Hardy: The Suspect Part 24

She took a moment before shaking her head. "His rule was he'd never ask and never let them tell him. It was one of the first things he always told his clients. 'I don't want to know. All I want to know is what evidence they've got and if I can make the jury doubt some or most of it. That's the job. Whether you did it or not doesn't matter to me.'"

"He didn't really feel that?"

"Oh, yes he did. Really for truly. With his whole heart."

"And what about you?"

"Well"-she felt herself break a rueful smile, and it surprised her-"you're watching me break new ground. If I had come to this from a different angle, I don't know what I'd be thinking. Probably that, like everybody else, you don't get all the way to arrested if you're not guilty. As I say, that's the professional approach."

"This time I really do hear a 'but.' "

"Yep," she said. "You do." She raised her eyes and stared him full in the face. "But in this case, I don't believe you killed Caryn." Lowering her voice, she went on. "Wes may be right, I'll get my heart broken over it, but I don't think so."

"I won't break your heart," Stuart said.

"See? There I go believing you again." She met his eyes, all business. "But look, this is full-disclosure time. You know this is still my first murder case. You know that so far, to say it hasn't gone well is an understatement. There's some chance that even though I'm watching a lot more closely, and I'm a lot more p.i.s.sed off, I might get sandbagged again. You might be better served with one of my partners or any number of other pretty good lawyers in town."

"Guys who'll believe I did it."

"Probably. But most wouldn't care to know, one way or another."

Stuart met her eyes again, but briefly, then abruptly he got up and walked over to the gla.s.s block wall that ran along one side of the room. He stood there for a few seconds before nodding to himself and turning around. "I didn't kill Caryn, Gina. I didn't love her anymore, but I didn't kill her."

"I know that. I believe that."

He closed his eyes for a second with obvious relief, then opened them and met her gaze straight on. "I think that's the most important thing."

"I think so too," Gina said, "though we're in the minority."

"I'm comfortable in the minority," Stuart said. "That's where I spend most of my time, anyway." Crossing back over to his chair, he pulled it around, up closer to Gina, and straddled it backward. "So this hearing tomorrow?" he said. "How bad is it going to be?"

The conference room at Freeman, Farrell, Hardy & Roake was a large oval with floor-to-ceiling windows and a set of gla.s.s double-doors looking out on a small, gra.s.sy roof garden and similar large windows facing the main lobby. The idea had looked terrific in the architectural plans, and even when the remodel had been completed. But in practice it soon became obvious that the place was a fishbowl. Everybody walking by could clearly see who was inside and often exactly what was going on in there around the huge circular table. In the land of attorney-client privilege and secret negotiations, this did not turn out to be a plus for the business.

To rectify the situation, David Freeman had ordered several large potted trees to be delivered-dieffenbachia, palms, some citrus-to partially block the view, or at least mitigate the lack of privacy. Over the years, more greenery had been added-giant ferns, rubber trees, a California redwood that now sc.r.a.ped the thirty-foot ceiling. Bringing potted flora to the office became an unspoken trophy moment for Freeman and his a.s.sociates after a win in a big case, and the room came to be known as the Solarium.

And here, today, technically a few minutes after the close of business, Gina had her discovery folders and yellow legal pads spread out on the table in front of her. She turned at the knock on the side panel of the door.

"Hey, Wes. Come on in."

"Don't let me bother you," he said. "Gert and I are just pa.s.sing through."

She nodded absently as her partner-his T-s.h.i.+rt today read TAKE THE MESSAGE ON YOUR b.u.mPER-AND STICK IT!-led his Labrador back behind Gina, through the room and out onto the gra.s.sy lawn where they'd put in the memorial bench for David. In another minute, the outside door opened again and they were back inside. "Poor girl," Wes said, "I thought she was going to die if she didn't get outside to pee. But there's no way I bring her down here before Phyllis leaves. I don't see her as a dog person, do you?"

Gina straightened up in her chair. Her shoulders rose and fell. "Wes . . ." She motioned to the many piles of paper surrounding her.

"You're busy, I'm sorry."

"The hearing's tomorrow."

"Gorman?"

"That's the one."

"Is it as bad as the papers make it look?"

"Close, but Wes-"

He held up a hand. "Got it. You're working. I'm out of here. Come on, Gert. Gina still likes you. I'm sure she notices that you're not even on a leash. She's just busy."

Gina looked over, shaking her head wearily, but unable to suppress a small smile. "Sorry, Gert," she said. "Good dog. Very impressive."

"What's impressive?" Dismas Hardy suddenly appeared behind Wes and Gert.

Gina finally put her pen down, pushed her legal pad a few inches away. "What's impressive is how anybody gets any work done around here." She turned to face her two partners. "Guys. Hearing tomorrow. I'm a little overwhelmed."

"Gorman," Farrell said to Hardy.

"I guessed," Hardy said, then turned to Gina. "He pay you yet?" Since he'd become managing partner of the firm, he kept a pretty firm eye on the bottom line.

"He's had a little trouble getting to the bank," Gina said. "In fact, he's had a pretty tough couple of weeks in general. Maybe you've read something about it in the papers."

Hardy broke a grin. "That would be no, then?" A little more serious now. "So bring him a blank check in jail."

"I'm not worried about getting paid, Diz. He's good for it."

"Not if he did it," Farrell said. "Gert, sit! Anyway, Gina, you kill your wife, you don't get to collect the insurance on her. It's one of those dumb rules."

"Yeah, well, he didn't kill his wife, so it won't be a problem."

"Uh-oh," Farrell said.

Gina sat back in her chair. "Just because you believed a guilty client who lied to you, Wes. That doesn't make it a general rule of the universe. Innocent people get arrested and go to trial and get acquitted."

"Right," Farrell said. "All the time. When was the last one exactly, though? I forget. Was that Scott Peterson? Oh no, that's right. He was guilty."

"I believe Mr. Hardy here has seen a few innocent clients, if I'm not mistaken."

"Well, he got some of them off, anyway."

"Hey!" Hardy struck as quick as a snake, punching Farrell's shoulder. "They were innocent, that's why."

"See"-Farrell, rubbing his new bruise, turned to Gina-"it's sad. He still believes it."

"It's easy to believe things if they're true," Hardy shot back.

"I'm just saying, Gina, don't get your hopes up."

"No, you wouldn't want to do that. You wouldn't want to believe anything good was ever going to happen."

"Okay, then," Wes said, "as long as that concept is clear." He looked down at his dog. "C'mon, Gert, she's going to be all right. It's time for us to go home."

Dismas Hardy stood in the doorway for another moment and made sure that Wes and his dog had gone up the stairs, then he stepped inside the Solarium and closed the door behind him. "So how's it looking?"

"Bad enough." Gina flashed him a weary, hopeful, evanescent smile. "Then this new discovery I got an hour ago." Discovery was, of course, supposed to be all of the evidence that the prosecution had collected in a case-police reports, witness testimony, forensic and medical records, photographs, everything. Gina had gotten the first box of these records from Gerry Abrams' office within two days of Stuart's arrest. The rest of it-further transcripts with witnesses, more police write-ups, whatever came in-tended to arrive in dribs and drabs. "If I didn't keep getting ugly surprises, I'd be happier."

Hardy pulled up a chair next to her. "Like what?"

She grabbed at a manila folder and pa.s.sed it across to him. As he turned over the photographs contained in it, she explained their significance. "Juhle went up to Stuart's mountain retreat at Echo Lake with a warrant last week. He thought he might find some evidence of deliberation or premeditation. I'm thinking he hit the mother lode."

Hardy turned the picture over. "What happened here? It looks a hurricane hit the place."

"Either that or some guy named Stuart."

"You didn't know about this? He never mentioned it?"

"It's never come up."

Hardy was flipping through the folder, his second time through. "This is the wife, I presume." He held up a close-up of a smiling woman in a frame behind a web of shattered gla.s.s. Another picture showed a table and chairs knocked over or lifted up on their sides, lying in a scattering of broken plates, bowls and other gla.s.sware; in another, the mattress was halfway off the bed, its stuffing coming out. "Well," Hardy held up the bed picture, "at least now you know why he couldn't sleep. I couldn't get comfortable with the bed like this either." Then, seriously, he asked, "Have you talked to him about this yet?"

"No. I just got it this afternoon after I'd spent half the day with him. And oh, did I mention my charming half hour with Clarence this morning too?"

Thinking it might be better news, Hardy took the bait. "How'd that go?"

"I can't decide which part was worse, my ethical failings or my incompetence." She gathered the folder of pictures back to her, then sighed deeply. "He was as mad at me as I've ever seen him, Diz. It was bad, maybe irreparable."

"I doubt that," Hardy said. "He's eaten me for breakfast a few times and we're still pals. He'll get over it if you will."

Gina nodded, the picture of glumness. "Let me ask you something, Diz. You're up on this case, right?"

A shrug. "Just what's in the news."

"What's it look like to you? Honestly."

Hardy killed a second or two admiring the ferns, then came back to Gina with a somber look. "I might be wrong," he said, "but since your PX"-a preliminary hearing-"has a probable-cause standard of proof, which is a long long way from a reasonable-doubt standard, bottom line, the judge holds him to answer." This was legalese, telling Gina that she was going to lose tomorrow and her client was going to have to go to a full trial. "Of course, that's a.s.suming I'm a reasonable mind, which is not a slam-dunk a.s.sumption. But if you'll grant me that, then you've got a reasonable mind with a strong suspicion that a crime has been committed and that your client committed it. And that's what the statute mandates."

"Even without any physical evidence?"

Hardy's brow went dark. "What are you talking about? They got physical evidence up the wazoo. An autopsy. Probably a murder weapon. Pictures of a torn-up cabin, plus a strong motive, an eyewitness, prior domestic violence, a bunch of lies your client told, and- oh wait, before I forget-he grabbed a gun and took off before the police could get him in jail. Did I leave out anything? Of course he did send his daughter to threaten a witness too, but maybe that was her idea. Your client's going to trial, Gina. You better get used to it." Hardy gave her a shrug. "You asked me." On a less confrontational note, he added, "You got anybody else to point at?"

Gina shook her head no. "Wyatt's talked to Caryn's business partner, whose life got way better when Caryn died. Plus, he had an affair with her a while ago. His alibi is weak too. But we can't put him at the scene. He even provided fingerprints to Wyatt-voluntarily- and no match. Beyond that, there's n.o.body else close except maybe this guy who sent Stuart a couple of threatening e-mails. His car is what's killing us; the neighbor girl seeing it."

Hardy reflexively corrected her. "You mean saying she saw it."

"I didn't say that? I thought I did."

"No, what you said was, 'The neighbor girl seeing it.' And not to beat on you when you're down, that's the kind of slip that'll kill you."

"You're right. You are so right." Gina's face went blank, her voice hollow. "You know," she began, "Stuart wanted to fire me this morning.

I talked him out of it. I'm thinking now that maybe that was a mistake, that I'm not ready for this."

"Everybody feels that way, Gina. It's performance time. You'll rise to it like you have before a hundred times."

"But never in a murder case."

Hardy embodied nonchalance. "Same rules, same procedures, same people in the courtroom. You'll get your sea legs and be fine. But let me ask you one."

Sighing again, she nodded. "All right. Shoot."

"You believe your man didn't do it, right? He's factually innocent. And forget about Wes. You don't have to explain why to me, if it's good enough for you."

"Okay. Yes. He's innocent."

"So use that. If he's innocent, what really happened? What's your theory on the case?"

Gina pursed her lips, looked into the middle distance. "She was expecting somebody. He came and they had a disagreement about something important. No, more than important-life-altering. Somehow she was going to ruin this guy's life. So he had to kill her."

Hardy contemplated that for a moment. "So she was having an affair?"

"Yes."

"Definitely?"

A beat, then, "Yes."

"Okay, then, there's your case. So here's ten cents of free advice: Prove it."

25.

It was still dark out when Gina heard her morning Chronicle hit her front door and, since she wasn't sleeping anyway, reached out in her pajamas and brought it in. The end of the balmy spell, prefigured for the past several days by increasing winds and scudding cloud cover, was now reality enough that the paper was wrapped in plastic to keep it dry, and although the actual rain hadn't begun to fall, clearly it was going to be wet and cold.

Gina had stayed at the office with her discovery folders until nearly nine o'clock, then packed them up in her lawyer's briefcase. Thinking it might bring her luck and wondering all the while at the same time if it was a good idea, she had taken a taxi to the Rue Charmaine, the restaurant directly under David Freeman's old apartment on Mason, one block straight downhill from the Mark Hopkins Hotel that had been their favorite. Rick came out of the kitchen and showered her with attention. Then, in a custom long-established by David, Rick first determined what wine she'd be drinking-in this case, a half bottle of Gevrey-Chambertin-and then brought her several small private special dishes that did not appear on the menu, to match the wine.

Home by eleven, wrestling with all that surrounded her case- Stuart, David, Juhle, Clarence, Caryn's phantom lover (and killer?)- she finally fell asleep sometime after 12:30, the last time she remembered glancing at her clock.

Until she was looking at it again at 4:15, wide awake.

When the paper hit the front door, it was the excuse she needed to throw off her covers. She knew she wasn't going back to sleep today. Might as well not fight it.

In her single-mindedness since Stuart had been arrested, Gina had neglected to do any grocery shopping, and now the pickings in her home were slim. She told herself that this wasn't smart if she was to have the energy she was going to need in court, but that wasn't going to help her this morning. Nothing remotely resembling a meal spoke to her from the pantry shelves. But she had one frozen teriyaki rice bowl left in her freezer, and not really in the mood for it, she nevertheless put it in the microwave and started the coffee going, six cups' worth.

Returning to the kitchen table, sitting down, opening the paper, she felt some undefined sense of relief that, at least for today, Stuart was off the front page. Although ironically enough, she thought, here was a picture of Jedd Conley and his wife on page three, at some fundraising event, with an accompanying article about his antic.i.p.ated run for the U.S. Senate. He was still being coy and hadn't definitely committed, but obviously someone-one of Horace Tremont's political allies, no doubt-had floated the rumor to see how it played on the street. Judging from the article, it was going to play pretty well.