‘No, your honor, not yet.’
‘Then find another line of questioning, establish this one’s relevance, or sit down. This courtroom is not the old fishin’ hole.‘
It was a little after ten thirty and Braun called for a ten-minute recess. Jim Pierce had not yet arrived, but the way this free-form hearing was developing, Hardy thought that even without the oil company executive’s testimony, there was still some chance that he could succeed in freeing Frannie and keeping Ron and his children out of the system. Randall’s arrogance had played beautifully into his hands, and now Hardy believed that the judge was primed for his next revelation, which should erode the DA’s credibility to the point of extinction.
As soon as Braun was out of the courtroom, the familiar bedlam began again.
At this point, all Hardy wanted was a few minutes to talk to his wife, and to get Glitsky to one side, but neither of those seemed likely.
The minute Glitsky left the stand, he paused at Hardy’s desk, opined that he’d rarely had a better time in the witness box, then said the vibrating buzzer had been going off on his belt for the past hour. He’d better go make a few callbacks. He passed through the bar rail, back up the center aisle and out the back doors of the courtroom.
Meanwhile, Al Valens, apoplectic, was making a racket, demanding that the bailiff let him back to see the judge. All right, he and Damon Kerry – good citizens, respecting their subpoenas – had shown up after voting, but the candidate couldn’t be expected to sit here all day. He had meetings, press conferences, fundraising… there were reporters out in the hallway already writing stories about his appearance here in a courtroom involved in a murder case.
Baxter Thorne sat in the pew under where he had been standing when they had come in. He was talking to a well-dressed young couple, evidently giving them instructions of some kind, and Hardy was glad that the dapper slimebag chose to remain near the back of the room. If he got too close to the man who he believed had set fire to his house, he thought there was still a reasonable chance that he might assault him, and that wouldn’t further his case with Braun.
A wronged Ron Beaumont wanted to know what Hardy was doing. What was all this witness stuff? How long was this going to take? He’d thought that Hardy’s idea was to argue for Frannie’s release, and Ron would be there to make sure she no longer was bound by her promise to him. Then somehow he was going to get him out of here before Randall or Pratt could stop him. But he’d noticed the guards at the doors and now he’d seen Pratt talking to another one, who had come down to the end of his pew. What was he supposed to do now?
Hardy calmed him as best he could, explaining that he was laying groundwork for the judge. Glitsky’s testimony of course didn’t legally prove that a bullet from the same gun had killed both Griffin and Canetta. This proceeding wasn’t about proof anymore, although Hardy still hoped that that might come later. It was about the DA’s judgment and tactics and Braun’s faith in them or lack thereof.
‘That’s the only thing that’s going to get you out of this courtroom a free man, Ron. If Braun decides that Randall needs a stronger case to even consider you as a suspect. And now at least I’ve got her listening.’
Ron still didn’t like it, but Hardy had never promised him that he would.
David Freeman kept Frannie chatting at the defense table. They didn’t want her interacting with Ron Beaumont in any way, and it was Freeman’s role to keep her entertained. By the time Braun re-entered the courtroom, he had her laughing quietly at one of his stories. During the recess, Hardy had barely had time to get a word in, but as they rose for the judge’s entrance, he took her hand and squeezed it. She looked up at him and nodded. Confident in him, committed.
Hardy felt he had to establish a few more facts, and introduced into evidence the autopsy and coroner’s reports on the two policemen. Pratt and Randall had no objections to Dr Strout’s findings as to the causes and times of the deaths.
Hardy put it orally into the record. ‘According to the coroner’s report, your honor, Sergeant Griffin was shot between ten thirty and about noon on Monday, 5 October. Ms Pratt and Mr Randall both accept this timeframe. For the court’s information, this was the same day of Bree Beaumont’s funeral and burial.’
‘All right, Mr Hardy. Proceed.’
‘I’d like to call Father Martin Bernardin.’
The priest was in his cassock and collar. He came through the gallery and up to the stand. Somewhere between forty and fifty years old, Bernardin was a trim, gray man with an ascetic’s face. After the clerk had administered the oath, Hardy spent a minute identifying him as the pastor of St Catherine’s parish, the church where Bree had been buried. Then. ‘Father Bernardin, do you know Ron Beaumont?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And do you recognize him here in this courtroom?’
‘Yes.’ He pointed. ‘He’s the gentleman in the green suit in the first row over there.’
Several members of the gallery strained to look at this key player in all these events. There was a low buzz of comment, but Braun rapped her gavel lightly and put an end to that.
‘Now, Father Bernardin. On October fifth, the day of Bree Beaumont’s funeral, did you have occasion to spend any time with Mr Beaumont?’
‘Yes, sir. I spent most of the whole day with him.’
This brought the gallery to life again, but this time Braun let the noise die of its own accord.
Bernardin had already said it, but Hardy walked the priest through the day – the breakfast, mass, burial, lunch at the Cliff House. ‘In other words, Father,’ he concluded, ‘it is your sworn testimony that you were continually in the presence of Mr Beaumont from before seven in the morning until at least two thirty in the afternoon on October fifth of this year?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Every minute?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And were there other people who you believe could testify to this as well?’
‘Well, yes. His children, some friends. It was a long day, as funerals often are.’
Hardy stood a minute to let the import of the priest’s words sink in, then whirled and faced Pratt and Randall. ‘Your witness,’ he said.
What could they do? Here was an absolutely credible man of the cloth providing an unimpeachable alibi for their main suspect. They conferred for a long moment at their table, then Pratt stood. ‘No questions, your honor.’
Braun told Bernardin that he could step down, took off her glasses, put them back on, and looked from Hardy, in the center of the courtroom, to Pratt and Randall at their table.
‘Mr Hardy?’ she said.
‘Your honor, it’s clear from the testimony of Father Bernardin – and there evidently are several other witnesses who can corroborate his statements – that Mr Beaumont could not have killed Sergeant Griffin. If that is the case, it follows that he did not kill Sergeant Canetta and, based on our earlier discussion, it can then be assumed that, for the purposes of this hearing, he did not kill Bree Beaumont.’
Braun’s face was set. ‘Counsel approach the bench,’ she said.
When they got there, she turned a hard glare on to Pratt and Randall. ‘It seems to me, counsellors, that you have wasted a great deal of this court’s time – to say nothing of Mrs Hardy’s – when any reasonably thorough investigation into Sergeant Griffin’s death should have turned up this rather obvious alibi.’
‘Your honor.’ Randall was ready with an excuse. ‘At the time I pursued the contempt charge against Mrs Hardy, we were unaware of any connection between Bree Beaumont and Sergeant Griffin’s death.’
Hardy had to get it in. He worked to keep the gloat out of his voice. ‘A connection provided by Lieutenant Glitsky, I might add, your honor.’
But Braun wasn’t interested in excuses. She was furious. ‘Turn around and look at this courtroom, Mr Randall. I said turn around! Ms Pratt, you might, too.’