John Lescroart - The 13th Juror

It was not yet four o'clock, a dark early afternoon. At the bar Lou was playing a quiet game of liar's dice with one of the regulars; his wife watched a soap opera on the television up in the corner. They were the only other people in the place.

Coffee arrived and Hardy curled his fingers around the mug to warm them. Freeman took his time, adding two spoonfuls of sugar, pouring some cream. He stirred, sipped, added more cream, stirred again.

"Diz, I've got something to tell you and you're not going to like it."

John Lescroart

Hardy 04 – 13th Juror, The

Hardy was trying to keep his hands from shaking. "How long have you known this?"

Freeman studied his own nails. "Longer than you'd like to know, Diz."

Hardy nodded. What could he do? Freeman had just told him that Jennifer had, in fact, killed her first husband, Ned. She'd shot him up with atropine. Just as the prosecution had contended. And Freeman had known all along.

"You know, you are a true son of a bitch," he said.

The older man nodded. "I can understand why you'd think so, but I didn't really think-"

"Fuck that, David. You didn't really think? Give me a break."

"Diz-"

"No. No, Diz anything. She told you?"

Freeman nodded.

"And you could go on with this? This incredible charade?"

"Of course."

The blood was pumping. "'Of course', even. I really love that. Not just 'sure, Diz', but 'of course'."

"She's a client. Of course she's guilty. We're supposed to get her off. And, I might add, we just did."

"We just did. Jesus. Give us a medal, would you."

"It bothers you, does it?"

Hardy lifted his tired eyes. "Bothers me? I think that's fair, David. More than fair, even just, if the word has any meaning for you." He took a long pull at his beer. "But as a matter of interest, since I'm punting out of this case, did she kill Larry, too? And Matt even? What else have you known all along?"

"No."

"No, what?"

"No, I don't think she killed Larry. Or Matt."

"You don't think so?"

"Diz, I said no."

"No, David, you said you didn't think so, which, I need hardly tell you, is fairly open to interpretation, as if you didn’t know."

Freeman was picking at the frayed wrist seams on his shirt. "You can't punt out. What do you mean? Quit? Now?"

Hardy gave him a long look. "I know you're not much into popular culture, David, but yes, punt means quit. I'm out of here. I'm off the case, okay? Dropping it. You think I could stick around and be part of this? I get a woman off when she murdered her husband? She admits it. Is that supposed to make me feel good? Why do you tell me now? You think the irony appeals to me, is that it?"

"No, I don't think that."

Hardy waited, his breathing labored.

Freeman picked some more at his shirt ends. "It was so complicated, Diz. And…" – he seemed, uncharacteristically, at a loss for words – "…and I valued you. I didn't want to lose you, and I know I would have."

Flattery. Bullshit. Hardy's nose was getting refined.

He sucked the rest of his beer. "Well, David, the hell with you. And the hell with her."

Rising, he slammed the bottle down on the table and headed for the door.

Freeman, forgetting his own drink, was up after him, out into the rain.

"I want you to just listen to her, I want you to hear it for yourself." Freeman had followed Hardy out to his car, had gotten himself into the passenger seat and now they sat, the rain pelting on the roof, the windows steamed, in the public lot across from the Hall.

Hardy shook his head in disbelief. "What's she going to say? What can she possibly say?"

I had not choice. He would have killed me, would have hunted me down and killed me. How long do you have to take that before you can do something?

That's what they all say, right? That's what you're thinking? Well, if that's what they all say, maybe there's something to it.

The first year or so we both had jobs, we bought a house, we were going to be like our folks. He wasn't doing much coke yet. If he hit me one time in a fight, he'd be all sweet afterward and we'd make up.

I went home to my mom after the first bad time. You know what she told me? She told me she hoped he stopped but she'd better not tell Dad because he'd get all upset and what could he really do anyway? Except maybe go on over to Ned's and get himself in trouble. Either him or Ned, and either way it would be trouble so I'd be better off in the long run if I could just work it out with Ned and not involve my dad.

That's what wives did, Mom said. They worked it out and tried not to complain, and maybe if I was just a little nicer, maybe Ned wouldn't get so mad. If I wouldn't get so bitchy, you know.

So I did try but the thing was, I couldn't get any control over Ned when he was drinking and doing coke and all that other. He was just plain mean, and even worse after he lost the job with Bill Graham – he was like one of the chief roadies for a couple of years – and then they let him go – guess why? – and he had to go back to little clubs and just got meaner all the time. And of course in those music scenes there was all that coke.

Anyway, I had this girlfriend, Tara, down in LA, and I kind of ran away to stay with her. I made the mistake of calling Ned and telling him I was gone, I wasn't coming back but he shouldn't worry about me. Isn't that great? I didn't want him to worry about me. I just wanted it to be over.

But he didn't want it over. It was a mistake to have called. I never dreamed he'd come after me. Stupid. I know now. He came down and was so weirdly calm. He wasn't stoned or drunk. I think that's what scared me the most.

We let him in. I never thought he'd… well, he just walked up to Tara and didn't say a word and punched her in the stomach as hard as he could. Ned was a big man, you know, six feet, two hundred pounds. Then he stood over her and said he'd kill her if she ever hid me again or helped me or called the police.

And me, too. He'd kill me, too, if I called the police. I believed he would, too. I had no doubt at all. He grabbed me by the hair and the arm and we got to the car and drove back all night and he wouldn't let me go to the bathroom. Then we got home, he hit me because the car was dirty and he made me wash it.

It sounds strange, but during all this time we were trying to live normal lives. I mean, I was working with Harlan, I was his receptionist, thinking someday to be a hygienist – oh, you didn't know that? Yes, that's how that started. I didn't plan it, to be unfaithful. That wasn't who I thought I was. But everything with Ned was falling apart and Harlan was very nice to me. Gentle. So it was easy to keep the relationship hidden. It wasn't like I had to sneak out at night. I mean, we'd just close the doors at lunch.

And then, after we were together, he saw the… he saw what Ned had done and said I should report it, call the cops, do something. I kept telling him Ned hadn't done it. They were accidents, that's all.

Well, you saw Harlan. He thinks you do everything you're supposed to do and things somehow will work out. So finally, I think I'm in love with him – Harlan. I know he's fat now, but in those days he was just big. I've always had this weakness for big men.

Now I decide to wait until Ned isn't drunk or stoned and try to talk to him, tell him I'm unhappy and can't take him beating me anymore and I'm going to leave. I don't mention Harlan, of course. Thank God. I tell him there's no other man, nobody else. It's not that. It's just between him and me that we're not working out.

I kept thinking that if I don't run away, if I'm reasonable, his reaction is going to be different.