38

Mr Torrey, excuse me.' An hour before court would be called into session, Torrey sat in his office behind the desk, reading the second part of Jeff Elliot's article on Abby Oberlin in yesterday afternoon's Examiner. David Freeman had pulled his forty years of familiarity and rank on the clerk who controlled access to the DA's offices, and so achieved the element of surprise, which showed all over Torrey's face. Jerking the paper down when he saw who was interrupting him, he made an effort at quick recovery, but it wasn't fast enough. He inclined his head, his manner curt. 'Mr Freeman.' A pause. 'Did we have an appointment?'

'No, sir. This is a courtesy call.'

Torrey coughed up a dry, humorless chuckle. 'I could use a little of that.' He indicated the newspaper. 'Have you read this latest scurrilous slander? Well, who am I talking to? Of course you have, if you didn't help write it.'

Freeman lifted his shoulders theatrically. He moved a step further into the room and waited.

Torrey set the newspaper down on the desk. 'But I guess appealing to your sense of fair play is whistling in the wind, isn't it?' Then, suddenly, 'How did you get in here?'

'I had an appointment on another matter with one of your staff. Since I was here…' Another noncommittal shrug. 'And for the record, I did not write a word of that article, nor did I contribute to it, although of course I'm aware of its contents. Mr Hardy shares office space in my building, after all.' Freeman waved the topic away. 'But that's not why I'm here. Mr Hardy's not my problem, though our mutual client is.' He clarified it. 'I'm talking about Cole Burgess.'

'What about him?'

The old man closed the distance between him and the desk, though he remained standing. 'Look, it's not rocket science to see the direction that Mr Hardy is going with this hearing. The whole proceeding has become a personal and professional attack on you. If I'm reading Judge Hill correctly, and I am, he's inclined to let it continue. What happens to you isn't my concern, either.'

'All right. What's your point?'

'My point is this: Mr Hardy's going to continue in the same vein over the course of today's testimony. He's going to be probing the relationships you have with Mr Visser and Mr Logan.'

'From which you are trying to protect me, I suppose. You'll forgive me if I'm skeptical of your altruistic motives.'

But Freeman didn't rise to the barb. Instead, he shook his head and spoke mildly. 'There's nothing altruistic about it, Mr Torrey. I apologize if I gave you that impression. As I've said, my only concern is my client. Mr Hardy and I have had a few words of disagreement as to strategy. I believe he's become obsessed with this vendetta against you, to the detriment of Cole Burgess.'

'It's just more rope, Mr Freeman. He's hanging himself.'

'Let me make myself clear,' Freeman said. 'The direction he's going now, the way he gets Burgess off is by accusing you three men of complicity in Elaine's killing, and I'm thinking the judge is going to let him do it.'

Torrey pulled himself up to his full height in his chair. 'That's the most ridiculous-'

'It may be, but Hill's going to let it happen. Unless all of you have solid alibis for the time of the murder.'

'Oh, please.'

'You think I'm joking? You think it won't get to there? Do you know what you were doing that night, for example?'

Torrey shook his head with disgust. 'As a matter of fact, it so happens that because of Elaine's murder, I remember that night specifically. I had dinner with Sharron Pratt. Until very late.' He met Freeman's gaze, challenging. 'But even if I hadn't-'

Freeman interrupted. 'If you hadn't, there's still Visser and Logan, or even some third party, to say nothing of all this-' he pointed down at the newspaper '-all this hatchet work. What I'm suggesting is that you can end it all this morning. Drop the charges, at least the specials, against my client, and Mr Hardy pleads it out. The whole thing goes away.'

Torrey stared across the desk in disbelief. 'You're suggesting that I let a murderer go to save myself some personal aggravation? Do you really think that's what this office is all about?'

'Let's not open that can of worms,' Freeman snapped. 'I said when I got here that this was a courtesy call. I've extended the courtesy.'

Torrey's tone was ice. 'A blackmailer's courtesy, counselor. There is no connection between me and the death of Elaine Wager. None at all. And this thinly-veiled threat about what you or your partner might accuse me of isn't going to fly around here. Because that's what it is,' Torrey fumed. 'Blackmail.'

'I'm sorry you see it that way.' A modest disappointment. 'It's your funeral.'

On the way out to the courtroom, Freeman enjoyed a private chuckle. Of course the offer he'd made was stupid on the face of it. No matter what, at this point Torrey couldn't risk lowering the charges on Cole, but Freeman thought it was beautiful to wave the temptation in front of his face.

And Torrey for his part probably was thinking that Freeman's senility was by now well advanced. He possibly wasn't even aware that he'd given the old man his alibi, which had been the whole point of the exercise.

Contrary to expectations, Hardy did not begin the day with Dash Logan, but first asked the Cadaver's permission to call on Elaine Wager's paralegal for a couple of questions to establish the provenance of some documents, labeled Defense G, which would prove critical in his examination of Mr Logan.

So when Dash Logan took the stand, he looked quite a bit the worse for wear. He'd been out partying until late, in the course of the night finally revealing to this knockout – Amy something – that he'd been in LA on the night of Elaine's murder. All that talking and spending, pretty sure he was going to get over with her, and then she'd excused herself to go to the bathroom and never come back. After that, he'd had to deal with this morning's news that the police had been and were still searching his office, this time in overt connection to Elaine. They were going through everything file by file. Patsy, God forbid, was there. He was sure that after last time, after the long weekend he and Visser had put in sterilizing the place, they would find nothing, but it was still nerve-wracking.

He hadn't slept worth a damn, and the coffee hadn't done nearly enough, so he'd decided he needed a few lines to calm his nerves, but it had been so early – he didn't dare snort up in the Hall of Justice – that now he was just about back to straight.

In the witness stand. And here came that son of a bitch Hardy again, a pit bull with a mouthful of his leg.

'Mr Logan, yesterday you told the court that you were professionally acquainted with Elaine Wager, isn't that so?'

'Yes. I was.'

'Do you recall the last time you saw her?'

'Yes. I saw her in my office sometime in the middle or late January.' He went on answering questions that explained a bit about her special master duties, his lack of cooperation with the police and his purported reason for it.

When he'd finished, Hardy went to his table and retrieved a thin stack of paper, bringing it forward to the witness box.

'You have heard the previous witness, Ms Ghent, identify these pages, Defense Exhibit G, as being included in a folder given to her by Elaine Wager after she'd come from your office a few hours before she was killed. Can you identify these pages for the court?'

He stared at them for a long moment, flipping through the pages, the sight of which cramped up his stomach.

'Mr Logan?'

'They look like photocopies of my business ledger.'

'They look like them, Mr Logan? Take your time and go through them carefully. Surely you are familiar with the checks you write?'