Suddenly, the young man's face looked miserable. 'I don't know,' he said at last. 'I think you've got to talk to Banks.'

27

They dropped Nat off at the synagogue, where he liked to spend his mornings. After that, Isaac drove them home, where Glitsky climbed into bed and told the boys they should go out and enjoy the city. They'd have dinner together tonight – maybe Rita could whip up some of her famous enchiladas. As soon as the door closed after them, he was out of bed. He shaved and changed into slightly stylish clothes – pressed slacks, a beige merino collared sweater, tasseled brown loafers. Then he called a cab and took it downtown, arriving at Rand and Jackman well before noon.

At Elaine's office, he knocked. Treya sat behind a stack of files piled high on the desk. Checking her watch, she looked up in surprise. 'It can't be lunchtime already?' Then, apparently concerned for him, 'How are you feeling?'

'I'm moving a little slow, but I'm moving.'

She tilted her head fetchingly to one side. 'Are you sure you're all right, being out like this?'

He made light of it. 'I don't think it's much more strenuous than laying in my bed.' He pulled up a folding chair and sat in it. 'See? I walk a few feet and sit back down. Don't even break a sweat. I could do this all day.' She'd hung the gray jacket to her business suit over the back of her chair. She was wearing a thin gold chain around her neck, gold stud earrings, a sleeveless teal silk blouse and under it, he couldn't help but notice, a black bra. He felt the beating of his heart – under the circumstances both comforting and scary.

Last night on the phone, they had discussed Elaine and the case, both pretending that there was nothing personal in Abe calling her at home at ten o'clock. Then, just before they hung up, Treya had said, 'If you're not feeling well enough tomorrow, promise me you'll stay there. Don't feel like you have to come down to the office just because you said you would.'

'But then I won't see you.'

'I could call and tell you what I've found.'

'That's not what I meant.'

There had been a long pause, after which, in a different tone, she'd whispered, 'I know. I know what you meant. But first you need to take care of yourself.'

'That's my plan.'

'It's a good one. Stick to it.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

Then she'd added, 'Please, Abe. If you need to stay there longer, you can just call me and I'll come, all right?'

Now, a foot away from her, his arm resting on the desk between them, he wanted to say something personal – how nice she looked, how grateful he'd been for her visit, for talking to him last night, the scent she was wearing – but he found he couldn't take the step. It was too soon, too uncertain, too perilous.

Instead, he straightened up, his back against the back of his chair. 'I did connect with Jonas Walsh, by the way. At St Mary's.'

'You talked to him?'

'Two hours ago. He seemed to think he and Elaine were doing fine.'

Her brow clouded. She pursed her lips. 'Well, that's not… he told me… I don't think that's true.'

'I don't either.' Now that they were on his business, talking came more easily. 'But I don't know it means anything. Maybe he's convinced himself they were going to get back together, so nobody needs to know.'

'But he told me.'

'You're different. You were a friend. I'm a cop. Plus, he didn't know I'd talked to you. It might be something, but by itself it isn't much. Not as much, for example, as the fact that he had no alibi for the time of her death. You told me that Elaine had this appointment Sunday night, after which she was going home. Do you remember that?'

'That's what she said.'

'OK. Did you get any idea at all that the appointment might have been with Walsh? That then they would go home together?'

She reflected for only a second. 'No, I don't think so. It was somebody else.'

'Dash Logan maybe?'

She shook her head. 'I doubt it. She really wanted to avoid him. When she got back from his office, she told me how glad she was he had been in better shape than the first time, how the search was so much easier. He still refused to help, but she didn't even have to talk to him.'

Glitsky drummed his fingers on the desk. 'And there's nothing in her calendar?'

'No.' She touched his hand for an instant, then quickly, instantly, pulled hers back. 'I would have told you.' Frustration was written all over her. 'She just said she had a meeting, then she was going home. That's all she said.'

'But when we first talked, you said you thought she was a little detached.'

'Maybe, yes, a little. But I don't know what from. It could have been anything.'

He indicated the mass of stuff on the desk. 'So how's all this coming?'

'I'm only just starting on the g's.'

'G? Maybe she had a file on me.' Meaning it as a joke.

'She did.' She raised her eyebrows and gave him a half-smile, then rummaged for a minute, found what she wanted, and handed over the thin manila folder.

Glitsky opened it up, and was startled to see an eight by ten glossy of himself – a copy of his Police Academy graduation photo. He couldn't believe he'd ever been so young. Where had Elaine ever gotten her hands on this? Glitsky didn't even have one himself.

As though reading his mind, Treya said, 'She was pretty good at getting what she wanted.'

He nodded dumbly. Behind the photo, there was an envelope and he removed the letter from it and scanned it quickly. It was from her mother, delivered after her death, informing Elaine of her true paternity. Re-folding the letter, he put it back where it had been.

Then there were twenty or more clippings cut from the newspaper – the few times in his career that Glitsky had been hailed as a hero, his promotion to lieutenant and head of homicide, various community involvement moments, including one featuring Glitsky as a private citizen – standing as the proud father with his arm draped around a beaming Orel when his son was chosen Pop Warner Player of the Month a year ago. Glitsky was the coach of Orel's team – the same picture still hung on the bulletin board in their kitchen. It was more than strange to see it here in this setting.

Here was a picture of himself and Elaine together, seated at the head table at Gino and Carlo's during a 'Champion of the People' roast they'd had when Art Drysdale had left the DA's office a couple of years back. Abe looked up quickly, flashes of that night coming back to him. It had been the closest he'd come to telling her since the first days after her mother had died. He remembered they'd laughed a lot – for Glitsky a rare enough event in itself. Funny, there was Gabe Torrey on the other side of Elaine. Abe had no memory of his presence, but that wasn't really surprising. He'd only just come on as Chief Assistant and Abe had had few dealings with him to that point. Also, with Elaine next to him, he wasn't much aware of anyone else.

Closing the folder, he let out a long breath. 'Well…'

This time when Treya put her hand over his, she left it. 'Let's go have lunch,' she said.

'God. Real food.' They were reading the menu at the window bar at Glitsky's favorite deli – David's, an old no-frills establishment on Geary. He looked at Treya. 'You ever wonder what they do to food in the hospital to give it that special bland quality?'

'It's a secret spice,' she didn't miss a beat, 'that makes everything taste like cardboard. It's really good for you. Promotes healing ten ways.'

'But tastes awful.'

A shrug. 'They tested it on mice,' she said. 'They loved it.'

'And this is why health food tastes like cardboard?'

'Only the real good stuff,' she said. 'The rest is pretty bad.'