Hard Evidence

‘Yes, we were.’

‘And you spoke often, saw each other often?’

‘Yes. At least once a week, often more.’

‘Going sailing, having di

‘Yes.’

‘Now in the last few weeks of your father’s life, did this pattern continue?’

‘Well, yes. I know I talked to him the week -’ she lowered her eyes – ‘the week he died, for example. It had been normal.’

‘And did you talk about any particular subject most of the time?’

‘No, not really. We talked about a lot of things. We were very close, like old friends.’

‘I see. You talked about a lot of things – business associates, sports, gossip, personal matters?’

‘Pretty much, yes…’

‘Now, during these last weeks, did he ever mention the name of Andy Fowler, either to you or in your presence?’

She considered. ‘No, not that I remember.’

Hardy walked back to the defense table and picked up some papers. ‘I have here,’ he said, ‘a copy of the transcript of your testimony before the grand jury in which you said that your father had told you he was pla

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And yet we know that May Shi

It wasn’t a question, and Chomorro took the opportunity to lean down from the bench. ‘I trust you’re going somewhere here, Mr Hardy.’

He really wasn’t. He was telling Celine he hadn’t forgotten about that testimony. He apologized to the judge and went back to his table, replacing the transcript.

Turning, he started over in a mellower tone. ‘Ms Nash, your father took a great deal of pride in his boat, did he not?’

Easier ground. ‘He loved it,’ she said, sitting back. ‘It was like a home to him. His real home.’

‘You were familiar with it, then? You spent a lot of time on board?’ Casual.

‘Well, yes. But not so much recently… He was taking May out on it a good deal.’

‘Do you know, did you father tell you, if May Shi

Pullios stood up. ‘Your Honor, I know we’re on boats here, but this is a little too much fishing for my taste.’

‘Mr Hardy, do you have a point?’

‘Your Honor, sometime between Wednesday night, June twenty-fourth, and the next afternoon the person who killed Owen Nash brought the murder weapon back onto the Eloise. That person would need a key.’

‘Your Honor! This is outrageous. How does this unsubstantiated claim relate to this proceeding, to Mr Fowler, to anything? No evidence has been entered, even hinted at, on this point.’

Hardy knew this would be the response, but he had to get the message to Celine that he knew. He kept calm.

Her face, he noticed, had gone pale, although at the moment no one else was looking at her. He was at the center of the storm.

‘Mr Hardy,’ Chomorro said, ‘we’ve heard Sergeant Glitsky testify that he found the gun on Thursday aboard the Eloise. Do you have a witness with a different version of events?’

‘No, Your Honor, not yet.’

‘Well, this is neither the time nor the place to find it. Is there anything relevant you’d like to ask Ms Nash? Otherwise…’

He leaned over toward Celine as Hardy said no. ‘The court apologizes, Ms Nash. If Ms Pullios has no objection…?’

‘No, pass the witness,’ Pullios said.

When Hardy sat down, Fowler whispered to him. ‘What the hell was all that about? If that’s the best we got, then let me up there.’

Celine was cool, but he’d always known that. She walked by his table without a glance at him. He turned to watch her go back to her seat on the aisle. Thank God, he thought. As he’d assumed, she wasn’t leaving.

Finally Andy Fowler took the stand, and Hardy led him through the testimony they had rehearsed fifty times. He did look good up there, Hardy thought. Self-assured, confident, speaking clearly, giving the jury his attention and respect.

They went through it all from the begi

‘I didn’t hire him to find out about Owen Nash,’ Fowler said. ‘I don’t deny that was what he found, but I just wanted to know why May would not see me anymore. I thought she might even be in some trouble. I just wanted to know, and she had made it clear she didn’t want to talk to me about it.’

They went over how the fingerprints came to be on the clip of the gun, the tortuous and unlikely route that May’s proceeding had traveled to wind up in Andy’s courtroom.

‘And once it was there,’ Fowler said, ‘I felt it was too late. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake, but it wasn’t something I had contrived. It just happened – it fell in my lap.’

He admitted the lies to his colleagues, portraying himself – accurately, Hardy thought – as a man torn between his private needs and his professional position. ‘I should have asked her to marry me months before and taken whatever came from that,’ he said. ‘But I never thought about losing her until she was gone. And then, again, it was too late.’ Flat out.

As to his weekend in the Sierras, what could he say? He had gone up to clear his head, with the express purpose of seeing no one. He had succeeded only too well. He wished he hadn’t. ‘It would have saved the state’ – he took in the jurors – ‘and the jury much time, trouble and expense.’

In all, it took less than two hours of relaxed if meticulous testimony. Fowler remained composed, saying what needed to be said.

Pullios was obliged to charge not like a bull but like a terrier, holding onto his trouser leg, hoping to pull him off balance. Watching her work, Hardy was struck once again by her passion. Here was no act – every ounce of her dripped with the conviction that Andy Fowler lied with every breath he drew and had cold-bloodedly murdered Owen Nash.

‘Would you say, Mr Fowler, that you are an avid camper?’

The judge smiled. ‘No, not particularly.’

‘How many times, roughly, have you been camping in, say, the past year?’

‘Just the once, I’m sure of that.’

‘How about in the past couple of years?’

‘No.’

‘No what?’

‘No, I’ve only gone that once in the last few years. I’m a pretty busy man. Or have been…’

‘And yet last June, out of the blue, you suddenly decided to take a weekend off and go backpacking in the high Sierras?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Would you mind telling us where you ate on Friday night? Friday night was the night you left town, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. It was one of those spots up Highway Fifty above Placerville. I don’t remember the exact name.’

‘Do you recall what town it was near?’

Fowler shook his head. ‘No, I’m really not too familiar with the area.’

‘Do you remember what you ate?’

His frown grew pronounced. ‘I believe I ate a steak.’ He tried some levity. ‘But since I’m under oath I won’t swear to it.’

She kept at it. Was it dark when he had finished di

It was getting to him. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I didn’t give a great deal of thought to that weekend until after I was charged with this crime. It was simply a weekend away, not one to remember.’

‘Yes,’ Pullios said, turning to the jury, ‘we can see that.’

She moved along, as Hardy feared she would, to the stipulation about Fowler knowing not only that the gun was on the boat but exactly where it had been kept.

‘And this was after you had broken up, you found this out?’

‘Yes.’

‘When May Shi