Read Lying With Strangers Online

Authors: James Grippando

Lying With Strangers (17 page)

BOOK: Lying With Strangers
3.87Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

THE DEAD BOLT CLICKED AT DAWN. PEYTON RACED TO THE FRONT
door
AS
it opened. In walked Kevin.

“Thank God you’re back.”

He looked awful, eyes puffy. He was wearing the same suit he’d worn to last night’s cocktail party. “I’ve been up all night.”

“Where?”

“My office.”

“I called your office.”

“I know. I just didn’t pick up. What you said last night set me off in a bad way, but ultimately that’s not what bothers me.” He lowered his eyes, then looked straight at her. “There’s something I should have told you a long time ago.”

“No,” she said in her most serious tone. “There’s something I need to tell
you
.”

For fifteen minutes Peyton laid it all out, from her mistaken assumption that Kevin had cheated, to her latest suspicions that Gary was harassing her, and finally to the call from the kidnapper. He listened to every word, she was sure of it, barely moving in the chair opposite hers at the kitchen table.

Finally, he spoke. “We’re not going to pay.”

“He said he’d kill Gary if we went to the police.”

“Not to worry. We’re not going to the police.”

“You can’t just ignore it.”

“Do you have feelings for him?”

“No. I told you, we went out drinking, I got sick and—”

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“Yes. It’s the truth.”

“Would you believe it, if you were me?”

She didn’t answer immediately. He seized on her hesitation.

“You shouldn’t have to think about that one.”

“Kevin, let’s not make this about the two of us and every problem we’ve ever had. Gary is in danger. Let’s focus on that.”

“He was harassing you, for crying out loud. Two minutes ago you said he stole your computer.”

“I said I thought he’d stolen it. In light of this, I’m not so sure it was him. I’m not even sure the rose on my locker was from him either. He denied all of it each time I confronted him. It’s possible he basically left me alone after I walked out of his apartment. In a way, I’ve been the one harassing him with false accusations.”

“Sounds to me like you do have feelings for him.”

“I just want to do the right thing.”

“Which would be what, in your view?”

“We should call the police.”

“Let’s not be knee-jerk. We need to think this through.”

“We can’t pretend this didn’t happen. What if this threat is for real? Gary could get killed.”

“He’s not going to get killed.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I think it’s him.”

“What?”

“The kidnapper is Gary. Who else would have pictures of you undressed? Was there anyone else in the room?”

She stopped and thought for a second. “That’s a good point.”

“Don’t you see? He staged it.”

“But why would he do that?”

“Because he’s a scumbag and he’s pissed. You told him I had cheated, you went out partying with him, and you spent the night at his place. Then you told him that you were wrong, I hadn’t
cheated, and that you and I had patched this up. You said yourself he was obviously ticked off about that and nearly blew a gasket right there in the hospital cafeteria. He had a thing for you, and you jerked him around and then dumped him. For the
second time
in his life you’ve dumped him, and both times it was for
me
. So now he’s going to make us pay the only way he can. He’s going to squeeze some money out of us.”

“Why a staged kidnapping? Why wouldn’t he just blackmail me?”

“It’s a clever ploy on his part. If he were to come to you and say ‘Give me ten thousand dollars or I’ll tell your husband we had sex,’ he could go to jail for extortion. But the kidnapping ruse gives him a layer of protection. If you pay the phony ransom, he pockets the money. If you call the police, he pretends he really was kidnapped. This way, he doesn’t have to make any explicit demands that you could tape-record and hand over to the district attorney for a slam-dunk conviction on charges of extortion.”

“That sounds like something a lawyer would concoct. Not Gary.”

“Maybe he’s smarter than you think.”

“I just don’t want to be wrong about this.”

“How did you leave it with the caller?”

“He wants me to have the money ready in two days. He said he’d call back.”

“Perfect. When he calls back, tell him you already confessed to your husband. Tell him I’m cool with it.”

“Stop it, Kevin. There’s nothing to be cool with. I didn’t cheat on you.”

“That’s really irrelevant.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because if you didn’t cheat on me, I’m happy. If you did, I love you, and I forgive you. It’s as simple as that.”

She wished he would believe her, but it heartened her to think that he really loved her enough to forgive her.
Or was he just saying that?

“This is such a mess,” she said.

“Nothing we can’t handle. When that kidnapper calls again for the ransom, I want you to tell him that we decided Gary Varne isn’t worth ten cents, let alone ten grand.”

“I just want to go to the police.”

“Will you forget the police, please?”

“I’m afraid someone is going to get hurt.”

“No one is going to get hurt. I’m telling you, there is no kidnapping. It’s Varne.”

Their eyes met, then Peyton blinked and let go of his hand. Only a few times before had she seen that look on Kevin’s face. She knew his mind was made up.

“You’re angry,” she said.

“Yes, I am. But I’m not speaking out of anger.”

Her gaze drifted toward the phone. She dreaded the thought of another call from the kidnapper in two days, the thought of what she was going to tell him.

“I hope you’re right about this,” she said quietly. “God, do I hope you’re right.”

KEVIN FELT USELESS. EVEN IF HE HADN’T BEEN PHYSICALLY EXHAUST
ed from lack of sleep, he was way too preoccupied to practice law.

He faked his way through some easy billable hours in a morning conference call among eleven different lawyers who represented four different defendants in a nationwide consumer class action. Thankfully, two lawyers from New York did most of the talking, plotting clever ways to delay the trial until well after the thirty-six-year-old judge who’d been kicking their collective asses died of old age.

For lunch he ordered a sandwich and ate alone in his office. It was tasteless, neither bad nor good, like old gum. Don’s Deli strikes again. Or maybe it was him. This was part of the overall numbing of the senses. First to go was the subconscious sense of guilt. Next were the physical senses. By morning, he’d be a zombie with no remorse. Such were the effects of habitual lying.

It did seem to be habit forming. He’d sat at the kitchen table and listened to Peyton’s painful explanation about Gary Varne, never uttering a peep about him and Sandra. It hadn’t seemed like the right time. It never seemed like the right time.

The door opened. Ira Kaufman entered and closed the door behind him. “I need a decision,” he said.

Kevin set his cardboard sandwich aside. “On what?”

“Your book. I wasn’t kidding. I’m not going to let you publish it as written.”

“Then fire me if you want. I’m not going to change a word.”

“Don’t be a fool. I’m giving you a chance to keep your job. If you spit in my eye, you’ll lose your job and the lawsuit.”

“What lawsuit?”

He pitched a file onto Kevin’s desk. “This one.”

“You actually sued me?”

“Not yet. As a courtesy, I’m giving you a chance to read it over before we file. Hopefully, you’ll come to your senses. If you don’t, we’ll file by Friday and have an injunction by Monday.”

“You can’t get an injunction against the publication of my book. First Amendment. Freedom of speech. Any of that ring a bell?”

“Read it. I think you’ll be surprised.
Un
pleasantly.” He smiled thinly as he opened the door and left.

Kevin glanced at the file on his desk but didn’t reach for it. He was more intrigued by the timing than the content. Sandra must have reported back to Ira about their encounter at the cocktail party last night. Maybe she’d even told him about the argument she’d undoubtedly overheard, he and Peyton wrestling over infidelity. Ira was a master of timing. Hitting ’em while they were down was his patented punch, and this was the kind of low blow that Ira would especially covet. The sense of poetic justice would have enormous appeal, the way Kevin’s life was imitating his own fiction. A successful woman cheats on her husband. Her lover is kidnapped.

Just like in his book.

Of course, Ira couldn’t possibly know that the second half of Kevin’s story had played out in real life—the kidnapping. The only people who knew that were Peyton, himself, and the kidnapper. Just the three of them.

He leaned back in his chair, concerned, wondering if the thought had yet crossed Peyton’s mind that perhaps it was just the two of them—Peyton and himself.

 

Peyton worked a typical thirteen-hour shift at the hospital on both Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday started with morning rounds, followed by a chance to observe one of her six-month-old male patients undergo surgery for a stomach disorder that she had correctly diagnosed as pyloric stenosis. She thanked God she wasn’t the surgeon. Her mind was a million miles away.

The deadline had technically passed at 4:00
A.M.
, if by “two days” the kidnapper had meant exactly forty-eight hours. Peyton was glad for the extra time.

Gary hadn’t been to work since Monday evening. Yesterday she’d discreetly asked so many people whether they’d seen Gary that her mission was becoming not so discreet. Only this morning was she able to nail down that he had called in sick early Tuesday morning, just a few hours after she’d gotten the kidnapper’s call. At first she’d taken that to mean that Kevin was right. Gary had staged his own kidnapping. On reflection, however, it seemed just as plausible that the kidnapper had forced him to call in sick so that his sudden disappearance wouldn’t be cause for alarm.

The stomach surgery was a success. Peyton was due back in the ER after watching it, but she stopped at the lounge to use the phone. Just to see what would happen, she dialed Gary’s home number. The machine picked up. His usual greeting played, followed by at least a dozen beeps, one for each message already on it. The machine switched off without giving her a chance to talk. It was too full to take any more messages. If he was staging a kidnapping, he was at least doing a convincing job with respect to unanswered phone messages.

Dr. Sheffield entered the lounge just as she was checking her mailbox.

“How’s our article coming?” he asked as he poured a cup of coffee.

“Fine,” she said. “Little computer mishap on Sunday but nothing major.”

“I’m sure you’ll sort it out.” He started for the door, then stopped. “By the way, if this phase of your research turns out half as good as the last one, I was planning to credit you as a coauthor.”

“That would be an honor. Thanks.”

He left as quickly as he’d come. She was about to head out herself when the lounge phone rang, startling her. She answered on the third ring, only to hear that mechanically disguised voice again.

“Where’s my money?”

Peyton shuddered, not sure that she could pull off Kevin’s plan.

“How did you know I was at this phone?”

“Same way I got pictures of Gary Varne undressing you.”

That strengthened her resolve. Like Kevin had said, who but Gary himself would have those pictures?

“Do you have the money?” he said.

She stretched the cord as far as it would go to check the entire lounge to make sure that no one else was in the room, such as an exhausted resident flopped on the couch or passed out by the computers. All clear. “I was hoping we could talk about this.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“My husband knows about…the incident. I told him.”

There was silence on the line. “That must have been grand. What did you tell him? It was all a mistake. That you don’t have any feelings for Gary?”

“I don’t.”

“Then it doesn’t look good for poor Gary Varne, does it? My price is the same. Ten thousand.”

“I don’t think I can pay.”

“You’ll pay. Or I’ll kill him.”

He sounded like he meant it. Peyton felt herself wavering, but she tried to be firm. “Please—”

“Please
what
? If Gary doesn’t mean anything to you, you got nothing to worry about. You don’t care if he dies, you don’t care if he lives. You don’t care what happens to him.”

Her voice shook. “What is going on?”

“You tell me. Who are you lying to, bitch? Me? Your husband. Or yourself? Have the money by midnight. And cut the crap. This is what you get for lying with strangers. You didn’t know you cared.”

The line clicked, and the caller was gone.

PRIVACY WAS HARD TO COME BY IN THE HOSPITAL, BUT THE ON-CALL
suites worked in a pinch. They were windowless rooms (hardly suites) for residents who might somehow manage twenty or thirty minutes of sleep on their on-call night, complete with bunk beds, a small shower that always seemed to have plenty of ice-cold water, and a telephone. Peyton ducked inside, closed the door, and dialed Kevin at the firm. He answered his own line, which startled her a little. She’d expected his secretary.

“It’s me,” she said. “He called again.”

“When?”

“Just now. Somehow he knew I was standing right next to the phone in the hospital lounge. It rang, and I answered. It’s creepy the way he tracked me down.”

“Don’t let him scare you.”

“How can I not be scared? He’s obviously watching me.”

“He’s just playing games with you. Did you tell him that I know everything?”

“Yes. He doesn’t care. He still wants ten thousand in ransom.”

“What a crock. I hope you were firm with him.”

“I was.”

“What did he say?”

“Have the money by midnight or he’s going to kill Gary.”

“If that’s the way he wants it, let the fool kill himself.”

“Kevin,” she said reprovingly.

“I’m not serious. And neither is he. He’s not going to kill himself.”

“That’s the part I don’t understand. How can you be so sure it’s him?”

“It’s obvious. If you’re objective.”

“How can
you
be objective? You’re the one…”

“Who was cheated on?” he said, finishing the thought for her.

“Who
thinks
he was cheated on. Damn it, the fact that you won’t accept my innocence only confirms what I’m saying. Neither one of us can possibly be objective about this. We shouldn’t be making decisions that could literally be a matter of life and death.”

“It’s a charade. Gary Varne is jerking us both around.”

“All right, assume he is. That doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.”

“He’s just a loser. Period.”

“Death row is full of losers, and that doesn’t make the victims any less dead.”

“All he wants is money.”

“I’m not sure he knows what he wants. This last phone call, he said something that makes me wonder if he’s even all there. He said, ‘This is what you get for lying with strangers.’ Obviously he thinks that I slept with Gary, just like you do.”

“What’s your point?” he said, a little defensive.

“I’m not sure it makes sense. Gary wasn’t a stranger.”

“He is, in the sense that he isn’t your husband.”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant.”

“What else could it mean?”

“That I was with someone I only thought I knew. But I really don’t know him.”

“Well, that’s probably true. How well do we really know the people we work with? Gary could have a dark side. Maybe he even has some kind of split-personality disorder. Schizophrenia.”

“Schizophrenia and multiple personalities are two different things. And true cases of multiples are extremely rare. Even more rare in men than women.”

“Which only proves my point. Gary is no Sybil, or whoever that woman was with the sixteen personalities. He’s a lowlife blackmailer who has decided that if he can’t have my wife he’ll destroy her. We’re
not
paying him.”

“I’m not saying we should. But I wish you’d reconsider going to the police.”

“No. I still say this is a private matter, and we should keep it private. Your friend Gary doesn’t have the nerve to see this through, especially now that he knows we’re standing together on this.”

“I’m still scared.”

“Don’t be. If he calls back and keeps pushing for the money, we’ll call the police. Trust me on this. My bet is that he’s just going to drop it.”

“And if he does drop it, what then? We just drop it, too?”

“Absolutely. With your own string of bad luck at the hospital, you should be just as eager as I am to keep this quiet.”

Interesting. Gary had told her the same thing after her computer had disappeared. “All right, we’ll wait,” she said. “But if I so much as get a call and a hang-up, even if I just
think
it’s him, we call the police.”

“I can live with that,” said Kevin.

Hope I can, too
, she thought, but she didn’t say it. She just said goodbye, hung up, and checked the clock. Almost 2:00
P.M.
Ten more hours until he called back—or not.

Either way, it was going to be a long day.

BOOK: Lying With Strangers
3.87Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Love and Fandoms by CJ Zane
Deep Rocked by Clara Bayard
The Mortal Fringe by Jordi Ribolleda
Put on the Armour of Light by Catherine Macdonald
To Love and to Cherish by Kelly Irvin
Overdrive by Simpson, Phillip W.
His Own Man by Edgard Telles Ribeiro
The Language of Secrets by Dianne Dixon
Blood at Yellow Water by Ian W Taylor
La granja de cuerpos by Patricia Cornwell