She picked up her coffee cup. "I'm refueling. You want some?"
He didn't, but he figured he'd be able to stay longer if he had a drink. He followed her into the kitchen because he didn't know what else to do with himself. He leaned back against the counter, his fingers drumming under the ledge. After she'd poured the coffee, she set his cup in front of him and pushed the small carton of cream in his direction.
"Do you want sugar?"
"No, that's okay." He wondered, as they engaged in this meaningless banter, if she was thinking about everything that had happened between them in this kitchen, as he was.
"Shouldn't you be prosecuting some criminal, or something?" she asked.
He looked up from stirring his coffee. Her face remained emotionless. He ignored her question. "Did it take you long to get your place back in shape?"
She shrugged. "Not too bad." She laughed a little, and he was grateful for at least that. "I noticed you had trouble finding the cats' bowls."
"Yeah, I did."
"I should have told you. I keep them on the landing in the cellar. They use a cat door."
"I managed."
She nodded. "Yeah, thanks." She picked up her coffee cup and started toward the exit of the narrow galley. "Should we sit down?" she suggested politely.
He'd had enough. He stuck out his arm to block her passage, and with his other hand he took her cup and set it on the counter. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. The sensation of his palm on her back still felt new, thrilling. "Jenny, it's me."
Her bottom lip quivered. "I know it's you." She kept her head down.
"Then stop this nonsense. Talk to me."
She shook her head.
"Talk to me," he repeated.
"I can't. I can't. Don't you get it? I'm doing all I can just to keep it together, okay? You've got to leave me alone. You can't keep doing this."
"What? Doing what?"
"This! This!" She waved her arms wildly, motioning at his grip, then at nothing. "It's not right. It's wrong. You've got to stop it."
"Jen—"
"No, stop it. Listen to me. If Claire were standing here with us, would you be holding me like this?" He opened his mouth, but no words came. "It's not fair to her," she continued. "It's not fair to me. You've got to stop it." She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "It's not who you are, Jack. You're a better person than this."
Stung by the words, he let her go. "Than what?"
"Than this, than the way you're behaving."
"The way I'm behaving." He made it a statement, not a question. He couldn't look at her. He stared at the black grout lines on her kitchen floor.
She softened her voice. "What I'm trying to say is that how you might feel, how I might feel, is irrelevant."
It was the first verbal acknowledgement of her emotions.
"And how do you feel?" But his tone was too sharp.
"It doesn't matter."
"I deserve to know."
"You don't deserve anything. We made a mistake, and now look at what we're facing. Nothing good can come from what happened."
He knew she was right, but when he looked into her eyes, they were dark, and shadowed by mock sympathy, he imagined. He had the urge to hurt her as she'd hurt him.
"Why are you digging up old murder files?" he asked.
"What?"
"Your family's murder. You recently asked to see the case file."
Suddenly her empathy disappeared. "Who the hell do you think you are?" She shoved him. "Damn you, Jack! Get out of my life. Are you following me or something? You don't trust me?" Suddenly a look of realization crossed her face. "Is that why you told Earl about us? You were starting to doubt me and you wanted him to reassure you? You needed to tell someone to believe it?" She started crying and hit his chest. "You promised me, dammit!"
"What can I say?" he said sarcastically. "I was trying to be a better person."
She burst past him and out of the kitchen. He tried to grab her, but she jerked her arm until he released her. She yelled from the living room.
"It was my evidence to divulge, Jack, not yours! It's up to me to decide what to tell him." It sounded as if she'd thrown a pillow. "He's my attorney, remember? Not yours. You had no right!"
"I had an ethical duty to make sure the state doesn't prosecute the wrong person for murder." He knew he was making matters worse, but he couldn't stop himself.
She marched back into the kitchen. "You're a fuckin' asshole!" He tried to grab her again, but she pushed him away. "You and your fuckin' ethical duties. Bullshit! Why didn't you go straight to Sterling, then? Huh, Jack? You probably just couldn't stand to live with your guilt anymore and figured it'd be easier to tell Earl than your own wife!"
He'd hurt her, all right, and now he regretted it. His regrets were piling up, one by one. He reached for her and this time forcibly held her so that she couldn't get away.
"You're absolutely right. That was part of it. It helped to tell him. I hadn't planned to, though. But when he told me about Sterling's intentions, what was I supposed to do? Sit on the sidelines while he tries to have you fried?"
"He's just bluffing. You should know that. Anyway, once he learns about Mendelsohn, he'll drop the charges."
"Jenny."
She looked up at him, her eyes hot with distrust.
"He's not bluffing. A DA doesn't ask for death unless he thinks he can get it."
"No, he can't get it. There's no way he can get it. I didn't do it!" She began to sob, and her entire body shook. She finally relented and collapsed against him.
"You can't ask me not to help you," he whispered into her ear. "I can't stand by and watch this happen to you."
"I don't want to be the one responsible for splitting up your family."
"You're not. I am. I'll take full responsibility." Then he added, "It'll be okay. We'll work it out." He'd never sounded so unconvincing.
"I don't know what I was thinking, letting you come here that night." She was talking to herself now. "I thought I could talk you out of it, but you were so persistent. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was wrong from the start, last April. I knew we were playing with fire. And I feel like everything is my fault. I should have been able to tell you no. And I tried to, in my own way, but you were so persistent. God, Jack, you're always so persistent! And I know there were times when I egged you on. I think I finally told myself that if we just gave in, then maybe we'd lose interest in each other.
"But that's not what happened. Instead I found myself drawn to you even more, and then when you started telling me you loved me, I realized that all my evil wishes had actually come true and that I could have you, if I wanted. It hit me the next morning that if I didn't do something to push you away, you'd keep pursuing me and I would be the reason Claire would lose a husband and your kids would lose a father. I couldn't take that. I can't stand to even think that I could be the cause of that." She looked straight at him. "I won't be the cause of that, Jack. Don't force me to be the cause of that. I'd rather they send me to the chair."
He wiped her wet cheeks with his thumb. She turned her face away.
"You've got to stop. I know you mean well. I know you're trying to make me feel better, but your touch just makes it harder for me. You've got to leave me alone." She paused. "She loves you, and you might be going through a rough time, but you love her, too. I could see it the first day I saw you two together, and I can still see it."
"Isn't it possible to love two people at the same time?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Does that matter?"
He loosened his arms around her and she moved away slightly. He tried to take in everything she'd said to him. You're a better person than this.
"Jenny . . ." He started to reach for her but stopped. He wouldn't touch her anymore. "I can't let Claire find out from someone else. I have to tell her. And once I do, I'll have to tell Sterling. So if you don't tell him, I will. I don't have a choice."
She s
tared at her tabby cat as it rubbed against her ankle.
"Are you listening to me? I will tell him if you don't."
"I'll deny it. I'll say you're just trying to cover for me. You'll look even more foolish."
He couldn't understand why she was being so stubborn. He was willing to admit to everything to ensure her freedom, but she didn't seem to want that.
And then it hit him. She didn't believe her own words—I could have you, if I wanted—so she wanted him to make the choice. And she needed him to do it now, on his own, before circumstances forced a choice on him, before Claire decided for him. She didn't want him if he merely came to her after losing Claire.
He took a deep breath. It was time to be that better person. What he was about to say would mean, ironically, that he would lose both of them. But it would also ensure that she didn't get convicted of a crime she hadn't committed.
"You know, you're right about something. Claire does love me and I love her, too, more than anything." More than you, Jenny. But he couldn't say that part; he swallowed and tried but he couldn't be that cruel. "That's why I have to come forward." They held each other's gaze as he spoke. "If I want any chance of salvaging my marriage, I have to do the right thing, even if it causes pain to my family. She would expect me to do the right thing."
He waited for her to nod or to indicate her understanding in some other way. When she finally spoke, the words weren't what he'd expected. But they told him, nevertheless, that he'd succeeded.
"Get out." Her trembling hand tucked her hair behind one ear. "Just get out, will you?"
He dug into his pants pocket and fumbled wordlessly to extricate her key from his keychain. He placed it on the counter. When she reached for it, he tried to touch her hand in an attempt to convey his sorrow, but she pulled away. He merely looked her in the eyes one final time and then let himself out the front door.
By the time he returned to the courthouse, his thoughts had flung from Jenny's reaction to Claire's anticipated one. His mind was so preoccupied with his world imploding around him—slowly but steadily, he could feel it beginning to suffocate him—that he didn't notice Jim Wolfe waiting for him on the top step leading to the entrance. The reporter had to step in front of Jack and block his entry to get his attention.
"Mr. Hilliard, did you hear the news?"
Jack stared blankly at the small man. "Maybe you should tell me which news you're referring to, Mr. Wolfe," he asked, putting emphasis on the reporter's name.
"Well, of course, that the DA in Ms. Dodson's case has announced he will seek the death penalty." A look of understanding crossed Wolfe's face. He opened his eyes wide. "Is there other news, Mr. Hilliard?"
There's going to be, Jack thought, when I haul off and land you on your ass. That would certainly make the front page. He tried to maintain his composure. "Is there a question on the table?" The voice reaching his ears didn't sound like his own.
"Do you have any comment about Mr. Sterling's intent to seek the death penalty?"
"Yes; I think it's not very well thought out." He shouldn't have said it; he should've just kept his mouth shut. After all, he was still the DA, even if he wasn't the prosecutor on this particular case.
"Can you elaborate?" Wolfe had the look of someone who believed he'd just stepped into something good and unexpected, and Jack had a sudden, inexplicable desire to make the guy's day.
"Yeah, I'll elaborate. You might want to turn on your tape for this one, Jim." Was this what it felt like to have a nervous breakdown? Complete awareness, yet no control?
The reporter fumbled in his coat pocket and pulled out his small Dictaphone. Jack grabbed it out of his hand and turned it on. "She didn't do it," he said into the speaker, but with his eyes on Wolfe. And then more slowly, more loudly: "She . . . didn't . . . do . . . it." He turned off the machine and smiled. "How's that?"
"Mr. Hilliard . . ." The reporter's mouth hung open.
"Not enough?" He handed the recorder back. "Here, ask me anything. Anything." A part of him realized that what he was doing would end up in tomorrow's paper, but he couldn't stop himself. He already envisioned the headline: HILLIARD LOSES MARBLES OVER DODSON MURDER CASE.
"Well, okay," he stammered. "Do you know who her alibi is?"
Jack looked at the recorder to see if Wolfe had turned it back on. He had, of course; the tiny red light mesmerized Jack. You're a better person than this. He wondered what Claire was doing just then. He wanted to go over to the university now, sit in the privacy of her office and talk to her. Tell her everything. Slowly let the air out of the balloon of lies he'd created, instead of waiting for someone else to pop it. "No, I don't," he managed to say. "I just know she didn't do it."
Wolfe seemed more intent on processing the look on Jack's face than on the content of his response. "What if she confesses?"
"What if she confesses?" He repeated the question as if he hadn't heard it or didn't understand it. But he did. What he didn't understand was how he'd managed not to think of it himself. Because it suddenly occurred to him that if Jenny also thought of the idea, and if she felt desperate enough to protect him, she just might be crazy enough to do it.
Wolfe pressed him. "Yes, if she confesses, admits she murdered Maxine Shepard. Then would you concur in Mr. Sterling's opinion that her crime warrants the death penalty?"
"No, absolutely not."
"Because she's your friend?"
"No." He glared at Wolfe. He could see where the conversation was heading, but he was too distracted by the countless thoughts playing pinball in his head to collect himself and give the media-savvy answer. "No."
"Mr. Hilliard, I don't have to remind you of your campaign promises."
He wanted to take those few steps through the courthouse doors and leave Wolfe standing there, but his legs wouldn't move.
"I believe my campaign promises were to represent the city to the best of my abilities."
"And I believe that included asking for the death penalty in an appropriate case."
Shut up now, Jack. Just shut up. "This isn't an appropriate case, Mr. Wolfe. I think we're finished." He willed himself to reach for the tarnished handle in front of him. His arm felt heavy, slow. He could see his hand trembling and he hoped that Wolfe didn't notice.
"One more question, Mr. Hilliard."
Jack raised his eyes.
"Is there any set of facts that would, to your mind, warrant the death penalty?"
He asked it as if he already knew the answer, as if he knew that Jack had lied all along but now had an overwhelming need to come clean. Jack looked beyond the reporter's head, to the cars driving by on Walnut Street; they drove slowly, but to Jack they were a blur. The wind picked up and blew through the back vent of his coat. He thought of Claire again and wondered if she thought of him during the day when they were apart. Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe she wasn't even aware of her capacity to forgive. They had so much invested, so much history. Something special, something indescribable between them. Even Jenny saw it. He couldn't believe that Claire would turn her back on that. Will it get better? He had to believe that she'd give him the chance. But it had to be all or nothing. You're a better person than this. It had to be all or nothing.
When Jack refocused, Wolfe was fumbling with his briefcase and had started down the steps. He mumbled something about catching up with Jack later, but Jack called his name to get his attention. Wolfe turned.
"Your question?" Jack said.
Wolfe nodded, almost undetectably.
"To my mind?" Jack slowly shook his head. He almost imagined he could hear the slow hiss as the balloon began to collapse. "No, there's not."
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE STORY MADE the next morning's paper—the bottom half, but the front page nevertheless. Unable to concentrate on his work, Jack spent most of the morning staring at the newsprint in front of him, even though he'd finished reading it long ago. HILLIARD CHANGES STANCE ON DEATH PENALTY, the headline read. The accompanying story repor
ted his death penalty flip-flop and recounted his unsupported defense of Jenny. Every time he reread it, the little bit of coffee in his stomach—the only nourishment he'd had all day—began to percolate uncomfortably.
But he'd done it, hadn't he, and survived? Somehow he'd found the strength to admit he'd lied about his position on the death penalty. Now he had to find the strength to admit to everything else. Now all he had to do was tell Claire.
A knock on his door startled him. It opened and Beverly leaned her head in.
"Can I come in?" She spoke gently. "I know you don't want to take calls, but Earl's on the line. He says it's urgent." She waited. "Jack? You okay?"
He looked at her without really seeing her. "I'm okay. I'll be okay. You can send it in."
He picked up the receiver in the middle of the first ring.
"Listen to me and listen carefully," Earl's veteran voice barked at him. "You've got to get hold of Claire immediately. You need to tell her not to take any calls unless you want them to get to her before you do."
"What are you talking about?" But he knew. He didn't know the specifics, but he knew. He began to tremble. The ice on that big frozen lake he'd been trying to cross—all the while thinking he could see the other side—was beginning to thin, and he felt the cracks forming beneath him.
"I just got a call from a reporter. He wanted to know if it was true that you were Dodson's alibi. He might call you next, but if he's like most reporters, he'll call Claire first."
"Oh God." Jack bolted from his chair. "What happened? How'd he know?"
"I'm still trying to find that out. Right now, you need to hang up and find her. Hear me?"
"I can't," he said, looking at his watch. "I can't. I can't even think straight."
"Jack, you can't talk to her if you don't calm down." Perhaps realizing that Jack wasn't in any condition to speak to Claire, he tried to keep him talking. "Listen, try to think. Who else knows?"
"No one." His jaw tensed; he'd told Earl that repeatedly.
"How about Jenny?" Earl asked, his voice lower now, aware of the heresy of his suggestion. "Would she have leaked it?"
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