Dead Even

Chapter 8

CLIMBING THE STAIRS TO HIS APARTMENT, JARED NOTICED that the broken glass was completely cleaned up and the picture of the sunflowers had been reset in a new frame. The night of the break-in was now a two-day-old memory, but to Jared, the sound of crunching glass was still a raw wound. At the top of the stairs, he wondered why anyone would ever smash the hallway picture in the first place. It makes no sense, he thought. There’s no benefit – except for the joy of mindless violence. And then it all became clear. To Kozlow, it’s just a game.

Unable to shake the image of Kozlow smashing the original frame, Jared heard the entryway door on the first floor slam shut. Someone else was in the building. Was it Sara? No, the footsteps were too heavy. Refusing to look over the railing, Jared raced to find the key to his apartment. He dropped his briefcase to make it easier. Behind him, he could hear someone lumbering up the stairs. As he opened the top lock, his hands were shaking. Bottom lock, bottom lock, bottom lock, he thought, fishing for the key. When he finally put it in, he turned it toward the left. It was stuck. Damn it, not now! Open up, you prewar piece of – Suddenly, the lock clicked, the door flew open, and Jared stumbled inside. He slammed the door shut and looked through the peephole. The man on the stairs was Chris Guttman, their neighbor from the third floor.

Annoyed at his own paranoia, Jared headed for the bedroom. “Sara? You here?” There was no reply. He threw his briefcase down next to his nightstand and took a seat on the bed.

Take a breath, Jared told himself. Don’t let him have this one. He went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something move in the shower. He quickly pulled open the curtain. It was nothing. Empty. He ran back to the bedroom and checked under the bed. Then his closet. Then Sara’s. Then the linen closet. Nothing in any of them. Empty. Empty. Empty. Without a doubt, there was no one else in the apartment. It didn’t make Jared feel any safer.

By eight-thirty, Jared was sitting in the living room, fighting with the New York Times crossword and anxiously awaiting the return of his wife. She’s fine, he told himself, glancing at his watch and then checking the clock on the VCR. It’s a long commute – that’s why she’s late. In the past half hour, he’d called Sara’s office three times. No answer. Determined to distract himself, Jared started wondering how she was going to react to two of her witnesses canceling on her. He imagined she’d first blame him, then start fishing for information. His analysis complete, he looked back at his watch. And the VCR clock. She’s fine, he repeated. Please, let her be fine.

Ten minutes later, Sara finally arrived home. The moment Jared heard her key in the door, he pulled the paper back onto his lap. “How was your day?” he called out.

“It was wonderful,” Sara said sarcastically. “First your client threatens two of my witnesses, then someone smashes into me and steals my wallet.”

Putting down the paper, he first thought of Kozlow. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Where did it happen?”

Sara entered the living room and quickly relayed the story. “The son of a bitch got everything – credit cards, my license…”

“I hate to say it, but I told you you should get a purse with a better clasp,” Jared said. Was it him? “Now tell me how my client threatened your witnesses.”

“C’mon, Jared, you know what hap-”

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sara approached Jared, leaned over, and stared straight into his eyes. “Say that again.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jared repeated, carefully pronouncing every syllable. Don’t blink, he thought as he held his breath. Don’t blink or she’ll know.

Sara scrutinized her husband. If he was lying, he was getting better at it. Finally, she said, “I talked to both Ms. Doniger and Ms. Harrison after lunch and they both told me they didn’t want to testify. Harrison was so scared, I could hear her sniffling on the other end of the phone.”

“So you think Kozlow said something to them?”

“Who else?”

“There’s no one else,” Jared said firmly. “But I can tell you that Kozlow was with me all morning.”

“What about the rest of the afternoon?”

“I was working on a motion for Lubetsky all afternoon. We had to crank it out by five. Anyway, I thought you said you heard from them right after lunch.”

“I did,” Sara said. “I was just checking.”

“Well, you can stop with the accusations. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jared said. Realizing that the longer he stayed on the topic, the more likely she was going to find him out, Jared switched subjects. “Let’s get back to your wallet. How much money did we lose?”

“I don’t know and I don’t want to think about it,” Sara said, flopping on the sofa. “I’m exhausted.”

“Are you going in this weekend?” Jared asked anxiously.

“Yep. You?”

“Of course,” he said. “So what do you want to do tonight?”

“Honestly, I just want to sit here and veg for a few hours.”

“You in the mood to give a haircut?”

“Sure. Get the stuff.” Sara had first cut Jared’s hair during their second year of law school. When Jared came home butchered by the Columbia Barber Shop, Sara challenged that even she could do better. A month later, Jared gave her the chance. Since that day, he had never paid for another haircut.

After washing his hair in the shower, Jared entered the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his waist and took a seat at the table. Combing through his hair, Sara said, “It’s getting mighty thin up here, my man.”

“No doubt about that. When I’m outside, I can feel a cold breeze like never before. But if I’m meant to be bald, I’ll be bald.”

“Judging from the view, it’s already been decided.”

“That’s great,” he said. “Now, can I ask you another question about the case?”

“Fire away,” Sara said, holding a clump of hair between two fingers.

“How would you feel about a dismiss and seal?”

“A what?” Sara asked as she started clipping.

“Dismiss and seal,” Jared repeated, feeling the cut hair run down his shoulders. “It’s a settlement. You agree to wipe out and seal Kozlow’s file. There’s no record of it and Kozlow is out of your hair – no pun intended – forever.”

Sara stopped cutting, her brow furrowed. “And I benefit from this how?”

“To put it bluntly, you don’t look like a fool. Instead of failing in the grand jury on Monday, or taking a loss at trial, you get to walk away before anything’s counted against you. That way you don’t start with a losing average.”

With an angry snip, Sara chopped a large clump of hair in half.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jared asked as he saw the remains fall to the floor.

“What makes you think I’m such a loser?”

“This isn’t about you; it’s about your case. You said it yourself – two of your witnesses canceled on you. You owe it to the city to not waste its resources. If they canceled, you shouldn’t prosecute just for job stability’s sake.”

“First, I still have the cop. Second, of the two that canceled, one came back. Doniger agreed to come in.”

“She did?” Jared asked.

“Actually, no,” Sara said as she resumed her cutting. “I made that up to see your reaction.”

“You what?” Jared asked, pulling away.

That was all she needed. “You knew all along that they both dropped out, didn’t you?”

Jared stood up to face his wife. She was closing in. “Sara, I-”

“Who told you?” Sara asked, pointing the scissors. “Was it someone in my office, or did Kozlow tell you himself?”

“I didn’t-”

“It was Kozlow, wasn’t it? Man, I’m going to charge him with tampering and intimidation first thing tomorrow.”

“Sara, I really don’t think it was him.” Jared fought to maintain eye contact with his wife. That was the only way it worked. “Honestly. I swear.”

“Then how’d you find out that Doniger and Harrison canceled?”

“They told me themselves. I called them to get their side of the story. There. Now you know.” It wasn’t a complete lie, Jared told himself, searching for confidence. After speaking to Rafferty, he did call them both to back up his story.

“And why’d you pretend not to know when I first walked in?”

He felt a flash of inspiration. “The same reason you lied about Doniger testifying – I wanted to see what you knew.”

As she stared at her husband, a smile broke across her face.

“What?” Jared asked, forcing a smile of his own.

“Look at us. I mean, can we be more psychotic?”

Jared stared at his wedding ring. “Actually, we probably could.”

“I’m sure we could. But that doesn’t mean we have to play mind games.”

“No, you’re right,” Jared said. He still had to push her a little farther. “It’s just that this case-”

“I know it’s important, but you really have to calm down about it,” Sara said as she resumed her cutting. “Stop being so obsessed.”

“Then start reading between the lines. I’m not doing this just for myself – I’m doing it for you.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Jared got up from his chair and faced his wife. “You should take another look at what you’re working with. I know you’re suspicious about what’s going on, but you don’t have the evidence to prove it. Your cop’s unhelpful; your witnesses are hostile. If you take the dismiss and seal, at least you won’t lose your first case. Then you can go in and pick up a better one. All I’m trying to do is help you, honey. And you and I both know that’s the best way to show everyone that you’re an asset to the office – let them see that you can move things along.”

“I don’t know.”

“Sara, if you take these facts to trial, you’re going to lose. And if you lose, in the blink of an eye, you’re back on the unemployment line.”

Sara didn’t move. The way her lips were pressed together, Jared could tell she was upset. “How about pleading out for a reduced sentence?” she stuttered.

“No settlements,” Jared said. He wanted to let up, but he couldn’t. “So if you’re happy going back on unemploy-”

“Stop saying that!” Sara shouted.

“Don’t get mad at me – I didn’t create the problem. I’m just trying to help you out of it. Now what do you say?”

Stepping away from her husband, Sara gazed aimlessly around the room. Jared knew he had her. The lying left a hole in his stomach, but it was about to pay off.

“Do you really think I’m going to lose?” Sara asked.

“Yes,” he said without pause. “I really do.”

“I’m serious. Don’t lie about this one.”

He took a deep breath. All he wanted to do was protect his wife. “I’m not lying to you, Sara.”

“Then let me sleep on it. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Sara left the room and Jared closed his eyes. He was almost there.

Arched over the kitchen sink, Jared cleaned the remaining dishes from the Thai dinner they had ordered in. Although he knew he had to keep applying pressure, he felt, for the first time, that things were finally looking up. When the phone rang, he called out to Sara, “Hon, can you get that?”

Soon after, he heard Sara shout back, “It’s for you.”

Jared shut off the water, dried his hands with a nearby dish towel, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mr. Lynch, it’s Bari Axelrod with American Health Insurance. I just wanted to get back to you with that address for Dr. Kuttler. A colleague just told me I could access it from your file.”

“I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

There was an awkward pause on the other line. “I’m sorry, is this Jared Lynch?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Mr. Lynch, can you give me your date of birth and social security number?”

“I don’t think so. Now who’d you say you were again?”

“My name is Bari Axelrod and I’m with American Health Insurance, your insurance provider.”

“Why do you need that information?” Jared asked suspiciously. “Don’t you already have it?”

“Sir, I just spent a half hour on the phone with someone who said his name was Jared Lynch. If that wasn’t you, I have to figure out who I’m speaking to. If it makes you feel any better, I know the last three claims you filed were for Doctors Koller, Wickett, and Hoffman, in that order. Believe me, I already have your information. Now, can you please give me your date of birth and social security number?”

Hesitantly, Jared obliged. “What did he want?”

“And for verification purposes, can you tell me which knee Dr. Koller treated you for?”

“My left. Now tell me what he said.”

“He asked me to go through all of his expenses so he could get a better idea of what he spent.”

“And you just gave him my confidential medical information?”

“I thought he was you. He gave me your birthdate and social security number. Said he was trying to put together a budget.”

Wiping his forehead with the dish towel, Jared started pacing across the kitchen. “What exactly did you tell him?”

“I went through Dr. Hoffman’s dental bills, Dr. Wickett’s annual checkups, and the visit to Dr. Koller for your knee, including the charge for making the brace. And then when I got through those, he started asking about your wife.”

“What’d you tell him?” Jared asked, his voice shaking.

“Sir, I had no idea-”

“Please just tell me what you told him.”

“I just went over expenses. That’s all we have here. Her prescriptions for birth-control pills, Seldane for allergies, and the four-month prescription for antidepressants from her psychiatrist. That’s when he asked me for Dr. Kuttler’s address or phone number. He said he wanted to check her rates. I didn’t realize we had them here, so I asked him if he wanted to hold. He said it was no big deal, that he could look it up himself. And then when I found out that I could access them, I called you back and realized that-”

“I don’t believe this,” Jared said.

“I’m truly sorry, sir. He had your policy number, so I-”

“How would someone get that?”

“I have no idea. It’s printed on your health insurance card. Have you lost your wallet recently?”

“Is everything okay?” Sara asked as she entered the kitchen.

Jared nodded to his wife and turned his attention back to the phone. “Ms. Axelrod, I’ll have to call you back later. I don’t have those papers in front of me.”

“But-”

Jared hung up the phone. “What’s wrong?” Sara asked, assessing his expression.

“More problems with our insurance company,” Jared said as he again wiped his forehead. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure, because-”

“I’m sure,” Jared insisted. “They just messed up one of our claims. I can take care of it.”

Wandering up and down the narrow aisles of the neighborhood grocery store, Jared spent the early part of Saturday morning doing some not-so-necessary shopping. Over the past four days, he hadn’t once slept straight through the night. Regardless of how exhausted he was, he found himself waking up at three, four, and five o’clock in the morning. Always for the same reason – always to check on Sara. He was hoping that Saturday was going to be the day when he’d be able to sleep late and catch up on the lost hours. But when Sara’s alarm went off at eight o’clock, Jared was forced to face the day. He did everything in his power to lie in bed and keep his eyes shut, but again, it was no use. He couldn’t get the question out of his head: Are they going to take her? That was what he asked himself every morning, and that was all he cared about.

Unwilling to face the answer, Jared crawled out of bed. While Sara showered, he decided to run to the market. Fifteen minutes later, he headed home carrying two bags of groceries and half a dozen bagels. Walking past dozens of other New Yorkers who were carrying similar packages, Jared still couldn’t take his mind off his wife. She’ll be safe, he told himself. Otherwise, he’d have to-

His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill siren of an oncoming ambulance. With the traffic lights on its side, it flew down Broadway. When Jared first looked up, the ambulance was four blocks away. Seconds later, the ambulance was about to reach Eightieth Street – the block Jared and Sara lived on.

Don’t turn, don’t turn, please don’t turn, Jared whispered to himself as he stood on the corner of Seventy-ninth. All around him, people covered their ears to block out the deafening scream of the siren, but Jared didn’t notice. He was too focused on the ambulance. Especially when it turned down Eightieth Street.

The first thing he did was run. That was instinct. Clutching his bags, Jared darted up Broadway at the fastest sprint he could manage. Not Sara, he begged. Don’t let it be her. He was moving quickly, but for him, not fast enough. Without hesitation, he let go of the groceries and took off. He could hear the wail of the siren echo down the narrow street. When he turned the corner, he saw that the ambulance had stopped halfway down the next block, right in front of their apartment. “Sara!” he shouted. But as he took his first few steps down Eightieth Street, he saw the ambulance move farther down the block. It had stopped to inch its way past a double-parked car. And as it maneuvered past the obstacle and turned onto Columbus Avenue, Jared finally stopped running. It’s all right, he thought, standing there with his hands shaking. Sara was all right. She had to be.

With a confident stride and a commanding look in her eyes, Sara strolled across the grand jury room. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you are here today to do one job – and that job is justice.”

“‘That job is justice’?” Conrad interrupted as he sat in the front row of the jury box. “This isn’t a congressional hearing – we want these jurors to take you seriously.”

“I can’t help it,” Sara said, throwing her legal pad on the table in the front of the room. “Every time I get nervous, I start spouting clichés. All those years of bad movies are finally catching up with me.”

“Didn’t they teach you about juries in your old law firm?” Guff asked, seated next to Conrad.

“I told you, I did two trials in six years. We settled everything else.”

“Ah, the paralysis of passive resistance,” Guff said. “How I long for that stagnant touch.”

“Make another joke, and I’ll ram my stagnant touch straight up your stagnant-”

“Leave the boy alone,” Conrad interrupted. “Let’s get back to juries.” He stood up and moved next to Sara in the front of the room. “Whether you’re in a grand jury or a regular trial, juries are always about trust. If they trust you, they’ll take your side. If not, you lose. But there’s a difference between having a jury like you and having a jury convict for you. If you want a jury to vote against the accused, you need more than a few warm smiles and some smooth hand gestures.”

“So what’s the trick?”

“The trick is language,” Conrad said. “There’ll be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-three people on the grand jury. All you have to do is convince twelve of them that the facts justify a felony charge. They’re not voting to convict him; they don’t have to put him in jail. All they have to do is find reasonable cause to believe that Kozlow committed the crime. That’s a pretty low threshold, but it’s easy to get tripped up.”

“What do you mean by language? What do you have? Magic words?”

“You bet your stagnant ass we have magic words,” Conrad said. “Rule one: Never use the defendant’s name. Never call him Kozlow, or Anthony, or Tony. That humanizes him and makes it harder for the jurors to vote against him. Call him ‘the defendant,’ or ‘the accused.’ Rule two: Always use the victim’s name, the cop’s name, and the witnesses’ names. Ms. Doniger, Officer McCabe, Ms. Harrison. That makes them seem more human and believable. Rule three: Never use the actual words of the crime you’re charging the defendant with. In other words, don’t say, ‘He committed a burglary,’ or ‘He committed murder.’ Those words sound scary to people, not to mention the fact that the jurors will start asking about all the elements of the crime before they’ll vote. To make it easier, say, ‘If you believe the accused stole from Ms. Doniger…’”

“And this really works?” Sara asked skeptically.

“In my nine years here, I’ve never lost in a grand jury,” Conrad said. “I may not win at trial, but I always get there. And I get there because I was taught to focus on the details.”

“And who granted you these pearls of wisdom?”

“The United States government,” Conrad said proudly.

“You were in the military?” Guff asked sarcastically. “No way. You’re so laid-back.”

“I gave them a three-year commitment, they put me through law school. But after three years, they force you out of the criminal side. When they told me I had to do boring civil stuff like wills and taxes and divorce work, I made the jump over here.”

“Love that combat zone, don’t you?”

“Can’t live without it,” Conrad said. “Now let’s get back to the point. Do you know what your game plan is?”

“I’m calling people in order of involvement. I’ll start with the cop, then Doniger, and then Harrison. Kozlow goes on last.”

“So Kozlow’s decided to testify?”

“He filed notice,” Sara explained. “I guess Jared figures he’ll make a likable witness. I’m hoping if he goes on last, the jury will have already made up their minds.” Pausing for a moment, Sara thought about the rest of her witnesses. Harrison was easily the best, since she was the only one who had seen Kozlow leave the house. But if she refused to testify, or even worse, denied that she had seen anything, Sara knew that Jared was right: The entire case was in trouble. Looking at Conrad, she continued, “One last thing – I know you won’t like this option, but if everything starts falling apart tomorrow, I have to think about dismissing it.”

“I’d never argue that with you,” Conrad said. “This is your case. And believe it or not, I appreciate the consequences.” Noticing the distant look in Sara’s eyes, he added, “I’m serious about that. It’s okay to be realistic.”

“Says the man who never settles.”

“Sara, not every case is a winner. Think about what you’ve faced: shaky witnesses, a shifty defendant, even your own husband. When it comes to emotional baggage, you’ve got more than a small piece of carry-on luggage here.”

“But this case-”

“I know you wanted this to be your breakthrough case, but you can’t make something from nothing. Well, sometimes you can, but now isn’t the time. When you get in there tomorrow, you’ll make your decision. And no matter what happens, you’ll live with the outcome.”

“It’s not the outcome that scares me, it’s the motivation behind it. You should’ve heard Jared last night – he did a guilt dance on my head that would’ve made my mother proud. And trust me, that’s saying something.”

“I believe it. Between the lack of witnesses and Victor breathing down your neck, you’ve got a ten-ton argument for washing your hands. You may not like dismissing it, but in this situation, it’s far better than losing.”

“I guess,” Sara said despondently. “Though it’s hard to see the difference.”

Rafferty reached across his sculptural leather sofa and answered the ringing phone.

“You said you wanted me to check in,” Kozlow said on the other end of the line.

“Have you forgotten how to say hello, or is that just a Neanderthal greeting?” Rafferty asked.

“Hello. How are you?” Kozlow growled. “Are we set for tomorrow?”

“We should be. Sara’s planning to subpoena both Claire and Patty at the crack of dawn.”

“Really? Are they going to be there to receive them?”

“Without a doubt,” Rafferty said. “Then when they give up nothing at the grand jury, we’re done with this nonsense.”

“Are you sure that’s the best way to do it?”

Rafferty refused to answer the question. “Where are you calling from?”

“Don’t worry,” Kozlow said. “It’s a pay phone. What do you think I am, stupid?”

“I’m not sure. Was it stupid to grab that diamond watch and the sterling silver golf ball?”

“Why do you have to keep bringing that up? I was-”

“I don’t want to hear it, you greedy little leech. If you’d never done that, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“What’d you call me?” Kozlow asked. “You think I’m greedy? Let me tell you something, you Kennedy-complex wanna-be, you were the one who-”

“Good-bye,” Rafferty interrupted. With a flick of his wrist, Kozlow was gone.