‘Not Andy Fowler.’

‘You wait and see. It’s a woman. The paperweight was a gift from a woman that he isn’t seeing. She broke up with him and suddenly he couldn’t bear to see it anymore. It reminded him too much of her and she’d broken his heart.’

‘I knew I shouldn’t let you stay home all day. You’ve gotten addicted to the soaps, haven’t you?’

‘Dismas.’

‘My finely honed prosecutorial skills have wheedled the truth from you at last.’

‘Jesus,’ Frannie said, ‘I have never watched a soap opera in my life and you know it.’

‘I’m not so sure anymore,’ Hardy said. ‘The soaring language – “Andy couldn’t bear it. She’d broken his heart.” And all that from a piece of jade.’ He looked across the table at his wife. Her green eyes looked nearly black in the candlelight.

They were in the dining room, finishing up a meal of filet mignon with bearnaise sauce, new potatoes, and string beans that Frannie had cooked in olive oil and garlic. Hardy was half through a bottle of good California cabernet.

‘Okay, Sherlock, but I’ve known Andy for fifteen years, and he doesn’t have girlfriends.’

‘That you have known about.’

‘You’d think I would have gotten some inkling once or twice.’

‘Maybe he just keeps that separate. Especially from Jane. Maybe Jane would be hurt.’

‘Why would Jane be hurt?’

‘I don’t know. Her mother’s memory.’

Hardy shook his head. ‘Not after all this time. I’m sure she’d want her dad to have some love life.’

Tm not so sure of that. Maybe he just thinks it’s better to be discreet. I mean, he is a public figure. If he went through a succession of women…‘

‘Now it’s a succession. The guy didn’t keep a harem, Frannie.’

‘He might have. How would you know?’

‘I know him.’

Frannie smiled. ‘You wait.’

Hardy moved the last morsel of his rare filet around in the remainder of the sauce. ‘I’ll wait,’ he said. ‘This is very bad for my cholesterol, you know.’

‘I notice you’re struggling with it. How did Jane sound?’

Hardy swallowed his food, took a sip of wine. ‘Jane was all right.’ He reached across and covered Frannie’s hand with his own. ‘Jane’s okay, and we don’t have any secrets, you and me, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Come around here.’

She pulled away, still smiling. ‘No.’

‘Would you please come around here?’ Hardy pushed his chair back, and Frannie came around the table and sat on his lap.

‘Since you asked so nice,’ she said. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him thoroughly for the better part of a minute.

Hardy stood up, carrying her, and walked through the kitchen into the bedroom.

The Chronicle building was at Fifth and Mission, about six blocks from the Hall of Justice. Hardy walked through the morning fog, which did a lot more than chill the air, and while Tony Bennett might not care, he was probably one of the very few who didn’t. Hardy gave away a few bucks in change to some homeless people who sat against the buildings on Third, wrapped in newspapers or old blankets, shivering. By the time he got to the Chronicle, his bones felt brittle and old.

Jeff Elliot anchored one of the newer desks in a cavernous room that smelled like an old school. His crutches were propped against the desk, all too visible. Propped as in prop, Hardy thought. He was turned to face a video terminal and was talking on the telephone when Hardy got to his desk.

‘All of this is off the record,’ he began.

Elliot turned, saw Hardy, held up a finger and continued talking into the mouthpiece.

Hardy continued right on. ‘When I got into work this morning, I wasn’t as mad as I was yesterday, but pretty close. Did I mention this is off the record?’

Elliot muttered something into the telephone, hung up and turned squarely to face Hardy. He didn’t look so young nor so friendly as he had at Hardy’s house two days earlier. His face, still boyish, looked sallow and wan, as though he hadn’t slept in a couple of days. The dishwater hair hung lank and long, over the ears. His tie was loosened at his throat, although his shirt was fresh.

‘Mr Hardy,’ he said, sticking out his hand over the desk.

Hardy ignored the hand. ‘Off the record. Everything I ever say to you again. Completely and absolutely off the record. Is that clear?’

Elliot, to his credit, didn’t bluff much, though he did try his sheepish grin. ‘My editor wouldn’t run the story without a source. You didn’t tell me not to use your name.’

Hardy held up a hand. ‘I don’t care about your politics. There’s enough where I work.’

Elliot shrugged. ‘I needed the -’

Hardy stopped him. ‘You could have accomplished the same thing being straight with me. I’m a pretty reasonable guy, but I am truly a bad enemy.’

Elliot was sitting farther back, eyes wide. ‘If that’s a threat,’ he said, then stopped.

To his surprise, Hardy noticed Elliot’s hands were shaking on the desk. The boy was scared. Something in Hardy wanted to go for the jugular, but he had liked Elliot at his house and the shaking hands made him lose the stomach for it.

He sat down, put his arms and elbows on the desk. ‘It’s no threat. It’s a tip, that’s all. Don’t make enemies you don’t need to. This is the big city. People play for keeps, even nice guys like me.’ Hardy flashed him a grin. ‘Now I’d like you to do me a favor.’

Elliot came slowly forward. ‘If I can. I guess I owe you one.’

‘That’s the right guess,’ Hardy said.

‘Owen Nash.’ Jeff Elliot’s voice was thick with excitement.

‘Where are you now?’ Hardy, at his desk, pushed away one of the case folders and swirled on his chair to look out the window. Gray on gray. He had asked Elliot to go to Missing Persons and check to see if either a large woman or a man – someone with a full-sized hand – had been reported missing.

‘I’m downstairs. The call just came in this morning.’

‘The timing’s right,’ Hardy said. Missing Persons would not get involved with a person’s disappearance until three days had passed.

‘Right. Well, this was called in by a guy, wait a sec, a guy named Ken Farris, phone number, you got a pencil?’

Hardy took the number. ‘Owen Nash, and this number. Anything else?’

‘They’ve got nine missing kids and three skipped or missing wives – all of them within the range of normal size. But Owen Nash is the only missing adult male this week. That’s not so common. It’s a real start.’

‘It’s a start, maybe, and that’s all it is, Jeff. And it’s a big, big maybe.’

‘Still,’ Elliot said. ‘But why couldn’t you just come down and ask around?’

Hardy sighed. Why get into it? ‘Politics,’ he said. ‘But it was a good idea. I wish it had been mine.’

‘So what do we do now?’

‘You don’t do anything. I start a little follow-up and you wait until I call you, got it? And I might not.’

‘But if there’s a story?’

‘It’s yours. That’s the deal.’

Hardy hadn’t intended to mention anything to anybody, but Drysdale poked his head in through his door the minute he hung up. ‘Just making the rounds,’ he said. ‘You better today?’

‘They’ve got a missing adult male.’

Drysdale frowned, leaning on the door. ‘Who does?’

‘Missing Persons.’

‘Does this directly relate to one of the two dozen folders I see so prominently displayed on your desk?’

‘Not even indirectly.’ Hardy smiled.

Drysdale let himself in the door and pulled it closed after him. ‘Diz, do yourself a favor, would you? Clear a few of these.’ He picked up part of the stack of files and dropped it on the middle of the desk. ‘Give me some numbers so I can point to your caseload and say, “This guy’s been a horse in the minors, let’s give him a shot at the big time.” ’

Hardy spun the jade paperweight, now doing its appointed task on his desk. ‘Okay, Art. Okay.’