have it in their minds. They're going to think it's another Powell railroad because that's what they're going to be looking for. I think we just put 'em away-'
Hardy was standing by the door, hands in his pockets, taking it in. 'It's a different set of facts, David. I think the jury's going to go with the facts.'
Freeman stalked back to the window, looking out and down. 'Bunch of spoilsports.'
There was a knock and the door opened. One of the courtroom bailiffs stuck his head in, gave Hardy a look and told Freeman that the judge would like a word with him in her chambers.
35
Hardy decided that he should probably swing by Olympia Way and spend an early morning hour going over notes and hoping his phantom jogger would reappear. If she ran by that way even semiregularly there was some chance that she might be useful. The defense would open its case in the next week and he wanted as many 'other dudes' as he could for David to pull out of his hat.
Not that, strictly speaking, Hardy's jogger was another dude. Or even a dudette. He had different plans for her – Freeman wouldn't attempt to implicate her in the killings as a possible suspect. But he might be able to use her to discredit the damaging testimony of Anthony Alvarez, the neighbor from across the street. What if he had seen this phantom jogger that morning – and not Jennifer – at the gate? And therefore not in the house. If a question about Alvarez's identification of Jennifer could get planted in the jury's mind, the jogger would be worth putting on the stand.
Sipping some coffee out of a traveling mug, cramped behind the wheel of his Honda just after sunrise, he realized that during the past week, while the focus of the trial had been on the Ned Hollis murder, he should have been preparing overviews on Tom DiStephano and the Romans if Freeman was going to use them as defense witnesses.
But in fact he hadn't spoken to Tom DiStephano since he'd gotten threatened by him and his father a couple of months ago, and Glitsky hadn't seemed particularly inclined to move on finding an alibi for the Romans on December 28. Glitsky might be his friend, but he was first a cop, and a busy cop with other priorities. When the directed verdict of acquittal came in so early on Ned, he realized that time was getting short and he had to have significantly more if Freeman was going to be able to use any of the information he'd gathered on these people.
He'd have to put the needle in Abe – see if he could get him to move on the Romans, and he knew the answer might well be that he couldn’t. He also came across the name Jody Bachman and realized that the Los Angeles attorney had never gotten back to him on Crane amp; Crane and YBMG. These were all areas that would have to be shored up before the defense began its case in earnest.
Yesterday, Monday, they had never gone back in to trial. Villars had evidently gotten herself good and fed up with David Freeman's grandstanding and after repeated warnings on the record had fined him five hundred dollars – privately – for contempt of court. He knew the rules as well as anyone and if he wasn't going to play by them, it was going to get expensive for him in a hurry.
By then it had been late in the afternoon and Villars had sent word out via the bailiff to excuse the jury for the day. On his way to do that he had stopped by the room where Hardy and Jennifer had been talking, told them what had happened, and Hardy had taken the cue and cut out.
He was parked at the corner so that he could see where the jogger had appeared out of the woods the last time. Looking down, going over one of Florence Barbieto's interviews with Walter Terrell, he almost missed her when she emerged again.
Throwing his notes onto the passenger seat, he started the engine in time. Sure enough, she ran down the same route, turning the corner onto Jennifer's street, just flying. Hardy pulled across the street, into the driveway just as she arrived at, cutting her off.
He opened the door and got out, facing her across the roof, smiling. 'Hi again.'
Today she was wearing maroon shorts and a Boston Marathon T-shirt, a maroon headband, and the can of Mace. Panting, seeing Hardy, she closed her eyes briefly, then opened them. 'What's your problem?' she asked, sucking air. 'Why don't you leave me alone?'
He really wasn't into ruining this woman's day but he also didn't want to let her get away again. He had a card out, ready, and held it up over the hood of the car. 'Just grab this as you run by – would you? – and call me. It might be important. It might even save a woman's life.'
She stood there a minute, staring, as though she hadn't heard him. 'You're a lawyer? Really?'
'That's right.'
'Last time you didn't look much like a lawyer.'
He grinned. Clothes make the man. Now he was in one of his suits, on his way to court, a real-life lawyer. 'I was in disguise.'
She was still breathing hard but more controlled than when she first stopped. Hardy figured that even if he could run as fast as she was going, which he couldn't, if he had come from the Sutro Woods down to here it would take him ten minutes to get his breath back. She was already back to being able to talk without gasping. It was impressive.
She reached over and took the card, glanced at it, then at her watch.
'I don't want to keep you, but if you've got time for one question, we might clear up something right now.'
She looked again at her watch, took a deep breath. 'What is it?'
'Do you run down this street often?'
'Almost every day. I've got a regular route when I'm working out.'
'Not the same time, though?'
She shook her head. 'Depends when I wake up, how the morning's going. Why? You been waiting around here?'
'A couple of days, early. So sometimes it's later?'
'Sometimes.' She was getting leary again. 'This is more than one question.'
'Yes. It is. Sorry. How about this one: Do you ever remember running by this house here' – Hardy pointed – 'and hearing something like shots, something that might have made you stop for a minute? That's the special one question.'
She gave it her attention, breathing normally now. She ran the wristband over her forehead, frowning in concentration. 'When would this have been?'
'Last winter, right after Christmas.'
She gave it another second, then slowly nodded. 'Yes… I do remember that. It was like bang, then bang, right together. They were shots? I think I convinced myself that they were just backfires.'
'But you did stop?'
'Just for a minute. I'm on a schedule. I like to keep running. I didn't see anything else, or hear anything. I decided it must have been a backfire so I just kept on.'
Hardy stayed where he was, just outside his door on the driver's side. He wasn't about to spook her now. 'You mind telling me your name?'
There was a last bit of hesitancy but it gave way. She even half-smiled at him. 'Lisa Jennings. This is for real, isn't it?'
'As real as it gets, Ms. Jennings.'
Hardy came up the gallery aisle – out of the corner of his eye he saw Terrell in the front row on one side and Lightner on the other – and let himself through the swinging gate at the rail. It was almost eleven and Dean Powell had a diminutive Filipino woman on the stand – Florence Barbieto, Jennifer's next-door neighbor.
Hardy sat down next to Jennifer, touched her arm and whispered, 'Jackpot. The woman who started running
