pulling out his hair, what he's got left.'
'I'm pulling out mine, too. She's made me stop talking about it, which given where she is tends to limit our conversations. How are we not supposed to talk about it?'
'What, exactly?'
'The truth. Larry beating her. Abusing her. Her defense. What she's going through. To say nothing of all this madness over the last months. How is she supposed to deal with all that?' Lightner pushed his hair back with his fingers.
'You've seen her, then?'
'I've seen her. I try to visit her almost every day.'
'That must cut some hell into your practice.'
Hardy hadn't meant to be accusatory, but Lightner's back went right up. 'I take care of my patients, Mr. Hardy. I care about them. I try to be there for them when they need me. As I assume you do with your clients.'
Hardy took the rebuke. Lightner had a point. Sometimes you didn't punch the clock. 'You want to accept a second apology in five mintes? That didn't come out the way it was supposed to.'
Lightner shrugged it off. 'It's all right. I'm under a good deal of stress myself. I don't mean to snap back at everybody but I don't know what to do about this, about Jennifer. Her irrational guilts, her self-destructiveness… it's making me question my own judgment, whether I can do her any good.'
'What do you think would help her?'
'I don't know right now. I don't know. The problem is I can't get her to talk about, even acknowledge, her real problem.'
'So what have you been talking about every day?'
Lightner's expression said he knew how it must sound under the circumstances. 'We talk about her self- esteem, Mr. Hardy. How she's finally growing up, taking responsibility for herself. About her future.'
'Her future?'
'I know, I know, we don't have to go into it.' Lightner had put his papers down, was rubbing his hands together. He raised his eyes to Hardy. 'But that's what she wants to talk about. How she's finally getting things straight. She says she knows she can probably get out of this altogether by blaming Larry but she's just not going to do it. It wasn't his fault.'
'Beating on her wasn't his fault? What about her saying she didn't do it, and a defense of battered woman syndrome would be an admission?'
Lightner nodded. 'Yes, I'm afraid so. Things like that are deeply ingrained.' He stood up, taking his briefcase, asking where the men's room was, if he had time before Calendar came on.
He had disappeared around the corner before Hardy realized that he had left a couple of his papers on the bench. Glancing down at Jennifer Witt's name, highlighted in yellow, Hardy picked them up.
This first page was an initial patient's sign-in form from Lightner's practice, filled in four years before, giving an overview of medical history, previous physicians, allergies, surgical background and so on. Hardy thought a minute, folded the paper, and put it in his inside coat pocket.
Jennifer in her red jumpsuit, handcuffs and leg irons, was the first computer number, or 'line,' called.
Something was up. Judge Oscar Thomasino wasn't interested in the computer printout on his desk before him – his eyes followed Jennifer as she limped from the bailiff's entrance on the judge's left until she got to the podium in the center of the courtroom where she stood flanked by her two personal bailiffs.
Freeman was waiting for her, though there was a near-tangible air of friction between them. Jennifer glanced behind Freeman's back to where Hardy sat at the defense table. She nodded to him, her eyes grateful, or at least welcoming, though he couldn't say why that should be so – he hadn't seen her in a week.
He also wasn't exactly sure why he'd come today – this was the second arraignment for Jennifer and she certainly wasn't going to change her plea. Maybe, he told Frannie lightly, he missed being in a courtroom. Now he wondered if there hadn't been a germ of truth there.
This was supposed to be a more or less pro forma administrative procedure that would determine the date that Jennifer's trial would start or, more precisely, when it would relocate to its eventual Department. Once the presiding trial judge and the courtroom were assigned, which would be at another calendaring Monday like this one, the trial itself might not start for another six months to a year.
But Thomasino started things off with a curve ball from the bench. Judges had different techniques to combat the routine. Hardy was beginning to understand that Thomasino like to start the day with a little drama before wading into the sea of paperwork. 'Mr. Freeman, is your client all right?' He was taking her in – pale, thin, hair hacked off unevenly.
Dean Powell, who had hardly been paying attention, stood up. 'Your Honor, we will stipulate that Mrs. Witt may have been badly treated during her incarceration in Costa Rica, she-'
Thomasino used his gavel. Everyone in the courtroom jumped. 'The court addressed its remarks to Mr. Freeman,' he said mildly. 'If I remember, he could speak for himself last time we did this.' His face was stern, but there was something near-playful behind it. 'Mr. Freeman?'
With the door open it was Freeman's nature to stick his foot in. 'Your Honor, my client has been badly beaten. She needs medical attention. She is so intimidated by what she's gone through that she's afraid to say anything. Certainly her civil rights have been violated. The People have given up this case by their handling of the entire extradition process.'
'Didn't this alleged beating take place in Costa Rica?'
'They were our proceedings. It would not have happened if we hadn't-'
Thomasino's spark of humor vanished. 'It wouldn't have happened if your client had not broken out of our jail here and fled the country.'
'Nevertheless, Your Honor-'
'Nevertheless, Mr. Freeman, I've got a full docket and I think the air conditioner's starting to act up. You mind if we get on with it?' Evidently Freeman did mind – his retort was on the way when Thomasino leaned out of his chair. 'Give it a rest, David.' Freeman, confidently, patted Jennifer's arm. She had no reaction.
Thomasino was back at his printout writing himself a note. 'I assume, given the… interruptions to this point, that everybody's ready to proceed. Is that the case, Mr. Powell?'
'It is, Your Honor.'
'Mr. Freeman?'
Freeman had another problem here. Normally in a potential death-penalty case the defense would delay and delay and then try to delay some more. But he had discussed this with Jennifer and, as usual, she hadn't agreed with his decision or strategy.
Powell wanted the trial to begin quickly, and to conclude before the election in November. As a matter of principle, Freeman hated to agree to anything the prosecution wanted, but Jennifer had tied his hands. She was in jail and she wasn't getting out until she was found not guilty. Not unreasonably from her viewpoint, she wanted the trial to begin as soon as possible.
Freeman had told her it wasn't at all certain that she would be cleared. She was up for three counts of capital murder, and he knew that the DA would not frivolously charge anything that serious. He also knew that her case, as presented by the prosecution, would feature the kind of motive and presumed callousness that persuaded juries to convict – murder for insurance money.
He wanted Hardy to have time to find 'some other dudes.' He wanted time to think, to plot, to devise. He wanted time for something else to happen, for Powell to be elected and a new prosecutor, without Powell's agenda, to be appointed.
'Mr. Freeman?' Thomasino reported. 'Are you ready to proceed?'
Freeman had no choice. 'We are, Your Honor.'
Thomasino looked surprised and he was. He had never seen a capital case actually ready to be set for trial at the first setting date. 'All right then.' And the trial was calendared for Monday, August 13, in Department 25.
