Tell No Lies (42 page)

Jack woke to a dense fog blanketing the ground outside the guest bedroom window. So much for his fantasies of catching a plane to some faraway place today; he doubted that any plane would take off in such a mess. He gazed trancelike at Michael sleeping, mouth wide open, on the opposite edge of the bed, and Jamie flung out sideways across the middle, his feet resting peacefully in the space where Jack's waist had been.

He found Mark in the kitchen, making coffee.

"I'll probably be back tonight, without the kids, if that's okay."

Mark poured the coffee with his back to Jack. "You can stay as long as you want. But I would think it'd be a lot easier to patch things up if you're in your own house."

"I don't think there's a patch big enough." He reached for the cup Mark handed him and watched him pour another for himself. Mark sipped his coffee standing in front of the window above the sink, his eyes searching the yard as if he was looking for something. After a moment, he retrieved a small bag of cat food from the pantry and went out the back door.

"You have a cat?" Jack asked when he came back in, bringing the cold air with him.

"A cat has me. I don't know where he came from, but he hangs out here so I feed him."

It occurred to Jack that maybe Claire understood Mark better than he did. Maybe Jenny and Mark
would
have hit it off had Jack not been in the picture.
 

"Do you remember when I used to be home from college, and we used to have coffee like this together in the morning, before Mom and Dad got up?"

"You mean before Mom and Dad got up and began to harass me about why I couldn't be more like you." Mark stared at Jack over the rim of his cup. His bluntness irked Jack.

"It wasn't quite—"

"Okay," Mark interrupted him. "I'm exaggerating. Their tactics were much more subtle."

"Yeah," Jack said quietly. "And I encouraged it, didn't I?"

Mark shrugged. "Sometimes. Not always." He laughed then and added, "They'd be singing a different tune if they could hear about what you've done now, wouldn't they?"

"Wow. Thanks, Mark."

"Relax, I didn't mean anything by it."

He started past Jack toward the sink. Jack took a step forward to block his passage. "Yes, you did. You think it's funny, that it's some sort of payback." Even as his body moved, even as he spoke the words, he knew he was issuing a challenge and he knew what might happen, but he ignored the warnings in his head.

"Get outta my face, Jack, or else."

"Or else what?"

Mark stared at him as if deciding whether to take it further. Finally, he said, "You need to chill out." He turned his back and set his cup in the sink. "You're a little too sensitive right now." He pushed by, grabbed the cat food from the counter, and headed to the pantry.

"I have a right to be sensitive."

Mark stopped. He walked right up to him, close enough to force Jack to tilt his head back, and stuck his finger against his chest.

"No, you don't. You don't have any rights anymore. You gave them all up the minute you fucked Jenny Dodson." He jabbed him a few times. "The only right you have is to go home and get down on your knees and beg your wife to forgive you. In fact, you don't have a right to do that. If she lets you, if she even listens to the miserable-ass excuses you come up with, it'll be a privilege. You understand that, Jack? If she even lets you look at her, that's a privilege."

"Get your fucking hands off me." He knocked Mark's finger away, but Mark grabbed his wrist.

"I'll put my fucking hands on you if I want to, got it? You're in my fucking house, sleeping in my fucking bed, drinking my fucking coffee. I'll do whatever the hell I please."

Jack tried to pull his wrist from Mark's grip, but Mark only held on tighter and with his other hand gently knocked the side of Jack's head. It was meant to taunt, not hurt. He laughed in Jack's face. "You need to be knocked around a bit, and I think you know it."

"Yeah, and you also think you're the one to do it, don't you?"

"It would be my pleasure."

"Let me go," Jack stated in the calmest voice he could, faking resignation.

Mark released him, and as soon as he did, Jack was on him. He slammed his coffee cup on the island as his right fist headed for Mark's left jaw. But Mark was fast. He grabbed Jack's arm and stopped it. With his other hand he tried to push Jack back. They moved as one in a mass of flying arms and grunts first toward the sink, and then back toward the island, where one of their arms knocked the cup and sent it tumbling off the edge.

"You're cleaning that up, you know," Mark said, laughing between grunts as he grabbed hold of Jack's right arm and twisted it behind his back.

That Mark was laughing only made Jack angrier. "Fuck you." He struggled to retrieve his arm without letting Mark get a hold on the other one. Mark reached up with his free arm and secured Jack's head in a chokehold.

"You ready to give up?" he whispered in Jack's ear as they stumbled toward the table.

"Like hell."

"What are you two doing?" Michael's voice came from the archway into the kitchen.

Jack made the mistake of glancing in the direction of the voice and Mark took advantage of it by forcing him to the floor. He placed his knee at Jack's crotch, ready to exert pressure.

"I've been working out, bro," Mark said, and he winked as he gave one last little jerk. He left Jack lying on the cold tiles, staring at the ceiling and wondering how he could possibly muster the drive required to stand up and begin piecing together the remnants of his life.

Jack eyed the morning paper on a neighbor's driveway as he and the kids went out to the car. He restrained himself from crossing the lawn to take a peek. He considered buying one at the 7-Eleven on his way to drop the kids at school—if only to know beforehand what schoolyard gossip Michael would have to contend with—but decided against it. The last place he wanted to endure scrutiny was at the convenience store buying a paper that might have his picture on the front page.

The fog remained thick on the drive out to the far suburbs, and Jack grew impatient with having to go slowly. He dropped Michael off at his school first, getting the cold shoulder. That morning, when he'd composed himself enough to get up off Mark's floor, he'd tried to tell Michael that they'd only been goofing off, but Michael had merely regarded Jack with disgust and left the room. He hadn't spoken to his father since.
 

Jamie's goodbye was entirely different, but not any easier. After Jack pulled up in front of his preschool and released him from his car seat, Jamie gave him a long hug.

"That's for tonight, too, since I might not see you," he said, smiling sweetly at him, only inches away from his face. Jack smelled his toothpaste.

The words took Jack by surprise, although they shouldn't have. "What do you mean?"

"Mommy said you might not be home tonight, you might have to work late."

He'd had the kids call Claire the night before to say good night, and now he wondered what else they'd talked about. He hadn't told Jamie very much. Despite her instructions, he wanted to let her decide what to tell them. He knew she'd do it tactfully and wouldn't be one of those women who encourage her children, directly or indirectly, to despise their father as much as she did.

When he returned to his brother's house, the newspaper was still lying on the neighbor's lawn, and the car that had been parked in the driveway was gone. He crossed the yard and picked it up. He waited until he was inside the house before pulling it from its plastic wrapper. The paper trembled in his hand and he began to have difficulty breathing again.
HILLIARD POSSIBLE LOVER & ALIBI FOR ALLEGED MURDERER
. Under the headline, above the story, were three headshots in a row: him, Jenny, and Maxine Shepard. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe slowly. It wasn't working, and he started to get dizzy. He made his way to the kitchen table and sat down, letting his head hang between his knees. He dropped the paper to the floor and began to read the article from there.
 

Recently elected St. Louis District Attorney Jack Hilliard spent the night at the home of his campaign treasurer, Jennifer Dodson, on November 16, the same night Dodson is alleged to have committed the violent murder of Maxine Shepard, says an unidentified source. Mr. Hilliard, whose office has disqualified itself from handling the murder case because of his previously reported friendship with the defendant, was unavailable for comment. Defendant Dodson, when reached last night at her home in Lafayette Square, vehemently denied the claim.
 

Ms. Shepard was a client of the prominent law firm Newman, Norton & Levine, where Dodson practices law and was up for partnership. Sources have indicated that the firm is investigating her for possible embezzlement. Other attorneys at the firm, who asked to remain anonymous, have stated that Dodson represented Ms. Shepard in several matters, but the two did not get along well.

When questioned about how this development might affect his prosecution of the defendant, Alan Sterling, the out-of-town district attorney brought in to handle the case, stated that unless Dodson indicates she will claim Mr. Hilliard as her alibi, nothing will change.

"We believe we have sufficient evidence to prove that Ms. Dodson committed the murder. Whether Mr. Hilliard and the defendant have an improper relationship is not my concern."

Kevin Tyler, a former District Attorney and an expert in criminal law, told the
Post-Dispatch
that in many cases, when the defendant claims an alibi that appears plausible, officials will administer polygraph tests and, depending upon the results, often dismiss the charges. He further stated that he was puzzled by Mr. Sterling's response to this development, because the defendant's denial of the alibi is understandable if she is trying to protect Mr. Hilliard, who is married with two children.
 

"As the District Attorney, I would think he would want to investigate the claim independently, even if the defendant denies it," he said.

The next couple of days were a lesson to Jack in understanding the phrase
a living hell
. He spent each day in Mark's guestroom, trying desperately to think clearly but unable to do so. Even though his alibi had been Jenny's best chance to avoid a trial, to avoid what was looking more and more like a sure conviction, she'd outright denied it.
 

He turned off his cell phone, and though he heard the house phone ring over and over again—and knew the calls were probably for him because Mark had a separate business line in his basement office—he ignored it. He considered driving into the city, just walking into his office as though nothing had happened and trying to go on with his life, but he abandoned the idea as quickly as he'd thought of it.
 

It wasn't until near the end of the second day that he summoned the courage to listen to his voicemail messages, and that's when he realized that he'd been avoiding more than reporters. There were messages from assistant district attorneys and from defense attorneys complaining about those assistant district attorneys. An angry judge had left several messages wanting to set up a teleconference about a plea bargain; Jack was supposed to have called him the day before. Dunne had called twice and Earl had called several times, sounding more aggravated with him in each message. There were numerous frantic messages from Beverly, begging him at least to call her. And there was a single message from Jenny, calmly asking him to return her call. "I need to talk to you" was all she'd said. Her voice, low and smooth, reminded him that although he felt his life had ended, she was still fighting for hers. And he was the only ammunition she had.

But he didn't call her and he didn't go into the office. Then, early on the third day, Earl called to inform him of the lie detector tests scheduled for later that day.

"She won't do it," Jack mumbled into the phone after Earl explained why he'd called.

"I'll worry about her. You just drag your ass over to the police station by quarter to one. They want to question you first."

"She won't do it. She told me she won't do it, and if you try to force her, she plans on lying. She's gonna say I'm covering for her."

Earl grunted. "She thinks she can beat the machine now, does she?"

"I guess." Jack raised the shade as he talked, but when he saw how sunny it was in Mark's backyard, he pulled it back down with an agitated yank.

"Do you ever plan on facing the music?" Earl asked. "The rumblings are that the Republicans are going to call for your resignation." Jack pretended not to have heard him. "Jack?"
 

"I'd better take a shower now if you want me there on time. I've got some calls to make."

Earl's sigh on the other end was loud, exaggerated. "I can imagine."

Afterward, Jack finally tried to call Jenny back, but he hung up when her answering machine picked up.

Despite his certainty that she would skip the test, even under order of court, she was sitting in the lobby waiting for her turn when he emerged from the testing room. He sat next to her but received only a brief glare. When he began to speak, the proctor who'd followed out of the testing room scolded him. Jack cut him off.

"You can listen to every word we say," he assured the man. He turned to Jenny. "Earl talked you into coming, huh?" he asked.

She ignored him.

"Jenny, if you tell the truth, they'll dismiss the charges by the end of the day. I can almost guarantee that."

Jenny directed her stare to the proctor, who sat across from her. "I intend to tell the truth."

Muzak played from the speaker just above Jack's head and he couldn't think of anything that could have been more aggravating just then. He glanced at the proctor. He wanted to reach Jenny but wasn't sure how personal he wanted to get with this guy sitting there.