Lying with Strangers

by James Grippando

  Peyton could hear noise in the background, like a crowded bar. “Okay, thanks.”

  She hung up, unsure of what to do. She’d never heard of Sylvester’s, but it was more than conceivable that Kevin had left the party and gone straight to a bar. Maybe he’d had a couple of drinks, called her from the pay phone, and then chickened out.

  She cinched up her bathrobe, went to the kitchen, and pulled out the yellow pages. Sylvester’s was in South Boston, relatively easy to reach by taxi at this time of night. But what was the point? She wasn’t even sure it was Kevin who had called. Better to stay put and wait for him to call again.

  She was suddenly hungry. Kevin had managed to rob her of an appetite for hors d’oeuvres at the cocktail party. The last she’d eaten was at the hospital’s noon lecture. She grabbed a boil-in-the-bag dinner from the freezer and dropped it in a pot of water on the stove. In twelve minutes it was done, in another eight she’d finished eating. After cleanup, it was almost 11:00 P.M. Still no word from Kevin.

  She stretched out on the living room couch and switched on the late news. It was the usual smattering of daily violence, but she was hardly watching. In her mind, she was already rehearsing her speech to Kevin for when he walked through the front door—which would be soon, hopefully. She’d tell him the truth, of course. It was about time for that.

  The question was, would he believe the truth?

  She grabbed the remote and channel surfed for something that might at least distract her, if not ease her mind.

  The phone rang. Peyton’s eyes opened to the sight of a test pattern on the television screen. She checked the clock on the mantel. It was 4:11 A.M.

  She’d fallen asleep on the couch, waiting up for Kevin. Obviously for nought. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and answered the phone. There was no dial tone but no reply, either. She sensed someone was on the line. “Hello,” she said, a little louder this time. Still, there was no response. She hung up and sat bolt upright on the couch. If that had been Kevin, she didn’t like the game he was playing.

  Seconds later, the phone rang again. She answered, “Who is this?”

  There was silence on the line. Again, she sensed the caller was still there. After several seconds, she detected the sound of someone breathing.

  “Who’s there?”

  The breathing became louder, and she quickly hung up. No way was that Kevin. He’d lost his temper at times, but never had he been that mean to her. Then again, he’d never had reason to believe she’d cheated on him before, either.

  Moments later, the phone rang again. She let it ring nine times before she finally answered. “I know who this is. Stop it, or I’m calling the police.”

  “Check your mail.”

  “What?”

  The line clicked. The caller was gone. She laid the phone in the cradle and paused, confused. Check the mail?

  Instinct told her to dial the police, but her curiosity said otherwise. She was sure it wasn’t Kevin, which meant it had to be the same joker who had stolen her computer—Gary. With any luck, he had been foolish enough to send her something in the mail that would help her prove he was harassing her. She rose from the couch and started toward the bedroom, where she’d left the mail unopened beside her purse. As she crossed the hallway, something caught her eye on the floor in the foyer. It was an envelope.

  She knew it hadn’t been there earlier. She’d picked up all the mail on her way in. Someone had evidently delivered it in the middle of the night as she lay sleeping on the couch. Slowly she approached and picked it up. It was a standard business-size envelope with no postage and nothing written on it at all. She opened it carefully. There was no letter inside. Just an inch-long lock of sandy brown hair. Human hair.

  Chills raced up her spine, as she was not sure what to make of it. She hurried back into the living room to dial the police, but just as she reached the phone the lights went out.

  She continued dialing, but the phone was dead. It was a cordless model that didn’t work without electricity. Through the front window she could see porch lights burning across the street. It was clear that someone had cut off her power, probably through the master circuit outside the building. That realization sent her heart racing.

  Her first impulse was to run out the door screaming her head off till she found a neighbor. But maybe that was exactly what he wanted her to do. Perhaps he was out there waiting. She needed another plan. Her gun was locked in a strong box on a shelf in the pitch-dark closet. Useless. She had another thought: the cell phone. It was buried at the bottom of her purse on the bed, where she’d left it.

  A dim glow from the street lamp streamed into the apartment, just enough to feel her way down the hall now that her eyes had adjusted. It was progressively darker as she neared the bedroom, and her steps became more tentative. She only assumed the power had been cut off from the outside. She’d never really fiddled with the circuit breakers. That was Kevin’s realm. What if they were inside? What if he was inside?

  A ringing noise pierced the darkness. It was from the bedroom. She was about to scream, then realized what it was. It was coming from her purse.

  Someone was calling her on her cell phone.

  Peyton didn’t move. It kept ringing. She entered the bedroom slowly, then approached one step at a time, feeling her way along the edge of the bed until she could reach across the mattress and grab the purse. She dug inside and answered in a shaky voice.

  “Hello.”

  “Got your lover.” The voice was garbled, disguised by a mechanical device. It had a low, almost underwater creepiness to it.

  “Who is this?”

  “I said, I have your lover.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “His name’s Gary Varne.”

  “Who is this?”

  “I have pictures. Drinks at Chauncy’s. Dancing at Colombo’s. You lying on his bed while he undressed you.”

  Peyton froze. He knew the exact bars she and Gary had visited that night. “What do you want?”

  “Ten thousand dollars. Cash. Or your husband sees the pictures.”

  Her throat tightened. She realized that the pictures wouldn’t show that she’d been sick and was unconscious while Gary had removed her soiled clothing. “I won’t be blackmailed.”

  “Then don’t pay me. Or better yet, go to the police. You do either of those things and Gary Varne lands on your doorstep. Dead.”

  “You mean, you’ve kidnapped him?”

  “Bingo. If you’re smart, you pay. If you’re dumb, he dies. Do you understand me?”

  She now realized the hair in the envelope was Gary’s. It was his exact color. She could barely speak. “Yes. I understand.”

  “In two days I’ll call again. Have the cash in order. And don’t even think about calling the cops.”

  She clutched the phone till she heard the dial tone. Unable to move, she simply stared into the darkness. It had all been a horrible mistake. And now Gary Varne had been kidnapped. By some guy with pictures.

  Now what do I tell Kevin?

  32

  THE DEAD BOLT CLICKED AT DAWN. PEYTON RACED TO THE FRONT door AS it opened. In walked Kevin.

  “Thank God you’re back.”

  He looked awful, eyes puffy. He was wearing the same suit he’d worn to last night’s cocktail party. “I’ve been up all night.”

  “Where?”

  “My office.”

  “I called your office.”

  “I know. I just didn’t pick up. What you said last night set me off in a bad way, but ultimately that’s not what bothers me.” He lowered his eyes, then looked straight at her. “There’s something I should have told you a long time ago.”

  “No,” she said in her most serious tone. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  For fifteen minutes Peyton laid it all out, from her mistaken assumption that Kevin had cheated, to her latest suspicions that Gary was harassing her, and finally to the call from the ki
dnapper. He listened to every word, she was sure of it, barely moving in the chair opposite hers at the kitchen table.

  Finally, he spoke. “We’re not going to pay.”

  “He said he’d kill Gary if we went to the police.”

  “Not to worry. We’re not going to the police.”

  “You can’t just ignore it.”

  “Do you have feelings for him?”

  “No. I told you, we went out drinking, I got sick and—”

  “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  “Yes. It’s the truth.”

  “Would you believe it, if you were me?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. He seized on her hesitation.

  “You shouldn’t have to think about that one.”

  “Kevin, let’s not make this about the two of us and every problem we’ve ever had. Gary is in danger. Let’s focus on that.”

  “He was harassing you, for crying out loud. Two minutes ago you said he stole your computer.”

  “I said I thought he’d stolen it. In light of this, I’m not so sure it was him. I’m not even sure the rose on my locker was from him either. He denied all of it each time I confronted him. It’s possible he basically left me alone after I walked out of his apartment. In a way, I’ve been the one harassing him with false accusations.”

  “Sounds to me like you do have feelings for him.”

  “I just want to do the right thing.”

  “Which would be what, in your view?”

  “We should call the police.”

  “Let’s not be knee-jerk. We need to think this through.”

  “We can’t pretend this didn’t happen. What if this threat is for real? Gary could get killed.”

  “He’s not going to get killed.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I think it’s him.”

  “What?”

  “The kidnapper is Gary. Who else would have pictures of you undressed? Was there anyone else in the room?”

  She stopped and thought for a second. “That’s a good point.”

  “Don’t you see? He staged it.”

  “But why would he do that?”

  “Because he’s a scumbag and he’s pissed. You told him I had cheated, you went out partying with him, and you spent the night at his place. Then you told him that you were wrong, I hadn’t cheated, and that you and I had patched this up. You said yourself he was obviously ticked off about that and nearly blew a gasket right there in the hospital cafeteria. He had a thing for you, and you jerked him around and then dumped him. For the second time in his life you’ve dumped him, and both times it was for me. So now he’s going to make us pay the only way he can. He’s going to squeeze some money out of us.”

  “Why a staged kidnapping? Why wouldn’t he just blackmail me?”

  “It’s a clever ploy on his part. If he were to come to you and say ‘Give me ten thousand dollars or I’ll tell your husband we had sex,’ he could go to jail for extortion. But the kidnapping ruse gives him a layer of protection. If you pay the phony ransom, he pockets the money. If you call the police, he pretends he really was kidnapped. This way, he doesn’t have to make any explicit demands that you could tape-record and hand over to the district attorney for a slam-dunk conviction on charges of extortion.”

  “That sounds like something a lawyer would concoct. Not Gary.”

  “Maybe he’s smarter than you think.”

  “I just don’t want to be wrong about this.”

  “How did you leave it with the caller?”

  “He wants me to have the money ready in two days. He said he’d call back.”

  “Perfect. When he calls back, tell him you already confessed to your husband. Tell him I’m cool with it.”

  “Stop it, Kevin. There’s nothing to be cool with. I didn’t cheat on you.”

  “That’s really irrelevant.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because if you didn’t cheat on me, I’m happy. If you did, I love you, and I forgive you. It’s as simple as that.”

  She wished he would believe her, but it heartened her to think that he really loved her enough to forgive her. Or was he just saying that?

  “This is such a mess,” she said.

  “Nothing we can’t handle. When that kidnapper calls again for the ransom, I want you to tell him that we decided Gary Varne isn’t worth ten cents, let alone ten grand.”

  “I just want to go to the police.”

  “Will you forget the police, please?”

  “I’m afraid someone is going to get hurt.”

  “No one is going to get hurt. I’m telling you, there is no kidnapping. It’s Varne.”

  Their eyes met, then Peyton blinked and let go of his hand. Only a few times before had she seen that look on Kevin’s face. She knew his mind was made up.

  “You’re angry,” she said.

  “Yes, I am. But I’m not speaking out of anger.”

  Her gaze drifted toward the phone. She dreaded the thought of another call from the kidnapper in two days, the thought of what she was going to tell him.

  “I hope you’re right about this,” she said quietly. “God, do I hope you’re right.”

  33

  KEVIN FELT USELESS. EVEN IF HE HADN’T BEEN PHYSICALLY EXHAUSTed from lack of sleep, he was way too preoccupied to practice law.

  He faked his way through some easy billable hours in a morning conference call among eleven different lawyers who represented four different defendants in a nationwide consumer class action. Thankfully, two lawyers from New York did most of the talking, plotting clever ways to delay the trial until well after the thirty-six-year-old judge who’d been kicking their collective asses died of old age.

  For lunch he ordered a sandwich and ate alone in his office. It was tasteless, neither bad nor good, like old gum. Don’s Deli strikes again. Or maybe it was him. This was part of the overall numbing of the senses. First to go was the subconscious sense of guilt. Next were the physical senses. By morning, he’d be a zombie with no remorse. Such were the effects of habitual lying.

  It did seem to be habit forming. He’d sat at the kitchen table and listened to Peyton’s painful explanation about Gary Varne, never uttering a peep about him and Sandra. It hadn’t seemed like the right time. It never seemed like the right time.

  The door opened. Ira Kaufman entered and closed the door behind him. “I need a decision,” he said.

  Kevin set his cardboard sandwich aside. “On what?”

  “Your book. I wasn’t kidding. I’m not going to let you publish it as written.”

  “Then fire me if you want. I’m not going to change a word.”

  “Don’t be a fool. I’m giving you a chance to keep your job. If you spit in my eye, you’ll lose your job and the lawsuit.”

  “What lawsuit?”

  He pitched a file onto Kevin’s desk. “This one.”

  “You actually sued me?”

  “Not yet. As a courtesy, I’m giving you a chance to read it over before we file. Hopefully, you’ll come to your senses. If you don’t, we’ll file by Friday and have an injunction by Monday.”

  “You can’t get an injunction against the publication of my book. First Amendment. Freedom of speech. Any of that ring a bell?”

  “Read it. I think you’ll be surprised. Unpleasantly.” He smiled thinly as he opened the door and left.

  Kevin glanced at the file on his desk but didn’t reach for it. He was more intrigued by the timing than the content. Sandra must have reported back to Ira about their encounter at the cocktail party last night. Maybe she’d even told him about the argument she’d undoubtedly overheard, he and Peyton wrestling over infidelity. Ira was a master of timing. Hitting ’em while they were down was his patented punch, and this was the kind of low blow that Ira would especially covet. The sense of poetic justice would have enormous appeal, the way Kevin’s life was imitating his own fiction. A successful woman cheats on her husband.
Her lover is kidnapped.

  Just like in his book.

  Of course, Ira couldn’t possibly know that the second half of Kevin’s story had played out in real life—the kidnapping. The only people who knew that were Peyton, himself, and the kidnapper. Just the three of them.

  He leaned back in his chair, concerned, wondering if the thought had yet crossed Peyton’s mind that perhaps it was just the two of them—Peyton and himself.

  Peyton worked a typical thirteen-hour shift at the hospital on both Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday started with morning rounds, followed by a chance to observe one of her six-month-old male patients undergo surgery for a stomach disorder that she had correctly diagnosed as pyloric stenosis. She thanked God she wasn’t the surgeon. Her mind was a million miles away.

  The deadline had technically passed at 4:00 A.M., if by “two days” the kidnapper had meant exactly forty-eight hours. Peyton was glad for the extra time.

  Gary hadn’t been to work since Monday evening. Yesterday she’d discreetly asked so many people whether they’d seen Gary that her mission was becoming not so discreet. Only this morning was she able to nail down that he had called in sick early Tuesday morning, just a few hours after she’d gotten the kidnapper’s call. At first she’d taken that to mean that Kevin was right. Gary had staged his own kidnapping. On reflection, however, it seemed just as plausible that the kidnapper had forced him to call in sick so that his sudden disappearance wouldn’t be cause for alarm.

  The stomach surgery was a success. Peyton was due back in the ER after watching it, but she stopped at the lounge to use the phone. Just to see what would happen, she dialed Gary’s home number. The machine picked up. His usual greeting played, followed by at least a dozen beeps, one for each message already on it. The machine switched off without giving her a chance to talk. It was too full to take any more messages. If he was staging a kidnapping, he was at least doing a convincing job with respect to unanswered phone messages.

  Dr. Sheffield entered the lounge just as she was checking her mailbox.