Hardy was intrigued. 'Which would mean what?'

Again, though, Glitsky leaned back into his pillow and closed his eyes. Opening them, he lifted the corners of his mouth a fraction of an inch. 'See, I'm not upset. I'm relaxed.'

'Good. But we were on-'

A restraining hand. 'I know where we were. A couple of months ago, there was another little stink about a snitch -maybe you remember? Pratt denied it, but hey, that's what she does.'

'What was it?'

'Same kind of leverage. This was a third strike case, one of those drive-bys where nobody died, not even the usual three innocent bystanders, so it didn't go high-profile. Still, it was a screw-up.' Hardy waited through another hiatus, another recovery. 'They couldn't put a weapon together with the shooter, so there was this story in the paper that this snitch-'

'OK, I do remember that now.' Suddenly, it came back to Hardy. 'He knew where the gun was, in the shooter's girl's garage or someplace, but then after he talked to the police, he changed his mind.'

'Right. Decided three strikes and life in prison beat being dead, which would happen if he snitched. But he told us the DA had offered him a deal if he'd plant the gun with the guy they knew was the shooter. Of course Pratt denies this. But the story ran before he talked to any inspectors. And the snitch sure didn't leak it on his own. No access to the press, right? So it was the DA.'

'But why in the world would they do that?'

'What? Leak? Or create bogus evidence?'

'Either.'

'Second nature. They get something, they gotta tell some reporter. It makes it real – the headline is good PR and later, when it goes to hell, it's old news and nobody pays attention.' Glitsky had closed his eyes again. 'If it got to the paper before Ridley talked to this bozo…'

'Jeff Elliot might be able to find that out.' Hardy hung his head, hands clasped and elbows on his knees, thinking about it for a minute. When he looked up, Glitsky hadn't moved a muscle. 'Abe?' he asked quietly. A long pause, then again. 'Abe?'

He put a finger to his friend's neck, waited until he felt a pulse, let out a sigh of relief and stood up.

18

Hardy had no memory of his last meal. He was leaving the hospital when a stab of light-head hit him so hard he had to stop and sit quickly on a convenient low wall just outside the main doors. For an instant, it crossed his mind that he might be having his own heart attack, until he realized that there was no pain or pressure. Just a gaping hollowness somewhere in his center.

He tried to remember the last time he'd eaten – he thought it must have been breakfast yesterday morning, but he couldn't recall if he'd even been home. He just didn't remember anything except he drank some Scotch last night. Then, this morning, McNeil had woken him up with his urgent business, and Hardy had run out before coffee.

It was now nearly ten o'clock in the morning. The day loomed full before him. He knew he had to go see Cole at some point, though his inclination was to wait until after he'd had his business meeting with his mother. There was also McNeil's proposed settlement, and that meant another six or eight calls before Dash Logan, probably drunk at Jupiter, found it in his best interest to return one of them – the thought of it curdled his stomach.

It was growling at him now.

Which brought him back full circle. He had to get some food.

Frannie Hardy had majored in urban planning at USF, but work in her field was scarce. After she graduated, she had rent to pay, so her first jobs had been a couple of entry-level clerical positions. These did not bring her any great sense of personal fulfillment. Within two years, she was married and pregnant with Rebecca.

The direction her life had taken had determined her 'career' for the past decade or so. The kids were growing, and so was a void within her. But the concept of urban planning had lost whatever thrill it once had held for her. She saw things on a smaller scale now, a more personal one – individual relationships, marriages, parents and children. She wanted to work doing some kind of counseling. She was filling out applications for graduate school at the dining room table when she heard the front door opening. 'Hello?' She came up out of her chair.

'Yo.' Her husband's voice. 'It's only me, Maynard.' He came into view, shrugging out of his raincoat.

'Maynard?'

'Maynard G. Krebbs. Surely you remember Maynard G. Krebbs?'

'With all that junk in your brain, how do you ever remember anything important? But why are you home?' Then, remembering, her breath caught. 'Oh, God, Abe-'

'He's doing OK so far, they think.'

'So far? They think?'

'I know. Real strong.' He shrugged. 'More tests today and tomorrow. He's cranky as ever. I'm taking that as a good sign. His dad was there, the boys are coming in today.' Hardy was moving toward the kitchen. 'As for me, my wife hasn't been feeding me. I've been driven to forage on my own.'

Following him in, she clucked understandingly. 'She must be awful.'

He nodded. 'Pretty bad.'

He pulled his cast-iron pan off the marlin hook from which it hung on the wall behind the stove. He sprinkled salt into it, a grind of pepper.

In the refrigerator, he discovered vegetables – peppers, potatoes, green beans, an onion – and laid them on the cutting board along with three eggs. Cutting now, he asked her how the application process was going, and she said it wasn't too bad. She was doing one of her admission essays on Abe and Elaine.

Hardy stopped chopping. 'What?'

'Not using names, of course.'

'No, OK, but what about them?'

'Abe knowing he was her father, but not telling her for all this time. Why he'd want to do that.'

'I don't think he wanted to, Fran. Knowing Abe, he probably felt duty bound not to tell her.'

'And look at the toll it took.'

'It didn't make his heart stop, Fran.'

'Maybe not, but on top of everything else. I thought it was pretty interesting, just the idea.' She paused. 'That he never even told us, and we're his best friends.'

Hardy was back to cutting. 'People have secrets. Elaine had her own life. She didn't need him.'

'Don't kid yourself. Kids needs their fathers.' Frannie folded her arms and leaned back against the counter. 'I find it sad that he didn't ever get to know her, that he chose that. For whatever reason.'

Hardy dumped vegetables into the pan. 'I think he'd agree with you. I think that's half the reason he keeps looking for more evidence. So he'll have an excuse to get to know her.'

'In spite of the confession?'

Hardy cracked the eggs directly into the pan and stirred with a slotted spoon. 'The confession was bad, that's all. They've got enough evidence to convict Cole without it. Abe just needs to keep looking.'

She waited, then asked, 'So what do you need?'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean why are you defending him? If he killed Elaine…'

He stirred his omelette and considered for a moment. 'I guess because no matter what, this shouldn't be a death penalty case. I'm trying to keep that from happening, that's all.'

'Even if he did it?'

'Even if he did it. It won't make it harder to get him off. It won't make it easier. It doesn't matter.'

'It doesn't matter? God, I hate it when you sound so much like a lawyer.'

'I do, too,' Hardy admitted ruefully. 'But the sad truth is, that's what I am.'

And now the lawyer was trying to get around to doing something else he detested – talking about fees. Jody Burgess was sitting with him on his office couch. He didn't like to put his clients across his desk from him. It put a psychic distance between them that felt awkward.