The Wife: A Novel of Psychological Suspense

by Alafair Burke

  She gave me a light pat on the knee and slid a few inches down the bench. The courtroom was full of reporters.

  It felt as if all eyes were on me as the bailiff called Jason’s case and the judge asked Olivia about the pending motion.

  “Your Honor, our motion seeks two objectives—one that I believe is uncontroversial, one that may require explanation. In the interests of efficiency—”

  “You decided we should err on the side of discussion. Oh joy. Please tell me.”

  According to Olivia, the judge, Betty Jenner, was far more defense-oriented than she appeared. In her spare time, she apparently loved wine, art, and the theater. In the courtroom, she enjoyed unleashing her dry wit to keep lawyers on their toes.

  I followed along while Olivia recited the dates of Jason’s arraignment and the filing of the civil suit. “I have filed several demands for discovery, including subpoenas to ADA King for access to any evidence pertaining to the lawsuit filed by Ms. Martinez.” Olivia also listed a host of reasons to set over Jason’s criminal case while the lawsuit was pending.

  The few times I’d seen Olivia in person, she seemed so normal. Better than normal, really. Sexy, confident, a little bit mean. I even wondered if she and Colin had something going on. Now, in court, she seemed completely different. My mind wandered, thinking about how most people spent their whole lives playing a character. Not me, or at least I didn’t think so.

  The judge was asking the prosecutor, Brian King, his position on Olivia’s request for evidence.

  “Your Honor, the subpoena was served only three days ago.”

  “So I gather you haven’t turned anything over yet.” She did not sound happy with the response.

  “Some of the evidence is digital, and to be honest, we were caught off guard by this civil suit.”

  The judge offered a wry smile, appearing to appreciate the backhanded comment. “So what you’re telling me is that the discovery is forthcoming? Do we have a date?”

  “Imminent, Your Honor.”

  “Oh, imminent. How exciting. Should I set my Apple Watch?”

  “End of business today.”

  “Five o’clock. Excellent. Now, I’m assuming that was the easy part. What are we doing about two cases pending about the same subject matter?”

  “They’re not the same,” the prosecutor said. As he defended the difference between a private civil suit and a criminal prosecution brought by the state, I remembered a lawyer explaining the same thing to me when my parents filed a lawsuit on my behalf against the estate of Charles Franklin. He was dead, so we couldn’t send him to prison, but I still had a civil suit to pursue. It turned out that a Pittsburgh contractor could afford a house and a Lexus and only have a total net worth of about a hundred and fifty grand, but it allowed my parents to hold on to their house until I started pitching in, too.

  The prosecutor concluded his remarks by suggesting that both cases could proceed separately and simultaneously.

  “And what do your complainants desire, Mr. King?”

  “You’d have to ask Ms. Martinez, Your Honor.”

  The judge’s eyes widened. “You haven’t consulted with your own victims?”

  “Our communications are going through Ms. Martinez, who, when notified of the defendant’s motion, decided to appear today personally.”

  “Well, how courteous, and I’m sure not at all related to the number of reporters here.”

  A few chuckles broke out in the courtroom. How could anyone find this humorous? My husband’s future was at stake.

  Maybe I was biased, but Janice Martinez’s voice struck me as nasal and screechy. “Judge, I represent two women in the pending civil case against Jason Powell. As I already explained to both Ms. Randall and ADA King, my clients aren’t officially taking a position on the current motion. However, I would like to note that having two cases pending at once would likely lead to delays in both.”

  “That sounds to me like a position, Ms. Martinez.”

  “Simply an observation.”

  “Uh-huh. You don’t have a preference to resolve the criminal case first?” The judge was tapping her fingers on her bench, appearing to make a point that was lost on me.

  “No, Your Honor.”

  The judge nodded, as if some suspicion had been confirmed.

  The prosecutor must have understood the unspoken exchange of information, because he jumped in to stop whatever was about to happen. “This move is a blatant attempt by the defendant to use the civil case to buy his way out of the criminal justice system. Once the parties reach a financial settlement, Ms. Randall will argue that it affects the validity of our criminal case.”

  Both Olivia and Martinez interjected. Olivia called the prosecutor “paranoid.” Martinez said the argument was “offensive.”

  The judge wasn’t happy, either. “I’d be careful, Counselor. If I didn’t know better, it sounds like you’re accusing your own victims of being open to the idea of selling their testimony, and I’m sure you didn’t mean to suggest such a thing. Now, in the interests of judicial economy—”

  The prosecutor was already shaking his head, hands on hips. Something in my gut told me he was the one who was right.

  “You have something to say, Mr. King?” the judge asked. “If not, I’m tolling this prosecution for thirty days. Unless there’s some problem, I expect not to hear from any of you until then. Ms. Randall, Ms. Martinez—it sounds like the two of you should talk.”

  Outside the courtroom, Olivia asked if she could borrow Jason alone. As they made their way to the far end of the hallway, a man I recognized from the courtroom started to follow them, but Olivia turned around and barked, “Get near me while I’m talking to a client, and I’ll never talk to the Post again.” The chastened reporter dashed to the elevator in time to catch the closing doors.

  Once Susanna and I were alone, I asked her if she understood the judge’s decision.

  “It sounded to me like those women are willing to take money instead of going forward with the criminal case.”

  “Isn’t that bribery?”

  “It’s a fine line. You can’t pay a witness for silence, but if the parties reach a settlement, the DA might drop the charges. At the very least, any judge would read between the lines and be lenient in sentencing.”

  “I guess that’s good news overall, right?” I couldn’t believe that paying off my husband’s mistress and intern passed for good news these days.

  “Well, I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  She led me to a nearby bench to sit down. “Wilson Stewart, that intern who hooked up with Rachel, called me. That’s why I was late.”

  I felt a knot tightening in my stomach.

  “He wanted me to know that he exaggerated what he said.”

  “How so?”

  “He said he made her sound flakier and more histrionic than she really is. He also said Jason’s lawyer made it clear that Jason was impressed with his work and was looking forward to helping him land in a good job, but that he couldn’t do that if he was brought down by a false claim.”

  “Honestly? I don’t put anything past that woman. I’m just glad she’s on our side, not theirs.”

  “To be clear, Wilson still says he has no idea what really happened and has never seen Jason be anything but professional.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said vacantly.

  “So did you know Olivia had dangled a job recommendation in front of him before I agreed to have him on the show?”

  I said nothing. What does it really mean to “know” anything?

  “Angela, you let me put a man on television to lie.”

  “I didn’t think he was lying. Olivia was the one who set it all up—”

  “And you just said she would do anything to win. Yet you allowed her to pull me into it.”

  “I’m sorry, Susanna. I don’t know what else I can say. Please don’t be mad at me right now. I don’t think I can get through this without you.”

  She shook her
head. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just really caught off guard by this. Maybe there’s more to what happened with that girl in his office, in which case—”

  “There’s not, Susanna. Jason’s no saint, but he’s not some sex maniac.”

  “You said the other night that something happened between you. Something bad, and that’s when the two of you stopped . . .” She didn’t need to finish the sentence.

  I didn’t understand the transition from my point to hers until I let it sink in. “No. Oh god no. It was nothing like that, I swear.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “I told you. I just freaked out. And then I think he was scared to be with me after that.”

  “That’s not how it sounded when you were talking about it. You said something bad happened, and that you cried. You said you ‘didn’t think he knew that you didn’t want to,’ and then you clammed up. You were making excuses for him for something, Angela. What did he do to you?”

  I heard Olivia cough and turned to see her heading toward us, Jason right behind her. Susanna reached into her bag and pulled out a thin stack of stapled papers, folded in half, and tucked them in my purse discreetly. “I printed something out for you. Promise me you’ll read the entire thing and think about it with an open mind. I hope I’m wrong, but please, promise me.”

  “Fine. Of course.”

  She gave me a hug after walking us to our waiting car. I turned my head as I spotted a photographer in the distance. She told me again that she didn’t need a ride anywhere and waved as we pulled from the curb.

  While Jason checked his e-mail on his phone, I snuck a peek inside my purse, parting the fold in the papers to read the headline of the article Susanna had printed for me: “Why Women Don’t Always Know When They’ve Been Raped.”

  I snapped my purse shut at the sound of Jason’s voice. “King wasn’t kidding about imminent.”

  “Huh?” I was still trying to process the words I had just read.

  “Olivia texted me. She already got a zip file from the DA with their discovery. He must have hit the send key right after the hearing.”

  “Oh.”

  “She’s going to send me a summary with any questions she has.”

  “Sounds good.” More hours billed. Good for her, bad for us.

  “Thanks again for coming with me. I know it’s not easy.”

  “It’s fine.” He reached over to hold my hand, but I pretended not to notice.

  I listened as he worked out plans to take our car to the dealer the next morning. I resisted the urge to tell him that six days had passed since I had reminded him we needed service. The world didn’t stop turning because of his legal problems.

  “You don’t need it this week?” he whispered.

  I shook my head. Where was I going to go?

  “I’ll get a loaner just in case.”

  I could tell from his expression that he was proud of himself for his own thoughtfulness.

  39

  From: Olivia Randall

  To: Jason.Powell@nyu.edu

  Re: Discovery from NYPD/DA

  Date: June 6

  Good morning, Jason. I went through the zip file ADA King sent me yesterday. Most is what we expected: statements from Rachel, Kerry, Zack, Wilson, and you; DNA testing; footage from W Hotel on the night of the alleged incident. There are a couple of surprises, however:

  In the hotel surveillance footage, you and Kerry appear to be arguing as you leave her room. You continue to look upset once you are in the elevator alone. They will depict it as her ejecting you from her room, and you appearing nervous/scared/regretful afterward. They will argue that this proves that your sexual encounter that night was not consensual.

  In Kerry’s statement (attached), she claims that when she rejected your advances, you grabbed her, threw her to the bed, and bound her wrists with your leather belt. Contained in discovery were photographs that purport to be injuries of Kerry’s wrists. What I see in the images (also attached) appears consistent with very tight binding (no broken skin, but visible bruising).

  A police report from a car accident three years ago. Your passenger was Lana Sullivan, whom police interviewed last week. She claims you hired her for prostitution that night.

  We should meet to discuss further, but in the meantime, give some thought to the following questions:

  Do you recall an argument with Kerry that night at the W? Why you might have appeared upset?

  As we discussed, the DNA on the clothing she gave to NYPD cannot be linked to a specific date. The items are described as a black skirt and black underwear (no further details), turned over in a plastic bag marked with a W Hotel insignia. (She is wearing a black skirt in the W Hotel surveillance video.) It’s easy to imagine that she might have had a spare laundry bag from a hotel chain she uses regularly. Do you recall if Kerry was wearing a black skirt and underwear the last time you saw her? I would like to argue that the DNA was from an encounter you had with her after Rachel Sutton’s complaint became public.

  Photos of injuries. I can argue that these aren’t authenticated; there’s no way to establish that the injuries are of her, or could be self-inflicted. But we should discuss whether you have an alternative explanation.

  Regarding the prostitution report: any judge would likely suppress this as irrelevant and prejudicial, but I have concerns this could get leaked. You’ve been reluctant to disclose details of other extramarital activities to me, but the fact that they tracked down a prostitute from three years ago means they are searching for a pattern of misconduct. Janice Martinez will do the same. We should discuss what that narrative will look like if it all goes public. On that note: any movement regarding Angela’s position on this point? I know she’s concerned about protecting her background, but there would be no need to mention Pittsburgh, etc., although that would of course be ideal.

  A sit-down interview with a friendly outlet—maybe her friend Susanna—would be very well-timed. All she’d need to say is that whatever understanding the two of you had is a private matter and that she has full confidence in your innocence. She did not seem receptive when I broached the subject. I know you’re not willing to ask directly. I plan to discuss with Colin.

  40

  When Colin called and offered to bring lunch, I was expecting takeout Chinese or deli sandwiches. Instead, he arrived with a shopping bag with the logo of Gotham Bar & Grill.

  He began unpacking carefully stacked containers from the bag. “I know how cooped up you’ve been. I figured I could at least bring the best of the city to you.” My trip to the courthouse with Jason the previous day had been a rare excursion from the house.

  “You’re not working today?” He was wearing a fitted plaid shirt and jeans instead of his usual Big Law suit.

  “A closing got postponed. Figured I deserved a day off.”

  Opening the containers, I spotted all of my favorite dishes: tuna tartare, seafood salad, mushroom risotto, sliced duck breast, a pork chop. “Is a small army joining us?”

  “I wanted you to have some choices, and I figured you and Jason could use the leftovers.”

  I started to get plates from the cupboard, but he stopped me.

  “Go have a seat.” I sat at the kitchen table while he pulled dishes, silverware, and glasses from the cupboards. A stranger watching us would have assumed he lived here. The finishing touch was the final item waiting in the bag: a bottle of Sancerre, wrapped in a chiller sack.

  “You are an angel,” I said as he took a seat next to me.

  I was three bites in when he told me I looked happy. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you smile.”

  “Shows how much I like my food.” I was surprised at how content I felt, even though I knew it was fleeting. Jason was gone for the day—his first full workday since his arrest. He was suspended from the university and had lost several clients, but had scheduled back-to-back meetings with the few remaining ones who had agreed to meet with him. Against my advice, he was also planni
ng on recording an episode of his podcast, his first appearance on the program since I’d first heard of Kerry Lynch. He insisted that it had to be done. Zack had been carrying on without him, but the Equalonomics brand was Jason’s. He seemed oblivious to the increasing numbers of one-star reviews being posted on iTunes of the podcast: “Politically correct sex offender. Irony much?” “Boycott the asshats still advertising on this program.” “Will he be able to pod from prison?” “Of course this sanctimonious libtard is a rapist. Totally predictable.”

  There was a reason I hadn’t been leaving the house for meals, or anything else, for that matter. And until this day, Jason had been home too. Only a few weeks ago, that would have been enough to make me happier than any kind of extravagance, but the past two weeks had felt stifling and heavy. This house had become joyless.

  I reached for the duck and slid another slice onto my plate. It was only then that I realized Colin didn’t look quite as happy as I felt in that moment.

  I put my fork down and shook my head. “I’m so stupid.”

  “What—”

  “It’s no coincidence you called the first day Jason’s out of the house, here in your casual clothes with this amazing meal. Did he send you here? What news does he want you to break? What is it now?”

  He reached over and placed a calming hand on my wrist. “Angela, I promise. Jason doesn’t even know I’m here.” He removed his hand and held it up in a scout’s honor for emphasis.

  I believed him. “I’m so sorry. I’m just— I’m constantly on edge, like everyone’s watching me. Talking about me. Judging. I can’t keep living like this.”

  “I totally understand.”

  When I continued eating, the food didn’t taste as good. I took another sip of my wine.

  “You do know me so well, though,” Colin said. I waited for him to explain. “I promise that I was coming here anyway, with food already ordered, and wine already chilled. But that look you saw on my face just now—I was trying to muster up the courage to talk to you about something. Susanna called me while I was on my way to Gotham.”