'It's not specifically about Cole.'

'Specifically. There's a good word. So more specifically, what? And we do have to make it fast.'

'All right,' Hardy said. 'You know everybody in the city, right?'

'Oh yeah,' Elliot said flatly, 'me and everybody else, we're all pals.'

'How about Dash Logan?'

The by now familiar reaction, a faint line of distaste. 'What about him?'

'That's what I was going to ask you.'

'Has he got something to do with Cole?'

'I don't know.' Hardy broke a small grin. 'Not specifically.'

But the topic had gotten Jeff's attention, and he reached for a cup on his desk, sipped some coffee, beginning to concentrate. 'The only thing that comes to mind is that Logan represents a lot of dope cases. A lot. People say he takes fees in trade.'

'Then he sells it?' This was close enough to Cole to get a rise out of Hardy. 'Heroin?'

'No. Cocaine. Evidently he's got his own…' Jeff paused. 'I was going to say habit, but I don't know if it's to that point. Probably just recreational. He functions, evidently.'

'Not well,' Hardy said, 'if returning calls is any indication.'

'Well enough to make a good living,' Jeff replied. 'He drives a Z3, wears nice clothes, keeps up an office.'

Hardy sat up straighter. 'His office? That's the other connection.'

'To Cole? What was the first one?'

Hardy glossed over that. 'Elaine was working at Logan's office the day she was killed.'

'OK.' Jeff sat back in his wheelchair. 'And this means?'

Hardy shook his head, spoke with a weary tone. 'I don't know. That's what I can't figure out. It's making me crazy.'

'Why was she there?'

Hardy briefed him on Elaine's special master duties, the Russian insurance scams, Logan's lack of cooperation on the earlier search at his place. When he finished, Jeff was still interested, but saw no point of connection. 'So these insurance scam cases, did they have drugs around them? Am I missing something?'

'We've got to be,' Hardy said. 'There's too much Logan.'

'But maybe not enough.' He sat back in his wheelchair and looked over the desk that separated them. 'You know, Diz, we run into this all the time in journalism. You're on a story and if this one last little piece falls into place, they can start printing up the Pulitzer citation for you. I mean you want it so bad. And then guess what? What you want to write didn't happen. It's not true, just coincidence. Good story, no facts.'

Hardy considered a second. His jaw was set. 'That's not this. At least I don't think so.'

'OK.'

'How about Gabe Torrey?'

'How about him? In what sense?'

'David Freeman has a theory about a connection between Torrey and Logan. What I want to know is are they old friends? Did they go to school together? Maybe they're gay, having an affair?'

Here Jeff stopped him. 'They're not gay. Logan's a notorious cocksman, in fact. And Torrey's sleeping with Pratt.'

This intelligence nearly knocked Hardy off his chair. 'What?'

Jeff laughed. 'You didn't know that? We're off the record now – they try to keep it quiet 'cause Pratt's happy to let the feminists think she's a lesbian, but the Shadow knows.'

'My God. See? You do know everything. You ought to print that.'

'In due time, say nearer the election when it might do a little more good.'

'I can't believe it.' San Francisco was a small town, but apparently not so small that there were no secrets. 'OK, so they're not gay. Maybe they're bi. Maybe their mothers were pen pals. I don't know, Jeff. You're the ace reporter, finger on the pulse of the city.'

'And if there was something, I would have heard it, right?'

'Right.' Hardy came forward expectantly.

Jeff met his gaze, a hint of humor in his eyes. 'As far as I know, they have no personal relationship.'

Hardy sat back. 'That's the wrong answer.'

'I thought it might be.'

Cole was the first person in Hardy's experience whose looks and demeanor had actually improved while he was held in the county jail. He'd asked for and received a short hair cut. Some of the scrapes and bruises from his life on the street, to say nothing of the night of his arrest, had begun to clear up. He'd shaved off the wispy, downy growth of beard. Three squares a day for only these few days had already added a visible overlay of flesh to the bones of his face, eradicating the intimations of skull. He wasn't yet anyone's idea of robust, but neither was he heroin chic.

Hardy sat across the table from him in the attorney's visiting area, the light room with the glass block walls. Cole's speech would lapse into hazy around the edges from time to time, but today it seemed more a habit than an impediment. That he spoke clearly for long periods of time meant, to Hardy, that he could do it anytime he thought about it. He had simply gotten into the habit of mumbling to fit in on the street, where he had grown used to a numb mouth and no reason to enunciate words, to communicate anything beyond his most basic needs.

Well, Hardy thought, he had a reason now and he was rising to the occasion. 'Glitsky? Are you kidding me?' His eyes were clear as well. He was on methadone and had, in fact, asked for an accelerated detoxification. All to the good if he stuck with it. But at the moment, he wasn't on that page – he was mostly angry. 'We're talking the same Glitsky that dropped me on my head.'

'He couldn't catch you in time is what I heard.'

A snort. 'He tell you that? 'Cause it's a lie.'

Hardy had a haunch on the edge of the table in the visitor's room, and now he leaned forward, hovering over where his client sat. 'How do you know what happened? You were unconscious.'

'Well…' Cole's hard gaze gradually gave way. 'But there's no way he's trying to help me.'

'No,' Hardy agreed. 'I don't think he is. Not for your sake anyway. The thing is, Cole, he's a good cop. An honorable person.'

Another dismissive grunt, the concept for him obviously difficult to believe. 'I'll tell you what it is. He's worried we'll decide to charge him with brutality after all. He's trying to cut you off on that. Figures if he pretends to be on our team, it'll all go away.'

Hardy sat back. 'You got it all worked out, huh?'

'It's not rocket science.'

'No. You're right. So we don't want his help, is that your position?'

For an instant, Cole's expression sharpened. 'He's not offering any help. He's covering his ass.'

Hardy nodded, stood up, cricked his back. When he spoke, his tone was harsh. 'See if you can wrap your brain around something, Cole. There's nobody else in the entire police department who's looking for anything about this case, let alone anybody else who might have been involved in Elaine's death. But Glitsky is. He's doing it on his own for his own reasons, and you'd be smart not to care too much about what they are. You want to know the truth, yeah, he's covering himself.' He felt his voice getting away from him, his anger building. 'Glitsky doesn't want your conviction overturned because you made a stupid, stupid confession. That's where he's coming from, Cole. He wants to nail you on righteous evidence. That's what he's about – he doesn't give a shit about your poor sorry ass.' He almost added that he didn't much either. If it wasn't a death penalty case, he'd have been long gone.

'But anything he does find is going to be against us.'

Hardy, still wound up, whirled on the boy. 'What he's trying to find, Cole, is the truth. Which, correct me if I'm wrong, is supposed to help us.'

Cole's eyes bounced around the corners of the room.

Getting his tone back under control, Hardy sat on the edge of the table again. 'Look,' he said, 'I don't care at all really what Glitsky's motives are. If he wants to convict you, that's fine by me, and it ought to be by you. He doesn't want the confession in because as soon as that happens, we've got grounds for appeal.'