Lying with Strangers

by James Grippando

  She considered his words and shot back a look that cut right through him. “Funny. I have the exact same worries about you.” Then she turned and left the room.

  59

  PEYTON AND TONY HAD DINNER AT HIS OFFICE. PEYTON WAS IN NO hurry to go home to her parents, and she and Tony had plenty of work to do.

  Ohn had introduced the government’s final element of proof after the lunch break—a gun registration, showing that Peyton had owned a .38-caliber weapon, coupled with testimony from Detective Bolton that the gun was not found in the search of her apartment. With that, the prosecution rested. The defense argued motions for judgment of acquittal, urging the judge to throw out the case for insufficient proof. The judge listened patiently, then denied the motions. Tony gave the delayed opening statement on Peyton’s behalf, and they adjourned at 5:00 P.M. with orders to reconvene at 9:00 A.M. for the start of the case for the defense.

  “How deep of a hole am I in?” asked Peyton.

  They were seated on opposite sides of the conference table, the city lights of downtown Boston glowing outside the big plate-glass window. Half-empty cartons of Chinese takeout cluttered the polished mahogany between them.

  “He kept it simple,” said Tony. “Your affair. Your argument with Kevin. The dead body found in your car. Your attempted suicide. The thirty-eight-caliber handgun missing from your apartment, which is exactly the type of weapon that killed Gary Varne. A completely circumstantial case, but it might be enough.”

  “That schoolteacher already has me convicted, I can tell.”

  “There’s at least a couple others who I think are solid for us. Your schoolteacher might change her mind once she hears what they have to say back in the jury room.”

  “I don’t want to wait that long. Hopefully I’ll change her mind once she hears what I have to say.”

  Tony dropped his egg roll, then laid his chopsticks aside. “That’s something we need to talk about.”

  “My testimony?”

  “Whether you testify at all is the first question.”

  “You just said there’s a chance I’ll be convicted. I’m not going to let that happen without telling my side of the story.”

  “I fully understand your impulse. But there are two things I want to talk out with you before you commit to the idea of taking the stand in your own defense.”

  She drank her soda. “Go ahead.”

  “First, how are we going to handle the Gary Varne affair?”

  “I’m going to say it never happened, of course.”

  “Well, not exactly. You’re going to say that you invited your ex-lover out for a drink, that you went dancing, that you drank so much you don’t even remember what happened, and that all you know is that you woke up the next afternoon in his apartment in his bed wearing only panties and his T-shirt.”

  “But we didn’t have sex.”

  Tony rolled his head back, groaning. “No reasonable juror is ever going to believe that you didn’t have sex.”

  “So what do you want me to say?” she said, scoffing. “That I had sex with Gary, even though I didn’t?”

  He just looked at her, stonefaced.

  Peyton said, “You can’t be serious.”

  “In my opinion, you need to look those jurors straight in the eye, admit to that affair, and tell them you regretted it. If you deny it, they won’t believe another word out of your mouth.”

  “You expect me to lie under oath and admit to an affair I never had?”

  “Your alternative is to not testify at all.”

  “My alternative is to take the stand and tell the truth.”

  “That’s a fine option, if your objective is to be convicted and spend twenty-five years in the state penitentiary.”

  Peyton leaned into the table, pressing her point. “Look, you’re my lawyer, but on this point I don’t care what you say. I’m going to testify, and never in a million years am I going to admit to something I didn’t do.”

  “I had a feeling that would be your reaction.”

  “Well, you guessed right. So let’s move on to the next problem.”

  “I’m not sure this one’s any easier.”

  “What?”

  “Is your husband going to testify?”

  “I don’t know. I assume so.”

  “I ask because it’s an important strategy point. If our joint defense were as solid as it once was, we’d be coordinating these decisions more closely. You don’t want one defendant to take the stand if another isn’t going to testify. Looks bad to the jury.”

  “I’m sure that if you ask Jennifer, she’ll tell you.”

  “My question wasn’t whether or not we can ask them. I was getting more to the question of influence.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you want to testify, you’d better have him on board.”

  “What are you saying, exactly?”

  “If you’re going to testify, he’s going to testify. And if he’s going to testify, you had better know what he’s going to say.”

  Peyton sighed. “We haven’t really even spoken since I moved in with my parents.”

  “That’s my point. If you want to testify, you’ve got some work to do, lady.”

  Her gaze drifted toward distant city lights outside the window.

  “You’re telling me.”

  Kevin and Jennifer worked through the dinner hour without dinner. Kevin hadn’t had much of an appetite since Peyton left him, and Jennifer didn’t eat much in general. Tough decisions were the only things on the menu.

  “Personally, I like things the way they are,” said Jennifer.

  “How do you mean?”

  “The case against you is virtually nonexistent. All they have is Sandra Blair saying that you stormed away from your argument with Peyton looking as if you could kill someone. Honestly, I can’t understand why Judge Gilhorn didn’t grant our motion for a judgment of acquittal.”

  “So when you say you’re happy with the way things are, you mean the way things are for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about for Peyton?”

  “I don’t represent Peyton.”

  “I know. I’m just curious to know if you think she’s in trouble.”

  “That’s not for me or you to worry about. Peyton’s troubles are Tony’s problem.”

  “So you do think she’s in trouble?”

  “More trouble than you are, that’s for sure.”

  “I want to help her, if I can.”

  Jennifer massaged the bridge of her nose, as if a migraine were coming on. “That’s going to be difficult, Kevin. Because my advice to you is not to take the stand. I’m hoping that I can persuade Tony to give his client the same recommendation.”

  “Why don’t you think I should testify?”

  “The case against you is so weak, you can only hurt yourself. Lawyers in general make lousy witnesses. But beyond that, if you testify, we’ll have to get into the whole kidnapping issue and possible blackmailing. It will only give Ohn more ammunition.”

  “But that may be Peyton’s only shot. She has to convince the jury she’s being framed.”

  “Granted, that’s a tough spot for her. But if you take the stand, you’re going to create a tough spot of your own.”

  “What?”

  She looked at him coldly, as if suddenly assuming the role of prosecutor. “Mr. Stokes, where were you the night Gary Varne was killed?”

  He lowered his eyes. “You’re right. Tough spot.” And then he told her.

  60

  PEYTON WENT HOME FROM TONY’S OFFICE, TO HER REAL HOME, where Kevin slept alone these days. If she was going to testify, Tony wanted it to be first thing tomorrow morning, giving the prosecutor as little time as possible to prepare his cross-examination. That gave her even less time to clear the air with Kevin.

  It was a weird feeling, walking tentatively up the front steps and knocking on her own front door. One moment it felt as though she’d never lived the
re, the next, as if she still did. She almost chickened out, but the door swung open.

  “Peyton,” Kevin said, standing in the open doorway. It seemed like a reflex, the way he’d uttered her name.

  “Tony thinks we should talk.”

  “So do I.” He stepped aside, inviting her to pass.

  She hesitated, then entered. Kevin helped her with her coat, almost too eagerly. “Can I get you something?”

  She didn’t really want anything, but he had such a hopeful look on his face. It would have seemed cruel to say no. “Is there any of that carrot-tangerine juice left?”

  “Of course. Nobody drinks it but you and Florida rabbits.”

  They shared a weak smile as she followed him to the kitchen. He poured the juice and offered her a chair. She stood at the kitchen counter.

  “No, thanks. This shouldn’t take too long.”

  “You sure? You hungry? I’ve got some…” He flipped open the refrigerator. “Olives.”

  “I’m not hungry.

  “How about—”

  “Kevin, I’m planning to testify tomorrow.”

  He closed the refrigerator door and walked to the side of the kitchen counter opposite her. “I can’t say that surprises me.”

  “Do you disagree with my decision?”

  “It’s not my decision to make.”

  “You know what I’m saying. I’m sure Jennifer gave you the same speech that Tony gave me.”

  “I have a feeling mine was a little different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. Whatever you decide, I’m completely behind it. In truth, I was undecided as to what I would do. But if you’re going to testify, I imagine I will too.”

  “I just want us to be clear on this. My decision to testify isn’t going to create a problem for you that you can’t solve, is it?”

  He hemmed and hawed, but gave no verbal answer.

  “Is that a yes or no?” she asked, concerned.

  He looked away, then back. “The night Gary Varne was killed, you and I had a fight. I walked out, remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “I don’t have an alibi.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “But you can tell the jury that you stayed home all night. It’s going to be a bit more difficult for me to explain where I ended up.”

  For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her eyes were like lasers. “You told me you were with her only once.”

  “Who?”

  “You swore that you and Sandra were together only that one night last winter.”

  “We were.”

  “Don’t try to backpedal now.”

  “You got it all wrong. That’s not what I was trying to say.”

  “You must take me for a fool.” She turned and headed for the foyer.

  “Peyton, wait.”

  Angrily, she pulled on her coat. “You know, last night I was thinking that maybe you made a mistake. Maybe you really did regret it. Maybe I could forgive you for just one indiscretion. But the lies just keep coming, don’t they? I don’t even know why I bothered coming here.”

  “But I wasn’t with Sandra. Not that night.”

  She wheeled and said, “Then where were you?”

  “Jennifer says…” He hesitated, seeming to struggle. “It’s best that you just not know.”

  Her anger swelled as she flung open the door. “Damn you!” she shouted, slamming the door on her way out.

  At ten-thirty Charles Ohn was relaxing in his La-Z-Boy in front of the television, just himself, a beer, a big bag of pretzels, and ESPN. Tonight was his favorite, the World Series of Poker. Ohn was probably the hardest-working prosecutor in Boston, and coming home after ten to unwind in front of the television was pretty much his nightly routine since the divorce six months ago. In fact, it had also been his nightly routine before the divorce, which his wife had pointed out quite loudly before closing the book for good on their twelve years of marriage.

  The phone rang. Ohn dug out the portable from between the seat cushions. It was Jennifer Dunwoody. “Congratulations on surviving the motions for acquittal this afternoon,” she said.

  Ohn lowered the volume on the TV with the remote. “Oh, thanks. But it’s hardly something to be congratulated on. If a prosecutor can’t build a strong enough case to keep the judge from throwing the case out before the defendants even put on a defense, he’s not much of a prosecutor.”

  He thought he heard a little chuckle in her voice, but perhaps it was just his own insecurity. After all, it was Jennifer’s husband who had coined his nickname, the “Ohn-anator.” Ohn had actually embraced it at first, thinking it a play on Schwarzenegger’s The Terminator. Finally, someone told him about Onan, a biblical figure whose name had become synonymous with masturbation.

  “To be honest,” said Jennifer, “I thought the motion should have been granted as to my client.”

  “If that’s what this call is about, there’s a little game of Texas Hold ’Em that I’d like to get back to watching.”

  “Actually, I’m trying to decide whether to put Stokes on the stand.”

  She suddenly had his undivided attention.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Well, there are a couple of possibilities.”

  “There always are,” said Ohn. “Either he testifies or he doesn’t.”

  “This one has a little wrinkle to it. If he takes the stand, he could testify as part of his defense. Or he could testify as part of your rebuttal.”

  “Are you saying that he’s willing to testify against his wife?”

  “He says he’ll never do that. But I say you never know. I just want to be able to advise my client of all his options. So I’m just checking to see if that deal you offered earlier could perhaps be back on the table.”

  Ohn glanced at the television set. His favorite player had just bet everything on a pair of aces. “Sorry, Jennifer. The offer no longer stands.”

  “What?”

  “No deals. I’m taking them both down.”

  “All right,” said Jennifer. “We’ll see about that.”

  “Yes, we will,” said Ohn. “Soon enough.”

  At 11:00 P.M., Rudy was online, back in the usual chat room, trolling for Ladydoc.

  He hated himself for doing it. She didn’t deserve another chance, not the way she’d stood him up last night for the second time. It wasn’t his nature to be so forgiving, and it made him wonder about the balance of power in their relationship. Not that it was anything to beat himself up about. He had the upper hand: He knew where she lived. She might have thought she could get rid of him just by exiting a chat room, or by changing her screen name, or by being a no-show at their real-life rendezvous. Others had made that same mistake before. The last little bitch who’d tried to blow him off had revealed so much about herself online that Rudy even knew she kept a pitcher of banana smoothies in the refrigerator at work for lunch. Dressed as a deliveryman, he dropped by her office, sneaked his way to the kitchen, locked the door, jerked his load into her smoothie, and put it back in the fridge. Who had the power there? Drink that banana, baby.

  Disgusting, yes, but it wasn’t the smoothie that had killed her.

  The computer screen glowed in the darkness, a blank white page with only a blinking cursor to keep him company. He typed nothing, just watched and waited. Two minutes past eleven o’clock, the message he’d hoped for flashed on the screen.

  Ladydoc has entered the room.

  The anger turned to excitement. It was just the two of them in their private chat room.

  “u came,” he typed.

  “of course.”

  “don’t say of course. u stood me up last night.”

  “sorry.”

  He waited for more, but he knew it wouldn’t come. She hadn’t offered any explanations last winter either. Just a no-show at their agreed-upon meeting, then one final chat where she dumped him, supposedly for good. And then the swim in Jamaica Pond.

 
Don’t even think of dumping me this time.

  “is that all you can say, sorry?”

  “Let’s see. How can i possibly make it up 2 u?”

  “u know how.”

  “u want me to sing u love songs?

  “no.”

  “u want me to recite poetry?”

  “wrong again.”

  “u want me to suck your big cock?”

  “ahhhhhhhh.”

  “is it out now?”

  “yes.”

  “i want it all the way out.”

  “it’s all there for u.”

  His hands were off the keys. It had been so long since the last time that in just thirty seconds he was on the verge of climax. He touched himself with the left hand and fumbled through the desk drawer with the right, sifting through scores of photos he’d secretly taken of Peyton over the last eighteen months, searching for just the right one to spray with excitement.

  A sentence was building on the screen, catching his eye.

  “something’s come up. gotta go now.”

  He dropped everything. “wait!”

  “must go right now. catch me tomorrow nite in the movie chats.”

  “NO!”

  “i promise. tomorrow nite for sure.”

  “u bitch!”

  “tomorrow. i promise, i promise.”

  “Don’t do this to me again!”

  He stared at the empty screen. She was gone.

  “Damn you!” he shouted, nearly rattling the windows. He yanked out the drawer full of Peyton photographs and hurled it across the room. Hundreds of snapshots scattered across the floor—Peyton jogging, Peyton walking to work, Peyton eating lunch at a sidewalk café.

  Peyton on her way to Gary Varne’s apartment.

  With each hand he grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled till it hurt, grimacing to the point where he could no longer stand it, then screaming at the top of his lungs. He released his grip, ending the self-flagellation. A series of deep, noisy breaths followed as he calmed himself.

  “That’s it,” he said softly, staring at the computer screen. “It’s time.”

  61

  PEYTON FELT CHILLS AS HER LAWYER ROSE TO SPEAK IN A PACKED BUT hushed courtroom.