Nothing but the Truth (72 page)
Arms crossed over his chest and sulking at the mistreatment he’d suffered at the hands of the court and his client alike, Wright sat back in the hard chair. Hardy noted the change in affect and took it as a good sign.
He spun and walked back to his table, fiddled with some papers, left them where they lay. “All right. Did you have a personal relationship with Sergeant Canetta?”
“No, I did not.”
“But you did know him, did you not?”
Pierce shifted in his seat, answered impatiently. “I gather he helped to provide security at some Caloco events. I may have talked to him at those. I really don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember,” Hardy repeated. “And how about Sergeant Griffin? Did he interview you?”
Pierce hesitated, threw a quick glance toward his attorney. This time, no reaction was forthcoming, so Pierce answered. “Yes, I believe he did.”
“
You believe
he did? Don’t you remember?”
You believe
he did? Don’t you remember?”
“All right, then. Yes, he did.”
“And when was that?”
Another stutter. “I—I’d have to check my calendar. I don’t know exactly.”
But Hardy was sure. “Perhaps I can help you remember, Mr. Pierce. Wasn’t it directly after Bree’s funeral?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? Do you remember what you did do after the funeral, Mr. Pierce?”
“Your Honor!” Jared Wright’s short fuse had lit up again. “Your Honor, I must protest. What is Mr. Hardy’s basis for any of these questions? Mr. Pierce isn’t on trial here. He doesn’t have to answer these questions.”
Braun pondered it for a moment. In actual fact, Pierce’s attorney was right. And while she admired Hardy’s point—he was treating this hearing the same way Scott Randall would conduct a grand jury proceeding— she should not allow this interrogation to go forward. The whole line of questioning was suspect.
But before she could even tell Wright that he was correct and make some kind of ruling, David Freeman stood and came to Hardy’s rescue. “Your Honor, Mr. Pierce can always take the Fifth.”
But things here were getting out of control. She tapped her gavel and glared over her podium. “Gentlemen, sit down. This is my courtroom and I will instruct in the law.” She turned to look down on the witness. “Mr. Pierce, if you feel that your answers will tend to incriminate you, you may invoke the Fifth Amendment. Do you wish to do so?”
Sweat had broken out on Pierce’s forehead and seemed to surprise him as he wiped a couple of fingers across it. If he took the Fifth, he knew that his troubles with the law would only be beginning—the police investigation going forward would be relentless.
Everyone had lost track of Wright’s objection that the original question was immaterial.
Hardy felt he could almost see the thoughts playing in the man’s head, deciding to take his chances here and now—put an end to the accusations and suspicions. It was a joy to watch. Pierce was successful, arrogant, insulated by money and position, and his worldview simply didn’t include the notion that mere mortals could best him in a fair fight. This was because there could never be a fair fight.
Pierce assumed a fighting pose—a palm down on the railing to the witness box—and spoke up to the judge. “I have nothing to hide, Your Honor, though I deeply resent these questions.”
And Braun had to admit that by permitting Hardy to continue without any evidentiary base, she was opening herself up to rebuke. But lawyers can ask anything they want unless the other party objects, and Pierce was answering.
“Your resentment, which is not a legal objection, is noted.” Braun turned her attention to Pierce’s tormentor. “Mr. Hardy,” she said sternly, “I will tolerate more questions only if you can provide the court with some kind of evidentiary framework. Otherwise, I’m going to dismiss this witness.”
Hardy stood still for a moment. “Of course, Your Honor.” He returned to his desk and this time brought a small handful of pages back with him. He first showed them to the judge, then handed a copy of one of them to the witness. “Mr. Pierce, do you recognize this document?”
Pierce gingerly held the paper out in front of him. His shoulders slumped visibly. Wright grabbed the paper from his client while Hardy kept talking. “Would you tell the court what this document is, Mr. Pierce?”
Pierce looked down, set his lips, looked back up. Couldn’t find his voice. Nor, apparently, could his attorney.
Hardy kept up his onslaught. “Would you please identify this document, Mr. Pierce? For the court?”
Pierce seemed not to hear. Eventually he sighed, seemingly unable to take his eyes off the document, reading the words silently over to himself.
Hardy: “It’s a letter written by you to Bree Beaumont, isn’t it?”
More silence.
“Would you characterize the document as a love letter?”
Pierce did not answer.
“Mr. Pierce, would you like me to read the first couple of lines to the court? Contrary to your earlier testimony, isn’t it a fact you were having an affair with her?”
By now, Wright was whispering furiously to his client, who seemed not to hear.
Hardy had to give it to him. The gears shifted quickly and smoothly. Damning revelation went to damage control in the blink of an eye. Pierce flipped a hand, trying and failing to make the gesture appear casual. “It was over long ago.”
“How long ago? A year? Five years?”
“Yes. Somewhere in there.”
Wright was beside himself with frustration and anger. “Your Honor, let the record reflect that anything Mr. Pierce says is against my advice.”
But Pierce had decided on his own approach. He broke a cold smile. “It was unimportant. A dalliance that I regret.” He turned again to the judge. “Out of respect for my wife, Your Honor, I tried to keep this from coming out in public. It was a mistake.”
But if he thought he’d get some sympathy from Braun, he was barking up the wrong tree. “Another mistake is perjury in my courtroom,” she said coldly.
Hardy kept up the press. “Mr. Pierce, I ask you again. When did this affair end?”
Perhaps unnerved by Marian Braun’s negative reaction, Pierce took a moment to reply. “I said I didn’t know.”
“Actually, that’s not what you said,” Hardy replied. “You said it was something like one or five years. Would you like the court recorder to read back your earlier answer?”
“No, that’s not necessary.” He appeared to be trying to recall, to cooperate. “I don’t know when we broke it off. Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Isn’t it true, Mr. Pierce, that your affair with Bree Beaumont ended only six months ago, about the same time she quit her job with Caloco?”
“No, it was longer ago than that.”
“But you don’t remember when?” he asked. “Exactly?”
“No.” Pierce was striving to hold his ground. “Just because I wanted to keep an affair private does not mean I killed her.”
“No,” Hardy agreed. “No, it doesn’t, but I haven’t asked if you killed her. Did you kill Bree Beaumont, Mr. Pierce?”
“No. Of course not.”
“But you did lie, under oath, about your relationship with her, isn’t that so?”
“Yes, I suppose I did. But I told you—”
“Mr. Pierce, did you also lie about your relationship with Sergeant Canetta?”
A nerve started to twitch slightly to the side of Pierce’s mouth. “I’ve told you. I had no relationship with Sergeant Canetta.”
“Did you not ask Sergeant Canetta to report to you on Bree Beaumont’s comings and goings after she broke off her relationship with you?”
“No, I didn’t do that.”
“And did you not pay him for this service?”
Pierce’s eyes strafed the courtroom, then settled back down. “No.”
“No,” Hardy repeated. “Mr. Pierce, did Sergeant Canettacome by your house last Saturday night, the night he was killed?”
Again, the twitch, the recovery. “No.”
“And did he not attempt to get more money out of you for misdirecting the investigation into Bree Beaumont’s death? Away from you?”
“No.”
“And did you not then invite him into your house to discuss this, and then—”
Finally, a true rise. Pierce came forward in the box, his eyes ablaze now. “No, no, no. I didn’t do any of that. You’re making all this up to discredit me.”
Marian Braun finally spoke up. “The witness has a point, Mr. Hardy. You’re making a lot of accusations without any show of proof.”
Hardy sucked in a lungful of air and let it out. “I have proof, Your Honor,” he said coolly. “Mr. Pierce is holding it in his hand.”
Pierce still held his letter to Bree and now, in the suddenly silent courtroom, he held it up again. But this betrayed the shaking in his hands, and he quickly put them down on the railing.
Braun pulled her glasses down on her nose and glared over them. “He’s already acknowledged perjury regarding his affair with Ms. Beaumont, Mr. Hardy. But that is not murder.”
“No, Your Honor, it isn’t. But there is evidence in the letters Mr. Pierce has identified that directly relates to Bree Beaumont’s murder.”
Braun hesitated—if Pierce hadn’t already perjured himself, she’d have stopped this right now—but she found herself nodding. She wanted to know. “But be careful, Mr. Hardy.”
He nodded. “If I may, Your Honor, I’d like to read to the court a portion of one of these letters.” Braun nodded.
“I live
Longing
Only for you.
Vast love
Eternal.
Young again
Overcome with it all
Untamed.”
Hardy didn’t wait for the treacly words to have any effect. They weren’t his point. “Nearly each of these letters has a similar poem in it, Your Honor.” He handed the letter he’d just read up to the podium. “As the court will note, the first letter of each line of the poem spells another message—in this case ‘I love you.’ As Your Honor will see, this is consistent with every poem in these letters.”
Braun turned through a couple of the pages, nodding. “All right.”
“The letter that Mr. Pierce now holds in his hand contains another similar poem.” He came up to the witness, lifting the paper from his hands. “May I?” He read, breaking the lines.
“Never have
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