I've re-read this to here and realize that it sounds a little like I'm attaching some blame to you about all this, but please, it's not that. I know you had no idea about me until recently. I believe if you'd known you'd have taken some role -I just believe that. It seems to be who you are.
After you found out, and I knew that you knew, at first I didn't really understand why you didn't come to me. That's true. And it hurt me as I suppose you might imagine. But then eventually it came to feel right, that it was OK. We'd see each other at work from time to time and got along pretty well. I admired you, and think you felt the same about me. At least I hope you did.
You had your own family, your boys. See? I know all about them, my half-brothers. But I had my life – busy and public and personally a mess. You didn't need any part of it, believe me. I think you made a wise decision. And with all the older men I was searching to connect with, who I'd try to please at work and then need to go further, make it personal – Chris Locke, then Gabe, Aaron Rand – well, I don't have to give you the litany, but these and so many more. Half my clients. And all of them went nowhere. They couldn't go anywhere. I was too needy and demanding and screwed up. I think that's really why I never came to you, either. It was the one sacred thing.
A part of me wishes that we could have talked, at least acknowledged what we were to each other, although something else tells me that this would have been a bad decision, too. Like so many of the rest of them.
I could somehow just keep you best by not saying anything. I could watch how you kept your dignity and handled the losses over Mom, over your wife. All the losses. And maybe I could learn something from that. I came to see it as though you were talking to me that way. By example. And as long as we had no acknowledged relationship, I could keep you as mine and not make all my usual mistakes. Does this make any sense?
The truth is, Abe, that I don't really fit in my life here and I never have. Oh, I know it seems like I did. My mother the senator and her connections. It was all laid out for me, who I was and what role I'd play. The politics. Who I'd become. So I finished law school and went right to work here for the DA and Chris Locke and I… well, you knew about that.
I thought he loved me. I know I did love him. But after that – after Chris and Mom were dead -the bottom just fell out. I'd done everything to please Mom, then to please Chris, and suddenly neither of them were there anymore and all the reasons I had for doing what I was doing just disappeared.
And then the awful truth began to emerge that I wasn't who they thought I was after all. I'd never been that person inside. But I'd also never taken any time for myself, to figure things out that if I wasn't that, then what was I?
The only thing I knew, the only reference I'd ever lived with, was Mom's, and she was happy with it because it was who she was, this political animal. She got her identity and self-worth by her causes and issues, by keeping busy and connected. You volunteered, you did good works, you fought for the oppressed, and that was the secret to a happy life.
But Abe, it wasn't my life. It was Loretta's, and then suddenly she was gone and I was the heir apparent, having to live it, to be it. To be the reincarnation of my mother, full-time, full-bore. Everybody wanted me to step in, fill her shoes, continue her work.
It's not the kind of thing you realize right away, that you're living a lie, that the whole thing isn't you. But you get enough headaches and cramps and you stop sleeping because you're living two or three separate – no, contradictory - lives. And eventually, even if you're not the most insightful person in the world, a few years go by and you start to get a clue.
But what do you do? All the tapes are running. You can't just drop everything at once. Especially if your entire personality is that you aim to please. You tell some school where you volunteer to teach or a neighborhood council you're organizing or even your boss that you need to cut back on your workload and get some time and perspective, and it's like you're speaking a foreign language. Give us just one more class, Elaine, one more term on the board, one more high-profile client.
And if you're me, when it finally comes to it, you agree to stay on. Because you need their approval. All their approvals. In your deepest heart, you need them to like you. You're nothing if you're not pleasing someone. You need to be loved. So you tell yourself…
No, not you, I.
So I kept telling myself it would be soon. I'd stop for a while, step off the treadmill. Nothing so drastic as a complete change of career, but a long vacation to figure out a new plan, a different approach.
And meanwhile, every single day, so miserably unhappy.
I'm cheating on my fiance; he's cheating on me. My boss is betraying me. I find out that another one of my mentors, who in the past I trusted, confided in, worked with, depended on, even, of course, slept with – here's another betrayal, more cheating. Now there was no integrity even in the system that I'd worked so hard on behalf of, that I still wanted to believe in. But no longer could. The whole thing – the career, my private life, the law itself, Abe – none of it was working.
And suddenly I knew I couldn't take another hit. I was in the wrong place, doing the wrong things. It was going to kill me.
I had to change it all.
I couldn't tell a soul, not even my dear paralegal, a woman named Treya Ghent – she'd be wise and tell me I could stay and change and work things out, but I don't believe that's true. Not anymore. I've lost all my faith in this life. There was so much I couldn't even tell her. Cheating on Jonas. Other things. I couldn't have borne her disapproval most of all.
So I'm gone. It is the right thing and I am happy. A clean break, no explanations to anyone with their agendas for me.
Except this to you.
It isn't anything to do with you.
Love, your daughter,
Elaine
They both read it in the bus station, then took the packet and the suitcase out to the car. On the way home, they started to dissect the startling revelations. Elaine had been leaving the country anyway? The Alitalia ticket was for a 6:15 a.m. flight the morning after she'd been shot. Gabe Torrey? Aaron Rand, Clarence Jackman's partner? Half her clients? But eventually, the weight of it all became too much and they both fell silent.
The duplex was still. When they got in, they discovered that Raney had crashed on the sofa in front of the tube. Orel had gone into his room and now slept, fully clothed and open-mouthed, on the top of his bed. Out in the dark living room, Rita snored lightly on her fold-a-bed in the corner behind her Pier One Imports faux-Japanese screen.
They read it again, this time together, at Glitsky's kitchen table, the one light on directly over their heads. When they got to the last line, Treya put a hand over Abe's and squeezed it. She read it aloud. 'It isn't anything to do with you.'
'I know that,' he said. 'My mind knows that.' He let out a long breath. 'Tell me it's too late to call Diz, would you?'
She looked behind him at the clock above the oven -12:20. 'It's too late to call Diz,' she said. 'Do you think the other man, the betrayal of the system she talks about, was Gabe Torrey?'
'Yep. I think she found something at Dash Logan's.'
'Just as Dismas said.'
'Maybe. Parts of it.'
She tapped the letter. 'So what do you want to do with this?'
Glitsky shook his head. It was a serious consideration. 'I don't know.'
'Well, it was addressed to you…'
'I know. If she'd dropped it in a mailbox and it got delivered, it would be my property and I could keep it.' He sighed. 'But she didn't get to do that.'
'So it's got to be evidence?'
'Oh, it's evidence all right. If I was working as a cop right now…' He paused, pushed back his chair, and turned toward her. 'But forget the legalities, Trey. This is personal. I'd really like to know what you think.'
She faced him and said, 'If making it public would correct some of the problems she wrote about, she'd want you to show it.'
The corn
ers of his mouth lifted slightly. 'I keep waiting for you to come up with a wrong answer.'
'Raney does, too.' Her tired eyes sparked for an instant. 'You'll have to get in line. So meanwhile, what do we do?'
Glitsky knew the answer to that. 'Diz has got to get it in front of the judge. If she was sleeping with half her clients, if she was leaving the country the next day…'
'Then it need not have been random.'
'No,' he said heavily. 'It never was.'
Abe stared at the floor between his shoes. A shiver went through him and he lifted his face, inches now from hers. 'You know my problem?'
'What's your problem?'
'A lot of times, like with Elaine, I don't say things when I should.'
She reached out and cupped his hands in hers. Met his eyes. Waited.
'But I've got to ask you…'
She brought her mouth to his, her hands to his face. When she pulled away ten seconds later, she whispered to him, 'That would be a yes.'
35
In the minutes before Department 20 convened, the Cadaver's chambers vibrated with anger and accusations. Torrey was on his feet, pacing in front of Hill's desk, the day's issue of the Examiner in his hand as a prop. 'Never in my time as a prosecutor have I ever seen this kind of irresponsible slander. I thought I'd seen defense attorneys pull every outrageous stunt in the books, but this-'
'With friends like Dash Logan, I bet you have,' Hardy interjected mildly. He was standing by the door. Both David Freeman and Sharron Pratt claimed pride of place and sat in the armchairs arranged on the rug in front of Hill. The court reporter – since every word uttered in a capital case is on the record – sat with her machine to the judge's right, tapping away.
Torrey turned on his heel, lashing out. 'I'm not talking about Dash Logan! I'm talking about this libelous-'
'So sue me.' Hardy moved forward, toward the judge. 'Your honor, excuse me, but so what? A reporter wrote a factual story that doesn't bear on this case-'
'A factual story, my ass! There's nothing but-'
'Mr Torrey!' Hill boomed. As with Hardy in chambers the day before, the judge projected a much more powerful persona here in his room than he showed on the bench. Again, he was not yet in his robes, and the business suit added to the aura of power. 'I'm goddamned tired of listening to profanity day in and day out, so we won't have any more of it here, all right.'
'I'm sorry, your honor, but-'
Hill held up a finger, spoke sternly with the volume still up. 'No buts. I'm tired of it. That's the end of it.'
Torrey, no place to go, threw a malevolent glance at Hardy, pulled himself to his full height and stiffly walked over to the one window. Sharron Pratt watched him with sympathy, then shifted in her chair and came back to the judge. Her voice all smooth reason. 'What Gabe's saying has merit, though, your honor. Mr Hardy is named as a source in this column. Surely he could have exercised a little restraint in his dealings with the press while this hearing was going on.'
'How many times do I have to say it?' Hardy leaned against the bookshelves, arms crossed and casual, although it was far from how he felt. 'The article doesn't have anything to do with this case, your honor. I had no idea exactly when Mr Elliot was going to run it. And there isn't a word in it that isn't factual.'
Torrey pounced again. 'That's a lie. I never offered you a deal.'
Hardy was mild. 'The article doesn't say you did.'
'Well, it damn well implies it.' Realizing what he'd done, Torrey faced the judge. 'Sorry, your honor.' Hill waved it off.
'That's how you read it, of course,' Hardy replied. 'If the shoe fits…' A shrug.
'All right, gentlemen, that's enough.' Hill arranged some pens on his blotter. 'Ms Pratt, I've given both you and Mr Torrey more than a reasonable opportunity to vent your displeasure at Mr Hardy. But he's right. This article has nothing to do with the case at hand. And we are here in chambers at his request, not yours. Do you mind if we proceed?' He turned to Hardy. 'And what you have does – presumably – bear here. Is that correct?'
'Yes, your honor, it does.' He leaned over and undid the clasp of his briefcase, then extracted several sheets of paper and held them tantalizingly. 'Last night, Lieutenant Glitsky was reviewing some property of Elaine Wager's that had been brought to my office-'
'My Lord! Your honor!' Torrey exploded again, marching forward. 'What does Mr Hardy think he's doing now? By what right does he gain possession of Ms Wager's property? Lieutenant Glitsky has already been placed on disciplinary leave for interfering in this case and cannot serve any kind of search warrant on her or anybody else. This is completely improper, totally beyond the pale.'
Hardy calmly addressed the judge. 'If Mr Torrey could keep his well-pressed shirt on, your honor. There was no search warrant. We asked Ms Wager's fiance if we could take a look through her condominium. He said yes. Simple as that.'
Torrey grunted with displeasure. 'I don't think so.'
Freeman jumped in. 'Why not, Gabe? Why wouldn't he want to help us find some clue as to who might have killed her?'
'We know who killed her,' Torrey snapped.
'No. I don't think we do,' Freeman replied.
Pratt ignored that exchange and leaned forward. 'I have a question for Mr Hardy. You're the one who brought up Lieutenant Glitsky. Is he working for you on this matter?'
Hardy shrugged. 'As you say, he's on leave. He can do what he wants and it appears he wants to know who killed Elaine Wager. Naturally, anything he finds will be made available to you.'
'We already have a police file on that, Mr Hardy. From Lieutenant Glitsky's own department.'
Hardy shrugged. 'Lieutenant Glitsky thinks the police may have made a mistake and that you've painted yourself into a political corner.' He borrowed one of Freeman's smiles.
'So you contend that Lieutenant Glitsky's involvement here is what? Somehow to protect the police department from its own ineptitudes?'
'I'm sure there's a little of that, yes. But mostly something else.'
'Oh, what's that?'
Next to Pratt, Freeman clucked. She'd just asked another question to which she didn't know the answer, and it was always – always – a bad idea.
Hardy looked at Pratt, at Torrey, finally at the judge. 'Your honor, Lieutenant Glitsky is – was – Elaine Wager's father.'
After several seconds of absolutely dead air, Torrey found his voice. 'My God,' he said, incredulous, 'is there no end to it? It appears that Messrs Hardy and Freeman will go to any lengths of fabrication to muddy the waters here. This has got to be the most ridiculous…' Words failing him, he made some dismissive noise, then turned to the judge for commiseration. 'Your honor, please?'
By now, though, Hill was fully engaged. Whatever else was going on here, this was as unusual a set of facts as he'd ever dealt with. If they were facts. He turned to Hardy, ready to strike at the first sign of nonsense. 'I'm very much hoping you have proof of this, counsel.'
'Of course, your honor.' He approached the desk with his papers. 'As I began to say so long ago now, last night Lieutenant Glitsky was looking over some of Elaine's property that had been brought down to my office. Among the items was a key that he recognized as belonging to a public locker.' He kept talking, loath to give anyone a chance to interrupt him again. 'As it turned out, this locker was located in the bus station, and Lieutenant Glitsky opened it.' He held up a hand, stopping Torrey before he could start. 'He is her next of kin, your honor, and not acting as a police officer. There was no question of his needing a warrant. He was perfectly within his rights. In any event, the locker contained many of Elaine's personal items, but also a handwritten letter addressed to Lieutenant Glitsky-'
Torrey could restrain himself no longer. 'Oh, please…'
But Hardy could see that Hill was still with him, and continued, '-a copy of which I have with me. The original is in a safe place and can be made available to the court at short notice. Several references in this letter bear strongly upon this case, you
r honor, and I wanted to bring them to the court's attention at the earliest possible moment.'
'To what end, Mr Hardy? If this is evidence, present it at the hearing in your case in chief. If it's not, I don't want to hear about it, here or anywhere else.'
'Your honor.' Freeman came slowly up from his chair. 'With respect, I've seen the document and believe it raises issues that address whether or not the District Attorney's office should recuse itself, or you should recuse it, entirely from this case.'
Pratt, under her breath: 'You've got to be joking.'
'Not at all, Sharron.' Freeman turned to her. 'We believe the AG is much more objectively situated to prosecute this case, your honor. There is evidence of personal animus here that-'
'I've heard enough talking,' Hill interrupted. 'We've got a hearing in the real world out there and I'd like to get back to it someday. Mr Hardy, let's see what you've got. You make a motion if you've got one, and I'll make a ruling.'
'Of course I knew the judge wouldn't force them to recuse. The fact that Torrey used to have a personal relationship with her sometime in the past isn't enough, even if we could prove it without hearsay. As his honor astutely noted.' Freeman was in high spirits, trying to bring Cole up to date at the defense table while they waited for Judge Hill to enter the courtroom again after the long adjournment to chambers. 'Besides, we need a written motion, notice to the AG, and a whole lot more than we've got.' David displayed a slight edge of disappointment that Cole had felt he had to ask why they'd requested the DA's dismissal from the case. But it wasn't enough to dull his pleasure in the result. 'And there was no way Pratt was taking herself out of this.'
'OK. And yet you asked them both to do it anyway because…?'
The Hearing Page 42