After some congratulations from the police officers and spectators, Tribow and his team returned to the prosecution table and began organizing books and papers and laptops. There was a huge amount of material to pack up; the law, after all, is nothing more or less than words.
"Hey, boss, sleight of hand," Chuck Wu said. "You got him focusing on that game and he didn't think about the gun."
"Yeah, we thought you'd gone off the deep end," Viamonte offered.
"But we weren't going to say anything," Wu said.
Viamonte said, "Hey, let's go celebrate."
Tribow declined. He hadn't spent much time with his wife and son lately and he was desperate to get home to them. He finished packing up the big litigation bags.
"Thank you," a woman's voice said. Tribow turned to see Jose Valdez's widow standing in front of him. He nodded. She seemed to be casting about for something else to say but then she just shook the prosecutor's hand and she and an older woman walked out of the nearly empty courtroom.
Tribow watched her leave.
I guess people like that, really bad people, they don't play by the rules. And there's nothing you can do about it. Sometimes they're just going to win...
But that means sometimes they're not.
Danny Tribow hefted the largest of the litigation bags and together the three prosecutors left the courtroom.
The Blank Card
The little things.
Like the way she'd leave the office at five but sometimes not get home until six-twenty.
He knew his wife was a fast driver and could make the trip in maybe forty minutes that time of day. So where did she spend the remaining minutes?
And little things like the phone calls.
He'd come home and find Mary on the phone and, sure, she'd smile at him and blow him a little kiss-across-the-room. But it seemed that the tone of her voice would change as soon as she saw him and she'd hang up soon after. So Dennis would go to take a shower and pretend to forget a clean towel and call for Mary to get one for him, please, honey, and when she disappeared into the laundry room he'd go into the kitchen and debate a minute or so but then he'd go ahead and hit redial on the phone. And sometimes it turned out to be a neighbor or Mary's mother. But sometimes nobody picked up. He remembered seeing in a movie once, about spies or something, one guy would call this other one and they'd let it ring twice then call back exactly one minute later and he knew it was safe to pick up. Dennis tried to figure out the numbers from the sound of the dialing but they went too fast.
He'd be embarrassed because he was acting so paranoid. But then there'd be another little thing, and he'd get suspicious again. Like the wine. Sometimes he'd meet his wife at the door of their spacious Colonial in Westchester County, after she'd been out; he'd walk up to her fast and kiss her hard. She'd act surprised, all the passion and everything. But occasionally he'd smelled wine on her breath. She'd claim she'd been at a church fund-raising meeting at Patty's or Kit's. But do you drink wine at church meetings? Dennis Linden didn't think so.
Dennis's suspicions of his wife smacked of midlife crisis. But they also made some sense. He was too generous -- that was his problem -- and the women he'd ended up with in his life had taken advantage of him. He never thought it would be that way with Mary, a sharp, ambitious businesswoman in her own right, but not long after they'd been married, five years ago, he'd started to wonder about her. Nothing big, just being cautious. Sometimes in life you have to be smart.
But he hadn't really found any proof until about three months ago, in late September -- after Dennis had met his best buddy, Sid Farnsworth, for drinks in White Plains.
"I don't know, I have this feeling she's seeing somebody," Dennis had muttered, hunched over his V&T.
"Who? Mary?" Sid had shook his head. "You're nuts. She loves you." The men had known each other since college and Sid was one of the few people who'd be completely straight with Dennis.
"She made this big deal out of going on a business trip to San Francisco last week."
"Whatta you mean, made a big deal? She didn't want to go?"
"No, she did want to go. But I wasn't sure it was a good idea."
"You thought it wasn't a good idea?" Sid hadn't understood. "Whatta you mean?"
"I was worried she'd get into trouble."
"Why you think that?"
" 'Cause she's a beautiful woman, why else? Everybody's always flirting with her and coming on to her."
"Mary?" Sid had laughed. "Gimme a break. Guys flirt with women. If they don't they're gay or dead. But she doesn't flirt back or anything. She's just... nice. She smiles at everybody."
"Men take it the wrong way and then, bang, it could be a problem. I told her I didn't want her to go."
Sid had sipped his beer, cautiously eyeing his friend. "Listen, Denny, you just can't tell your wife you're not going to let her do something. That's bad form, man."
"I know, I know. I didn't go that far. Just kind of said I didn't want her to. And she got all upset. Why'd she have to go? Why was it so important?"
"Duh... 'cause she's a senior marketing manager and she needed to go on the trip?" Sid asked sarcastically.
"Except she doesn't cover the West Coast."
"My company has its conferences all over the country, Den. So does yours. Has nothing to do with territory... You thought she was going to meet somebody? A lover or something?"
"I guess. Yeah, that's what I was worried about."
"Get real."
"I called the hotel every night. Couple times she was out until eleven or so."
Sid had rolled his eyes. "What, she's got a curfew? It was a business trip, for Christ's sake. When you're away, how late do you stay out?"
"That's different."
"Oh, yeah, right. Different. So why do you think she's cheating on you?"
Dennis had said, "Just a feeling, I guess. I mean, I don't know why she would. Look at me. I'm only forty-five. I'm in great shape -- check out this gut. Solid as a board. Not a single gray hair. I bring home a good paycheck. I take her out to dinner, movies..."
"Look, all I know is, I cut Doris some slack. She's my wife and I trust her. Do the same with Mary."
"You don't understand," Dennis had responded sullenly. "I can't explain it."
"What I understand," Sid had laughed, "is that Mary volunteers for the Homeless Coalition, she's on the church board, she puts together parties like Martha Stewart and she still works a full-time job. She's a saint."
"Saints can sin too," Dennis had snapped.
Sid had whispered, "Look, you're so worried about it, check up on her. Keep track of where she's going, how long she's away. Go through her receipts. Look for the little things."
"The little things," Dennis repeated. He smiled. He liked that.
"I tell you, buddy, you're going to feel like an idiot. She's not cheating on you."
*
But the irony was that Sid's advice didn't clear Mary at all -- not in her husband's mind. No, he found some little things: the trips home from work that took longer than they should have, the funny tone during phone calls, the wine on her breath... All of which fueled his obsession to find out the truth.
And now, tonight, a snowy evening two weeks before Christmas, Dennis found a big thing.
It was five-thirty. Mary was still at work and would be late tonight because, she claimed, she had some Christmas shopping to do. Which was fine with him, honey, take all the time you want, because Dennis was ransacking their bedroom. He was searching for something that had been gnawing at him all day.
That morning just before he'd left for work, Dennis had slipped off his shoes and walked quietly past the bedroom where Mary was getting dressed. Dennis peered into the room and saw her take a small red object out of her briefcase and quickly hide it in the bottom drawer of her dresser. He'd waited a moment then stepped into the bedroom. "How's my tie?" he asked loudly. She'd jumped and spun around. "You scared me," she said. But she'd recovered fast. She
'd smiled and didn't glance at either the open briefcase or the dresser.
"Looks fine to me," she'd said, adjusting the knot, and turned back to the closet to finish dressing.
Dennis had left for his office. He did a little work but spent most of the day brooding, thinking about the red object in the bottom of the dresser. It didn't help that his boss told him there was a client meeting in Boston next week, would Dennis be able to attend it? It reminded him of Mary's trip to San Francisco and left him thinking that maybe her trip had been optional too. She probably hadn't had to go at all. Dennis left the office early and returned home, ran upstairs and ripped open the dresser drawer.
Whatever she'd hidden was gone.
Had she taken it with her? Had she given it to a lover as a Christmas present?
But, no, she hadn't taken it; after a half hour of prowling through every conceivable hiding place in the room he found what he'd seen. It was a red Christmas card envelope, sealed. After he'd left she'd taken it out of the drawer and put it in the pocket of her black silk robe. There was no name or address on the front.
He cradled the envelope and it seemed to him that the card was a burning ingot. His fingers stung and he could barely lift it, the cardboard square felt so heavy. He went into the bathroom and locked the door, just in case Mary came home early. He turned the envelope over and over in his hands. A dozen times. Two dozen. He studied it carefully. She hadn't licked the flap completely; he could pry up most of it but one part was firmly fixed and he couldn't get it open without tearing the paper.
He dug under the wash basin and he found an old razor blade then spent a half hour carefully scraping away at the glue on the flap.
At six-thirty, with another quarter inch of flap to go, the phone rang and for once he was actually glad to hear Mary's voice telling him that she'd be late. She said she'd met a friend at the mall and they were going to stop for a drink on the way home. Did Dennis want to join them?
He told her he was too tired, hung up, and hurried back to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he scraped off the last bit of glue and with shaking hands he opened the flap.
He pulled the card out.
On the front was a picture of a Victorian couple, holding hands and looking out over a snowy backyard as candles glowed around them.
He took a deep breath and opened the card.
It was blank.
And Dennis Linden understood that all his fears were true. There was only one reason to give someone a blank card. She and her lover were too afraid of being caught to write anything -- even a harmless note. Hell, now that he thought about it, a blank card was far worse than an inscribed one -- the understood message was of such deep love and passion that words wouldn't convey what they felt.
The little things...
Something within his mind clicked and he knew without a doubt that Mary was seeing someone and probably had been for months.
Who?
Somebody at the company, he bet. How could he find out who'd gone with her to San Francisco in September? Maybe he could call the company and pretend to be somebody with an airline, asking about travel records. Or an accountant? Or he could call the men in her company phone directory...
Rage consumed him.
Dennis tore the card into a dozen pieces, flung them across the room, then fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a half hour. Trying to calm himself.
But couldn't. He kept replaying all the opportunities Mary'd had to cheat on him. Her church bake sales, her drives to and from work, her lunch hours, the nights she and Patty (well, she claimed it was Patty) would stay in the city after shopping and a play...
The phone rang. Was it her? he wondered. He grabbed the receiver. "Yeah?"
There was a pause. Sid Farnsworth said, "Den? You okay?"
"Not really, no." He explained what he'd found.
"Just a... You said it was blank?"
"Oh, you bet it was."
"And it wasn't addressed to anybody?"
"Nope. That's the point. That's what makes it so bad."
Silence. Then his friend said, "Tell you what, Den... I'm thinking maybe you shouldn't be alone right now. How 'bout you meet Doris and me for a drink?"
"I don't want a goddamn drink. I want the truth!"
"Okay, okay," Sid said fast. "But you're sounding a little freaked out, man. Let me come over, we'll watch the game or something. Or go up the road to Joey's."
How could she do this to him? After everything he'd done for her! He'd put food in her mouth, a roof over her, he'd given her a Lexus. He satisfied her in bed. He struggled to keep his temper in check. And the one time he hit her... hell, he apologized right after and bought her the car to make up for it. He did all of this for her and she didn't appreciate it one bit.
Lying whore...
Where the hell was she? Where?
"What'd you say, Den? I couldn't hear you. Listen, I'm on my way --"
He looked at the phone then dropped it into the cradle.
Sid lived only ten minutes away. Dennis had to leave now. He didn't want to see the man. He didn't want his friend to talk him out of what he had to do.
Dennis stood up. He went to his dresser and took something that he'd hidden not long ago. A Smith & Wesson.38 revolver.
He pulled on his down jacket -- a birthday present from Mary last October, one that she'd probably bought on her way to a hotel to meet her lover -- and dropped the gun into his pocket. Outside he climbed into his Bronco and sped down the driveway.
*
Dennis Linden was nobody's fool.
He knew the location of all the watering holes between Mary's office and the house -- places she'd be inclined to stop at with a lover. But he also knew where she'd be likely to go on the way home from the mall. (He regularly made stops at many of them just to see if he could catch her.) He hadn't snared her yet but tonight he felt that luck was on his side.
And he was right.
Mary's black Lexus was parked outside of the Hudson Inn.
He skidded to a stop in the middle of the driveway and leapt out of the truck. A couple driving toward the exit had to swerve out of his way and they honked at him. He slammed his fist against their hood, shouting, "Go to hell!" They stared in terror. He pulled the gun from his pocket, walked up to the window and peered inside.
Yes, there was his wife: blonde, trim, a heart-shaped face. And she was sitting next to her lover.
The man must have been ten years younger than Mary. He wasn't handsome and he had a belly. How could she be seeing someone like him? How on earth? He didn't look rich either -- he was wearing a cheap, unstylish suit. No, there was only one reason to see him... He must be good in bed.
Dennis could taste the familiar metallic flavor of his rage.
And then he realized that Mary was wearing the navy blue dress that he'd bought for her last Christmas! He'd purposely picked a high-necked one so she couldn't go flaunting her breasts at every man she passed. And he realized that she'd picked it today as a private joke -- an insult to him. Dennis pictured this fat slob slowly undoing the buttons, slipping his pudgy fingers under the cloth while Mary whispered words that this fat asshole would hear every time he looked at the blank Christmas card.
Dennis Linden wanted to scream.
He spun away from the window and strode to the front door of the inn. He pushed it open and stepped inside, shoving a waiter out of the way. The man fell to the floor.
The maitre d' saw the gun and gasped, backing away. Other patrons too.
Mary glanced at him, still smiling from her conversation with fat boy, then her face went white. "Dennis, honey, what --?"
"Am I doing here?" he raged sarcastically.
"My God, a gun!" The boyfriend lifted his hands. He stumbled backward and his bar stool fell over.
"I'm here, honey," he shouted to Mary, "to do what I should've done a long time ago."
"Dennis, what're you talking about?"
"Who's he?" the chubby ma
n asked, his eyes huge with fear.
"My husband," Mary whispered. "Dennis, please, put the gun down!"
"What's your name?" Dennis shouted at the man.
"I-It's Frank Chilton. I --"
Chilton? Dennis remembered him. He was married to Patty, Mary's good friend from the church committee. She was betraying her friend too.
Dennis lifted the gun.
"No, please!" Frank pleaded. "Don't hurt us!"
Mary stepped in front of her lover. "Dennis, Christ! Please put the gun away. Please!"
He muttered, "You cheat on somebody, there's going to be payback. Oh, you bet there is."
"Cheat? What do you mean?" The actress within Mary was looking innocent as a child.
A scream from nearby, a woman's voice. "Frank! Mary!"
Dennis glanced toward the bar and saw a young woman freeze as she stepped out of the rest room, a horrified look on her face. She ran to Frank and put her arm around him.
What was going on?
Dennis was confused. It was Patty.
Eyes wide, breathless, Mary gasped, "Dennis, did you think I was seeing Frank?"
He said nothing.
"I ran into Patty at the mall," she explained. "I told you that. We decided to have a drink and she called Frank. I invited you too. But you didn't want to come. How could you think --?" She was crying. "How could you --"
"Oh, nice try. I know what you've been up to. Maybe it's not him. But it is somebody." He aimed the gun at his wife. "Too many discrepancies, honey. Too many things don't quite add up, honey."
"Oh, Dennis, I don't have a clue what you're talking about. I'm not seeing anyone. I love you! I was just out buying you a Christmas present tonight." She held up a shopping bag.
"Did you get me a card too?"
"A..."
"Did you buy me a Christmas card?" he screamed.
"Yes!" More tears. "Of course I did."
"You buy cards for anyone else?"
She looked completely confused. "Just the ones we're sending together. To our friends. To my family..."
"What about the card you hid in the closet?"
She blinked. "You mean, in my bathrobe?"
"Yes! Who's that one for?"
"It's for you! It's your card."
"Then how come it was sealed up and blank?" he asked, smiling triumphantly.
The tears had stopped and now anger blossomed in her face. It was an expression he'd seen only twice before. When he'd told her he wouldn't let her go back to work and then when he'd asked her not to take that business trip to San Francisco.