Love, Lies, and Murder (8 page)

“I didn’t believe it was.”

“Well, tell me what was going on as of August fifteenth with regard to that debt, if anything.”

“That I owed the debt . . . but I had sent a letter off explaining that I was moving my office. I would get the payment made sometime in the next couple of months, unless I heard otherwise, and I hadn’t heard otherwise.”

“Was that payment overdue?”

“Yes, but disputed as well.”

“What do you mean ‘disputed’?”

“Means that I had a legitimate claim, I believe, and I still believe to this day that I may not pay that debt based on breaches of confidentiality.”

“As of August fifteenth, were you still promising to pay the debt?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Had you been pressed shortly before August 15, 1996, for payment of that debt?”

“I may have received a letter saying pay, but I wrote back a letter saying, ‘I’m not paying it till this next time period,’ so, you know, legally I didn’t feel pressed.”

“What do you mean, the ‘next time period’?”

“Sometime in September or October.”

“Did you tell your wife about that debt?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I don’t recollect. On a number of occasions.”

“Tell me about those occasions in telling her about that debt.”

“Again, I don’t recollect, but sometime early in the process I told her about the situation. Couple years ago. And then I know specifically she and I discussed it at length when we were on our last trip to Quebec together, and that was sometime in February or March of this year.”

Perry said that he had discussed his debt to Leigh Reames with Janet again in June or July 1996, to explain to her that he owed his final payment and that he was going to try and clear up the debt after he moved his office. He explained that he had established a separate bank account that he utilized to pay the debt to Leigh Reames.

“Why didn’t you just pay it out of your joint account?” Jones asked.

“Because my understanding with my wife was that money had to come out of my extra money. It was not to impact our household finances at all.”

Perry said that anytime he had extra money to spare, it was easier to keep it separate by placing it into the special account he had set up.

“So, you talked to your wife about that before you established that account. Is that correct?” Jones asked.

“I’m not sure if I—I—I have to be truthful. I don’t know if I established that account before I told—talked to Janet about it or after I talked to Janet about it. But certainly she—she knew about it.”

“Well, if you established it after you talked to Janet about it, what you said about why you established it would be totally just untruthful and a lie. Isn’t that correct?”

“I don’t know how you’re characterizing it. Why don’t you explain that or ask me a question.”

“Did you or did you not establish that account to keep these payments to Mrs. Reames and her husband a secret?”

“Yes. No. No. No. No. No, I’m sorry. Not to keep it a secret. I established the account to pay the Reameses.”

“If you didn’t want to keep that secret—those payments secret from your wife, was there any reason to establish a separate account to make payment to the Reameses?”

“Yes. It was easier for me to monitor it. It wouldn’t impact my household finances at all. I could—I knew exactly what the balance was in the account. I could monitor the account easily. And it had—my wife would move in and out and take money out of my checking account, put money into my checking account, move funds freely amongst all of our moneys. She was in charge of our moneys. And that account was one that I could easily maintain because I had a contractual obligation to do so, Mr. Jones.”

“When did you mail the letter that bore the date August 13, 1996, to the Reameses asking for more time, saying you couldn’t pay them right then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you have that letter with you when you came home, unsent and unmailed, on August 15, 1996?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you mail a letter to the Reameses on August 16, 1996?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is that something you could possibly forget, Mr. March?”

“Yes.”

“So, on August sixteenth, after your wife was—had disappeared the night before, you might have mailed a letter asking for more time on this ten-thousand-dollar or twelve-thousand-five-hundred-dollar debt to the Reameses that you just forgot about doing. Is that correct?”

“Absolutely. Correct.”

“Because you were so distraught on August 16, 1996, you just can’t remember what you did that day. Is that fair?”

“Well—well, Mr.—Mr. Jones, I—your characterizations are your—you’re speaking from my testimony, sir.”

Jones had become brutal in his questioning, and it was obvious that Perry March had been rattled by his approach.

“Well, how do you characterize them?”

“On August sixteenth, I wasn’t totally distraught,” Perry responded. “I was upset. I thought she had packed her bags and she was gone for a few days. I honestly, on August sixteenth, believed my wife would be home when I came back from the office. I was slightly upset with her. I was slightly miffed that she would have left that night without calling anybody, letting us know where she was, what—whether she was safe or not safe. And then not calling the next morning even.”

“And you’re telling us that this matter with the Reameses and this debt to the Reameses was of so little concern to you that you don’t know if you were essentially begging them for more time, as of August 15 or 16, 1996. Is that correct?”

“I don’t understand your question.”

“You just can’t understand those words. Is that correct?”

“You’re—you’re speaking an answer. Why don’t you just—why don’t you just rephrase your question, Mr. Jones?”

“Are you telling us that you don’t understand that question ?”

“Again, Mr. Jones, I reiterate. I’m seriously not attempting to be difficult with you. I approached this deposition fully cooperative. I want to find my wife. This is a tragic situation. I simply want to answer the questions truthfully without you putting words in my mouth.”

“Well, you know, I have a right to cross-examine you. I intend to cross-examine you. That’s part of my job here today.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“What was your wife wearing the day she—at the time she left?”

“I believe you answered that—asked me that question.”

“What was she wearing?” Jones was being insistent, and seemed intent on catching Perry in a lie.

“Again, I don’t specifically recall. Could be shorts, could have been jeans. It was summertime. Over three months ago. I don’t remember.”

“What did she take with her?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you believe she took with her?”

“I have no idea what was in her car. But I know that when she left the house, she was carrying, I believe, three bags.”

“Okay. Describe those bags.”

“Her standard overnight bag, which is a small gray valise. I believe she was carrying with her a backpack, like a leather backpack that she carries on airplanes with her. That’s really the only time she uses it, when she—when she gets on an airplane. And she was carrying a canvas tote that she used for her pool bag, but she had used it—it looked like it was full of her toiletries and things of that nature. I just—I don’t know. I didn’t take a close look inside of it. I was a little stunned when she came downstairs with her bags.”

“How long had she been upstairs before she came down with her bags?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Jones.”

“An hour? Thirty minutes?”

“It was a short period of time.”

“How long had it been since this discussion that might have been an argument ended and she went upstairs?”

“All within the hour.”

“So there might have been as much as an hour’s time lapse between the time the discussion or the argument ended and the time she came back downstairs with her bags. Is that correct?”

“You’re confusing me. I don’t really remember.”

“How did the argument end?”

“With her being upset. My staying calm. Sitting at the kitchen table. With her asking me to leave for the evening. My answering her, ‘Are you sure you want me to leave?’ Her response was ‘Yes. I want you to go to a hotel.’ I got up, I went to the phone. I called the Hampton Inn. I made a reservation. I hung up the phone.

“She got up,” Perry continued, “she said, ‘You’re not going again on my time and my money.’ And she took my credit card from me. She took my wallet from me. She grabbed the stuff. She ripped up the card. She handed me back my driver’s license and my cash. And she walked into my study, where she was there for a short period of time. I heard her. I sat at the kitchen table.”

Jones seemed somewhat stunned as he listened to Perry. It was, after all, the first time that so many details had come straight from his mouth regarding the night of August 15.

“You want me to—should I continue?” Perry asked. “I mean, want me to continue? Are you asking me to continue? I don’t—I forgot what the question was. I’m sorry.”

“Just go ahead. Continue.” It was obvious that Jones wanted to hear what came out of Perry’s mouth next.

“I heard the printer,” Perry said. “She walked out of my study. She walked upstairs. I don’t know how long she was upstairs, but it was a relatively short period of time. I stayed at the kitchen table. She came downstairs. She had the bags. She handed me the note that she had typed and asked me to read it and sign it. I did so. She turned around. She said something to the effect of, ‘It’s your turn. See ya.’ She left. That was the last time I saw my wife.”

“And she had these three bags with her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any idea what was in the bags?”

“No, sir.”

“Any idea what was in her purse?”

“No, sir. Well—well, that’s—that’s an unfair statement. I do know subsequently that—I have an idea, as I told you, that there were some toiletries in the bags. And I do know she took some CDs with her because I do remember her making a little sidestep to the CD—where our stereo is, and she took some CDs with her, which gave me an indication I thought that she was going to be driving somewhere.

“And I subsequently learned,” Perry continued, “that she took cash and her passport and a small bag of marijuana that she keeps in a cabinet. I could not locate that small bag. I think it’s—I think it’s a better way for me to characterize it now is I assume that she took the cash, the passport, and the small bag of marijuana. Because they’re not there. And they weren’t there a day or two after she left.”

“Did you know that small bag of marijuana was in a particular place before she left?”

“She never really told me where it was and she kept it hidden. . . . I knew it was in her desk, built-in desk cabinet area. And I don’t know exactly what drawer it was, but I do know specifically where the money was and where the passport was. And both were gone, Mr. Jones.”

“You know, I really would like an answer to my last question.” Jones asked the court reporter to read it back.

“Did you know that small bag of marijuana was in a particular place before she left?”

“No. I knew a general locality of where I thought it was.”

“Well, then, why did you say she took it with her?”

“Because subsequently I searched for it and I could not find it.”

“You knew it was in a general area. Is that correct?”

“Yeah. I knew that she kept it in her desk area.”

“When did you last see it before she left?”

“I don’t know. She smoked marijuana pretty much on a weekly basis.”

“The question is, when did you last see this small bag?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Within a month of her leaving, would you say?”

“Absolutely within a month of her leaving, yes.”

“Within a week before she left, did you see it?”

“Again, I can’t be any more specific than that.”

“Than what? Than a month?”

“Yeah. Because sometimes she’d come out with a particular joint. And sometimes she’d come out with the whole bag. Sometimes she would roll a new one. Sometimes she would come out with a butt. I don’t know how familiar you are with parlance of marijuana. I’m not too familiar with it.”

“Have you ever used marijuana?”

“My wife attempted to get me to smoke it on a couple occasions. I did the proverbial Bill Clinton thing. I pulled it into my mouth and I spit it out. Simply to appease her because she wanted me to try.”

“So the answer is yes, you used marijuana. Is that correct?”

“No, sir. That’s not the answer. The answer is I never inhaled marijuana. I know it sounds crazy, but I tell you it’s the truth. I’ve never smoked a cigarette and I’ve never inhaled marijuana.”

“Did you ever use cocaine?”

“Never.”

“Now, let me see if I understand. You claim that a month or so before your wife left, you were aware that there was a small bag of marijuana somewhere in a general locality.”

“No, sir, that’s not correct. That’s not a correct statement.”

“What’s incorrect about that?”

“I’m telling you that I believed up until the day she left that there was a bag of marijuana in the house that she purchased. . . that she shared with her friends.”

“You said that you last saw it, as best you can characterize it, a month before she left. Now, was that testimony true?”

“No, sir. That’s not what my testimony was. . . . You asked me had I seen the bag within the month. And my answer is yes, I had seen it within a month.”

“Had you seen it within a week?”

“Again, I can’t be more specific. I may have.”

“Had you seen it within two weeks?”

“I may have.”