The Victim's Wife Page 23

  I just waited for her to go on, but she fell silent.

  “Have you ever had any interaction with Penny outside of work venues?” I asked, carefully scrutinizing her face to see if there was any reaction.

  Vivian closed her eyes as if in thought, but it really looked like she was trying to decide how to answer the question. It appeared that I had come out of left field and she was struggling to know what to say. “I believe I went out with Penny for lunch, once or twice, it was right after I came into Meridian Solutions, but we’re talking about something a decade ago.”

  I nodded. “During the intervening time, you haven’t had much to do with her?”

  “Not really. Sorry. I wish I could be more helpful.”

  I shrugged. “Not a problem.”

  “So what are the chances of both of them going to jail?” Vivian asked.

  Was it just my imagination or did she seem hopeful? Had she framed them and wanted to make sure that they went to jail for the things she had done?

  I gave her a big smile. “I don’t give people the odds. I’ll tell you the same thing I always tell my clients. The chances of them going to jail are probably greater than not. It helps them manage their expectations.”

  Vivian nodded. “A smart decision, I’m sure.”

  I stared at Vivian, a half-smile formed on my face. I had not gotten to any of the other questions I wanted to ask her, but I could see her practically dripping with anxiety.

  “That’s all the questions I have for you today,” I said, “I just wanted to get your thoughts on Mason and Penny.”

  Vivian stared at me blankly. “That’s it?” She almost looked a little disappointed. In truth, I had decided to take this tact because I wanted to take control of the situation just to see how she would respond.

  “There’s some other things we could go over, but nothing I can’t get in other ways. I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to take up any more of your time than I already have.” I moved to stand, sliding my notepad back in my pocket. As I turned to go, I paused as if a thought had just come to me.

  “Have you guys cleaned out Max’s or Mason’s offices yet?

  Vivian shook her head. “Nobody’s wanted to move into them, for obvious reasons. They seem haunted now.” Vivian gave me a steady look. “I can assure you everything has remained untouched.”

  “Great! Would you mind if I stopped by each again so that I can get a feel for them? It will help with the trial.”

  Vivian shook her head. “No, not at all. I’ll have Karen show you the way.” She looked a little curious about why I wanted to go there, but she didn’t ask me any follow-up questions.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  45

  “Are we still on for lunch?” I asked Karen as we walked down the hallway because she was considerably cooler towards me than before. She gave me a sideways glance and a small shake of her head.

  “Something came up. I won’t make it.”

  I stared at her, but she looked straight ahead, unwilling to make eye contact.

  “Sure, no problem,” I said, surprised at the sudden shift and change in direction.

  “Thank you for being so understanding.” She sounded relieved.

  I opened my mouth, intent on rescheduling but a glance at her face told me not to push it.

  I let her get a step or two ahead to make the situation less awkward as she showed me to and unlocked Max’s office door.

  “I’ll be just a moment,” I said, but she was already walking away as if she had not heard me.

  That’s strange, I thought, watching her go. She didn’t stop or look back at me once.

  One moment she had been eager to talk with me. The next, she had clammed up.

  I made a mental note to research it later when I was back in the office. I had her contact information, so I could reach out to see if she’d be willing to meet with me another day, but my instincts told me that was not going to happen. She probably wouldn’t return my calls.

  Once I shut the door behind me, I went straight to the refrigerator Max had kept in his office, remembering how it had been stocked full of Dr Pepper the last time I had been here.

  This was my primary reason for coming today, apart from stopping off at Mason’s office too.

  If the candy was poisoned, didn’t it make sense the Dr Pepper might have been too?

  What are the chances? I wondered. If the killers had wanted to ensure that Max and Mason really got into it, they wouldn’t have been satisfied to drug only one. They would’ve made sure that both were drugged.

  If the killers were careful, they would have removed the damning evidence at the first possible moment.

  Or perhaps they’re just so arrogant they think nobody’s going to notice that these guys had been poisoned with mood-changing drugs.

  It was strange that Max’s office was still largely untouched, now almost three months after the murder, but I was happy to find it that way.

  I slipped a couple of cans of Dr Pepper from the refrigerator into my briefcase as well. I looked around the room once but didn’t find anything else of interest. I returned to the receptionist’s desk.

  Things were no less awkward with Karen than they had been a moment ago, but I just pretended like everything was fine as we walked down the hall to Mason’s office.

  A few moments later, I was standing inside while Karen walked away as fast as she could, as if she had a fire under her feet, making her want to go faster. With the door shut behind me, I went to Mason’s candy jar while taking out a plastic bag and gloves. After putting on the gloves, I slipped the jar of candy into a plastic bag and put it away inside my briefcase.

  I didn’t think it was likely that there would be fingerprints on the candy jar that would lead me back to the killers, but I wanted to check.

  I was about to open the door to leave again when a picture caught my eye.

  It was on the back wall of Mason’s office, sitting up at the top of the bookshelf. It had been taken at a corporate retreat. It featured Mason, Justine, Penny, and Max. All stood near each other, drinks in hand and smiles on their face as if laughing at a joke. Whatever silent baggage they were carrying in the picture, it didn’t show up on their faces.

  Mason was throwing his head back as if in laughter, looking at Max, who appeared to have just told the joke.

  I stared at the picture, soaking it in. Judging by the age of everybody in the photo, it looked like it had been taken at least five years ago, if not longer.

  How could they have come from such a happy place to this? I wondered as I shut the door behind me.

  46

  The day of the trial seemed to come quickly, as it always did for me. And even though I had done my best to prepare, I felt anything but ready as I walked into the courthouse.

  My palms were sweaty, making the briefcase I carried slick in my hand. I felt butterflies in my stomach and a nervousness in my chest that seemed to tell me that I was a fraud and that somebody was soon going to figure it out. I would be hauled away and locked up for the rest of my life.

  I pushed the feelings away as I showed my ID to the officer at the security gate, went through the metal detector and waited for my stuff to go through before heading up to the courtroom.

  I always felt like this on the day of trial and had found that it never got any easier.

  For a time early in my career, especially when I’d still been working as a prosecutor, I had started to loath this feeling. Then I had left and become a defense attorney. I had leaned into the nervousness and decided that it was what kept me going during the trial. I had to be alert, or the slightest misstep would cause irreparable harm to my client.

  The strangest thing was that the nervousness always disappeared almost as soon as the trial started. There had only been one or two occasions when it had lingered, and even then, not for longer than an hour or two into the trial.

  I figured that this was an appropriate response, given how my clients h
ad a lot at stake. I wanted to make sure that I always remembered that and never fell into the humdrum of working just a regular job.

  I had a mission, and I had to make sure I did it well; otherwise, innocent people would go to jail, and the guilty would not be given the fair shake our justice system promised them.

  In Mason’s case, it was different. He had killed Max; there was little question about that. That was not at issue today. The question was whether he had the necessary mens rea to kill somebody. It was my contention he did not, but I didn’t know if the jury would buy it.

  That made me nervous.

  Just a week ago, Cindy had reached out and offered fifteen years.

  Mason had refused.

  Once he had learned about the drug laced candy bars, he had been adamant he should not have to pay for this.

  And I tended to agree with him.

  Unfortunately, the Dr Pepper cans from the refrigerator had come back clear, but that was not a big surprise because the candy I’d taken from Mason’s office that same day had come back clear as well. None of the candy inside the jar had been poisoned.

  I didn’t know that the conspiracy charges against Penny and Mason would hold any water, but I assumed there was a conspiracy somewhere. I had to convince the jury they had the wrong guy.

  Unfortunately, I had not yet been able to connect the poison to anybody. It could’ve been Vivian. It could’ve been Penny. It could’ve been Ronald. Or almost anybody else.

  I didn’t suspect Mason, primarily because I doubted he would poison himself, but I had worked through that scenario anyway, and it didn’t make any sense, so I had not spent much time on it. If he had wanted to kill Max and walk away, there were far better ways to do it.

  Winston had been working on the question of who could have planted the poison for the last month and had come up with nothing.

  Unfortunately, I had not found a valid reason to postpone the trial, so here I was walking into court today without anybody else to point the finger at. Something that made me very nervous indeed.

  I entered the courtroom, thinking at first it was empty until I saw a woman up at the prosecution table.

  Cindy Seakowics.

  She had already set up, unpacking her stuff and spreading it out into organized piles. As the door opened, she glanced back and gave me a smile.

  “I have to admit,” she said, her voice carrying easily from where she stood up at the prosecution table. “I never thought we’d make it this far.” She shook her head and laughed ruefully. “I never thought in a million years you’d let this go to trial. Just goes to show you can still surprise me, even after how many years have we known each other? Fourteen?”

  “Thirteen and a half, but who’s counting?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take that offer? I can’t believe he passed.”

  You only offered it after I added an expert toxicologist to my witness list.

  “Yeah.” I gave her a shrug and sat my briefcase down on the defense table while turning to her. “If you have a new number, I’m happy to get it to my client.” I was mostly teasing her for having tried so hard to negotiate a plea bargain, only to have my client refuse at every turn. She had misread the game my client wanted to play.

  “If he’s ready for a new one, I’m happy to provide. Is he?” She folded her arms. “I want to know he will give it consideration.”

  “We’re still in the same place.” I chuckled as I opened my briefcase and started to pull out my things, preparing for the day’s events. I glanced over as I set a notebook down on the table. “And this time, let’s see if my notes don’t disappear midway through the trial.”

  I gave her a wink.

  She turned pink. “I had nothing to do with it, I swear!”

  “Of course, you did. You admitted it already, remember?” I gave her a big smile to show I wasn’t going to let her off so easy. “We’ll just keep that between us. I’ll never mention it to the bar, I swear.”

  Not only would it have done me no favors, it helped for her to know that I had something on her. It was about the same as her owing me a favor, only more sinister.

  I’d never use it, but she didn’t know that.

  She turned her back to me. I imagined she was getting even redder. It had been a momentary slip on her part, but I was never going to let her forget it.

  Am I flirting with her? I wondered as I looked down at my phone because it had just beeped, indicating that I had received a message.

  A text had come from Barbara, almost as if she knew I was talking to another of my ex-girlfriends.

  “Good luck today!”

  I stared at the message for a long moment before putting my phone on silent and slipping it back into my pocket.

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get back together with her or not. I had started to wonder if it wasn’t a good thing she had eaten that Snickers bar. It had released her inhibitions, and while she wasn’t responsible for what she had done, it was perhaps for the best.

  I had been sitting on an important decision for weeks, and I didn’t blame her for getting mad. I had dithered. I had stalled. I had done everything except for come up with the decision she wanted. She had wanted to know the answer, and I had refused.

  She deserved better than that. She didn’t need to be pulled back into the problems of being with me.

  I turned when the courtroom door opened and frowned when I recognized the man who had just walked in.

  Steve Barnum, a defense attorney who I remembered tangling with when I had been a prosecutor. I had not liked the guy then.

  I didn’t like him any better now, even when we were on the same side of the aisle.

  Penny had called me several weeks back, urging me to reach out to Steve so we could coordinate our defense. I had forced myself to refrain from laughing as I told her that if he wanted to call me, I was happy to take his call.

  He never did.

  He gave me a curt nod that also took in Cindy as he claimed his spot at the other defense table along the side. This was why I had made sure to arrive here early. I had wanted the defense table that was front and center, not only for better maneuverability in the courtroom but because I wanted the jury to get a close look at my client. Mason represented well and was a decent looking man. Despite the fact he had young kids, he almost had a grandfatherly manner to him, and by the time I was done with the trial, they were going to feel sorry for him.

  If I do my job right.

  People started to trickle into the courtroom at a faster pace. The bailiff soon appeared. Ten minutes before nine, Mason appeared wearing a suit that I figured was at least twice as expensive as mine.

  “You ready for this?” I asked Mason once he was seated beside me.

  “You betcha I am.”

  He was fired up. I had not yet decided if I was going to put him on the stand. It was a risk either way, but I was starting to think it might be better if I didn’t. Not only would Cindy not have a chance to cross-examine him, but the very fact that he had been drugged should also be enough to get the acquittal I was going for.

  However, if it started to look like the jury was not sympathetic, I would have no choice but to put him on so he could show remorse for what he had done. He could describe how the feelings had overcome him and how he had felt a loss of control.

  At 8:59 AM, Judge John Lewis walked in, looking all prim and proper while carrying the biggest mug of coffee I’d ever seen.

  What is that, a gallon?

  I had never had a case before Judge Lewis, which was surprising because he and I had both been working in this town for the better part of fifteen years. As a prosecutor, I’d never argued against him when he practiced as a defense attorney. He’d never presided over any of my trials since becoming a judge.

  “All rise,” the bailiff said.

  I stood, Mason standing right beside me, shoulders forward with a look of righteous indignation on his face that I hoped he could maintain throughout the t
rial.

  “Court is now in session,” Judge Lewis said after he banged his gavel.

  47

  Jury selection came and went. I had spent hours pouring over the jury questionnaires, strategizing, and trying to predict how the jury would feel about Mason. I had suggested to Mason we hire a jury consultant, but he had decided against it, telling me he was confident we could resolve the matter without one.

  I had tried to convince him to reconsider, primarily because this was a tricky case at best, and he had plenty of money to throw around. What was another twenty or thirty thousand dollars to him when compared to his freedom?

  Mason had stood adamant, though, and had refused.

  That had just left Winston and me. I’d also brought in Suzie and Ellie to give me their opinions on the jury questionnaires. In the end, after all that analysis and thought, I had made the decisions the way I always did, based on my gut.

  So far, I’ve been more lucky than anything else. People that I had thought would be in favor of my clients had turned out to be rabidly opposed to them in the past.

  After all that work, it doesn’t remove much uncertainty, I thought, as voir dire ended, and we moved on to pretrial motions.

  I had allotted the first day of the trial to handle all of this, but we’d made remarkable progress and were through all of it by 11:30 AM.

  Judge Lewis looked at the clock and then at us, appearing to weigh whether to release us to an early lunch or get on with the opening statements. In the end, he decided to get the trial started.

  The jury consisted of five men and seven women. Three African-Americans, two Hispanics, and the rest were all Caucasian.

  While I waited to begin, I studied the members of the jury, wondering if I’d made any mistakes.

  The only person I regretted who had made it onto the jury after I had run out of peremptory strikes was a man by the name of Vern Goodman.

  Goodman sat closest to our table in the jury box. Ever since he had sat down, he had been giving Mason malevolent looks when he thought nobody was looking.