by Jan Coffey
There had been no question of Ted attending their aunt’s funeral last week. Even if he’d been allowed to, he wouldn’t have gone. As Léa stood to deliver the eulogy before the small congregation, she looked out at the faces of her aunt’s lifelong friends. They had come out to lend their support to her, but her only thought had been that this had to be the lowest point a life could go and still be bearable. Until now.
As the court proceedings continued, Léa hardly noticed her surroundings, now so familiar that they were a part of her dreams. She only became alert when the court crier asked permission to receive the verdict.
The courtroom became deadly silent. Léa kept her gaze on the back of Ted’s head, her hands fisted in her lap.
“Will the foreman please rise?”
Léa’s gaze drifted to juryman number eight, an older businessman in a navy suit who was rising to his feet. She lifted the sunglasses off her face and looked intently into the face of the man. There was no hint of what he was about to say. Nothing.
“Jurors, have you agreed upon a verdict and penalty?”
“Yes, we have.” A chill washed through her at the calmness of the answer.
“Do all twelve agree?”
“Yes.”
Léa realized that she was tapping one shoe on the ground. She pressed a hand on her knee, trying to keep herself under control.
“Having found the defendant, Theodore John Hardy, guilty of murder in the first degree of Marilyn Foley Hardy, guilty of the murder in the first degree of Emily Hardy, and guilty of murder in the first degree of Hanna Hardy, what is your verdict as to penalty?”
Léa held her breath.
“Death.”
Someone gasped out loud in the courtroom behind her. She thought she heard Stephanie crying on the other side of the room. There was a loud buzz of people talking behind her. She heard the footsteps of a few who bolted out. Reporters. Léa felt the burn of tears in her eyes and pulled on the shades again. A lump the size of a fist formed in her throat.
“Thank you. Please be seated, sir,” the court crier said loudly over the noise as the judge hammered away with her gavel, demanding silence in the crowded courtroom.
“We request that the jury be polled, your honor.” David Browning’s request received a nod from the judge. Léa was watching for some reaction from her brother. Nothing.
At the judge’s order, the court crier turned to the dozen jurors again. “When your name and number is called, you will please rise and in a full, clear, audible voice announce your verdict.”
Léa felt the knot in her throat choking all life out of her. Repeating the crimes again and again, the crier polled each juror in turn. Eight woman and four men stood one by one and repeated the same word to the roomful of people.
And to Ted, who appeared to hear nothing.
Death…Death…Death…
She didn’t want to remember the crimes. It crushed her when she thought of the fresh, pretty faces of Emily and Hanna. So young and alive. But Ted couldn’t have done it. He could never have set fire to the house knowing his own daughters were sleeping upstairs.
Death.
As difficult as Marilyn was, he had once loved her enough to marry her. They’d had children. Planned a life together. He could never have stabbed and killed her.
Death.
“Your honor, the jury has been polled…” The court clerk’s voice rang out in the court, but Léa was no longer a part of the proceedings.
He couldn’t have done it.
Her entire body was trembling. She felt as if a bullet had torn through her. From a gaping wound in her soul, she was bleeding emotions and memories she’d worked so hard to repress.
In her mind, time was repeating itself. The memory of another murder pushed forward, blocking out the present, scorching her insides with unbearable heat. Léa had been eleven, Ted fifteen, when they’d come home to find them. She could see it now as clearly as if they were at this very moment lying on that kitchen floor in front of her. The blood. Her own anguished cry. She also remembered Ted’s horrified face—his absolute silence as he’d stared at their parents’ dead bodies.
Stonybrook officials had called it a murder-suicide. John Hardy had stabbed his wife twenty-seven times before retrieving his revolver from the desk drawer in his study, sitting down at the kitchen table, and blowing his brains out.
Without hesitation, Janice Hardy, the only surviving relative of Léa and Ted, had assumed full responsibility for the two children. Taking them to the small town in Maryland where she lived and taught school, she was determined to erase the nightmares afflicting these two young people. They all knew, though—social workers and doctors alike—that Ted and Léa would carry painful psychological scars for their entire lives.
The judge’s voice cut momentarily into her thoughts. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the Code of Judicial Ethics prevents me from commenting one way or the other on your verdict. And that is the way it should be.”
Léa tried to focus on the black robe of the judge. On what was happening now. Despite the verdict, despite the link Browning himself had suggested between this murder and their parents’ violent deaths, she could not believe that it was possible for Ted to kill his own family.
Ted had been the one sure thing that had helped Léa survive the painful years following their parents’ deaths—and all the years since. Ted and his undying support. Ted and his sense of humor. Ted and his unwavering loyalty to his sister and his aunt. Ted and his love of his family.
Léa looked at her brother, sitting motionless at the defense table, staring at nothing.
Her attention was drawn back to the courtroom. The jury had been dismissed, their chairs sat empty. The judge was speaking directly to Ted.
“…and this Court wishes to advise you that you have an automatic appeal to the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania.”
In a monotone voice, the judge read the script explaining the automatic appeal. Léa had already read everything there was to read on this phase. This was not the end. She wouldn’t let it be.
“However, before that appeal can be heard, certain post-trial motions must be filed and disposed of within ten days of today.”
Léa stared at David Browning. Their lawyer. Their advocate. He looked slightly bored. She wondered if he was even listening. He was definitely not writing any of this down. His pair of twenty-something year old lawyers sitting with him looked only slightly more engaged. Then, as she stared at their backs, one of them closed his briefcase with a snap, looking suddenly ready to bolt for the door.
A flush of rage sent blood rushing to her face. Halfway through the trial, Léa had realized that Browning was nothing more than a talking head. But she’d had little choice and little time to make a change, considering Ted’s total lack of cooperation and the severity of Janice’s illness. The final straw was the totally ineffective appeal to the jury during the penalty phase.
Sitting beside the lawyers, Ted stared blankly at the table while the judge continued to spell out the specifics of what was needed, including the date, time, and place for the disposition of any post-trial motions. Still, Browning’s pen never even scratched at the legal pad before him.
She was getting a new lawyer. Their old family house in Stonybrook had to sell. Then, she’d use the money to hire the person who would make a difference.
“In the interim, the court will order a pre-sentence psychiatric examination to be performed on Mr. Hardy. Anything else, counselors?”
Everyone was so calm. So businesslike. Ho-hum. Just another day. Just another human being sent to death row. No questions. No comments. Nothing.
She clenched her fists, wanting to throw something at Browning. Say something!
“All right. This Court stands adjourned.”
Ted still wore that same lifeless mask as two court officers came around to escort him out.
“Ted!” Léa found herself leaning forward in the chair and calling his name. He froze for an ins
tant but never acknowledged her. He rose to his feet and turned his back to her.
The lawyer said something quietly to Ted. The condemned man shook his head once. This was the only response that Léa had seen her brother make at all during these last days of the trial. Browning leaned forward, obviously insisting on whatever he had said before, and this time Ted turned to him sharply.
“You have my answer. Now leave it go.”
The bitterness of his tone caused Léa to shrink back in her chair. She still couldn’t tear her gaze from Ted’s face as he was finally led out of the courtroom. He was not helping with his own defense. David Browning had made a point of telling her repeatedly that her brother was not cooperating in any way. Léa knew that Ted had resisted the psychiatric examination that had been done right after his arrest.
“Miss Hardy?”
A touch on her shoulder turned Léa around. She looked questioningly at a woman dressed in a court officer’s uniform. Léa knew her. She had seen her standing by the door of this particular courtroom a number of times before.
“You must have dropped this on your way in.”
Léa looked at the white envelope that the woman held out to her. The courtroom was nearly empty. She didn’t remember dropping anything. She didn’t recall having any envelope in her possession. All the same, she reached out and took it.
“Thanks.” She glanced around and found Browning talking to one of the prosecutors, an attractive redhead who had presented the physical evidence for the state during the trial. His own assistants had already beaten the crowd to the door. Léa needed to speak to Browning before he left, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
Léa looked down at the sealed envelope in her hand. Her name and the courtroom number were typed on the front. Curious, she tore open the flap and took out the single folded sheet of paper. The contents took only a moment to read, and she turned around and searched the empty seats behind her. With the exception of the court officer walking to the door, there was no one else left. She looked again at the piece of paper in her hand, reading the words again.
Ted is innocent. I know who did it.
~~~~
“But it’s another of those letters!”
“I see that. Did it come to your hotel?”
“No. It was dropped outside the courtroom door. Today.”
“I’m sorry, Léa.” Browning darted a glance at her as they descended the stairs. “It’s a sick joke. I think you should hand this one over to the police, too.”
“I’m handing nothing over,” she said tersely. “In fact, I want everything back that I’ve given them.”
“That won’t look good.”
“Won’t look good for who, David?”
“Look, there are procedural issues that need to be considered. A progression of steps we need to follow.”
“And if we don’t?” she snapped. “Who are we concerned about now? Have you already punched the clock on Ted’s case?”
“An attitude won’t help anything.”
“Do you want to see an attitude?” Léa grabbed the sleeve of the lawyer’s jacket and tugged hard, forcing him to stop on the stairs. “I am sick and tired of you and those cops and your useless assistants and everybody else. You couldn’t care less about saving Ted’s life! Why the hell did you accept this case when you clearly don’t give a damn, David? Aren’t you afraid that your precious partnership will go right down the toilet when your bosses find out what a useless peace of shit you were in court?”
“Léa, I know you’re upset.” Browning let out an exasperated breath and looked up and down the wide marble stairs before turning his full attention back to her. “Listen, I know you’ve been under a lot of stress. I’m very sorry about your aunt. And I meant to come to the funeral last week, but—”
“Damn it, this is not about some social obligation. My brother was sentenced to die in there. Do you understand? Death. A lethal injection. The end. For God’s sake, you’re his lawyer. You are supposed to be on his side.”
“I am.”
“Then why have you done nothing to help him? There was not a single goddamn day that you were prepared. You sat like a log and didn’t make a peep while the prosecutor presented his witnesses. And then you let him walk all over your case. Why didn’t you pursue anything I told you about Ted as a person? He’s not the monster these jerks made him out to be. He was a loving father, and a good husband. Marilyn was the one who got restless. She was the one who wanted a divorce. You, of all people—his own attorney—just sat there and acted like this case was a hopeless cause.”
“That’s not true.”
David shook his head in disagreement and, in his usual manner of avoiding confrontation with her, started down the stairs again. No emotions, no passion…and no integrity. It had taken two years, but she’d finally figured him out.
“You know what?” Léa said, going after him. “I don’t think you would do a thing even if someone stepped forward and admitted to stabbing Marilyn to death and setting the house on fire. I don’t believe you want the complication. You put in your time. You think you can just put it all behind you now and move on.”
“That’s completely unfair.” He glanced at her. “But what do you think are the chances of that happening? Of someone admitting to something like that, especially this late in the game?”
“Here’s a chance. Right here in my hand,” she said stubbornly as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “This letter is one chance. And there are at least a dozen more like this one that probably went right into the circular file of your friendly police detectives.”
A few heads turned in their direction. Léa recognized one of them as a newspaper reporter who had been hounding her for an interview for the past couple of months. As the man started toward them, David took her by the arm and led her toward a clerk’s office on the first floor.
Closing the pebbled glass door in the face of the approaching reporter, the lawyer looked at the empty desks behind a high counter. The clock on the wall showed it was nearly six.
“Now, listen to me carefully, Léa,” he started. “I know your emotions are running high.” As she opened her mouth to object, he raised a hand in defense. “And you have every right to be like this after all you’ve been through these past couple of months. Past couple of years, even. But before you race out of here, looking for this jerk—this letter writer that you think will save the day—you need to address something more pressing that might actually help your brother.”
The lawyer’s calm and monotone voice alone was enough to drive Léa over the edge again. All of her insults were not enough to get his blood flowing. She bit back the new wave of temper, though, knowing full well that, as it stood this minute, Browning was Ted’s only attorney.
“What do you mean ‘pressing’? What could be more pressing than a death sentence?”
The man brushed a speck of lint off his jacket sleeve. He glanced at his watch. “I really didn’t want to say anything to you until I’d exhausted every possibility. Until I had a chance to talk to Ted again.”
Léa moved to the side, forcing the lawyer to look into her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Ted refuses to allow any appeals to go forward. He’s told me that I cannot file anything on his behalf. He won’t take visits from either the ACLU or Amnesty International or anyone else active in capital punishment cases. He knew…he was certain what the sentence would be today. He wouldn’t change his plea to avoid the death penalty. He wouldn’t help me in any way. And now, he doesn’t want to drag this thing out for five or ten years. He won’t waive his right to appeal, but he says he won’t be part of any circus.” Browning put a hand on Léa’s shoulder. “Those were his exact words. He wants the governor’s signature on the warrant of execution. Your brother wants to die.”
Léa felt the walls tilt. “This is the depression talking. He has never recovered since the murder. That attempted suicide last year should be enough of a clue. He nee
ds genuine psychiatric counseling. In his state of mind, he can’t make that decision for himself.”
“Yes, he can. In the eyes of the Court, he was fit to stand trial, and he’s fit to make a decision like that. And there is only so long I can put off letting him do it. In high profile cases like this, lawyers get disbarred for what they do or don’t do. But that’s not going to happen here.”
Léa leaned against the high counter, too upset to respond, while thousands of arguments boiled up inside of her.
He gentled his tone. “Listen, Léa. I’ve also learned that in this business you should never give up hope. I plan to talk to Ted again tomorrow about the appeal. I think you should talk to him, too. You are the only family he has left. Work on his conscience. On his guilt about abandoning you. Beg him if you have to. I think you are the only one who can make him change his mind. His life rests in your hands.”
She shrugged off his touch and straightened up.
“Don’t you worry. I will talk to Ted. We’re not giving up.”
~~~~
“Eight hot dogs, two pretzels, three popcorn…”
“We need two more hot dogs, Hardy.”
Ted tossed a half-salute at his friend by the souvenir booth next to the food stand and turned apologetically to the cashier.
“Can you add two more hot dogs to that order?” He handed her the money.
“Ted? Ted Hardy?”
There was a feathery touch on his shoulder. Ted turned in the direction of the voice and stared for a second into the vaguely familiar and very beautiful face of the woman standing back a little in the next line. He and every man within fifty feet had noticed her when she’d approached the concession stand. She was dressed in a short, white, wrap-around dress, and it hadn’t taken much imagination to see she was wearing nothing underneath. Definitely overdressed…or perhaps underdressed…for a baseball game.
Now, looking for the first time into her face, Ted struggled to remember.
