It reminded Donnally of what he hated about the court system; it cherished theater over fact. He’d watched it turn testifying police officers into actors in order to compete with the professionals—the lawyers—and it too often got them into a kind of self-destructive verbal sparring they couldn’t win against people who did it for a living.

Even worse, the courtroom as stage made jurors expect a show and left them bored and frustrated when they didn’t get one. It was bad enough that they expected television crime drama forensics, they also wanted to be entertained by popping dialogue and sudden plot twists.

Donnally wished he was back in his café kitchen. His burgers and fries were either done right or done wrong, and they couldn’t pretend to be anything other than what they were. Meat, wheat, and potatoes.

“I’m interested in the theories you have about what happened to Mark,” Donnally said.

Galen crossed his right leg over his left. “At the moment I don’t have any.”

Donnally leaned forward. “I’m not asking for conclusions, just theory, speculation.”

Galen rocked his head side to side.

Hamlin’s intercom buzzed. Donnally picked up the telephone receiver. It was Jackson.

“I just realized something,” Jackson said. “Can you come out for a minute?”

Donnally didn’t look up, but knew Galen was staring at him, suspecting the call was about him. It was like a ringing phone in those old black and white movies. There was never a wrong number. It always moved the story forward, and Galen’s licking lips and fidgeting fingers told Donnally he understood he was at the heart of today’s episode.

“I’ll be right there.” Donnally hung up and walked out to Jackson’s desk.

“Galen’s fingerprints shouldn’t have been on any of the money,” Jackson said. “I just realized that the cash from Galen was all paid out to The Crew. There shouldn’t have been anything left.”

“You sure? Warren Bohr didn’t remember receiving his share back.”

“I think that says more about Warren’s mental state than about the money.” Jackson tapped the side of her head. “He comes and goes. The Lawyers Guild had a dinner honoring him last month and he showed up at the hotel a day early.”

“Then where did the money in the safe come from?”

Jackson shrugged.

Galen didn’t look behind him when Donnally came back into the office, but tracked him with a stare as Donnally walked past him on his way to the desk.

Donnally watched Galen’s eyebrows rise and the skin on his forehead wrinkle in expectation, as though waiting for Donnally to explain the call.

Instead, Donnally asked, “Where were we?” He paused. He knew exactly what the topic had been. “We were talking about any theories you might have.”

Galen’s face relaxed as though the call had been a wrong number, not one that might lead to the exposure of one of his secrets.

“Mark was an aggressive lawyer,” Galen said. “Aggressive lawyers make lots of enemies.”

It sounded to Donnally like Galen and Warren Bohr had been reading from the same book of evasive descriptions.

“Like who?”

Galen smirked. “How much time have you got?”

Donnally glanced at Navarro. “As much time as we need to figure who killed him.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Let’s narrow it down. Did Mark ever tell you that he was afraid of anyone?”

“He never used the word ‘afraid.’ He wasn’t that kind of guy. Concerned? Sure. But not so he felt he needed to go into hiding. It was more professional stuff. Sometimes he’d pull a stunt and worry about it snapping back on him or his clients.”

“Anything recent?”

Galen shrugged. “I guess it can’t hurt now. Mark’s gone.” He pointed at the television on Hamlin’s credenza. “You see on the news last month about that federal judge who’d been telling people for years he went into law after he saw his sister murdered on the street right in front of him?”

Donnally nodded. It was a big story since the judge had been nominated to head the FBI. The judge had used it to inspire law students to pass on offers to join big civil firms and to encourage them to become prosecutors, even though they’d make just a quarter of the salary.

“Hamlin found out it was bogus and went to the press,” Galen said. “The judge never had a sister.”

The judge had withdrawn his nomination the next day.

“Why’d Hamlin do it?”

“The judge was forcing him out to trial on a case he wasn’t prepared on. Big, complicated securities fraud. I’m not sure Mark even understood the money flow, and that’s most of what those cases are about. He’d expected the case to deal out, but the U.S. Attorney played hardball and it didn’t. The day before jury selection, the story is all over the news. The judge is afraid to show his face in court. The trial gets put over and Mark is off the hook.”

“Why didn’t Mark just call in sick?”

“That would’ve only bought him a day or two, not enough time to read fifty thousand pages of discovery and get all the forensic accounting work done. And there was a lot of bad blood between him and the judge that had built up over the years. That’s why the judge was forcing the case. He could see by the lack of defense motions that Mark wasn’t ready. Mark was hoping he could get even once and for all and get the judge drop-kicked off the bench.”

“Didn’t work.”

“Didn’t work. The Bay Area is a very forgiving place.”

“Mark do that kind of thing a lot?”

Galen’s eyes widened, then his brow furrowed. “Which kind of thing? Not prepare for trial or—”

“Get dirt on people.”

“That’s what defense attorneys do.” Galen forced a smile. “It’s not like we’re going to win on the facts very often.”

Donnally realized Galen could spend the rest of the day telling stories about Hamlin, all of which would make him look bad but get Donnally no closer to a suspect, other than the one who was sitting across from him.

“What about you?” Donnally asked. “Were you one of those people?”

“What have you heard?”

It wasn’t true, but Donnally said, “Just some rumors about why you came out to California from New York.”

In fact, they hadn’t even risen to the level of rumors, but were only questions that arose in his mind after he first heard about Galen’s move West.

“Anybody could’ve found out about that just by looking at the New York state court Web site. So I got suspended, so what? Happens all the time and it was only for six months. I’m the one who told Mark about it and he suggested I come out to California and start over.”

Galen straightened up in his chair.

“I don’t see what this has to do with what happened to Mark. I didn’t even know Mark then. I met him at a criminal defense conference afterwards.” Galen pointed at the files. “How about just letting me have those and I’ll be on my way.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to be in court at 2 P.M.”

Donnally ignored him. “But that’s not the only thing he found out about you.”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

“Call it a question. The statement would be that he figured out you embezzled Tink Fischer’s settlement money out of your trust account.”

Galen pushed himself to his feet. “I’m out of here.”

“No you’re not.” Donnally pointed at Navarro. “He knows enough right now to get a subpoena for your bank account records and a search warrant for your office, and to get a criminal complaint filed by tomorrow morning. It’s better not to provoke him.”

“I . . . didn’t . . . kill . . . Mark. He’s the one that gave me the money to pay it back.”

“Only so he could control you by having a hammer he could drop on you at any time.”

Galen locked his hands on his hips. “You don’t think I had my hammers, too? After almost ten years of working together. I knew everything. Everything.”

Donnally thought of Galen’s fingerprints SFPD found on the money in the safe—and guessed how they’d gotten there.