Nothing but the Truth (15 page)
The telephone jarred him from these thoughts. Sometime before he must have stopped pacing because he was sitting at his kitchen table, a cup of coffee untouched and cold in front of him. The light had changed as another afternoon’s load of fog had settled outside. He stood and picked up on the second ring.
“It’s going to be on the five o’clock news.” Freeman wasn’t much of a preamble kind of guy. He heard Hardy’s voice and he was talking. “I called a press conference and it must be a slow news day. Everybody came. You should have been here. This is where the action is. What are you doing home anyway?”
“I’m picking out new curtains for the bedroom,” he said. “What’s going to be on the news? Frannie?”
“And Braun. And Randall. They loved it, they ate it up. I wouldn’t be surprised if it hit the national wires. If I were you, I’d expect some calls myself pretty soon. Play up the wife-and-mother-torn-from-her-family part.”
“What other part is there?”
Freeman hesitated. “Well, there’s probably going to be some reporters with dirty minds, too. You might take this as a heads-up, not blow off on them.” Then, back to strategy. “I really think this might get to Pratt, persuade her to pull the rug out from Randall, get him to reconsider. What do you hear about Bree’s husband?”
“He left town.” Hardy told him about checking at Merryvale. The kids being gone.
“Do the cops know this?”
Hardy realized with a shock that they probably didn’t. He hadn’t thought to call Glitsky because the lieutenant had told him he wasn’t really interested in Ron Beaumont as a suspect. But Freeman was right. His running changed that. “I’ll call as soon as I get off with you.”
“You ought to get to Frannie, too. She discovers that he’s really run, he looks like a murder suspect, she might want to change her mind about protecting him.”
“That’s a good idea,” he said, biting his tongue. “I’ll do that.”
“Check the news first,” Freeman said. “Starts in about five minutes, Channel Four.”
“I’m on it. And David, thanks.”
Freeman laughed. “Are you kidding? This is what I live for.”
Calling Glitsky was a good idea. His inspectors would be happy if they found any suspect other than Ron for the murder of Bree. But now that Ron had apparently fled the jurisdiction—and Hardy had to make that assumption—Abe would have to do something.
“Why is that?” the lieutenant asked, exasperation starting to leak out. “What do you want me to do?”
“Find him, Abe. He looks a lot better for the murder now. You’ve got to admit that.”
“Maybe a little better, but Scott Randall’s already out beating the bushes trying to find him. The feeling here is that it might be fun to watch him for a while.”
“And meanwhile Frannie’s rotting.”
Hardy could hear the patient exhale over the telephone line. Another beat. “Have you made any progress with Judge Braun? Did Freeman?”
“No.”
“Well, then it looks like Frannie’s in for four days no matter what, doesn’t it?”
Hardy had no ready answer for this. It was the truth.
Glitsky went on, logical and detached. “Ron could walk in here tonight with a signed confession including everything Randall wanted from Frannie, and my understanding is that it wouldn’t make a hill of beans difference. Am I wrong?”
Hardy knew he wasn’t. Frannie was in jail on two separate contempt charges. Even if she talked now, she would still have to complete paying her personal four-day debt to Marian Braun. And on the other hand, even if Braun rescinded that citation, Frannie would remain in jail on the secret until Scott Randall said she could go.
Hardy knew all this, although it wasn’t any solace. “Look, Abe, maybe I can still get Braun—”
“ ‘Maybe’ is the key word here. Look, Diz, I’ve pleaded with Pratt, I’ve tried to bully Randall, I’ve been over to see Frannie twice, make sure they’re taking care of her, which it seems like they are. I don’t like this any more than you do.”
“I know, Abe. I’m not saying you’re not—”
“But anything to do with Ron Beaumont isn’t the issue for the next three days. Your immediate problem is with Braun.”
“But if you found Ron, put out a warrant, got other agencies looking . . .”
“Then what? That’s going to happen when the grand jury reconvenes on Tuesday anyway. They’re going to indict him unless my guys find somebody else and then the whole world will be looking for him. So they’ll probably find him. But even then, if he’s a killer he’s not going to say anything. Then what’s Frannie going to do?”
“I don’t know, Abe, I just don’t know.”
“Lord.” The cop voice softened. Abe clearly felt for him, was even trying to help on several fronts, but there just wasn’t anything he could do. “What do you think, Diz? She give you a hint what this is all about? You got any ideas at all?”
He had to force the words. “Not a clue, Abe,” he lied. “Not a damn clue.”
Fifteen minutes after the news ended, he had his coat on and was walking out the door when the telephone rang again. He was sure it was the beginning of the onslaught of the reporters, and was going to let his answering machine get it while he drove downtown. But then he remembered that it might be Erin or the kids, so he decided to monitor the call and stood listening at the hallway extension.
“Hello?” An unfamiliar voice, probably a reporter, and one who was good enough to have scored Hardy’s unlisted number. He sounded obviously disappointed that it hadn’t connected with his interview. Well, Hardy didn’t want to talk to reporters. He got to the front door, on his way out. The voice continued. “I’m trying to reach Dismas Hardy. My name is Ron Beaumont and I just saw the news report on—”
Hardy grabbed at the phone, said hello.
“Mr. Hardy, how are you?”
“Well, not so good, to tell you the truth. You know they’ve got Frannie in jail?”
“That’s why I called you. It was on the news and I thought I might be able to help.”
“You could. Where are you now?”
A pause. “Uh, I’d rather not say. Not too far away. I thought it would be smarter to get away before the police decided I was their suspect.”
“The police haven’t decided that. It’s the DA.”
A dry laugh. “Same thing to me. I can’t afford to get in their sights. Did your wife tell you about . . . about the situation here? With me?”
“Yeah. We talked.” Hardy knew he sounded furious, impatient. He was. He didn’t feel compelled to dissemble for poor Ron the prime mover. “The thing is, Frannie’s in a pretty damn bleak way right now. She’s already done a night in the can.”
“I know. I feel terrible about that. That’s why I’m calling, to find out if there’s anything I can do.”
“You want my recommendation?”
“Yes.”
Hardy gave it to him straight. “You come see me now, give me a note to take to Frannie at the jail and tell her she’s got your permission to talk to the grand jury. She takes this word-of-honor stuff pretty seriously.”
“Obviously you do, too.”
Hardy didn’t answer that. He wasn’t sure how far his nobility would go if Frannie stayed locked up much longer. But for the moment, let Ron think whatever would help Frannie. “The point is, she needs to tell the grand jury. Or you do.”
A long silence. Then, “You must know I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can. You give Frannie permission to talk, go back to wherever you are now. You said you’re still local, you can just—”
“I didn’t say that.”
Hardy wasn’t going to get into semantics with him. He’d said he wasn’t far away, and that was good enough for now. “Okay, you’re not local. But wherever you are, you want to help Frannie, right? Isn’t that why you called here?”
“But I can’t—”
“Look, you can. I’m a lawyer. I can broker this thing through the courts—”
“No, you don’t understand, that’s not happening. Last time I tried to play by the rules and do things through the courts. I had a good lawyer, then, too. You know what happened? The courts gave my kids to their mother. You hear what I’m saying? The rules don’t give the kids to the father. I can’t have that again. I can’t take the risk.”
“There doesn’t have to be a risk. It doesn’t have to come up at all. All they care about is if you killed your wife. If you didn’t, you go back to your normal life.”
“No, I don’t think so. That’s what I’d like, but I don’t see normal life in this picture anymore.”
Hardy took a beat, lowered his voice. He was sweating in the cool house, his hands white around the receiver. He let out a breath, spoke softly. “Then I really don’t understand why you called. I don’t know what else you can do to help Frannie.”
After another pause, Ron Beaumont finally said, “I’ll try to think of something. I’m sorry.”
“No, wait! Maybe we—”
The line went dead.
“He wouldn’t even write you a damn note, Frannie. How about that?”
His wife didn’t let it faze her. “I know he wants to help.”
“Oh yes.” Hardy dripped with sarcasm. “He’s all for helping. He just doesn’t want to do anything.”
Arms crossed, her body language swearing at him, she spoke through tight lips. “What could he do? What can he do that wouldn’t threaten his kids?”
“How does it threaten his kids to let you talk? He stays hiding. Besides, tell me why they’re not threatened right now.”
“You’ve said it yourself. Because he’s not a suspect. Even Abe said it on TV. The police aren’t looking for him.”
That had been, Hardy had to admit, one of very few sweet moments in an otherwise disastrous day. Glitsky would undoubtedly wind up paying hell for saying that there wasn’t any evidence to arrest Ron Beaumont for murder. The DA would complain to the chief. They’d foot-drag even more than they already did on his cases. Even so, to Glitsky it was probably worth it.
But that wasn’t why Hardy was here. “How about
our
children? Don’t you see that they’re a little threatened here? How can you not see that?”
our
children? Don’t you see that they’re a little threatened here? How can you not see that?”
“Don’t you dare patronize me,” she snapped. “Of course I see that. Don’t you think this is . . .” Her eyes flashed with fire and tears of rage. “This is
impossible!
Don’t you think I see that, I feel that?” She whirled in the small space behind the table in the attorneys’ visiting room. Nowhere to run. “But what do you want me to do?”
impossible!
Don’t you think I see that, I feel that?” She whirled in the small space behind the table in the attorneys’ visiting room. Nowhere to run. “But what do you want me to do?”
“That’s an easy one. I want you to give him up.”
“And his kids?”
“It’s either his or ours, Frannie. Doesn’t seem like that tough a call to me.”
“Just give him up?”
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