His stomach went hollow. He turned to take the long way out the front door of the admin building, where there was less chance that they would inadvertently run into each other.

Cottrell stayed with Wu until she told him she felt better, and then he told her to take care of herself and went inside, back to work. Still, Wu didn't move for a few minutes. She sat on the bench just outside the entrance door to the cabins, trying to summon enough strength to get up and walk to her car. When the cellphone in her briefcase rang, she considered not answering, but then realized that it might be, in fact probably was, the Norths. After all that had transpired so far, she felt that however exhausted she might be, at least she owed them accessibility. She got it on the third ring.

It wasn't the Norths. It was her boss. "Amy? So you're up and about. Where are you?"

"Up at the YGC. I just talked to Andrew."

"Good for you. How's he doing?"

"He's depressed. We talked about starting a club. Not really. That was a joke."

"Well, this isn't. Did you get the message I left at your house about talking to Glitsky?" It came back to her in a flash. "Oh, shit."

"Right," Hardy said. "He's still at his office and he called me at home just now, which I really try to discourage. He was wondering how he could get in contact with you, like immediately. Since I had more or less promised him that you'd see him today, he wondered what was going on. You want his direct number?"

"I guess I'd better."

"Good guess."

By now it was nearly 7:00 P.M. There was no one at any of the desks in Glitsky's reception area at the Hall of Justice, so Wu walked back through the conference room and down the small hallway to the deputy chief's door, which stood ajar.

Some natural light from outside made it through the drawn blinds, but with the electric lights off, the room seemed dim. Glitsky sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. He was canted slightly forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his head down. He might have been napping. Wu was surprised that he didn't seem to have heard her approach, and she stood a moment in the doorway, waiting for him to turn and acknowledge her. When that didn't happen, she tapped lightly on the door.

He didn't exactly jump, but he'd clearly been somewhere else. Now, back in the present, he stood and came toward Wu, checking his watch as he did so. "You made good time from the YGC," he said. "I appreciate it."

"No traffic for a change," she said. "I'm sorry about the mixup around this interview, sir, me not coming down here. It's all my fault, not Mr. Hardy's. He called my home and told me you wanted to see me, but I have a client who's in big trouble and I went to see him first. I didn't realize that this was so urgent, even though Mr. Hardy said it was."

Glitsky seemed to find a little humor in her explanation. "Next time I talk to him, I'll tell him you tried to cover for him. But I know the truth. He forgot to tell you, didn't he?"

"No, really. He-"

But Glitsky held up a hand and stopped her. "Kidding, just kidding." He didn't seem to take much joy in it, though. Awkwardly, he shrugged, half turned. "Well, you're here now," he said, pointing. "Why don't you take that chair and we'll get going."

Wu sat while he got his tape recorder out of his desk, tested it, set it down and recited the standard introduction, identifying himself, his badge, the case and event number, his subject, where they were. Three or four years before, in her first year out of law school and before Treya and Abe had gotten married, Wu had played a small role helping Hardy and Treya learn the identity of the person who'd killed Glitsky's grown daughter. They hadn't all exactly socialized- last night at Boscacci's death scene was the first time Glitsky had seen her since- but there was a definite sense of familiarity and even goodwill still between them. Nevertheless, Glitsky was a procedure freak, and this was a formal interview pursuant to the death of an important person. He wasn't going to phone it in.

"Ms. Wu," he began, "where and when was the last time you saw Allan Boscacci alive?"

"Yesterday afternoon, here at the Hall of Justice. In his office."

Pre-supplied with Hardy's version of events and Jason Brandt's information conveyed through Treya, he walked her through the history and intricacies of the Bartlett matter. Then: "Mr. Brandt mentioned that there might be some bad blood between you and Allan because of this blown deal."

"Not really bad blood. I don't know why he said that. It wasn't personal."

"But the meeting was rancorous?"

"A little, yes."

"Were voices raised?"

"His. Yes, sir. I had been wrong and didn't do much except sit and take it."

"Did he threaten you?"

"Physically? No. Professionally, he made it clear we wouldn't be doing many more plea deals together."

"And how did you feel about that?"

"It wasn't much of a surprise, after what had happened. I just let him vent, and couldn't really blame him."

"You had no reaction?"

"No. Of course I was upset. But more at myself than at Allan."

"All right. And after that, after this heated interview with Mr. Boscacci, what did you do?"

She gave him the details, as much as she remembered them, of the rest of her afternoon and early evening at Lou the Greek's.

"And you were there continuously? You never left the premises?"

"No, sir. Not until about eight, eight-fifteen, something like that."

"Accompanied by Mr. Barry Hess, is that right?"

"I think so. I mean, I think that was his name. Whatever it is, he was with me when I walked out of Lou's and went to the All-Day."

"So what is your relationship with Mr. Hess?"

"We don't have one. He picked me up at Lou's and I may have let him kiss me once or twice on the way to the parking lot. I really don't remember too clearly."

"Okay. To get to the place he was killed from the Hall, Mr. Boscacci very probably walked by Lou's. Did you by any chance notice him walking by?"

"No."

"Do you recall hearing a gunshot?"

"No."

"All right. After you discovered the body, what did you do?"

"We called nine one one on Barry's cellphone, and got the police."

"And then what? Did you call anyone else?"

"I called Mr. Hardy at his home, but he wasn't there. His kids told me where he was, and I reached him at a restaurant."

"And why did you call him?"

"Because he's my boss and I thought he'd want to know about Allan right away."

"Is he also acting as your personal attorney in this matter?"

"My personal attorney?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. In what matter?"

"Mr. Boscacci's death."

"No. Why would I need…" She stopped.

"He pretty effectively protected you from having to do this interview with me or someone else last night. Did you discuss that between you?"

"No. I was drunk. That's why I didn't talk last night. You were there. I talked to you, remember? We said today would be fine."

"Right. Did you talk to Mr. Hardy about your statement today?"

"Just that I ought to get down here and give it."

"Nothing about its substance?"

"No."

"So last night, you didn't call Mr. Hardy to come down to the crime scene to act as your attorney?"

"No. No, of course not. I didn't need an attorney."

"All right, Ms. Wu. Thanks for your cooperation."

The bailiff wanted Linda to meet Andrew in the general visitors' room, which was much larger than the other room they'd used the last couple of times, but far less private. She told the bailiff that she'd really prefer the smaller room, as she wanted to have a sensitive conversation with her son. But there was nothing the bailiff could do. The smaller attorneys' visiting room was currently in use. There were a lot of kids here, and all of them had lawyers and parents.