"No. As a matter of fact, our two darlings are cooking up something even as we speak. It smells delicious. What's gotten into them, do you think? They're being angels."

"They love their mother and want to take care of her, that's all. Since, apparently, she won't take care of herself."

"You didn't talk to them?"

"I talk to them all the time. It's what a father ought to do."

"That and not nag the mother."

"Unless she asks for it."

"Well, whatever you said, thank you. It's really made a difference."

"That's good to hear. Really," he said. Then added, "But you, don't push it, okay? I don't want to come home and have you on your back in bed."

She lowered her voice. "That's the saddest thing. You always used to."

"Here's a little secret," he said. "I still do."

Hardy next reached Wu at the office, where she was getting ready for tomorrow. She told him that the Brolin testimony had gone all right. Judge Johnson had given her considerable leeway with the psychologist, who'd painted Andrew in the best possible light- a young man who didn't need rehabilitation because he was essentially a good citizen already. As Hardy knew, they had also pulled Mr. Wagner from Sutro in, and he'd testified to Andrew's basic goodness, his extracurricular activities, talent for writing and the arts in general. Again, there was nothing to rehabilitate. Brandt had not even bothered to cross-examine, and Wu had thought it was because he was prepared to give her these criteria. After all, he only had to win one of them. "But Mr. Brandt fights everything, I'm learning. He called his own witness. Glen Taylor, the inspector who'd arrested him?"

"And what'd he say?"

"Well, Brandt leads him up from the beginning of the investigation, his first suspicions about Andrew, the mounting evidence, right up to the arrest, then asks him if in all that time, did Andrew show the slightest amount of remorse for what he'd done."

"You objected, of course."

"Of course, and even got sustained, but he just rephrased. 'Did Andrew at any time show any remorse about what had happened?' And of course Taylor said no."

Hardy, at his table at Vino Santo, drew circles on his legal pad. There weren't any notes to take or comments to make. This was pretty much pro forma police testimony in proceedings of this kind, and wasn't particularly sophisticated or damning stuff. It sounded as though Wu had won her point.

He wasn't so sure, though, about the third criterion- the minor's previous delinquent history. This both he and Wu had considered a slam dunk, since Andrew had no real record. They hadn't even planned to call any witnesses, but would let that fact speak for itself. But again, the short lead time Andrew had demanded- aggravated by his suicide attempt- had left them unprepared and vulnerable to attack, and Brandt was ready for it. He called as witnesses two YGC counselors and another San Francisco police officer who had had occasion to meet with Andrew before this case. For while it was true that Andrew had never been "arrested or convicted," it turned out that, as Brandt phrased it, he had had "previous dealings with the police and youth authority." The joyride.

Wu had fought back with the standard argument that it hadn't been a serious offense- he'd never been arrested or even formally charged- but Hardy thought it was bad luck to get surprised in court, and at the very least doubted if they had helped themselves on criterion number three.

And worse, he knew that the problem with number three would impact criterion number four. Obviously, given Andrew's presence in the courtroom and the fact that he was being charged with special circumstances murder argued more eloquently than mere words could against "the success of the juvenile court's previous attempts to rehabilitate" him. Like all criminal lawyers, Hardy and Wu both knew that once a defendant began showing up in courtrooms, the cycle was more likely than not to go on repeating itself. From the court's perspective, and although not legally accurate, this was really Andrew's second offense. Johnson would be aware of the statistics- people who appeared before him twice most often managed a third; then, as adults, they would start accumulating the strikes that would eventually get to three and put them in jail for life.

"I know we had no witnesses, but did you make any argument at all?" Hardy asked her.

"I just reiterated that he's got no record. There wasn't any previous effort at rehab to be successful or not. I know it sounds bad, but we've got to win these last two on the merits."

Hardy hoped she was right. In a completely fair world, she would be, but Johnson had thus far shown himself to be so antagonistic that Hardy wasn't sure how it would come out. It wasn't impossible that he'd find against every one of the criteria as an object lesson for Wu to contemplate. And because no one could reasonably dispute his acceptance of the gravity criterion, Johnson would be immune from appeal on the other four. Rejection of any one of the criteria got Andrew into Superior Court as an adult, so the remaining four would be judicial largesse, a personal thumb to the nose.

But if it was to be, it was already done. "So where are we now?" Hardy asked.

"I've served the Salarcos," she said, meaning with subpoenas to appear in court. They'd be there tomorrow. "How are you doing with the wives?"

"Still hoping."

Silence. Wu asked, "You'll be in court tomorrow, though, right?"

"That's my plan."

"Because we're opening with your show."

"I'll be there," Hardy said. "Don't worry."

The cellphone rang an hour later. He'd had another cup of coffee, his first apple pie à la mode in probably ten years. Forgotten tastes, childhood memories. Delicious beyond imagining.

"Mr. Hardy?"

"Yes."

"This is Catherine Bass. I'm sorry I'm a little late getting back to you. We've got three kids under fifth grade and we just finished supper. But Everett Washburn said this was about Mike Mooney."

"Yes, ma'am."

Hardy thought her brittle laugh sounded nervous, or embarrassed. "Don't tell me he left me all his money."

"No. It's not that."

"I'm kidding, of course. Mike wouldn't have had any money." Then: "I was so sad when I heard about that. It's just so unbelievably sad."

Hardy gave her a second, then said, "I realize that this is an imposition, but would you mind if we talked in person? I won't take much of your time. I know about small children. I promise I won't keep you." Hardy's intention all along had been to get some face time with either of the wives. He didn't just want to verify the fact of Mooney's sexual orientation- after Steven Randell, he didn't have any real doubts about that. What he wanted was some sense of where it might have played in his married life, in the hope that some of the habits might have continued. Did he have secret liaisons? Long-term but hidden relationships? Was he consumed with smoldering anger or paralyzed by fear of exposure? Were there enemies? Lovers? Blackmailers?

Too much for a phone call with someone he'd never met.

She came back after talking to her husband. "Where are you?" she asked.

Catherine Bass, like his own wife, was a petite redhead. She didn't have Frannie's world-class cheekbones; her skin was a bit more freckled and her hair cropped short, but with her striking green eyes and dimples as she smiled, she was very attractive nonetheless. Hardy had the impression that she was still dressed from a day of work at some professional job- she wore low black heels, a gray knee-length skirt, a black turtleneck sweater. She exuded a confident warmth as Hardy stood and they shook hands.

He thanked her for coming to meet him. She waved that off as they both sat and the waitress came to the table- by now Hardy was a resident. Catherine ordered herself a dessert called a chocolate heart attack. "I've got CDD," she said by way of explanation, breaking that dimpled smile again.