Beyond Suspicion

40

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Dr. Marsh sat in silence in the plush leather passenger seat of his lawyer’s Lexus. They were just a half-block away from Mercy Hospital, an acute-care facility that sat on premier Miami waterfront, the Coconut Grove side of Biscayne Bay. Year after year it was voted “best view from a deathbed” by a local offbeat magazine. Dr. Marsh had missed his morning rounds at the hospital, and they were popping by the parking lot just to pick up his car. But Jessie Merrill was still weighing on his mind.

“Funny thing about that videotape,” said Marsh.

Zamora stopped the car at the traffic light. “How so?”

“I don’t know if Jessie was sleeping with Swyteck or not. But she definitely wasn’t obsessed with him.”

Zamora rolled his cigar between his thumb and index finger. “You’d never guess that from the tape. She screamed his name while having sex with you.”

“These tapes she did were purely shock value. There’s nothing honest about them.”

“I’m not following you.”

Marsh looked out the window, then back. “This was exactly the kind of thing that bitch liked to do. She’d get me all hot and then say something to spoil the mood and set me off.”

“How do you mean?”

“The tapes weren’t the least bit erotic for her. It was all about her warped sense of humor. One time, before I’d decided to get a divorce, she had me on the verge of orgasm and then pretended my wife had just walked into the room. That was her favorite tape of all, watching me fly out of the bed butt-naked. Other times she’d just scream out another man’s name. She used my seventeen-year-old son’s name once, my partner’s another time. But her favorite one was Jack. She knew that one really got me.”

“Why did that name bother you so much?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it possible that you were a little jealous of Jack Swyteck?”

“No.”

“Maybe you had reason to be jealous. Maybe when she screamed his name, it wasn’t just for effect.”

“It was totally for effect. She just wanted to make me crazy.”

“Crazy enough to kill her?”

Their eyes locked. “I told you before, I didn’t kill her.”

“Then the polygraph should be a breeze.”

“I think I’ve changed my mind on that. I don’t want to take a polygraph.”

“Why not?”

“I swear, I had nothing to do with Jessie’s death. I just don’t believe in polygraphs. I think liars can beat them, and I think innocent people who get nervous can fail.”

Zamora twirled his cigar, thinking. “I have a good examiner. Maybe I can get Jancowitz to agree to use him.”

“I really don’t want to take one. I don’t care who’s administering it. Hell, it tests your breathing, your heart rate, your blood pressure. I get so furious whenever anyone asks me about Jessie Merrill, I’m afraid I’ll fail even if I tell the truth.”

“Then you shouldn’t have acted so eager to do it back in Jancowitz’s office.”

“I was bluffing. I figured the more willing I seemed to take one, the less likely he was to push for it.”

“Prosecutors can never get enough. It’s going to be hard to get him to back down.”

“Maybe if the testimony we offer is so good, he’ll do the deal even if we refuse to sit for a polygraph.”

Zamora gave his client a look. “How good?”

“We already have a good base. That joint bank account is pretty damning for Swyteck.”

“Why did she put him on that account?”

“Damned if I know.”

“Why weren’t you on it?”

“The money was never intended for me. This was something I was doing for her.”

“Got to keep the high-maintenance other woman happy, eh?”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to provide for another woman when your wife of twenty-four years is suing for every penny in divorce?”

“I understand.”

“But let’s not lose focus here. We got Jessie Merrill naming Swyteck as her coaccount holder on the one-point-five million dollars, and we got her on tape screaming out his name. That’s a damn good start. The prosecutor says he wants more, so I’ll give him more.”

“He doesn’t just want more.”

“I hear you.”

“I’m serious,” said Zamora. “There is no upside in lying to a grand jury. We need to comb over every word you say. It all has to be true.”

“Sure, I love a true story.”

“Just so the emphasis is more on ‘true,’ less on ‘story.’”

The doctor flashed a wry smile. “That’s what the truth’s all about, isn’t it?”

“What?”

The traffic light turned green. Zamora steered his car toward the hospital entrance. Dr. Marsh looked out the window at the passing palm trees and said, “It’s all just a matter of emphasis.”