So he'd listened. And counseled her. And, yes, made love to her.
He lied to Hardy and the court about that, but he'd told the truth to Hardy about his caring for her. Caring? That was putting it mildly. Yes, she loved him, more than transference, he told himself. But she had her family. She just wasn't leaving them. Which meant he could never really have her. The call on Christmas Eve wasn't that she had decided to leave. It was another fight, another beating, another call for help. He had responded, as he always did, and then she went back for more.
And now, again, here Monday morning. Another call, more terrible damage. It had to stop. It was his only chance, her only chance. He could save her and… have her… he would do anything for her. Anything…
Olympia Way. Her beautiful house. The street empty, dead, silent under a cold brittle morning sun. It took him ten minutes, perhaps less. Jennifer was going jogging. There was enough time. She'd be gone…
No one on the street.
He had been here. Three times in the afternoons, Matt and Larry gone, Jennifer meeting him. He knew his way around there. He knew where the gun was. Not that he was really planning on using it. Was he? No. It would never come to that. He would talk to the husband, tell him what he had done, what he was doing, to Jennifer. Now that he was here, it seemed "What is it?"
"Dr. Witt? We've got to talk. May I come in, please? It's about your wife."
The guilty eyes narrowing. "Who the hell are you?"
"Her psychiatrist." Looking around, scanning the deserted street. "You know what it is, it confidential."
No other sounds. They were alone in the house, the two of them.
"All right, just what is this about?"
"She needs me, Dr. Witt. She called. Is she upstairs?"
"She doesn't need you. What do you mean, she called? When? What are you talking about?
"She told me she would be here. You were hitting her again. I'm taking her out-"
"You're not taking anything. She's not here."
"If I leave I'm calling the police. I'm calling them immediately."
"What the hell… what do you want?"
"I want to see Jennifer. I want her out of here. She's my patient. You should understand that, Doctor."
"She's not here. I told you she's not here."
"I need to see that for myself. I swear to God, I'm calling the police directly. I cannot let here stay here like this-"
"You want some proof? You need the goddamn grand tour." Less confident now, he thought.
Upstairs, at last, in the bedroom.
"There, satisfied? I told you, she's out. Now you get the hell out of my house!"
The gun right where she said he kept it – in the headboard. "I don't think so." He didn't need to think about it. Events were taking over.
"What are you doing with that? Goddamnit…"
Coming toward him, the noise, the other sound… maybe there all along, subliminal… water running into a sink? He hadn't even heard it. No. The noise stopped. That was it. It was the noise stopping. Somebody was in there.
"Don't move." To Witt, stopping him. The blood rushing now.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Who's in there?"
Witt yelling over his shoulder. "Matt, stay in there!" Half-turning, trying to fake him – "Don't come out!" – just as the other gun appeared… a blur really… in the bathroom doorway. Somebody shooting at him! But no one there. Nothing now but panic. A shadow. Things moving too fast.
Witt begins to lunge. But something else, too, at the same instant, off to the side, in the bathroom door. In his peripheral vision there is another gun. God! Somebody else is here, a witness. More, a threat.
He doesn't have a second. No time for more than a glance at his side. It's a gun – but something's wrong, it's too low to the ground, someone crouching? It pops, the gun pops…
He has no choice, he spins, points, squeezes the trigger just as he sees…
… the boy in a crouch stepping out, holding a gun, pointing it? It pops again. It can't be. It can't be Matt, he's at school. It's a school day and the father is at home alone…
He has to stop! He must! But his hand has already squeezed too far. His gun kicks, exploding in the room with the sound of a bomb, and the bathroom mirror splinters in a haze of sickly bright red.
No stopping now. Only an instant to move while Witt is struck dumb, immobilized by the explosion, by what he's seen, his eyes on the splayed body of his son…
A beat while the horror sinks in, but it is enough. Lightner yanks the gun back on Witt, now coming with a choking scream, hands raised. The face, eyes, a wild man closing in.
Impossible not to fire. Impossible to miss…
The reporters were rushing to telephones and minicams as Hardy turned back away from the witness stand. In a daze, he was aware of Villars using her gavel and of Powell standing at his table, mute. Of Nancy standing in the gallery. Nancy had confirmed in the call last night that she had sent the toy gun to Matt.
Lightner slumped in the witness chair. Hardy sat down next to his client, who turned her face against him, crying out of control.
Powell had Terrell take lightner into custody on the perjury charge. Villars retired to her chambers alone.
A half hour later she returned to the bench. Hardy and Jennifer remained at the defense table, holding hands the whole time. Nancy and Tom were in the front row and Freeman had come inside the rail. Powell was across the room, slumped in his hard chair, pretending to study some papers. His face was set.
Villars face was flushed, her mouth a thin line. She looked below her, over her reading glasses, at Hardy and Jennifer, then to Powell.
She spoke clearly, formally. "This court grants defendant's motion for a new trial under Penal Code Section 1181."
Hardy finally let himself lean back in his chair. Granting the motion for a new trial was a legal formality – Villars was ruling on Hardy's first motion, and that was all she was doing. It was clear that there was not going to be any new trial for Jennifer Witt. As she had maintained all along, she had not killed either her husband or her son and, at last, everyone in the courtroom knew it.
"Further," the judge continued, "it is the decision of this court under California Code of Civil Procedure Section 657.6 that the verdict of the jury in The People vs. Jennifer Lee Witt be set aside – it is the judgment of this court that the evidence received is lacking in probative force to establish the proposition of fact to which it is addressed.
"Mr. Powell, I cannot imagine you would oppose a motion for release of the defendant on her own recognizance at this time." It was not a question. "Mr. Hardy, would you care to approach."
55
After the trial Hardy had built a new brick border to enclose Frannie's roses by the fence in his backyard. He had his foot on it now, looking back toward the house. Isaac Glitsky, Abe's oldest, was taking his job very seriously – he lifted the top of the barbecue, poked the turkey in the thigh with the long fork. "It's still a little pink," he said.
Abe, finally, on Thanksgiving, holding what Hardy thought was his first beer of the year, spoke patiently, gently, the voice nothing like the one he used in his police life. "Just close it up, Ike, it'll get done."
The boy did, then went to join his brothers playing with Hardy's kids up under the overhang by the house.