Free The Keeper by John Lescroart Page A

be about?” Farrell asked as they finally got to the door. “I bet, being an ex–police officer of unrivaled sagacity and experience, you can figure this out.”
    “You never have witnesses.”
    Farrell beamed, spread his arms, and again turned to Treya. “And there it is,” he said. “But now let me ask you one.”
    “Shoot.”
    “Why do you care? Are you not done with the daily exertions of your brain about criminal matters?”
    “I thought I was. But Diz asked me to look into something for him, and Wyatt Hunt is out of town, so I said yes.”
    Farrell once was Hardy’s law partner, and the news obviously took him by surprise. “You, a cop—”
    “Ex-cop.”
    “Still. You’re working for Diz the defense attorney?”
    “Part-time.”
    “It’s a work in progress,” Treya put in. “He’s only just started.”
    Farrell asked, “You don’t feel like you’re working for the wrong side? Don’t you find that a little weird?”
    “Did you find it weird prosecuting people after thirty years as a defense attorney?”
    “Actually, yes. I don’t know if I’d recommend it for normal people.”
    “In my case, I’m an investigator, and I’m investigating, that’s all. It’s not like I’m on one side or another.”
    Farrell chuckled. “No? Just wait. It will be. So what’s the case? Something to do with the jail?”
    “Only in the sense that Hardy’s client is a guard there. I was down with Jeff Elliot at the Chronicle this morning, nosing around about my guy, and next thing you know, Jeff’s going off about all the troubles at the jail.”
    “Connecting them to your client?”
    “No. No apparent connection at all.”
    “Do you think there is?”
    Glitsky shook his head. “No reason to. My guy’s wife has gone missing, and I’m trying to find out where she went. Unless she’s hiding in the jail, the jail’s got nothing to do with it.”

15
    P ATTI O ROSCO LIVED alone in a small but beautifully appointed two-bedroom condominium on the semi-private road running parallel to Polk Street, at the bottom of the escarpment where Chestnut ended at the steps that climbed steeply up to Hyde. From her living room’s picture window, San Francisco’s western vista extended past the Palace of the Legion of Honor out to the low green hills of the Presidio, over to the Golden Gate Bridge, the bay, and Marin County on the right, Pacific Heights on the left.
    After Sheriff Cushing had excused him from work for the foreseeable future, Hal Chase knew that his first duty was to go home and spell Ruth and Warren, who had certainly put in enough time watching his children. Instead, he’d called Patti and driven straight to her place.
    Hal hadn’t seen her for the past three weeks, ever since he’d ended their five-month affair. And now, when she opened the door, her beauty brought an involuntary catch to his breath. She was barefoot in running shorts and a 49ers sweatshirt that was unsuccessful in camouflaging the assertive curve of her breasts. Her blond hair touched her shoulders and framed a face that Hal considered perfect. No. Beyond perfect.
    They embraced, holding each other tightly for nearly a minute.
    “I shouldn’t let you in here,” she said, but with a sigh, she took a step backward and pulled the door all the way open. When he came in, she closed it behind him, then led the way up the stairs and into the kitchen, where he pulled his familiar stool over to the bar and sat. She boosted herself onto the counter, feet crossed at the ankles, and gave him a searching look. “I . . .” she began. “I am so, so sorry.”
    He nodded. “It’s the worst.”
    “How are the kids?”
    “Ruth’s with them for the time being. Will doesn’t have any idea, but Ellen . . . I think she’s starting to get it.”
    “She’s a smart kid.”
    “Yeah. Not always the advantage you think it might be.”
    “No. Probably not.” She lowered her eyes, then raised them and met his gaze. “How are you