Tell No Lies (45 page)

The only time he allowed his eyes to leave the front of the courtroom was when he passed the defendant's table. He deliberately turned to Alex. If there was one person he blamed more than himself for what had happened to Jenny, it was Alex. Jack had fantasized a lot about physically harming him in some way, and now it was possible. He could do it, if he wanted to. He knew he could manage to inflict a lot of pain on Alex before they pulled him away.
 

But Jack had let his emotions control his actions one time too many, so he took the one step up into the witness box and stood waiting for the judge's clerk to administer the oath. As he listened to her recite the familiar words, he maintained his vigilant refusal to look into the audience. He trained his eyes instead on the jurors.

He answered the oath and sat down. Judge Lehman nodded toward the prosecution table. Jack took a deep breath as Jeff McCarthy stood and began to approach the witness box. Jeff moved hesitantly, apologetically, as if he'd been given the job of executing an old friend, but Jack thought he'd probably insisted on being the one to question him rather than allow Frank Mann, who sat at the table with him, the opportunity.

"Hey, Jack," Jeff said under his breath so that only Jack could hear. And then loudly, for everyone, "Could you state your full name for the record, please?"

"John William Hilliard."

"But you go by Jack, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"For the record, can you tell us what you do for a living?"

"I'm" —he paused because he wasn't sure whether to use the past or present tense— "I'm the District Attorney for the City of St. Louis." Technically correct, for now.

"Are you familiar with the defendant in this case, Alex Turner?"

"Yes."

"How do you know him?"

"I first met him because he works at the university with my wife."
My estranged wife.
 

"Are you familiar with him in any other capacity?"

"He once dated and lived with a friend of mine, Jenny Dodson." He heard his voice waver when he spoke her name. Had the microphone amplified it to everyone in the audience? In the silence between questions and answers he heard something drop, the creak of the old benches as people shifted positions. He stayed focused on Jeff.

"So how long would you say you've known Mr. Turner?" Jack knew it really didn't matter. But Jeff wanted to go slowly and get him into a conversational tone so that maybe some of the old charm would shine through. Jack just wanted to answer the relevant questions and leave.

"I knew
of
him probably within the first year that my wife started working at the university, about nine years ago."
 

"Did you ever have occasion to socialize with him?"

"He came to a party at our house. My wife invited him with the intention of setting him up with Jenny. After that, the only time I saw him was at a university or law function."

"You and your wife didn't socialize with Ms. Dodson and Mr. Turner?"

"As couples? No." Jack knew the next question on everyone's mind would be,
Why not?
But he also knew Jeff wouldn't ask it; the defense attorney would.
 

"Jack, I'd like you to think back to the day leading up to Ms. Shepard's murder. November sixteenth of last year. Do you remember that day?"

"Yes." Did he remember it? It played over and over in his head like a broken record. He'd memorized every moment, had tried to determine at what point he might have reined himself in. There had been so many opportunities and he'd missed them—no, ignored them—all.
 

"Did you see Ms. Dodson that day?"

"Yes." His throat began to tighten and he had trouble swallowing. This was the easy part; how was he going to survive the cross? He glanced down at the small thermos and empty Styrofoam cup in front of him. He wondered if he could still his hands enough to pour some water.

"When did you first see her?"

"That night."

"How did you happen to see her that night?"

"I met her at her car, in Stadium East garage."

"What time was it when you met her?"

"About eight thirty."

"What was Ms. Dodson's mood when you met up with her?"

Jack hesitated.
What happened? Is something wrong? You're scaring me
. He knew Jeff was trying to dilute the cross-examination by bringing up Jenny's nervousness now. But Jack was afraid Alex's attorney would use his testimony later to argue that perhaps Jenny was nervous because of what she'd done or was planning to do: murder Maxine Shepard. All Sanders needed was that reasonable doubt. He didn't have to prove Jenny was guilty, to suggest that Alex wasn't.
 

"She was a little nervous. When she first stepped off the elevator, it was dark—"

"He's giving a narrative, Your Honor," Les Sanders, Alex's attorney, interrupted. Jack stared at Jeff. Though technically the objection was valid, they both knew Sanders was merely objecting because he didn't want the jury to hear a different explanation for Jenny's nervousness.
 

"Overruled." Judge Lehman knew it, too. "Go on, Mr. Hilliard."

"When she got off the elevator, it was dark and she couldn't see me well. She seemed scared to approach her car, but once she realized it was me, she was okay."
Sort of
. He hadn't lied, really.
 

"What did you do after you met her?"

"We talked for a few minutes and then we left."

"Where did you go?"

"To her house in Lafayette Square."

"How did you get there?"

"In her car." He'd hoped the straight questions and answers would help make everything seem matter-of-fact, just a normal, average day after work, but he felt the jurors staring at him, thinking he was slime. They must have been asking themselves,
Didn't this guy just mention a wife?
He also knew that with the next question, he would forever become to them and every other breathing body in the courtroom just another lawyer on the make.
 

"How long did you stay at her house?"

"Until morning. I'm not sure what time it was, but it was light when I left."

Murmurs rose like a mushroom cloud from the audience. Jack closed his eyes, tried to block out the static, but in the self-imposed darkness the voices only seemed louder. He wanted to object to their comments. Speculation! Hearsay! And then there was Jenny, on top of him, whispering in his ear, frightening him with her demands.

"You were both there, the entire time?"

"Yes."

Jeff nodded, his way of letting Jack know he was almost finished. "So you were with Ms. Dodson from eight thirty on Thursday night, November sixteenth, until the morning of November seventeenth, Friday morning? Is that correct?"

"Yes."
Yes, yes, yes, yes. I was there. I admit it. I was there.
 

"One more question." Jeff paused as if he were thinking, though they both knew what it would be. "The entire time you were with Ms. Dodson, did she ever mention Maxine Shepard?"

"No." At least not to Jack. "Not to me." He glanced at Alex.

"Thank you, Jack." Jeff looked at the judge. "That's all, Your Honor." He turned and winked at Jack, and that would have been nice, except Jack knew the worst hadn't even begun.

"Mr. Hilliard." Sanders enunciated Jack's name slowly as he rose behind the defense table and strode nonchalantly towards the witness box, waiting until he was right in front of it to ask his first question. "You said it was eight thirty when you met Ms. Dodson at her car in the garage?"

"Yes. Around that."

"How do you know?"

"I know how to tell time." Little chuckles from the jurors and audience. But Jack hadn't meant to be funny. He just wasn't going to make it easy for this guy.

"That's cute. I'm sure you do. But really, Mr. Hilliard, I'm curious how you know exactly when you met her."

"I had a watch on." He pointed to his wrist.
Not a Rolex, but pretty accurate nonetheless
.
 

"Did you actually look at your watch that night, to know exactly what time you met her?"

"Yes."

"Really? Tell us about that."

"What do you want to know?"
Fuck you, Les
.
I'm not going to do your job for you
.
 

"What time did you first arrive at the garage? Did you notice that?"

"Yes, it was between seven and seven fifteen."

Sanders furrowed his brow. "But you didn't meet her until eight thirty?"

"Right."

"What were you doing between seven fifteen and eight thirty?"

Jack didn't want to admit that he'd gone to end a friendship but instead had started an affair.

"Mr. Hilliard?" Sanders repeated the question. "What were you doing between seven fifteen and eight thirty?"

"Waiting."

"For Ms. Dodson?"

"Yes."

"Was she late?"

It suddenly occurred to Jack that they all thought he and Jenny had
planned
to meet in the garage—a rendezvous. Why hadn't he realized that before now? He knew Sanders pursued this line of questioning under the guise of pinpointing the time, and thus Jenny's opportunity to commit murder. But Jack now understood that his other goal was to make Jenny look just as sleazy as Jack and then be lucky enough to get him also to testify that she was late for their little liaison. Then even Jack couldn't testify to where she'd been. "I don't know what you mean by late."
 

Sanders sighed heavily, partly to express his frustration but more for theatrics. "Late, Mr. Hilliard. Did she arrive in the garage later than you thought she would?"

"I was not expecting her at any particular time."

Sanders tossed a thin manila folder onto the table behind him. He waved one hand helplessly toward Judge Lehman. "Your Honor."

The judge shrugged. "So phrase your questions better, Mr. Sanders."

For the first time in many months, Jack felt a slight smile cross his lips. Sanders grunted.

"Let's back up, why don't we? Had you and Ms. Dodson agreed to meet in the garage?"

"No." The hum began anew.

"So why did you go to the garage to meet her?"

"To see her." Only Jack saw him roll his eyes at the useless answer.

"Why?"

Jack looked at Jeff for an objection. But Jeff just stared back, as if he, too, wanted to know what could have compelled Jack to do such a stupid thing. "I . . . I needed to talk to her. To tell her I couldn't be around her anymore."

Sanders laughed. "You mean to tell me, you went to the garage to tell her
you couldn't see her anymore
, and yet you just testified to Mr. McCarthy that you spent the night at her house?"
 

God, it did sound ridiculous. Jack determined that he would get Jeff's attention, regardless of how he did it. He turned to the judge. "Judge, I don't see how—""

The judge raised his hand to cut him off. "Could counsel approach the bench, please?"

Jeff scrambled out of his chair; Sanders sauntered over. The judge leaned over the bench and whispered, "Mr. Sanders, how is this relevant?"

"I'm trying to establish the time they in the garage," Sanders hissed. "And he's just giving me the runaround."

"So establish it. But how's that relate to
why
he was meeting her, unless you're trying to insinuate he had something to do with the murder, too? I assume that's not what you're doing."
 

"No, Your Honor."

"Then get on with it. Why he met her isn't relevant. Trying to titillate the jury doesn't qualify."

Sanders looked down, only slightly embarrassed at having his intentions exposed so blatantly. He moved closer to Jack to continue his questioning. "When you first arrived at the garage, how long did you think you'd have to wait for Ms. Dodson?"

"I didn't have an opinion about that."

"But you looked at your watch while waiting for her?"

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"Several. I don't recall the exact number."

"Did you look at your watch because it was taking her longer than you thought it would?"

"I didn't think about how long it would take her."

"Then why did you look at your watch?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. I had been there awhile. I was wondering how late it was."

"So it was eight thirty when she finally arrived?"

"Yes."

"Did she say she'd just come from her office?"

"No. But I assumed that."

"Your assumption could have been wrong, couldn't it?"

"Sure, I suppose."

"Was she surprised to see you?"

"At first, maybe."

"Why?"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "I think that would be speculation, wouldn't it, Mr. Sanders?"

"Well, then, sir, let me rephrase it. Why do you
believe
she was surprised to see you?"
 

"I guess you could say we had a nine-to-five friendship. It was unusual for us to get together in the evening unless we were both at some law-related event."

"A nine-to-five friendship?"

Jack shrugged.

"Sir, the court reporter can't transcribe a shrug."

"Well, I think the question was already asked and answered."

"How did she look when you first saw her?"

He saw her in his mind. The black from head to toe, the hesitation in her step when she saw him on her car. Good. He'd never known her not to look good. "Can you be more specific?"

"Her hair, her clothes. Were they in place, or did she appear to be disheveled?"

"Everything seemed in place to me."

Sanders walked away from Jack. He crossed slowly in front of the bench to the defense table, where Alex sat. For a moment Jack wondered if some miracle had occurred—that Sanders was finished and he would be spared the agony of testifying about the night at her place.

But it became apparent rather quickly that Sanders wasn't finished. He opened the manila folder he'd thrown down earlier and pulled out a piece of paper. Jack looked to Jeff, who began to fidget in his chair. Neither had expected Jack to be questioned about any documents.