John Lescroart - The Motive

"Well, I'm happy for her," Glitsky said, "but she's not his girlfriend now. You are." Again he looked at Hardy.

"Tell her, Diz."

Hardy broke his own tired smile. "I'm pretty sure she knows, but for the record"-he walked up behind where Frannie sat and placed a kiss on the top of her head- "you're still my girlfriend."

She patted his hand where it rested on her shoulder. "I'm so glad."

"Okay," Glitsky said, "that's settled. Now you've got to let Catherine go."

"That's my intention."

"Good. You had me worried there for a minute."

"Well, I don't mean to worry you some more, either of you"-he squeezed Frannie's shoulder-"but I think I'm going to have to see her tonight. She needs some help and she needs it now." He sat down next to Frannie. "She's a wreck, hon. Crying on the phone. She didn't know who else to call. I've got to go see her this one time. She was desperate."

"You don't have to go see her," Glitsky said. "Send one of your minions."

"Did you ever try to find a minion on Saturday night, Abe? Besides, she called me. Maybe I can calm her down. I know her."

"You knew her," Glitsky snapped. "You don't know her anymore." He turned to Frannie. "You tell him. This is dumb."

"He makes his own decisions, Abe. You may have noticed."

Hardy kissed her cheek and stood up. "Sorry. I know it's Saturday night, but she's really in a bad way, Fran. I won't be too long."

She patted his hand. "I'll deal with it. We were just vegging with a video anyway."

Glitsky was getting up, too. "Don't let her hire you."

"That's not my plan. I'll get her calmed down and give her some tips to get her through the weekend, like don't talk to any more cops; then we'll see where we are."

Hardy couldn't help but notice that Catherine hadn't conceded much to the passage of the years. His first reaction on seeing her was that it was nearly unfair. She'd kept her body in terrific shape, and her face, always her best feature, was if anything more interesting and attractive than it had been when she was eighteen. A couple of lines around the eyes gave her a sense of experience, humor and maybe even a hint of wisdom. Smooth skin, a strong chin, well-defined cheekbones and an assertive nose would make her face at home on a magazine cover. She looked Frannie's age, although he knew she had twelve years on his wife.

She opened the door and he consciously had to stop himself from commenting on her attractiveness, a compliment that for all its truth would not have been appropriate.

And she wasn't alone. "This is my husband, Will, our boy, Saul, Polly and Heather. This is Mr. Hardy." She explained to the children, "He's going to be my lawyer for a while until all this with the police gets sorted out. I hope not too long."

Not even inside the door and Hardy felt blindsided, confronted with two of the character traits that he suddenly remembered had led to them breaking up so long ago. The first manifested itself by the presence of her family. On the phone, Hardy had gotten an impression so strong that it was a conviction that Catherine was alone at home, in a panic. She had no one else to turn to, certainly not a husband, a nuclear family gathered around.

Now here she was in their bosom, and Hardy felt a bit abused that he'd been coerced into leaving his own family on a Saturday night, thinking it was an emergency, when it was really just Catherine being overly histrionic, and being not entirely truthful because of omission-the coward's lie.

And then the comment in her first breath about him being her lawyer. He remembered all too well-she used to make assumptions and jump to conclusions based on the belief that whatever it might be, people wanted to do it for her. And she'd been so desirable that usually it wasn't an issue. Doing what she wanted instead of what you wanted was a small enough price to pay because when you were with her, in her presence you felt that life was good.

"We weren't going to the game, Dismas. I said I wanted to go to the movies, remember? I just assumed…"

And here-he hadn't told her he was going to be her lawyer, although obviously she now assumed he was. Why wouldn't he be? When in fact, he'd rather consciously avoided making any kind of overture or commitment in that direction.

But Polly, chirping up, brushed away the thoughts. "Were you really my mom's boyfriend?" she asked.

Hardy downplayed it. "A long time ago in high school. We were good friends." He glanced at her to verify that this was her version of events as well and got an infinitesimal nod of acknowledgment.

Next, her husband, Will, stepped up and shook hands.

"Thanks for coming by. After this search this morning, we didn't know what to do. Obviously things are further along than we thought, but how they could think Catherine…" Shaking his head, he abruptly stopped.

Will was a step or two above conventionally handsome. Tanned and trim, he had a boyish face. His handshake was not strong, and the smile left a strange impression of distance, if not outright discomfort. "But you know more about all this than we do," he concluded.

Hardy took the opportunity to clarify things. "I really don't know too much beyond what I've read in the papers. After you catch me up, we'll have to see how bad things are. You may not need a lawyer at all."

But Catherine didn't let him off. "No, I need a lawyer, Dismas. I'm sure of that. After this morning… the search was just so, so weird, in a way. This Inspector Cuneo, he must be thinking…"

Will shook his head, his voice with an edge to it. "Let's not go there yet. We don't know what he's thinking. He's not going to find anything on Catherine's clothes, but if he does…"

Catherine turned on him. "There's nothing to find, Will. He's harassing me, pure and simple."

Hardy, drawn in, had to ask. "Who is? Cuneo?"

She nodded. "Who else? But here you are standing in the open door. Please come in, Dismas. I'm not thinking. This has got us all so upset."

"I don't blame you. It's upsetting." He looked at the assembled children. "How are you guys doing? Holding up?"

Saul said, "My mom didn't kill Grandpa." "No," Hardy replied, "I'm sure she didn't." "It's bullshit!"

"Saul!" But Catherine's rebuke had no teeth. "Mr. Hardy's here because he knows I couldn't have done anything like that. That's why I called him. And it's why we need to talk."

Will spoke up. "Mom's right, kids. It's adult time. We'll be right out front here if you need us."

Saul didn't particularly like it, but the girls went without hesitation and, in a moment, so did he. Hardy took the moment to look around the room, then at Catherine. "At least they didn't tear the place up down here, did they?" he said to her.

"No, it was all upstairs," Will said.

Catherine's tone brooked no objection. "I think he asked me, Will, if you don't mind."

"No," Hardy said, "that's all right."

A hard look passed between husband and wife. "She's right," Will said. "It's her problem, really. You two work it out." And with that he was gone.

Hardy and Catherine remained in the living room, sitting facing one another at the far end by the fireplace. Their eyes met and held for an instant. Catherine drew a breath, made an attempt at a smile, another one. "I don't know where to begin," she said at last, "except to tell you that…"

"Wait," Hardy said, "Catherine, please. Just one second." Now that he had her alone, he was going to set the record straight. "I came over here to talk to you because you sounded like you were in trouble and you needed some emergency legal advice. I'm prepared to give that to you, free and for nothing, because I do feel like I know who you are, and of course there's our history."

She seemed to be suppressing some amusement. "You do sound like a lawyer."