‘Life with me isn’t tough, Moses.’
‘I’m not saying with you. I’m saying, you know, life in general.’
She got up and moved some elephants back the way they’d been. ‘You’re just getting old, brother.’
Moses grabbed her gently and pulled at her hair. He was older than Hardy. He had raised his sister from the time she was eight. Of the ten things he cared about most in the world, he liked to say that eight of them were Frannie. The other two were closely guarded secrets.
Facing the bay window, Moses saw the police car pull up in front. ‘Here he is, anyway,’ he said. ‘See? He must’ve been doing something with the cops.’
41
There was fog everywhere – in his head, out the bedroom window.
‘I don’t deserve this.’ Frannie had been up awhile, had taken a shower and gotten dressed. She sat across the room, by the door to the nursery, in her rocking chair. ‘I am very sad that this happened, but it wouldn’t have if you’d come home.’
‘Frannie…’
She stopped him, pressing on. She wasn’t crying but her cheeks were wet. ‘I know this is a hard time for you, although I’m not sure why. And you don’t have to try and tell me. But I don’t deserve you treating me this way. Not calling, letting me sit and worry all night. I won’t have it in my life.’
Hardy had a walnut-sized lump over his hairline. His left ear was raw and there was a gash in the scalp above it. They must have kicked him when he was down – his ribs jabbed at him. His headache was mammoth, his tongue bitten in several places. He still tasted blood.
‘I’m sorry -’
‘Of course you’re sorry. So am I. Who wouldn’t be sorry? What do you want, Dismas? What do you want? If you don’t want me, I’m out of here, babies and all. I mean it.’
He didn’t doubt her. Frannie wasn’t a poker player and this wasn’t a bluff.
‘I do want you,’ he said. He saw her take a breath. A miracle, he thought, she still wanted him. She was as mad as he’d ever seen her, but at least it wasn’t over between them. ‘I know I’ve been a shit. I can’t tell you the things -’
She held up a hand. ‘No litany. I just don’t want to live miserable. I don’t want that for any of us. This family doesn’t deserve it. Including you.’
Hardy held his head in his hands. ‘So why do I feel like that’s exactly what I do deserve?’
‘I don’t know. You’ve somehow let those idiots make you feel they’re better than you are, which is ridiculous. What’s so hot about them? What have they done? Why does it matter what they think of you?’
‘Okay, but what if they’re right? They might be right -’
‘Damn it, Dismas. They’re not right. You’re not a loser. Why? Because I’m smart and I wouldn’t have married a loser. Don’t let them do this to you – to me. If you do they will have won.’
Why couldn’t she see it? He’d been going around proving it for a couple of months. ‘You have to admit, Frannie, I’m not exactly on a winning streak.’
Her eyes flashed now. ‘Thanks a lot. What am I? What’s this house and the Beck?’ She gestured down to her stomach. ‘What’s this new guy, anyway? Doesn’t this count as winning something?’
‘I don’t mean that.’
‘Well, then,’ she slammed a tiny fist hard into her leg and raised her voice. ‘Goddamn it! Don’t say it then.’ She stood up, turned into the nursery. The rocking chair creaked on the hardwood. After a while he heard her talking to Rebecca. ‘It’s okay, it’s not you, sweetie. Back to sleep, now.’
Hardy, sore and nauseous, forced himself out of bed, hurting everywhere. He stood by the nursery door, stopped the creaking rocker with his foot.
She turned around. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘whatever it is, just put it behind you. You can’t undo it. Let’s just move on, okay? We’ve got a good life here. But you’ve got to respect me. And you’ve got to respect you. End of sermon.’
She crossed the room to him, touched his arm lightly. ‘Go take another shower,’ she said. ‘A hot one. I’ll make breakfast.’
Hardy sat on the mega-hard bench in the gallery of Department 22, Marian Braun’s courtroom. Elizabeth Pullios in her power red-and-blue never gave him a glance from the prosecution table. Hardy recognized several well-dressed lawyers hanging around, probably sent over by David Freeman for Fowler to choose among – he guessed one of them would wind up representing Andy.
Jane came and slid in beside him. ‘What happened to you?’
Hardy was wearing a three-piece suit, white shirt, one of his best conservative ties. He’d gotten his shoes shined downstairs. He looked proper except for the bandage across the top of his forehead, the swelling around his eye.
He told her it was a long story, Jane’s favorite kind, but didn’t get to go into it because the judge was coming in and they all rose.
Braun had had chambers next to Andy Fowler for something like a decade. That she had been the presiding judge for the Superior Court – and so the recipient of the grand jury’s indictment – had been a matter of timing. Since Leo Chomorro had moved up to fill Andy Fowler’s seat upon his retirement, the duties of presiding judge were again being rotated. What was ominous was that Braun, who had known Andy well and might be considered to be one of his few allies, had accepted D.A. Chris Locke’s recommendation and decreed that there would be no bail.
In the normal course of events, for a typical defendant, bail would not be set before arraignment in a murder case because the court wanted to guarantee at least one appearance, at the arraignment, of the accused.
In this case, though, there would have been little fear that Andy Fowler would not show up – the withholding of bail was a clear signal that there would be no professional courtesies. Andy Fowler was out of the club.
At least they weren’t making him wait all morning – he was the first line called after the judge sat down. The bailiff escorted him in wearing the yellow jumpsuit.
His protestations that jail wouldn’t kill him might have been valid, but the stay overnight hadn’t done him any visible good. His skin looked gray, his lion’s mane of hair hung heavy and wet-looking. He stood at attention, alone at the podium in front of the bench.
Hardy glanced at the jury box. None of the men was rising to stand by their client as, once again, the formula was carried out, the indictment for murder read out in full.
‘I presume, Mr Fowler…’ So the honorific wouldn’t be used, either. Andy wasn’t going to be called “judge.” If Marian Braun was any barometer, Hardy decided, Andy was in for some very rough weather. Braun asked if he had an attorney present.
‘I do, Your Honor.’ He half turned. ‘Dismas Hardy.’
A murmur ran through the courtroom. Hardy barely heard it, standing and moving by Jane. But he hadn’t reached the aisle before Elizabeth Pullios was on her feet. ‘Your Honor, I object. Mr Hardy was a member of the prosecution on this case. Aside from that obvious conflict, he has had access to material that falls under the attorney-client privilege. He cannot represent the defendant here.’
Hardy found himself talking. ‘If the court pleases…“ He got ignored.
Braun pulled her glasses down to the end of her nose, then took them off completely. ‘Write me a motion on that, Counselor, and have it on my desk by tomorrow morning.’ She scribbled something in front of her and raised her eyes. ‘Mr Hardy, would you care to join us on this side of the bar?’
Hardy came up the aisle and through the gate. ‘Your Honor, I’d like to request a short recess. I’d like a few words with the judge here.’
‘I am the only judge in this courtroom, Mr Hardy. Clear?’
‘Yes, Your Honor.’
‘We’ve barely begun and I’ve got an exceptionally full docket today, so let’s forgo the recesses and try to keep things moving. Is that all right with everybody?’ Clearly it was going to have to be all right. ‘Mr Hardy,’ Braun was saying, ‘you might save Ms Pullios a long night if you feel there’s a conflict with you representing the defendant.’