against his wall while he waited for Hardy to arrive. Putting down his briefcase, he stealthily tried the knob, which didn't give at all. He'd had enough experience with muggings and surprise mischief over the past couple of days that he wasn't anxious to get any more, and he turned back to the stairway.
The police could be here in ten minutes and whoever had broken into his office could explain it all to them.
Halfway down the stairs, a voice stopped him. 'Diz?' Holiday stood at the top of the stairs, grinning down at him, holding three darts up. 'I thought I heard somebody pounding on up the stairs, but I wanted to finish my round. Where are you going?'
Hardy climbed back up the seven steps he'd just descended. 'I was just going to call the police, John. That would have been a good time.' He reached the landing again and led the way inside, then closed the door behind Holiday. 'How did you get in here? Wasn't the door locked? It was. And what were you doing?'
'Just shooting some darts. There was a bunch of keys down at the reception desk, and nobody was there. I thought you'd be up here in your office, to tell you the truth. Then when you weren't, I figured I'd just let myself in. I put the keys back.'
'Good for you.'
'This place is a ghost town today. Where is everybody?'
'It's a legal holiday.' Hardy said it without a trace of irony.
'Hm-m. Well. But you're here, I notice, although you are a little late, aren't you?'
Hardy wasn't even slightly in the mood to explain his various delays of the morning, especially since the beginning of it all had been the breakdown of his children over the very client he now faced. 'We had an appointment,' Hardy said by way of explanation, 'except if you remember, you were supposed to call me. Do you remember that? Wasn't that what we decided?'
Holiday shrugged and walked back over to the dart line. 'Either way, we're talking.'
Hardy got around his desk and put his briefcase on the top of it. 'That's true, John, but I'm your attorney and I happen to know that there's a warrant out for your arrest, so all I can do now, as I thought I explained rather clearly last night, is help you turn yourself in.' Hardy's voice took on an edge. 'How about putting those things down a minute and talking to me?'
Immediately, Holiday whirled, all contrition. He placed his two remaining darts on Hardy's desk and spread his hands apologetically. 'I thought we were talking. What happened to your hand?'
Hardy glanced down at his Band-Aid splint. He was going to have to invent a witty response pretty soon, but he didn't have the energy for it right now. 'I whacked it against something.' He sat down behind his desk. 'Look, I'm sorry, John, but I'm a little stressed. But I suppose you are, too.'
'Naw. It's just another arrest warrant.' Holiday went over to the couch, plopped himself down on it. 'So what do you think? What's the plan?'
'I wish I had one. I'm assuming you're not inclined to give yourself up.'
'Good guess.'
'Well, as your attorney, that's all I'm allowed to suggest.'
'How about not as my attorney? I haven't paid you anything, have I? Can't we just be friends?'
Hardy's mouth turned up an inch. 'Can't we all just get along?'
'Exactly, and apparently not too well. But you and me, we could.'
'But even as just your friend, I'm still harboring you, and you're a fugitive.'
Holiday shrugged. 'Tell them I held you hostage or something.'
'Though it might not be a bad idea, you know. Turning yourself in.'
Holiday's eyes went wide. 'You're out of your mind, Diz. I wouldn't last fifteen minutes in jail.'
'Why not? You've been there before. It wouldn't be any worse than last time.'
'Yeah, except this time someone would kill me.'
'Why would they do that?'
'Because that's what these guys are doing, Diz. Think about it. I'm the only one left and the case is closed. As soon as I'm dead, it's a tight little package. Nobody goes looking for who really did it.'
'And who are these people?' A grin flickered around Hardy's mouth. 'You're saying they're cops? They can get you in jail?'
'They planted stuff in my apartment.'
'The cops did? Why?'
'I don't know why, but it's not as far-fetched as you think. It happens.'
'I'm sure it does, John, I'm sure it does.' Hardy scratched at the top of his desk blotter. 'Look, humor me a minute. If you've got solid alibis for all the murders, we could press for a quick prelim and have you out of there and cleared of all this in a week or two at the most.'
'Not if I'm dead first.'
'That's not going to happen. Not in jail. Do you know where you were when any of these last three men got killed?'
'Sure. Two of them, Randy and Clint, I'm positive. I was at work. In fact, you know, a cop came by the Ark the other day, before I even knew about Randy and Clint, and asked me if I'd been tending bar there the night before.'
'What do you mean, a cop? A real cop? SFPD?'
'I thought so. The badge looked right. Some Chinese guy. He wasn't with Panos, I'll tell you that.'
'And he asked you what?'
'Just if I'd been working at midnight the night before and could I prove it? I told him yeah and it seemed to satisfy him. That's why I'm blown away they got a warrant for me. I mean, they know I didn't kill Clint and Randy. I don't get it.'
'So what about Creed?'
'Same thing. It was a work night, though there weren't as many customers, but somebody would remember. So maybe they think I wasn't the actual shooter with Creed anyway. I was just in cahoots with Clint and Randy.' Holiday had gone into a full recline on the sofa, his hands crossed behind his head.
Hardy sat for a long moment, picking at the Band-Aid. 'You mind telling me again where you were the night Silverman got it? Last time we talked about it, not to put too fine a point on it, your alibi sucked.'
Holiday got himself up to sitting again. He ran a hand through his hair, tugged at the side of his mustache. When he spoke, he wore a sheepish expression. 'If you want to know the truth, my girlfriend and I had a fight and I went out and picked up somebody else, who I couldn't find again to save my life.'
'That's what it might be, John. To save your life.'
He shook his head.
'Did you go to her house?' Hardy asked.
'Yeah. Well, apartment, I think.'
'So where was it?'
'She drove,' Holiday said. 'I dozed. I don't know.'
'What about in the morning?'
Holiday made a face. 'There wasn't any morning. I left right after
… anyway, I think I wandered around a bit.'
'Drunk?'
'Possibly. Likely.'
Hardy frowned. 'Which means you really have no alibi at all for Silverman, is that right?' He didn't wait for an answer. 'So where did you call from yesterday?'
'My girlfriend's.'
A beat. 'Another one?'
'The real one.'
'The one you broke up with on Thursday?'
'Yeah. Her name's Michelle. I'm staying at her place.'
'I'm happy for you. That's so special. So the story about the important man's wife…'
'I made it up.'
'Great!' Hardy said. 'Swell. Let me ask you this. The paper said you lost a lot of money at Silverman's game
