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out as his alibi, then I was set up to take the fall. Clever.”
    â€œYou’re dirty, Lang.”
    â€œIf I could do her, surely to God, I’d have already done you.”
    â€œI haven’t changed my mind. You’re dirty.”
    â€œA little. It’s all relative.”
    â€œYou killed the Russian?” Stern asked. “Get me a glass of water, will you?” Lang went back to the kitchen. “You murdered the Russian, right?”
    â€œHis own people wanted to kill him after that night in the park. He killed his crew, but one of them got away. If I did it, I’d call it self-defense.”
    â€œJust like you’d call killing me self-defense?”
    â€œPreemption, Stern,” Lang said, bringing in a glass of tap water. He held the glass as Stern swallowed, eventually all of it. “Americans have adopted it as part of foreign policy. If it’s good enough for them . . .”
    â€œAnd the guy on Columbus Avenue?”
    â€œYou’re my alibi,” Lang said.
    Stern laughed. “I’m not as dumb as you’d like to think, numbnuts. You arranged it.”
    â€œDid I?”
    â€œSo what now?”
    â€œWe either agree to a live-and-let-live attitude, or we have the battle of the expiration dates,” Lang said.
    â€œYou could do it?”
    â€œYes, I said I could. Not now, with you tied up. But I could do it, I promise.”
    â€œYou know I’m not afraid of you.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou know I’m not afraid to die,” Stern continued.
    â€œI am, and that’s why I’d get you first. On the other hand, I don’t want to help you commit suicide. That’s your business.”
    â€œIt is,” Stern said soberly. “I gotta get ready for work.”
    â€œI can help you on the Vanderveer case,” Lang said.
    â€œIf we don’t kill each other first.” He smiled, looked down at his restraints. “I promise to shut my eyes and count to ten before I come after you,” Stern said, again smiling.
    â€œYou only have to count to five,” Lang said as he went to free him. “I don’t need much time to get away from you.”
    Â * * * 
    Brinkman had taken the early shift in the park, having had just eight hours off. Lang drove up to Nob Hill as well to check in with the Vanderveers but checked in with Brinkman first. The old man sat on a bench, a copy of the morning
Chronicle
open. He looked like the perfect occupant—a retired gentleman, up early, getting some fresh air.
    â€œAnything?”
    â€œQuiet as a graveyard up here until a few minutes ago. Then the dogs started appearing and pooping. A natural cycle. Kind of strange, don’t you think”—nodding toward the hotel—“him paying us to watch him?”
    â€œWe don’t know what’s going on. Things aren’t always what they appear.”
    â€œThat’s what I used to tell you.”
    Lang nodded. There was no need to bother the Vanderveers. He had nothing for them. “I’m going into the office for awhile. Call me if he leaves. Only follow him, but let me know if the wife or kid goes out. You bring your lunch?”
    â€œIs the bear Catholic?”
    Lang laughed. “Does the Pope . . . never mind.”
    Â * * * 
    Lang’s cell rang. It was Brinkman. Vanderveer, he said, was on the move. He and a kid were walking out of the hotel and down the hill, each carrying a heavy plastic bag.
    Â * * * 
    Lang found the Xeroxed copy of Vanderveer’s retainer on his desk. Thanh had apparently made it before making the deposit. The check was drawn on the Vanderveers’ personal account and had their address on it. Curious, he looked it up on Google.
    The satellite photo must have been shot through clouds. The image didn’t provide a great level of detail, but it appeared that the Vanderveers lived in an old, but apparently posh,