Glitsky, chuckling, was back at the menu. 'There's nothing I can eat here anymore. You wouldn't believe the list of what I'm supposed to avoid from now on.'

She looked over at him. 'I would bet the chicken soup here is good.'

And that's what he decided upon, along with a toasted bagel, no butter, and a slice of kosher pickle. She ordered a pastrami and coleslaw on rye.

'And to drink?' the waitress asked.

'I'll have a celery soda,' Treya said.

'Wait a minute.' Sitting back, Glitsky nearly fell off his stool. 'You can't order celery soda. I was going to order celery soda.'

Treya patted his hand. 'I bet they have more than one.'

'No,' Glitsky said, 'what I mean is that nobody I know drinks celery soda.'

'Well, you know somebody now.'

The waitress put in her two cents. 'Actually, it's fairly popular. I've never had one myself, but I'm sure we've got tons in the back.'

'See?' Treya was smiling triumphantly. 'Tons.' Then, to the waitress, 'We're living large today. Can we get a whole bottle each? You might even try one yourself- they're really pretty good.'

By two fifteen, Hardy had left a message with Dash Logan to call him. He'd left another message with Ridley Banks – a callback at any old time would be fine. Glitsky at home. Strout. Even Torrey to ask for further discovery in Burgess, specifically any transcripts that might have come in on the Cullen Alsop interviews with the police or with prosecutors.

Since it appeared that no one was ever going to call him again, he decided to get some work done in his office. He did have other clients, after all. So he reviewed some documents in a few of these cases, reached his party three phone calls in a row, and decided to run a victory lap down the stairs and across the lobby to the coffee machine.

The phone rang, stopping him, before he'd reached the door. He crossed his office in a couple of strides and picked it up before it rang a second time.

'Diz.'

'David,' he said. 'What's up?'

'I wondered if you could spare me a minute.'

'Have you cleared it with Phyllis?'

'She'll be holding the door open for you.'

'I'll be right down.'

Phyllis was not in fact manning the door, but she waved him by the reception area with barely so much as a glance. When Hardy entered the office, he saw that Freeman wasn't alone. There was some kind of associates' meeting in progress. Hardy knew all three of them, although none of them very well. Jon Ingalls, Amy Wu, Curtis Rhodin. Since Freeman didn't offer partnerships in his firm, his associates didn't tend to stick around for long. They did, however, tend to work like slaves and learn a lot of law in very little time.

The old man cleared his throat. 'I've made a decision about the Burgess matter,' he began in a gruff tone, 'but I'll need your permission before I proceed.'

Hardy glanced at the associates, back to his landlord. 'I'm listening.'

'Here's the situation. I'm beginning to believe that this case is going to dominate the news once it gets to court. I know that after the hearing, you'll be handling the guilt phase.' In California, a capital case such as this had two components – a guilt phase and a penalty phase. Typically, each phase had its own, different lawyer. The lawyer in the penalty phase was termed Keenan counsel after the appeals decision that had created the precedent. Freeman was going on. 'I want to offer my services as Keenan counsel. With the profile the case has already achieved, the advertising value alone is priceless. I want to be involved.'

Hardy's fondest dream had been to ask Freeman to fill this role all along if it came to it. He'd hesitated up to this point because of money – Jody Burgess had retained him, not Freeman, to represent Cole. And Freeman's standard rates were nearly double his own, nearly triple for courtroom time. Jody could never afford him. And now the city's most famous lawyer was volunteering for the case's advertising value.

Not that Hardy for a minute believed advertising was the reason. But he'd certainly accept it. 'That's a generous offer, David,' he said. 'I'll take it under advisement.'

Freeman kept up the charade. 'I do have one demand. I will insist on using my own able associates to help investigate Factor K elements, if any.' This included other potential suspects or anything else that might produce lingering doubt in a sentencing jury. 'They can be under your immediate supervision and direction, but their time will be charged to the firm, for my administrative oversight.' He kept it up straight-faced, a sales pitch. 'I really believe this partnership could be beneficial to both of us, Diz. It's just too good a business opportunity to pass up. I hope you agree.'

Hardy glanced at the young and eager associates, the three musketeers, apparently ready to go to work immediately. He nodded. 'I think I could live with it,' he said.

Glitsky went back to Rand and Jackman with Treya after their lunch and spent the afternoon looking through miles of files. Near the end of the day, he checked his messages at home, got Hardy's, and called him at his office. Treya had a meeting with Jackman planned for after close of business, and Hardy volunteered to swing by and drive Glitsky home, which he was doing now.

Abe wasn't in high spirits. 'I am such a horse's ass.'

'I've been telling you that for years.'

But he didn't come back at him with some clever riposte, and this was worrisome. Whatever it was, it had gotten under Abe's skin. At the moment, though, it was difficult for Hardy to feel anything but pumped up – if not elated, then at least thoroughly heartened. 'But enough about you,' he said cheerily, 'I want to talk about this incredible offer. Do you realize if we need to now we can interrogate half the state?'

'I don't think half the state hated Elaine.'

Hardy stopped at a red light and looked across the seat. 'OK, what?'

'Nothing.'

'Oh, right, nothing. Let's see why this doesn't scan. You're trying to carry on your own investigation without manpower, money, or time. We just get given about a hundred grand worth of our own damn dream team. And yet, and yet – you're even less than your usual cheerful self, which isn't much to begin with.'

Glitsky looked over at him. 'It bothers you so much, you can let me out here. I'll get a cab.'

'I'm not asking you to be wildly enthusiastic. But you've got to admit that this is a positive development.'

'I'm thrilled,' Abe said. 'Honest.'

The light changed and Hardy moved ahead. 'It's the woman, isn't it?'

'Her name's Treya.' He could barely say it. 'She's with Jackman. Idiot that I am.'

'I thought he was married.'

'Oh, then it couldn't be. Married men don't have affairs, I forgot.'

Abe was brooding and Hardy, tired of it, decided to let him. But after a few blocks, he spoke again. 'How do you know? Did you ask her?'

'I didn't have to. It was obvious.'

'So one of them was wearing a sign? One of those sandwich board things, maybe?'

Glitsky nodded. 'Might as well have.' He paused. 'We're sitting in the window at David's and Jackman comes walking by down Geary. He sees her and they both light up like Christmas trees. He comes inside, she's off her stool, next to him… then it's like, oh yeah, this is that cop I was telling you about. Jackman sticks around, orders a sandwich. Then after I leave tonight, she's off to his office.'

'Obvious,' Hardy said.

Another shrug. 'You had to be there.'

'I was at the hospital the other night. I thought that was obvious, too.'

A glance. 'What? Me?'

'And her.'

'Well, we both read it wrong, then.'

'If you say so. But if it were me and it mattered even a little, I'd ask her.' They'd come out along California Street and were getting to the turn for Glitsky's block.