‘And what about Leland?’

‘He doesn’t have to matter if you don’t let him.’

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Take the damn money.’

Carefully keeping any elation out of his voice – this really was a critical decision that would keep them both afloat – Hardy felt his shoulders relax. He turned to his legal pad. ‘Oh, by the way, I had a nice talk with your friend Russ Cutler last night. Funny how you forgot to mention him.’

Graham didn’t shrink from it. Caught again, oh, well. ‘I had other things on my mind. I tried to go off the record and tell Sarah. She wouldn’t let me.’

‘It’s going to come out as more lies.’

Graham shrugged. ‘I promised him I wouldn’t bring him in. What was I supposed to do, betray the guy?’

‘I don’t know if I’d characterize it as betrayal, maybe telling your attorney, trust that he could keep a lid on it.’

Graham accepted the rebuke. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry.’

Hardy smiled. ‘You gotta love a guy who’s so consistent, but last night I passed a few pleasant moments plotting to kill you after I get you off.’ He shrugged. ‘It passed, but I really would love it if you had any other little secrets you’ve been keeping up to now. If you wanted to share them, this would be a good time.’

Still sitting on the table, Graham swung his legs under it like a child. ‘Craig Ising’s holding ten grand for me. My money.’

Hardy had to laugh. ‘You are a piece of work.’

Embarrassed, Graham remained matter of fact. ‘One way or the other, this thing’s over in six months, I figure. I didn’t want to lose my apartment, so Craig’s keeping up on the rent. If I’m in jail, it doesn’t matter. But if I win, then what?’

In spite of himself Hardy thought he had a point. In fact, he had wondered what Graham’s plans might be regarding his wonderful place. It was human nature to protect his own hearth before he worried about Hardy’s home and family, not that it didn’t rankle just a bit.

‘So that’s it?’ he asked. ‘I realize we’ve got the proverbial loaves and fishes of falsehoods here, but maybe we keep at this long enough we’ll run out. You didn’t run off on your lost weekend and get married to Evans, did you?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t know anything about your father’s money except what you’ve already told me about Joan Singleterry, whoever the hell she is?’

‘Right.’

‘And you don’t know who she is?’

‘No idea.’

‘And if I catch you in even the smallest fib, I get to stick an icepick under your kneecap?’

‘Both of ’em.‘

‘You swear on your father’s grave?’

This sobered him, as Hardy had meant it to. ‘I swear,’ he intoned.

This would have to be good enough and Hardy took it. ‘Okay. Now let’s talk some matters of law.’

Without naming Graham’s stepfather as one source of the idea, Hardy outlined in some detail the suggestion that both Leland and Giotti had proposed as a defense. As a lawyer himself, Graham seemed to appreciate the distinction between admitting he’d done something and having a jury conclude he’d done the same thing. If he never admitted it, ever, to anyone, he would be legally blameless. He could resume his life with a clean slate.

They discussed the strategy until the lunch bell. Graham’s acquiescence was a nice surprise, especially after his earlier refusal to plead to essentially the same thing. But, as Graham pointed out, they weren’t the same thing at all.

Not in the eyes of the law.

Of course, there were great risks. Graham was charged with first-degree murder and, if convicted with special circumstances, would spend the rest of his life in prison. But Giotti’s offer seriously mitigated that risk.

They left it unresolved, but kept the door open.

Driving back uptown, Hardy was going around with it. It was starting to look as though his defense would be to admit that Graham, who couldn’t admit it himself, had committed a murder that in fact he hadn’t committed. For a reason that he didn’t have.

And this, if it worked, might set his client free.

The law, he thought, was a sublime and terrible thing.

Sarah Evans planned to take full advantage of yet another beautiful wrinkle in the system.

The city and county of San Francisco were physically coterminous; they shared the same geographic boundaries. This created interesting possibilities in the always complicated world of legal jurisdiction.

Practically, one of the results of this arrangement was that the jail was controlled by the county sheriff’s office, not by the city’s police department. Although it was directly behind the Hall of Justice, in what used to be part of the Hall’s parking lot, the jail might as well have been on the moon for all of its official connection to police events at Southern Station, which was the city’s name for the police presence at the Hall.

Sarah told Marcel Lanier she had some reports to catch up on after their shift – she’d hitch a ride home later. He left her working at her desk in the homicide detail.

At some time between six and seven the coming and going of other homicide inspectors slowed down, and Sarah cleared her desk, took the back steps out of the Hall, and walked around to the entrance to the jail, flashed her ID, and told the admitting deputy that she had to see Russo. She signed in, knowing that her bosses in the PD were unlikely to review the log. Attorney room B would be all right. She checked her weapon at the desk.

‘I can’t come here very often.’

They sat across the table from each other now, inspector and prisoner. Graham longed for her hands over the table, but knew he couldn’t.

A silence settled. They simply looked at each other. Graham told her he loved her. She bit at her lip and found she couldn’t respond. ‘What’s it like out there?’ he asked finally. ‘Outside.’

‘Windy. I’ve got a game tonight, you know. Thursdays.’ She sighed. ‘How are you holding up?’

‘Better now.’ But he couldn’t hide his uncertainty about it. ‘I think I got the right lawyer.’

Sarah nodded. ‘Did he tell you he talked to your brother? George won’t say where he was.’

A shake of the head. ‘Georgie didn’t kill Sal.’

‘Okay.’ She didn’t want to argue about it. She thought it was entirely possible, in fact, that George had killed Sal. Nothing Hardy had told her ruled him out in any way, and her training was to keep pushing until you got to something. ‘But I wish I could talk to him. I’d shake his tree a little harder than he’s used to.’

‘So why don’t you?’

‘I can’t. I’ve got no case. If I shake him down off duty and he complains, which he would, it’s harassment and there goes my job. Hardy’s trying to get my boss to move on it.’

‘Your boss?’

‘Lieutenant Glitsky – he and Hardy know each other. But it won’t matter. Glitsky won’t do it. There’s nothing to move on, especially since Glitsky’s already got a suspect in jail.’

‘Don’t remind me.’

‘I am looking at the other things, Graham. Craig Ising’s friends. The fish stuff.’

‘I know.’ Then, quietly. ‘I know you are.’

She could see him being brave and it was tearing her up. Say what she would about his chances at his trial, the fact remained that he was locked up, a prisoner. He wasn’t going out to play ball tonight the way she was. He was here, alone, scared. She felt like she had to hold him. He needed her. But she couldn’t do that, although if she stayed any longer, she might. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said.

The headache had been bad this morning and he’d gotten a call near dawn. He came right on down and gave Sal his shot. His father hated to shoot himself up. Hated it!

After that Sal slept and Graham read for a while, some magazine, passing the time, dozing a little himself. He didn’t have to be in at work until midafternoon and had come to love these times with his dad, even to depend on them, difficult as they sometimes were. In his dad’s presence he felt like he belonged somewhere. He was loved for who he was. He felt important, needed. It was as simple as that. He didn’t feel that way anywhere else.