Lying With Strangers (28 page)

PEYTON WISHED SHE COULD BE SOMEWHERE ELSE. ANYWHERE ELSE.
It was bad enough having to watch the prosecutor parade one witness after another before the jury, each one trying to paint her as a murderer. Having to sit quietly at the defense table beside the man she’d walked out on just last night was a real test of personal fortitude. Their greeting had been cool but not openly hostile, not with the press watching, and definitely not with the eyes of the jurors upon them.

“Morning, Peyton.”

“Morning, Kevin.”

Those had been the only words exchanged all morning. It might have been painful if there hadn’t been so much else to worry about.

Ohn began the day with the first officer on the scene, whose testimony was brief and straightforward. He’d spotted what he thought was an abandoned car by the wharf and stopped to check it out. He found Peyton slumped unconscious in the front seat with an open bottle of sleeping pills spilled on the floor. He radioed for an ambulance, and after Peyton was whisked away, he noticed blood seeping through the backseat, apparently from the trunk. So he popped it open.

“What did you find?”

“A white male. Late twenties. He’d been shot in the head.”

“Was he dead?”

“Quite.”

At that point, Ohn dragged out the enlarged photographs of the crime scene, including the victim, and Peyton felt numb. It was bloody, but not so bloody that she couldn’t plainly see Gary’s likeness. Ohn was asking follow-up questions on the position of the body, its condition and so forth, but Peyton couldn’t concentrate, not even on her own lawyer’s methodical cross-examination. For days, maybe weeks, her only focus had been on the fact that she had
not
killed Gary Varne. Seeing the pictures made her face head-on the chilling fact that someone
had
killed Gary, that it had been terribly violent, that he’d spent his final moments on earth stuffed in a trunk with a loaded gun to his head—an absolute horror that she would have wished on no one.

Mercifully, it was over in short order. The prosecutor quickly transitioned to his next witness.

“Dr. Sidney Gersch,” the witness said, introducing himself to the jury. “I’m a forensic pathologist with the medical examiner’s office.”

He was a gray-haired man with dark, tired eyes that peered out from behind wire-framed spectacles. With rounded shoulders he seemed incapable of sitting up straight even in a courtroom, as if so many years of stooping over dead bodies had given him terrible posture.

“You were called to the crime scene when the victim’s body was discovered?”

“That’s correct. And I was also the attending pathologist at the autopsy.”

Ohn breezed through preliminaries, then asked, “What was the victim’s cause of death?”

“Gunshot. A single thirty-eight-caliber bullet that entered at the right temple. Exit wound was at the left temple. We refer to this as a through-and-through wound.”

“So the bullet passed completely through his skull?”

“That’s correct.”

“Did you determine the manner of death?”

“The medical examiner’s finding is homicide.”

“How did you rule out suicide?”

“For one, no gun was found anywhere near the body.”

“Isn’t it possible that someone came along and stole it?”

“Theoretically. But the victim’s hands were also tied behind his back.”

“Not to be a fly in the ointment, Doctor, but isn’t it at least theoretically possible that Mr. Varne killed himself, then someone happened by who stole the gun and tied his hands behind his back to make it look like homicide?”

Peyton glanced at her lawyer, wondering where Ohn was headed with what seemed to be undue concern over the possibility of suicide.

“That would be pretty illogical, but I see your point. The third and perhaps conclusive reason that we ruled out suicide was that there was no blood spatter on the victim’s hands.”

“Explain that for us, please.”

“Sure,” Dr. Gersch said as he turned to face the jury. “The entrance wound was basically a bullet hole surrounded with soot that was easily wiped away. The presence of soot suggests that the firearm was discharged at fairly close range, perhaps one to three inches.”

“Wouldn’t that be consistent with suicide?”

“Yes, but with a close-contact entrance wound there would certainly be what’s known as blow-back spatter of blood. Essentially, the entrance of the bullet at high velocity causes the blood to break into fine aerosol-like particles. In a near-contact execution-style shooting, these particles are dispersed back toward the barrel of the gun.”

“And what’s the significance of that in this case?”

“Mr. Varne had no traces of blood on his hands. If it had been a self-inflicted wound, we would have found it.”

“So, even though Dr. Shields was found in the front seat with a bottle of spilled sleeping pills, it’s clear that this was not a botched attempt at a joint suicide? A so-called lovers’ pact?”

“Objection.”

“Overruled.”

Peyton cringed inside. Even when questioning the medical examiner, Ohn was clever enough to find a way to keep the jury focused on infidelity.

The witness answered, “Someone murdered Mr. Varne. I can’t say what happened to Dr. Shields.”

Ohn moved on to other areas of questioning, but Peyton’s thoughts were stuck on the last exchange. The schoolteacher on the jury was flashing a judgmental look. The young artist in the second row seemed to be shooting Peyton looks, as if hoping to be next in the growing line of men who had seen her naked. Maybe she was imagining it, but maybe not. She glanced at Kevin, wondering if he appreciated the irony of
her
being the one painted as unfaithful.

“Just a couple more questions,” said Ohn. “Dr. Gersch, were you present on the scene when the victim’s body was removed from the trunk of the car?”

“Yes. I supervised it.”

“How big was Gary Varne?”

“We measured him at six foot two. One hundred ninety-eight pounds.”

“How many people did it take to physically lift his body out of the trunk?”

“Two.”

Ohn turned toward the defense table, his gaze coming to rest first on Kevin and then on Peyton. It was as if he were counting—a-one and a-two—giving the jury just enough time to come to the realization that if it had taken two people to lift his body out of the trunk, it had probably taken these two people to put it in, the murderer and the accessory after the fact.

“Thank you. No further questions.”

“Cross-examination?” said the judge.

It was Tony’s turn to go first for the defense. He rose and approached the witness, his gait slightly tighter than normal, as
if stalking his prey from the weeds. Some might have thought it was a strategic adjustment to his normally strident style, but Peyton knew that he’d simply pushed too hard on the treadmill this morning. Then again, maybe it was choreographed. She was beginning to realize that little happened by accident with Tony.

“The cause of death was gunshot,” he said, more a statement than a question. “You determined that from your examination of the wound, correct?”

“Obviously.”

“Well, at the risk of stating the obvious, there was no gun at the scene.”

“There was a bullet. But frankly, I don’t need a gun or a bullet to recognize a gunshot wound.”

“My question was, there was no gun, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“And there was no back spatter of blood on Gary Varne’s hands.”

“That is correct.”

“Is it fair to infer from your testimony that whoever did pull the trigger on this missing gun would have had back spatter of blood on their gun hand?”

He thought for a moment, as if sensing a trap. “With a shot at such close range, yes.”

“For example, if Peyton Shields had shot Mr. Varne before losing consciousness in the front seat, she would have had back spatter on her hands, maybe even her clothes.”

“One might expect that.”

“Would it surprise you to know that neither the paramedics in the ambulance nor the physicians in the emergency room noted any sign of blood on Peyton’s hands or clothing?”

“Objection.”

“Overruled.”

“Washing would remove it. And a change of clothes.”

Tony smiled thinly. “So let me get this straight. No gun. No back spatter on my client’s hands or clothing. Are you suggesting that Dr. Shields shot the victim at close range, threw away the gun,
washed her hands, changed clothes, came back to the car, and swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills to kill herself?”

“Objection. That’s way beyond the scope of this witness.”

“Your Honor, I’m just trying to understand how much trouble murderers normally go through to cover up their crimes before they kill themselves anyway.”

“No speeches, and you’re not going there with this witness. Sustained. Move on.”

Tony looked toward the jury. “I think we all got the point. Nothing further.”

Tony returned to his seat, flashing his client a smug look. Peyton gave him a subtle acknowledgment, though in her mind the score hadn’t been as big as Tony seemed to think it was.

Jennifer was on her feet before Tony had fully settled into his chair. She spoke from behind the table, right where she’d been sitting, as if suggesting that she would be even more brief than her co-counsel.

“Dr. Gersch, do you have an opinion as to where Gary Varne was when he was shot?”

“It appears that he was shot while lying in the trunk.”

“What do you base that opinion on?”

“As I mentioned, the bullet entered the right side of the head and exited through the left. The blood-spray patterns found in the trunk are consistent with this type of exit wound. And perhaps most important, the bullet was found lodged in the wheel well.”

“So he was alive when he was put in the trunk?”

“That would be my opinion.”

She nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Your autopsy report notes only one injury, one wound. That’s the single gunshot that killed Gary Varne.”

“That’s true.”

“You performed a thorough examination, I’m sure.”

“Very thorough.”

“You found no signs of blunt trauma to the skull, such as might be found with a blow to the head.”

“Just the gunshot.”

“You performed a toxicology report?”

“That’s standard in a case like this.”

“No signs that the victim had been drugged.”

“Nothing of that sort.”

“So no one clubbed him over the head, then put him in the trunk and shot him?”

“It wouldn’t appear that way.”

“No signs that anyone had drugged him into an unconscious state, put him in the trunk and then shot him?”

“No.”

“By all indications, Gary Varne was alive and conscious when he got into the trunk. And he was shot while he was alive and fully conscious.”

“That was probably the case.”

“To follow up on Mr. Ohn’s question about how many people it took to remove the body from the trunk, let me ask you this. How many men or women holding a gun does it take to order a fully conscious man to step into the trunk?”

“One, I would presume.”

“Thank you. That’s all I have.”

Peyton caught her eye as Jennifer took her seat. Before coming to court today, Tony had told her that they needed to be more careful now that she and Kevin had split, and watch every move of their codefendant with a little more circumspection. It had seemed as though Jennifer had been trying to help both defendants by proving a lone gunman. But now that it was over, Peyton was getting the same ugly vibes that she’d gotten after her polygraph.

She just didn’t like the way Jennifer was looking at her.

At the break, the lawyers went straight to the attorneys’ lounge in the courthouse, leaving their clients behind. Tony needed a moment with his wife, and he didn’t intend to hold back. He
closed the door, checked the bathroom to make sure he and Jennifer were alone, then proceeded to unload.

“What the hell are you trying to pull in there?”

“What are you talking about?”

“That last question. How many men or women would it take to order Varne into the trunk at gunpoint?”

“I was just being gender neutral.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“My only point was to debunk the prosecution’s theory that it would have taken two people to lift Varne’s body into the trunk. Someone made him get in the trunk at gunpoint, then shot him. It’s the perfect setup for your theory that Peyton was framed.”

“Don’t do me any favors.”

“I’m not. I’m only trying to prove that my client was not involved.”

“Then don’t do it at my client’s expense.”

“I’m sorry if you don’t like my approach,” said Jennifer. “But it’s my duty to watch out for my client. Especially a client who refuses to watch out for himself out of love for a wife who slept with the victim.”

“She didn’t sleep with Varne.”

“Oh, come on, Tony. I know that even you don’t believe that.”

He stepped closer, looking her in the eye. “You think she killed him, don’t you? That’s what you’re up to. You weren’t in that courtroom today trying to prove it was a lone gunman. You’re trying to prove it was a lone gun
woman
.”

She gave him a serious look, no anger in her tone. Just conviction. “It’s the prosecutor’s job to prove it, Tony. But, yeah. I think she did it.”

Tony watched as his wife headed for the door.

“Jennifer,” he said, and she stopped.

“What now?” she said.

“You’re not a prosecutor anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t have to convict my client to acquit yours.”

She considered his words and shot back a look that cut right through him. “Funny. I have the exact same worries about you.” Then she turned and left the room.

PEYTON AND TONY HAD DINNER AT HIS OFFICE. PEYTON WAS IN NO
hurry to go home to her parents, and she and Tony had plenty of work to do.

Ohn had introduced the government’s final element of proof after the lunch break—a gun registration, showing that Peyton had owned a .38-caliber weapon, coupled with testimony from Detective Bolton that the gun was not found in the search of her apartment. With that, the prosecution rested. The defense argued motions for judgment of acquittal, urging the judge to throw out the case for insufficient proof. The judge listened patiently, then denied the motions. Tony gave the delayed opening statement on Peyton’s behalf, and they adjourned at 5:00
P.M.
with orders to reconvene at 9:00
A.M.
for the start of the case for the defense.

“How deep of a hole am I in?” asked Peyton.

They were seated on opposite sides of the conference table, the city lights of downtown Boston glowing outside the big plate-glass window. Half-empty cartons of Chinese takeout cluttered the polished mahogany between them.

“He kept it simple,” said Tony. “Your affair. Your argument with Kevin. The dead body found in your car. Your attempted suicide. The thirty-eight-caliber handgun missing from your apartment, which is exactly the type of weapon that killed Gary Varne. A completely circumstantial case, but it might be enough.”

“That schoolteacher already has me convicted, I can tell.”

“There’s at least a couple others who I think are solid for us. Your schoolteacher might change her mind once she hears what they have to say back in the jury room.”

“I don’t want to wait that long. Hopefully I’ll change her mind once she hears what I have to say.”

Tony dropped his egg roll, then laid his chopsticks aside. “That’s something we need to talk about.”

“My testimony?”

“Whether you testify at all is the first question.”

“You just said there’s a chance I’ll be convicted. I’m not going to let that happen without telling my side of the story.”

“I fully understand your impulse. But there are two things I want to talk out with you before you commit to the idea of taking the stand in your own defense.”

She drank her soda. “Go ahead.”

“First, how are we going to handle the Gary Varne affair?”

“I’m going to say it never happened, of course.”

“Well, not exactly. You’re going to say that you invited your ex-lover out for a drink, that you went dancing, that you drank so much you don’t even remember what happened, and that all you know is that you woke up the next afternoon in his apartment in his bed wearing only panties and his T-shirt.”

“But we didn’t have sex.”

Tony rolled his head back, groaning. “No reasonable juror is ever going to
believe
that you didn’t have sex.”

“So what do you want me to say?” she said, scoffing. “That I had sex with Gary, even though I didn’t?”

He just looked at her, stonefaced.

Peyton said, “You can’t be serious.”

“In my opinion, you need to look those jurors straight in the eye, admit to that affair, and tell them you regretted it. If you deny it, they won’t believe another word out of your mouth.”

“You expect me to lie under oath and admit to an affair I never had?”

“Your alternative is to not testify at all.”

“My alternative is to take the stand and tell the truth.”

“That’s a fine option, if your objective is to be convicted and spend twenty-five years in the state penitentiary.”

Peyton leaned into the table, pressing her point. “Look, you’re my lawyer, but on this point I don’t care what you say. I’m going to testify, and never in a million years am I going to admit to something I didn’t do.”

“I had a feeling that would be your reaction.”

“Well, you guessed right. So let’s move on to the next problem.”

“I’m not sure this one’s any easier.”

“What?”

“Is your husband going to testify?”

“I don’t know. I assume so.”

“I ask because it’s an important strategy point. If our joint defense were as solid as it once was, we’d be coordinating these decisions more closely. You don’t want one defendant to take the stand if another isn’t going to testify. Looks bad to the jury.”

“I’m sure that if you ask Jennifer, she’ll tell you.”

“My question wasn’t whether or not we can
ask
them. I was getting more to the question of influence.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you want to testify, you’d better have him on board.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“If you’re going to testify, he’s going to testify. And if he’s going to testify, you had better know what he’s going to say.”

Peyton sighed. “We haven’t really even spoken since I moved in with my parents.”

“That’s my point. If you want to testify, you’ve got some work to do, lady.”

Her gaze drifted toward distant city lights outside the window.

“You’re telling me.”

Kevin and Jennifer worked through the dinner hour without dinner. Kevin hadn’t had much of an appetite since Peyton left him, and Jennifer didn’t eat much in general. Tough decisions were the only things on the menu.

“Personally, I like things the way they are,” said Jennifer.

“How do you mean?”

“The case against you is virtually nonexistent. All they have is Sandra Blair saying that you stormed away from your argument with Peyton looking as if you could kill someone. Honestly, I can’t understand why Judge Gilhorn didn’t grant our motion for a judgment of acquittal.”

“So when you say you’re happy with the way things are, you mean the way things are for me?”

“Of course.”

“What about for Peyton?”

“I don’t represent Peyton.”

“I know. I’m just curious to know if you think she’s in trouble.”

“That’s not for me or you to worry about. Peyton’s troubles are Tony’s problem.”

“So you do think she’s in trouble?”

“More trouble than you are, that’s for sure.”

“I want to help her, if I can.”

Jennifer massaged the bridge of her nose, as if a migraine were coming on. “That’s going to be difficult, Kevin. Because my advice to you is not to take the stand. I’m hoping that I can persuade Tony to give his client the same recommendation.”

“Why don’t you think I should testify?”

“The case against you is so weak, you can only hurt yourself. Lawyers in general make lousy witnesses. But beyond that, if you testify, we’ll have to get into the whole kidnapping issue and possible blackmailing. It will only give Ohn more ammunition.”

“But that may be Peyton’s only shot. She has to convince the jury she’s being framed.”

“Granted, that’s a tough spot for her. But if you take the stand, you’re going to create a tough spot of your own.”

“What?”

She looked at him coldly, as if suddenly assuming the role of prosecutor. “Mr. Stokes, where were you the night Gary Varne was killed?”

He lowered his eyes. “You’re right. Tough spot.” And then he told her.