John Lescroart - Nothing But The Truth

A really genuine smile. ‘No, no, I don’t mean that. I only met her – knew her – for a few months, but we got to know each other pretty well.’ A pause that Hardy elected not to interrupt. Kerry was talking, which was what he wanted. He’d start again. And after a sigh, he did.

‘Anyway, that’s where she came from. She wasn’t very popular. She had no friends, no social interests. Just studying and chemistry.’

‘But she was so pretty. She must have had dates? In high school?’

‘No,’ Kerry said. ‘Guys didn’t think she was pretty, if you can believe that. She told me she didn’t have one date. She went to school dances with her brother, it was that bad.’ He wanted Hardy to understand. ‘You know those movies where this really plain girl takes off her glasses at the end and suddenly she’s the prettiest girl in town? Well, that was Bree, except that her movie didn’t end until she was in her mid-twenties and by then she was so used to being plain and ignored by men that she just couldn’t accept any other view of herself. Plus, her brains still made her threatening as hell to a lot of guys.’

Plus, Hardy was thinking, she was married, which meant she wasn’t in the market. Or did it?

But Kerry, obviously still in thrall to her memory, was going on. ‘The thing about her, and maybe it seems funny or contradictory or something because she was so smart, but the self-image stuff I think really slowed her down in how fast she grew up… I’m trying to think of the right word. She was just very naive, I’d say, insulated. Almost unaware of anything in life, anything except her studies, which translated into her job. I mean, until…’ Now Kerry really was at a loss.

‘Until you?’ Hardy prompted.

Kerry lifted his shoulders, an admission. ‘It was starting to happen before we met. She was ready for it.’

‘For what?’

‘The change, the conversion. Well, it wasn’t really that.’

‘OK. What was it?’ Hardy became fleetingly aware of a buzz out in the room, a rush of convivial laughter from a gaggle of young couples pulling tables together. Afternoon drinks after shopping in a different world than that inhabited by Hardy and Frannie. He came back to the candidate for governor, with whom he seemed to be having a genuine communication. It was almost surreal, but he was going to keep it going if he could. ‘What was the big conversion all about then?’

‘It was her whole life, really.’ He fixed Hardy with a thoughtful expression. ‘This may sound presumptuous…’ Again, he stopped and Hardy waited. ‘It wasn’t so much that she grew up all at once as the fact that she realized she had grown up. She was a beautiful swan. She could fly.’

‘OK.’ This didn’t make all the sense in the world to Hardy, but he’d sort it out later. ‘But this conversion was public, right, on some radio show? And had to do with you?’

A shrug. ‘I don’t know how much of it had to do with me. But the debate we had seemed to mark a shift. She realized we had the same goals and we’d been set up to be on different sides. Actually, she’d been set up. She got bitter about her employers and I can’t say I blame her.’

‘Jim Pierce?’ It was a guess, but from Kerry’s reaction, a good one.

Kerry nodded. ‘He was the one who first recognized her for what she could do, I mean politically. He groomed her into a mouthpiece, but as I say she was naive. She bought his line because she bought him. He was Big Oil, but he cared about the world just like she did. Ha. But he was her father figure at the same time. He loved her when she was still the ugly duckling and that carried a lot of emotional weight.’

‘He loved her? You just said he loved her.’

‘I don’t know about that. What he did do was keep her nose to the grindstone, reward her handsomely for doing what he wanted, pat her on the head when she did good, and tell her not to worry about other things she might be hearing or thinking. She wanted to please him and she didn’t look up.’ He hesitated. ‘I was really just the catalyst, I think. It would have happened without me eventually. She was ripe for it. She’d grown up.’

‘And started seeing you.’

This suddenly brought Kerry back to where he was, what he was in fact doing, which was talking to a lawyer about a murder case. His public persona – always open and charming – was especially unnerving to Hardy as it fell like a shroud between them. ‘Not the way I think you mean, Mr Hardy. She was married, after all.’

‘But you’re not.’

Kerry favored him with the candidate smile, went back to his watch, and decided that if reinforcements weren’t going to come and rescue him, he’d go to them. ‘Well, no. Never been married. Never found the right girl.’

He slapped his knees and stood up. ‘It’s been very nice talking to you, but I’ve got to get my campaign manager back out on the trail. This water poisoning today.’ He scowled. ‘Terrible, just terrible.’ Then the smile was back, the hand outstretched again. ‘Don’t forget to vote now. Take care.’

He walked over to his security retinue and Hardy sat back down on the couch, watching the party coalesce around Kerry as it began to drift down into the main lobby.

When they were good and gone, Hardy reached over and, using the cocktail napkin that the hotel had thoughtfully provided, lifted the water glass Kerry had been using. He poured the remaining water back into the pitcher and slipped the glass into the pocket of his nylon windbreaker. ‘Take care yourself,’ he thought.

But, feeling smug about the glass with fingerprints, he suddenly realized he’d forgotten the main question he’d wanted to ask the Kerry camp. He nearly jumped up from the couch and caught up the candidate and his entourage as they arrived at where Al Valens had just finished up with a reporter.

‘Excuse me, Mr Kerry.’

The security detail moved to keep Hardy at his distance, but Kerry again told them it was OK. He was a candidate, it was election time, you talked to people.

‘I had one last question, this time for Mr Valens if you don’t mind. It won’t take a minute.’

Kerry broke a seemingly genuine smile. ‘OK, Colombo, sure. We’ve always got a minute. Al. This is Mr Hardy. He’s Ron Beaumont’s attorney.’

Valens cast a quick glance between Hardy and Kerry, then thrust his hand out. ‘Nice to meet you. What’s your question?’

‘I was wondering why you called Ron Beaumont last week – something about Bree’s files?’

The smile flickered briefly. ‘I don’t think that was me,’ he said. He looked at Kerry. ‘Did we call Ron?’

‘Not that I remember.’

‘You didn’t call Ron Beaumont and leave a message last Wednesday, Thursday, something like that?’

Valens made a little show of thinking about it for a moment, looked again at Kerry, then shook his head. ‘I think you must be mistaken. Isn’t he out of town? I heard he was out of town?’

Hardy was sincerely contrite. ‘I’m sorry. I must have been misinformed.’ A broad smile. ‘Mr Kerry, thanks again.’

Kerry waved him off. ‘Don’t worry about it. Any time.’

‘Shit.’ Valens’ voice was unnaturally shrill in the telephone.

‘He knows something. This guy Hardy. Who is he? What’s that about?’

Baxter Thorne spoke to Valens in his calmest tones. ‘Al, it’s always better to tell the truth. Especially in front of Damon. Tell him you forgot. You’ve been consumed with these terrorist accusations against him today. Your head was spinning and you couldn’t recall for a minute. In fact, you remember now that you did call Ron – here, this is good – to see about some memorial words he wanted to include about Bree if, no when, Damon gets elected. In his acceptance speech, that is if Ron wouldn’t object, if it wouldn’t be too painful. That’s why you called.’