He'd be happy to put in a good word to Jackman or Batiste on Hardy's basic trustworthiness, even Glitsky's, but didn't think it would serve much purpose.
When he finally got back to Gina at her office, filling him in about her talk with Hector Blanca, specifically about the helicopter to Nevada, she was in a clear and quiet rage. The General Work inspector had told her that he'd really like to help, but that the consensus among his superiors, and he tended to agree, was that the supposed attack on Hardy and John Holiday never took place at all.
As to David Freeman, Blanca had just checked with the hospital this morning and he was very, very sorry- maybe Ms. Roake hadn't heard?-but Freeman seemed to be going into renal failure. His kidneys hadn't produced more than a teaspoon of urine overnight. Blanca liked Roake right away, and was possibly more straightforward than he would have been with someone else. Very probably, he told her, this would soon be a murder case, and hence outside of Blanca's jurisdiction. But by all means, Gina should bring her suspicions to homicide.
Hardy took her phone call as an opportunity to bring her up to date and she heard him out. She'd really been unaware of the escalations- the threats to the families, the probable murder of Paul Thieu. It seemed to galvanize her somehow, and when she heard that Glitsky would be at Hardy's office to discuss possibilities, she told him she was coming, too. Something had to be done and she wanted to be in on whatever it was. Hardy told her to come right on up.
So at a little before noon on a blustery and overcast Wednesday morning, Glitsky, Roake and Hardy had all gathered and now they sat in varying degrees of unease around the coffee table in Hardy's office. Hardy had put on a pot and two of them were drinking coffee.
Glitsky, of course, had his tea. Facing Hardy's office door, he was explaining that after he read about Thieu this morning, he had finally been driven to speak to Special Agent Bill Schuyler of the FBI, who had expressed interest in Abe's theory, but who said it would take at least a couple of days to arrange any kind of task force, and that's if he could get his field director's approval. Was Glitsky really saying he believed the head of homicide was involved in cover-up and murder? This could be a lot of fun, Schuyler agreed, but it was going to take a degree of manpower and some time.
'Which is something we don't have.'
'Isn't that a little dramatic, Diz?' Roake asked. 'We get the FBI involved in a week or so, there's plenty of…'
But Hardy was shaking his head. 'If they do anything, it will take years. Wiretaps, following people, background investigations. Maybe trying to infiltrate the gang. By then, all of our physical evidence has disappeared. That's if they do anything at all. And meanwhile, we're dead.'
'Besides which,' Glitsky added, 'these people have just killed Paul Thieu…'
'Allegedly.' Roake's knee-jerk reaction.
'No, really.' Glitsky's dark scowl ended that debate. 'And there's every reason to think they're at this moment planning the same thing for Diz or me, or our families. Diz is right, Gina. It's not overdramatic. Drama happens. There's no time.'
'So what do you propose to do?' Roake asked.
Glitsky sat quietly, looked down at his feet, said in an uncharacteristic, almost inaudible voice. 'I was hoping… I'm going to go down and make some arrests myself.'
Hardy stared, looking for a sign that Glitsky was being ironic. He saw none. Which made his friend's message clear and unambiguous, at least to Hardy. And it shocked him.
First Moses, now Abe.
Glitsky raised his eyes to Hardy, then Roake, continued with the charade. 'Maybe park 'em in San Mateo County overnight, get some judge to listen.' This, Hardy knew, would never happen. No judge would ever listen under those circumstances. As no judge had given Hardy the time of day this morning. This wasn't what judges did and he, Glitsky and Roake all knew it. But it didn't make any difference. Glitsky was simply padding the pretense.
But Hardy didn't get to call him on it. At that moment, there was a quick knock, the door to Hardy's office opened and John Holiday introduced his lanky figure to the proceedings. 'Howdy, y'all,' he said, a genial grin in place. He wore a heavy sheepskin coat that reached midway down his thighs. He'd tucked his longish blond hair into an Australian shepherd's hat, one side of the brim tacked against the crown. Smiling all around with the obvious surprise he'd pulled off, he turned to close the door behind him.
By the time he turned back around to face them again, Glitsky had stood up. And now Hardy did the same, saying, 'John, what in the hell are you doing here?'
Glitsky, a baleful glance at Hardy, took a step forward. He had no choice. He was a cop and here was a man wanted for murder. 'I'm afraid you're under arrest,' he said.
For Holiday, the surprise element suddenly and completely lost its charm. He glared with startled incomprehension at Glitsky for a beat, shot a look at Hardy, then with no hesitation half turned again, as though he were going back to the door. But when he came back around, he was holding a gun in his right hand. It was pointed down at the floor, but nobody in the room missed it or its import.
'I don't think anybody's gettin' arrested just right now,' he said, the quiet tone and soft Tennessee accent taking nothing away from his resolve. 'Now, Lieutenant, you just sit down, would you? I won't ask for your gun because I'm gonna assume you'll act like a gentleman. But please keep your hands out where I can see them. Then we can have a civil discussion, all four of us.'
Glitsky found his chair and took it.
Hardy remained standing, folded his arms over his chest. 'Jesus, John, what are you doing? How'd you get here?'
Holiday made no effort to put up the gun. 'My lady dropped me by the alley in the back. I came in through the garage and up the elevator. Don't worry, nobody followed me. I'm sure.'
'That's not what I was worried about. Haven't you ever heard that when you've already dug yourself into a hole, you ought to stop digging?'
Glitsky concurred. 'This is a big mistake.'
Holiday was all agreement. 'I can see that now, Lieutenant; you're probably right. But I didn't know anybody else was going to be here.'
'Why don't you put away the gun, though?' Roake asked. Then, to Hardy, 'This is your client, I presume?'
Hardy made the introductions, and Holiday bowed in a courtly fashion, although without ever taking his eyes from Glitsky.
'So why did you come here?' Hardy asked again.
'Tell you the truth, Diz, part of it was cabin fever. Mostly, though, I was thinking you and I might come up with a way to turn me in and guarantee my safety. That thing with your kids…' The words petered out. 'Anyway, I figure if Panos thinks they got me, that ends. Am I right?'
Hardy shrugged. 'Maybe not all wrong. But the kid thing. You know Abe's got the same problem?'
Holiday looked across the room at Glitsky. 'Have I got to keep this gun out, Lieutenant, or could we come to an understanding for the time being?'
'As far as I'm concerned, you're still under arrest. When I leave here, you're coming with me.'
'I don't think so.'
Glitsky almost laughed. 'You going to shoot to stop me? So you can do whatever you want with the gun. It's not helping your case, as I'm sure your lawyer will agree.' He shot a glance over to Hardy, an invitation to back him up.
But Hardy had gone bolt upright in his chair, his eyes glazed and faraway.
Roake, across from him, spoke up. 'Diz? Are you all right?'
He came back with them. 'What? Yeah, sure. John, put the damn gun away, would you? The rule is you don't wave one around if you're not prepared to use it.'
'What if I am?'
'Then you're a bigger idiot than even I think you are, which is hard to imagine. Nobody here thinks you killed anybody, okay? You're not about to start now.' He didn't wait to give Holiday a chance to respond, but turned directly to the other two. 'Abe and Gina, check me on something, would you? We're assuming that Gerson pushed Thieu off the roof, right?' Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Holiday moving, sticking the gun back under his belt.
