Betrayal

'So far everything's fine. But sometime in the middle of last night, my subconscious must have decided that you were right. I've been awake half the night worrying. I shouldn't have put us in this situation. I'm sorry.'

She reached out and took his hand. 'Apology accepted. So what do you want to do?'

'I don't think it would be the worst idea in the world to check into a hotel for a couple of days. Treat it like a vacation.'

She sat up, letting go of his hand. 'Did something else happen last night that I didn't hear about?'

'No. I've just had time to think about these guys some more. Until it's clear to Allstrong that Glitsky and Bracco are really in on this investigation with me, which I hope ought to be by today or tomorrow, it's like Moses said-we're hanging out there all alone in the breeze.'

Frannie shuddered. 'I think I liked it better when you were pretending there was nothing to worry about.'

'Me too. But I don't think that's the smart move right now. I think we'd be wise to lie a little low.'

Sitting with the idea for another moment, Frannie finally sighed. 'A couple of days?'

'Probably no more than that.'

'Probably.' She shook her head. 'Do you have any idea how much I wish you hadn't called him?'

'Pretty much, yeah. If it's any consolation, I didn't feel like I had much of a choice.'

'Right,' she said. 'That makes me feel much better.'

Allstrong would also know that Hardy went into his office every day, but Hardy had convinced himself that he could minimize his risk on that score by pulling directly into his parking place in the gated and locked parking garage underneath the building and taking the inside elevator up to his office. Once he was inside, he had a reasonable faith in his firm's security system.

As he pulled in about to park, though, he noticed a brown paper lunch bag lying against the wall just in front of his space. For a minute, the sight of the thing froze him. It was just the kind of harmless-looking item, he imagined, that might in actuality be an improvised explosive device. Turning on his lights, he illuminated the bag, which looked to be nothing more than what it was.

Setting the brake, Hardy opened his door and walked over to the bag, touching it gingerly with his foot, then leaning over to pick it up. It weighed almost nothing, and contained only a few napkins, an apple core, and a couple of Baggies.

Forcing a small nonlaugh at his paranoia, Hardy got back in to his car and parked, then crossed to the elevator and pushed the button to call it down.

In his office, Hardy went over the final draft of his appeal, which explicitly laid out his argument on the Brady violation in such a way as to maximize Allstrong's connection to Nolan and to the Khalils. He attached a declaration from Wyatt Hunt detailing the conversation Hunt had had with Abdel Khalil. Included in the narrative was Tara Wheatley's information about the cash Nolan had brought back from Iraq, buttressing the idea that perhaps he'd been paid to carry out a contract on the Khalils. Of course, the FBI's interrogation of Abdel Khalil, which the agency had not seen fit to share with the prosecution team, was at the crux of his discussion.

In toto, Hardy believed that the appeal raised enough questions about important evidence that had not been admitted in the trial that he thought he'd at least get a hearing out of it. And possibly, if things worked out with Allstrong between now and then, a new trial for Evan.

Satisfied with his work, he sent one of his paralegals down to the court of appeals to file the brief, and then sent registered copies of it, as required, to Mary Patricia Whelan-Miille down in Redwood City, and also-although there was no mandate he do so-overnight to Allstrong Security marked 'personal and confidential' for Jack Allstrong. He wanted Allstrong to know what he was doing, when he was doing it, and how it was likely to affect him if he didn't step in and do something to stop it.

Next, calling the prison, Hardy learned that Evan was still in the infirmary and that his condition had stabilized. There was some chance that he would be able to have visitors, perhaps as soon as the next day.

Hardy's cell phone went off-Bracco calling him. 'It worked,' he said. 'I used the old 'Surely you'd want to cooperate in a murder investigation' and he opened up some time for me and I'm on the way down there right now.'

'Have fun,' Hardy said, 'but be careful.'

'Right.' Bracco barked out a short, nervous laugh. 'I'm all over it.'

ALLSTRONG AND HIS ATTORNEY, who introduced himself as Ryan Loy, led Bracco back through a maze of hallways into a beautifully designed medium-sized oval conference room containing an apparently custom-made table with twelve matching chairs around it. An enormous spray of fresh flowers claimed the center of the table; at the counter under the tinted windows, someone had set up a full coffee service with pastries and fruit. When Bracco sat down at last with his coffee and Danish, he had a view of the entire South Bay as it shimmered in the sunshine.

Jack Allstrong had played the gracious host in his garrulous style as they moved back through the building, pointing with pride to the headquarters of the other divisions that now made up much of the company's work- computer security, water safety, privatization, logistics consulting, aquaculture. Loy, bookish and reserved in his suit and bow tie, nevertheless came across as another truly nice guy. Everyone they passed in the hallways was well- scrubbed, nicely dressed, young.

Loy closed the door to the conference room behind them and went around the table to Bracco's left while Allstrong sat two chairs over from him on the right. Bracco took out his pocket tape recorder and without comment placed it prominently on the table out in front of everyone.

'Excuse me, Inspector'-Loy had stopped in the middle of raising his cup-'but I understood this was to be an informal discussion and not a formal interrogation.'

'Either way,' Bracco said with a matter-of-fact tone, 'I'm going to need a record of it. I understood that you wanted to cooperate. Mr. Allstrong doesn't have to answer any question he doesn't want to. You both understand that, right?'

Loy looked at Allstrong, who nodded.

Bracco picked up the tape recorder and spoke into it. 'This is homicide Inspector Sergeant Darrel Bracco, Badge Number 3117, conjoined case numbers 06-335411 and 07-121598, talking with Jack Allstrong, forty-one, and his attorney, Ryan Loy, thirty-six. It's eleven forty-five on Wednesday morning, May ninth, and we are at the offices of Allstrong Security in San Francisco. Mr. Allstrong, did you know an attorney named Charles Bowen?'

'Yes.'

'How well did you know him?'

'Not well at all. I met him two or three times here in these offices to talk about an appeal he was working on.'

'Evan Scholler.'

'Yes.'

'How did you figure in that case, that Mr. Bowen wanted to talk to you?'

'One of my past employees, Ron Nolan, was the victim. Scholler was eventually convicted of killing him.'

'Do you know the grounds that Mr. Bowen planned to base his appeal on?'

'No idea.'

'But he talked to you two or three times?'

'Yes. Is that a problem?'

Bracco shrugged. 'Was he talking to you about the same things each time you talked to him?'

'Yes.'

'And what specifically was the subject of those conversations?'

'I think he may have been trying to connect Nolan in some way to another couple who had been murdered a