Free The 13th Juror by John Lescroart

could manage.  The amounts had grown to almost a thousand a month, and she had learned to invest it in high-risk stocks so that the account now totaled close to three-hundred-thousand dollars, unencumbered and liquid.
    "Well," said Freeman, allowing himself a smile, "if you still want us, Mrs. Witt, you've got us."
    Hardy did not smile.  Jennifer's revelation, however justifiable she might make it seem, still bothered him.  He'd rather not have known, to tell the truth.

6

    "Tell me about Larry Witt."
    Jennifer and Freeman sat across the table from one another.  Hardy was a fly on the wall against the inside of the door.  Freeman had produced a thermos of coffee from his briefcase, and three styrofoam cups now steamed on the table.
    "What do you want to know?  About him and me?"
    "I want to know everything."  Freeman had his coat and one arm draped over the back of his chair.  He slouched, his shirt was half untucked.  "But I suppose we should start with how often he beat you up."
    Jennifer blinked, then recovered.  Her eyes widened, went to Freeman, then settled on Hardy.  "I said we were fighting, not that Larry beat me."
    Freeman put out his hand, back toward Hardy, keeping him from responding.  He spoke soothingly.  "But he did beat you?"
    "I don't see why that would matter."
    Freeman kept his voice low, persuasive.  "It matters, Jennifer, because it gives you a defense.  It gives the jury something they can hold onto."  Hardy couldn't help noticing this was not what Freeman had told Dr. Lightner downstairs when he had characterized the battered-wife defense, given the death of Matt, as a hard sell to the jury.  "In fact, though, he did beat you?"
    She took a moment, the muscle in her jaw working.  " I didn't kill Larry , Mr. Freeman.  I don't care what reason you come up with why I might have, I didn't …  What about Matt?  My God, are they going to say I killed Matt too?"
    "They're already saying that, Jennifer."
    Her laugh was so brittle it broke.  "And what's their reason?  For me to do that ?  Have you thought about it?  How are they saying I killed my son?"
    Freeman kept his voice flat, quiet.  "Matt's not what we're talking about, Jennifer.  Right now we're talking about Larry."
    "I don't care about Larry."  Jennifer slapped the table.  " I didn't kill Matt .  Don't you understand that?"  She looked up at Hardy.
    He felt he had to answer her.  "They're going to say that Matt just showed up by accident, that you panicked or he got in the way of you shooting Larry."
    She closed her eyes, breathing heavily now.  "But… but if it was an accident it's not first degree murder, is it?  I mean, it didn't happen, but if they say it did, it's not the same as Larry…"  Her face was deathly pale.
    Hardy was tempted to explain it as Drysdale and Powell had put it to him.  He resisted, but it worried him some that she had even asked, followed by a quick denial.
    At the same time, as though he had just confirmed something to himself, Freeman nodded, straightened himself and sat forward, cradling his hands on the table.  His voice, again, was carefully modulated, but it was a master's instrument, and this time, beneath the soothing tone, thrummed a hint of a threat.  "I want you to be very clear on something here, Jennifer.  I am not accusing you of anything.  But you should know that I will neither believe nor disbelieve anything you tell me.  Anything.  Whether you did it or didn't do it.  Why or why not."
    "But I didn't—"
    Freeman held up a flat palm.  "You must believe me that if your husband, in fact, did hit you, the prosecution will hammer that point again and again as one motive for you to have killed him.  Now, if one time you and Larry had a fight and he struck you, that isn't going to satisfy most juries that he gave you a reason to kill him.  But if we can come back and show that this was a recurring event in your marriage, that you were living in a state of constant