Free The First Law by John Lescroart Page A

maybe it’s also that Gerson talked to you.”
    A slight pause, then a nod. “Maybe some of that.”
    Glitsky let out a heavy breath, turned his mug around on the table. He hated to explain, to be on the defensive, and his jaw went tight. Still, he kept his voice tightly controlled. “Silverman, the victim, was my father’s closest friend, Frank. I asked Barry if he could just keep me informed. No press at all.”
    “That’s what I heard, too.” Batiste spread his hands, all innocence. “He didn’t come to me with it as any kind of complaint. We were just having lunch and it came up.”
    Glitsky nodded, perhaps somewhat mollified. “All right. But what?”
    “I’m talking as your friend. What I said when we got here. This is the kind of thing that’s nothing in itself. Hey, one time. Your dad’s friend. You want to be inside. Who wouldn’t understand?”
    “That’s all it was. One time. Four months back and I finally stop by homicide once. . . .”
    Batiste reached out his hand over the table and touched Glitsky’s. “You’re listening to me, Abe, but you’re not hearing. It wasn’t a problem. Really. Not with Barry, not with me.” He drew his hand back. “I’m talking about the future, just that you be a little careful, you don’t want to have people—and not only Barry—misinterpreting. That’s all. People are touchy. You know what I’m talking about.”
    “I told my dad the same thing this morning.”
    “There. See?”
    “Okay. But then I figured what could it hurt to go to the horse’s mouth? I was completely up-front with Barry. I’m not horning in on him or anybody else.”
    “Nobody’s saying you were.”
    “Lanier, Thieu, Evans”—all homicide inspectors—“any of them would have found out anything I wanted, but I didn’t want to go behind Barry’s back.” The explaining was wearing him out. “I thought if I could, I’d give my dad a little more peace of mind, that’s all.”
    “I hear you, Abe. I do. I also know how badly you want homicide back. And I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t make it crystal clear that this wouldn’t be the way to go about getting it.”
    “That never occurred to me.”
    “I didn’t think it would. But I wanted the air clear between us. I’m trying to fast-track you and it wouldn’t help if it looked like you were trying some end run.”
    Glitsky shook his head. “Not even a double inside reverse, Frank. But just for the record, I truly am ready for another assignment.”
    “I’m trying, Abe, I really am.” He finished his coffee. “Think you can make it another couple of months?”
    Glitsky put his own cup down. “If a couple doesn’t mean a whole lot more than four,” he said.

4
    I nspectors Dan Cuneo and Lincoln Russell had pulled a long night that ended near dawn, so they didn’t come back to work the next morning until after 10:00 A.M. When they finally checked in, they found they’d miraculously, after only six weeks, received a positive DNA match on one of their outstanding cases—a rape and murder—so their first stop was the video store where Shawon worked and where they put a pair of handcuffs on him. By the time they finished the arresting folderol and were ready to get back to Wade Panos, less than an hour of daylight remained. Though with the continuing and steady rain, what daylight there was didn’t amount to much.
    The administrative offices for all of Panos’s operations weren’t downtown in Thirty-two, but a couple of miles south in a no-man’s-land of underutilized piers and semi-abandoned warehouses lining the Bay below China Basin. This neighborhood comprised another beat—Sixty-three. It was light years from the high-end marinas such as McCovey Cove that had sprung up by the Bay Bridge with the Embarcadero upgrades and the draw of PacBell Park.
    Cuneo parked at the curb directly in front of the one-story, flat-roofed stucco box and double-checked the address. “I admire a man who doesn’t