How to Kill Your Wife

by James Hockings

  “No. I’ve only heard about the ones in the dining room that Kathryn defaced.” Elaine was completely off track now. She was embarrassed that she didn’t know more about the man she was fucking and maybe starting to love.

  “Didn’t he ever show you the paintings he has stuffed in his closets, the ones he doesn’t like? He doesn’t like them because some idiot from a gallery said they were ‘pretty,’ and ‘pretty’ is something from another century. But they are not just pretty; they are complex and hauntingly beautiful. I studied art in university when I wasn’t fucking everything in pants. I also studied modern poetry and Peter can do that, too. Has he not brought out the candles and champagne for you and read you his poetry? No? Honey, you haven’t met the best part of him yet. Forget his little fetish. Do people judge Mozart on the basis of his financial failings or his sexual quirks? So Peter’s not completely sane. Hell, I’ve been in therapy for 10 years. I’ll bet a gal like you has put in more than a few years on the couch. What does that make you?”

  Elaine had tuned out most of Frannie’s elegy. She was thinking about how to get her back on track. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have all day to listen to you blather about Peter. I’m trying to get him out of jail. Peter mentioned that you had a criminal record. What’s it for?”

  “Just some small stuff. The record has been expunged; I have friends in high places. I pay taxes, and I don’t have a criminal record any more - end of story. Look, lady, I do want to help. What more can I do? I told the cops we were drinking Iron Horse champagne and eating dinner and talking business from 7 until 1. Then we went to bed. Yes, separately. He would have slept with me in a heartbeat, if I’d asked, but I didn’t ask. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Yes. I understand that the time of death was somewhere in that time range; they won’t tell me anything more exact than that. Before 7, where were you and Peter?”

  “In the house together.”

  “And after 1?”

  “In bed, separately.”

  “And how do you know that Peter was in bed in the house after 1?”

  “Simple. There are two trained guard dogs on the property. They bark like crazy at any car that comes or goes, especially at night. I’m a light sleeper. I never heard them bark. So, how are you going to get Peter off, and how are you going to get his computer back and my $4,000 in cash?”

  “First, I have to get Peter out, and I’m having a hard time. I need $300,000 fast.”

  “No, first you have to get the computer back, because Peter’s no good to me without it.”

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

  “Don’t get bitchy with me. Just get Peter out of jail and his computer back online.”

  “I’m trying …”

  “Yes, you are very ‘trying.’ I’m out of here.” Frannie stood up and left.

  Elaine glared at Frannie’s back and said under her breath, “Bitch.” Elaine knew she did a poor job of interviewing Ms. Fox, but didn’t think she could have tolerated her much longer.

  Chapter 58

  Elaine set about the task of coming up with $300,000. She also began preparing an appeal of the bail amount, in case she wasn’t able to raise all of it. She began reading criminal law and consulting with a few cronies from law school who were in that field. Elaine had never worked pro bono in her whole career, and she felt resentful at doing so for Peter.

  First, she got a fax of the coroner’s preliminary report, which listed Kathryn’s cause of death as “homicide.” Then Elaine called a cop she had once dated, and he told her that Kathryn had died as a result of stab wounds inflicted during what appeared to be a robbery.

  Elaine resumed phoning around, this time to find a criminal lawyer. She was out of her depth and working for free. She not only had to find a criminal lawyer, she had to find one who would defer his or her fees. A hard job. A murder suspect was not a good candidate for paying back deferred fees from his prison cell. Elaine didn’t know enough yet about the case to assure her colleagues on the criminal panel that this would be a slam-dunk acquittal. Peter might not even be able to pay them if he was cleared. She seemed stuck with Peter as a client for the time being.

  She needed to find out now, before any hearing, what more the prosecution had on Peter. She decided to make a trip to the District Attorney’s Office to mine for information.

  Her phone rang and she yelled into it, “What do you want?” She hadn’t realized her level of tension and anger until she heard herself being much more rude than usual to this unknown caller.

  The caller, surprised at the brusque reception, asked, “Is this a law office?”

  “Yes, and I’m the lawyer, but I’m not happy about that fact today.”

  “Elaine Madison?”

  “Yes, this is Elaine Madison. State your business.”

  “My name is Sindra Dempsey and I’m the Executive Vice-President, Sales and Marketing for Bachman & Bates Worldwide, one of the world’s largest publishing houses. Do you represent Peter Broviak?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has Mr. Broviak been arrested for murdering his wife?”

  “Yes, that’s a matter of public record.”

  “Did he do it?”

  “It is my job to make sure he’s not convicted of that charge.”

  “But did he do it?”

  “It is my personal belief that he didn’t, but that’s for the justice system to decide. If you want more information, I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse to give it to you on the grounds of privilege.”

  “Do you also represent Mr. Broviak’s literary interests?”

  “I didn’t know he had any literary interests. You’d better tell me what you really want, but first, I’ll call you back to make sure you are who you say you are. Give me the switchboard number of your firm and the name of your assistant.” Elaine hung up after she got the information.

  Elaine called back through the switchboard, and asked for Sindra’s assistant. The assistant put her right through to Sindra.

  “Okay, tell me what you want.”

  “Some time ago, I won’t bore you with the details, I ran across a book Mr. Broviak was writing called How to Kill Your Wife.”

  Elaine gasped inwardly at this revelation. Peter hadn’t told her about the book, probably because the title wouldn’t have impressed a new girlfriend. It seemed that Peter had woven the rope with which to hang himself. She could only imagine how a book with that title would play in front of a jury.

  Sindra went on, “The manuscript was not of sufficient quality to publish and didn’t impress me with its marketability at the time. But yesterday and today, I received not only multiple calls but also e-mails and couriers from Dennie Hayes, Mr. Broviak’s editor. She sent me new samples of the book and the writing has markedly improved - not exactly art, but not bad. My main point is that the marketability of the book just took a quantum leap with Mr. Broviak’s arrest for murder. If he didn’t do it, and he gets off, I can see him on every talk show in America flogging this book. We want him to sign a contract and we’ll offer him an advance, contingent upon his being acquitted. I want to see him and begin the process.”

  Elaine held herself together in the face of this information and said in her best lawyerly tone, “Ms. Dempsey, I’m afraid those negotiations will have to wait awhile as Mr. Broviak will be indisposed at least for a few more days and perhaps longer.”

  “Will you at least contact him and tell him what we would like to do with his book?”

  “Mr. Broviak has a lot on his mind just now, but when he comes up for air, so to speak, I’m sure he’ll be pleased. I’ll contact you at the first opportunity Mr. Broviak has to consider your offer.”

  “You’ll contact me first, before any other publishers? We’re prepared to be more than fair.”

  “First come, first served, I guess. Sure, we’ll contact you first.”

  Elaine put down the phone and then took it off the hook. She sat thinking. She might get paid fo
r this after all; she had made Peter sign a retainer agreement at her usual rates, so if he got money, he would be obliged to pay her. He might have a money-making book if he got off the charges. The money might be the “hook” she needed to persuade a good criminal lawyer to take the case. On the other hand, some of the best criminal lawyers worked for the publicity that came from handling a high-profile case. They used the ensuing fame to boost their rates when they got a mob client with deep pockets. Either the money from the book deal or the publicity involved could be the ticket to finding another lawyer for Peter - a good one.

  Chapter 59

  Peter sat up in bed and looked around the infirmary. It was barren, sterile and confining; part hospital and part jail cell. He couldn’t decide which part offended him more. He had always hated hospitals, and now he hated jails for exactly the same reason - they both took away his independence. This room’s pairing of both was more than he could bear, and he could not wait to get out. But bearing and waiting were his only options.

  Although he was not genuinely sick or even more crazy than most of the inmates, his detention in the infirmary was the best Elaine could do to keep him out of the general jail population. And Elaine herself was also a problem; she was running his life or at least what was left for her to run by the state correctional system. There were no longer any important life functions over which Peter exerted control, except pissing and shitting.

  He remembered feeling as though Kathryn controlled his life when they were together. Peter could never have imagined back then what it would be like to truly lose control. He knew what that was like now.

  He had the brief affair with Frannie because he had felt trapped with Kathryn. The irony was that Kathryn’s death had put him inside a real physical trap with bars on the windows and a thick steel door. Videocameras and microphones monitored his every move. The surveillance here put to shame Kathryn’s snooping on his computer and in his wallet and sock drawer.

  Peter flopped his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. He pretended to be crazy to stay out of population but sadly, he was cold sober and sane. Peter began to grind his teeth. He fell asleep grinding them.

  Chapter 60

  An orderly stood above Peter and shook him slightly to wake him. Peter had dozed off, as he found that was the best way to pass time in the joint.

  “Huh?”

  “Your priest, Father Robert, is here to see you. Would you like to see him?”

  Peter thought, “Father Robert?”

  Peter said, “Ah, yes, Father Robert. Can you please show him in?”

  “He can come in, but I have to stay in the room with you, since we can’t take people from the infirmary into the secure visitor’s area.”

  “Sure, fine.”

  The orderly left the room and returned a few seconds later with Bobby dressed in cleric’s garb. The orderly warned him not to make physical contact with the inmate and to limit his visit to 10 minutes. Bobby nodded his agreement to the orderly with a kindly smile and grave eyes - every inch the priest.

  Bobby approached Peter’s bed and made the sign of the cross. “Bless you, my son. How are you holding up in your hour of trial?”

  “Father, with the Lord’s hand in mine, I can face my accusers.”

  “Indeed, all things are possible with the Lord. I have news from the outside you may not know. Kathryn’s funeral is the day after tomorrow. I am willing to represent you there, if you wish.”

  “No, Father. I imagine that her family is pretty upset, and your presence there might be misconstrued.”

  Bobby intoned gravely, “Perhaps you are right, Peter.”

  Peter called out to the orderly, “I want Father Robert to hear my confession. Will it be okay if I whisper it to him? We won’t touch, but we will be very close.”

  “Fine, but I’ll be watching you two just as closely.”

  Bobby thanked the orderly and moved his chair very close to Peter’s bed. He leaned over to nearly touch Peter’s lips with his ear. “Go ahead, my son, make your confession.”

  Peter whispered, “Bobby, are you fucking nuts? Where did you get that outfit?”

  Bobby whispered back, “Well, I had this boyfriend once and his thing was …”

  Peter cut him off and whispered back, “I get the gist. What have you heard out there besides the stuff about the funeral?”

  Bobby whispered, “The TV stations and newspapers are having a field day with this murder. They are saying things like ‘high-profile busty blonde bureaucrat slain by husband who wrote a book on how he was going to kill her.’ They are calling you the ‘Murder-by-the-Book Killer.’”

  “They say no publicity is bad publicity, but they’d have to try me on the moon for me to get a fair trial with all that nasty shit about me in the news.”

  “Quickly, is there anything I can bring you that they’ll let you have? I’m getting the hairy eyeball from the guard, and I think they want me out of here now.”

  “Nah, it was just good to see you. I love you, Bobby, just not in that way.”

  Bobby said very quietly “Aw, shucks …” Then Bobby said in a voice loud enough for the orderly to hear, “Go in peace, my son, and sin no more. Your sins are forgiven. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, amen.”

  Peter motioned for Bobby’s ear again. Bobby leaned in to Peter’s lips. “Bobby, I didn’t know you were Catholic.”

  Bobby winked and whispered into Peter’s ear, “I’m not, but I had this boyfriend who used to be a priest and he …” and Bobby winked again at Peter. He smiled benevolently at the orderly and motioned for him to open the door. He made the sign of the cross for the guard and said, “Bless you.”

  Chapter 61

  Peter was cheered by Bobby’s visit. But within it lay the seeds of an explosion. Bobby had mentioned the funeral, and it caught Peter by surprise. He hadn’t considered Kathryn’s funeral because he was so caught up in his own problems.

  The bomb went off within minutes of Bobby’s departure.

  I am standing outside the chapel doors. No one inside the chapel is my friend. They all think I killed Kathryn. I am afraid to go inside. The smell of these places sickens me, and the music they play sickens me, and the decor sickens me. Why am I even here? To pay my respects? I do not respect the dead meat at the front of the room. She’s a child killer - she killed my babies.

  I decide to look at her. I want to make sure she’s dead. I walk up the aisle, and all I can think about is walking up the aisle at our wedding. I have never seen a woman as lovely as she was that day. She was wearing a shimmering fitted ivory cocktail dress that showed every delicious curve. Her hair and makeup were perfect. She looked sleek and sexy and very vulnerable. I knew that day what is meant by the expression “I thought my heart would burst.”

  Now, going down this aisle, I feel the red-hot eyes of a roomful of people who loathe me. I feel the spears of hate they cast with their eyes piercing my skin and drawing blood. I am afraid I will bleed out and die before I reach my goal. The blood pouring from my wounds leaves a trail behind me.

  In pain and bleeding, I stand in front of the open casket. She is as beautiful as the day we married. I see none of the hate she had for me in her sleeping face. Maybe she has forgiven me. I want to ask her. I want to lift her from this fancy box and tell her I’m sorry and beg her to forgive me. I want her back again.

  “You can’t have her back. You killed her.”

  I didn’t kill her.

  “Yes, you did kill her. I saw you do it three times.”

  That was just fiction.

  “Is that what you think? Is that what you really think?”

  I don’t know what to think.

  Chapter 62

  Elaine left a message with the District Attorney’s Office requesting a callback. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. She didn’t think the district attorney would lay a murder charge without having some evidence beyond the mere supposition that “it’s always the husban
d that did it,” combined with the fact that Peter wrote book on how to kill his wife. Elaine knew that all divorces were messy, but not every divorce ended in murder.

  Almost immediately after receiving Elaine’s message, District Attorney William Jefferson Mancuso phoned back. This quick turnaround surprised Elaine. The fact that the district attorney himself called alarmed her further. She knew the cases the district attorney chose to prosecute personally were the cases that were both easy to win and high profile. Bad news.

  “Elaine, hey, I haven’t seen you around court for awhile. Is your divorce practice so slow that you’re hustling criminal work now?”

  District Attorney Mancuso, “Slick Willie” as he was known to the older hands around the courthouse, was an asshole. No, Elaine thought, he was more of a cardboard cutout of an asshole; an asshole had more substance. No, on second thought, he was an asshole … not the cheeks or buttocks or the anal sphincter, but literally the hole - a smelly black place with nothing inside. Men like Slick Willie made her sputter with rage.

  Elaine somehow restrained herself from sputtering and came on low-key, almost sexy. “I sort of got roped into this one, and I’ll be getting out as soon as I can hand it off, but I’d like a sit-down with whoever in your office is working on it.” She was still hoping that Slick Willie was calling just to dirty-flirt with her, and not because he was going to try Peter himself.

  “Elaine, Elaine, we’re going to get to know each other really well in the next little while. I’m trying this one myself; you know, you have to keep your hand in the game or the rust sets in. Hey, how do you like them mixed metaphor apples?” Slick Willie confirmed Elaine’s worst fears.

  Elaine asked “When can we meet? I have my calendar open in front of me.”

  “Elaine, we can meet anytime, if it’s for dinner.”

  “Not dinner. You’re married and I’m too old for you anyway. Plus, I can’t stand other lawyers; you are still a member of the bar?” Elaine chuckled at her own attempt at humor.