John Lescroart - Nothing But The Truth

She looked down, biting her lip, clearly wanting to do the right thing, not knowing if she should give out this information. Hardy smiled at her, told her his name, and spelled it out. ‘I’m a friend of Mr Elliot’s. I’m sure he’d like to know I’m here.’

The streets on the walk over had been cold with the fog-laden wind, but Baxter Thorne’s large, corner office was positively Arctic. The executive director of FMC wasn’t a big man by any means, and seemed a shrunken, pugnacious, malevolent gnome behind the cluttered expanse of his desk.

In his wheelchair, Jeff Elliot simply turned his head when Hardy was announced. Thorne nodded at the nice receptionist and she withdrew silently, closing the door behind her. No pleasantries of any kind were exchanged.

From the feel of things, the bait had been taken and the switch had just begun. ‘As a courtesy, Mr Elliot, although I’m beginning to wonder why I would want to extend one, I’ve admitted your acquaintance. Now what?’

‘You don’t know Mr Hardy?’

Thorne threw a glance Hardy’s way, than came back to Elliot. ‘I’ve never seen him in my life.’ Hardy was taken aback by the voice – deep, quiet, cultured.

Elliot was shaking his head. ‘That’s not what I asked. I asked if you knew Mr Hardy.’

‘Should I?’

‘You seem unable to answer the question, Mr Thorne. I wonder why that is?’

Hardy, believing in his heart that Thorne was in some way behind the arson of his home, had to fight the urge to withdraw his weapon and end the cat and mouse right here. But he thought he’d let Jeff play the hand a while first. At the very least, he already seemed to have gotten under Thorne’s skin.

The gnome cast a gaze out toward the side window, where the fog was swirling past. To Hardy, it felt for a moment as though they were in an airplane. The wind moaned – keened really – just at the threshold of sound.

Thorne looked back at Elliot. ‘I don’t know Mr Hardy.’

‘Are you familiar with the name?’

‘I don’t know. It’s common enough. I may have heard it.’

Elliot seemed to be watching for some giveaway reaction, but if there was one, Hardy didn’t see it. ‘His wife is in jail now for refusing to testify before the grand jury about the death of Bree Beaumont. Have you heard of her? Bree Beaumont?’

Thorne’s face put his impatience on display. ‘What is this? Twenty questions? Who do I know? You’ve asked me about press releases on the Pulgas water poisoning. I’ve told you that you may check with my staff. The releases were not ours. They were not prepared here.’

‘One of my colleagues found them outside in the hallway on Saturday, bound for distribution.’

Thorne shrugged. ‘So what? I didn’t write them. I didn’t put them there. Obviously, someone is trying to make us look bad, connected to these people, as they tried with Mr Kerry over the weekend. There’s a pattern here, all right, but it’s not of my making.’ Disappointed in humanity, he shook his head. ‘If this is your smoking gun, Mr Elliot… well, there’s no story here.’

Spreading his hands, he assayed a cold smile. ‘My clients are good people, Mr Elliot. They’re not terrorists. They’re concerned with exposing the endless lies that the oil companies have foisted upon an ignorant public, lies that polluted our air for years and now threaten-’

‘How about Ellis Jackson? What’s your relationship with him?’

Having established what he thought was a plausible deniability, Thorne softened slightly, the voice become nearly avuncular. ‘What about him?’

‘Is he your client?’

A sad shake of the head. ‘I’ve told you I’m not at liberty to disclose the identities of my clients. I of course knew Ellis Jackson when I worked for SKO.’ Another reasonable smile. The last time I checked, there was no crime in that. He’s a great man. Now, if you’re…‘

‘Not quite.’ Hardy spoke up for the first time. ‘You never answered Jeff’s question about knowing Bree Beaumont. Did you talk with a Sergeant Griffin about her death?’

‘Yes, I believe that was his name.’

‘Then how could you not have heard of her?’

‘I never said I hadn’t heard of her. Of course I know who she was. She’s been one of the most vocal and recognizable names in the field over the last decade. She was extremely courageous to change sides and go up against Goliath as she did.’ He paused for emphasis, adding matter of factly, ‘And of course they killed her for it.’

‘The oil companies?’

‘Can you doubt it?’

Hardy snorted in exasperation. ‘I don’t think so.’

But Thorne remained infuriatingly unruffled. ‘I can’t really tell you what to think, Mr Hardy. But if you think people, individuals, don’t die over Big Oil, don’t get killed, I recommend that you catch up on your research. Have you been following events in Nigeria recently? There are literally millions of other examples. And that’s leaving out most of our wars from Kuwait going all the way back to World War Two. Oil and market share.’

The small, quiet, powerful man stood behind his desk. ‘Now, really, I’m afraid that’s all I have time for. I think you’ll be able to find your way out. Oh, and Mr Elliot,’ – a rictus smile – ‘the libel laws in this state are quite severe, as I’m sure you know. It’s one way my clients can combat an unscrupulous enemy. They have been quite aggressive in pursuing legal redress for unsubstantiated news stories.’

On the way out, Hardy pushing Jeff’s wheelchair, the sweet young thing at the reception desk wished them a good morning, and gave Hardy a little wave.

Frannie sat on the table in the attorney’s room at the jail, swinging her legs. She looked like a schoolgirl, the impression reinforced by the fact that she’d put her hair into pigtails. To Hardy, the jail’s jumpsuit was still jarring to see on her. But after yesterday’s two visits up in the homicide detail, he found the jail garb easier to accept. Soon, he told himself, it would all be behind them. Today was the last day. He prayed.

As soon as they got Ron’s note out of the way. But like everything else, this wasn’t going smoothly. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘You’re not sure you’re going to be OK with this? With telling about Ron?’

Her face took on a stubborn set that Hardy didn’t like to see. He forced himself to speak in a calm tone.

‘Frannie, listen. By the time it gets to the grand jury again, if it does, it won’t matter. He’ll be gone, if he isn’t already.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. He doesn’t want to move the kids, start over someplace else. He’ll wait. Just like he said he would.’

‘But either way, he’s released you from the confidence.’ Hardy didn’t want to push too hard trying to convince her, but he felt he had to nail this down. If it came to it, tomorrow Frannie would have to disclose Ron’s secret.

It wasn’t sitting at all well with her. But she nodded. ‘I hate to give that creep Scott Randall the satisfaction. Besides, from all you’ve told me, it sounds like Ron isn’t anywhere near the best suspect anymore.’

‘No, I don’t think he is,’ Hardy admitted. ‘But until they have another one dumped in their laps, they’re going to pretend.’

‘But really, it still comes down to me, doesn’t it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, you’re close. Abe’s close. Maybe it’ll only be another day…’ The legs had stopped swinging. Her hands were folded in front of her now, her eyes cast downward. ‘What I’m saying is that if I still don’t tell, maybe Ron gets some more breathing room.’

Hardy was sitting casually on one of the wooden chairs that surrounded the table. It was all he could do to remain in that posture. He felt the blood racing in his temples, and willed himself to keep his voice even. ‘Ron doesn’t want to you do that, Frannie. I can’t imagine why you’d want to do that.’