Dismas Hardy 07 - The Hearing by John Lescroart

Author:John Lescroart
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, General, Legal, Fiction
ISBN: 9780451204899
Publisher: Signet
Published: 2002-01-29T06:00:00+00:00

On his way down to the Hall, Hardy decided to stop by the Chronicle’s main office and see if Jeff Elliot was in, a virtual certainty at this time of the morning. He’d just gotten into the reporter’s office and said hello when the building began to shake. Reflexively, Hardy backed up into the doorway, said, “Earthquake. Get under a beam.”

Elliot was in his wheelchair. He kept his hands on his keyboard, cast an amused, tolerant look across the room. “Okay, sure, I’m on it.”

The shaking—really no more than a quick minor jolt—passed. Hardy stayed under his beam, and Jeff held out his hands as though feeling for raindrops. “Two on the Richter,” he said. “I don’t move ’til we get to six.” He indicated a chair on the other side of his desk. “You can stay in the doorway if you want, but it might be five years before another good shake. You’ll get pretty bored. The seat’s more comfy.”

Hardy waited another moment for the possible next temblor. When, after a few seconds, it didn’t come, he moved forward. “It’s good to see a man with no fear of nature’s wrath.”

Elliot glanced out into the city room, where the small quake had pretty much passed unnoticed. “My computer didn’t even blink, Diz. I’m not going to die in an earthquake, I promise you. Way less chance than lightning, and that’s the rule in our house.”

“You have a rule about lightning in your house? Us,” Hardy said, sitting down, “we just flat don’t allow it.”

“No. Not lightning, getting killed by lightning.”

“You have a rule about getting killed by lightning?”

Jeff sat back, pulled his hands off his keyboard and rested his arms on the sides of his wheelchair. “Actually, yes. Ridiculous as it may sound, we have a rule about not worrying about something unless it’s more likely than getting killed by lightning.”

“I like it,” Hardy said. “Let me guess—your girls are plagued by the occasional random fear?”

“Ha! Occasional. I’d pay large dollars for ‘occasional.’ It’s everything.” He tried a smile to make light of it, but Hardy could see it was about as funny as his own daughter’s constant fears, which was not at all. “Everything, I swear to God,” Jeff repeated. “Plane crashes, AIDS, the hantavirus, terrorists, zits, snakes, nuclear accidents, spiders, child molesters on every street corner, the dark—Lord, the dark!—walking home alone . . . everything.”

“You left out heart attacks,” Hardy said. “The Beck’s afraid of getting a heart attack now since Glitsky did.”

“Don’t worry,” Jeff replied. “If Nicole hears about that, it’s on the list.”

“I tell the Beck that twelve-year-olds rarely die of heart attacks. She doesn’t care. It could happen, couldn’t it? And no warning. Abe didn’t have any warning. I tell her Abe isn’t twelve. Ask me if she cares. This until eleven-thirty last night.” Hardy was leaning back, an ankle on his opposite knee. He dragged a hand across his eyes. “Sometimes I think it must be us, always telling them to watch out for this, watch out for that, especially the girls.

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