“And that was the same night this supposed kidnapper called to say he had Gary Varne.”
She hesitated, but there was only one truthful answer. “Yes.”
“And a couple days later, you and your husband had another fight.”
“An argument, yes.”
“He got so mad that he left the house.”
“Right.”
“That was the same night Gary Varne was found dead in your car.”
Again she hesitated, knowing that things weren’t looking good for Kevin. “Same night.”
“What a night,” he said, sneering. “The night Varne was killed. The night your husband stormed out of your apartment. That was the night you told Kevin the truth about Gary Varne, isn’t it?”
“I told him that we hadn’t done anything.”
“You told him you’d gone drinking with Gary.”
“Yes.”
“You told him you went back to his apartment.”
“I admitted that.”
“You told him that you didn’t remember anything but waking up in his bed.”
“That’s the truth.”
He moved closer, eyes burning. “You told him that Gary Varne had tried to rape you.”
“I object!” shouted Tony. “There is no evidence in the record to support an accusatory question like that.”
“Join!” said Jennifer.
Peyton was aghast. A buzz filled the courtroom.
“Order!” shouted the judge. “Counsel, in my chambers!”
The judge walked angrily off the bench, and the lawyers followed him through the side exit.
Judge Gilhorn was leaning back against the front of his huge desk, arms folded across his chest in anger. He was glaring at the prosecutor.
Tony could barely speak. “This has to be a mistrial.”
The judge raised his hand, silencing him. “Mr. Ohn, explain yourself.”
He seemed perplexed by everyone’s anger. “Dr. Shields testified that she had no recollection of the night at Varne’s apartment. Obviously I wasn’t aware of her lack of memory until she testified here at trial. So it was only today that I made the connection between her memory loss and other evidence that Mr. Varne drugged Dr. Shields with the intent to rape her.”
“What other evidence?” asked Tony.
“The police search of Varne’s apartment after the recovery of his body turned up an opened bottle of Rohypnol.”
“Roofies, the club drug?” said Tony. “Why weren’t we told before trial?”
“Because it wasn’t relevant to any of the issues in the case. Until now.”
Tony nearly exploded. “My client was found unconscious in the front seat of her car. How could any drug on the victim’s premises not be relevant?”
“Its only relevance is to show Mr. Stokes’s motive for murder.”
Jennifer jumped in, appalled. “So now my client is the triggerman? How many times do you intend to change theories in this case?”
Ohn ignored the lawyers and addressed the judge directly. “Your Honor, this theory didn’t jell till today, but it’s clear now what happened. Mr. Stokes was furious to hear that Varne had drugged his wife with the intent to rape her. He killed Varne with the help of his wife. Dr. Shields tried to dispose of the body and ended up trying to take her own life with sleeping pills, driven probably by a combination of depression from the date rape and guilt for her role in the murder. Together the defendants then fabricated the existence of a mysterious kidnapper as their defense. Mr. Stokes was the triggerman. Dr. Shields is at the very least an accessory after the fact, probably an accomplice.”
“This is absolutely prosecutorial bad faith and misconduct,” said Tony.
“It’s what happened,” said Ohn, snapping. “I’ve acted in complete good faith.”
The judge drummed his fingers on the desktop, thinking. “I suppose there really is no way for Mr. Ohn to have known about Dr. Shields’s memory loss until after she testified.”
“They should have told us about the roofies. It’s a mistrial at least.”
“I’d ask for a judgment of acquittal,” said Jennifer.
Again the judge raised a hand, quieting them both. “Mr. Ohn, you really should have told them about the roofies.”
“But—”
He stopped him, then continued. “This case has come too far for me to do anything hasty. Therefore I will allow the prosecution to pursue this line of questioning within limits. Mr. Ohn can argue that Dr. Shields was drugged with the intent to rape. But there is to be no mention of the bottle of roofies found at Mr. Varne’s apartment.”
Tony groaned. “Judge, that’s not enough.”
“It’s as far as I’m going. For now. Everyone back in the court room.”
“All rise.”
Peyton felt a strange sense of relief as the judge and lawyers returned to the courtroom. During their brief absence she’d felt on display, like a scorned adulteress locked in the stockade in the old town square. Five minutes had seemed like five hours. She’d been alone on the witness stand, no one to talk to, the obvious object of everyone’s speculation.
She caught Tony’s eye, hoping for some signal that the cross-examination was over. A tightness gripped her chest as she watched him return to his seat beside Kevin and Jennifer. Ohn reassumed his position before her and, with the judge’s approval, resumed his attack.
“Dr. Shields, you are a medical doctor, are you not?”
Her throat had gone completely dry. “Yes.”
“You’ve heard of date-rape drugs, haven’t you?”
She glanced at Tony, confused. “Of course.”
“You’re aware that they are easily dissolved in cocktails.”
“Some are.”
“A person could drink it with a mixed drink, never even taste the drug.”
“True.”
“Most women don’t even realize they’ve been drugged until it’s too late.”
“That’s true.”
“Isn’t a loss of memory consistent with the effects of certain so-called date-rape drugs?”
She hesitated, now sensing where this was headed. “It can be.”
Ohn took a few steps closer to the jury, as if they were on the same side in this contest, with Peyton as the lone opposition. “Getting back to that night you went drinking with Gary Varne and his friends and ended up back in his apartment. Was one of Mr. Varne’s friends a woman?”
“Yes. Liz was her name.”
“Let’s assume, as you say, you got sick on tequila. Didn’t you find it the least bit suspicious that Mr. Varne took you home himself and undressed you himself, rather than enlisting the help of this female friend you met at the club?”
“I don’t know if he did or not. All I know is what Mr. Varne told me. I don’t remember what happened.”
“Precisely,” said Ohn, his voice rising. “And isn’t that loss of memory consistent with the effects of the club drug roofies?”
The courtroom was still. For Peyton, it was as if the lights had finally switched on. She couldn’t speak, and she knew it was written all over her face—the realization that perhaps she had been drugged by Gary Varne. Still she was cautious, figuring it was information that Ohn intended somehow to turn against her.
“As a doctor, don’t you think I would have known I’d been drugged?”
“Without a doubt,” said the prosecutor. “And as a wife, you would have shared that information with one very angry husband.”
Peyton, the judge, the jurors—everyone—followed the prosecutor’s eyes as they cut across the courtroom. It was as if Peyton had built her own huge house of suspicion. And then dropped it squarely on Kevin.
Ohn started toward his chair, then stopped. “Just one more thought. Your husband had a set of keys to the car, I assume.”
“Of course.”
“A key to the trunk?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Dr. Shields. You’ve been very helpful.”
Befo
re her very eyes, Kevin seemed to shrink beneath the weight of suspicious stares. She looked away, toward the back of the courtroom, and froze. She’d only seen it for a split second, an instant that had passed so quickly that the image had barely registered in her mind. She blinked, not quite comprehending, then took a deep breath to stop herself from shaking.
What she’d seen had chilled her. Or at least what she thought she’d seen.
63
AT THE END OF A HORRIBLE DAY, PEYTON JUST WANTED TO BE ALONE. Tony insisted on a strategy session back at the office—a joint meeting with both defendants and their lawyers.
They rode in the same car from the courthouse, but the show of solidarity was only for the benefit of the press. So far they’d managed to keep it out of the newspapers that Peyton had moved in with her parents, but riding in separate cars would have been a clear sign of division.
On Tony’s order, no one talked in the car—for about thirty seconds. Jennifer couldn’t contain herself. She reached over from the passenger seat and switched off the elevator music Tony had been playing in the hopes of calming everyone down.
“This whole thing started with your boneheaded direct examination,” she snapped.
Tony kept his eyes on the blinking taillights ahead of him. “It wasn’t boneheaded.”
“You clearly were trying to create the impression through Peyton’s testimony that the man in the ski mask was Kevin.”
“Not was. Could have been, might have been. All I’m trying to do is create reasonable doubt.”
“But you keep doing it at my client’s expense.”
“What I did is entirely consistent with your opening statement: If the jury concludes that either one of the defendants might have done it, they have to acquit. At the close of the government’s case, the balance was tilting too heavily toward Peyton. I just shifted it a little.”
“A little!” said Jennifer, nearly shrieking.
Peyton interjected from the backseat. “Can we please stop the bickering?”
An uneasy silence fell over them as the car stopped at the red light.
Peyton looked at Kevin and said, “I want you to know that I had nothing do with pointing the finger back at you. I don’t mind saying this in front of my own lawyer, but his conduct in that courtroom came as a total surprise to me.”
Tony grumbled, “Sharper than the serpent’s tooth…”
“Tony, shut up,” said Peyton.
“I saw it on your face,” said Kevin. “I knew it wasn’t your doing.”
She left it at that, and so did the lawyers. The traffic light changed, and they continued their ride in silence. Tony battled the Friday evening traffic without so much as a cross word at a road-hogging cabbie. Peyton opened her window a crack, breathing in the cool autumn air.
Finally Kevin said, “I wasn’t totally surprised by the roofies.”
Jennifer shot him a hush sign. Peyton pretended not to have seen it. “Why do you say that?” asked Peyton.
“Because of Varne’s background.”
“Oh, jeez,” said Jennifer, obviously trying to convince her client to shut his mouth.
He continued. “I ran a background check on him after that first call from the kidnapper. I wanted to see if he was the kind of sick puppy who might pull this kidnapping stunt.”
Peyton went cold. “If you’re about to tell me that you knew he was a rapist and still let Ohn paint me as an adulteress, Tony will be defending me on another homicide.”
“It’s not that at all. But knowing what we know now, it might be something you’d construe as predatory conduct.”
“What?”
“Gary had a history of hitting on married women. My investigator got all excited about it, thinking he was on the verge of proving that he had a pattern of blackmail. But after interviewing a few of his past conquests, he concluded that Gary simply got off on the thrill of sleeping with other men’s wives.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because I honestly didn’t start to think of that behavior as predatory—at least not to the degree of date rape—until after Ohn mentioned roofies.” He lowered his eyes, then added, “And because if I had told you, I also would have had to tell you that…”
“Enough,” said Jennifer. “As your lawyer, I’m advising you not to go there.”
“Tell me what?” asked Peyton, pressing.
He looked at her soulfully. She could see in his eyes how tired he was of all the half-truths, the concealment, the suspicions inherent in being codefendants. “Do you remember the other day when I said I couldn’t tell you where I went the night Gary Varne was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“And you thought it was because I’d gone to see Sandra.”
She suddenly felt sick, now wishing he had gone to see Sandra.
“Don’t tell me.”
“The reason I couldn’t tell you where I’d gone is because I went to Gary’s apartment.”
“Before or after he was dead?”
“About one A.M. After you and I had our argument, I went for a beer. That’s when my investigator called me on my cell and told me about Gary’s past. I decided I wanted to talk to Gary myself.”
“Are you saying you actually saw him the night he died?”
“No. He wasn’t there. So I waited outside. For hours I waited for him to come home.”
“What did you intend to do?” Peyton asked tentatively.
Jennifer said, “You’ve said enough, Kevin.”
“I didn’t kill him, I swear. But my investigator told me what an operator he was, and you’d told me how you’d turned to him as a friend in a time of distress and ended up drunk and practically naked in his apartment. Well, like I said, I didn’t kill him. But in hindsight, I’m glad he wasn’t there.”
“I understand.”
“But hear what I’m saying. I wasn’t going to kill him, but I didn’t go there to talk to him either. Surely you can appreciate how a jury might get the wrong idea from that.”
“I’m your wife. You should have told me.”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Jennifer, sarcastic. “That way, when the prosecutor asks you where Kevin was on the night of the murder, you can happily say that you refuse to answer the question on the grounds of marital privilege. That’ll make you both sound very innocent, won’t it?”
“Obviously it was something that Jennifer thought I should keep to myself,” Kevin said, as if apologizing for having followed his lawyer’s advice.
Peyton touched his hand and said, “I’m glad you finally told me. But there’s something else everyone here should know too.”
“What?” asked Kevin.
“Gary may have been some kind of predator, as you say. And I may have been drugged. But I wasn’t raped.”
Tony said, “That’s probably because you really did get sick. Rape is more about power than sex, but tequila vomit has a way of turning a guy off, even a rapist.”
It was typical gruff Tony-style delivery, but no one disagreed with the logic.
Tony steered into the parking garage, then pulled into his reserved spot and killed the engine. All four of them stayed put for a moment, as Tony seemed poised to say something.
“Let me be brutally honest,” he said. “From the day you two came into my office, I didn’t buy this kidnapping defense. I still don’t know if you’re being truthful or if the two of you are deserving of Academy Awards. I do know one thing, though. If you don’t come up with some convincing evidence of exactly who this kidnapper is, come next week your theory is going straight down the jury room toilet. And you’re both going down with it.”
Peyton was reluctant to speak up, still not sure of what she’d seen. But time was running out. “I think I might have seen him today.”
“When?”
“At the end of my testimony. While just about everyone in the entire courtroom was looking at Kevin, I had the strange sense that someone was staring intently at me. I looked up a
nd for about a nanosecond I could have sworn I was looking into those same eyes.”
“Whose eyes?”
“The man in the ski mask. The Good Samaritan who’d pulled me from Jamaica Pond.”
“Are you sure?” asked Kevin.
She shrugged weakly. “It was from all the way in the back of the courtroom, but that’s the way it hit me.”
“I got a better question,” said Tony. “Even if it was the same guy, does that give you any sense of who the hell he is?”
She looked out the window, seeing her weak reflection in the dark sedan beside them. “I’m afraid not,” she said, her voice fading.
64
KEVIN WAS DISAPPOINTED BUT NOT SURPRISED. HE’D HOPED THAT THE truth-telling session in the backseat of Tony’s car would have restored some of the broken trust between him and Peyton. He sensed that it had, but unfortunately not enough to bring her back home. At least not tonight.
For him, of course, Sandra was a mistake from what seemed like another life, many months ago in the lowest point of their marriage. It had been over and done with in one night. He was ready to be forgiven because he’d been punishing himself since it had happened. But he had to remind himself that, for Peyton, Sandra was a new wound. She’d only found out about it three days ago. He couldn’t blame her for being standoffish. In truth, he couldn’t blame her if she never forgave him.
That was what really scared him.
He ordered a pizza for dinner and watched a few minutes of the evening news while waiting for delivery. He braced himself when the scales of justice graphic appeared on the screen. Their trial wasn’t the lead story anymore, but Kevin had learned the hard way that you didn’t have to be charged with the crime of the century for it to be the crime of your century.
“The Shields-Stokes murder trial took a strange twist today,” said the anchorwoman, “as the prosecution turned its sights on the husband, Kevin Stokes. Prosecutor Charles Ohn grilled Stokes’s wife on the witness stand, and date rape emerged as a possible motive—”
Kevin switched off the set with the remote. He’d heard enough from the talking heads for one day, for one lifetime.
Lying with Strangers Page 31