'You're horrible!' she screamed. 'He didn't-'

'Yes he did, Mrs Burgess!' he snapped back, his own voice raised. 'He sure as hell did.' Hardy turned abruptly, calming himself, and when he felt he could speak, he did. 'It's horrible, all right,' he said softly, 'but it's not me.'

He was breathing hard himself now, half expecting that the next sound he heard would be the door opening and closing behind him. Instead, he heard nothing, and eventually he turned.

She was doubled over, her whole body shaking. He came around the table and sat closely next to her. He put an arm around her shoulder.

It didn't seem to help.

Afterwards, the office seemed a little constricted, and they went downstairs to the building's unique conference room. The residents had nicknamed it the Solarium because when there was afternoon sun, which happened frequently, though not today, this room miraculously caught some of it. Enormous potted plants thrived under its greenhouse windows and glass roof. It opened onto a small enclosed garden that in the summer bloomed with impatiens and pansies, vinca and lobelia, and that today featured dirt, a bench and a hundred square feet of brown lawn.

Hardy brought his discovery documents down with them. Jody had recovered somewhat after first breaking down completely. She'd wanted to see all of the photos, then to scan the police reports, so Hardy put his folders in front of her and sat on her right.

In the garden area outside, he watched some sparrows flit about, picking in the lawn.

After about ten minutes, she closed the last folder. Hardy waited another moment or two, then spoke conversationally. 'That's the person Torrey wants the jury to see. If he succeeds, Cole is in trouble. I need you to understand that.'

'These pictures, what these policemen wrote. It looks like…' She swallowed her own words, couldn't continue.

'Yes it does. And even if we argue that he just came upon her after she was dead, the theft of the jewelry doesn't exactly cast him in the most sympathetic light.'

'And you're pretty sure he took the jewelry? That he did that?'

He was loath to punish Jody any more, but this he couldn't deny. 'All of it was on his person when they brought him in. The best you could say is that he knew she was already dead while he was robbing her. He wasn't hurting her.'

She dabbed at her eyes. 'That's not much of a best.'

'No, it's not.' Whether he'd been excessively cruel or not, Hardy now at least had her where she might be receptive to what he had to say. 'This is why I'm talking about a guilty plea. Once we get to trial, if we do, this case will be hard to win on its merits in front of a jury. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

She nodded miserably.

'That's why I thought it would be worthwhile to explore some legal solutions short of trial.'

'Where you admit he did it?'

'Where he pleads guilty, yes, which is not exactly the same thing.'

'In return for what?'

'I would hope for no death penalty, to begin with. Then a possible parole someday.'

'Oh God, prison.' She looked at him sharply. 'What do you mean, you hope?'

'I mean it wouldn't stun me to have Torrey turn us down.' He explained that the DA's office was already taking a lot of flak for pleading out important cases. Sharron Pratt had already hand-picked this one, hitching her political fortunes to it. Getting her to agree to a plea wasn't going to be a slam dunk by any means. And the bad news wasn't over yet. 'Even if we go to trial and convince a jury that the murder was a lesser offence, which is about the best we can expect, we're going to wind up about where we are today – in jail, going to prison for a very long time.'

Jody's face told Hardy that this was the first day of her season in hell. Her eyes were shot with red, heavy-lidded and swollen. Her skin had taken on a mottled look. She barely dared phrase the question. 'But what if they do find him not guilty? What if you convince them?'

'Then he goes free.' He reached over and touched her hand. 'But Jody, so we have no misunderstanding, I have to tell you I'm not inclined to try to do that.'

Earlier in the afternoon, she might have regarded that announcement with horror. Now she closed her eyes for a moment, took in a deep breath, gathering her strength. 'Why not?'

'Because here's that story: Cole, a heroin addict, is walking around drunk and maybe stoned early on a Monday morning. He's carrying a gun-'

'But he isn't. He said that wasn't true.'

Hardy acknowledged that, but so what? 'The jury will have heard he was carrying the gun. He's looking for someone to rob so that he'll have money for his drug habit, and he happens upon Elaine Wager. When the police arrive like two minutes later, Elaine is dead and Cole is stripping her body of jewelry. He runs. He's fired the gun. A few hours later, he confesses to killing her.'

Hardy softened his voice nearly to a whisper. 'The jury is going to hear all that, Jody. There is physical evidence to back it all up. I'm not even saying here that I think he did it. This isn't me. This is the jury. If I go in front of them and just say, "No, all of that's true except it wasn't Cole who killed her," you know what's going to happen? They'll convict him of everything. And then when we argue that they should spare his life, our credibility will be shot.'

She looked at him, knowing he was right.

He had to go on. 'I can do that if that's what we all decide. We can try to get Cole straight and put him on the stand all dressed and cleaned up and he can deny it, deny Cullen gave him the gun, tell the whole truth. But if I let him do that, I'm not giving him his best defense.'

'Even if it's true? That he didn't kill her?'

'Yes, even if he didn't kill her. Even if he was just the unluckiest man alive on Monday morning. He has no alibi. There's precious little, if any, evidence in his favor.' Hardy knew it sounded hopeless. What was worse, the more he talked about it, the more he was coming to believe that it was hopeless. He tried to explain it a last time. 'Jody, I want to tell the truth to the jury, and I believe the truth is that whether or not Cole killed Elaine, he wasn't in his right mind as the law defines the term. He was unconscious. He shouldn't be executed.'

'And that's what I should be praying for? That my son won't be executed?'

Hardy nodded somberly. He looked out at the sparrows again, still pecking for crumbs in the dead winter lawn. 'It might be a good place to start.'

19

Gene Visser was whistling the children's song 'It's a Small World' through a toothpick as he exited the elevator into the basement of the Hall of Justice. He was accompanied by his friend and employer Dash Logan and a sergeant of narcotics named Bills Keene, whose father had been a fanatic follower of football from Buffalo. As a child, Bills had been a tough enough kid to grow into the name. He still rooted for Buffalo's team, which last night had killed the 49ers on Monday Night Football.

'I'm telling you, Dash, it was the best night of my life. Here I am, giving ten points, and I had half the department lining up to give me their money.'

Visser stopped whistling. 'You were giving ten on the Bills? Next time, call me.'

Keene looked over happily. 'I'll put you on the list, or you can direct deposit into my account, either way.'

'So how'd you make out?' Dash asked.

They were moving into the reception area just off the records room/evidence locker. The time was a little after three o'clock in the afternoon, and they were the only people downstairs except for the officers assigned to evidence security.

'Eight hundred forty dollars.'

Logan whistled, impressed. 'I hope you're declaring it.'