Back when they were still happy, Hardy's wife would smile fondly and say, "God, Alec, you're a terrible liar."
She was right, of course. He was absolutely rubbish. But, it didn't matter in those days. He didn't have much to hide.
"Where's Mum?" his daughter asks, as they prepare for dinner.
"Oh, she's staying late again," he answers casually.
Really, though, his wife clocked out on time. He has no idea where she is, but a strong suspicion about who she's with.
"I was driving back to the station. Only stopped for a minute. Some bugger must have nicked the evidence from the car. Damn! Sorry." He looks around at his dejected team.
"We're going to lose this case, now, aren't we?" he asks the solicitor. "That pendant was the key."
Across the room, he meets his wife's eyes pointedly, "And now it's gone. We've got nothing left."
The voices at Jack Marshall's funeral blur together. Hardy's vision clouds as his heart races. No longer sure which way is up, he staggers forward, falling into the doorframe. Strong arms guide him to the sofa, where he sits heavily.
They think he's had too much to drink. And, even though he's not touched a drop, he lets them believe it. Because overindulging at a funeral is understandable; it's a temporary condition. Heart arrhythmia is not.
(A lie of omission: he's good at those.)
The evidence in the case is mounting fast, and Hardy knows these are developments he must keep to himself. The final pieces click into place: the phone call, the confession.
He wants to hide it from her. Maybe, get someone else to deliver the news. But Ellie deserves to hear it from him. So he takes a breath, and with three simple words, utters the truth that shatters her world. "It was Joe."