The Special was the only food item on the menu, and in deference to Chui's Chinese and Lou's Greek ethnicities, she most frequently tried to make different combinations of ingredients that included both of these two cultures' rather violently disparate culinary traditions. Thus, on any given day, the Lou's Special might be taramasalata (fish roe) wontons in an avgolemono broth, moussaka potstickers, or the oft-requested Yeanling Clay Bowl, the ingredients of which had once stumped a panel of six of the city's all-star chefs after DA Clarence Jackman had publicly referred to it as his "favorite lunch in the city."
Because Lou's was semi-subterranean-the entrance off Bryant descended eight steps from the street level-the booth where Hardy and Hunt sat had windows high in the wall above them, which at the same time were at the ground level of the alley that ran alongside the building on the outside. The view out the windows, which few took advantage of, was of passing feet, garbage cans, the occasional horizontal homeless person.
Today, neither Hardy nor Hunt was paying attention to the ambience. Hardy, who had spent most of the afternoon working on the first draft of his argument on the PTSD issue for Evan's appeal, sat with his shoulders hunched over slightly as though he were brooding, his hands cupped around a mug of coffee. Hunt sat sideways in the booth, slowly revolving a pint glass of beer on the table. Hunt had already made his report to Hardy at his office, and this had prompted Hardy's call back to Glitsky, and ultimately the decision that they should all meet down here and see what they had.
"You don't think the fact that the Khalils talked to the FBI is going to be enough for you?" Hunt asked. "Friday that was all you wanted."
"I remember it well," Hardy said, "those halcyon bygone days. And absolutely I'm going to make the argument. The Khalils had a strong motive to kill Nolan. The jury should have known about that and decided for themselves whether that caused them to have a reasonable doubt about Evan's guilt. It's up to the jury, not the FBI, to decide what's important and what's not. But for
"Which I just don't see, Diz. Really. Still possible, I know, but you had to have heard this guy. If he didn't absolutely believe Scholler killed Nolan, he's gotta get himself an agent."
"Well, if the alternative option was either himself or one of his relatives, it might sharpen his thespian skills a little bit, don't you think?"
Hunt shrugged. "Possibly. But still, it's against my gut."
"All right, then, let's go with that for a minute. Say whoever killed Nolan, it wasn't the Khalils and it wasn't Scholler. Who does that leave?"
"How 'bout the FBI? Maybe there was way more money involved and these two agents who have disappeared found it and left the country."
"Maybe," Hardy said without enthusiasm. "And a good story. But I kind of doubt it."
"Me too," Hunt said, pointing at the entrance. "And I hate that. But here comes Glitsky. Maybe he'll know something."
IT WASN'T ONLY GLITSKY. Bracco came in with him. Hardy introduced Hunt around-he hadn't met either of the cops before. Lou came from behind the bar and took their orders, Glitsky's green tea and Bracco's Diet Coke. In the next few minutes of show and tell, everybody got reasonably caught up. The story Hardy had heard from Tara about the mugging incident in San Francisco's Tenderloin, implicating Nolan in those three deaths, significantly upped the buzz quotient around the table.
Bracco went last, revealing to the civilians what he'd already told Glitsky-that he'd located Bowen's secretary, Deni Pichaud, and talked to her for an hour or more about what her boss had been working on during the last few days before he disappeared. Ms. Pichaud didn't have much to offer. Bowen, as everyone already knew, had a varied and substantial practice, and according to Pichaud he tended to flit from one case to another as clients called and demanded his attention. She had no special memory of anything about Evan Scholler or his appeal.
When Bracco finished, the four men sat looking at one another for a long moment. Hardy finally broke into the silence. "So where does that leave us?"
"Is shit creek already taken?" Hunt asked.
Glitsky, who eschewed profanity, gave the detective a quick bad eye but then blew on his tea, sipped, and said, "It's the FBI and Iraq. That's all that's left."
Hardy shook his head. "The FBI didn't kill Nolan, Abe."
"Maybe Scholler did." Bracco held up a hand. "I know he's your client and all, but-"
"Yeah, but that almost doesn't matter at this point," Glitsky said.
