“You never told the police that it was you who had put the safety on your husband’s gun.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“In fact, when the police asked you point-blank, you denied ever having touched the gun.”
“That’s true.”
“When Captain Pintado’s father asked you point-blank, you again denied that you had ever touched the gun.”
“That’s true, too.”
“You lied to the police.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to your dead husband’s father.”
“I regret that.”
“You probably even lied to your son.”
“Objection,” said Jack.
“Overruled.”
Lindsey straightened in her seat, as if to strengthen her resolve. “No. I would never lie to Brian.”
“You would never lie to your son?” the prosecutor asked, incredulous.
“No.”
He scoffed, seemingly disgusted. “Ms. Hart, even now, when you finally admit that you put the safety on the gun, you tell us that you did it because you wanted to be able to lie to your own son about the cause of his father’s death. Isn’t that right, ma’am?”
She turned slightly pale, as if not sure how to handle that one. “I thought it was best that way.”
“Lies, all lies,” he said, voice booming. “Is that what you think is best?”
“Objection.”
“Overruled.”
She brought her hand to her brow, pained. “I don’t know anymore.”
The prosecutor stepped closer. Then he glanced back at Jack, shooting him an accusatory glare, before asking the final question. “Ms. Hart. Is there anyone you haven’t lied to?”
Jack was about to object, but there were times when a lawyer could do his client more harm in the jury’s eyes by running to her defense. Lindsey was shaky, but she needed to handle this one on her own.
“I’m not a liar,” she said. “And I’ve never lied to this jury.”
Good answer, thought Jack.
But at this point, he wondered if even he believed it.
Trial broke for lunch, and Jack had time only for a quick bite and for a few phone calls. He made just one, in particular, about Brian.
It hadn’t been a major part of her direct testimony, but Lindsey’s mention of the fact that Brian possessed some verbal skills, even though he was deaf, had stuck in the back of Jack’s mind. He recalled his conversation with Alejandro Pintado, who’d mentioned that Brian was going to camp for hearing-impaired children after the trial was over. The two statements weren’t inconsistent, but they did have him thinking back to one of the first things Lindsey had told him about Brian’s condition. He was born deaf, which was why Lindsey had insisted that Jack and Jessie had known about his deafness before giving him up for adoption. Jessie probably would have had no way of knowing, as Jack had discovered, but his present curiosity had a different bent, one that was completely unrelated to what Jessie might have known or not known.
It had more to do with just how many lies Lindsey had told him.
Jack didn’t have unfettered access to Brian’s medical records, but he was usually able to get what he needed when he put his mind to it. From a quiet spot in the attorneys’ lounge in the courthouse, he checked with directory assistance and dialed the phone number for Florida ’s only camp for hearing-impaired children.
“Hello,” said Jack. “I’m calling for some general information.”
“What kind of information would you like, sir?” the woman asked.
Jack didn’t want to lie outright to her, but he also didn’t want her to know that he was fishing for information about a child already enrolled. He said, “I have a friend with a ten-year-old boy who I think would benefit from your camp.”
“Most children benefit tremendously. What kind of hearing impairment does the boy have?”
Jack knew some specifics from his discussions with Lindsey, but he had to think for a moment to answer to the question correctly. “He has bilateral sensorineural hearing loss.”
“To what degree?”
“I’m not an expert on the terminology, but I believe it’s in the profound category.”
“We consider profound to be in excess of ninety-one db, which means that he might not even be able to hear loud sounds without amplification.”
“That’s his situation.”
“Is it congenital or acquired?”
“He was born that way.”
The woman on the line hesitated, then asked, “Are you sure?”
“Well, yes. Like I said, it’s sensorineural hearing loss.”
“I don’t mean to condescend, but it’s called sensorineural hearing loss to distinguish it from conductive hearing loss. It simply means that the nerves are damaged, which is permanent and generally irreversible. But sensorineural has both congenital and acquired causes.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s congenital.”
“The reason I ask is this. If it is congenital, this camp would not be the right place for your friend’s child.”
“Why not?”
“We’re not staffed for prelingual deaf children. Any child who comes here developed some language skills before suffering an acquired hearing loss.”
Jack gripped the phone more tightly. “Are you saying that you don’t have any children at your camp who have congenital hearing loss?”
“Not in the profoundly deaf category. Like I said, we’re not staffed for that type of impairment. This wouldn’t be the appropriate place for such a child.”
“I see,” said Jack.
“If you check our website, there are links to some excellent alternatives.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you very much.”
Jack hung up the phone. The camp director couldn’t have been more specific. Lindsey had been equally clear in her assertion that Brian was congenitally deaf. Yet the Pintados had made arrangements to send their grandson to a camp that was not appropriate for a child like Brian. That left only two possibilities. The Pintados were sending Brian to the wrong camp, which didn’t seem very likely. Or…
Jack turned toward the window, staring out at the street traffic five stories below. The prosecutor’s cross- examination was suddenly replaying in his mind.
Lies, lies, all lies.
Jack tucked his cell phone into his pocket and headed to another conference room near the courtroom, where Sofia and Lindsey were having lunch. Since Lindsey was in custody, a guard was posted outside the door. He allowed Jack to enter.
Jack looked at Lindsey, eyes glowing. “How did Brian lose his hearing?”
She was about to answer, then stopped, seeming to have read the expression on Jack’s face. “Who wants to know?”
“Is that the way you handle everything? Your answer depends on who wants to know?”
Sofia said, “Jack, what’s wrong?”
Jack stepped farther into the room, but he did not sit down. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I’m tired of being lied to by my own client.”
“I told the truth today,” said Lindsey.
“Did you?” said Jack. “Or do you live in a world where the forecast is always the same: mostly cloudy, continued showers of bullshit.”
