Lying With Strangers (20 page)

KEVIN WAS JUST MINUTES INTO THE STORY, AND ALREADY PEYTON
had filled more holes than a road-repair crew. Her first thought was that he was awfully forgetful of the important details, followed by her rising suspicions that he was intentionally holding things back from their lawyer, culminating in her unsettling realization that there were plenty of things that for one reason or another she simply hadn’t told her husband. Likewise, there were things he had never told her, including the single red rose he’d found outside their doorstep after her car accident, the heckler at the bookstore, and the dedication page in his manuscript on which someone had scrawled the threatening message, She’s spoken for, asshole.

After about the tenth time one of them looked at the other and said, “You never told me that,” Tony laid his notepad on the desktop and offered an assessing look.

“Do you two know each other?” he asked facetiously. “Kevin, meet Peyton Shields. Peyton, Kevin Stokes.”

It took a solid hour to get through the entire history, followed by another fifteen minutes of follow-up questions by their lawyer. At the end of it all, Tony leaned back in his chair, thinking for a solid minute in silence. Finally, he said, “You know what I think?”

“We’re crazy?” said Peyton.

He shrugged, as if that went without saying. “Let’s cogitate like
the district attorney for a minute. Let’s assume he has both of you in his crosshairs. A pretty safe assumption, given the fact that the body was found in the trunk of your car and the police showed up today at your apartment with a warrant for your gun. Here’s one possible theory. First, Peyton cheated on Kevin and slept with Gary Varne. Agreed?”

“Not agreed,” said Peyton. “I didn’t sleep with the guy.”

“I’m not talking about reality,” said Tony. “I’m trying to figure out how the prosecutor will shape the facts at hand into a story with real jury appeal.”

“Maybe he won’t be quite as focused on adultery as you think,” said Kevin.

“Are you kidding me? I’m being gentle here, using all the nice euphemisms like affair and cheating. Wait till the prosecutor gets into the act and, even worse, the press. It’ll be reduced to its basest element. A hot, young stud thrusting himself into the loins of another man’s wife, a stranger ejaculating into the very canal through which the children of this once happy union should have entered the world. I’m not trying to be crude, I just want you to be ready.”

“We’ll be ready,” said Peyton. “So long as our own lawyer is careful to distinguish between perception and reality.”

“For some prosecutors perception is reality. So point one of the government’s case is this: Peyton and Gary do the deed. After that, pretty much everything is a matter of conjecture, but if I’m a prosecutor I see it this way. Peyton tries to break off the relationship. Varne starts harassing her. He pesters her at work, steals her computer from the library. When it’s finally clear that Peyton is done with him, he threatens to tell Kevin about the affair and blackmails her. Faced with the blackmail, Peyton confesses all to her husband. Are you with me so far?”

They nodded. Tony continued, “The blackmail backfires on Varne. After the confession, Kevin wants him dead. Peyton wants her husband back, so she goes along with the plan. The end result is that either Peyton or Kevin shoots Varne with Peyton’s gun. One
or both of you put the body in the trunk for disposal. Peyton is driving to the wharf to dump it when she’s finally overcome with guilt over what she’s done. She parks the car and swallows sleeping pills to kill herself. Fortunately for her, the police find her in time and take her to the hospital.”

“What about the kidnapping?” asked Peyton.

“Never happened,” said Tony. “Later, with the help of their attorney, the defendants concoct a sensational story that Gary Varne was kidnapped and that some mysterious man in a ski mask abducted Peyton and framed her for Gary’s murder.”

“He’ll say we just made it up?” asked Peyton.

“Plagiarized yourselves is an even better way to put it. The blackmail, the kidnapping, the whole implausible defense mirrors the plot in Kevin’s novel, a work of fiction. It is a curious coincidence, don’t you think?”

Kevin asked, “Are you playing devil’s advocate, or does Tony Falcone think it’s a curious coincidence too?”

“Too early to pass judgment.”

“What about the guy in the ski mask who was hiding in Peyton’s car? That’s not in my novel. Doesn’t that sway you?”

“Did you tell the police about that?”

“No. Peyton told me about it when she regained consciousness in the emergency room. Two seconds later the cops were telling us about a body in the trunk of her car. My instincts told me we should see a lawyer before we start talking.”

“Good instincts.”

“Shouldn’t we tell them now?” asked Peyton.

“I’ll help you with that. You shouldn’t be talking directly to the police at this point. They’ll eat you for lunch.”

“Are you going to tell them about the kidnapping—Gary Varne’s kidnapping, I mean.”

“Problem is, if we tell them about that kidnapping, we also have to tell them you were being blackmailed. That’s dicey.”

“It’s a frame-up. Why not scream it at the top of our lungs?”

“Because in my opinion the prosecutor will believe only half
of what you say. He won’t accept that Gary Varne was kidnapped. It’s too much like Kevin’s book. But he will believe that you were being blackmailed, and then he’ll twist your words into a theory that Gary Varne was the blackmailer. Once Varne is cast as a blackmailer, that gives you a serious motive to kill him in a planned and deliberate fashion. Without that element, the case has more of an aura of jealous rage than premeditation, more suitable for the lesser charge of manslaughter than first-degree murder.”

“So you want us to keep our defense to ourselves?”

“For now. Let’s wait and see if the prosecutor knows anything about blackmail before we tell him.”

Kevin shook his head, grimacing. “I respect your judgment, but I don’t see how putting the prosecutor to the test benefits us.”

“It doesn’t,” said Peyton, her eyes narrowing. “I think the test is for our lawyer’s benefit. He wants to know if we’re lying to him.”

“That’s an interesting theory,” said Tony.

“I’m not sure I follow it,” said Kevin.

“If I was being blackmailed by an old boyfriend, only three people on the planet knew anything about it. Two of them are in this room. The other one is now dead.”

“That’s a certainty.”

“But if Gary Varne really was kidnapped, there was obviously a fourth person involved—the kidnapper. So if Kevin and I keep our mouths shut and still the prosecutor starts talking about blackmail, we know he must have a source. It’s probably anonymous, and by process of elimination it has to be the kidnapper. That would satisfy our lawyer that there was a kidnapping and that we’re being framed.”

Tony was silent, then smiled thinly. “You’re a very suspicious person, Doctor.”

“And you’re more transparent than you think,” she replied.

Her tone wasn’t hostile, but Kevin was visibly uncomfortable with the way she was challenging Tony. “I don’t know if Peyton is right or not,” he said. “But how soon till we find out if the prosecutor has any information about blackmail?”

“If he isn’t explicit about it from the get-go, he’ll tip his hand soon enough. For example, he could subpoena your bank records to check for large cash withdrawals in the few days before the murder. I assume that would turn up nothing, since you two agreed not to pay the ransom.”

“That’s right,” said Peyton.

Kevin coughed. “Well, uh, that’s not exactly right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—” he paused, struggling. “I withdrew money from our brokerage account.”

“What?”

He was speaking to Peyton but looking at the floor. “I refused to pay because I thought Varne was blackmailing us. By the second day, part of me started to worry that maybe he really was kidnapped and maybe the kidnapper would turn violent against us if we stonewalled him. So just in case, I withdrew the money.”

Peyton glared. “For two days you let me agonize over the possible consequences of refusing to pay the ransom. And now you’re telling me that you had the money in hand and were ready to pay it.”

“Only if I thought you were in danger.”

“Damn it, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t. Not until I knew…”

He stopped, but she finished it for him. “Knew that I was willing to let Gary die?”

He didn’t answer.

Peyton said, “Is that how you intended to satisfy yourself that I didn’t sleep with Gary Varne, that I didn’t have feelings for him?”

He lowered his head and said, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Peyton looked away, not quite believing him. It was suddenly quiet enough to hear the breeze from the air-conditioning vents.

Tony broke the silence. “Well, that was enlightening. Why don’t we all take a break. Get some coffee, get some air, maybe one of us get a new lawyer.”

“What?” the clients said in unison.

“I’ve seen enough to know I can’t represent you both, not even at this preliminary stage. Eventually you would need separate counsel, so you might as well do it now. Kevin, you’ve seen it enough in civil practice. We’ll mount a joint defense, cooperate at every stage of the case. But each of you needs your own lawyer looking out for your own interest. Before you kill each other.”

She glanced at Kevin, then at Tony. “Who do you recommend I retain?”

“Me,” said Tony.

“What?” said Kevin.

“You’re a perfect match for my wife. She’s a tough former prosecutor who can handle a lawyer as a client. You’ll love her.”

Kevin seemed deflated, like the kid not picked in a round of playground basketball. “Well, if that’s your recommendation.”

“It is.”

“When can I meet her?”

“Her office is across the hall. I’ll walk you over.”

“You want to me go right now?”

“No time like the present.”

“Okay, I guess. There were just some things I was planning to talk out with Peyton and you at this meeting. Things I learned through this investigator I hired, and some other things.”

Said Tony, “My advice is that from here on out you consult your own lawyer before you talk to me or my client about anything that relates to the case.”

His client, thought Peyton.
Client first, wife second.
Their world was surely turning upside down.

Kevin glanced at Peyton, as if to ask if the new arrangement was okay with her. She didn’t respond. He rose slowly and said, “I’m not sure how long this will take. I guess I’ll meet you back at home.”

Peyton didn’t answer. Tony said, “That’s best. Peyton and I have a lot of work to do.”

Kevin waited for her to look up at him, but she didn’t. “Well, good luck,” he said with a shrug.

“You too,” she said, and finally she did look at him. “I think I’m going to have dinner with my parents tonight. They’re concerned about me, and I haven’t had much of a chance to talk to them since they rushed back from their vacation. You’re welcome to join us, but…”

“No, that’s all right. You be the good daughter. I’m fine on my own.”

She nodded. Tony directed him out the door, then stopped in the doorway for some parting advice to his remaining client. “Don’t look at this as divisive, Peyton. Think of it as the only sane way to protect your common interest.”

“Sure,” she said, watching him lead her husband away. “I’m all for the common interest.”

Whatever’s left of it.

PEYTON’S PICTURE WAS IN THE NEWSPAPER. NOT A VERY GOOD LIKE
ness. Rudy had much prettier ones. Dozens of them, all taken from a distance with a telephoto lens, all without her even knowing it.

He was lying on the bed, the newspaper spread across his pillow. He’d read the story at least a dozen times, but he kept going back to the printed photograph of her walking into her apartment, a profile shot with Kevin in the background. Rudy stared at her face so hard that he could actually count the grainy dots in the ink. If only the picture had been taken head-on with her staring directly into the lens. He needed to see right into her eyes to get inside her head. One good look into those eyes and he could always tell what was on her mind.

He tossed the newspaper on the floor and rolled onto his back, thinking. He knew Peyton had to be suffering. Things weren’t looking good. The body in the trunk. The sleeping pills in the car. The salacious hints of some kind of “relationship” between her and Gary Varne. Anyone who read today’s paper would have pegged her for an emotional wreck. But not Rudy. Even in that cloudy photograph, he didn’t see a murderer and adulteress, and certainly not a woman on the brink of suicide. He saw a woman in need. Just like that woman in her car after the accident, the woman he’d pulled from the icy waters of Jamaica Pond.

I’ve always helped you, Peyton. I can help you again.

All she had to do was send him a sign. He’d be there in a minute.

He sat up in bed, suddenly inspired. It was five minutes past eleven. He thought it worth a try. Maybe tonight was the night. She had to be feeling lower than ever before. Maybe she’d reach out to him, her friend from the past.

He slipped out of bed and walked over to his computer workstation. The screen saver was glowing. He went online, straight to where they’d met, that chat room on old Hollywood movies.

Eleven people were in the room. On the screen, right before his eyes, meaningless conversations were unfolding in various colors and fonts. He jumped right in and typed his own message in chat room-ese.

“r u there?”

He’d used his familiar old screen name, “RG.” If she was in the chat room, the initials before the message would tell her that it was him. He waited, then typed another message.

“please b there.”

A few moments passed, then he couldn’t believe his eyes. One joyous letter at a time, the response emerged on screen.

“i’m back.”

The screen name before the response nearly stopped his heart:

“Ladydoc.” His hands shook as he typed the follow-up.

“is it really u?”

“yes.”

“prove it.”

He held his breath and waited. Finally, Ladydoc typed,

“Rodolfo Guglielmi.”

Rudy smiled. She remembered. He’d told her months ago in a private chat room, just the two of them. She was the only person on the planet who knew what the “RG” in his screen name stood for. “Rodolfo Guglielmi.” Rudolph Valentino’s real name.

“i’m so happy it’s u.”

“private chat?”

His skin actually tingled. He’d been waiting months for that invitation. He used to love it when they’d break away from the group, the things she’d say in the privacy of their own chat room. He couldn’t believe they were going back.

“can’t wait,” he wrote.

Together they exited the crowded public chat, just the two of them.