‘We’re not talking,’ Drysdale said.

They were walking in the door. That’s what I like,‘ Hardy said, ’the free and easy flow of information, the genial give and take of ideas…‘

The door had closed on him. Hardy stood a moment, shrugged, and went up to meet Esme’s attorney.

Aaron Jaans crossed spit-shined shoes over his well-creased pants, showing a bit of the red garter that held black socks halfway up his calf. The thought crossed Hardy’s mind that Jaans might be Esme’s pimp as well as her attorney. Hardy didn’t have any moral problem about prosecuting pimps. He hated pimps.

‘I guess the basic problem here is the priors,’ Hardy said. ‘Esme doesn’t seem to be getting the message.’

Jaans leaned onto the back legs of the chair across from Hardy’s desk. He pulled the cuff of his pants down over the distracting garter. The lawyer had a broad, elastic, dark black face, high forehead, aquiline nose, straight hair starting to go a little gray. There was still a trace of a rogue British accent from somewhere.

‘She’s a working girl, Mr Hardy, and you and I both know that you can arrest her every other day and she’s still going to go on the street when she’s out.’

‘Not if she’s in jail she won’t.’

Jaans rolled his eyes, but quickly, deciding against too much histrionics. ‘In jail?’

‘We’ve got felony grand theft here. Four hundred and sixteen dollars. That’s jail.’

Jaans leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. ‘Mr Hardy, you and I know that no judge wants this kind of rap going to trial. Clogs the docket horrible. It also ties up your vice witness for the better part of a day or two, gets him off the street and what good is he doing? You start taking all these people to trial… well, you know this as well as I do.’

Hardy was getting a little tired of the civics lesson. He shuffled the folder in front of him, pretended to be reading. ‘The offer,’ he said, ‘is felony probation, ninety days in jail or a five-thousand-dollar fine.’