When Hardy got back to the office, it was after four o'clock. The alcohol had slowed him down while the nicotine had jolted him up. He went to his windows and flung them both wide open, then got himself a large glass of water and sat down behind his desk. In his absence, he had had three phone calls.

The first was from Jeff Elliot, who wanted to know what, if any, progress Hardy had made on the Kensing front. He was working on another Parnassus column and maybe they had some mutually beneficial information they could share.

In the second message, Wes Farrell was calling to let him know that he'd finally persuaded the Lorings to let authorities dig up their mother. Now he was meeting some pretty strong resistance from Strout, with whom he thought Hardy had already cleared it. What was going on?

The third call, at last, was from his client, whom he'd been trying to reach all day. He called him back first and Kensing started off by telling Hardy that he still had the kids after the fight with his wife…

"Wait a minute, Eric. Back up. What fight with your wife?"

He explained what had happened in some detail, following up with Glitsky's unexpected visit to his house last night. "I got the impression he thinks I went over there to hurt her. Maybe worse."

Hardy remembered Glitsky's prediction that Kensing would do just that. "But you didn't talk to him again. Please say you didn't."

"No. I didn't let him in. But I thought I'd make myself scarce today."

"Probably a good idea. What'd you do?"

After he'd dropped the kids at their school, Kensing decided to really take the day off, think a little, get some kind of plan. He'd walked across the Golden Gate Bridge and back, driven downtown and eaten dim sum in Chinatown, taken in a movie, then gone back for the kids at school. He'd also just talked to Ann. She was out of jail and wanted the kids to return to her house, but he didn't feel good about that. What did Hardy think?

"Do you think she's a danger to them?"

"Before Saturday, I would have said no. But I've never seen her like that, and we've had our share of fights, believe me."

"But nothing physical? You're sure?" This was always a critical point to make. It would be very bad if the grand jury discovered that Kensing had ever used any kind of violence on his wife. Better to know now. "You never hit her, Eric? Not even one time?"

"I'd remember. I never hit her, although she's hit me a few times."

Hardy didn't much like that, either, but for Kensing's purposes, it was better than if he'd hit her. "Okay, then. Exactly what happened Saturday?"

"I guess she must have finally convinced herself that I killed Tim."

"That's what I'd concluded, too. Would you like me to talk to her? Do you think she'd talk to me?"

He heard the relief in Kensing's voice. "That'd be great. Either one."

It wasn't really the answer to his question, but it was clearly permission. Hardy felt free to move on. "Eric, can you tell me who was at the hospital with you last Tuesday?"

"Where? You mean in the ICU?"

"Anywhere near it really."

"Sure. I think so. Me, obviously. The nurses." He continued with the litany, which was more substantial than Hardy had realized. That in turn gave him some hope, although it might also mean a lot of work. He hadn't even heard of all of the players yet, and this struck him as unconscionable.

A new wave of anger at Glitsky swept over him. What the hell was he doing? Maybe he had concluded that Jackman's deal with Hardy wasn't his deal, too, but in fact it was. Jackman's deal meant next to nothing without Glitsky's cooperation.

The thought passed, though the anger did not. But Hardy was taking notes through it all. In addition to Carla, Kensing told him, there had been Malachi Ross, Markham's assistant Brendan Driscoll (whom Kensing seemed to dislike), a couple of nurses, and two other doctors, including Judith Cohn. Hardy found himself wondering again how long Eric's relationship with Cohn had been going on. He would have to try and talk to her.

But first, after he'd hung up with Kensing, there was Ann. She answered her telephone. Yes, of course she'd talk to him, she said. Anytime he wanted. She wanted her children back.

It turned out that her house was on his way home. He could be there in twenty minutes.

23

On crutches and with a cast on her foot, Ann Kensing led Hardy into the messy living room. Throwing some dirty kids' clothes to the floor from the couch, she motioned for him to sit on it and then took her spot at the opposite end. Now she'd heard his opening and he could see her wrestling with what to do with it.

"You're his lawyer, Mr. Hardy. What else are you going to say?"

"I could say a whole lot of things, Mrs. Kensing. I could say okay, he did it, but nobody's ever going to be able to prove it. I could say he did it but it was a medical mistake that was unintentional. I could even say he did it but he had a good reason-seeing Mr. Markham lying there under his power rendered him temporarily insane, legally insane. Don't laugh. Juries have bought worse stories. But what I'm here to tell you is that he says he didn't do it at all. I've been a lawyer for a long time. Believe me, I've had clients lie to me more than once. I'm used to it. But the evidence just doesn't prove that your husband did a thing."

"He told me he did it. He even told me how before anybody else knew. How about that?"

Hardy nodded thoughtfully. "He told me about that, too. He was mad at you, insulted that you could even think he could have killed anybody, so he got sarcastic."

"He said he pumped him full of shit."

"Yes he did. But listen, he's a doctor. If he's riffing off the top of his head, just trying to get you going, drugs in the IV is the obvious choice, right?" But he didn't wait for her answer. He wanted to keep her from getting wound up by arguing. Kensing had warned him that when her emotions got her in their grip, she let them carry her where they would-and in her grief over Markham and general rage at the situation, she wasn't likely to be completely rational. Now he leaned in toward her. "What I wanted to talk to you about is how quickly we can get your children back to you."

As he suspected it might, this calmed her slightly-even she understood it wouldn't serve her well to fly off at him. A hand went to her lips as she visibly gathered herself. "I asked Eric if he could bring them back today. He didn't want to do that."

Hardy nodded, all understanding. "He talked to me about that. I asked him to put himself in your shoes. Suppose you were perhaps actually thinking that he'd killed somebody. If that were the case, wouldn't he have fought you to keep you from taking them?" He sat back into the couch, affecting a nonchalance he didn't feel. "If you want my take on this, the problem is that you're both excellent parents. You both have the same instinct, which is to protect your children. This is a good thing, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes. I think so." Her eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, now shimmered with tears. One drop spilled over onto her cheek and she wiped it away with a weary, automatic swipe. Hardy had the feeling she'd been doing that so much lately that she didn't even notice anymore. "He's never hurt them. I don't really think he would, but then after last week, when I thought…" She shook her head.

"When you thought he killed Tim Markham?"

She nodded.

"Mrs. Kensing. Do you really think that? In your heart?"

She chewed at her lower lip. "He could have. Yes. He did hate Tim."

"He hated Tim. I keep hearing that. Did he hate him more than he did two years ago?"

"No, I don't think so."