. There had been one uncomfortable wooden chair across from the desk, affording any visitor maybe three feet of room. Anybody else would have to stand.
Gerson, by contrast, had installed a modular unit that hugged the back wall and turned the corner, where he had his computer, printer, fax machine and telephone. This arrangement left an open area in the middle of the room, made the office seem larger. The lieutenant was a bass fisherman and had brought in and hung on the walls a few of his mounted trophy fish and several framed promotional photos of boats and fishing equipment. On his last birthday, the unit had pitched in and bought him a mounted plastic bass that, when activated, sang 'Don't Worry, Be Happy,' and he'd hung it over his computer.
Now Cuneo, Russell and Gerson sat facing one another on their identical ergonomic rolling chairs. No one looked happy; all seemed angry, or at least worried. Gerson was telling them about Glitsky's input. 'He thinks Wade Panos is screwing with your investigation.'
Cuneo, paying attention, was whistling a tuneless melody. Russell, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, asked, 'Did he say why?'
'No, not really, nothing substantive. Just that Panos doesn't have a great rep.'
Cuneo stopped whistling. 'The guy's a major philanthropist. What's he talking about?'
'I think he's talking about some of his guys, the beat patrolmen.'
'What about them?' Russell asked.
A shrug. 'Some of them, sometimes, get a little enthusiastic, it seems. Play a little rough with the residentially challenged, roust 'em out of their neighborhoods.'
'Good for them,' Russell said. 'Somebody needs to.'
'It's probably because they don't get the sensitivity training we real cops get.'
'You're joking, Dan,' Gerson said, 'but you're not all wrong. Evidently it's a legitimate problem, at least enough so Panos is getting sued. He could probably run a tighter ship. But you ask me, the real problem is that Glitsky's old school and Panos isn't a righteous cop, simple as that. He doesn't like the patrols.'
'So Glitsky's take is that Wade Panos himself is personally screwing with our investigation?' Cuneo asked. 'Why would he do that?'
'No idea,' Gerson said. 'But Glitsky's all over it. He went to Silverman's, you know. And yesterday morning he talked to Lanier.'
'Lanier?' Cuneo straightened up. 'What about? What's Lanier got to do with anything? You mean with Silverman?'
'I don't know.' Gerson shrugged. 'This Panos thing.'
'What Panos thing?' Russell shot a look at his partner, came back to Gerson. 'Are we missing something here, Barry?'
'I guess Glitsky's wondering why Panos got into it at all.'
'Why?' Russell raised his voice. 'I'll tell you why! He came down to Silverman's because one of his employees discovered the body, that's why. Then it turned out he happened to know about this poker game, which was the source of Silverman's stolen money. Next day he gives us names of the players in the game and one of them looks like he's with the guys who did it. What's the problem with that? Tell me that isn't good police work.'
'I can't. It is. I don't have a problem, not with you. Not with the investigation either.'
'I got another one for you, Barry,' Cuneo said. 'What's any of this to Glitsky anyway? Why would he give any kind of a shit?'
Gerson pressed his lips together, reluctant to diss a fellow lieutenant. Finally, though, he decided his inspectors needed to know. 'My gut feeling is I believe he wants to get back into homicide, though God knows why. His dad knew Silverman. I guess he thought it gave him a wedge.'
'And this helps him how?' Cuneo asked.
'I don't know, to tell you the truth. The kindest thing I can think is he's really trying to make himself useful somehow. I mean to us, to you. I've been trying to figure it out, but it baffles me.' He shook his head. 'Or maybe… no.'
'What?' Cuneo asked.
'Nothing.'
'You were going to say something,' Russell said.
Gerson looked at each of them in turn, considered another moment. 'Well, I don't really think this is too likely, but if Glitsky starts to make you guys doubt your sources, maybe you get tentative, don't make the arrests you need to. You look bad, which makes me look bad, and pretty soon they want a new lieutenant up here.'
'And they pick Glitsky out of a hat?' Cuneo asked. 'I don't think so.'
'Are you really worried, sir?' Russell asked.
Gerson was matter of fact. 'I can't say I'm losing sleep. But if you guys could bring in a quick collar here, it wouldn't break my heart. I…' He went silent again.
The inspectors waited. Finally Cuneo said, 'What?'
He sighed with resignation. 'When I mentioned this to Batiste, he said there might be something else in play.
