"I was just laying there, in the kitchen, when I heard a scream. No. Two screams. The second one was cut short. That scared me. You see, they weren't the screams of someone having fun or getting startled. They were full-throated, terrified screams. And I didn't know where they were coming from. They were muffled some but still sounded real close. I guess I figured I should get away from there, so I went out the back door and away from the Turner's. I was trying to decide which way to go."
"What do you mean?" Bob asked.
"I…ah, sort of knew the area. I went to school there."
"What class?"
"'34. But I didn't graduate."
Bob's wife said, "Did you drop out?" She looked at him, betraying no emotion.
"Yeah," he answered, suddenly embarrassed. He glanced at the floor, then back to Bob. "So, while I was trying to think, I crossed into the next yard, um, their yard. And that's when she came out." John's eyes squeezed shut involuntarily at the memory. He quickly reopened them and rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand. "That's when I got her blood on my shirt."
Ed said, "Their neighbor said he saw you throw Kelly down on the bricks."
"I didn't. She fell back after bumping into me," John said, unable to hold back all of his anger. That fat old man on the witness stand, pointing at him, saying he actually struck her.
He took a couple of breaths, forcing himself to be calm. "I don't think she ever saw me. Then that light came on. Scared the… I don't know how I could be made more afraid, but it did, so I ran. That's all, I guess."
"What about the money," the old man croaked. "You had my grandson's blood on you, too."
John had forgotten that. "Oh, yeah. That's right. It… I found it in the alley."
Frank crossed his arms. "Sure. That sounds like the truth all right." He put as much contempt in the statement as he could.
"But I did. Don't you remember my lawyer's testimony? About how a car nearly backed over me? That's when I found it. The car took off and I saw the money fluttering in the dirt it kicked up."
"I thought it was muddy that night," Ed said.
"This happened in the alley. The pavement was all broken up. I guess the tires kicked up a bunch of grit or something."
"'Or something,'" Ed echoed. "I think I've heard enough, Uncle. Can we go now?"
"Not yet Ed," his mother said. "I want to ask a couple of questions. What were you studying, Mr. Hardy?"
This woman had a knack for bringing up subjects he didn't expect. "Several things."
"Like?"
"Liberal arts, mostly."
"What did you like the most?"
"All of it, really." John felt a smile inside him. He kept it inside. "I guess if I had to choose, it would be History, although Music was a favorite, too."
"What's this proving, Mom?" Ed snapped. His brother nodded to that.
"Never mind," she said. "I guess I’m through, Eric."
Eric Sheafer straightened. "Does anybody have anything else to ask or say?"
"I didn't have anything in the first place," Frank said.
Bob glared at his elder son, then turned to Eric. "I guess we're finished."
"Okay. I'll see you all in the study in a minute."
The clan filed out of the room. That was how John was beginning to think of them: a Scottish clan, no matter their German name. He should call them McSheafer.
When Bob had closed the old-fashioned French doors behind them, Eric turned to his daughter. Hardy expected him to gesture for her to follow him out. Instead he stayed in the room and said, right in front of him, "What do you think, Em?"
John Hardy watched her. She held her silence a moment longer. Tossing her head unsuccessfully to get the bangs off her eyebrows, she uncrossed her legs. After rubbing her thighs, she stood. "Not here, Dad. Not in front of…" She met John's eyes, but quickly switched to her father. Something in the way she held herself was different. She didn't seem so stiff and unyielding. "And I'm not ready to discuss it yet."
"Okay," Eric assented. He turned to John. "Wait here." Then father and daughter went in to join the others.
And so he was suddenly alone in the dining room, but he could still see Eric through the glass doors and the younger man was watching him. He tried to hear what they were saying, but the sounds were too muffled.
Standing, he went and looking out the side window. At a sharp angle, he could see a small park down the street. In the drive below the window were the several cars of the clan. Nearest was a large Ford, with some sort of minivan behind it. He couldn't really see the next car. All he could tell was that it was a dark color.
The doorbell grabbed his attention.
Eric disappeared. Emily was still there, staring at him impassively. Or was it distractedly? Frank's eyes still held the hate and anger he had displayed in the mock trial.
More voices, louder. He could make out Eric saying, "I'm glad you could make it with so little notice. Victor said you're the best in the department."
John heard a female voice answering, "That's his way of acknowledging that I'm still in private practice."
The talk grew softer and he couldn't understand anymore until Eric said, "Okay. I'll take him up."
'Him' could only mean John.
Eric entered the dining room and said, "Let's go back to the room."
In the hall John caught a glimpse of a casually dressed woman standing in the foyer. Who's she? he wondered while climbing the stairs.
Eric came into the room with him and pulled the door almost closed behind him. "There was something bothering me about the court summary. I didn't figure it out until yesterday on the way back from Richmond. Do you have any idea why they didn't do a complete psych eval on you? Didn't your defense attorney bring that up?"
So that was it. The woman was a psychiatrist or something. "I had a court- appointed lawyer. She wasn't very energetic." John sat on the bed. "I don't think she believed me. Just went through the motions, doing her job."
"In other words, no one evaluated you."
"No."
"Not even a competency hearing?"
"No. Why should they? I'm not crazy; just an unemployed bum."
"Yeah," Eric said as he opened the door wide. As he left, John heard him mutter, "A bum that knows Mozart and Wagner."
After the door had closed, he heard Eric Sheafer call out, "Okay, Debra. Come on up."
After only a short wait, the door reopened. John saw a middle-aged woman with thick black hair enter. The door closed again, firmly. The deadbolt was clacked home.
He waited, tense, as she smiled at him and leaned against the wall.
She did something with her PDM that didn't cause it to make an image.
"I am Dr. Debra Angelucci, Mr. Hardy," she said. "I'm a lecturer in Psychology at the university. I'm not sure how much Dr. Sheafer has told you about what he wants me to do."
"He said something about an evaluation."
"That describes it well enough. Basically, we're just going to talk."
"About what?" John figured he knew, but he asked anyway.
She cleared her throat. "About you, Mr. Hardy. May I call you John?"
44
"That goddamned bastard should be dead and rotting already. Where is it you found him?"
Emily heard about how her grandfather had acted in Phil Lindley's office after the trial, but she wasn't prepared for this, her own Gee-Pop addressing her in this manner. "In a cemetery in Richmond," she said, her voice suddenly shaky.
"Well, why in hell isn't he down in the dirt of that cemetery right now? I just don't understand that. If he had murdered my son that's exactly where he'd be."
Emily thought to herself that was what would have happened had she kept her gun yesterday morning. But now she wasn't as certain it would have been the right thing.
Her grandfather continued. "What about you, Bob? You would've killed that creature if he had done that to one of your boys."
Bob glanced at his sons. He cleared
his throat. "I… Yeah. I probably would, Pa. But I'm sure Eric has his reasons for--"
"Reasons my ass! He's just screwing around like he has all his life."
Bob's eyes widened. "He's an accomplished archeologist, Pa."
"So? Hell. This house may be big, but it's an old joke by comparison to what either of you have," Eric Senior said, gesturing at them.
"It's close to where he works. Besides, we aren't here to criticize Eric, but to help him."
"Help him?" the old man shouted. "I'll be damned if he needs help. No Sheafer ever needed help in a matter like this. What the hell does he need help for? That man is guilty. The court said so weeks ago. What more does he want?"
Bob started to say something, but Emily didn't want to hear another patronizing statement. This old monster wasn't the same man who had been her loving Gee-Pop. Loudly she said, "Just shut up! I'm tired of this."
Startled faces stared back at her.
Steadily, she continued, trying to take advantage of the silence. "Put yourself in Dad's place for once, okay? Come on. Andrea? I know you can. Bob? He's your…" She had to compose herself to say the next word. "…brother." Chewing briefly on her lip, she decided to try just once to talk to Eric Senior. "Gee-Pop, you asked what more Dad was wanting."
"Damn right. But I don't really care what it is. What he needs to do is shoot the bastard."
"That's what you need. He isn't you. He's a lot like you, but not the same." Emily took a quick, deep breath and started pacing slowly, thinking rapidly. Then she
Stopped, faced them and held her arms out. "Have any of you stopped to think: What if the court was wrong?"
45
"I hope you didn't mind me asking you to recount your version of what happened, John. I am usually better prepared than this."
"No. I've said it so many times, I… You know, I still dream about it."
Debra left the wall and sat on the bed, facing him. "Do you dream about anything else in your life?"
"Lots of things." Like mom yelling at me for blowing algebra or laming a concert, he thought, but didn't say.
"Like what?" She shook her head. "I don't really want an answer to that. I don't put much importance on the contents of dreams, just in the feelings they leave us with. What I'd like to hear is what you would tell me about your childhood. What was it like?"
This wasn't exactly what he was expecting. It didn't seem to have any direction to it that he could see. "I don't know. Pretty normal, I guess." He blew his nose. For what it was worth, his cold or flu, or whatever, was better.
"Did you get along with your siblings? Your parents?"
"Ah…I was an only child. I got along with my parents okay."
"School? Friends?"
"Yeah. I did all right in school. Not good enough for a full scholarship or anything like that. But Dad said that didn't matter as long as I could get in a college."
"So education was important to him."
John nodded. "He only went to a business school, himself. He did all right, though. Executive manager at a supermarket is good, but he wanted me to get a degree from a four-year school. Be a professional."
"Did he put a lot of pressure on you?"
"What? No way. He never did anything like that. Mom did enough of that." He smiled at a memory. "Everyone was thrilled when I made first chair in the high school orchestra."
"What instrument was that?"
"What is wrong with you, Emmie?" Frank demanded like she had suggested infanticide.
"Look," she said. "I was just as sure as the rest of you guys. Now, well, I don't know." She raked her bangs to one side but they fell back to her brows. "What he says sounds like truth."
"Sure," Ed said. "Well, his type are born liars. They can make you believe anything they want to. It doesn't take much to figure how that actually went. She tried to get away and he chased her out. He caught her on the patio and threw her down head first. Just like the neighbor said."
Emily looked at Ed for a couple of seconds. He seemed so closed minded. She couldn't remember that he was like that as a child. None of them had been. "Is that what you believe, Ed?"
Ed shook his head in disgust. "Sure. We all do," he said, waving an arm to include the rest.
Andrea said, "I don't know."
"Mother!" Ed exclaimed as if wounded.
No one paid him any attention. All looked at Andrea.
"What?" Emily said in a small voice. An unexpected ally: girls against boys.
"Well," she started. "I just did what you said, Em. I put myself in Eric's shoes, as best I could. And, when faced with the facts without the court experience, and faced with that I was supposed to execute John Hardy myself, I decided I would have to be certain about it in my own right."
Emily smiled weakly, grateful. "Yeah. That's it. That's all. He just wants to be sure."
The hall door opened and Eric stood in it. After a second he stepped in and laid his arm on Emily's shoulder.
"Well," Eric Senior said. "Have you killed him yet? I didn't hear a damned shot. What're you doing now?"
"I've been listening to you," Eric replied. Emily felt him squeeze her shoulder, communicating a vast expression of love, appreciation, pride, she didn't know what else. "It's been interesting."
"Everything's 'interesting' to you. A stupid old arrowhead in the back yard, a little blue glass jar in the dirt: 'interesting.' When are you going to do anything?"
He sighed. "A criminal psychologist from the School is evaluating Hardy right now."
"Now, John, I want to go back to something you said. Do you remember when I asked you if your father put pressure on you to excel in school and you said he didn't need to because of your mother?"
He nodded.
"Why was that?"
John lowered his eyes to the floor yet again. He was getting familiar with the pattern in the wood grain between his shoes. "Dad just didn't do things that way. He was pretty easy-going. As long as I did my best, he was satisfied."
"Would you say you were close to your father?"
"Yeah. We were. Even after I dropped out I was able to get to see him now and then."
"When was the last time?"
"Well." John sighed and scratched his cheek. "The very last time doesn't really count, I guess."
"Why is that?"
"'Cause it was when I got caught by the Sheafers. And before that it was when I was tried, but they wouldn't let him see me unsupervised. So the last real time was November. I came through Richmond on my way back south to look for work."
Debra prodded him. "You still haven't answered my main question, John."
"I'm sorry. I…what was it? I kinda lost track."
"That's okay. Maybe I didn't phrase it succinctly enough. What did your mother do that put pressure on you?"
"Oh." He sat quietly, not wanting to answer, not really sure how to.
46
"Look," Eric was saying. "I told you that the psych exam was incomplete. I don't care anymore why that was so. I just want it done now. That's how it has to be."
"'Has to be,'" Eric Senior mocked. "You've always had to have things 'the way they have to be' in your opinion. It was that way when you were a kid," he said harshly. "I never understood you then and I sure as hell don't now."
The old man's tone made Emily wince. Her father held his ground, but Eric Senior seemed to hate him. She felt she was missing something here. It was more than the present issue of John Hardy, serious though that was. There appeared to be old wounds or feelings Eric Senior had held for a long time.
She knew about unresolved grudges. The painful memory of her mother dying of a pulmonary embolism after an injury at one of her landscaping projects resurfaced. Emily had blamed her for dying. The feelings lasted for almost a year. She never told her father about them, but she had made things awful for him. Yet, at thirteen, things were so black-and-white. It was either right-or-wrong and things fit where they went.
Eric Senior ranted on, disturbing her
thoughts.
"That goddamned monster up there deserves to die. You know that. If you don't do it, I'll do it myself!"
Emily blinked in surprise. The voice was gravely with aged maleness, but the words had been her own. Once. And they had been wrong. "Shut up!" she shouted impulsively. "Dammit, Dad knows what he's doing. Just leave him alone and let him do it." She didn't remember approaching him, but there was old Eric Senior, sitting beneath her, eyes bulging and his face nearly crimson.
Sputtering at first, he managed to yell at Eric, "Are you gonna let her talk to me like this?"
"Damn you, Emily. Show some respect," Ed blurted before Eric responded.
"To a close-minded old man?" she retorted. "Don't any of you understand what is really going on here? The court, and you, just want my father to go upstairs and kill a man, without any consideration whatsoever."
"He is supposed to carry out the court's decision and sentence," Frank said.
"Thank you so much for clearing that up for us, Frank," she said, staring hard at him. She then added, "So he should go on and do it? Without giving it another thought?"
Frank broke eye contact. He looked around, then said, "Yes. The probabilities tech stated at the trial that the evidence statistically weighed heavily against Hardy."
"Which is a grossly improper use of statistics," Eric finally said, taking over his own defense. He took Emily by both shoulders and pulled her gently but firmly back from Eric Senior. Before he let go, though, he gave her another appreciative squeeze, with both hands. "Being entrenched in the business world like you are, Frank, I would have expected you to realize that."
"It's the law, Uncle."
"Yes. It is."
Ed stood, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt and coat. "Sorry, Uncle Eric, but I can't help the way I feel. Maybe you think you needed this meeting, but it's just been a waste of time." He looked at his cuffs again. An ugly but firm tone of certainty in his voice, he said, "Go on and execute him. Get it over with. You'll know it's right, eventually."
A Ghost of Justice Page 19
