Glitsky 01 - Certain Justice, A (57 page)

She was cornering him, giving him no other way – he didn't want to take it as far as it could go, not unless – until – she forced him. And that's what she was doing.

He knew what he knew, but if he could just get her to back off on Kevin Shea that would be enough. Enough for him. There would be a certain justice in that, and sometimes that was all you got.

But she wasn't going to leave Elaine. She
couldn't
leave her – Elaine was something she hadn't ever wanted to use in this way, but now it was developing that she must. It could end this impasse with Abe. It could save her ...

Loretta Wager had molded a life using the clay she was given – every daub of it. If you had a secret, a knowledge, you hoarded it until it could provide its maximum effect.

This was the time.

She sat on the arm of the chair, weary with the weight of it. 'Abe, don't you know? You really don't know?' A tear finally broke loose and she let it roll down her cheek. 'We cannot hurt Elaine, Abe. We cannot let her be hurt. Not
either
of us ...'

'It's not Elaine,' he began again impatiently, 'it's—'

She slapped the leather on the back of the chair. 'Goddamn it, Abe, listen to me. It
is
Elaine.
It is Elaine
.'

She let the moment simmer. Watching him as it registered. A beat. Two.

'What are you saying?'

She paused again. Then: 'Do you think I wanted Dana Wager instead of you? Do you think I wanted him for
me?'
She shook her head. 'I wasn't going to force anyone – force you – to marry me because I was carrying your baby. Okay, you weren't ready to marry me for myself. Don't you understand? I had to have someone who would. And Dana was there. He never had to know. He never knew.' She stared at him. 'And neither did you.'

No reaction. A still frame of the moment of impact. Next, slowly – so slowly – Glitsky's arms coming uncrossed, his face going slack.

Loretta, nodding now, the tears beginning to fall freely. On her feet, another tentative step toward him. 'She's
your
daughter, Abe.
Elaine is your daughter
.'

'Get the hell away from me!'

'Abe!'

'Get away!'

Somehow, he had crossed the room. His face – flashes of heat. A tingling, terrifying. A jab in his left arm – his heart was stopping.

'Abe, please ...'

'Goddamnitgoddamnit...' A snifter. On the bar. Grabbing it up, squeezing. Impossible. No more control.

The explosion on the hardwood. Shards of broken crystal.

'YOU TELL ME THIS NOW?'

'Don't yell at me, Abe. Please

'DON'T YELL AT YOU? Don't yell at you? Jesus ...'

Walking in small circles, turning. Nowhere to go. 'Goddamnit.'

Another try. 'Abe . . .?'

He pointed at her. 'Don't come near me! Don't you dare take another step!'

She waited, hands at her side.

Slumped in the chair, he heard her moving around in the house.

Minutes had passed.

He still had to do it – do his job – but he found he couldn't move. It had come to where he had known it must. But she had rocked him. He knew it was true. The old nagging sense of familiarity, of vague but real recognition.
Elaine was his daughter
.

He could not make himself stand up, go in and accuse Loretta, face her. He was afraid of what he might do.

The doorbell rang. Her limo.

He had to move.

Get up, Abe, get up!

If he moved, if he saw her face ...

Steps echoing on the floor, the door opening. 'Hello. Yes, I'll be ready in five minutes. You can wait in the car.' He couldn't let her. He couldn't stop her. She'd beaten him. She'd won.

'All right, Kevin, call.' Wes Farrell stood in his coat and tie by his kitchen wall phone, talking to it like an idiot. 'It's eight after nine and you said you'd call at nine on the dot and this isn't the time to go flaky on me.'

He had the television on in the war zone of his living salon, and CNN was broadcasting, live near Kezar Pavilion. The whole country was following San Francisco this Saturday morning. Mohandas had appeared a couple of times, the same sound bite about the plans for this to be a peaceful march, a demonstration to the city's leaders, the
country's
leaders, that... blah blah blah.

The phone jangled. Wes snapped for it, knocked it from its cradle, grabbed again but the receiver fell to the floor. He snagged it up. 'Kevin? Give me your address.'

'Drop the phone, Wes?'

'Kevin, listen to me. We got some big problems. Just give me your address and I'll be right over there.'

'Are you watching this thing on TV?'

'Kevin, give me your fucking address right now.'

'What kind of problems, Wes?'

'I'll explain when I get there. Give me your address.'

Kevin's tone shifted. 'We're still on go, though? I mean, the basic plan...'

Wes was silent. Then: '
Where
?'

Kevin gave him the address, the apartment number. 'Fourth floor, in the front,' he said. 'Looks right over the park. There's a million people down there.'

Wes was swearing at himself all the way down to his garage. He
couldn't believe
that his own brain was failing him so badly. What he should have done was just give Kevin the phone number on Glitsky's beeper, tell him to get out
now
and go someplace else, then beep him and tell him where he was, which would be where they'd meet. But of course, he was too incredibly stupid to have thought of that. Not when it could have done any good.

Special Agent Simms was in her car with her three fellow agents and moving before Farrell had pulled out of his garage, so she had at least some blocks on him.

It had been unwise of Farrell, she thought, but good for her side, to ask Shea for the address. Still, what else could he have done? Anyway, she had all of the advantage now. The address, the apartment number, the jump on the chase. Maybe they wouldn't need to use any firepower, unless...

Well, she would see. Certainly she wasn't going to get scared out of using the tools they had brought. She wasn't about to show any weakness on
that
score. The public might have screamed about that woman and her kid the FBI had had to kill up in Montana, but within the ranks of the bureau it was generally conceded that the whole thing had been unavoidable. It had been – what was his name? – the guy Webster's fault for getting them all in that position, certainly not the Bureau's. Start worrying about criticism, the
media
response, you might as well hang up your badge. You wouldn't get anything done.

She would do what she had to do.

The first action would be the simplest and most direct. She would go up and knock on the door, say she had a federal warrant and he was under arrest. In a perfect world he would open the door and come out with his hands over his head.

Somehow she didn't have the feeling it was going to go down exactly like that.

In spite of Mohandas's best efforts to get things going, the rally wasn't about to start on time. They never did. His mouth was dry in spite of the constant popping of Tic-Tacs. He couldn't stop pacing inside the tent. Allicey, taller than he was, kneaded his shoulders whenever he passed by her.

It was nearly nine-fifteen and there were still people pouring into the Pavilion. The police were patrolling but all seemed calm. There had been two more skirmishes that he had seen from up here, but both had been quickly suppressed.

The smoke from the Divisadero fire was getting a little worse – the wind and all. He'd definitely have to skirt north when the march began. He wasn't going to give much of a speech. There wasn't that need today – he'd already said it publicly so many times – and the turnout was so great that he thought it would be more effective just to get them moving, let it speak for itself.

What he'd do was welcome everybody, talk a minute about the
reality
of how things worked, not the lip-service they always got but the way results just didn't seem to come all the way to them. The mayor had played into his hands so beautifully he couldn't believe it, but he'd have been a fool not to use what he'd been handed on a platter. He could almost hear himself: '... but in spite of the
words
we have all heard time and time again about this city's cooperation, the plain fact is, my brothers and sisters, that even this rally, even this peaceful gathering to show our concern, our
despair
, over the denial of justice for the tragic murder of our brother Arthur Wade ...' He would pause here for the outburst to die down. 'The plain fact is that they have even made
this
gathering illegal. They said we couldn't have this march. They wouldn't give us the permit. But I say our strength is our permit. Our unity is our strength. And let God himself be our judge!'

It was going to sing all right.

And then he'd lead them out, down the seething streets all the way to City Hall. In righteousness, in rage, and in glory.

She came briskly out of the back room. She was wearing her dark blue hat, suit coat, clutch purse. Things were moving along. She had defused Abe, and now she had to hurry.

As she got to the foyer she stopped, her body sagging. She, herself, was wearing down. 'I've got to go out. Please get out of my way.'

Glitsky stood blocking the front door. 'I'm going to call Wes Farrell from here and tell him that you're coming with me to personally guarantee Kevin Shea's safety.'

'I'm going to the rally, Abe. The mayor has asked me to deliver a permit—'

'I'm not asking, Loretta. I'm telling you. Forget the permit. I'm giving you a last chance – although God knows why.'

'A chance for what?'

'You've been saying all along that all you wanted was Kevin Shea arrested.
Of course
he deserved some consideration, some safety. Well, I'm giving you a chance to prove you're not lying.'

'I'm not lying. Why would I lie?'

'Why? Because your career is over if Kevin Shea is innocent and you know it. You
can't
have him be innocent. You can't let him be arrested and get a chance to be heard. That's why you've been blocking me.'

'This is stupid ... I haven't been blocking anybody, Abe. Not you, not anybody. You've just gotten—'

He raised a hand. 'I know, I know. Paranoid, overworked, irrational, any and all of the above. Yeah, that's me. You got me.'

She moved forward. 'I've heard enough of this. Let me by!'

Pushing at him, he might have been a wall. Until he exploded, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her backward. She stumbled, nearly went down, recovered. Her eyes blazing, she straightened up. 'You want to talk about careers being over, Abe. You just ended yours.'

Glitsky didn't care. He spoke with a forced calm. 'You're not getting by. Understand that. You've got about ten seconds to agree to go out of here with me. And then you're not going to have a choice about it anymore.'

She stared for a beat, then told him he was crazy.

'Six seconds,' he said.

'Why would I agree to something like that? I've got a driver waiting right outside the door here. I've got to—'

'All right. Time's up.' Glitsky's face was set, ashen. 'Don't say I didn't give you an out, Loretta. You wouldn't take it.' He took a labored breath. 'I'm arresting you for the murder of Christopher Locke.'

The reaction took a moment – a squinting, a half-turn, lack of belief. 'You can't... this is
absurd
.'

'No, Loretta, this is the truth.'

'Did you dream this up last night or something? Abe, you're out of your mind. I wouldn't...'

He was shaking his head. 'He wasn't turned around in the car, looking out the back window. He was sitting next to you, without a clue.'

'You're insane.'

He ignored it. 'You were
near
the riot all right, even driving toward it, inside the car. But you never made it, did you?'

'Of course we did. How can you even say—?'

'Because there's this thing I work with called evidence. There were no signs that a crowd had been anywhere near your car, much less throwing rocks at it, kicking it from behind. I walked all around it. Looked.'

'Then you missed it.'

'No, I didn't. I wondered about it the first time I inspected the car. What I missed was what it meant.'

'And what did it mean?'

'It meant that what you
did
do was you pulled up a couple of blocks short of the action and shot Locke behind the ear. That was the shot no one heard.'

'I did
not
. That did not happen—'

Glitsky's voice didn't waver. 'But it was also the shot that left no glass shards at all in the wound and too many powder burns around it – but you wouldn't have known about any of that. That isn't politics. It's just stupid grinding, police forensic stuff – not very interesting.'