John Lescroart - Nothing But The Truth

‘You’re married, aren’t you? Was your wife there?’

‘Yes, I’m married,’ he said evenly, ‘and no, she wasn’t there.’

‘You having marital problems?’ Lopez asked.

‘Mr Hardy’s wife is in jail,’ Predeaux said, although it didn’t seem to come as a shock to either of his colleagues.

Hardy paused. ‘That’s a long story.’

‘We’ve got time.’ Wilkes smiled insincerely.

Hardy returned it. ‘I’m happy for you, but as it turns out, I don’t.’

Predeaux moved a step forward. ‘Did you make it a habit of staying with your in-laws?’

This, finally, was enough of a press that Hardy straightened up in his chair, sat back, and crossed his arms. ‘I don’t believe this.’ He almost barked out a laugh, but stopped himself. ‘You guys talk to my in-laws? They’ll tell you I was there. I didn’t burn down my own house, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Were they awake at three thirty?’

‘Yeah,’ Hardy replied crisply. ‘We were all sitting up telling yarns around the campfire.’

‘There’s an interesting choice of words,’ Wilkes said.

‘Oh yeah,’ Hardy replied. ‘Very telling.’ He came forward in his seat. ‘Look, guys, I thought I was coming down here to get the lowdown on your progress, and maybe get my house turned back over to me so I could get to work rebuilding it.’

‘You got insurance?’ Wilkes asked.

He sighed wearily. ‘Yes, sir. I’ve got insurance. Thank God.’

Predeaux piped in. ‘Replacement value or loss value?’

Another aborted chuckle. ‘You know, you may be surprised to learn that I haven’t checked the policy lately. I don’t have any idea.’ He shook his head. ‘This is ridiculous. If we’re going to continue in this vein, I suggest we make another appointment and I’ll bring a lawyer.’

‘You think you need a lawyer?’ Lopez asked.

Hardy assayed a cold smile. ‘Here’s a tip, sergeant. Everybody needs a lawyer.’ He pushed his chair back and stood up, and squared off at Predeaux. ‘Am I under arrest? Are you seriously thinking of charging me with this, ’cause if you are I could use the money the false arrest lawsuit will bring in.‘

‘Funny you should bring that up.’ Predeaux pulled a chair around and straddled it backward. He transferred his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. ‘You a little short on money?’

‘Who isn’t?’ Hardy shot back. ‘What’s the matter with you people? I’m the one who got his house burned down. I’ve got at least two reliable witnesses who’ll swear I wasn’t anywhere near the place and guess what? I wasn’t.’

‘We’re looking into it, as you say,’ Predeaux responded.

‘Well, good luck with that. Or with finding any evidence, which by the way, guys, is generally one of the traditional steps in a criminal investigation.’

‘He’s pretty confident, isn’t he?’ Lopez asked.

‘Confident enough.’ Hardy had had all he could take of this. They had no grounds and no evidence and he had other places to be. ‘So Sergeant Predeaux, am I under arrest or not?’ The other three men started holding a silent conversation. Hardy butted into it. ‘Sergeant Wilkes, when do I get my house back?’

‘That hasn’t been determined.’

‘Well,’ Hardy snapped, ‘when you get finished wasting your time and do determine it, you know where to reach me. Sergeant Predeaux,’ he repeated, ‘am I under arrest or not?’ He stood by the door for a moment, waiting. ‘I’m taking your silence as a “not.” That makes this your lucky day.’

By the time he parked again in the Western Mission, he had gotten his anger under control to some degree. Although, considering the purpose of this visit, he didn’t think he’d be able to squelch it entirely. He did, however, derive some pleasure from David Freeman’s latest wisdom regarding his weapon.

Hardy, after some real consideration, decided to leave the Police Special in the trunk of his car for his visit to the fire department. This, he realized, turned out to have been a good idea. Driving out to the Mission, he imagined a scenario where Predeaux had, in fact, decided to place him under arrest. If Hardy had had his gun with him, he would have been sorely tempted to pull it out, get the drop on these three clowns and lock them in the room while he attempted to locate Ron Beaumont.

This, of course, would have ended his legal career and maybe killed him in the bargain. It certainly would have curtailed his mobility in the next twenty-four hours, what with the manhunt and all. But, because of Freeman’s little lecture, he hadn’t brought the gun in. He’d have to remember to thank the old man.

Marie Dempsey’s place was on Church Street about a block from Hans Spreckman’s, an authentic bierstube which Hardy considered to be on a par with Schroeder’s downtown, which in turn had a reputation as the best German restaurant in the city. The neighborhood had a certain friendly charm in spite of the overwhelming preponderance of pavement and stucco, and the lack of trees, lawns, and shrubbery. Maybe it was the scale of the buildings, or the trolley that passed on Church Street every half hour or so.

Today, though, a wet and heavy cloud still hugged the earth, and Hardy felt at one with it.

The address was the upper unit of a duplex in a square, gray two-story building with an internal stairway. From his experience at the Airport Hilton, Hardy thought there was little to no chance that Ron would open the door to a knock or a ring. This was the reason he’d finally opted not to try and call the various numbers he’d collected on the M. Dempseys of the city, but rather to discover the address on his own. He didn’t want to give Ron any warning of his visit.

So he walked up the stairs and stood by the door and listened. A man’s voice, singing quietly to himself, was barely discernible inside. There was definite movement, footsteps.

He pushed the doorbell, gave it very little time, then pushed it again. The footsteps had stopped. So had the concert. Whoever was in there was alone. He’d be very surprised if there were children. After another short wait, he knocked desultorily.

Walking back down a few of the steps, making his footfalls as heavy as he could, he then crept back up to the landing and waited. About two minutes later, the doorknob turned and Hardy hit the door hard, leading with his shoulder. There was a satisfying bit of resistance and then he was inside, hovering over the man he’d knocked to the ground.

‘Hi, Ron. How’ve you been?’

Struggling to get up. ‘Mr Hardy.’

‘Dismas, please. After all we’ve been through together, I think we’re on first names by now.’

Ron was on his feet again and broke a nervous smile. ‘All right, Dismas.’ He let out a long breath. ‘You may not believe this, but it’s good to see you.’

Hardy was brusque. ‘It’s better to see you. Where are the kids?’

‘They just went to the store for a minute.’

‘With Marie?’

After a beat, Ron offered a resigned shrug, another attempt at an ingratiating smile. ‘You’re pretty good,’ he conceded.

‘I have my days,’ Hardy admitted. Closing the door behind him, when he turned back again to Ron, this time he was glad he had it – he’d taken his gun out from his waistband, holding it so Ron could see.

‘You don’t need anything like that.’

‘Maybe not,’ Hardy said. ‘But then again, maybe I do. So I figured I’d be prepared either way.’

The gun had Ron’s attention, no doubt about it. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. ‘So what are you going to do now?’

‘Not me, us.’ They were in a small foyer. Hardy motioned over to the living room, visible behind them. ‘Now we’re going to wait for a little while and you’d better hope your kids come back with Marie in a reasonable amount of time. Or else you and I are going to take a ride downtown.’