John Lescroart: Nothing But The Truth

Scott was brusque. ‘Forget the garbage they taught you in law school. Here’s Real Life One-A. There’s lawyers who win in front of juries, they’ve got careers. All the others wind up pushing paper or crunching numbers. Your choice. So I’m going to take this murder of Bree Beaumont and get my name on the marquee. The grand jury’s my vehicle. I’m riding it and taking no prisoners.’

Scott’s eyes were bright. ‘This time next week, mark my words, this case is front burner. And it’s mine.’

Scott had served his witness, a Mrs Frannie Hardy, at her home on the previous Friday. The subpoena had instructed her to call if her time on the witness stand presented a conflict or hardship. If that had been the case, Scott would have rescheduled – he’d done so with several other witnesses. If Mrs Hardy had called, he would have told her how long he expected her to be on the stand and what kinds of questions he was likely to ask.

Scott had no indication that the witness had ever met Bree Beaumont. He got her name from Ron, Bree’s husband, who’d said that he and Mrs Hardy had been having coffee together on the morning of Bree’s death. So she was Ron’s primary alibi and as such Scott wanted to talk to her. But it wasn’t going to be the Inquisition. Frannie Hardy was not a suspect. If she’d called to discuss anything, Scott would have reassured her.

But no call.

So this morning, when Mrs Hardy had arrived late at the grand jury room, ten minutes after it had gone into session at nine thirty, Scott had already begun talking to James Pierce, a senior vice president and Caloco’s community relations officer. He had worked closely with Bree before she’d left the company and had known her since she’d been recruited from Cal. If there were any bones in her closet, Scott thought Pierce would know where they were hidden.

Ironically, Scott’s initial plan had been to take Mrs Hardy before Pierce, thinking that hers was probably going to be a much shorter questioning – Scott hadn’t wanted to hang her up for the whole day. But when she hadn’t been there on time and Pierce had, that was too bad for her – she’d brought it on herself.

So now Scott was going to let Mrs Hardy sweat it out. No, he’d told her during a break in Pierce’s testimony. He didn’t know how long it would be until he got to her. No, she couldn’t come back another day. He trotted out his favorite phrase. This was not a parlor game. This was a murder investigation.

‘I know all about murder investigations,’ she told him. ‘My husband’s an attorney, too.’

‘Then you know how serious this is.’

Mrs Hardy did not seem convinced. ‘I know how important you all think it is,’ she said mildly. ‘Look, Mr Randall, I’m just trying to find out how long this will be. I’ve got to pick up my children at school. If I’m not going to be out of here by one o’clock, I’m going to have to make some phone calls.’

‘I think that’s a good possibility,’ he said with conscious ambiguity.

She didn’t think it was too important, did she? Well, she’d find out.

As it developed, he began with her just before noon. She had just decided to make her phone calls when Scott called her to testify. She thought it couldn’t be too long. She’d have plenty of time. There was no need to call.

After he administered the oath that she tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Scott had her identify herself, and then started right in. ‘Mrs Hardy, were you acquainted with the deceased, Bree Beaumont?’

‘No. I never met her.’

‘But you did know her husband Ron?’

‘That’s correct.’ Mrs Hardy was sitting at a table in the front of the room, facing the twenty jurors. Now she looked up at them and explained. ‘Ron is the full-time parent in their family, so we saw each other mostly at school and other child-related events.’

‘And how long have you known him?’

‘I don’t know exactly. A couple or three years.’ Another explanation to the jury. ‘He’s kind of an honorary mom. We tease him about it.’

‘We?’

‘You know, the other moms at school.’

Scott was just fishing, talking about whatever came up. Here before the grand jury, strict relevancy wasn’t much of an issue. ‘Did he seem to resent this role?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, being Mr Mom? Did he ever talk about resenting that his wife worked and he didn’t?’

Mrs Hardy gave that a minute’s thought. ‘No. I don’t think it bothered him.’

‘Did you find that strange?’

‘What? That he took care of the kids or that he didn’t resent taking care of them?’

‘I don’t know. Both. Either.’

Another beat while she reflected. ‘Not any more than anybody else.’ Mrs Hardy broke a smile to the jurors. ‘I think sometimes our little darlings get hard for anybody.’ Then, back to Scott, more seriously. ‘But with Ron, he seemed fine with it. His wife did her job, he did his. He’s a good father.’

‘She made the money and he didn’t?’

‘That’s right, Mr Randall. It happens here in the Nineties.’

‘And that didn’t bother him? Being the man and not making any money.’

‘I just said that. It didn’t seem to.’ Her voice took on a sharp edge. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to get at.’

‘I’m trying to find out who killed Mrs Beaumont.’

‘Well, it wasn’t Ron. He was with me when she died. We were having coffee at the Starbucks on 28th and Geary, near Merryvale School.’ This seemed to remind of her something and she glanced up at the wall clock, pursed her lips.

Scott Randall pushed ahead. ‘And how did that come about?’

‘What?’

‘Having coffee.’

‘I don’t even understand that question. We just decided to go get a cup of coffee. There wasn’t anything sinister about it.’

‘I didn’t say there was.’

‘Well, it seems to me you implied it. We met at school dropping off the kids, and Ron said he felt like a cup of coffee and I said I thought that sounded good. So we both went.’

Again, she glanced at the wall clock. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but are we almost done here? I’ve got to go pick up my kids pretty soon.’

‘When we’re done,’ Scott replied. ‘After we’re done.’

Scott did not view himself as a cruel person, but a woman’s tears on a witness stand were as unimportant as the temperature in the room, or the lighting. Sometimes you had to deal with them, that was all. But you had no feelings about them one way or the other.

Frannie Hardy, on the stand before him now, crying, did not make his heart go all soft. True enough, she was quite lovely, well dressed, with striking green eyes and bright red hair, and if he’d been anywhere but in a courtroom with her, he might have had other thoughts. But not now. She’d brought her troubles upon herself and now she was paying the price.

She wasn’t sobbing. Scott was sure these were tears of anger. He didn’t care.

‘You have to let me make my phone call.’

‘No, ma’am, I’m sorry. You’re staying here.’

‘You told me we’d be finished by now.’

Scott shrugged. ‘I said we might be. It was possible. I thought we would be, but you’re not answering my questions. That’s slowing things down.’

It was already half an hour past when she was supposed to have left to pick up her children. She’d been on the stand for two hours.

‘Let’s go over this one more time, all right?’

‘I’m not saying anything until you let me use the phone.’

It had devolved into a pitched battle of wills, and Scott held the high ground. He made the rules in this room, and Mrs Hardy was going to play by them.

Scott had long since abandoned the casual approach. He was standing at one end of the front table so he could look now at Mrs Hardy and now at his jurors.