John Lescroart - Nothing But The Truth

They were alone together in the homicide detail’s interrogation room, kitty-corner at the table. The fog was pressing tight up against the windows, the wind gusting audibly.

It wasn’t exactly warm inside either.

First was the house, Hardy’s assessment of how bad it was, what they were going to have to do about living in the next weeks, the somber details. It hit Frannie especially hard that, even after her expected release from jail on Tuesday morning, she wouldn’t be able to go back to her old life. ‘This is all because of me, isn’t it?’

It was difficult for Hardy to tell her it wasn’t. He couldn’t imagine that anything relating to Bree Beaumont’s death would have had any effect on their lives if Frannie had not become involved with Ron, hadn’t promised to keep his secrets.

‘You did what you had to do,’ he told her equivocally. ‘But at least I’ve got somebody scared and that’s always instructive.’

‘It’s more than just that.’

‘Maybe,’ he admitted.

‘Do you think something else could happen? To you?’

In truth, Hardy thought if he kept pushing, which he fully intended to do, that something else surely would happen. That’s even what he wanted – without an act there couldn’t be a mistake upon which he could capitalize.

And this, of course, was not without risk, even serious risk. But, answering her, he simply shook his head. ‘If I get any closer, I’ll give it to Abe. Let the pros run with it.’

Frannie tightened her grip on his arm. ‘You can do that now, Dismas.’

‘No,’ he said pointedly. ‘Not if I want to protect Saint Ron’s kids…’

‘I wish you’d stop calling him that.’

Hardy figured he’d earned the right to call Ron Beaumont anything he wanted. He waved the objection off. ‘The point is, if I want to protect his kids, that’s why I’m doing all this, isn’t it? That’s what I’m supposed to believe.’

‘What do you mean, “supposed to believe”?’

He tried to control it, but he heard his voice take on a harder edge. ‘I find who killed Bree by Tuesday and everybody’s life goes back to normal, right? Except ours now. Now ours is a mess.’ He’d gotten her to tears and he didn’t care. ‘And you want to know the real laugh riot here, Frannie? I’m not even sure Ron didn’t do this to us.’

‘That’s crazy,’ she said. ‘He would have had no reason to do that.’

He firmly grabbed his wife by the shoulders and turned her to him. ‘Listen to me. How about if he thought I was there alone, sleeping? The house burns down with me in it. Then he’s got you. Did that ever occur to you?’

‘No! That’s not it.’

‘So where is the son of a bitch?’

‘I don’t know, Dismas, I don’t know.’ She took his hands and held them in front of her. ‘But Ron and I… there’s nothing like that.’

Hardy hesitated. Although he was well into it, mention of Ron Beaumont was still personally fraught with peril for him. Still, he had to go ahead. ‘You know, Fran, I’ve really been trying to keep Abe from looking at him officially. But it’s beginning to look as if whoever killed Bree also killed Abe’s inspector half a mile from Ron’s house.’

‘That doesn’t mean…’

He squeezed her hand. ‘And just so you know, Ron apparently had a few different identities.’

‘What do you mean, identities?’

Hardy outlined Glitsky’s discovery of the previous night, which now seemed about a year and half ago.

When he was through, Frannie took a while to answer. ‘He must have thought he might have to run again someday to save the kids.’

‘I’m sure that’s what he’d like everybody to believe, and maybe it’s true, but he’s getting a hell of a lot of play out of saving his kids.’

‘That’s because that’s what he’s doing, Dismas! I believe that. You did too when you met him, remember that? He didn’t start any of this any more than I did.’

Hardy clucked. ‘I know. He’s just a poor victim.’

‘God, you can be mean,’ she snapped.

‘Sometimes it’s useful,’ he replied. ‘I’d just like you to consider the possibility that this guy is the great pretender.’

‘No.’

‘For two or three different reasons – insurance, credit cards, you name it – he kills Bree and sets you up as his alibi. When the cops start to get close to him, he cons me into muddying the waters digging up other suspects, giving himself a few more days to disappear. I don’t see much wrong with that picture.’

But she was shaking her head. ‘It’s not him. Listen to yourself, Dismas. He didn’t give himself more time to disappear and also stick around to burn down our house so he could have me. You can’t have it both ways. You think he had something going on with me, don’t you? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? The real one you don’t believe is me.’

‘You’ve never denied it, goddam it! How about that?’

‘You never asked!’

Hardy spun around and walked to the window, the fog. An eternity passed before he sensed any movement. He was afraid to turn. She came up and hugged him from behind. ‘He’s just a dad from the kids’ school, we got to be friends, this happened. That’s all.’

She continued talking quietly into his back. ‘I know you hate the whole victim mentality, Dismas. I don’t like it either. But sometimes people are in situations they didn’t create. Like us, now, too. We’ve just got to keep trying to do what’s right, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t know what right is anymore.’

‘Yes you do.’

‘All I know is I want to hurt whoever did this.’

‘No, you want to hurt anybody right now. It doesn’t have to be who did all this. Maybe you’re so hurt…’

‘And what if it’s Ron after all? If we’ve both been conned.’

‘Is that the worst that can happen? That somebody took advantage of your good heart.’

‘I don’t have a good heart.’

‘Yes you do. And you’re risking it here and afraid somebody’s going to smash it and make you look like a fool in the bargain. But either way it’s over on Tuesday, isn’t it? If you don’t find whoever really did it.’

Hardy turned around to her. ‘And I’ve helped him escape.’

‘Except if he’s run away, then he didn’t burn our house, and vice versa. Think about it, Dismas. It’s not him.’ She brought a hand up to his face and rubbed it against his cheek. ‘More than anything, I just don’t want you to be hurt. Or us to be hurt.’ Her eyes pleaded with him. ‘Do you think you could stand to kiss me please?’

Frannie, Erin, Ed, and the kids were finishing their lunch – Chinese takeout was all Glitsky had been able to forage on a Sunday morning.

The opening minutes had been brutal, the kids’ emotions over finally seeing their mother again, then the double-whammy as they heard the news of the fire. By the time they were an hour into it, though, Hardy realized that it was as normal a family meal as you could have in a homicide interrogation room. Vincent was sitting on Frannie’s lap, Rebecca was nonstop chatter about school stuff. They were all making plans about logistics, moving ahead, solving problems.

Eventually, Hardy got up and wandered out over to Glitsky’s office. Over the course of the morning, he’d been tangentially aware of activity in the main room, the odd homicide inspector moseying on in for Sunday duty, maybe to write up some reports.

Hardy stopped in Glitsky’s doorway. The lieutenant was at his desk, hunched over paperwork. He knocked and Glitsky looked up, and waved him in. ‘Budgets,’ he said, and threw his pencil down on the desk. ‘Utilization percentage. Field efficiency ratios. Unit integration coefficient. I’ve been filling out these things for five years and I still don’t know what a unit integration coefficient is.’