Hardy couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more here. There had to be. He’d referred again to the notes before coming and Griffin had included his maddening exclamation points.

But now they were moving toward the exit. The words ‘fabric wash’ came to him, so he stopped at the door. ‘Mr Lee, one last question. Do you do any clothes cleaning at all? Laundry work? Say one of your clients leaves a pile of clothes by a washing machine – would you dump it in for them? Or dry them?’

The proprietor considered this, then shook his head. ‘We remove window drapery occasionally, or upholstery fabric, but no. Generally, we don’t clean clothes.’

‘And what about Bree’s drapes or furniture? Did you remove either of those for dry cleaning? Were there any stains you needed to remove?’

‘No. That would have been a special order, and I checked into that with Sergeant Griffin when he came here. And again, I am so sorry to hear about him.’

Scott Randall heard the rumor from one of the other assistant DAs, who in turn had heard it from one of the forensic guys who’d worked with Sergeant Leon Timms, unhappily cleaning and cataloguing through the night under the back seat of Griffin’s car.

Although Glitsky had cautioned Timms and his staff not to discuss any possible relationship between the murders of Bree Beaumont, Carl Griffin, and Phil Canetta, by some inexplicable mystery of nature the word had leaked out.

Now Randall was at a hastily called late lunchtime strategy session with his boss and his investigator, Peter Struler. They had just taken their seats at Boulevard, an incredibly fine restaurant that was well off the beaten track of the rank and file of workers at the Hall of Justice.

Pratt, still smarting from her dressing down by the mayor, was inclined to dismiss the rumor, but Randall needed her support to move ahead, and he wasn’t going to let it go. ‘I think we have to assume it’s true, Sharron. It sounds right. It feels true, doesn’t it?’

Peter Struler was a fifteen-year, no-nonsense investigator and he spoke with a veteran’s confidence. ‘It’s true,’ he volunteered. ‘Everybody assumed Griffin got hit on some dope sting, but he was doing Beaumont. Ballistics confirms the same gun whacked Canetta.’

Pratt’s mouth hung open for a moment. ‘Is that a fact? You know that for sure?’

Struler nodded. ‘As soon as Scott told me what he’d heard, I moseyed on down to the lab, checked it out with some of the good guys. Same gun.’

‘The same gun.’ Pratt was trying to fit this information into her world view.

‘The same gun that killed Griffin,’ Randall explained again.

‘But what was Canetta’s connection to Beaumont?’

‘Well, isn’t that funny you should ask?’ Randall tried to control an arrogant smirk and wasn’t entirely successful. He leaned over the small table. ‘You know the Frannie Hardy we took such grief about this morning? Poor little innocent thing.’

Pratt’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes.’

‘Well, our old friend, her husband the lawyer? He’s up to his ears in this. Canetta was freelancing for him.’

‘For him? What do you mean?’

Struler butt in harshly. ‘Hardy was using Canetta’s badge to get information he couldn’t get on his own.’

‘On what?’

Randall gestured expansively. ‘All of this. Anything he could.’

‘But why?’

‘He’d probably tell you he wants to help his wife get out of jail, but that doesn’t hold up. Despite the mayor, she doesn’t get out until we let her go, and I’m not too inclined to go there.’ Randall tossed a conspiratorial glance at Struler. ‘I’ve got a theory on the real reason Hardy’s involved, and Peter here doesn’t think it’s too bad.’

Pratt took a sip of her sparkling water, nodded attentively. ‘Go on.’

‘Hardy is Glitsky’s best friend, right? You heard our good lieutenant in your office the other day, about what a true friend of his this Frannie is, what a great person. She took care of his kids when his wife died. Blah blah blah. Well, ask Marian Braun what a sweetheart Mrs Hardy is.’

Pratt waved that away. ‘So what’s your theory, Scott?’

‘All right, listen. We all agree Ron did this, right?’

Struler, if anything, was more certain than Randall. ‘Absolutely.’ He turned to Pratt and gave it to her one more time, so she would be clear on it. ‘Straight insurance scam, ma’am. Bree was heavily insured. She was also Ron’s support and had decided to throw him out on the street.’

‘Why?’ Pratt asked.

Struler continued. ‘He had another girl on the…’

‘Woman,’ Pratt quickly corrected him. They were talking about multiple murder, but some things just couldn’t be tolerated even for an instant.

The inspector made a quick face, fixed it, and moved on. ‘Another woman on the side.’

‘Not Frannie Hardy?’

‘No, ma’am. We don’t believe so. Anyway, I’ve got four witnesses from the building saying they’d seen Ron with another woman – same one – during the day when Bree was out working. They’d just walk out through the lobby holding hands, maybe sit on the bench out front.’

‘So who is she?’

‘That we don’t know. Yet. We’ll find her. Anyway, the point is, Bree found out about this.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘It’s a reasonable conjecture,’ Randall interjected, ‘but maybe she didn’t. Either way it doesn’t matter. But you’ll see, it fits.’ He nodded back at Struler to continue.

‘So what finally happened was Bree got herself another boyfriend, got knocked up, and was going to marry him.’

Scott Randall whispered. ‘We’re hearing it was Damon Kerry.’ He exulted in his boss’s stunned expression – there was nothing, he thought, like a good surprise. And he was going to have a couple more for Frannie Hardy tomorrow.

‘Damon Kerry.’ Pratt’s eyes shone with excitement.

‘That’s the word on the street,’ Struler said.

‘It’s really pretty smart the way they’ve figured it all,’ Scott said.

‘What? Who?’

‘Hardy and Glitsky. Knowing Kerry would have to get involved…’

Pratt held up a hand. ‘I’m afraid you’re getting ahead of me. How is Kerry…?’

‘Why do you think the mayor wants us to pull back on this, just at this time? Democratic mayor. Democratic – now – front runner for governor.’

‘Yes, all right. But Damon…’

Scott Randall bulled on ahead. ‘Kerry was having an affair with a married woman, Sharron. During his campaign. He got her pregnant out of wedlock.’ He shook his head. ‘No no no. It just can’t come out.’

The DA still didn’t see it. ‘All right, but what about Lieutenant Glitsky? Where does he fit?’

This, to Scott Randall, was the easy part. ‘Hardy,’ he explained, ‘is Ron Beaumont’s attorney, right? Ron comes to him with this problem – he knows Bree’s going to dump him. So if that happens, he’s out two million dollars.’

‘Two million?’ The number was new to Pratt.

Randall smiled. ‘It’s a nice, round motive, isn’t it?’

Struler interjected again. ‘And Hardy’s not exactly hauling big coin. He hasn’t had a worthwhile trial in a couple of years. He’s doing scratch defense work. Meanwhile, the wife has no job, he’s got kids in private school. Money’s an issue – count on it.’

‘You want to go along that road a little further, Sharron,’ Randall added. ‘The smart bet says he set fire to his own house yesterday, to get some cash in.’

‘So you’re saying,’ Pratt was getting into the idea now, ‘that Hardy and Ron Beaumont conspired to kill his wife?’

Randall nodded, beaming. ‘With Hardy’s wife as the alibi.’

‘So where does Glitsky fit in?’

Struler and Randall exchanged glances, and the inspector took it. ‘What does Glitsky make – seventy, seventy-five? He’s the head of homicide and Hardy’s pal, so they cut him in and it’s a dead lock Ron’s never arrested. Glitsky never moves on it. Period. End of story.’

Randall picked it up. ‘Then they run a little squeeze on Kerry about the affair with Bree, which makes him go to the mayor, who in turn tells us to release Frannie for political reasons, yada yada – just make the whole thing go away.’