"That's not because of us," Hal said. "Our kids have had everything they need their whole lives, every opportunity." He looked to his wife, took her hand, came at Hardy. "You keep wanting to bring this back to me and Linda. We are not at fault here. This is all because of Andrew- the lies he told, how he acted, who he is. He's always been such a difficult kid. This is not me and Linda. We have been damn good parents."

This, Hardy realized, would never go anywhere productive. "Look," he said, "I've got two kids myself. Teenagers. I know what you're talking about. My wife and I get a chance for time alone, we take it, too. But I might suggest- and this is true with me and my wife and maybe every other set of parents on the planet- that maybe you're not as in touch with your son's feelings as you think you are. He did, after all, just try to take his own life."

After a short and tense moment, Linda broke the silence. "I'm going back in to him," she said, "for when he comes out of it. Come on, Hal. Are you coming?"

With a surly look back at both Wu and Hardy, and no comment, Hal took her hand, and together they turned back toward Andrew's room.

27

… And people wonder where they go wrong raising children," Frannie said. She was already chafing at the bedrest edict, and against her doctor's orders had been planning on coming downstairs to dinner. But Hardy had finessed her by bringing up the fettucine alfredo and serving her in the bedroom. Now he sat next to the bed, eating his own pasta from a television table.

"I don't know if Hal and Linda wonder about that so much," Hardy said. "Ask them and they'll tell you. They're not doing anything wrong. They're great parents. They've worked hard and now just want to have some fun."

"You can't argue with the basic concept."

"Okay, but getting it even a little bit right takes some energy. You check up on them from time to time, get in their faces when they need it; once in a while, God forbid, you say no. You make sure they know they're loved all the time, even when you hate 'em."

"Especially when you hate them."

"That, too. See, it's not that complex."

"Although I've heard you say more than once that raising the little darlings is the hardest thing in the world."

"That's because I only speak in revealed truth." Hardy went back to his food.

Frannie fell pensive. Time passed. Then: "Maybe they just got tired. The Norths."

Hardy put his fork down. "Who doesn't? But you're still in their lives a little. Not that some percentage of them wouldn't make it if you left, even a large percentage. But somebody like Andrew who's already got obvious issues, it might occur to you he's at risk, wouldn't you think?" He shook his head, forked some pasta, chewed thoughtfully. "One of the kids I talked to at Sutro today was this girl, Jeri, pierced everywhere you could stick a needle, tattoos- the look, you know? Not my first choice for fashion consultant, but a really good kid. Solid, grounded, helpful. She was in the play with Andrew."

"What about her?"

"Well, when she walked in, she was the one who fit the poster child image of troubled youth. But you hear her talking about Andrew or Laura, these kids who look like they've got everything, and she's got the answer. She calls them gone parents. Even if they're right in the house, they're gone. And Hal and Linda aren't even in the house all that much."

Frannie reached over and put a hand on Hardy's tray table. "So what happens now? With Andrew, I mean?"

"Well, they're sending him back up the hill in the morning. Meanwhile, it looks like Amy's on tomorrow."

Frannie took a breath and let an involuntary moan escape. Closing her eyes, she let herself back down onto her pillows. "And what about you?"

"No. What about you? That didn't sound too good."

"I'm a little sore, that's all."

"That's all. You didn't by any chance forget to take your pain medicine, did you?"

She shook her head as far as the neck brace let her. "It's not that bad. I don't want to be drugged up."

"If you weren't already so hurt, I'd whup you upside the head." Hardy got up and went into the bathroom, found her medicine and brought it back. "Here. Take these, would you? Give yourself a break. Tomorrow you can get up and suffer all day if you want."

"What are you going to do?"

"Clear dishes, check on kids, take the rest of the night off."

"On the day before a hearing? You're kidding."

"Yep," he said.

"So what? Really?"

"Really? I don't know exactly. I've got some phone calls. I've got to find something that might help this kid. Especially after what he tried last night." He leaned over and she put a hand behind his neck, held him in the kiss for an extra second. When he straightened up, he said, "On the other hand, I could close the door and get these silly dishes off the bed, although with your medical condition we'd have to cut back on the usual acrobatics."

"It's a nice offer, but with the concussion and all, I really do have a headache." She offered him a weak smile. "I hate to say that."

"It's fine. I really do have stuff to do anyway." He sat down on the side of the bed. "But for the record, that was a nice kiss."

"Thank you. I thought so, too. You know why?"

"Why what?"

"Why suddenly I thought a good kiss was in order."

Hardy shrugged. "I thought it was just the usual animal magnetism."

"That, too," she said. "But also I'm liking this guy who showed up again recently. Caring for his clients, interacting with his kids. All that sensitive stuff." She touched his hand. "Really," she said. "If he wanted to stick around, that wouldn't be so bad."

"He's thinking about it," Hardy said. "No commitments, though."

"No, of course not. No pressure, either. But just so he knows."

Hardy leaned over and kissed her another good long one. "He'll take it under advisement," he said.

As a matter of course and of habit, Hardy had left his card- home and business numbers- with all of today's interview subjects. He had also asked for their own numbers and told all of them that he might need to call them as witnesses for Andrew, but this really didn't seem too likely at the moment. None of them had given him a shred of evidence, and without that no judge would let him introduce even the most compelling alternative theory of the murders. Hardy had to have something real, and he had nothing at all, not even a reasonable conjecture of his own.

This last fact, considering that he'd come very close to actually believing in Andrew's innocence, was the most galling. If someone else had killed Mooney and Laura Wright, he had no idea who it might have been, or what reason they might have had. Perhaps the most frustrating element was that Hardy now believed that Juan Salarco- or, more precisely, Anna Salarco- had actually seen the murderer as he fled from the scene and turned to look back at the house.

But because of the promises of the police for some kind of intercession on his behalf with the INS- promises Hardy knew to be empty- Salarco couldn't admit that he'd made a mistake on the identification. Maybe he didn't even accept that fact himself. Maybe all Anglos looked pretty much the same to him, especially young ones wearing cowled sweatshirts.

He was just finishing up a telephone discussion with Kevin Brolin, the psychologist who'd treated Andrew for his anger problems when he'd been younger, and whom Hardy wanted to testify the next day on the second criterion, Andrew's rehabilitation potential. Brolin had been called by the Norths before they'd even flown home after the suicide attempt, and Hardy had talked to him earlier that evening at the hospital right after his little contretemps with Hal and Linda. Brolin seemed knowledgeable and sympathetic and, more importantly, convinced that Andrew had resolved the problems with his temper- in Brolin's opinion, he was not a candidate for physical violence. He'd learned to channel that negative energy into creative outlets, such as writing and acting. Brolin even understood that he'd stopped eating meat out of compassion for the suffering of food animals.