James Grippando - Beyond Suspicion

The doctor was a handsome man who tried way too hard to look younger. Flecks of gray added distinction to his black hair, but it was coated with a thick styling gel that reflected badly in the light. Beneath his seven-hundred-dollar Armani jacket he wore a Miami Heat T-shirt that was given away at last year’s NBA playoffs. It was a look that a twenty-nine-year-old tech-stock millionaire on South Beach might get away with, but not a doctor who’d reached the age where he was lucky to still have all of his hair. Purely on a physical level, he didn’t strike Jack at all as Jessie’s type. For one, Jessie had hated beards, even well-groomed ones. At least that was what she’d told Jack when he’d let his stubble grow for a week while they were still dating. Maybe she’d just hated them on Jack. Or maybe Jack didn’t have a clue as to her likes and dislikes.

Jack said, “Before we start, it should be made clear that you’re not here as a client or prospective client. Anything we talk about here is not protected by the attorney-client privilege.”

“That’s fine. I’m confident you won’t be repeating this conversation to anyone anyway.” He pulled a package of cigarettes from his inside pocket. “Mind if I smoke?”

“Yes.”

He smiled a little, as if he liked Jack’s combative edge, then put away the cigarettes. “I hear you’ve been talking to the state attorney’s office.”

“That’s true.”

“What are you telling them?”

“The truth.”

The doctor paused, as if he needed a moment to recall what was “the truth.” It lasted just long enough to let Jack take control of the conversation. “Who told you I was talking to the state attorney?” asked Jack.

“A detective came to see me last night. Him and an assistant state attorney.”

“Benno Jancowitz?”

“Name’s not important.”

“What did you talk about?”

“They told me you’d given them a written statement.”

“That’s between me and them,” said Jack.

“Don’t try to get all legal on me. I know what it says. They read it to me.”

“Good. Get used to hearing it. It’ll be public information by the end of today.”

“Don’t you want to know why they read it to me?”

“To give you a chance to confirm or deny your role in the scam, I presume.”

“You presume wrong.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. They wanted me to confirm that you were part of it.”

“I wasn’t part of it,” Jack said, without much as blinking.

Dr. Marsh leaned into the table, not quite as smoothly as he might have, as if he’d overrehearsed the cherished line he was about to deliver. “Trust me, Mr. Swyteck. If there was a scam, you were part of it.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m appealing to your sense of reason. We’re both smart men, but nobody’s perfect. Shit, till I saw what that woman could do with a zucchini squash, I was never one to eat my veggies. Jessie Merrill was one tasty dish.”

“She was just another client.”

“Yeah, and Anna Kournikova is just another tennis player. My point is this. You and I both made mistakes with the same woman. You got a little more crazy than I did, but you’re a criminal defense lawyer, so you know people who do that kind of stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Fixing things. You know, getting rid of problems like Jessie Merrill.”

“Are you saying-are you accusing me of having hired someone to kill her?”

“The detective told me you were in court the day Jessie died. Ironclad alibi. How else could you have done it?”

“That’s the whole point. I didn’t do anything.”

“I heard about you and that friend of yours who went to visit my wife. You know who I’m talking about: Theo Knight, former death-row inmate.”

“Theo is not a murderer. And neither am I.”

“Come on. I don’t give a rat’s ass if you had her whacked. Nobody’s saying we have to like each other, but we have to be together on this. I can help you on the back end. You just gotta help me on the front end.”

“What front end?”

“That’s my boy. ‘What front end?’ I like that. Lost your memory already, have you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The front end-the scam. There was none, right?”

“No, not right.”

“Careful there. With that murder for hire, the back end’s the much uglier rap.”

Jack felt the sudden urge to kick his teeth in. “Get out of my office.”

“You need me.”

“Get out.”

“If you say there’s a scam, I say you’re part of it. If you’re in on the front end, you’re in way deep on the back end.”

“You have ten seconds to be outta here.”

He stayed put, defiant, but a nervous stroke of his beard told Jack that he was cracking. Finally, he rose, and Jack showed him to the lobby. They stopped at the double glass doors that led to the elevators.

“You sure you won’t play ball?” said Marsh.

“Get out before I bat your head across the room.”

“Lay a hand on me, counselor, and I’ll sue you for assault.”

“I’ll look forward to it. No better place than a courtroom to beat your ass.”

“Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “Just like the last time.”

“It won’t be like the last time.”

“Got that right,” he said as his expression ran cold. “I won’t have to worry about Jessie fucking things up.”

He pushed open the door and left. Jack watched through the beveled-glass window as the doctor entered the open elevator and checked his handsome facade in the chrome finish.

The doors closed, and for the first time since Jessie’s death Jack was really beginning to wonder: Just who was the brain behind the scam?

•

When Jack first met Cindy, she was a wimp when it came to drinking. “Tying one on” meant an extra splash of Bailey’s Irish Cream in her heaping bowl of Häagen Dazs. She’d been raised in a strict Methodist household. Her mother sang on the church choir and her father, Jack was told, had just one vice, a little nickel-and-dime-poker game on Tuesday evenings. She’d loosened up over the years, but Jack rarely saw her sloshed.

So, when he came home early at five o’clock and found a completely empty bottle of chardonnay on the kitchen table, he knew something was amiss.

“You share that with anyone?” asked Jack.

She shook her head. Her mother wasn’t home. She’d been drinking alone.

Time had passed slowly since Jessie’s death, and the media had not yet tired of speculating as to the “true nature” of the “tragic relationship” between Jack and his attractive client. It was obviously beginning to take a toll.

“You lied to me,” she said.

He looked at her but couldn’t speak. It hurt more than being called a murderer. “What are you talking about?”

“She was your lover, wasn’t she?”

“Do you mean Jessie?”

“Who else?”

“No.” He hurried to the table, sat in the chair beside her. “Who told you that?”

“A couple of investigators were just here.”

“What kind of investigators?”

“Homicide.”

“You let them in this house? Cindy, you have to stay away from those people.”

“Why? So I don’t hear the truth?”

He looked into her eyes. She’d been drinking, for sure. But he could see way past that, to the part that really hurt. She’d been crying. “What did they tell you?”

She took a sip from her wine glass, but it was dry. “They said you and Jessie were having an affair.”

“Not true.”

“I trusted you, Jack. I felt sorry for Jessie, I told you to take her case. How could you do this?”