Страница 60 из 98
"Sure. He was my best friend. I mean he still is."
June said, "He wants to go visit him in jail, but after they arrested Andrew, the police said it might not be good to let the two of them talk, since he was going to be a prosecution witness."
"I wouldn't change what I said, Mom. I'm not going to lie."
"No. Of course you're not, La
"We thought it seemed like a reasonable suggestion," Mark added. "That's all."
Hardy smiled tolerantly at the parents. He was starting to see why they both wanted to be here while he talked to La
"I'd do that."
"Good. Let's talk about the gun. When you first saw it, what was your reaction?"
La
June spoke up. "We don't understand why he didn't tell… well, at least somebody about it right away."
"I didn't want to get Andrew in trouble." His eyes implored Hardy to ignore his mother. "We've gone through this a hundred times. I didn't think he was going to use it."
"Why not?"
"It's just not who he is. When I talked to the police, they just wanted to hear about how Andrew had the gun and talked about using it. Which he did, I'm not denying that. But that was like way back in December, definitely before Christmas, while they were still broken up. By the time of the killings, it wasn't an issue at all anymore."
"But he still had the gun?"
La
Mark cleared his throat. "Now, wait a minute, La
June concurred. "He didn't bring it on himself."
La
Hardy sat back. "So there was no blowup in the last day or two?"
"No. Not that I knew."
"And Laura and Andrew were solid. Together."
"More than ever, I think." He flashed to his parents. "I guess everybody knows she was pregnant by now."
"Andrew says he didn't know it while she was alive."
"That's true," La
Mark came forward, his eyes alight with a possibility. "Hey, what about this? Maybe Laura told him she was pregnant that night and Andrew thought it was Mooney's…"
La
"Maybe it was Mr. Mooney's baby, though," June said. "Maybe they did have a relationship, Mr. Mooney and Laura, back when Andrew was first worried about it…"
Hardy put a stop to the argument. "Even if they did," he said, "the baby was Andrew's. They took his DNA when they booked him. He was the father."
"And Mooney didn't do it with Laura, Mom, for God's sake. He just didn't!"
"How do you know that?" June asked. "I don't see how you can be so sure."
"If I may," Hardy interjected. "Mrs. Ropke, do you have some reason to think he did?"
Silence descended. June Ropke's eyes had gone wide with surprise, and an embarrassed giggle escaped. "Well, no, of course not. I mean…" Her eyes went to her husband, then La
Hardy brought a hand up to his mouth. Andrew's short story had introduced this basic topic, but this was the first corroboration of it he'd heard in the real world. Earlier in the day, he'd talked to the principal at Sutro, and Mr. Wagner had scoffed at the idea. Mr. Mooney was a charismatic and relatively young teacher, and girls undoubtedly got crushes on him, but he had never to Wagner's knowledge had a breath of scandal surface. From Hardy's perspective, though, if rumors about Mooney were even circulating, then regardless of their substance this would add credibility to the prosecution's theory of Andrew's motive.
"I haven't ever heard anything like that," Mark said. "And if there was even a shred of truth to it, Sutro would have kicked him out. I'm sure of that."
"That's why I've never believed them, either," June said. Although Hardy was not sure this was the truth.
He turned to the young man. "What about you, La
"I'd never heard that," La
Hardy knew that if he were going to introduce any plausible alternative theory of the murders for either a jury or a judge to consider, he had to get more of a handle on the lives and circumstances of the two victims. If he could somehow establish that someone else had a strong motive to kill either or both of them, Hardy might be able to create some doubt about Andrew. At this stage, he'd take almost anything. But Laura's parents had already shut him out.
That left Mike Mooney. He'd thought that La
Any thought of spending time this weekend with Fra
The door opened. "Mr. Hardy?" A practiced, formal smile. "Please, come in." He offered a hand. "I'm Ned Mooney."
Mooney's father lived on the property of the Baptist church which he served as minister, although he wasn't wearing a clerical collar tonight at home, but a black V-neck pullover and black slacks. Hardy followed him into a dim, well-furnished semi-sunken living room with a baby grand piano in one corner and a lifetime of books and magazines on the dark wood built-in bookshelves. He took the deep red leather chair- one of a pair of them- that Mooney indicated. The reverend took the other one, sat back, smiled his professional smile again, threw one leg over the other and clasped his hands on his lap.
There were deep bags under his eyes, a sallowness to the skin which wasn't just the poor lighting. A few strands of gray hair covered his scalp. Reverend Mooney looked to be at least seventy years old. Though his handshake had been firm and his walk to this room steady, Hardy sensed a deep fatigue, as though he were drawing upon his last reserves of strength. "You said you're defending the boy accused of shooting Michael," he began in a very quiet voice, "so I'm not sure what I'll be able to do to help you."