"But you haven't arrested him yet," he continued, "or brought him before the grand jury. So he's not been charged, and therefore there's no compulsion for you to share anything with me yet."
"Is the preamble over?" Glitsky asked.
Hardy didn't even acknowledge the interruption. He kept his eyes on Jackman. "What I propose is a horse trade." He pressed ahead quickly. "What you really want is Parnassus, Clarence. You know it, I know it, everybody here knows it. You want to find out where the rot is and cut it out, but you've got to be careful you don't cut it so badly that you kill it. If Parnassus goes belly up, the people who'll take the biggest hit by far are the city employees. Now this would be legitimate bad news for a lot of good people, but it's the worst possible political scenario for you, Clarence, if you want to keep this job and continue the good work you've started."
Jackman's mouth turned down slightly in distaste. Hardy didn't think it was only over his brownnosing. He'd hit a nerve, as he hoped he would.
"All right. So how does your client fit in?" Jackman asked.
"He fits because everything's mellow over at Parnassus only so long as you're looking for whoever killed their CEO. They're all expecting you to do that. So the corporate types won't see your people showing up and go rushing out to shred their files, and whatever other obstructions they'll come up with. But once you arrest Kensing, you've got no pretext."
He stopped to let the notion sink in, but Marlene didn't have to wait. "With all respect, Diz, that's bullshit. The grand jury can look anywhere they want, anytime they want. It's got nothing to do with your client."
"I'm not arguing with that, Marlene. You can arrest him and continue to investigate at Parnassus. You have every right. Still " He went back to Jackman. "Here's the city's health care provider, already reeling from near bankruptcy, terrible cash flow problems, subzero morale, and now the loss of its chief executive. If word gets out that you're trying to shut the place down"
"That's not our intention," Marlene said.
But Hardy shook his head. "It doesn't matter. If you arrest Kensing and then continue poking around, that's what it's going to look like. Which means the shit's going to hit the fan. You all know this town. Everything gets exaggerated. Everything's an issue. What's going to happen when it looks like lots of city workers aren't going to have medical care? It will not be pretty."
All this was well and good and possibly true, but Glitsky wasn't buying it at all. "And the way we avoid this potential catastrophe is we don't arrest your client?"
"Only until the grand jury can do its job. Say thirty days."
"Thirty days!" Glitsky was apoplectic. "Are you out of your mind? If he killed Markham, and my evidence says he did, he likely killed his whole family, too. I don't care if it brings down the whole federal government, the man belongs in jail."
Hardy turned to Ash. "The case sucks, Marlene. You arrest him and you know what's going to happen. Parnassus goes in the toilet and after it does, if Kensing beats the case at trial, you guys all go with it."
But with all the arguing, Jackman still hadn't lost the thread. "You mentioned trading, Diz. You're asking us to give you thirty days "
"And your discovery," Hardy added.
Glitsky threw up his hands and stood up. "How 'bout a chauffeur, too? Maybe some massage therapy?"
Hardy kept ignoring him.
The DA's face was lost in concentration. "All right, for purposes of this discussion, and your discovery"
"Not a chance! No way we do this, Clarence. I'll go bring him in on a no-warrant before that happens."
Jackman filled his large chest with air. He had Glitsky by an inch or two and thirty pounds and all of it was never more visible than it was now, when it was clearly so tightly controlled. His voice, when it came, was a deep bassoon of authority. "That you will not do, Lieutenant!" He took another slow breath, then continued in a conversational tone. "You've had ample time before this to arrest Dr. Kensing without a warrant, Abe. But you're the one who brought me into this decision loop, and now it's mine to make. I hope that's abundantly clear."
Glitsky couldn't find his voice. He stared around the room in open disbelief if not downright hostility. Jackman ignored him and turned to Hardy. "Thirty days and discovery in return for what?"
"In return for his testimony in front of the grand jury."
The sense of anticlimax was palpable. Glitsky was shaking his head in bewilderment that Hardy had wasted all of their time and effort for so little. Marlene's face reflected a similar reaction. Even Jackman folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side. But his eyes, at least, still probed.
Hardy felt the topic wasn't closed. "Look, Clarence, as it stands now, when you get Kensing in front of the grand jury, I'm going to tell him to take the Fifth. You'll be lucky if you get his name. This way, you've got Marlene here" He turned to her. "Imagine this. You've got your primary murder suspect answering any question you might have without his lawyer there. It's a prosecutor's dream."
But she was unconvinced. "It's not my dream, Diz. You'll just have more time to give him a story, which he'll stick to." She looked to her boss. "This won't work, sir. He's not offering anything, really."
"But I am, Marlene. Think about this. I'm offering an insider's look inside Parnassus, exactly what you all need."
"We can get that anyway, Diz."
"Where? From who? Everybody else who works there is going to be covering for themselves or their employer. Even the other doctors."
"That's not true. The grand jury will protect them, no matter what they say in there. That's exactly what it's for, Dismas. So people can talk freely."
"It's what it's designed to do, right, Marlene. But it doesn't always work that way. You won't find too many doctors who are going to want to help you in your efforts to cut off the source of their paychecks. But even if all you want is to go after my client on Markham, you've got him all to yourself for as long as you want. No relevance issues, no inadmissibility, no defense objections, total open season."
Marlene's stare was unyielding.
Glitsky had moved over to the doorsill and was leaning against it, a sullen statue. "What if he kills again?" he asked. "His own wife, for example. I'd feel pretty bad if she died. Wouldn't you?"
Jackman broke in between them. "It seems to me he's had ample opportunity to kill his wife if he wanted to, Abe."
"But now, with her statement, he's got a better reason to."
"So we protect her," Jackman said. "Or move her. Or both. And it seems to me that Dismas has a point. If only out of self-preservation, Kensing isn't going to do anything while he knows that he is our chief suspect in another murder."
Hardy knew that in some ways, Jackman's inexperience was showing. Murderers rarely acted rationally. But, he thought cynically, that's what politics was about. The inexperienced taking control. He'd take some self-serving self-deception if it kept his client out of jail.
Jackman turned again to Glitsky.
"Marlene and I were talking about these very issues before Dismas got here, Abe. We agreed then that the Parnassus investigation will take on a very different cast as soon as we make an arrest on Markham. And we were trying to strategize to address the problem. It seems to me now that Diz's solution might have merit."
Glitsky's scar was a tight, thick rope down through his lips. "The man's a murderer, Clarence."
Jackman wasn't going to fight about it. If anything, he was judicious and calm, nodding patiently. "He may be, of course. But as we've said here, I really don't believe he's a danger to the community. Now I don't want to close the door to revisiting that assessment. Daily, if need be. But in the meanwhile"he turned to Hardy"I'm inclined, Diz, to accept your assessment on Parnassus. I don't want them spooked. I don't"
The concession speech was interrupted by the door slamminghardbehind Glitsky as he stormed out.
* * *
Beyond his client's freedom and the prosecution's discov
ery, Hardy had originally intended to make yet another request to the DA. It was normally supposed to be Jackman's call, and by asking his permission, Hardy might continue to succeed in his little charade that cooperation was, in fact, his middle name. But Glitsky's abrupt withdrawal had cast a pall over those who'd stayed, and he decided that to ask for more would be pushing things.
But the other item of business remained. And the more he thought about it, the less it seemed to matter if he asked Jackman's permission first. He needed an answer and needed it now. His client was still in big trouble. And he wasn't really going behind anybody's back by asking John Strout. If the medical examiner found anything as a result of Hardy's request, he would report it to Glitsky and Jackman anyway.
Hardy wasn't hiding anythinghis motives or his actions. Or so he told himself.
He walked out the back door of the hall along the covered outdoor corridor that led to the jail on the left and the morgue on the right. The air smelled faintly of salt water, but he also caught the scent of flowers from the huge commercial market around the corner. He was feeling as though he'd accomplished quite a bit during the day. When he was done with Strout, he'd try to remember to buy a bouquet for his wife, even his daughter. It was Friday evening. The weekend loomed long and inviting, and maybe he and his family could fashion some quality time together if they worked at it.
It turned out that Strout was cutting up someone in the cold room at the moment, but the receptionist told Hardy he shouldn't be too long. Did he want to wait? He told her he thought he would.
The medical examiner's regular officeas opposed to the morguewas a veritable museum of ancient and modern weapons and instruments of torture. Always an interesting place to visit, the room made no concession to safety. All of Strout's bizarre stuff was out in the open to admire and hold and, if you were foolhardy enough, to try out. If one of his city-worker assistants ever became disgruntled, Hardy thought, he could have a field day going postal herestab a few folks with switchblades or bowie knives, blow up others with hand grenades, shoot up the rest with any number of automatic weapons from the arsenal.
Hardy sat on the bench at the garrotered silk kerchief and allconsidering his victory upstairs and pondering both the wisdom and the odds for success of his next move. The important thing, he reminded himself again, was to keep his client out of jail. He knew that between Glitsky's constant press, Marlene's handling of the grand jury, and Kensing's difficult and unpredictable behavior, the thirty days Jackman had promised him could evaporate like the morning fog. Hardy had to have something more, in spite of the risk that what he was about to suggest might in fact strengthen the case against his client.
He realized that it came down to a gamble, and this made him uncomfortable. But he didn't feel he had a choice. The noose was tightening around his client's neck. His guts told him that it was worth the risk. But if he was wrong .
"You want, I can get that snot rag around your throat and tighten it down just a little bit. I'm told it's quite effective for the libido." Strout was referring to the garrote, and even more grimly to erotic asphyxia, the heightened orgasm which occurred during hanging and some other forms of strangulation. "Seems to be all the rage these past few years, 'tho my own feelin' is that it just plain ain't worth the trouble. But maybe I'm wrong. Lots of folks seem to give it a try. Anyway, how y'all doing?"
The two men made small talk for a couple of minutes while Strout shuffled his messages. After he'd gotten behind his desk, and Hardy had moved to a different chair, they got down to it.
When Hardy finished, Strout scratched around his neck. "Let me get this straight," he said at last. "You're comin' in here as a private citizen askin' me to autopsy another Portola patient who died the same day as Mr. Markham?"
"If you haven't already done it."
"What's the subject's name?"
"James Lector."
Strout shook his head. "Nope, haven't done it. But they do an automatic PM at the hospital. You know that?"
"And they never miss anything, do they?"
This was a good point, and Strout acknowledged it with a small wave. "How close was the time of death to Markham's?"
"Within a few minutes, actually."
"If I take a look, what exactly would I be lookin' for?"
"That I don't know."
Strout took off his horn-rims, blew on them, put them back on. The medical examiner had a mobile, elastic face, and it seemed to stretch in several directions at once. "Maybe I don't see what you're gettin' at. If you're sayin' Glitsky thinks your client killed Mr. Markham, then how's it s'posed to help your client if another body turns up with potassium in it on the same day?"
"It won't," Hardy agreed. "I'm hoping it's not potassium." What he did hope was that James Lector was unexplained death number twelve. It wouldn't clear Kensing, but it might take some of the onus off his client for Markham's death. "Either way," he continued, "isn't it better if we know for sure what Lector died of?"
"Always," Strout agreed. He thought another moment. "And why would I want to order this autopsy again?"
Hardy shrugged. "You decided that Lector was a suspicious death, dying as he did within minutes of another homicide in the same room at the same hospital."
The medical examiner's head bobbed up and down once or twice. He pulled a hand grenade that he used as a paperweight over and spun it thoughtfully a few times on his blotter. Hardy watched the deadly sphere spin and tried not to think about what might happen if the pin came out by mistake.
Finally, Strout put his hand on the grenade, stopping it midspin. His eyes skewered Hardy over his glasses. "You're leavin' somethin' out," he said.
"Not on purpose. Really."
"If I'm doin' thiswhich I'm not promisin' yet, mind youthen I want to know what you're lookin' for, and why."
Hardy spread his hands, hiding nothing. "I think there's some small but real chance that James Lector is the latest in a series of homicides at Portola." This made Strout sit up, and Hardy went on. "So Lector's death may or may not have been natural, and may or may not have been related to Tim Markham's," he concluded. "But certainly if Lector was murdered and died from a different drug than Markham, then there's a lot more going on at Portola than meets the eye at this stage."
"But again, it wouldn't do much for your client."
"Maybe not, John, but I need to find some evidence of other foul play where I can make an argument that my client wasn't involved. And don't tell meI realize that doesn't prove he didn't kill Markham. At least it's somewhere to start, and I need something."
Strout was considering it all very carefully. "You got the Lector family's permission?" he asked. "When's the funeral scheduled?"
"No and I don't know. If you ordered an autopsy, we wouldn't need the family to " This wasn't flying and he stopped talking. "What?"
"I believe I mentioned that there's already been a PM. If they got a cause of death they're happy with and I say I want another look at the body, it's goin' to ruffle feathers, both at the hospital and with the family. 'Specially if like the funeral's tomorrow or, say, this mornin' and we got to dig him back up." But something about the idea obviously had caught Strout's interest. If somebody was getting away with multiple homicides in a San Francisco hospital, it was his business to know about it. "What I'm sayin' is o' course we could do it without anybody's permission if I got a good enough reason, which I'm not sure I do. But any way we do it, it'd be cleaner if we asked nice and got an okay from the family."
"I'll talk to them," Hardy said.
"Then I'll make a gentlemen's deal with you, Diz. If it gets so it doesn't make anybody too unhappy, we'll do this. But if the family makes a stink, you're gonna have to go to court and convince a judge to sign an order. I'm not gonna do it on my own."
Hardy figured this was as good as it was going to get. He didn't hesitate for an instant. "Done," he said. "You'll be glad you did this, John. Ten to one you're going to find something."
Strout's expression grew shrewd. "Ten to one, eh? How much you puttin' up?"
Hardy gave it some thought. "I'll go a yard," he said.
"A hundred bucks? You lose and you'll owe me a grand?"
"That's it."
"You're on." Strout stuck out his hand and Hardy hesitated one last second, then took it.
18
It was Friday afternoon, the best time to do it. Joanne announced his appointment in her pleasant, professional voice. She, of course, knew all about it, having typed the termination papers, but she would do nothing to give it away. Also present, kitty-corner from his desk at the small conference table, was Costanza Eu, Cozzie for short, the Human Resources director at Parnassus. This was going to be, had to be, strictly by the book. Malachi Ross, behind his desk when Driscoll came in, didn't get up.
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