Frannie shook her head. ‘No, I wouldn’t say so. But really I have no idea how he felt. We didn’t talk about them.’
‘But he did tell you he was having difficulties?’
‘I would say so.’
Scott Randall turned over a few pages on his yellow legal pad. He looked at the jury, then back to the witness. ‘Mrs Hardy, do you find Mr Beaumont attractive?’
Her lips went tight. ‘I have never thought about it.’
Scott conveyed his disbelief clearly to the jury. ‘Never thought about it? You obviously had a relationship with him, a close relationship – isn’t that true? And you didn’t notice if he was attractive or not?’
‘I may have noticed, but I didn’t think about it. We were friends, that’s all.’
‘And yet he chose you, and you alone, to confide in about his marital problems.’
‘I don’t know that. He might have confided in other people. I don’t know if it was only me.’
‘Were you two having an affair, Mrs Hardy? Is that it?’
Frannie Hardy was biting down hard on her lower lip. She clipped out the words. ‘I’ve already told you, we were friends.’
Scott Randall remained matter-of-fact. ‘That’s right, that’s what you told me. But friends have affairs all the time. Did his wife find out about you – was that it? Was she going to make problems for the two of you?’
‘I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.’
‘Well, you’d better dignify something with an answer, and pretty soon. You’re digging yourself into quite a hole here – don’t you realize that?’
Frannie was shaking her head back and forth wearily. How had it all come to this so quickly? She closed her eyes and forced her voice to remain calm, rational. ‘Look, Mr Randall, what do you want me to say? I’m late picking up my children, that’s what I’m thinking about. I’m not having any affair with Ron Beaumont, and never did. I never met his wife. I don’t think Ron’s problems with his relationship led to his wife’s death.’
‘Let us decide that, Mrs Hardy. You’ve admitted that the problems existed. Just tell us what they were.’
Frannie didn’t know it, but Scott Randall and the grand jury had already heard Ron Beaumont say that Bree and he were getting along fine and there were no problems between them. Scott thought it might be a good time to mention this to Frannie. She sat still, her face a blank now.
‘Mrs Hardy?’
‘I promised him it would remain between us and I wouldn’t tell anybody. I gave him my word.’
Scott sensed an opening. ‘Mrs Hardy, let’s be realistic. No one believes that promises are that sacred anymore. This could be a crucial element in a murder investigation. Are you sure you haven’t mentioned what Mr Beaumont told you to your husband or one of your girlfriends?’
She was staring at him, trying to keep her anger in check. More tears threatened. A drop escaped from her right eye. ‘I promised,’ she repeated. ‘I gave my word.’
Scott looked back out to the jurors. He took a beat and sighed. ‘All right, Mrs Hardy,’ he said, ‘You don’t leave me any choice.’
By four thirty, Superior Court Judge Marian Braun had already had a long day on the bench presiding over an unusually depressing murder trial. Members of a gypsy clan had convinced several wealthy old people that they were their friends. They had persuaded them to sign over their assets, and then poisoned them with ‘magic salt’ – digitalis. The magic salt was a big yuk – the defendants had giggled as they sprinkled it on. Marian Braun was used to bad people committing heinous crimes, but this one got under her skin.
Today had been particularly dispiriting because a dozen or more very tough-looking relatives of the defendants had put on a show of force by appearing in her courtroom just in time to intimidate the state’s main witness, another of the clan who hadn’t been able to live with her conscience and who’d been promised immunity from prosecution in return for her testimony. But the thugs in the courtroom got their message across – the woman suddenly couldn’t remember witnessing any of the defendants sprinkling salt on anything. Now it seemed possible that these heartless killers were going to go free.
When Judge Braun’s bailiff came to her chambers and told her that Scott Randall had a contempt citation for her at the end of her already lousy day, she grabbed her robes, breathing fire, and strode impatiently through the hallways to the grand jury room.
‘No, ma’am. As Mr Randall has explained to you, you don’t have a choice unless you’re claiming a Fifth Amendment right. But you’ve told me that your testimony will not incriminate yourself, which rules out that option. ’You’ve got to tell him what you know.‘
Frannie Hardy shook her head. This had been going on for so long that all her patience was used up. ‘I can’t believe this is the United States.’ She scanned the faces of the jurors, went to Scott Randall and finally rested on Marian Braun. ‘What’s the matter with all you people? You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Don’t you have any real lives? I haven’t done anything wrong.’
This line of discourse turned out to be a tactical error. Judge Braun wasn’t about to have the validity of her life and work called into question by some nobody witness. She snapped out her reply. ‘First, in this room you address me as “your honor”. Next, as to doing something wrong, you are refusing to cooperate in the investigation of a murder case. Like it or not, that’s a crime. Now for the last time, young lady, you answer the question or you go to jail.’
‘I’m not your young lady.’ A pause. ‘Ma’am.’
Braun slapped at the table. ‘All right, then, I’m ordering you held in the county jail until you decide to answer Mr Randall’s questions.’ Judge Braun half turned. ‘Bailiff…’
But Frannie was on her feet now, her Voice raised, color high. ‘You want to talk contempt? I hold you in contempt. God help the system if you cretins are running it.’
Braun’s steely gaze came back to her. ‘You just got yourself four days before this grand jury citation even starts to run. You want more, young lady, just keep talking. Bailiff.’
The guard came forward.
4
Hardy got Frannie’s call at six twenty and made the half-hour drive downtown to the Hall of Justice in seventeen minutes. On the way, he stopped fuming long enough to think to call Abe Glitsky on his car phone, to see if he could work some magic. The county jail and the Hall of Justice were on the same lot. Maybe Glitsky could get the ball rolling.
But the lieutenant was waiting for him by the back door of the Hall, at the entrance to the jail. He wasn’t wearing his happy face.
Hardy came up at a jog, slacks and shirtsleeves, no coat, knowing before he asked. ‘She still in there? She’s really in there?’ Though he never doubted she was. This wasn’t the kind of funny birthday prank Frannie was likely to pull on him.
‘Yep.’
Barely slowing, Hardy swore and turned in toward the jail’s entrance. Glitsky reached and caught his sleeve, stopping him. ‘Hey!’
‘Let me go, Abe. I’m getting her out of there.’
‘Not without a judge you’re not. I couldn’t.’
When Glitsky let go ofhis arm he stayed put, glaring in the dusk. The night had turned windy and cold. The lawyer in him knew that his friend was right – it wasn’t a matter of summoning some patience. They had to find a judge, the night magistrate, somebody. To facilitate night-time warrants and other late business, the judges rotated magistrate duty so that there would be one judge on call every evening.
Even as Hardy said ‘Where’s Braun?’ he was moving again, toward the Hall, Glitsky on his heels.
But though they had no trouble getting by the night guard and into the building, after they took the stairs to the second floor they couldn’t get into the area of the judge’s chambers, which were behind the courtrooms. Hardy banged on doors all the way down the hallway. No answer.