The Hearing

'I'll tell you one other thing, though. About those special circumstances.' He shuddered involuntarily. 'I sure as hell didn't kill that girl because she was black.'

The world was suddenly still. Hardy sharpened his tone. 'Then why did you kill her?'

'What?'

He snapped it out harshly, under his breath. 'Why did you kill her, if it wasn't because she was black?'

After he'd seen Glitsky's videotape and reasoned things out for himself, Hardy had come to accept at least the possibility that Cole hadn't been the agent of Elaine's death. So he'd decided to stay with the case. But now here – apparently – was a second confession. Unsolicited, uncoerced.

Cole's face registered confusion at the rapid change in Hardy's demeanor. From protector to inquisitor in the blink of an eye. He twitched. 'Hey, come on, what? All I said was it wouldn't have been because she was black.'

'Wouldn't have been? Or wasn't?'

If there was a difference, Cole didn't seem to understand what it was. He strained to come up with something. 'I'm saying black, white, brown. Who cares? It wouldn't have been a race thing is what I mean. I don't even think like that.'

Hardy leaned in close, and this time the sweat was his client's. 'You just admitted again that you killed her. Don't you understand that?'

A deer in headlights, Cole was shaking his head. 'I don't know. I didn't. I said that?'

'You don't know if you killed her?'

Finally, a rise. 'I don't remember killing her. I told you that. I don't think I killed her, but I might have… if I shot the gun.'

'You might have! Cole, listen to me. You just said you didn't shoot the girl because she was black. Those were your exact words.'

But he was shaking his head from side to side, side to side. 'See? No. That's not what I meant.'

'OK, tell me.'

He sighed deeply, did something with his hands that caused the cuffs to rattle against the bars. Hunching his head down into his shoulders, he cleared his throat, spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. 'Look. If I was ever going to kill somebody, which I wouldn't, it wouldn't be because they were black, OK? So if I killed this girl-'

'Elaine.'

'Yeah, Elaine. If I killed her – which I don't remember, so it's possible maybe I didn't, too – that wouldn't have been the reason.'

'But if you don't remember killing her, why did you admit that you had?'

Cole rolled his eyes. 'Didn't we already go through this? I told you. I was coming down so hard-'

Hardy reached over, put a hand on his shoulder briefly. 'Stop, just stop.'

But he couldn't do that. 'You know, man-'

'Cole, call me Dismas, would you? Or Diz.'

'OK. But I also don't remember not killing her, I just don't. I don't remember the gun, how I got the gun…' The voice trailed off.

'Did you find it by the body? On the street, maybe?'

'It seems like.'

'Before or after you saw her?'

He closed his eyes, trying to bring it back. 'I don't know. It seems like before, because after… I mean, there was no time after, right? I'm leaning over her and the cops came.'

'And you remember that?'

Cole grimaced, the effort to recall out of his reach. He shook his head hopelessly. 'Not really.'

Hardy leaned back again. He had lived much of his adult life as a bartender and had great respect for the effects of alcohol, but the kind of total blackout that Cole seemed to be describing was far beyond that. 'Cole,' he asked gently, 'what do you remember after you picked up your bottle of whiskey?'

The young man raised his eyes. They had become glassy. 'I don't know, man. I just don't know.'

12

Taking the back steps, Hardy made it unmolested up to the fourth floor, down the long hallway, into the homicide detail. Four inspectors looked up from their paperwork, but none of them ventured any kind of greeting. Glitsky's still-pristine white door was closed again, but this time there was light behind the shade. 'Somebody in with the lieutenant?' Hardy asked the room.

A mute chorus of shrugs, so he knocked.

'It's open.'

He turned the knob and stuck his head in. 'Actually,' he said, 'it was closed.'

Glitsky had his feet on his desk, his fingers tented over his mouth. 'Why don't you make it that way again?'

'I could do that.' Hardy did, then reached across the desk, opened one of the drawers and withdrew a handful of peanuts. 'I must say, though, that the old open-door policy you used to take such pride in seems to be in jeopardy and this, in turn, might precipitate a drop in your tremendous popularity with your troops, which I'd hate to see.'

It might have been in spite of himself, but Glitsky's face softened – all the way, say, from diamond to granite. 'I wish I was Irish and liked to hear myself talk as much as you do.'

'Were,' Hardy replied.

'Were what?'

'You said "was". I wish I was Irish. But it's "were". Present conditional contrary to fact takes the subjunctive. I wish I were Irish. People don't seem to know that anymore.'

Glitsky shook his head, pulled his feet off the desk.

'That's exactly what I mean. Twenty words when five will do.'

'Five can be good,' Hardy replied. 'Brevity and all that. But it's not all it's cracked up to be. Twenty words, if they're the right ones – and that, my friend, is the key – can be downright sublime. And, of course, though few acknowledge it anymore in our jaded age, proper use of the subjunctive is the hallmark of a civilized man.'

Worn down, Glitsky finally came all the way to a smile. 'Were I to care, I would make a note of it.' He popped a peanut of his own. 'So how'd it go downstairs?'

Hardy sat back. 'I somehow escaped contempt of court, but I don't think by much.' He briefly outlined the highlights of the arraignment, concluding with his surprise that Glitsky had not been in attendance. He indicated the empty desktop. 'But then, seeing the piles of work you're wading through…'

A silence settled.

Hardy continued. 'Afterwards I had another nice chat with my client. It didn't exactly perk me up. He doesn't remember anything. The night's a complete blank, which is more drunk than I've ever been.'

'And you've pushed the envelope a few times if I remember, which you don't.'

'From time to time in my youth. For research purposes only. Anyway, I like to consider myself an aficionado on the subject, and I've never had the kind of blackout Cole is describing, which makes me have doubts.'

But Glitsky was shaking his head. 'There's all kinds of new pills nowadays, Diz. The date rape drug. Also, more easily available, Halcion could do it.'

'Halcion?'

'The sleeping pill. When you were doing your drink research, didn't you ever take Halcion before tying one on?'

'I don't remember, really. It's all a blank.' But he broke a smile. 'Just kidding. Is that what happens?'

'That's the word. Complete blackout.' Glitsky glanced at the closed door. He lowered his voice anyway. 'I had a meeting of my own this morning. Batiste, Ridley Banks, Strout, the guys at the scene. I wanted to talk about the problems in the tape.'

'Banks was downstairs in court.'

'Yeah, I figured he would be. I told him we ought to back off from the confession.'

'You suggested that?' This was further than Hardy thought Abe would have taken it. 'Out loud?'

'Yeah, but Ridley was a little sensitive to the idea that the confession was bogus. Seemed to think it would reflect on the way he conducted it.'

'And he wouldn't be all wrong.'

'And he knows that, too.' The lieutenant blew out wearily. 'It's tricky, Diz. These are my guys. They gave me what I asked for. I don't blame them for being ticked off.'

'I don't either, but ticked off is one thing, letting a guy go down on bad evidence is another.'