The Hearing

'Well, the District Attorney sure doesn't agree with you.'

'The District Attorney…' Dorothy's gaze was flat. 'He's gone anyway, Mom. He's not coming back.'

'I don't believe that.'

'I know, but you should. Because it's true.'

Another silence.

Jody often thought that she was beyond tears. Certainly, only a few years ago if she'd heard Dorothy say that her only son Cole wasn't ever coming back, wasn't ever going to be her wonderful boy again, she would have welled up. But now there was nothing like that – only a deep weariness, but one that somehow didn't threaten her resolve. 'Look, how about if we just talk to Mr Hardy and-'

Dorothy was shaking her head. 'Mom, we've got three children to send to college if we can. Jeff's medical expenses are sure not going to go down. We just can't help here, even if we wanted to, which we don't. And frankly, Mom – I've got to say this – I don't know why you do.'

'He's my only son, Dorothy. That's why.'

'That's not a good answer Mom. Cole's ruined your life. Don't you see that?'

'He hasn't.'

'Oh no, that's right. He's enriched it, I suppose.' Dorothy picked up her napkin, wiped her mouth nervously, took a deep breath. 'He's ruined your life.'

'You keep saying that.'

'Because it keeps being true, that's why. Come on, Mom, look what he's done. He's forced you to move out here-'

Jody held up her hand, stopping her. 'No! There! That's a good example. He didn't force me.'

'You sold the house we both grew up in, where you'd planned to live the rest of your life – you told me this, remember? – because after we threw him out, you wanted a place near Cole in case he couldn't make it on his own. Tell me that isn't true!'

Dorothy couldn't say that, since it was.

'So now you're living in some dreary little apartment, uprooted from all your friends, everybody you've known your whole life, all alone…'

'I get to see my grandchildren.'

'Which wasn't an issue until Cole moved out here. That's not why you're here, Mom. You know that. It's Cole. It's always Cole, all the sacrifices, and you know what? He doesn't care. They haven't done any good.'

Jody cast her eyes around the restaurant, to the street outside, back to her daughter. 'He has stayed with me. He needs a place.'

'So let him get one, Mom. Christ, he's twenty-seven years old.'

'I can't let him die.'

'You can't save him. Don't you see that? He'll never grow up if you don't let him. You're letting him go on the way he does.'

'I don't have any option, hon. He just needs-'

'Stop talking about his needs!' Dorothy, suddenly, had heard enough and her string snapped. Her voice had a hoarse quality, but everyone in the restaurant heard it. 'He needs to get a life. He needs to beat this thing OK, but you can't help him. Nobody can. He needs to fail and figure it out or else he needs to die.' She brought the napkin back to her lips, shocked at her own outburst.

But she wasn't really through, not yet. She leaned forward, her voice more modulated. 'And now you're going to pay Mr Hardy by yourself, aren't you? Do you know how much that's going to be? It's going to wipe you out, your savings, and then what? Then what's it all been for?'

'But he didn't kill this woman. He needs a good lawyer.'

'He confessed, Mom.'

Which meant nothing to Jody. 'Not really, and if Mr Hardy can get him off, then he can get in some program-'

'Oh, Jesus, when will it end? Give me a break.'

'Can I get you ladies some more water?' It was the waiter, solicitous in his white shirt and black vest. 'Some dessert? Coffee?'

Embarrassed, getting the message, Dorothy shook her head. 'Just a check, please, thanks.' After he'd nodded – relieved – and gone off, she leaned across the table and whispered. 'You know, Mom, I shouldn't even have gone to see Dismas. That was my last mistake for Cole. I should have just let him die then in jail if he was going to. Get the whole thing over with.'

'Don't say that,' her mom implored. 'You don't mean that.'

Shaking her head in disgust, Dorothy threw her napkin down on her plate. It was hopeless.

13

Clarence Jackman was seated at the head of the mammoth mahogany table that filled the center of the conference room at his firm's offices. Assuming correctly that the arraignment of Cole Burgess would attract a number of Elaine's friends and colleagues, Jackman had arranged a catered lunch and had passed the word outside the courtroom that those whose hearts were in the right place were welcome.

This turned out to be a sizeable group, nearly two dozen people, although by now – getting on to one thirty – many had returned to their jobs or classes. The general buzz had subsided and most of the food was gone. Jackman shook hands goodbye with a young law intern who wanted to send in a resume, then grabbed a bottled water from the sideboard and pulled up a chair near the knot of people – most of them, Jackman gathered, from law school – who remained at the far end of the room, deep in a conversation that had progressively picked up some heat.

'There wasn't any reason, that's the whole point! You admit a reason, you give Hardy his ammunition to get the scumbag off.' This outburst came from Elaine Wager's fiance, Jonas Welsh. In his mid-thirties, big hair, extraordinarily handsome face, expensive clothes, Walsh was a surgeon who looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and maybe he hadn't. He was clearly not in the habit of hearing his opinions questioned, and the wringer he'd been through since Elaine's death probably made him sound testier than he intended.

The current object of his wrath was Peter Nesbitt, associate dean of Hastings Law School. He was a reedy-voiced logician in bow tie and corduroy sports coat. 'All I'm saying,' Nesbitt persisted, 'is that if Burgess in fact didn't voluntarily confess-'

'But he did, for Christ's sake.' For corroboration, Walsh turned to the others gathered around. 'Am I wrong here? Is this really in dispute?'

'Not really, Jonas.' Treya Ghent sat next to him. It was obvious to Jackman that the two knew each other, perhaps well. Treya didn't really smile, but there was something almost like humor in her attitude and body language as she attempted to pour oil on the waters. She patted Welsh's hand reassuringly. 'They're only talking about lawyer strategy.'

'The ever fascinating…' One of the female students, to general appreciation.

Jackman again noticed the sense of quiet strength that the Ghent woman exuded. Today, as always, she wore the simplest of outfits – black slacks, a fashionably baggy gray sweater, a thin gold chain necklace, little or no make-up. He had to force himself to take his eyes off her.

Billable hours or not, he resolved, I've got to think hard before I let this one go.

'So what are you saying, Jonas?' Jackman asked, eager to be in on it. 'What's the argument?'

'I'm saying that all this shop talk about maybe somebody having a reason to kill Elaine, it plays right into his lawyer's hands. Hell, you're a lawyer. Don't you think that's right?'

Jackman appeared to ponder, looked over at Peter Nesbitt. 'I suppose. But what I hear from Peter is don't let your rage over the act blind you to the facts. If this man Burgess didn't do it, you'd want to know who did, right?'

'Of course. But he did do it.'

Nesbitt spoke up again, shrugging. 'What I'm saying is that this Hardy fellow is just doing his job, trying to create doubt from the outset. It's a good technique.'

'Well, excuse me all to hell if I can't get behind it. What I know is that Elaine's gone. It doesn't leave me much in the mood for all this hypothetical bullshit.'

Treya touched his hand again. 'Jonas. They don't mean-'

He hung his head. 'OK, I know, I know.' Abruptly he stood up, rubbed a palm down the side of his face. 'Sorry,' he blurted. 'This just isn't some mind game for me.' He looked around the table. 'Down in the courtroom, all of you seemed as disgusted as I was. And now here…'