Tell No Lies (22 page)

"Mr. Wolfe, to answer your question, the one I think you really want an answer to—" He would tell Wolfe exactly what he wanted to hear. "I do think that if Clyde Hutchins had an IQ like me, or you, or any of these ladies and gentlemen standing here with us, Mr. Scanlon would have been justified in asking for the death penalty."

Even as he spoke these words, words so contradictory to what he really believed, he knew that he couldn't stop now. "And if I were in his shoes," he continued, purposely using the phrase the woman from the television news had used, "I, too, would be justified in asking for the death penalty."

Justified, not right. Justified was different from right, wasn't it? But his throat tightened. He sensed that he'd just given away something that he could never get back.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AS SUMMER NEARED its end, the campaign picked up speed. In addition to the activities scheduled during the day, Jack's nights were increasingly being eaten up by functions that, according to Dunne, required his appearance. Even the weekends became hectic after Dunne saw a picture of Jack's family in the paper, taken at a festival, and decided he wanted Claire to attend as many events as possible. "She's got a certain quality about her, a genuineness," he'd stated matter-of-factly. "There are certain people who will vote for you merely because of her." Claire agreed. Whatever misgivings she had about the campaign—and she had many, as Jack's expressed position became more opposed to what he really felt—she saved for home, and he discovered that he enjoyed having her along; he enjoyed showing her off.

But he was eager to leave the campaigning behind and return to the courtroom. The Barnard case was scheduled for early October, and the date was fast approaching. In the weeks leading up to it, the late nights began to exact their toll at home. The routine wasn't unusual; he'd always prepared for his big trials at night, when the office was quiet and it was easier to concentrate. Claire had always understood, but this time her patience gave out quickly. They both were exhausted from the campaign, so he tried to ignore her sighs whenever he called to say he'd be late. But it soon became an escalating cycle that they couldn't break. He'd have to work late, she'd complain, and then, to avoid further conflict, he'd make less of an effort to get home to her.
 

One morning in mid-September he left early for work, pulling out of the driveway before the sky began to lighten. Claire was still sleeping, and he hadn't woken her to say goodbye. They'd fought the night before over something silly and had gone to bed with little conversation, back to back, not touching. By the time his anger had dissipated and he'd whispered into the dark for her to come closer, she'd fallen asleep, or at least had pretended to.

But the thought that she might still be angry gnawed at him, so at lunchtime he called her.

"Hi," she said, immediately dropping the professional tone she used at work. She sounded tired. "What do you need?"

He swallowed. As if he only called when he needed something. "Nothing. I just missed you" —he decided to take a chance— "and hoped that maybe you missed me, too."

Her response, delivered without humor, wasn't what he'd been fishing for. "I've been missing you for a while, Jack."

"I know." He looked at the picture of her on the beach in Amangasett and wished she were in the room with him. "I'm sorry about last night. The trial and the election's making us crazy, but they'll be over soon, okay? A few more weeks. And I'm leaving at five tonight, come hell or high water. I promise."

The line was silent for a moment, and then she said, "You left so early this morning."

"Yeah, I wanted to get here before the office opened so I could work without any distractions. I just wanted to be alone for a while, that's all."

He could tell by her silence that she'd taken it the wrong way. She'd taken it as an indictment of her. Maybe, in a roundabout sort of way, it was. "Claire, I don't mean to—"
 

"I've gotta go. My class starts at five after."

He sighed again. No matter how hard they tried, it seemed that lately every discussion ended this way, with him trying to explain himself and her misunderstanding, and then cutting him off before they reached some sort of resolution. "Okay" was all he said.

For the umpteenth time, the line fell silent between them.

Finally, she spoke. "Okay, I guess I'll see you when you get home."

"Yeah, okay." He picked up the picture frame with his free hand and studied it. He was certain that if they were in the same room they'd be able to get past this. "I love you."

"Is that all?"

Is that all?
She'd been expecting something else but he didn't have a clue what it might be.
 

"Claire, I told you I was sorry."

"Yeah, you did, didn't you? Never mind. I'll see you tonight." The words were cold, without feeling or intonation. And for the first time that he could remember, she hung up the phone without telling him that she loved him, too.

At quarter to five Jeff barged into Jack's office after only a half-hearted attempt at a knock.

"What now?" Jack asked, tossing him a nasty look.

"You've been a little crabby lately, Jack." Jeff grinned like the Cheshire Cat, as if even Jack's foul mood wasn't going to spoil his own good one. "Not getting enough sleep?"

"No, now that you mention it, I'm not. Which is why—"

"Well, don't expect to go to bed early tonight."

"That's exactly what I plan to do."

"Uh-uh. Not tonight. Dunne just called, and he's got plans for you. Wait till you—"

"No. Stop. I don't care what plans he has for me. I'm going home" —Jack looked at his watch— "in about fifteen minutes. I promised Claire."

The phone rang and they ignored it.

"Don't worry about Claire. She'll understand. The Dems are in town, the big ones." They talked over the second ring as they waited for it to flip to Beverly. "Dunne's arranged a little meeting for you, it seems."

"No. I told you, I'm going home."

"You're not listening, Jack. These are the big guns, out of Washington. He's arranged for them to meet you, and if all goes well, you might land a coveted endorsement from the House Minority Leader himself. I'm talking a TV spot with him telling everyone to vote for you."

"Yeah, how much is my campaign paying for this 'coveted endorsement,' if I might ask?"

Jeff laughed. "Aw, Jack, you've become such a cynic in your few months on the campaign trail."

"I prefer 'realist.'" Jack stood and started putting the files on his desk into some semblance of organization. "It doesn't matter. I'm going home. I don't need any endorsements."

A buzz from his phone interrupted them, and then Beverly's voice filled the office.

"Jack, I know you didn't want to be disturbed, but it's Mr. Dunne, and he's insisting on talking to you or Jeff. I can't find Jeff, so what should—"

"He's in here with me. Just put him through."

Jack motioned for Jeff to take the call. "Tell him I left for the day," he mumbled as he sat back down in his chair, resigned to another twenty minutes in the office. Jeff pressed the button for the speakerphone.

"Hey, Greg. I've got Jack here with me," he said, his voice more animated than usual. Jack wondered if Jeff had started calling Dunne "Greg" on his own or whether he'd been instructed to. "He's ecstatic about the plans for tonight."

Jack glared at Jeff; there hadn't been even a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

"Hey, Jack!" Dunne's low voice reverberated from the small speaker on the phone.

"Hi, Gregory. You've outdone yourself."

"Yeah, how 'bout that? Do I take care of you or don't I?"

"You do. You do." Jack laughed a bit. "There's only one problem."

"Hold on, Greg." Jeff quickly pressed the mute button, and the smile left his face. "Don't you dare, Jack. Do you have any idea what strings he's pulled for you? You get on that phone and you ask him when and where and you tell him how grateful you are. Don't be an idiot."

Instinctively, Jack looked over at the photograph again, and Jeff saw him do it.

"I don't have a choice," Jack said. "I need to go home."

Jeff's tone softened. "I'll call her and explain, if you want me to. But you've gotta do this. You are right about one thing. You
don't
have a choice."
 

Moments later, Jack agreed to meet Dunne at the Ritz-Carlton in Clayton at six thirty so Dunne could prep him for a meeting at seven. Dunne and Jeff continued to talk, but Jack had troubling following their conversation because of an overwhelming preoccupation with figuring out what he was going to tell Claire. His ruminations were cut short when Beverly came in and slipped a note in front of him. "Michael's on Line 2," it read.

That was strange. Michael never called him at work. In fact, it seemed that in the past six months Michael wanted as little to do with him as possible.

He interrupted Jeff and Dunne and, after ushering them quickly through their farewells, he picked up the handset to talk without Jeff hearing both sides of the conversation.

"Michael, what is it?" His voice sounded more alarmed than he'd intended.

"Dad, how come you haven't left yet? Mom said you were leaving by five today."

"Yeah, I was, but—"

"Don't forget you're supposed to pick up the cake."

The panic in his gut hit him immediately and hit him hard. He looked at Jeff. "Oh fuck," he thought, and then realized he had spoken it aloud, and both Jeff and Michael had heard it.
Is that all?
Her question reverberated in his head. "Claire's birthday. Today is Claire's birthday." Jeff rolled his eyes, but Jack couldn't tell whether this was meant to express his displeasure at having another problem to deal with or whether he was just commenting on Jack's apparent incompetence as a husband. "Oh fuck," he repeated.
 

"You mean you forgot?" Michael's voice rose an octave.

"Michael, listen to me. Where's Mom? Is she home?"

"Yeah. I can't believe you forgot her birthday."

"What's she doing?"

"Right now she's sitting out on the deck with Marcia." He paused. "They're drinking wine." He said it as if he had top-secret information and Jack was lucky to be privy to it.

"Does she look mad?"

"I don't know, Dad! She's just talking."

Jack scribbled a note and shoved it across the desk to Jeff.
Call Dunne and tell him I won't be there.
 

Jeff shook his head.

"Go get her," Jack said into the phone. "I need to talk to her."

He heard Michael set down the phone; as he waited, he tried to take a deep breath. "Fuck," he said one more time.

Jeff pushed Jack's note back across the desk. "I'm not calling him, Jack. You're going. Claire knows how important this campaign is. She'll get over it."

"No. She won't." He stood, suppressing the urge to make some smart-ass remark about the reasons why Jeff was still single. "Can you get out of here now? I want some privacy."

But Jeff didn't move, except to shake his head in disbelief. Before Jack could repeat his demand, Claire was on the phone. "Hey." She didn't sound mad, just apathetic. Maybe damage control was still possible.

He motioned for Jeff to leave and then turned around and sat on the desk with his back to him. "Hey, happy birthday. Starting the celebration without me?" The line was silent but he pretended he didn't notice. "Did you have a good day?"

"Thank you. Yes, I did."

He glanced over his shoulder and watched Jeff close the door behind him.

"I've got a surprise for you." He knew what he was about to do was extremely risky, but, as Jeff had said, he didn't have a choice.

"You do?" She was skeptical, but interested.

"I booked us a room at the Ritz. We've got eight o'clock dinner reservations, and then we're going to stay the night at the hotel. How's that sound?"

"Jack" —the skepticism was waning— "my parents are coming at seven, remember? They're having dinner with us. You said you were leaving by five. Shouldn't you be on the road now?"

"My lovely wife, you're so gullible." He winced at the irony of his statement even as he teased her. It would be a miracle if he pulled this off. "That was just a ploy. They're coming over to watch the kids for us."

"Really?"

He heard her warming up to the idea. "Yes, really."

She sighed. "I sort of thought we'd all get a chance to be together tonight."

He jumped on that comment. "I was thinking we needed a chance to be alone. Don't you think we need that?"

"Well, yeah, I know we do." She paused, he knew, to weigh her decision. "And here I thought you'd forgotten, the way you bolted out of here this morning."

"I like to keep you guessing." She giggled then, and he gave a silent thanks to God that she'd decided to share a bottle of wine with their neighbor. "I wanted to come home early to pick you up, but I realized I'll get in late tomorrow, so I need to hang around and wrap some things up, okay? How much wine have you had? Can you meet me at the hotel around quarter to eight?"
 

"Just a glass. I'm fine." If he were there with her, she'd be looking at him with her eyes narrowed and a little smirk on her face as she tried to decide whether or not to believe him. He glanced at his watch to determine how much time he had to negotiate for all the arrangements he'd promised. "Okay, I'll be there," she said finally.

When they finished with the details, he asked to speak to Michael. After explaining the plan to ensure that Michael didn't blow Jack's cover, he hung up and dialed Jeff's extension. "Call Dunne and tell him I have a half hour to spend with those guys, and that's it. Come seven thirty I'm out of there."

He hung up before Jeff had time to protest. Next he called Claire's mom and begged, and then he called the restaurant and begged some more. And finally, when all the other arrangements had been made, he called the hotel and booked a room. He didn't have to beg, though—he merely had to pay the price.