Beyond Suspicion (18 page)

•

Jack and Rosa reached the Law Offices of Clara Pierce amp; Associates at precisely 3:29 P.M. The reading of Jessie Merrill’s will was scheduled for half-past three, and one extra minute was plenty of time for Jack to sit in enemy territory.

A receptionist led them directly to the main conference room and seated them in chairs of ox-blood leather at the long stone table. From the looks of things, Clara’s practice was thriving. Plush carpeting, cherry wainscoting, silk wall coverings. The focal piece of the room was the exquisite conference table. It was cut from creamy-white natural stone, rough and unfinished, one of those expensive excesses that interior decorators talked lawyers into buying and that was completely nonfunctional, unless you were the type of person who liked to try to put pen to paper on the Appian Way.

The receptionist brought coffee and said, “Please be sure to use coasters. The stone is porous and stains quite easily.”

“Sure thing,” said Jack.
Beautiful, impractical,
and
high maintenance,
he thought.
Jessie would so approve.

She closed the door on her way out. Jack and Rosa looked at each other, puzzled by the fact that they were alone.

“Are you sure Clara said three-thirty?” asked Jack.

“Positive.”

The door opened and Clara Pierce entered the room. A leather dossier was tucked under one arm. “Sorry I’m late,” she said as she shook hands without a smile. “But this shouldn’t take long. Let’s get started.”

“Isn’t anyone else coming?” asked Jack.

“Nope.”

“Are you saying I’m the only heir?”

“I think I’ll let Jessie answer that. Her will is as specific as it can be.”

Jack didn’t fully understand, but Rosa gave him a little squeeze on the elbow, as if to remind him that they had come only to listen.

Clara removed the papers from the dossier and placed them before her. Jack sipped his coffee and absentmindedly set the mug on the table. Clara’s eyes widened, as though she were on the verge of cardiac arrest. With a quick snap of the fingers she said, “Jack, please, coaster.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“This table is straight from Italy. It’s the most expensive piece of furniture I’ve ever purchased, and once it’s stained, it’s ruined.”

“Just lost my head there for a second. Won’t happen again.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you read the will, please?” said Rosa.

“Yes, surely. Let me say at the outset, however, that it was not my idea to have an official reading of the will. I would have just as soon let you see a copy when I filed it with the probate court. But it was Jessie’s specific request that there be a reading.”

“No explanation needed, but thank you just the same.”

“Very well, then. Here goes. ‘I, Jessie Marie Merrill, being of sound mind and body, hereby bequeath…’”

Sound body, indeed,
thought Jack. Perhaps it should have read, “I, Jessie Marie Merrill, being of sound mind and body that’s a whole heck of a lot more sound than I’ve led everyone to believe, including my dumb-schmuck lawyer, Jack Swyteck, without whose unfathomable gullibility I wouldn’t have diddly squat to hereby bequeath, bequest, and devise…”

Jack listened to every word as Clara continued through the preamble. After a minute or two she paused for a sip of water, carefully returned her glass to a coaster, and then turned to the meat of Jessie’s will.

“’My estate shall be devised as follows,’” said Clara, reading from page two. “’One. Within six months of my death, all of my worldly possessions, including all stocks, bonds, and illiquid assets, shall be sold and liquidated for cash.

“’Two. The proceeds of such liquidation shall be held in a trust account to be administered by Clara Pierce, as trustee, in accordance with the terms of the trust agreement attached hereto as Exhibit A.

“’Three. The sole beneficiary of said trust shall be the minor male child formerly known as Jack Merrill, born on October 11, 1992 at Tampa General Hospital, Tampa, Florida, and released for adoption by his mother, Jessie Marie Merrill, on November 1, 1992.

“’Four.’”

It was as if Jack’s mind had slipped into a three-second delay. He put down his coffee and said, “Excuse me. Did you just say she had a kid?”

Again, Clara snapped her fingers. “Coaster, please.”

Jack moved his coffee mug, but he was almost unaware of his motions. “And his name was Jack?”

“Please,” said Clara. “Let me get through the whole document, then you can ask questions.”

Rosa said, “Actually, we won’t have any questions. We’re just here to listen, right, Jack?”

He felt his lawyer’s heel grinding into his toe. “But Clara just said-”

“I heard what she said. Please, Ms. Pierce, continue. There won’t be any further interruptions.”

Clara turned the page. “’The beneficiary’s present whereabouts and current identity are unknown as of this writing. Should he not be located within one year from the date of my death, the trust shall be dissolved and my entire estate shall issue to the beneficiary’s father, John Lawrence Swyteck.’”

“What?”

“Damn it, Jack. For the last time, use the stinking coaster.”

“Jessie never told me she had a kid.”

“Quiet, Jack,” said Rosa.

“Coaster,
please
,” said Clara.

“And she sure as heck never said I was the father.”

Rosa grabbed his arm. “Let’s go.”

“No, I want to hear this.”

“Your coffee mug is still on my table.”

“Jack, if you can’t shut up and listen, then it’s my duty as your lawyer to get you out of here.”

“No!” he said as he yanked his arm free of Rosa’s grasp. His arm continued across the table in a sweeping motion and collided with the coffee cup. Hot, black liquid was instantly airborne. In what seemed like slow motion, Jack leaped from his seat to catch it, but to no avail. Clara’s mouth was agape, her eyes the size of silver dollars. The three of them looked on in horror as a huge black puddle gathered in the dead center of her creamy-stone table and then disappeared, soaking into the porous stone, leaving behind an ugly brown stain. The meeting suddenly took on the aura of a funeral.

Her expensive stone table now resembled fossilized dinosaur shit.

“Clara, I am
so
sorry.”

“You bastard! You did that on purpose!”

“I swear, it was an accident.”

“It’s ruined!”

“I’ll pay to have it cleaned.”

“It can’t be cleaned. You destroyed my beautiful table.”

“I just don’t know how that happened.”

“I think we should go now,” said Rosa.

Clara was on the verge of tears. “Yes, please. Both of you, get out of here.”

“But we haven’t heard the whole will,” said Jack.

“You’ve heard the part that matters.”

Jack wanted to hear more, as if he might hear
something
that made sense to him. But Clara seemed impervious to whatever plea he might have pitched. She hadn’t moved from her seat. Her elbows were on the table-one of them on a coaster-as she held her head in her hands and stared blankly at the big brown stain.

Jack said, “Sorry about-”

“Just leave,” she said, not even looking up.

He and Rosa slipped away in silence, showing themselves to the door.

•

Slivers of late-afternoon sunshine cut through the venetian blinds. It was annoying to the eye, but Assistant State Attorney Benno Jancowitz left things just the way they were. Any time he hammered out a deal with a witness who was willing to turn state’s evidence, he didn’t like his guests to get too comfortable.

Seated across the table from the prosecutor was Hugo Zamora, three hundred pounds’ worth of criminal defense lawyer with a voice that boomed. At his side was a nervous Dr. Marsh. The desktop was clear, save for the one-page proffer of testimony that had been prepared by Zamora. Typed on the proffer were the exact words that the doctor would utter to a grand jury, assuming that the prosecutor would agree to grant him immunity from prosecution.

Jancowitz pretended to read over the proffer one last time, drumming his fingers as his eyes moved from left to right, line by line. Finally, he looked up and said, “I’m not impressed.”

“We’re certainly open to negotiation,” said Zamora. “Perhaps put a finer point on some of the testimony.”

“It just doesn’t help me.”

“I beg to differ. Your case against Mr. Swyteck rests on the assumption that Jack Swyteck and Jessie Merrill were having an affair. I presume your theory is something along the lines of Jessie Merrill was threatening to reveal the affair to Swyteck’s wife, so Swyteck killed her.”

“I’m not going to comment on my theories.”

“Fine. Let’s talk evidence. The proof you have of an affair is the audiotape that came from the inventory of property in Ms. Merrill’s estate, correct?”

“I’m not going to comment on the nature of the evidence we’ve gathered.”

“You don’t have to. We both know that police departments are sieves. I won’t name names, but it has come to my attention that your own expert has confirmed that this so-called smoking gun of an audiotape is not an original. There is no original. All you have is a copy, which leaves the door wide open for Swyteck to argue that the missing original was made before he was even married. It doesn’t prove anything.”

Jancowitz said nothing.

Zamora continued, “Now, Dr. Marsh here is ready, willing, and able to plug this gaping hole in your case. He, of course, denies that he was ever part of this alleged scam that Mr. Swyteck talks about. But he will tell the jury that after his serving as Jessie Merrill’s doctor, they became close friends. That on the night Jessie won her trial against the viatical investors, she came by his apartment to thank him personally. That one thing led to another, and they ended up making love.”

“I know, I’ve read the proffer.”

“Just play the tape.”

“I don’t need to play it.”

“I’ve already fast-forwarded to the important part. It’s less than twenty seconds.”

He thought for a moment, sipping his lukewarm coffee. “How is it that this tape came into existence?”

“It was something that this Jessie apparently liked to do. You already know that from the other tape you have.”

“So you’re telling me you have a tape of Dr. Marsh and Jessie Merrill actually having sex?”

“Yes. It’s not a very good tape. She just set the camera up on a tripod and then the two of them… you know, did their thing.”

Jancowitz glanced at Marsh, a man older than himself, and said, “Is it really necessary for me to watch this?”

“No. We can kill the video portion. The only thing that matters is what was said.”

“I can live with that,” said Jancowitz.

Zamora handed him the tape. There was a small television set with built-in VCR player on the credenza. Jancowitz inserted the videotape and dimmed the screen to black, for the sake of his own eyes and Dr. Marsh’s modesty. Then he hit play. Jancowitz returned to his seat, then leaned closer to the set.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Turn it up,” said Zamora.

He increased the volume. A rustling noise followed, some kind of motion. A woman laughed, though it sounded more evil than happy. A man groaned.

“It sounds like bad porn,” said Jancowitz.

No one argued. Dr. Marsh sank in his chair.

On tape, the voices grew louder. The heavy breathing took on rhythm, and Jessie’s voice gained strength.

“That’s it
.
Harder.”

All eyes in the room were suddenly fixed on the screen, even though it was black. No one wanted to make eye contact.

“Harder, baby. That’s it. Give it to me. Come on. Come on, that’s it, yes, yes! Oh, God
-
yes, Jack, yes!”

Zamora gave the signal, and the prosecutor hit stop. He gave Jancowitz a moment to take in what had just played and said, “You heard it?”

“Yes.”

“She clearly said the name Jack.”

The prosecutor grimaced and shook his head. “It just doesn’t do it. All you’ve got is a woman crying out another man’s name.”

“Not just any name. Jack, as in Jack Swyteck.”

“That doesn’t establish that she and Swyteck were having an affair. At most, it just establishes that she fantasized about Swyteck while she was making love to Dr. Marsh.”

“Right now, you have nothing to prove the existence of an affair. This is a lot better than nothing.”

“I think there’s plenty more to this triangle than you’re telling me. If you want immunity from prosecution, you’d better fork it over.”

“We’re giving you all we have.”

“Then there’s no deal.”

“Fine,” said Zamora. “We’re outta here.”

“Wait,” said Dr. Marsh.

Zamora did a double take. “Let’s go, Doctor. I said, we’re outta here.”

“I’m a respected physician in this community, and the stink from this Jessie Merrill situation is tarnishing my good name. I won’t allow this to drag out any longer. Now, Mr. Jancowitz, tell me what you want from me.”

“I want the truth.”

“We’re giving you the truth.”

“I want the whole truth. Not bits and pieces.”

Zamora said, “Then give us immunity. And you get it all.”

The prosecutor locked eyes with Zamora, then looked at Dr. Marsh. “I’ll give you immunity, but I want two things.”

“Name them.”

“I want everything the doctor knows about Swyteck and Jessie Merrill.”

“Easy.”

“And I want your client to sit for a polygraph. I want to know if the doctor had anything to do with the death of Jessie Merrill. If he passes, we got a deal.”

“Wait a minute,” said Zamora, groaning.

“Done,” said Marsh. “Ask away on the murder. But I won’t sit for a polygraph on the viatical scam.”

“You got something to hide?” asked Jancowitz.

“Not at all. With the complicated relationship I had with Jessie, I’m concerned that you might get false signs of deception, depending on how you worded the scam question. But if you want to ask me straight up if I killed Jessie Merrill, I got no problem with that.”

“Fine,” said the prosecutor. “Let’s do it.”

“Hold on, damn it,” said Zamora. “My client obviously wants to cooperate, but I’m not going to sit back and let the two of you rush into something as important as a polygraph examination. Right now, Dr. Marsh and I are going to walk out that door, go back to my office, and talk this over.”

“I want to get this done,” said Marsh.

“I understand. A few more hours isn’t going to kill anyone.”

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours,” said Jancowitz. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll subpoena Dr. Marsh to appear before a grand jury.”

“You’ll hear from us,” said Zamora.

“You know the deal. Pass the polygraph on the murder and tell all.”

Marsh rose and shook the prosecutor’s hand. “Like my lawyer said: You’ll hear from us.”

The prosecutor escorted them to the exit, then watched through the glass door as they walked to the elevator. He returned to his office, tucked the videotape into an envelope, sealed it, then took out his pen and drew a little star on the doctor’s witness file.