Dead Even Page 23

  “That’s great,” Sara said as she put the papers in her briefcase. “And thanks again for getting the signature.”

  “Don’t thank me. Conrad was the one who knew the judge.”

  “Then thank you,” Sara said, nodding her head to Conrad.

  “For you, my friend, the world.”

  At ten P.M., Jared grabbed his suit jacket from behind the door and stepped into the hallway. Although there were dozens of young associates still working throughout the firm, almost all of the support staff had gone home. As a result, the hallways were deserted. Walking toward the elevators, Jared was still digesting Sara’s news. When he’d gotten off the phone with her, he searched Lexis’s computer databases for information about Arnold Doniger. All he could find was a New York Times announcement of his engagement to Claire Binder, a Radcliffe grad and antiques expert twelve years his junior, and a short obituary from the previous Saturday. Why didn’t Rafferty tell him?

  While he was waiting for the elevator to arrive, Jared thought about the newfound confidence in Sara’s voice and what that meant for the case. His palms abruptly filled with sweat, causing him to drop his briefcase. As he bent over to pick it up, the elevator arrived. Inside were Rafferty and Kozlow.

  Forcing a smile, Jared said, “What are you…”

  Before Jared could finish his sentence, he felt Kozlow’s fist rip into his stomach, sending him crashing to the ground. As Jared gasped for air, Kozlow dragged him into the elevator. When the doors shut, Rafferty pressed the emergency stop button. The blaring emergency alarm screamed. Not giving Jared a chance to breathe, Kozlow kicked him two more times in the stomach. He then picked up Jared’s briefcase and opened it, dumping all the papers on Jared’s now-heaving body.

  As the paper littered the elevator floor and the alarm continued to wail, Kozlow kicked him again. He then put his foot on the back of Jared’s head and forced Jared’s face into the floor. “Oh, we’re having fun now, aren’t we?” Kozlow asked. Trying to pick his head up, Jared didn’t answer. He started to spit blood. “I asked you a question!” Kozlow shouted. “Are we having fun, or not?” With a quick push, he once again pressed Jared’s face into the floor. Jared felt like he was going to black out. “Answer me!” Kozlow shouted. “Answer me or I’ll kick your head in!”

  “Enough, Tony,” Rafferty said, pulling Kozlow away from Jared.

  “Don’t touch me!” Kozlow yelled at Rafferty. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Rafferty said. “But I need to talk to him. Now catch your breath and calm down.” As Kozlow stepped back, Rafferty leaned down toward Jared’s face. “You told me not to worry,” he whispered. “Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me?”

  “I’m sorry,” Jared moaned, saliva running down his chin. “I didn’t know she had—”

  “Don’t feed me any more bullshit. I’m full. We need to find out what Sara knows. Get her notes, read her mind, do whatever you want, but find out what the hell is going on. This cannot turn into a murder trial.”

  Rafferty stood up and shut off the emergency alarm. In a few moments, the elevator arrived at the first floor of the building. Jared remained on the floor as Rafferty climbed over him and left the elevator. When Kozlow followed, he ground his boot into Jared’s right hand. “Pick yourself up,” Kozlow warned, pressing his heel against Jared’s fingers.

  “I mean it,” Rafferty added as the doors slid shut. “Tomorrow morning I want some answers.”

  Jared arrived home at a quarter to eleven. He waited impatiently on the sofa until Sara walked in at eleven-thirty. The moment the door slammed shut, Jared was out of his seat, approaching his wife.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said before she had even unbuttoned her coat.

  “I can’t,” Sara said. “Now drop it or change the subject.”

  “What’s the story with Arnold Doniger? Why is he—”

  “Jared, are you listening to what I’m saying?” Sara asked, glaring. “Please stop asking me about it.”

  “Just tell me if you’re going to do an autopsy, so I’ll know what I’m doing tomorrow.”

  Sara walked into the bedroom and started to undress.

  “Please,” Jared said. “I have to know.”

  She understood what he was doing, but she wasn’t going to budge. Pretending not to listen, she hung her suit jacket and skirt in her closet. After taking a T-shirt from her dresser, she made her way to the bathroom. Jared followed her, standing in the doorway as she washed her face.

  “Sara, don’t ignore me like this. I need your help. I don’t know what else to do.”

  He was begging now, and the tone caught her off guard. Not just because of the way it tugged at her emotions, but because she could tell it was true. Jared was drowning. He needed her help. And with a few pieces of information, she could take his pain away. No, she told herself. Don’t let him do that to you. Keeping her eyes shut, she rinsed off the soap. Then, in one quick movement, she buried her face in a towel. Don’t look at him, she told herself. It’s the only way he can get to you.

  “Please, Sara. You’re my wife.” As Jared said the words, Sara heard the smallest of cracks in his voice. He wasn’t just begging anymore. He was crying. She lifted her face from the towel; she couldn’t help herself. As she looked up, she saw pain in his eyes. No, not just pain. Fear. “Please,” he repeated.

  Sara felt her mouth go dry. Her heart sank. She never wanted to do this to him. But she had to. “I’m sorry, Jared. I can’t.” Dropping her gaze to the floor, she tried to squeeze past him, but Jared put his arms around her.

  “Sara…”

  She pulled away. “Please…it’s hard enough.”

  Jared stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching his wife get into bed. As she shut off the light on her nightstand, he didn’t move. Finally, from the dark, she spoke. “Good night.”

  For two and a half hours, Jared lay motionless in bed, pretending to be asleep. Lying with his back to Sara, his eyes long adjusted to the dark, he stared at the pale beige radiator in the corner of the room. He thought about the day they had moved into the apartment and the day he had suggested repainting the radiator to match their wine-and-beige-colored comforter. Sara had told him that no one in New York would be caught dead color-coordinating a radiator and had refused to participate in such a “useless” project. But Jared pressed on and painted it, his sense of order outweighing his wife’s commitment to her city’s constant chaos. And now, as he tried to keep himself awake, he once again stared at the radiator and wondered why they had spent so much time fighting over something so inconsequential.

  When the electronic numbers on his digital alarm clock read 2:30, Jared slowly turned toward his wife and whispered, “Sara.”

  No answer.

  “Sara, are you awake?”

  Still no answer.

  As quietly as he could manage, Jared raised the covers and slid out of bed. Silently, he tiptoed around the bed. On the way, he hit a loose floorboard that let out a tiny shriek. In response, Sara turned over on her side, facing the nightstand that Jared was aiming for. He stopped in his tracks. “Sara?” he whispered.

  No response.

  Jared crept forward and crouched next to his wife’s briefcase, which was leaning against the nightstand. But as he reached for it, he paused. My God, what am I doing? Pulling away, he wondered why he had ever thought he could go through with it. Then he caught sight of Sara, and the answer again became perfectly clear: Her life was worth the risk. Steeling himself against the churning in his stomach, Jared held his breath and gently lifted Sara’s bag.

  His hands were shaking as he opened the single clasp and raised the leather flap. Feverishly fingering through the folders inside, he pulled out the one marked KOZLOW. As he was about to open it, he looked again at his slumbering wife. She looked beautiful. Transfixed, Jared continued to stare at her. He didn’t want to betray her, but he needed to know what she knew. And before he could talk himself out o
f it, he opened the folder and started reading.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Jared quickly stood up. Sara was wide awake.

  “Sara, before you say anything, let me—”

  “Get out.”

  “It’s not what—”

  “Get out! I want you out of this house! Now!” she shouted. Hopping out of bed, she pulled the folder from Jared’s hands. “How dare you do this to me! How dare you! Do you really have that little respect for me?”

  “Of course not, I just—”

  “You just what? You were looking for gum? You needed a pen to write down your dream? You wanted to break every ethics rule in the book? What’s the lame excuse of the week?”

  “Trust me, I know it doesn’t look good, but I can explain.”

  “Trust you? You want me to trust you?” She dropped the folder and smacked Jared. First in the chest, then in the shoulder. “This is our trust, Jared! This is our trust, and you just ripped it apart!”

  He tried to block her as best he could. “Sara, just let me explain!”

  “No, no, of course. Go ahead—explain. I’m dying to hear this one.”

  Jared took a deep breath. He was shaking. Nowhere to turn. “I know you’re not going to believe this, but this has nothing to do with you. It’s only about the case. Like I said from the beginning, you have to realize how much it all means to me. I wasn’t looking for a free ride; I just wanted to know what I was going to be facing tomorrow.”

  “And did you do the same thing before I went in front of the grand jury? Did you raid my files then? And are you going to take another peek before the actual trial?” As Sara rattled off the questions, she stepped closer to Jared. She pushed her finger into his chest with each accusation.

  Instinctively, he backed up, moving farther away from Sara’s side of the bed. “Don’t use that tone with me,” he said. “I barely even saw anything.”

  “That’s because I woke up and stopped you!”

  “Listen, I’m sorry we had to get into this, but if the situations were reversed, you’d have done the same thing to me,” he said, his back pressed against Sara’s dresser. “Now if you want me to move out, I’ll be happy to oblige, but you better think very carefully before you do anything you’ll regret.”

  Sara turned around, reached into the top drawer of her nightstand, pulled out a set of keys, and threw them at Jared. “These’ll get you into Pop’s apartment. Take your stuff and get out of my face.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Jared asked, stunned.

  “That’s my decision,” Sara said. “Now leave.”

  “Are you sure you—”

  “Get out. Now.”

  He shook his head with confused rage. “You’re going to regret this one.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He stormed to his closet with his jaw clenched. Wait until she’s alone, he thought. Then she’ll see she overreacted. In a blur of hostility, he pounded from room to room until he was done collecting suits, toiletries, and enough clothes to get him through the weekend. But it wasn’t until he was finally ready to leave that Jared realized what was happening.

  As he carried his black hanging bag to the door, he saw Sara sitting in the dark of the living room. Her briefcase was leaning against the couch. Instantly, rage gave way to reality. “I’m going,” he said in a soft voice.

  She didn’t respond.

  “Sara, I’m—”

  “I heard you.”

  Jared put his hand on the doorknob. “I just want you to know I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “I am. I really am,” he said. He didn’t want to leave now, but he had no idea what to say. Searching for the perfect words, he came up empty. Finally, he blurted, “Are you sure you want me to go?”

  Again, Sara didn’t respond. She watched him carefully. He looked so vulnerable as he stood there, his hanging bag sagging from his shoulder. An awkward silence filled the room. Jared tried to read his wife’s blank expression. Slowly, he lowered his bag to the floor.

  “Don’t do that,” Sara said.

  “But you—”

  “I’m not changing my mind, Jared. I want you out.”

  That was it. She wasn’t going to take it back. Turning away, Jared opened the door. Without another word, he was gone.

  The first thing that hit him was the silence. He was unfazed by the photographs of Sara and her parents that decorated the long walls of the entryway. He barely registered the familiar stale smell that was reminiscent of his own grandparents’ house. But as he entered Pop’s modest apartment on East Seventy-sixth Street, the one thing Jared couldn’t ignore was the piercing silence.

  “Hello?” he called out just to make some noise. “Anybody here?” No one answered.

  With his hanging bag still slumping from his shoulder, Jared dragged himself inside and dropped his belongings. He headed quickly to Pop’s bedroom, and just as quickly decided that he didn’t want to sleep in Pop’s bed. It didn’t feel right. After hunting around for the linen closet, Jared pulled out some sheets and a blanket, opened the sleeper sofa, and made his new bed. All he had to do was lie in it.

  It’s only until the case is over, he told himself. That’s all she meant, isn’t it? Unwilling to face the answer, he walked back up the entryway and double-checked the lock on the front door. Unlike the door in his own apartment, which had two different dead bolts as well as a chain, Pop’s front door had only a single lock—the same one that had originally been in the door when Pop moved in, almost twenty years ago. For Pop, the single lock was more than enough to make him feel safe. For Jared, it was an entirely different story. Jared wasn’t worried about a lock. He wasn’t even worried about himself. He was worried about his wife. And the longer he was gone, the less Sara was protected.

  Returning to the living room, Jared picked up the phone from the coffee table and dialed his home number. C’mon, honey, pick up. The phone rang again. C’mon, Sara, I know you’re there. And again. Are you there? And again. Where are you? And again. Sara, now you’re scaring me. Are you—

  “Hello,” she finally answered, her voice groggy and hoarse.

  “Sorry to wake you. I just wanted to let you know I got in okay and that—”

  Sara hung up.

  Jared quietly put down the phone. She was safe. For now.

  She hadn’t been able to sleep since his phone call. She was fine when he left the apartment, and she was fine when she didn’t know where he was, but from the moment he called to say he was okay, she couldn’t relax. Maybe it was the sound of his voice, or maybe it was her conscience. Either way, it was finally starting to sink in. She’d have to do this one alone.

  At four-thirty in the morning, Sara was still wide awake. First she tried a cup of hot tea with some warm milk. Then she tried listening to classical music. Then she wondered if there was something else she was missing. In her experience, she knew that if she couldn’t fall asleep, it was either because she was still reliving the previous day, or because she was afraid of facing the coming one. In this case, Sara realized that both statements were true. And as she instinctively curled up to the pillows on Jared’s side of the bed, she knew it wasn’t going to be an easy night.

  “What’d he die of?” Walter Fawcett asked bluntly the following morning. A heavy, rough-spoken man with a thick mustache and even thicker glasses, Fawcett was one of the ten medical examiners assigned to perform autopsies in Manhattan. Standing outside the autopsy room, in the basement of the office of the chief medical examiner, Fawcett and Sara went over the details of Arnold Doniger’s death.

  “According to his wife and his death certificate, he went into a coma brought on by his diabetes,” Sara explained, rubbing her bloodshot eyes. “Apparently, his blood sugar was too low.”

  “Earlier, you said the paramedics brought him in. Was there anything significant in their report?”

  Handing Fawcett a copy of the report, she explained, “Accor
ding to this, Arnold was acting a bit cranky throughout the night of his death. His wife said he regularly had fits of anger caused by his diabetes, so she just assumed his blood sugar was low and gave him some apple juice and a granola bar. A few hours later, right before he went to bed, she saw him give himself a shot. When she wakes up the next morning, he’s lying dead next to her. She freaks out and calls an ambulance. End of story.”

  “That’s never the end,” Fawcett said. “We’ll find more.” When he was done looking at the report, he handed it back to Sara. “You staying for the autopsy?” Lost in her own world, Sara didn’t reply. Fawcett snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You with us here?” he asked.

  “Huh?” Sara asked, jolted back to reality. “I’m sorry. What’d you say?”

  “One, I asked if you’re staying for the autopsy. Two, I’m asking what’s got you so preoccupied?”

  “Nothing really—just another part of the case,” Sara explained. “And as far as the autopsy goes, I have to be in court by noon, but I was hoping I’d be able to watch. Everyone in the office said it’d be helpful to see how one’s done.”

  “They don’t know what they’re talking about,” Fawcett said as he headed toward the autopsy room. “But if you think it’s critical, go put on some scrubs.”

  “They’re doing an autopsy?” Rafferty asked as he took a seat in front of Jared’s desk.

  “According to the one file I did see, they dug the body up last night, and they’re dissecting him this morning,” Jared said.

  “And that’s when she caught you?” Kozlow asked from his usual chair in the back of the office. “Oh, man, you must’ve—”

  “That’s enough,” Jared interrupted. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Lame move, buddy.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Jared said. “I only took about three days’ worth of clothes with me, so I still have an excuse to go back there. Besides, it’s not like she changed the locks.”

  “Not yet,” Kozlow said.

  “Is there anything we can do to stop the autopsy?” Rafferty demanded.