The smell of bao-those delicious buns of sticky dough and savory barbecued pork-made him suddenly realize how hungry he was. Lou's special today may have broken new culinary ground, but most of the table hadn't evolved to the point where they could appreciate it. Hardy hadn't eaten more than three bites.

When he'd given Jackman enough time to disappear, Hardy went inside himself and rode the elevator to the fourth floor. Glitsky wasn't in his office. Hardy walked out into the hall and punched a number into his cell phone.

Two rings, then the mellifluous tones. "Glitsky."

"How's Hunter's Point?"

"Who's this?"

"Take a stab."

A beat. "What do you want?"

"Five minutes. Where are you really?"

"Department twenty-two."

This was a courtroom on the third floor. If anything at all had been going on in it, Glitsky would have turned off his phone-not to do so would incur the wrath of judge Leo Chomorro. So the courtroom was dark or in recess and Glitsky was in hiding.

If Hardy was going to accuse Abe of withholding discovery from him-and he was-he was going to do it to his face. The lieutenant sat in the back row, the seat farthest from the center aisle. He looked over briefly at Hardy's entrance, but didn't seem inclined to make an effort to meet him halfway. Which made two of them.

"I just talked to Clarence. He's of a mind that we should cooperate." Hardy's voice echoed in the empty and cavernous space. "I might have mentioned to him that that was a two-way street, but I didn't."

"That was noble of you."

"I was wondering, though, why your inspectors never got around to checking who'd been near the ICU when Mark ham died. Did you just tell them that Kensing did it, so they didn't need to bother?"

Glitsky's head turned to face him. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Bracco and the other guy, his partner, what they've been doing this past week." Glitsky folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. Hardy took the nonresponse as a kind of answer. "Because I'm having a hard time understanding why they didn't ask any questions at the hospital where Markham died. Doesn't that strike you as odd? That would seem like a logical place to talk to witnesses, wouldn't you think?"

"What's your point?"

"I believe you told them to go there. That's the first place you would have looked."

"That's right. It turns out that was one of the first places we did go. So again, I ask you, what's your point?"

"The point is there wasn't any sign of that in the complete discovery that you were supposedly giving me. The deal was that I got what you got, remember?"

"You did get it," Glitsky said.

"I didn't get anything on anybody at the hospital. And now you tell me your men were there. What do you think that looks like?"

Glitsky seemed to be mulling this over. After a second or two, he glanced at Hardy. "Maybe the transcripts haven't been typed up yet."

"Maybe that's it. So where are the tapes without transcripts, since I also have a bunch of those?" But Hardy had been in the practice of criminal law long enough that he'd learned a few tricks used by police to enhance the odds of a successful prosecution. "Maybe," he added pointedly, "maybe you instructed them to forget to run a tape." This was a popular and not uncommon technique, the exercise of which was almost impossible to prove.

"It occurred to me," Hardy went on, "that since you've decided I'm not playing fair, that you might as well do the same thing."

Glitsky's mouth went tight. His scar stood out. Hardy knew he was hitting Glitsky where it hurt the most, but he had to get through to him somehow.

"And as a consequence it took me four days to find out on my own what you already knew," Hardy said.

"And what is that?"

"That there were any number of people with opportunity and maybe even motive to have killed Markham."

But Glitsky wasn't budging. "If you couldn't find it, that's your problem. My inspectors went and asked. They got a complete chronology for the whole day, from Markham's admittance to…" Suddenly Glitsky stopped, threw a quick look at Hardy, then stared into some middle distance. His nostrils flared and his lips pursed.

"What?" Hardy asked.

Glitsky's expression suddenly changed. Something he remembered made him draw in a quick breath, then visibly clamp down further.

Hardy waited for a beat, said, "I'm listening." He waited some more.

Finally, exuding disgust and embarrassment, the lieutenant began to shake his head slowly from side to side. "They forgot to run a tape. It's Bracco and Fisk, you know, their first case. They just didn't follow protocol and…" He stopped again, knowing it was hopeless to try and explain further. No one, least of all Hardy, would believe him and, under these conditions, he understood that no one should.

Hardy first reacted as Abe expected he must. "I'd call that self-serving on the face of it," he replied crisply. "How convenient that only just now, at the moment I catch you at it, the explanation comes back to you. And such a handy one at that."

The sarcasm fairly dripped.

"There's only one thing." Hardy took a step toward the door to the courtroom, faced his friend, and spoke from the heart. "The thing is, I know you, Abe. I know who you are and I trust every part of it. If you're telling me that's what happened, then that's what happened. End of story."

"That's what happened." Glitsky couldn't look at him.

"All right. Well, then, maybe somebody could write me up a report on what they found so I'm up to speed." He pushed at the door, but then stopped and turned in mid-step. "Oh, and congratulations. Treya called and told Frannie."

Then he was out in the hallway, leaving Glitsky to his demons.

PART THREE

25

Bracco couldn't figure his partner out. Sometimes he was worthless and uninvolved; then he'd get some off-the-wall idea and it would get them someplace.

All day yesterday, they'd been a couple of flatfeet. Walking and talking, walking and talking. The hospital, the coffee group, the Judah Clinic. Ten hours, and then no Glitsky to report to when they'd finally gotten back to homicide. He'd rushed out someplace on some call, evidently in high dudgeon. And they'd gotten the message last time. They could report next morning here at the hall rather than at his house. Although they hadn't been able to do that either, not today. The lieutenant hadn't yet come in by the time they had to leave for their appointment with Kathy West, and that was sometime a little after 10:00.

Now they had all been outside on the patio-sun-dappled, no wind-at this Italian place on Union for over two hours. As far as Bracco could tell, they were having the kind of lunch society folks must have every day, and why weren't all of them fat, he wondered? Then, of course, he realized that Harlen was. But still, two hours for lunch? And it wasn't over yet. Maybe this was how his dad felt, hanging with the mayor.

Bracco had to admit that his partner was doing a hell of a job getting to know Nancy Ross. Of course, he had the entree and help of his aunt Kathy, who was part of their lunch foursome. Even so, Bracco thought that Fisk was handling this interrogation very well. In spite of the tape recorder that now sat in the middle of the table amidst the half-empty coffee cups and tiramisu plates, Nancy-she was Nancy by now-seemed to be completely at her ease.

Although Bracco believed she would be equally composed in any situation. She was a thoroughbred, seemingly born to be waited upon, to command, to direct. Though not as physically magnetic as Ann Kensing with her eyes and curvature, Nancy Ross wore a kind of timeless elegance. But she didn't come across as an ice queen by any means. She had a good ready laugh, a naughty turn of phrase. Somehow she'd gotten into a running gag with Kathy West on the word "long"-"My, what long…bread sticks they serve here." Or, "Did you notice the long…earlobes our waiter has?"-and the two of them had gotten nearly giddy a couple of times.