Guilt

'That's a bald enough threat, Mr Dooher.'

'Not at all. It's friendly advice. Here, let's sit back down.' Dooher was shepherding him back toward the couch. 'Over the years we've had hundreds of cases with litigants who viewed the Church as deep pockets. Some kid's skateboarding on the steps of one of our buildings and breaks his leg. Dad hits us for liability – okay, we settle, sometimes. But some greedy people have attorneys who don't stop there – they want negligence due to faulty maintenance, punitive damages, that kind of thing. These cases always lose.'

Dooher picked up the check from the coffee table and dropped it in Trang's lap. 'You know why they lose, and you know why your amended complaint will lose? Because if you ask for three million dollars, you enter the realm of bullshit, and bullshit walks in this town, Victor. I've seen it happen a hundred times. Whereas there, on your lap, is fifteen thousand real dollars – you take a third, right? – five grand for your trouble, ten for Mrs Diep, and you get to spend your next five years a lot more profitably.'

Trang felt as though he would be sick. What Dooher was saying just couldn 't be true,, this case had to be a wi

The buzz at the telephone gave him a moment's reprieve.

Dooher picked it up, nodded, said, 'Okay, let her come on in.' He shrugged an apology to Trang as the door opened and one of those impossible women appeared in the doorway – at least Trang's height, her skin flawless, her teeth even.

One step in, she stopped. 'Oh, I'm sorry. Janey said-. I didn't mean to interrupt.'

Dooher was coming forward. 'It's all right, Christina. Mr Trang and I were just about finished.'

He introduced them. Trang shook her cool and firm hand with his own hot and damp one.

There was, from Trang's perspective, a long and awkward moment, eye contact between the woman and Dooher. She seemed overly self-conscious that she was interrupting, that there was another person in the room. It was clear she had expected a personal moment, and was somehow disappointed.

At the same time, Dooher's bravado faltered. She was obviously one of his young associates, and yet it was clear that he was tongue-tied with her.

No, Trang thought, it was mutual, both of them somehow at risk. 'I could step outside,' he said.

Christina recovered. 'No, really. It's just a short message.' She was back at Dooher. 'I just wanted to tell you that I left my resume with Joe, as promised.'

'Good.'

She shrugged. 'Joe says from here on it's out of his hands.' She deepened the pitch of her voice, put on a stern face. 'After this, Christina, it all gets pretty objective.' A flash of that co

'Objective works in your favor, Christina. I'm glad you let me know. We'll talk later?'

Trang thought he caught a note of panic in the question. It was nowhere near as casual as it sounded. Dooher desperately wanted to see her again, needed to see her again. He could put on any act he wanted in their negotiations, but here in this moment Trang was certain he glimpsed an underlying vulnerability.

But she kept it light, said sure, and apologized to Trang again before turning and leaving them.

When she'd gone, Dooher was lost another instant, staring after her. Then, as though surprised to find Trang still with him, he put on his smile again. The animation. 'So, Mr Trang – Victor – you want to use my phone, call Mrs Diep now? Feel free.'

But the woman's entrance had ruined Dooher's rhythm. He wasn't the same power broker he'd been. Suddenly the pushing to settle right now seemed overdone. It gave Trang some hope. Dooher wasn't as tough as the game he was playing. He could be beaten, and certainly Trang would never know if he didn't play it out at least a little further. 'I think Mrs Diep and I should confer in person.'

Dooher shrugged. No show of disappointment. He was back in his persona. 'Well, that's your decision. The check will be here until noon tomorrow. After that, the offer is rescinded. You understand that?'

Trang was standing. 'Yes, I do. And thank you for the warning. I'll consider it very strongly.'

A dim shadow fell across Sergeant Glitsky's desk and he lifted his eyes from the report he was pretending to read. A woman stood, back-lit from the fluorescents overhead. Wearily, he pushed his chair back, glanced up at the clock on the wall. Five to five, and here's a random witness come to the Hall. His lucky day. 'Help you?' he asked.

'I might have remembered something.'

Glitsky had no idea who she was. He stood up. 'I'm sorry, you are…?'

She put her hand out. 'Christina Cairera. Tania Willows? We met this morning at the Rape Crisis Center.'

Glitsky narrowed his eyes. It was possible, he supposed. He really wasn't noticing women these days. The woman this morning wore jeans and a wet jacket and had soaking hair hanging down in front of her face. But he still didn't think he could have picked this woman out of a line-up as the person he'd interviewed in the morning.

He ran a hand across his forehead, assayed a broken smile. 'Keen eye for detail. It's what makes a good cop.' He sat back down, motioned she do the same, on the wooden chair by his desk. 'So what did you remember?'

'I'm not sure it's anything. I was downtown applying for a job. I thought it would be okay if I stopped in without an appointment.'

'It's fine,' Glitsky said, then repeated, 'what did you remember?'

'He has a tattoo.'

In the distant future, Glitsky thought, these days would be remembered as the Age of Bodily Mutilation. Everybody had a tattoo. Or a nipple ring, or at least something metal pushed through some erectile tissue somewhere.

But unless Tania Willows's rapist/killer had a tattoo of his full name with middle initial, it probably wasn't going to be distinctive enough to help Glitsky identify him. But the woman, Christina, was going on.

'I don't know why I didn't think of it this morning, when we were talking.' She touched her head. 'It just wasn't here. There were a lot of other things going on. And then I was thinking about Tania, what had happened – waiting for the bus, and I saw this guy in an ad with a tattoo…'

'Okay.'

She paused a minute, swallowed. 'It was on his penis.'

Glitsky pulled himself back up to the desk, sat up straighten Okay, this might be something.

'On his penis?'

She nodded. 'He asked her if she wanted to see his tattoo, and she said sure, thinking it was… I mean, you know. Not there. She never thought that.'

Glitsky broke a rare smile. 'The old "come up and see my etchings" trick, updated for the romantic nineties. Did Tania happen to notice what it said?'

Christina shook her head no. 'I'm sure she didn't. She would have…' She trailed off, but the pretty head kept shaking, looking down – embarrassed, Glitsky surmised, by the topic. Her eyes came up to his, and he saw that in fact she was trying to control herself, her laughter.

He knew exactly what she was thinking.

'Not Wendy then?'

'It's not fu

The Wendy joke: when the man got an erection, the tattoo read: Welcome to Jamaica. Have a nice day.

Suddenly, Glitsky, whose professional life was a litany of violent deaths, who hadn't slept more than four hours any night in the past month, who had little money, three young children, and whose thirty-nine-year-old wife was dying of cancer – suddenly something broke in him, as it had done in Christina that morning, and he couldn't stop himself from laughing. Out loud.