'The man gets around.'
'Yes he does, Alan. I think he's trying to get it right.' They sat, staring at one another. The criticism – the challenge was hanging there between them. Reston crossed his legs. 'We all are, Elaine. So what's with the good lieutenant?'
She told him – Glitsky had come straight to her after the meeting with Wes Farrell, supplying her with the gist of it – the details regarding the knife wounds, the revised theory on the second photograph to say nothing of the first, even the explanation that the snitch, Cynthia Taylor, might have been one of Shea's jilted exes.
Reston listened to it all in silence. 'Well,' he said, slapping his hands on his thighs, then standing. 'Well...' Stalling, he walked over to the window, stared at it, shifted from foot to foot.
Elaine spoke to his back. 'Lieutenant Glitsky asked me if we – if the DA's office – might want to review the charges – '
Reston turned quickly around. 'We can't do that.' And then less severe: 'On what grounds?'
'What I've just explained to you.'
'Which is what? An alternative explanation by the suspect's own lawyer? This is supposed to be compelling?'
'Alan, Glitsky isn't—'
'I'm not talking about Glitsky, Elaine. We've got a Grand Jury murder indictment on Kevin Shea, pushed through as I understand it by this office not two days ago, a picture of him in the act of committing the crime ...'
'If it's—'
'No ifs, Elaine. The picture is what it is. It's clear to the whole world.'
'The interpretation might be wrong, Alan. That's all Lieutenant Glitsky was trying to say to me. If we take it to trial – '
Now he was pointing a finger, raising his voice. 'But we are the ones who take it to court. Not Lieutenant Glitsky. The DA's office. And I'm hearing nothing that remotely challenges my conviction that Kevin Shea is responsible for this ... for all of this.'
'All right, then, how about this?' Standing, Elaine removed the second photograph from her satchel and brought it over to his desk. She moved some of his junk aside as he crossed to her.
'What is ...?' he began.
'Taken two or three seconds after the other one. Shea handing the knife to Arthur Wade, giving him a last chance to cut himself down.'
She let him study it for a while, then started to put out, fact by fact, the alternative explanation of what appeared to be there – the way the shirt was pulled, the angle of the rope as Glitsky had shown her.
When she finished, Reston flipped some pages from her file, then walked to the window again. 'It sounds to me like Shea's got himself a good attorney.'
'Or he's innocent, Alan ...'
Reston shook his head. 'No, he's not.' He turned again to face her. 'Elaine, let's get this straight. We have a case that convinced the Grand Jury. The Board of Supervisors got together to put a reward on Kevin Shea's head. You particularly – representing this office – have gone public over the airtightness of this indictment. And now you're coming to me, my first day on the job, and you expect me to call off the whole thing – maybe the best opportunity we have to get the city under some control again? That's not going to happen.'
'Even if he didn't do it?'
'You have any proof that he didn't?'
'Traditionally, Alan, we're supposed to have proof that he did. Remember? Lieutenant Glitsky thinks he can get Shea to come in if you'll talk to him.'
'If I'll drop the charges – '
'Only after.'
'No. It's too late for that now. He comes in, he's put under arrest, we go from there. No deals. Not with him.'
'Then he won't come in.'
Reston let out a long breath. 'Then he's taking that risk, and it's substantial.' Trying to close the gap, he stepped closer to her. 'Elaine, maybe you ought to talk to your mother about this. She's got her own investment here, you know.'
'This isn't about my mother, Alan.'
'You may not want to hear this, Elaine, but your mother may be the reason you got the case.' He leaned back against his desk.
Some of his folders slipped off to the floor. They both ignored them.
Her eyes narrowed. 'That's not true. Chris Locke believed in my—'
'No question, but...' This time he did touch her arm. 'Look, Elaine, no one's saying we're not going to give Shea a fair trial, but you don't about-face from rabid abuse of a suspect on television to letting him go because his own defense attorney, for Christ's sake, comes up with some reasons that might, and I repeat might, explain some facts differently. That would make the process and all of us look like fools. It would make your mother look ridiculous.'
'I'm not saying he didn't do it, I'm asking what if...'
His hand, still on her arm, squeezed it firmly. 'And I hear you. I don't want this case going south any more than you do, any more than your mother does. But we can't just do what Chris Locke did with Jerohm Reese – say we're giving up on the charges because the evidence suddenly got shaky. That's what started all this, remember? Even if I thought there was significant merit there, I wouldn't do it. I couldn't. Not now. The city would explode. Nobody's ready to hear it.' He lowered his voice. 'To say nothing of the fact that, personally, I'd be betraying your mother. As you well know.'
'So what are you going to do? What are we going to do?'
'I'm going to wait, Elaine. There's no reason to do anything, to change direction at all. We don't have any new facts. Do we?'
She guessed not, not hard ones ... well, maybe the lawyer's assertions about the knife wounds, but they weren't substantiated either. She just didn't know anymore. She was too tired.
'Look, Elaine, it's been a long day. Why don't you go home, get some rest, try not to think about Shea for a while.'
She realized that there was nothing she could do now, and the possibility still existed that an arrest of Kevin Shea would at least bring some calm to the city. She didn't want to muddy those waters, especially not if it would embarrass her mother. There really was nothing to do but wait it out.
She forced a weary smile. 'I'm sorry, it's just been...'
He nodded. 'It's all right, Elaine. It's all right, I understand.' He touched her arm a last time. 'My door is always open.'
No sooner had the door closed, though, than Reston was behind his desk and on the telephone, placing a call to Chief Dan Rigby, who picked up from his War Room on the second ring.
'Chief, I'm sorry to bother you, but I thought we were pretty clear with this Lieutenant Glitsky in homicide, that he ought to keep a lower profile.'
'Yes. Well, I thought so, too.'
'Well, I just had a long conversation with Elaine Wager, and he doesn't appear to have gotten the message.'
46
Melanie had left Kevin alone upstairs and this made her nervous. She didn't like leaving him, felt that he needed her, that without her he wouldn't make it.
So there was a sense of urgency in her work. Her hands were shaking, and not only from the cold. She was half-hidden behind a large car in the darkened shadows of the parking garage under Wes Farrell's building. Whenever the light would change at the corner, there would be a rush of traffic out on the avenue and she'd stop and wait, looking to the garage's gated entrance. Wes had opened it up for them when they had first gotten here – it had gotten her recognizable GEO Metro off the streets.
People were starting to get home from work. She couldn't be too careful. The problem was that she could barely see the grooves in the screws to unfasten the license plate, and then, with the tremor in her hands, the screwdriver kept slipping out. Well, there was only one more screw and it should come loose.
After that, of course, she would have to attach it to her car – take her own plate off and put this one on. She'd do it. She had to do it. They had to get out of here, at least for a while – until they were sure Wes hadn't been followed home.
He had gone downtown to negotiate with the police. And she and Kevin, left alone with their fears, had remembered the unmarked police car parked at the street in
front of Melanie's own apartment, their narrow escape less than twenty-four hours ago. It wasn't unreasonable to consider the possibility that someone might follow Wes back home.
They didn't want to risk a cab, even a limo, although Kevin thought that might work – with the tinted windows no one could recognize him. But, she had argued, there would be a pick-up and drop address, a paper trail for the credit card.
So she had come up with the idea of exchanging the plates from one of the cars parked in the garage downstairs with her GEO's. It shouldn't take her more than ten minutes – it already felt like an hour.
They would go to the apartment of another of her friends. Ann was gone for the long weekend and she had a key to her place because she'd agreed – it was the kind of thing she did all the time – to water Ann's plants and feed her precious goldfish. Ann's place hadn't crossed her mind last night as they were running from the police, getting their motel, but now suddenly it had strategic value and her brain had retrieved it.
Finally, finally, the last screw began to turn easily. Another line of traffic passed the garage entrance. No one was coming in. Watching the door, she kept turning the screw – and the license plate came off, falling with a clang onto the concrete. She froze. 'I hate this,' she whispered to herself.
Crossing to where she had parked her GEO, she squatted down again and began loosening the screws that held her own plates on.
She heard the grind of the gate before she had any chance to react. A car had turned out of traffic, waiting as the gate slowly opened. It drove past her down the length of the garage and parked in the last stall on the opposite side.
Holding her breath, she waited, praying he wouldn't look her way.
The man wore a business suit. He got out of his Camry and activated the security system – bu-BEEP. At the internal door, without thinking about it, he kicked away the block of wood Melanie had positioned to keep the door propped open and then, perhaps realizing that this was unusual, he stopped and let his eyes roam around the floor.
Hunched behind her tiny GEO, Melanie was certain the man, even all the way over where he was, could hear the blood pounding in her ears. But his gaze passed over where she hid and evidently saw nothing as he pocketed his keys and went inside. The internal door – the only one she could use to get back inside the apartment building – closed behind him with a sickening click.
The license plates were changed. There was an inside button that would open the garage gate and let her out to the street, but once that closed behind her she would be outside taking her chances, getting around to the front door of the apartment building where she could buzz upstairs.
Of course, being who she was, she had cautioned Kevin not to answer a buzz for any reason. Remember (she had reminded him) Wes had his own key – he'd let himself in when he got back from downtown. There was no reason to open the door for anyone else ...
God, sometimes she hated herself. Whenever was she going to learn?
She rang the bell. It was her only chance to get back inside before Wes returned, possibly tailed by policemen. What else was she going to do, hang out in the garage all day? She knew it would probably be futile but she rang anyway. Maybe if she kept it up, kept ringing it constantly for five minutes, maybe tapped out an SOS in Morse code or something, then Kevin might be tempted to...
Obviously, he wasn't.
She buzzed again. No answer. More time passed. The evening wind had come up, cold-and-fog-laden and swirling her hair in front of her face. She hadn't worn a jacket, either. She pushed the buzzer again, held it, yelled into the speaker. 'Goddamn it, Kevin!'
No response. Nothing.
Stomping her foot, she stared at the speaker, her eyes filling with tears.
Then his voice, finally, a whisper from the speaker: 'Melanie?'
'God, Kevin. Yes.'
And the blessed sound of the buzzer.
A black Mercedes-Benz 130D was parked in front of Melanie's GEO, blocking it, and by its open driver-side door stood a tall woman in a business suit, her arms crossed, impatience and anger etched on her face.
Kevin and Melanie came from inside the building through the internal door to the garage and saw her. She wasted no time. 'Is this your car?' The tones were clipped. 'In my space?'
'Yes, it is. I'm sorry,' Melanie began. 'We'll just—'
'You know, I'm so tired of this,' the woman said. 'I get home from work and then I wait around for whoever has decided on that day to take the place that I pay for.'
'Well, we'll just—'
'You don't even live here, do you? Who said you could park here? Who let you in?'
Kevin stepped forward. 'We're really sorry, ma'am. We've got a friend in the apartment and he said—'
'Who?'
The two fugitives looked at each other. 'That doesn't matter. It's—'
The woman pointed a finger. 'You know what? It does matter. I've rung the manager and he's coming down and we're going to talk about this. This is the sixth time this month somebody's been in my spot and I am at my limit. So we'll just wait.'
Melanie: 'Um, we can't. We're expected ... we've got a meeting.'
The internal door opened again and a balding man, mid-forties, in a mouse-colored sweater and khakis, no socks and some decade-old topsiders, was moving toward them. 'What's the problem, Maggie?'
'Someone told these people they could park here, Frank, and I want to find out who, and then I want something done about this. It's got to stop.'
Melanie spoke to the manager. 'Listen,' she said. 'Frank. We were told we could park here and now we're leaving. It won't happen again, I promise. But we've got to be somewhere right now.' She turned to the Maggie person. 'We're sorry about the five other times, but that wasn't us.'
Maggie was not listening. Life in the city often hinged on finding a parking place, and a lot of other things that were as seemingly trivial and just as difficult. 'I'm not paying for this place,' she said to Frank. 'Not this month.'
Now Frank seemed to focus on Kevin for the first time. 'Don't I know you?'
'Are you going to do something, Frank, or not?'
Kevin said he might have seen him in the hallway once or twice. He was a friend of Wes Farrell's.
Frank kept staring at Kevin, wondering if that was it.
'Wes Farrell. Okay, then.' Maggie, knowing who she was going to go after.
Frank appealed to her. 'What do you want me to do, Maggie, call the police? Why don't we just let these people go on their way?'
"Yes, that's exactly what I think. I think we should call the police. They're parked illegally. They've stolen my place and they should pay for it.'
'We will pay you,' Kevin said. He was getting out his wallet. 'What do you want?'
Frank spread his hands. "That won't be necessary. Come on, Maggie, please move your car, let 'em pull out.'
Maggie, arms still folded across her chest, stared at the three others, tapping her foot once or twice, sighing. 'Oh, all right.' She slid back behind the wheel of her Mercedes, slammed the door closed, rolled down her window. 'This is not the end of this, Frank.'
Melanie was heading for her car. Frank fell in beside Kevin and the two of them walked to the button by the gate.
'I'll get the gate,' Frank said. 'I want to close it up after you're out.'
The Mercedes started up, pulled forward a couple of feet – enough to let the GEO out of the space – and Melanie hit the ignition. Kevin jogged a few ragged, painful steps in her direction.
When he got to the car he turned around. The gate was open, Frank standing by the button. Suddenly, just as Kevin was getting into the GEO, Frank snapped his fingers and called out. 'Maggie! Back up, quick! Stop 'em.'
At the same time, he turned and pushed the button to close the gate again. 'That's Kevin Shea! That's who it is! Kevin Shea!'
Melanie yelled, 'Get in,' and Kevin half fell into the front seat as the car jerked forward. The Mercedes had not yet had the time to react, but the gate was clos
ing and Frank stood in the center of the drive, blocking them as they turned into it. Melanie leaned on the horn.
'I'm gonna have to ... to run him over ...'
'He'll jump out of the way! He'll have to.'
She pressed down on the accelerator and the tires squealed on the smooth concrete. The gate was nearly halfway closed. She kept her hand on the horn, heading toward Frank, whose hands were up in front of his face.
'I can't,' Melanie said. She hit the brakes. The gate slammed into Kevin's side of the door. Frank came forward a step and put his hands on the hood.
'Hold on,' Melanie said, and pressed her foot down, the sudden movement lifting Frank onto the hood as it went out over the sidewalk. He fell off into the street as she turned into it.
She ran the stop sign at the corner of Junipero Serra, turned right at the next one, then left, then back up to 19th Avenue, where the traffic was lighter and at least it appeared that no one knew who they were.
Melanie was driving north on 19th Avenue. The sun was setting below the clouds, bright red with smoke in the atmosphere.
Frank's recognizing Kevin built on the closeness of the previous night's escape. Neither said a word for seven blocks, until Kevin pointed. 'What's that?' On either side of them up ahead pillars of smoke were rising – new outbreaks beginning to erupt as the day wore to dusk. Ahead of them, the traffic was slowing.
'I don't know.'
She changed into the right lane. Ahead of them a crowd of people was visible a couple of intersections ahead. Were they throwing things onto passing cars? That was what it looked like. They could make out people running, coming out into the street. 'I'm turning,' she said.
Twenty minutes later they had parked at the end of Page and walked around the corner of Stanyan by the border of Golden Gate Park. Ann's apartment building was a U-shaped four-story brick structure that faced the park, with the entrance in the center, behind a smallish courtyard with a weed-filled garden, a waterless fountain and chipped Spanish tiling. The wind had collected volumes of paper trash and deposited them in the corners by the building.
Glitsky 01 - Certain Justice, A Page 23