How to Kill Your Wife

by James Hockings

  “That’s okay, Gregor. I doubt Kathryn was killed with a sniper rifle from the base. They didn’t even look at my guns when they came here with the search warrant. What I need is for you to take all my guns and keep them safe, just in case they come back on a fishing expedition and decide to confiscate them.”

  “Sure, I’ll be right over.”

  “Great.”

  Peter felt better, but not much. He took his little bag of pot, double-wrapped it and was going to bury it with the flash drive under the compost pile, until he remembered that “they” were watching him. He decided to wait until nighttime to bury his treasures. He kept the dope in his pocket along with the $4,000 in cash Frannie had given him, disregarding the fact that he could be busted for trafficking because he had both dope and money in the same pocket.

  He was in his own house but he didn’t feel safe. The house was 100% his now, with Kathryn gone and the mortgage paid off by the mortgage insurance. He was in his own house, but he was not free. He was in a virtual jail and being watched. They may have bugged the house when they were here, for all he knew. He was not able to keep tabs on what all four of the cops were doing when they searched, only the ones who went out the front door carrying his stuff.

  Peter needed a drink and a therapy session and a safe place to talk.

  Elaine phoned. “Peter, what’s happening? Are they still there?”

  “No, I’m waiting for Gregor to come over and get my guns out of the house. I can’t stay here anymore. They took all my stuff and the house has been searched, and maybe they bugged it, too.”

  And then he blurted it out without thinking, “Can I stay with you?”

  “No, you can’t. You couldn’t even see me this weekend because you had an out-of-town, late-night date with a female client. I want to trust you, but I can’t.”

  Elaine relented slightly. “Can you stay in a motel, Peter? Do you have any money? No, I’m not offering you any. And I’m not being stingy nor am I being mean in not letting you stay here. Every guy I’ve let into my life has burned me and the worst of that bad lot was your lawyer friend, Wilbur. He’s dangerous when he’s jealous, and he knows about us.”

  “Oh, not that rant about Wilbur again!”

  “Is that what you think of my opinion about Wilbur? That it’s a ‘rant?’ Is that what you think I do?” More softly, she said, “Let’s not fight, please. I only fight when I get paid to fight, and then I fight to win. I don’t want to fight with you.” Elaine’s voice cracked a little for just an instant when she said the word “please.” Something about Peter has gotten through her tough hide.

  “No fighting. Okay.” Peter felt kind of sweet.

  “Thanks, Peter. Now, did the asshole call you back at noon?”

  “No, I forgot he was supposed to call back. What time is it now?”

  “Almost 2.”

  “Shit, what can Wilbur do about a search that’s already over?”

  “So you’re a lawyer now? Get on his ass, and show him the warrant, and tell him what has happened so far, and tell him to get over to the District Attorney’s Office and see what they have planned for you. They are not supposed to tell him outright, but if he has favors to call in, they might drop a hint or two.”

  Chapter 49

  “Thanks for coming over, Gregor. Let’s get those guns out of here before the cops decide to seize them.”

  “Why would they seize ’em? You didn’t shoot her, did you? I’m not gonna get in trouble for this, am I?”

  “No, I didn’t shoot her, and I didn’t do anything else to her but screw around.”

  “The cops seem to think you offed her. They asked me about your history of violence and I had to tell them that you shot your dog.”

  “I know you told ’em that. Gregor, you shot the dog too. Did you tell them that? And I was euthanizing a very sick pet, not murdering him. Did you tell them that?”

  “They weren’t interested in the cancer story about the dog. They did want to know who else you hung around with. I told them all of your friends’ names.”

  “Fuck. You’re an idiot. Let’s just get these firearms out of here. And for God’s sake, put them somewhere safe.”

  Peter scoured the street for cops before motioning Gregor to come out with the guns. Gregor left once they were loaded into the flatbed. Peter wasn’t sad to see him go.

  The cops would be interviewing everyone he knew, and all of his friends would rat on him one way or another. They wouldn’t want to rat or even realize they were doing it, but cops know how to get what they want from unprepared civilians. Everyone who watches TV knows that.

  Peter was about to call Wilbur when the phone rang. “Hi, Peter, it’s Dennie and I have news for you. I worked my ass off over the weekend, and I have a version of the book that you’ll like. It’s still not ‘literature,’ but it reads well.”

  “Dennie, the book is on hold. Someone killed my wife and the cops have a good shot at framing me for it. I don’t need this book around my neck like a noose … Dennie, are you there? Dennie?”

  “Peter, sit down, just fucking sit, okay? I’m going to tell you something that will change your life. Call your friend Sindra and tell her you’ve been arrested. You have been arrested, haven’t you?”

  “No, I’m not talking to you from jail. I’m at home.”

  “Can you get them to arrest you?”

  “No, I’m trying not to get arrested. I didn’t do it.”

  “Of course you didn’t, silly. Even I know you’re too much of a wimp to kill anyone. But if you can do something to get yourself arrested, this book will fly off the shelves and you’ll become a celebrity - kind of like a geeky, white-guy version of OJ. Sindra will latch onto this package like a hungry trout on a dry fly. That’s what an Executive Vice-President, Sales and Marketing for Bachman & Brown Worldwide does for a living - she sells books. And the story is not about the book but about the author. Get arrested. I used to write press releases for a living and this one is a dream. I’m making it up now in my head.”

  Peter was not thinking of fame and riches, he was thinking about his freedom. “Dennie, there’s a slim chance that the cops won’t find the book stuff that I erased on my computer, so it would be best if you didn’t keep any copies on yours. Maybe they won’t find out about you and won’t come calling, but better safe than sorry.”

  “Peter, I have points in this book. I didn’t work my ass off to have you take this project off the table. This is why my intuition was telling me to take the project when I signed on. Your book was dreadful before I edited it and you’re no prize either, but I felt that this was my winning ticket. Peter, get arrested. I’ll write the book and the press releases. We’re going to be rich.”

  “Sorry, Dennie; maybe when this blows over we can talk. For now, get rid of the book. I don’t want to go to jail. That book is just more grease on the skids to hell. I’m serious.”

  “Change your mind, Peter, or … I don’t know. Just think about it, will you?”

  “There is nothing to think about. Do what I say. Bye, Dennie. I have to phone my lawyer.”

  Chapter 50

  “Molly, is Wilbur in? I’ve just had my house searched.”

  “He’s in a meeting, but I’ll have him phone you. You poor man! I’m sure Wilbur will be right there to help. He’s such a good guy.”

  “Right. Thanks, Molly.”

  Peter sat down in his violated house. He still had dope in his pocket and $4,000 in cash that he had to give back to Frannie. With his computer gone, his business was gone. His dog was gone. His money was gone. He was down to his last credit card. As long as he was a suspect, no insurance company was going to cut him a check for anything.

  He wondered how Kathryn had died. The cops had been mute on that but it was not a gun, or they would have confiscated all of his. He felt a stab of pain in his chest but it was not a heart attack, it was emotion. How had he gotten himself into this? He had no answers. The chest pain persisted. He reali
zed he might have been kidding himself about his resolve to kill Kathryn. He didn’t feel all that good now that she was really dead. He felt sicker than he’d felt after his horror dreams and visions about killing her. This was real. In his horror dreams, at least, he always got away with the crime.

  Peter was roused from his waking nightmare by the phone, which he was sure was tapped. It was Wilbur.

  “Well, son, Molly tells me the constabulary has come calling to discover evidence of murder most foul. Fear not, lad, Wilbur Dupuis is the lamp guiding you in this very dark place.”

  “What should I do, Wilbur?”

  “Nothing. I’ll handle this.”

  “Are you going to call in some favors with the District Attorney’s Office and find out what’s going on?”

  “I can’t tell you all my secrets, can I? I have spent a lifetime gathering knowledge of this flawed system and knowledge is power, boy. I don’t let the cat out of the bag, even to my most trusted associates. And where, pray tell, are you getting your legal advice regarding ‘favors’ from the district attorney? I hope you took my advice and fired that other lawyer Molly referred you to in error. She is a mere family lawyer and not a very good one at that.”

  “Wilbur, cut out the crap about Elaine. She fired me because I couldn’t afford her in a long drawn-out fight.”

  “Well, that shows some modest intelligence on her part. I have to go now and put out a dozen other fires, but yours is high on the list. Adieu.”

  Partly reassured from talking to Wilbur, Peter put in a call to Lisa’s machine and requested an appointment as soon as possible and to be put on her cancellation list. He sat down for a minute, then stood up again. He was more convinced than ever that his phone was tapped and there were devices planted in his house. As soon as any stray paranoid thought floated by, Peter’s mind grabbed it and gave it a home. He needed Lisa’s advice. He was so completely out of gas that the thought of getting drunk seemed like too much effort. He knew that even the smell of booze would make him nauseous. Peter had never been so low before that the thought of a good stiff belt couldn’t perk him up, at least a little. He was that low now.

  The phone once again roused him from his hellish reverie. It was Elaine.

  “Peter, how are you? Did you talk to Wilbur like I asked?”

  “I talked to him. He didn’t really say much, but I guess I’m on his to-do list.”

  “You are within an inch of being charged with murder, and you’re on his ‘to-do list?’ Peter, he should be interviewing your alibi, taking her deposition and interviewing and advising you, too. He should be telling the cops that you have retained him, and that on his counsel, you agree to come in for voluntary questioning and are never to be interviewed without his being present. This is just common sense; even a family lawyer knows that.”

  “I guess I should phone Wilbur back.”

  “I guess you should. If you didn’t sign a retainer agreement with him or he didn’t agree to be retained by you in the presence of witnesses, any screw-up he makes can’t be held against him by the bar association. He can just say he was chatting with you as a friend. Get the agreement.”

  “Why do you think he’ll screw up?”

  “I’ve told you several times now, because he’s pissed off that I won’t blow him anymore, to be crude about it. I think he’s stalking me; I just haven’t proven it yet. I’m sure that he knows about us, so he’s pissed off at you, too. This is a small town in terms of the size of the legal community and they’re all gossips. Get another lawyer. Forget what I said about getting an agreement with Wilbur. Fuck him. Get Legal Aid.”

  “I can’t afford a criminal lawyer at $500 per hour. I could barely afford your flat fee. Do you really think I should get Legal Aid? They never got back to me about the divorce, and that was over a week ago.”

  “Peter, I can’t go on advising you. Wilbur has been stabbing you in the back. He is your deliberate enemy. Go for Legal Aid.”

  “Okay, I’ll phone them now.”

  “Good. Promise me you’ll take care. I’ll see you when I can.”

  “Okay.” For the second time, Peter almost said “I love you.” But he didn’t. Part of Peter’s brain always wanted to be in love and when stress piled upon stress, that need increased in urgency.

  Peter sat on the sofa where he and Rex had spent their last few nights together. He buried his face in the cushion. Rex’s scent was almost gone and that made Peter sad. Peter fell asleep with his face in the cushion.

  Chapter 51

  The phone woke Peter from his sleep on the sofa. It was morning. It was Frannie.

  “Peter, you really fucked things up this time. The cops were all over me yesterday when I got back to town. They really, really want your ass.”

  “What did they say?”

  “First of all, our project with the website is fucked. They told me they have your computer with all kinds of evidence on it. How can we do this project if you don’t have a computer? And I won’t be able to work with cops all over me. They’ll be watching me like a hawk, since I have the ‘privilege’ of being your alibi. I’ll need all the money I gave you back. And it’s all because of you, you idiot.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? Great. I didn’t do anything but have dinner with you and I’m out of business and about to go broke. I have a project that is dead in the water that I just stuck every spare cent into. You’re going to be sorry that you picked me to supply your alibi, too. They probably know I have a record, even though it was supposed to have been purged when I was pardoned after 10 years.”

  “I’ll give you your money back, but I can’t safely drive right now. I’m not drunk or anything; I just can’t drive. You’ll have to come by and pick it up.”

  “I’m not getting within a mile of you. Send it to me by registered mail or something. Goodbye, Peter. I’m sorry I yelled at you. You’re a sweet, talented guy. You can’t help being a loser. I still love you, but I really don’t know why.”

  Peter thought that Frannie was crying at the end of the phone call, but he wasn’t sure. He sat on the sofa, staring at the wall, until the phone rang again. It was Elaine.

  “Peter, how are you doing today? Did you get ahold of Wilbur or Legal Aid and get some kind of defense going?”

  “No, I forgot. I fell asleep. I can’t drive. Frannie phoned.”

  “Peter, slow down, I only have a minute. Tell me what’s happening.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Who’s Frannie?”

  “A client.”

  “Is she the client you were with Saturday night at dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said the cops talked to her and she told them the truth. She told me the cops were not impressed. She had a record for something but got a pardon.”

  “A record for what, Peter?”

  “Some small stuff, probably. I can’t remember much - maybe like speeding or driving under the influence.” Peter tried to come up with something plausible that didn’t involve prostitution.

  “You were with a criminal? And she’s your alibi?” Elaine had true marvel in her voice that anyone could be so unlucky.

  “Well, she’s a friend too.”

  “Did you spend the night with her?” Elaine sounded a little green.

  “Yes, but we didn’t do anything. I was drinking, and it was a two-day meeting, and I stayed at this big mansion in the country where she house-sits a lot of the time.”

  “Peter, are you lying to me?”

  “No.”

  “Would you tell me if you were lying?”

  “No, I’d lie because I want to be with you. But I’m not lying.”

  “Peter, I have to go now. I only had a minute and this has been five. I’ll be thinking about your story. I’m not happy about this. You may have ended our relationship by being with this woman, you know, but I’m not rushing to judgment on this. You’d better do some thinking, too
. The cops will probably be by to arrest you soon.”

  Chapter 52

  With Elaine’s last comment to comfort him, Peter resumed staring at the wall. It wasn’t long before he heard the cars pull up. Four cops emerged from two cars. When Peter saw the cops, a reflex from university kicked in and he automatically checked his pockets for dope. He ran to the bathroom, locked the door and flushed the little bag of weed. He also found the $4,000 Frannie had given him, but didn’t have the heart to flush that, too.

  The cops didn’t like how long it was taking Peter to get to the front door, so they kicked it down and came in with guns drawn. They knew he was a gun owner and a murderer. The big detective a.k.a. hitman, Eric Robinson, burst into the bathroom and told him to put his hands on his head and walk out to the marked car.

  Then, presumably for the benefit of the neighbors who were watching the show, Detective Robinson spread Peter’s legs, pressed his face to the hood of the car, and told him to keep his hands together on his head. He recited from the Miranda card in his hand: “You are under arrest for the murder of Kathryn Dawn Stanton. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?” Peter grunted agreement.

  “Mr. Broviak, please put your hands behind your back.”

  Detective Robinson cuffed Peter and frisked him efficiently, just like he’d done in the steakhouse bathroom. He found the wad of bills from Frannie, stuffed them in his pocket, whistled softly in admiration of his brilliant find and pushed Peter into the back of the car.

  At the station, Peter did get to use the phone, but only after a few hours of badgering.

  “Molly, it’s Peter. I’ve been arrested for murder. I’m at the central station. Can you get Wilbur here right now?”

  “Peter, he’s in a meeting but I’ll give him your message when he gets out.”

  “Molly, get him out of that meeting. They actually arrested me for killing Kathryn.”