'Anyway,' Ingalls went on, 'Jeff thinks Pratt set this up.'

'I think I'd agree with him. So what's he going to do?'

'He doesn't know.'

Hardy sat holding the phone. Getting involved with this case seemed to be bad for job security. First Abe, now Jeff. It was intriguing, maybe even a little scary.

'Mr Hardy?' Ingalls asked. 'I didn't wake you up just now or anything, did I?'

Hardy laughed. 'Are you kidding? I was just suiting up for my midnight run.'

Halfway to morning Hardy was still awake.

The DA's interference in what was increasingly becoming every part not just of the Burgess case, but of what seemed like his whole life, had become a real issue.

Now, sitting downstairs at the kitchen table, he was writing names and drawing circles and arrows on a legal pad. McNeil, Torrey, Alsop, Burgess, Logan, Elaine. He wasn't anywhere near yet to taking notes – it was all too ephemeral. Still…

He looked down at the paper and wrote another name. Freeman's girlfriend's client – Abby Oberlin, had definitely received a settlement offer from Torrey, and that settlement would profit Logan. But so what? Lawyers profited from settlements every day. Except that Logan was also connected to Elaine, and therefore to Cole. And since Logan represented Manny Gait, he was involved with McNeil, too.

God! Hardy wished that Logan had been Cullen Alsop's lawyer, but that had been that nice kid this morning, Westbrook. He didn't know what it would mean – Logan knowing Cullen – but the symmetry of it was appealing as hell.

Reluctantly, he drew a line through Cullen's name.

Another thought struck him and he hastily scratched out his own client's name. If, as appeared to be the case, they were working on the assumption that Cole was innocent…

McNeil, Oberlin, Torrey, Elaine, Logan.

It was a small town, circling back on itself. Rather like a noose.

28

Isaac Glitsky was adamant. 'He's not going out anywhere. Doctor's orders.'

'But yesterday-'

'Yesterday,' Jacob interjected from behind his brother, 'he snuck out. Made believe he was going to bed, sent us out to have a nice day, then went out and tried to kill himself. Can you believe that?'

Hardy nodded. 'Sounds like your father.'

'He's been asleep for twelve hours,' Isaac said. 'His body wants to recover even if he doesn't.'

Hardy was confused. 'I thought… he told me… I mean, they let him out.'

'To go home, maybe putter around in the house, avoid stress. That's all.' Isaac had his arms crossed over his chest. 'Let me guess, he left that part out.'

'He said he was fine. Cleared. Ready to rock and roll.'

'Which he is not,' Jacob said. 'Maybe in a week.'

'Maybe.' The older brother wasn't making any promises. 'The heart's got to heal before he stresses it again. You'd think that would occur to him.'

'You'd think so,' Hardy agreed. He shook his head, frustrated. 'I love your father, but the man can be a moron. Tell him I said so, then sit on him if you have to.'

Glitsky might be reluctant to call Treya, but Hardy had no problem with it. It had occurred to him that, since everybody was essentially working to the same end, it made sense that everyone do it in the same place. He'd called her at Rand and Jackman first thing this Friday morning and she had agreed. She'd be delighted to come to his offices and help facilitate the work of the associates. She might even have some ideas of her own. Hardy told her he'd be happy to use them.

Amy Wu stood an inch over five feet tall. She had large enough breasts so that people rarely noticed the bit of thickness at her waist. Half-Chinese and half-black, she had an unusual and extraordinarily compelling face. Under a small and flattened nose, her sensuous lips might have been collagened but were not. Her complexion was dark honey, small-pored, unlined. She was twenty-six years old and had never bought a drink in her life without someone asking for her identification. There was a heaviness to the lids under dark brown, almost liquid eyes, although she was rarely taken for an Asian. Thick, straight, shining black hair cascaded a few inches past her shoulders. At the office, she dressed in a woman's business suit, but today she was in jeans and hiking boots, a black turtleneck sweater.

She'd already spoken to five students who had been in Elaine's moot court class. They had all directed her to a single student. Muhammed Malouf Adek was more than happy to talk to her, as what young man would not be. He was sitting on the floor in one of the hallways at Hastings, a book open on his legs. He was eating an apple. Amy hovered over him until he looked up. 'What are you studying?' she asked, smiling down.

In fifteen minutes, they were in the cafeteria. She told him a version of the truth about who she was and the general reason she was here – to talk about Elaine. It didn't seem to bother him.

'People say that you and she were close at one time.'

He shrugged. 'She was my teacher.'

'I'd understood it was a little more than that.' Her eyebrows went up ingenuously.

'All right. They have a mentor program here. I signed up for that. I was doing poorly in my other courses.' Muhammed looked at her with a kind of challenge in his eyes.

She pegged his age at perhaps a year older than she was – maybe he was even thirty, which was slightly old for a law student. But his eyes were too bright, too hard and piercing. His beard was short, extremely thick, almost like wool. His teeth were white, but very uneven, and his hygiene was poor – he hadn't washed his hair in a while; his jeans looked as though they would stand up by themselves; it appeared he'd worn the brown shirt for most of the week.

'And you became friends?'

'I don't know about that. We did not go out.'

Amy wrinkled up her face, confusion all over it.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. 'What's the matter?'

'Only that I've heard differently. I wanted to talk to somebody who knew Elaine pretty well, and if that's not you…' She made to get up.

He gripped her arm above the wrist. 'We had coffee a few times,' he said. 'But there wasn't anything… between us.' Realizing what he'd done, he released his grip. 'What do you want to know about Elaine for, anyway? She was not what she pretended to be.'

'And what was that?'

He hesitated, decided against answering.

'Muhammed,' she said. 'You've heard she died last week, haven't you?'

He nodded. 'It was the will of Allah.'

'Well, yes, but it was maybe a little more than that. Somebody killed her.'

He sat up abruptly. 'That was not me. They arrested that other man.'

'I know. No one is saying it was you. I'm not saying that.' She smiled again. 'Please, Muhammed, we're just talking, all right?'

'But what are we talking about?'

'We're talking about who she was.' She leaned in closer to him. 'We were thinking of some kind of a memorial, maybe a statue, something like that. It will be very nice, out in the lobby, as a tribute to her.'

'To Elaine?' Amy realized that Treya had chosen a perfect cover story for them. Clearly infuriated, Muhammed's eyes were burning.

'Yes. Elaine. But you know, it's political. We would not want to go to all that trouble and expense if there was some embarrassing… if she-'

'She was a whore. A liar and a whore. She believed in nothing.'

'Well, surely-'

He slammed the table. All around the room, other students looked up, startled out of their studies. Muhammed was oblivious of it. 'She pretended to be coming to Islam. I would read from the Koran, and she would nod, pretending. "Yes," she would say, "that's interesting. That's good." But it was all false. She was white inside. She sold her body for their money, for her doctor's money.' There was spittle on Muhammed's lips. His breath came in ragged little gulps.