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I said, “Can you describe the cement mixer?”

Grant cracked a giddy oxy grin

“I think I’ to like you”

The feeling was not mutual I took out my notepad and let Conklin run the interview Even doped up, Mr Grant was a blithe fast-talker

“Last night I opened the back door and went for a walk I don’t kno they saw uess you’d call it Then I was punched Thron Kicked everywhere I screamed Pretty sure I must have screamed very damned loud,” said Grant “I must have passed out I woke up a couple blocks up on Hollister Avenue behind soe cans I still had my phone I called the cops And here I am”

The jerk had slipped away froned for his protection

I pictured Grant’s neighborhood, the featureless buildings, die of the vibrant city of San Francisco This was how and where the science teacher wanted to live—isolated, so that his neighbors wouldn’t object to things that went kabooht

Conklin talked to Grant so for discrepancies, locking his story in He prodded and probed in his disar to learn The mad science teacher hadn’t seen his assailants They hadn’t spoken to hi, and they hadn’t poked hiun

He said, “For so to be released tomorrow”

Conklin said, “Feel better,” and I added, “Please, Mr Grant Check into a hotel”

We left a pair of cops at Grant’s hospital door and were heading back to the Hall to brief Brady on our “No news, no leads, notto report, Lieu” kind of day e reached the elevator bank and the doors opened

Elise Antonelli stepped out

“Visiting my client?” she asked

“It was a professional call,” I said

Antonelli said, “I think he’s going to be all right We’ve been talking about you, Sergeant”