40
•
Dr. Marsh sat in silence in the plush leather passenger seat of his lawyer’s Lexus. They were just a half-block away from Mercy Hospital, an acute-care facility that sat on premier Miami waterfront, the Coconut Grove side of Biscayne Bay. Year after year it was voted “best view from a deathbed” by a local offbeat magazine. Dr. Marsh had missed his morning rounds at the hospital, and they were popping by the parking lot just to pick up his car. But Jessie Merrill was still weighing on his mind.
“Funny thing about that videotape,” said Marsh.
Zamora stopped the car at the traffic light. “How so?”
“I don’t know if Jessie was sleeping with Swyteck or not. But she definitely wasn’t obsessed with him.”
Zamora rolled his cigar between his thumb and index finger. “You’d never guess that from the tape. She screamed his name while having sex with you.”
“These tapes she did were purely shock value. There’s nothing honest about them.”
“I’m not following you.”
Marsh looked out the window, then back. “This was exactly the kind of thing that bitch liked to do. She’d get me all hot and then say something to spoil the mood and set me off.”
“How do you mean?”
“The tapes weren’t the least bit erotic for her. It was all about her warped sense of humor. One time, before I’d decided to get a divorce, she had me on the verge of orgasm and then pretended my wife had just walked into the room. That was her favorite tape of all, watching me fly out of the bed butt-naked. Other times she’d just scream out another man’s name. She used my seventeen-year-old son’s name once, my partner’s another time. But her favorite one was Jack. She knew that one really got me.”
“Why did that name bother you so much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it possible that you were a little jealous of Jack Swyteck?”
“No.”
“Maybe you had reason to be jealous. Maybe when she screamed his name, it wasn’t just for effect.”
“It was totally for effect. She just wanted to make me crazy.”
“Crazy enough to kill her?”
Their eyes locked. “I told you before, I didn’t kill her.”
“Then the polygraph should be a breeze.”
“I think I’ve changed my mind on that. I don’t want to take a polygraph.”
“Why not?”
“I swear, I had nothing to do with Jessie’s death. I just don’t believe in polygraphs. I think liars can beat them, and I think innocent people who get nervous can fail.”
Zamora twirled his cigar, thinking. “I have a good examiner. Maybe I can get Jancowitz to agree to use him.”
“I really don’t want to take one. I don’t care who’s administering it. Hell, it tests your breathing, your heart rate, your blood pressure. I get so furious whenever anyone asks me about Jessie Merrill, I’m afraid I’ll fail even if I tell the truth.”
“Then you shouldn’t have acted so eager to do it back in Jancowitz’s office.”
“I was bluffing. I figured the more willing I seemed to take one, the less likely he was to push for it.”
“Prosecutors can never get enough. It’s going to be hard to get him to back down.”
“Maybe if the testimony we offer is so good, he’ll do the deal even if we refuse to sit for a polygraph.”
Zamora gave his client a look. “How good?”
“We already have a good base. That joint bank account is pretty damning for Swyteck.”
“Why did she put him on that account?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Why weren’t you on it?”
“The money was never intended for me. This was something I was doing for her.”
“Got to keep the high-maintenance other woman happy, eh?”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to provide for another woman when your wife of twenty-four years is suing for every penny in divorce?”
“I understand.”
“But let’s not lose focus here. We got Jessie Merrill naming Swyteck as her coaccount holder on the one-point-five million dollars, and we got her on tape screaming out his name. That’s a damn good start. The prosecutor says he wants more, so I’ll give him more.”
“He doesn’t just want more.”
“I hear you.”
“I’m serious,” said Zamora. “There is no upside in lying to a grand jury. We need to comb over every word you say. It all has to be true.”
“Sure, I love a true story.”
“Just so the emphasis is more on ‘true,’ less on ‘story.’”
The doctor flashed a wry smile. “That’s what the truth’s all about, isn’t it?”
“What?”
The traffic light turned green. Zamora steered his car toward the hospital entrance. Dr. Marsh looked out the window at the passing palm trees and said, “It’s all just a matter of emphasis.”
41
•
It was almost midnight as they lay together in Cindy’s old bedroom, their last night at Cindy’s mother’s. A small twenty-five-year-old lamp on the nightstand cast a faint glow across the bedsheets. It was a girl’s lamp with a pink-and-white shade. Jack wondered what had gone through Cindy’s head as a child, as she’d lain in this very room night after night. He wondered what dreams she’d had. Nothing like the nightmares she had as a grown-up, surely. It pained him to think that perhaps Evelyn was right, that he only added to Cindy’s anxieties.
“Are you really okay with this?” he said.
Cindy was on her side, her back to him. He’d told her everything about the will and the child Jessie had given up for adoption. She’d listened without interruption, without much reaction at all.
She sighed and said, “Maybe I’m just getting numb to the world. Nothing shocks me anymore.”
“I know I keep saying this, but it’s so important: Everything that happened between me and Jessie was before you and I ever met.”
“I understand.”
“Don’t go numb on me.”
Jack was right beside her but still looking at the back of her head. She wouldn’t look at him. “What are you going to do about the boy?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to try to find him?”
“I might have to.”
“Do you want to?”
“It’s all so complicated. I don’t think I’ll know the answer to that question until some of the dust has settled.”
Silence fell between them. Cindy reached for the switch on the lamp, then stopped, as if something had just come to mind. “When did Jessie make her will?”
Jack paused, wondering where this was headed. “About a year ago.”
“That was before she came to you and asked you to be her lawyer, right?”
“Yeah, it’s when she supposedly was diagnosed with ALS.”
“Why do you think she did that?”
“Did what?”
“Wrote her will just then.”
“It was part of the scam. She had to make it believable that she was diagnosed with a terminal disease, so she ran out and made a will.”
“Do you think it’s possible that she really did think she was going to die?”
He thought for a second, almost found himself entertaining the possibility. “No. She told me it was a scam.”
“Did she tell you it was her scam or Dr. Marsh’s scam?”
“It doesn’t matter. They were in it together at the end.”
“If they were in it together, then why wasn’t his name on the joint bank account?”
“Because they were smart. Only the stupidest of coconspirators would put their names together on a joint bank account.”
Silence returned. After a few moments, Cindy reached for the light switch, then stopped herself once again. “In your heart, you truly believe that Jessie ended up dead because she scammed those viatical investors, right?”
“One way or the other, yeah. Either they killed her or she killed herself because they were about to get her good.”
“Down the road, if you have to prove to someone-to a jury, God forbid-that Jessie scammed the investors, how are you going to do it?”