“He thinks I’m guilty.”
“No, of course not.” I was unable to meet his eyes. If it weren’t for me talking Spencer off the ledge, he’d be on the news telling anyone who would listen that Jason killed Kerry Lynch, was a horrible father, and had been on the grassy knoll with Lee Harvey Oswald. Dr. Boyle said I should expect his loyalties to swing wildly for the foreseeable future.
“There is one thing,” I said, as if it had just come to me. “A New York magazine reporter called me last night. I looked at her stuff. She’s not just some blogger. She writes these long, intense pieces. She left a message for Mom, too. And right when I was coming in, Mom texted me. Three different people out East got calls, including my old boss at Blue Heron.”
“What did you say?”
“No comment, of course, but I don’t know how long I can keep that up. She’s obviously digging around. When she called Mom, she even mentioned that time Trisha and I got in that car accident with the BMW guy.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
I liked that question when it came from Dr. Boyle, but from Jason, it was annoying. “Afraid. Terrified. It’s only a matter of time before it gets out.”
Jason’s expression was blank.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m rambling about myself when—I’ll be fine. I’ll figure something out.”
I did my best to sound optimistic as Jason outlined Olivia’s strategy to blame Tom Fisher for Kerry’s murder. Already, she had confirmed that Oasis’s marketing department—under Kerry’s control—had spent millions more in Africa leading up to the finalization of their deal there than in other international markets. In combination with Kerry’s pay records, Olivia planned to argue that Kerry was complicit in a kickback scheme at Oasis, had framed Jason to silence his concerns about the financial irregularities, and had finally been murdered when she tried to blackmail Fisher for more money.
But with each tactical point he raised, I reminded myself that Olivia’s job was to get her client off, even if he was guilty. The police hadn’t arrested Tom Fisher. They had arrested Jason, which meant they had evidence, and I had been racking my brain for five days, wondering what it could be.
“Olivia says a trial will take until at least November,” Jason said. “Spencer will be in school by then. It’ll be a media frenzy. You guys should go.”
“Where? My mom’s? No thank you. And we can’t keep sending Spencer to camp.”
“No, like actually go. You have enough money. Find some place where you can get some peace and quiet.”
“We need to stay here with you.”
“Why? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in jail.” He looked down at his orange jumpsuit. “I don’t want you afraid of picking up your phone because some reporter is asking questions about you. And it’s only going to get worse as the trial date gets closer. Seriously—I insist on this. I’m going to call Colin and literally make him find you guys somewhere to stay until the trial.”
I was shaking my head.
“Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
“Fine, I’ll think about it and then not do it. I need to go now.”
It was an abrupt end to the visit, but we both knew I had somewhere else to be. I was testifying in front of the grand jury.
60
I did a quick scan of the room. Eighteen grand jurors from my quick head count, seated in two rows. No judge, as Olivia Randall had warned me to expect. The only other person in the room, besides the court reporter, was the prosecutor, a woman named Heather Rocco.
The background information moved quickly—dates of the marriage, separation, divorce, and Kerry Lynch’s rape allegation. From an outsider’s perspective, my entire life had boiled down to those four dates.
Once introductions were done, ADA Rocco asked me if I understood the conditions under which I was testifying. She explained what Olivia Randall had already told me: any witness, like me, subpoenaed to appear before a grand jury was automatically granted immunity in exchange for his or her testimony. That explanation sufficed for the ADA’s purposes, but I knew far more than the grand jurors about what that meant. Unlike most states, in New York, the state’s decision to force me to be here entitled me to something called “transactional immunity.” Olivia had called it the “golden ticket” of deals with the government. In short, the police could find a videotape of me helping Jason move Kerry’s body to Ocean Beach and they still wouldn’t be able to prosecute me. I had blanket immunity from anything involving Kerry Lynch—full stop.
On the other hand, I could not claim the Fifth. Because I had immunity, nothing could actually “incriminate” me. The only basis I had to refuse a question was spousal privilege. Olivia had wanted me to hire a lawyer to stand in the hallway in case I needed to ask someone what I could or could not do, but I wasn’t about to start cutting checks to yet another attorney.
After ADA Rocco had assured the grand jurors that I understood the ground rules, she dove immediately into the subject of Jason’s relationship with Kerry. “Isn’t it true that Jason claimed he’d had a consensual affair and that Ms. Lynch fabricated the criminal allegation as an act of revenge?”
“I apologize if I’m mistaken, but I was told that anything Jason actually said to me while we were married was privileged.”
“Very well, then.” Rocco paused to remind the grand jurors that they’d already heard testimony from a previous witness regarding Jason’s defense. My guess was that either Detective Duncan or Brian King, or both, had already testified regarding the facts of the original case against Jason. “In addition to the criminal case, Ms. Lynch was also pursuing a civil suit, demanding five million dollars in damages. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s my understanding.”
“And both the criminal and civil cases were dismissed after Kerry Lynch went missing?”
“That is what I was told after the fact.”
“What were the grounds for your divorce, Ms. Powell?”
“I believe the exact terminology is that our marriage had ‘broken down irretrievably.’”
“Was your husband unfaithful?”
“Yes.”
“Allegedly with Kerry Lynch?”
“Yes, among others.” I saw two different grand jurors—both women—shift in their seats. I sensed that they didn’t like the idea of my being here, forced to discuss my husband’s infidelities.
“But you were still married to Mr. Powell when Detective Corrine Duncan came to your home on June 7 and informed you that Kerry Lynch was missing?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ask you where your husband, Jason, was the previous night?”
“Yes.” Olivia had instructed me only to answer the question presented. If Rocco asked me if I knew the time, the correct answer was yes. It wasn’t my responsibility to make her job easier.
“And what did you tell her?”
“That Jason was at home with me.” It was a truthful response to the question she had posed.
“What specifically did you tell her about your activities that night?”
“Well, there was dinner. And a phone call from our son. And watching La La Land before going to sleep.”
“And was that true?”
I paused, focusing on her precise wording. “Yes.”
“I’m going to remind you, Ms. Powell, that you’re under oath, under penalty of perjury.”
“I understand that.”
“I can ask your son under oath about that phone call if you’d prefer.”
“I answered the question you asked, Ms. Rocco.”
A heavyset woman toward the end of the second row—one of the women who had seemed uncomfortable at the mention of Jason’s affairs—held up her hand sheepishly. “It’s the way you worded it,” she said. “You asked about her activities, then asked if that was true.”
The prosecutor looked confused, and then embarrassed.
“I didn’t realize we were playing semantics, Ms. Powell.”
“I’m answering your questions.”
“Was your ex-husband, Jason Powell, with you the entire night during those activities?”