Free The 13th Juror by John Lescroart Page A

fear and stress, then at least we've countered their argument.  Regardless of whether or not you killed him—"
    Jennifer was shaking her head.  "I didn't kill him, but if I did I was justified?  Is that it?"
    Hardy straightened up.  He had been thinking the same thing, that you could not have it both ways.  Reason or no reason, either she killed him or she didn't.
    Jennifer understood and cared about this distinction.  Good, Hardy thought.  But then, he had to face another countering thought…  an embezzler with a logical mind, capable of long-range planning and execution?  Was Jennifer Witt the kind of person who might just get away with murder?
    But Freeman wasn't backing away.  "We're going to find some defense out of all of this, but we'd damn well better be prepared for all the arguments, and to just keep repeating I didn't do it will not, I'm afraid, be effective."
    Hardy moved forward to the table.  Jennifer's face was hard, her eyes angry.  Tears threatened.  Suddenly Freeman reached across the table and covered Jennifer's hands with his own.  "Let's just talk, all right, Jennifer?  Did Larry hit you?"
    She nodded.  "But it wasn't… I mean, there were a couple of times he got physical, but… I guess they were my fault—"
    "How could it have been your fault?" Hardy said.
    "Well, I messed up.  I would just, I don't know, make a mistake and—"
    "And your husband would beat you?"  Freeman, who had heard it all from many clients, still sounded incredulous.
    Jennifer balled a fist and pounded the table.  Was that an act?  Hardy couldn't figure it.
    "Look, please, stop saying he beat me.  Maybe he did hit me a couple of times but it wasn't like he… he beat me up.  He'd get mad, yes.  But he loved me and it just disappointed him that I didn't live up to what I should have."
    "And then what?" Freeman said.
    "And then what what?"
    "What happened next, after Larry beat… hit… you?"  He didn't add, for your own good.  He waited.  This was getting serious.
    She hunched her head down again — the mannerism suggesting a cowed, beaten state of mind, and it was becoming almost familiar.  "He felt terrible, I know.  I couldn't believe I'd made him feel that way..."
    " You made him feel that way?  How did you do that?"
    "By messing up.  If I hadn't…"
    "He wouldn't have hit you?"
    "Yes.  Do you see?"
    Hardy and Freeman exchanged a look, then Freeman continued.  "So Larry felt bad after he hit you?"
    "Awful.  Really.  He did love me, you know.  I can see what you're thinking, and it's just not true.  He's the only one who knew the real me.  Afterward he'd be so affectionate, bring me flowers the next day."  Now something seemed to embarrass her.  "Sometimes, those were the best times.  Afterward, I mean."
    "After he hit you?"
    "But it was only a couple of times, wasn't it?  You just said that.  And a couple is two.  Might it have been three?" Freeman said.
    She didn't cave.  "No, no, it was two.  I didn't mean sometimes, I mean both times."  She nodded.  It seemed they had hit the bottom of that well.  But her reluctance to acknowledge the abuse was still hard to understand.
    Freeman glanced at the folder on the table in front of him.  "Let's talk about who did kill Larry if you didn't.  I mean, since you didn't.  Any ideas?"
    She took a minute to change gears, then reached for the coffee.  Her eyes were getting better.  "He worked hard, he was a doctor."
    "Yes, but did he have any enemies, anybody who might have it in for him?"
    "Well, maybe his first wife… I mean, this sounds so ridiculous, I don't want to accuse his first wife or anything.  I know she didn't kill him."
    "How do you know that, Jennifer?"
    "Well, I mean, she just wouldn't, not after all this time.  It wouldn't have made any sense."
    "Might it have earlier?"
    Playing with the styrofoam, picking at it, she shifted herself on the hard chair.  "Well, you know, it was one of those situations where she