John Lescroart by The Hearing Page B

the jail. They wouldn’t be taking care of him like this.” The woman’s effusiveness was slightly overwhelming. She grabbed Hardy’s hand in both of hers and held it tightly.
    Eventually freeing his hand, he cast his eyes beyondher, to the suspect. He had to work to keep his tone neutral. “And you’re Cole. How are you doing?”
    Jody popped right in, answering for her son. “He’s going to be fine, just fine, aren’t you, Cole?” Protectively, she was moving back toward the bed.
    â€œI don’t know, Mom. I don’t know if ‘fine’ really covers it.” The young man’s voice was deep with a raspy quality and a slight but recognizable defect in enunciation. Hardy knew the latter could be simple fatigue, but more likely it was the telltale slur of long-term drug use. “Another day in that cell,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”
    â€œThey were going to let him die,” Mrs. Burgess offered. “They just wanted him to suffer.”
    Hardy shook his head, told her a white lie. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Not intentionally anyway. They don’t do that.”
    â€œThen why . . . ?”
    â€œThey process a lot of people every day at the jail. This was just one of the times somebody fell through the cracks. The good news is we found out soon enough.” Hardy saw that he was going to have to talk through Jody and didn’t know how long he was going to have the patience for it. He addressed himself directly to Cole. “So they’ve got you on methadone?”
    â€œIt’s kicked in, yeah.”
    Again, the mother. “It’s to help with the withdrawal pains. The idea is to lessen the dose so his body gradually—”
    â€œMom!”
    She stopped, clamping her mouth tight with a pained expression. “I’m sorry. I just want Mr. Hardy to understand . . .” Her voice trailed off.
    â€œHe’s probably got the idea.” To Hardy. “Right?”
    â€œSome.” He softened his inflection, gave her another reassuring smile. “Mrs. Burgess.” A pause. “Jody. I’d like a few minutes alone with Cole if you don’t mind.”
    It hurt her anew, but there was no avoiding that. Herworried gaze fell on her son, came back to Hardy. “Of course, sure, I understand.”
    But she didn’t move until he prompted her. “Just knock at the door and the guard will come and let you out. We won’t be too long.”
    Â 
    â€œShe’s all right, really,” Cole said when the door had closed behind his mother. “She’s trying to help.”
    But now, suddenly, with the innocent mother out of the room, Hardy abruptly abandoned chitchat mode. He might have wanted to spare some of her feelings, but he felt no similar compunction toward her son. Moving down to the foot of the bed, he rested his hands on the railing, looked Cole hard in the face, spoke with a flat deliberateness. “Tell me what happened the other night.”
    The change in tone met its mark. The young man inhaled sharply, shifted his eyes from side to side, finally focused on the sheet in front of him. “It was bad.”
    Hardy gave it a second, then reached over and slapped the bed next to Cole’s foot.
    Startled, Cole looked up. Hardy’s expression made him take another deep breath, which he let out slowly through puffed cheeks. “I mean, I was in bad shape. It was cold as hell, man. I remember that. I hadn’t scored all day.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI had to get some money. I thought I might go and hit up Mom, but then”—he sighed again—“then the cramps started to come on, so I didn’t want to go all the way out where she lives.”
    â€œWhere’s that?”
    â€œLike Judah, out in the Sunset. I score at Sixteenth and Mission. It was too far.”
    â€œSo you decided