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Authors: James Grippando

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BOOK: Lying With Strangers
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RUDY LAY WAITING AND WATCHING, CONCEALED FROM SIGHT BY
thick shrubbery and the dark shroud of midnight. He was only following orders.

The night before the trial began, he’d chatted with Ladydoc again. It had been almost two months since they’d reestablished Internet contact, roughly the same time Peyton and Kevin had been indicted. In that first reunion chat, she’d given him exactly what he’d wanted in their private chat room. Ever since then, she’d been playing hardball. A year ago, at the peak of their relationship, she would come to their regular cyber meeting place almost every night at eleven. Since the indictments, she’d come some nights but not others, no schedule whatever, never making a date for another go-around. Rudy had to log on and check the chat room each night at eleven, disappointed more often than not. Even when she did show up, it wasn’t like before. She’d leave abruptly, right in the middle of one of their steamy sessions, threatening never to take him all the way again unless he agreed to meet her in person. Each time he’d refused, but this last time she’d given him the ultimatum. “Meet me in the Back Bay Fens, or you will never hear from me again,” had been her exact words. Whether she meant it or not he couldn’t say. But he knew he couldn’t take the teasing anymore, the aggravation of her leaving him swollen and unsatisfied time after time. It was ruining
the illusion, the way she’d get him all worked up, take him to the brink, and then—bleep—
Ladydoc has left the room
. It was an empty feeling, like making it with some bitch only to discover that in the middle of the act she’d fallen asleep or passed out, or that the knife had penetrated a little too close to the heart and that she’d bled to death before he could finish.

If she wanted to see him in person, fine. He brought his blade, just in case.

“So where the hell are you?” he muttered, checking his watch.

Ladydoc didn’t know what he looked like, so her directions had been detailed and specific. “Meet at the park bench facing the Mud River. Sit on the north end. Cross your right leg over your left, then your left over your right. Then I’ll know it’s you.”

Rudy agreed to it, but he wasn’t an idiot. In the back of his mind, he suspected that the minute he sat on the bench a half-dozen FBI agents would come flying out from behind trees to apprehend him. So from his hiding spot in the bushes, he watched from a distance as the homeless guy he’d hired for twenty bucks performed the ritual. He sat on the bench, crossed his right leg over his left and then his left over his right. And he waited.

A minute passed, and nothing happened. Rudy replayed the performance in his mind, making sure that the guy had done it right. He had, he was sure of it.

Two minutes passed, and still there was nothing.

Rudy was getting edgy. This whole idea had been hers, not his. She’d made the rules, and he’d played by them. At least, as far as she’d known, he’d played by them. She had no reason to know that the guy on the bench wasn’t the real Rudy.

Going on five minutes, and still no Ladydoc.

The good news was that she hadn’t invited him here to lure him into a police trap. The cops would have been all over his homeless stand-in if that had been the case. But that gave him only a moment of calm. The bottom line was she’d stood him up.

Damn her!

He was shaking with anger, trying to keep control of himself. The homeless guy was now prone on the bench, half-asleep. In a fit of rage, Rudy sprang from his hiding spot and sprinted toward the bench. He pounced on the guy from the blind side.

“Hey, what the—”

Rudy pummeled him with both fists, tearing at his coat, ripping the pockets. “Give me back my twenty bucks!”

The man groaned as he rolled off the bench. With his twenty back in hand, Rudy gave the guy a kick in the kidney and headed off into the night.

His hands smelled from having dug in the guy’s pockets. Using a stand-in had been a mistake. That had to have been the reason for Ladydoc’s no-show. She could have watched from a distance—maybe even used binoculars—seen the homeless guy on the bench, decided that she didn’t like what she saw, and gone home. If that was the case, her no-show was his fault. He’d have to go online and confess what he’d done, tell her that he wasn’t some drunk who reeked of dried urine and fell asleep on park benches.

Who the hell are you kidding?

She’d stood him up, he knew it.
Again
. Just like last winter, when she’d promised to meet him, chickened out, and then told him it was over. She was a manipulative bitch back then, and he’d let her do the same thing all over again. Five weeks ago he’d warned her and told her that she needed to prove that she was worth saving. This proved only one thing. He shouldn’t have pulled her out of Jamaica Pond. She hadn’t been worth saving then. She wasn’t worth saving now. One thing, however, was for certain.

This would be the last time she’d ever stand him up.

He knifed through the darkness of the park’s north end and headed straight for the overpass, clutching his recovered twenty bucks, knowing that, for money like that, the sluts on the street would blow him
without
a condom.

Who needs you, Peyton?

 

It was 5:26
A.M.
and Peyton had slept about an hour all night. Her mind refused to shut off. Anytime she managed to think of something other than her split from Kevin, her mind shifted to the trial. Hardly the stuff of sweet dreams.

Last night, she’d gone from her apartment straight to the logical place: her parents’ house. They’d taken her in with open arms and, surprisingly, very few questions—or perhaps not so surprisingly, given their own taste of marital infidelity years ago. In any event, Peyton didn’t want to talk about it, and no one forced her. It made for a relatively painless move, but it didn’t necessarily add up to a good night’s sleep, not even in her old bed. Staring at her from the foot of the bed was old Wilbur the teddy bear, who’d served in a pinch to keep the headboard from banging against the wall the time she’d brought Kevin home from college to announce their engagement. She’d come here tonight to escape the ghosts, but Kevin had been part of her life since she was nineteen years old. Ghosts were just about everywhere.

Her alarm would ring in about a half hour, but she saw little point in waiting. In her robe, she went downstairs to the kitchen and started the coffee. She checked the front step, but the newspaper had yet to arrive. Just as well. She was trying to avoid reading about herself anyway. The coffee aroma lured her back into the kitchen. She poured a cup, then wondered what she was going to do until the rest of the world woke. It wasn’t as if she could call anyone at this hour. She sipped her coffee and, like magic, it gave the brain a jump start. She hadn’t checked her e-mail since the beginning of the trial.

Her parents had a computer in the den. She logged on to her server as a guest and pulled up her home page. She had countless unanswered e-mail messages. A few good wishes from friends. Some coupons from computer software companies. And one that she didn’t recognize.

She opened it, read it once, then read it again. The second time through, she started to tremble.

The sender was identified not by a screen name but a number. The e-mail had been sent to her from one of those twenty-four-hour copy/office centers that rent workstations with computers with e-mail capabilities. She knew that it would be impossible to trace the electronic message back to the true sender, since it would simply lead back to the subscriber, Fast Fred’s Copy Center. That was yet another way to retain anonymity in the world of cyberspace. Whoever this anonymous someone was, however, he or she seemed to want to help her.

The message read, “The man you need to meet will be seated on a bench facing the Mud River in the park in Back Bay Fens tonight at midnight. Go there. Bring the cops.”

Peyton wasn’t sure who “The man you need to meet” was, exactly. But with someone posing as her in cybersex chats and someone else framing her for murder, she would have settled for either one.

She hit the print button to get a copy of the e-mail, not sure who to call first. “Tonight at midnight” didn’t leave much time to prepare. A wave of nervous excitement washed over her, and then an even bigger wave of despair. The message, she noticed, bore yesterday’s date. “Tonight at midnight,” meant
last
night at midnight.

Almost numb, she fell back in her chair, staring at the screen, wondering how huge was the opportunity that had just slipped through her hands.

“NEVER,” SAID KEVIN.

It was seven-thirty in the morning, and he was seated in his lawyer’s office. The fourth day of trial wouldn’t begin for another ninety minutes, but Jennifer had called to tell him that there was something they needed to discuss beforehand. In just two minutes, Kevin had heard enough.

“I told you the last time this came up. I would never cut a deal that involves turning against Peyton.”

Jennifer leaned back in her leather desk chair, seemingly frustrated. “Circumstances have changed. Your wife has walked out on you. I don’t know where that leaves the joint defense arrangement.”

“I don’t care. We’re still married.”

“That’s honorable, but in the context of a joint murder trial that could go either way, it could also be suicide.”

“You’re asking me to testify against the woman I love.”

“I’m advising you to do what’s best for yourself.”

“Okay, then let me talk in terms you can understand. Even if I wanted to take the deal, there’s nothing I can offer the prosecutor in exchange for immunity. I have absolutely no evidence that Peyton killed Gary Varne.”

Jennifer looked doubtful but said nothing.

He said, “Do
you
think she did it?”

Again, she didn’t answer.

Kevin shook his head, flabbergasted. “The last time we talked about this, you burned me for not citing Peyton’s innocence as one of my reasons for rejecting the prosecutor’s deal. Well, this time, let’s put Peyton’s innocence at the top of the list.”

“Your decision,” she said in a clipped tone. “Just keep in mind that Charles Ohn may be right. If you turn down the deal, Peyton may start pointing the finger at you.”

He lowered his eyes and said quietly, “Maybe I’d deserve it.”

She did a double take. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

He realized what he’d said, how it might have sounded. “I meant that I deserved to be betrayed because I cheated on my wife.”

“Is that so?”

“I wasn’t saying that I deserve to be convicted because I killed Gary Varne.”

She gave him a sobering look. “Either way, it’s okay with me. Just so we understand each other.”

“I didn’t kill Gary Varne.”

“Fine. We’ll leave it at that.” She closed her notebook, as if to add finality.

“Fine,” said Kevin, not sure he’d convinced her.

 

Peyton’s early-morning meeting with Tony meant watching him sweat. He was in the workout room beside his office, going full tilt on the treadmill, wearing sweatpants and a Boston Bruins T-shirt. A dark triangle of perspiration dipped from his shoulders to his sternum, as if pointing to the paunchy belly he was trying to work off. Peyton sat facing him on the weight bench.

It took her just a few minutes to bring him up to speed on the e-mail she’d opened a day too late. Tony seemed to be listening, though he never broke stride.

“You have no idea who sent it to you?” he said, winded.

“No. It came from a rented computer terminal at some copy center.”

“But you’re convinced that this person knows who’s framing you?”

“The message said that the man I need to meet will be in the park at midnight. Bring the cops. Why else would I need to bring the cops?”

The treadmill kicked up a notch, whining loudly. Tony was struggling to keep up.

“Should we call the police?” asked Peyton.

He punched the control panel and slowed the pace. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because that message could have come from a friend, your husband. Just about anybody who wants to help substantiate your theory that you’re being framed.”

“Or it could be the legitimate link we need to prove that Gary was kidnapped.”

He stopped the machine and leaned on the panel, catching his breath. “That would be pretty convenient at this stage, don’t you think?”

“You think I created this e-mail myself to bolster my kidnapping defense?”

“No. But it’s possible someone you know did exactly that.”

“Meaning Kevin?”

“Meaning who else?”

“That’s crazy.”

“Is it?”

She shook head, frustrated. “So you’re saying we should just forget about it?”

“Yes. I told you at our very first meeting that I don’t want to inject the kidnapping claim into this case. The jury won’t buy it, and the prosecution will twist it into an argument that Gary Varne was blackmailing you and Kevin, which only strengthens your motive to murder him. So far, Ohn shows no sign of going there. I don’t want to be the one who opens the door for him by sharing a mysterious e-mail that probably came from your own husband.”

Peyton struggled to contain her anger. “You don’t believe any of it, do you?”

“Any of what?”

“That someone’s impersonating me on the Internet. That someone kidnapped Gary and demanded a ransom. You think Kevin and I made it all up before our first meeting with you.”

He toweled off his sweaty neck. “Let me say this much. I believe I can get you acquitted without going into any of that.”

“How are we going to get through this trial if you don’t believe me about the kidnapping?”

“I didn’t say I don’t believe you.”

“That’s what I’m hearing.”

“Then you’re not listening closely enough. What I’m saying is, I don’t trust your husband.”

She lowered her eyes. “A few days ago I might have taken you to task on that. But after yesterday, those aren’t exactly fighting words.”

Tony took a seat on the bench, facing her eye to eye. “Trust me on this kidnapping argument. And level with me on one point, will you?”

“What?”

“I’m asking this only because I want to understand Kevin’s state of mind right now, not as your husband but as your codefendant. And be honest, please. Did you leave Kevin because of Sandra? Or did he kick you out over Gary Varne?”

With that, she glowered. There were only so many false accusations she could stand, and one more from her own lawyer had her just about over the edge. “I’ll trust your instincts on the kidnapping defense, Tony. But don’t you dare ever ask me that question again.”

She shot a parting glare, then rose and left the room.

BOOK: Lying With Strangers
10.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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