'Don't be so humble. If you hadn't stepped in, Cole would still be over at the jail. They wouldn't be taking care of him like this.' The woman's effusiveness was slightly overwhelming. She grabbed Hardy's hand in both of hers and held it tightly.

Eventually freeing his hand, he cast his eyes beyond her, to the suspect. He had to work to keep his tone neutral. 'And you're Cole. How are you doing?'

Jody popped right in, answering for her son. 'He's going to be fine, just fine, aren't you, Cole?' Protectively, she was moving back toward the bed.

'I don't know, Mom. I don't know if "fine" really covers it.' The young man's voice was deep with a raspy quality and a slight but recognizable defect in enunciation. Hardy knew the latter could be simple fatigue, but more likely that it was the telltale slur of long-term drug use. 'Another day in that cell,' he said, shaking his head. 'I don't know.'

'They were going to let him die,' Mrs Burgess offered. 'They just wanted him to suffer.'

Hardy shook his head, told her a white lie. 'I don't think so,' he said. 'Not intentionally anyway. They don't do that.'

'Then why-'

'They process a lot of people every day at the jail. This was just one of the times somebody fell through the cracks. The good news is we found out soon enough.' Hardy saw that he was going to have to talk through Jody and didn't know how long he was going to have the patience for it. He addressed himself directly to Cole. 'So they've got you on methadone?'

'It's kicked in, yeah.'

Again, the mother. 'It's to help with the withdrawal pains. The idea is to lessen the dose so his body gradually-'

'Mom!'

She stopped, clamping her mouth tight with a pained expression. 'I'm sorry. I just want Mr Hardy to understand…' Her voice trailed off.

'He's probably got the idea.' To Hardy. 'Right?'

'Some.' He softened his inflection, gave her another reassuring smile. 'Mrs Burgess.' A pause. 'Jody. I'd like a few minutes alone with Cole if you don't mind.'

It hurt her anew, but there was no avoiding that. Her worried gaze fell on her son, came back to Hardy. 'Of course, sure, I understand.'

But she didn't move until he prompted her. 'Just knock at the door and the guard will come and let you out. We won't be too long.'

'She's all right, really,' Cole said when the door had closed behind his mother. 'She's trying to help.'

But now, suddenly, with the innocent mother out of the room, Hardy abruptly abandoned chit-chat mode. He might have wanted to spare some of her feelings, but he felt no similar compunction toward her son. Moving down to the foot of the bed, he rested his hands on the railing, looked Cole hard in the face, spoke with a flat deliberateness. 'Tell me what happened the other night.'

The change in tone met its mark. The young man inhaled sharply, shifted his eyes from side to side, finally focused on the sheet in front of him. 'It was bad.'

Hardy gave it a second, then reached over and slapped the bed next to Cole's foot.

Startled, Cole looked up. Hardy's expression made him take another deep breath, which he let out slowly through puffed cheeks. 'I mean, I was in bad shape. It was cold as hell, man. I remember that. I hadn't scored all day.'

'Why not?'

'I had to get some money. I thought I might go and hit up Mom, but then,' he sighed again, 'then the cramps started to come on, so I didn't want to go all the way out where she lives.'

'Where's that?'

'Like Judah, out in the Sunset. I score at Sixteenth and Mission. It was too far.'

'So you decided to mug somebody instead?'

'No! It wasn't like that.' Hardy gave him no reaction so he felt pressed to explain further. 'Look, my last score must've been heavily cut, OK? I mean, I was shaking already, cramping up, you know? It was like midnight. I'd scored a couple of pills but they weren't doing it. I had to do something.'

Hardy waited.

'So I lucked out. One of the bums was crashed with his cart-'

'His cart?'

'Shopping cart. In this spot, I don't know exactly where, south of Mission I think. Anyway, he was passed out and had most of a whole bottle of bourbon by his head, just lying there. So I lifted it. I needed something, you know?'

'He let you take his whiskey?'

'No, he was out already. I lifted it.'

'You didn't hit him and take it?'

'Come on.' Cole actually appeared offended at the question. 'Nothing like that.'

'How about the gun? Did you threaten him with that?'

'I didn't have any gun.' His brow darkened for a minute. 'Not then.'

'Did you get it from him, too?'

'No.' Then, 'I don't think so.'

'You don't think so,' Hardy repeated. But he had no choice but to accept it for now. 'All right, then what?'

'Then I guess I drank most of it. The bottle.'

'Where were you then?'

A shrug. 'Just around. I don't know. I was hurtin'. I mean, hurtin' you hear me?'

'For the record, Cole, you're not breaking my heart. How'd you get up to Maiden Lane?'

But the lack of sympathy had its price. 'I don't know, man. Maybe I levitated, huh? Maybe I took the Monorail.'

Hardy straightened up. 'You think this is funny, huh? You're looking at the rest of your life behind bars and you're getting wise with me?'

'Hey.' Cole went to hold up his hands in a gesture of innocence. The handcuff on his left wrist brought him up short. 'I'm just saying I don't remember getting uptown. I drank the booze. I got loaded. I walked around, tried to keep warm. Maybe I'd run into somebody I knew, I don't know. Maybe score some g.'

'G?'

'God. Smack. You know, heroin.'

'And pay for it with what?'

Cole shook his head miserably. 'I don't know. It didn't happen anyway.'

'So what did happen? Did you see Elaine come out of some building? Or just walking alone? What?'

'Elaine?'

Hardy's temper flared. 'Elaine Wager,' he snapped, but then checked himself, got his voice under control. 'The woman you've confessed to killing. Elaine Wager.'

'What about her?'

'I asked when you first saw her.'

'I don't really remember, you know? I told the cops this.'

'Why don't you just tell me, too? What's the first thing you do remember?'

'The gun. In my hand.' Cole made eye contact. 'Like, there it was.'

'Where?'

'Well, I mean it was there on the street and I picked it up. Anybody'll give you money for a gun, right?'

'So you remember picking up the gun? And then what?'

He closed his eyes, shook his head. 'I've been through this already. Then I guess leaning over her.'

'You guess? What do you mean, you guess? Did you see her walking? Did you come up behind her? Or was she already on the ground?'

Cole's face was taut with the effort at recall. 'I must have blanked it.'

'What does that mean, you must have blanked it? Are you saying you blanked on pulling the trigger?'

As though trapped in a cage, the young man looked from side to side for an exit. 'Well, I mean I had the gun, then I was leaning over her and saw all the gold, the necklace, then her purse and the other stuff.'

Hardy's hands were white on the bed's railing. 'You don't remember firing the gun?'

'No.'

'Ever?'

Cole gave it some thought, then shook his head no. 'But the cop said it was common, blanking the moment. Like people in car wrecks don't remember the last minute before.'

'What cop?'

'The guy who questioned me. Black dude. Banks, I think his name was.'

Hardy tore his eyes from the pathetic young man and looked through the barred window to the gray afternoon outside. Traffic was stopped in both directions on the freeway. Rows of box-like apartment buildings clung to a dun-colored hill. He wasn't going to find any solace in the view and after Cole's last words, he needed some. 'But, Cole,' he began quietly, 'listen to me. You confessed to killing her.'