Back in her chambers, Villars told Freeman and Hardy that she was prepared to declare a mistrial on Ned Hollis if they wanted it. Of course, in that case, Jennifer could – and would – be retried for the Witt murders only.
Obviously, the jury had been prejudiced – they had heard that the DA, at least, thought that Jennifer had killed her first husband. Also obviously, the jury must have a poor impression of Powell, who was bringing charges that 'no reasonable juror' could believe.
Freeman and Hardy wrestled about who got hurt more – the prosecution or the defense. In the end, though, it was Jennifer who made the decision – she did not want to sit in jail while they set a new trial date and started all over again.
They put it all on the record with Villars.
'Your Honor,' Freeman said, 'I believe the grounds for a mistrial wee caused by prosecutorial misconduct that has violated my client's due-process rights. I believe the case must be dismissed in its entirety and that all further prosecution is barred because Mrs. Witt has been placed once in jeopardy.'
Villars hated this. 'Nice try, Mr. Freeman. Are you asking for a mistrial or not? If you ask for it, the defendant can be retried. If you don't request it I am not granting it on my own motion.'
Freeman, not really expecting to have it both ways, was satisfied nonetheless. But he kept a straight face. 'In that case, Your Honor, although I believe the trial has been fatally tainted, we elect to proceed. I have explained the situation to Mrs. Witt, and she elects to go forward. Isn't that true, Jennifer?'
Jennifer looked up. 'Yes.'
They all trooped back into the courtroom, where Villars announced to the jury that she had decided to grant defense counsel's 1118 motion regarding the murder of Ned Hollis – there wasn't enough evidence as a matter of law to convict Jennifer Witt of killing her first husband. They would be moving on to the next phase of the trial on Monday, but until then, Villars added, why didn't the jury go home early and get a weekend of rest?
Hardy shucked himself out of his wet raincoat, tossed it to the other end of the seat and at the edge of the banquette at Lou's. Freeman slid in opposite him.
It was not yet four o'clock, a dark early afternoon. At the bar Lou was playing a quiet game of liar's dice with one of the regulars; his wife watched a soap opera on the television up in the corner. They were the only other people in the place.
Coffee arrived and Hardy curled his fingers around the mug to warm them. Freeman took his time, adding two spoonfuls of sugar, pouring some cream. He stirred, sipped, added more cream, stirred again.
'Diz, I've got something to tell you and you're not going to like it.'
John Lescroart
Hardy 04 – 13th Juror, The
Hardy was trying to keep his hands from shaking. 'How long have you known this?'
Freeman studied his own nails. 'Longer than you'd like to know, Diz.'
Hardy nodded. What could he do? Freeman had just told him that Jennifer had, in fact, killed her first husband, Ned. She'd shot him up with atropine. Just as the prosecution had contended. And Freeman had known all along.
'You know, you are a true son of a bitch,' he said.
The older man nodded. 'I can understand why you'd think so, but I didn't really think-'
'Fuck that, David. You didn't really think? Give me a break.'
'Diz-'
'No. No, Diz anything. She told you?'
Freeman nodded.
'And you could go on with this? This incredible charade?'
'Of course.'
The blood was pumping. ''Of course', even. I really love that. Not just 'sure, Diz', but 'of course'.'
'She's a client. Of course she's guilty. We're supposed to get her off. And, I might add, we just did.'
'We just did. Jesus. Give us a medal, would you.'
'It bothers you, does it?'
Hardy lifted his tired eyes. 'Bothers me? I think that's fair, David. More than fair, even just, if the word has any meaning for you.' He took a long pull at his beer. 'But as a matter of interest, since I'm punting out of this case, did she kill Larry, too? And Matt even? What else have you known all along?'
'No.'
'No, what?'
'No, I don't think she killed Larry. Or Matt.'
'You don't think so?'
'Diz, I said no.'
'No, David, you said you didn't think so, which, I need hardly tell you, is fairly open to interpretation, as if you didn’t know.'
Freeman was picking at the frayed wrist seams on his shirt. 'You can't punt out. What do you mean? Quit? Now?'
Hardy gave him a long look. 'I know you're not much into popular culture, David, but yes, punt means quit. I'm out of here. I'm off the case, okay? Dropping it. You think I could stick around and be part of this? I get a woman off when she murdered her husband? She admits it. Is that supposed to make me feel good? Why do you tell me now? You think the irony appeals to me, is that it?'
'No, I don't think that.'
Hardy waited, his breathing labored.
Freeman picked some more at his shirt ends. 'It was so complicated, Diz. And…' – he seemed, uncharacteristically, at a loss for words – '…and I valued you. I didn't want to lose you, and I know I would have.'
Flattery. Bullshit. Hardy's nose was getting refined.
He sucked the rest of his beer. 'Well, David, the hell with you. And the hell with her.'
Rising, he slammed the bottle down on the table and headed for the door.
Freeman, forgetting his own drink, was up after him, out into the rain.
'I want you to just listen to her, I want you to hear it for yourself.' Freeman had followed Hardy out to his car, had gotten himself into the passenger seat and now they sat, the rain pelting on the roof, the windows steamed, in the public lot across from the Hall.
Hardy shook his head in disbelief. 'What's she going to say? What can she possibly say?'
32
I had not choice. He would have killed me, would have hunted me down and killed me. How long do you have
