A Ghost of Justice (22 page)

What more could he have to say, she thought as she looked back at him.

"I want you to know I appreciate this.  And I think I have some idea what…I don't know how to say it.  I mean, here I am suggesting it was your cousin instead of me.  You know; that it may have been a family member--"

"I'm not doing this for you," she said, interrupting.  "I have to know the truth."  She jammed the key in.  Then she abruptly turned and took two steps toward him.  Pointing a hard finger at him, his eyes widening a little from the sudden move, Emily said, "Remember.  Not a word to Dad."

Blinking, he said, "I promise.  But can I at least know why?"

"You don't need to know."  She paused, then decided a bit of truth would keep him quiet.  "Let's just say he's had enough trouble with family today."

She then left the room, carefully relocking the door.  Leaning against the wall, Emily took slow, deep breaths, simultaneously releasing the tension that had built up inside that room and struggling to control the trembling it caused.

49

Her
mind still whirling from the talk with John, Emily took one step down the stairs and stopped.  At the bottom were her father and Dr. Angelucci, watching up at her.

Before they could ask her what she was doing up there, she said the first thing to come to mind, "He wanted a drink," and stuck the gun back in her pocket.

"As long as you weren't up there to kill him," Eric said, and went on back to the kitchen with the psychologist.

The comment didn't rankle her, partly because she knew he didn't really mean it.  Because he knew she was questioning its rightness herself.  Because he had taken her bullets himself.  But she believed the first 'because' was the important one.

When she caught up with them, Dr. Angelucci was seated and her father was setting the kettle on for tea.

"Want any?" he asked her.

Emily nodded and sat across from the psychologist.

"Em," Eric said as he took down three cups.  "I asked Debra to wait until we were together to tell us what she found out."

"Why?  Is he innocent because of a rotten childhood or something?"

"I don't know.  I haven't heard yet."

Debra Angelucci faced Emily.  "Actually, Ms Sheafer, Mr. Hardy did have problems with his mother, but that likely has no bearing on the question of guilt or innocence."

"I'm
so
relieved."  After she spoke, Emily felt foolish.  She didn't truly feel the sarcasm.  "I'm sorry," she said quickly.  "I really do want to hear your report."

"Good," Eric said.  "So you'll mind your manners."

Emily nodded.

"That's all right, Eric," Dr. Angelucci said.  "I may as well start."

The kettle started whistling, so she waited while Eric poured.  "Do you take sugar?" he said.

"One, thanks.  Well, first thing to explain, Emily, is that when your father told me what it was he needed, I went on the e-magistrate site to get the files on Hardy.  I have clearance, so as soon as I provided the e-mage with proof of my credentials and that your father had contracted me for the case, I was able to get more than the court records."

"More?"  This was not something Emily expected.

"Yes.  More.  The full evidence list and the investigation records.  Not everything comes out in the trial.  And sometimes what doesn't come out can be vitally important."

"Like what?"

"Like what is missing in the evidence.  There's no physical evidence placing Hardy inside your brother's home, either that night or at any time.  No DNA, no prints, no threads from his clothing or footprints in the size of his shoes.  Not even a positive essence scan.  And, besides the money, your sister-in-law's hair and blood were the only things found on Hardy's person from your brother's house."

She looked at her father.  "Did you know about that?"

He shook his head.

Dr. Angelucci then said,  "I decided the best approach with John Hardy would be two-fold.  First I wanted to determine, as best I could in so short a time, if John showed any signs of psychological abnormalities, such as anti-social tendencies, but, in particular, any psychopathic predispositions.  Secondly, regardless of the first findings, I felt it was important to determine if John might be capable of murder.

"What I did find out was rather interesting.  First, John is completely in touch with reality.  This precludes most dangerous psychoses.  This is further supported by the fact that he feels it is wrong to steal, even to provide for himself, unless his very survival depends on it."

Emily found herself listening intently.  Maybe she wanted to hear something to allow her to ignore what Hardy had said.  Or to believe him.  She didn't know.

"Understand that I am basing my conclusions on information gathered in a very brief period of time," the psychologist said, "as well as through the limited sources of the court records and a single interview with the subject.  However, I feel John was quite open with me after the first few minutes."

"That's okay, Debra.  The main thing I want is your professional impression," Eric said as he set the tea down.

Dr. Angelucci took a sip, looked at the cup.  "This is very good.  Need to let it cool, though."  She set the cup back on the saucer.  Looking at Emily, she continued.  "There's more to rule out any psychosis.  John loves his father a great deal.  They were very close during his childhood.  Yet he never could get along with his mother.  There seems to be some underlying tension between them.  When he dropped out of school, she never wanted to see him again."

"None of that ever came out in the trial."

"Yes, I know, Eric.  That's why you had me come in.  No serious analysis was done.  Hardy feels guilty about the problems with his mother.  John believes he is somehow responsible for them, so he never told his lawyer either."

"What do
you
believe," Emily said.  Tickling her mind was a vague memory of something Hardy's father had said about him.

"I need more information.  But it takes more than one person to cause a rift that large, and, even if John were at fault initially, it seems to me his mother could use some therapy to help her with it.  It is not normal to nurse wounds for so long and to readily take on new ones."

"Intuitively, I would have to agree," Eric observed.

Debra Angelucci nodded and took a long sip of her tea.  "John also tries to understand his mother and his fiancée ."

Emily stopped with her cup half-way to her lips.  "What?"

"Oh.  Of course.  It's not in the records.  He was engaged.  But the girl reacted about the same way as his mother when he dropped out.  She was also seeing other men at the time.

"Except for a feeling of betrayal by his fiancée, he doesn't harbor any ill will against either of them.  This is very important because a psychopath cannot even fake concern for others.  John has such a highly developed empathy that he is mildly neurotic from the guilt this causes.  I believe he has been in a withdrawal period, maybe even depressed.  I also think this might be about to end, even if he continues living.  I didn't mean anything by that remark, Eric."

As if he would take offense at it, Emily thought without anger.

He waved dismissively.  "So you think he has been withdrawn or depressed," Eric confirmed.  "What do you mean?"

Debra shrugged.  "He had 'withdrawn' from life as it had been for him.  He felt fully responsible for the breakup, for the way his mother treated him, for his indecisiveness in school…in general, for everything wrong in his life."

"So he left all that.  Why?  Because he wanted to start over again?"

"Not quite.  I got the feeling that he no longer felt worthy of being in the company of anyone he knew from childhood, with the sole exception of his father.  Although it wasn't often or regular, he maintained contact with him.  Always through the store.  John never risked running into his mother."

Eric took a drink while Debra paused.  Then he set the cup aside.  He dropped the big question.  “Do you think he killed my son?"

Dr. Angelucci's mouth turned up on one side in a genuine, if half, smile, cocking her head a little to one side.

Emily leaned forward, waiting.

"I can't be a hundred percent certain at this time, but my gut feeling, as well as my professional judgment, says John Hardy couldn't kill to stay alive."

Eric chewed on his lower lip and nodded.  "Thank you, Debra.  You've been helpful.  Extremely helpful."

Emily worked her temples with both hands.  "What do we do now, Dad?"  Even as she spoke, she knew what she was going to do next.

"That sounds like a change of heart, Em.  How did this come about?"

She nodded, looked up and smiled listlessly.  "I saw a side of me that was…worse than anything I could have imagined."

"What was that?"

"I think you know," she said.  Lowering her head, she began massaging the back of her neck.  For Debra Angelucci she said, "It was my Grandfather.  He kept saying things that sounded
so
familiar.  That was because they were right out of my own mouth."  She stopped massaging and noted that her father didn't ask why she hadn't referred to that old man in her old way.  Bringing her hands down together on the table, she finished the statement.  "And it was ugly…monstrous.  God, it made me sick."  To her father, she said, "When he started attacking you, I… I'm sorry, Dad."

Eric reached over and placed a hand over hers.  Nodding, he said in a whisper, "That's okay."

50

Ten
minutes after Dr. Angelucci had gone, Emily surprised herself to be thinking of supper, but, when she thought about it, she'd had little to eat all day.  And yesterday.  The headache didn't surprise her.  As much as she had on her mind, Emily felt it should be worse.  Food would take care of both those problems.

She sighed, wishing her other problem was as easy to solve.  "Would you like anything to eat?" she asked her father, as she stood up.

"Are you okay, Em?"

She nodded.  "Actually, except for a little headache, I feel just about fine."

"Good.  I'll take care of supper, though.  You don't have to."

"No.  I feel like doing it tonight.  "Let me see what we've got."

"Okay."

A quick survey through the kitchen revealed soups and sandwich fixings.  Either sounded good to her stomach.

Then the idea came so suddenly Emily could imagine the corny old light bulb flash over her head: 'go to the store.'

Of course, she just might 'happen' to go see Ed first.  After checking out John's suspicions, she could run by a store and grab something better than what they had, yet quick to prepare.

It was perfect.  Her father wouldn't have to know about it, unless (she frowned, but had to face the possibility) John was right.  So she said, "I'm going to the store.  We don't have anything I want."

"We could call for a pizza delivery or something," Eric said.

She made a face.  "I'm tired of that kind of food.  I want some home-cooked."

Standing up, he shrugged and said, "Drive careful, then."

Emily nodded, grabbing her keys and heading out the back door.

Stopping at the end of the drive, she craned her neck to look at the front upstairs windows.  The white of his face was plainly visible.  Knowing he was looking, Emily nodded once, then pulled the yellow Mustang out to the left, accelerating up the hill.  The clock on the heads-up-display said 5:42.

She was actually going to do it!  Or at least that's what her nod seemed to convey.  The wait was going to be unbearable.  A glance at the old-style bedside clock showed him all of twenty minutes had passed.

He went into the small bathroom, ran the water 'til it was warm and splashed some on his face.  Then he cupped some and held his face in it, the heat feeling good to his sore and puffy face.  Then he sat on the beanbag.  Crossing his legs, he closed his eyes, trying to meditate.  Or daydream.  Or anything to pass the time.

John had just begun to tire of the attempt when a tapping made him jump.

"John, are you awake?" Eric Sheafer said from the other side of the door.

"Yes," he said, a bit too loud and too quick.  He coughed once.

"Good.  Why don't you come on out and join me in the kitchen?"

He blinked in surprise.  "Really?  You mean it?"  The words sounded stupid as soon as he said them.

"Of course."

He heard the quick ratcheting of a key jamming into the lock.  John scrambled to his feet as Eric opened the door.

"Before we go down," he said, "I just want to know: do you have any idea why they didn't do a complete psych profile on you before the trial?"

John shook his head, afraid to show his relief that the question had nothing to do with Emily, or Ed, or Frank.

"That's all.  I just find it strange that they omitted that."

Then Eric turned and went down the stairs to the kitchen, John following.  As he walked behind the archeologist, John kept shaking his head.  He knew Eric Sheafer no longer seemed ready to execute him, but this treatment was all together unexpected.  It implied a trust in him.

"Would you like some tea?" Eric said as they came into the kitchen.

John nodded, beginning to feel hungry.