'Are you saying the defendant shot at you?'

'No, I don't think so. He didn't stop or turn. He was just running and hit the hydrant and went sailing and the gun went off, like, when he hit the ground.'

'Are you certain it was a gunshot, and not a car backfiring or something like that?'

'It was a gunshot. I saw the flash. I even heard the ricochet. It was a gunshot,' he repeated.

'All right, Officer Medrano. Thank you.'

For some reason that Hardy couldn't fathom, Pratt rose this time for the prosecution's cross-examination.

'A couple of small clarifications, officer,' she began gently, with a welcoming smile. 'You and your partner, Officer Petrie, discussed this gunshot, didn't you?'

'He didn't hear it. He was in the-'

Pratt held up a hand, stopping him. 'You discussed it?'

'Yes.'

'And he said he didn't hear it?'

'Yes.'

Thank you.' Another smile. 'Now. When you came upon the defendant hovering over the body in the alley, did you see him reach to pick up anything in the street?'

Medrano was back visualizing the moment. 'No.'

'You don't remember him reaching down into the gutter and picking up any object. Say, the gun, for example?'

'No.'

'So he must have been holding the gun already, isn't that so?'

'He must have. Then he just stood up and started running.'

Hardy spoke up. 'Objection. Speculation. Calls for a conclusion.'

The Cadaver sustained him, struck the answer. Pratt went sailing right along. 'Did the defendant run well?'

A genial grunt. Medrano was back testifying for the right side, and he was much more comfortable. 'Way better than me.'

'In fact, Officer Medrano, was the defendant pulling away from you when he ran into the fire hydrant?'

'Yes. He was fast.'

'He wasn't staggering or lurching or anything like that then?'

'No. The guy was a bullet.'

'A bullet. Thank you, officer. No further questions.'

Jeff Elliot had been working without any merit raise for the past three years, and he decided this was as good a time as any to demand one. He and his editor were already discussing things, and he thought he might be back at work as early as next week. In the meantime, though, the Examiner had delighted and surprised him by making him an offer to bring 'City Talk' to them. The Democrat notwithstanding, the Examiner was the Chronicle's afternoon competitor, and Jeff thought a guest column or two in it would dramatically enhance his negotiations with the Chronicle.

Besides, Hardy and Freeman had handed him the column at lunch. Now, mid-afternoon on Wednesday, he was in the reporter's lounge on the third floor of the Hall of Justice, typing on a manual from the notes he'd taken a couple of hours before. The Examiner was paying him a full week's wages for the one column. He was smiling as he wrote.

CityTalk

By Jeffrey Elliot

In the interests of full disclosure, I hereby reveal that lawyer Dismas Hardy is a personal acquaintance of mine, even a friend. Currently he is defending my brother-in-law, Cole Burgess, in a preliminary hearing in Department 20 of Municipal Court. Cole is charged with the murder of Elaine Wager. The prosecution is being handled by the district attorney herself, Sharron Pratt, and by her chief assistant and majordomo, Gabriel Torrey. Mr Hardy is one of the sources of some of the information contained in this column.

When he is not personally trying murder cases, Mr Torrey's day-to-day work involves overseeing the flow of civil and criminal cases brought through the District Attorney's office before the courts. In this role, he is in a unique position to assign cases to the courts' calendars, to settle disputes without reference to the courts, and to either dismiss criminal cases outright (for any number of reasons, including lack of evidence, police misconduct, inability to locate witnesses, etc.), or to negotiate plea bargains. His word is law to every DA in the office, except Sharron Pratt.

This reporter has learned of at least two cases where a criminal case has been brought by Ms Pratt's office against an individual who was also being sued in a civil matter. In both cases, Mr Torrey offered to broker a deal whereby the District Attorney would drop the criminal charges in exchange for a large dollar settlement in the civil matter. The attorney handling the civil matters in both cases is Dash Logan, one of the city's more colorful and controversial figures.

(Regular readers of this column in the Chronicle might remember the story of Mr Logan's brief arrest last year after a short car chase that ensued after his car ran a red light, narrowly missing two pedestrians in front of the Virgin Records building on Market. The District Attorney declined to press charges related to this incident for two reasons: the brakes in Mr Logan's car appeared to have been tampered with -he apparently could not have stopped if he wanted to. And the blood-alcohol report was mislaid.)

Today's column will describe the first of these cases. Tomorrow's will deal with the second case, and a set of circumstances startlingly similar to the first.

Rich McNeil is a 62-year-old vice president of Terranew Industries here in town. He owns a six-story apartment building on the…

The open hallway outside the courtroom. Hardy double-timing to the phones. He had to find out. A young Asian man, vaguely familiar, tapping him on the shoulder. 'Paul Thieu,' he said, extending a hand. 'Homicide.'

It had been an excruciating fifteen minutes since Hill had adjourned court for the day. Hardy had felt the heat in his face, and knew that his blood pressure was off the charts, the endless minutiae made unbearable by his haste to get away. But he had had to stay around to give his client encouragement, instruct his troops. Freeman, Jody, Jeff Elliot.

He'd finally closed his briefcase, made excuses. He really had to go. Now.

And now this. He steeled himself to ask, 'Have you heard from Glitsky?'

A nod. 'I know where he is. They took him back to St Mary's, even though it was farther away. They wanted him to have the same doctor.'

'Any word beyond that?'

'The hospital couldn't tell me anything. I called the ambulance company -I called all the ambulance companies till I got the right one. He was alive when he hit the ER.'

'Thanks.' Hardy was moving again.

'Mr Hardy!' Thieu closed the gap between them. 'I had lunch with Abe today,' he said quietly. 'I'd be grateful if you could go with me out to my car in the back.' He read Hardy's reluctance, his impatience. 'Abe thought it might be important, and he's not going anywhere, you know.'

The simple truth of it hit him. 'You're right.'

'This way.'

They took the inside steps to the back door, walked the long corridor that took them by the jail and Dr Strout's office, got to a beat-up old orange Datsun in the lot. Thieu looked around – they were the only people back here. He went to the passenger door and opened it up. 'Hop in,' he said.

Hardy did as he was told. Thieu was on the driver's side and started the engine. 'If your car's around here, I'll take you to it.' In the still-warm gathering dusk, they pulled out of the lot.

Thieu reached into his jacket and pulled out a few pages, folded into thirds. He handed them to Hardy.

'What are these?'

'Glitsky asked for them. It's the lab and crime scene report on the Cullen Alsop overdose. I'm afraid there's no smoking gun, though, at least not one that I see. But he wanted to go through it with a comb.'

'Glitsky wanted these? Turn left up here. What for?' Thieu hung the turn, glanced across the seat. 'I'm not sure. Maybe he thought Visser would have left some trace, maybe a print, I don't know. But no such luck.'