“I actually think it would be prudent for you to get a sense of what really happened before you begin making calls to the media.” She played with the buttons and then Mark’s voice became audible.
What’s your concern in the case, Julianne? I don’t understand how it affects you personally.
There was faint static and background noise, but even so, there was no doubt that it was his voice and that he had called her Julianne. The knot twisting in his gut morphed into a sharp, ice-cold blade.
Julianne Grossman pressed pause. “Now, I’m not a detective, but it doesn’t sound like you had much confusion over my identity.”
“How did you alter that?”
“I didn’t alter a thing.”
“Slick trick, but I’m the wrong person to try it with. My company has contacts with the best audio forensic experts in the world. It’ll take them twenty minutes to blow that bullshit out of the water.”
“There’s that option,” she said, “or we could listen to a bit more, and maybe you’ll reach a different understanding.”
She returned her attention to the recorder, advanced it to the place that she wanted, and then played it. This time it was her voice, that strange cadence even more eerie over the static.
This has been a good conversation for you, hasn’t it? Yes. Yes, it was beneficial, wasn’t it?
Mark, sounding as if he’d overdosed on quaaludes, responded: Yes.
There are ways it might have been an even better conversation. So much better. For you, and for Sarah Martin. You know that there are ways, don’t you? There are always ways. So much beyond what we know. So much beyond what we say. But you feel those ways, don’t you?
Yes.
Of course. Of course you do. And the ways that allow you to feel close to her are the best, because it matters so much that you feel close to Sarah, doesn’t it?
Yes.
Some of those ways feel out of reach now, don’t they? They feel like something beyond you, beyond your potential. But they are not beyond your potential, Mark. You’re feeling that now, aren’t you? You’re understanding that your potential has changed. That all the old approaches can be improved upon. Tell me what you think about your old approaches?
They can be improved upon.
Mark felt like rushing at her again; hell, he felt like hitting her this time, knocking her onto the floor and taking that recorder and smashing it until it turned to fragments and then until the fragments turned to dust. He couldn’t move, though. He stood, frozen, listening to the voice he knew was his own speaking words he didn’t remember saying.
To feel closer to Sarah, would it have helped you if you had spoken to her family, do you think? Would that have helped?
Yes. It would have helped.
Think back on this conversation, then. Recall all that was said and all that was beneath the words. Because you know that there were things beneath the words, and you know that what was beneath the words mattered most, and always does, and always will. The words we say are not what matters most, are they?
No. The words do not tell the story.
The words Don’t embarrass me with this shit knifed through Mark’s brain, and he winced. Julianne watched him in silence.
So you know this. And you know that what was beneath the words you heard today could have come from someone close to Sarah, could they not? They could have come from her mother, perhaps. Do you think that is true?
Yes. That is true.
Would you like to remember the conversation that way? So that you can focus on what counts, and you can open your mind to new approaches?
Yes.
Then you will. You will remember that you spoke to Diane Martin, Sarah’s mother. You will remember her pain. You will remember her desperate thirst for truth. You will remember that what is beneath the words is what matters, and what was beneath the words came from Diane Martin. Do you remember this?
Yes.
Who did you speak with today?
Diane Martin.
And what mattered?
What was beneath the words.
Exactly. All of this you already know, and so all of this you will remember.
“Stop it,” Mark said. His voice broke. “Turn that damn thing off, turn it off now!”
She stopped the recording. Her face was serene.
“It’s jarring to hear, I’m sure. But if you—”
“How did you do that? Did you drug me? I’ll have a blood test done, and if—”
“No drugs. You might do some Internet searches later on something called the Erickson handshake induction. You’ll see some obvious frauds, and some things that once would have made you laugh. But now? Now you won’t laugh.”
Down in the hotel lobby, she grabbed your wrist. It looked like a handshake at first, but she took hold of your wrist. It was a strange contact.
But it couldn’t have been that simple. There was no way. You didn’t just take hold of someone’s wrist in an unusual manner and then ask him unusual questions and through those means convince him that his reality had changed. It couldn’t be done.
“It was ketamine,” he said. “You didn’t hypnotize me, and you know it. There was a drug involved, and that’s easy enough to prove.”
“Then feel free to prove it.”
“How long have you known Jeremy and Brett Leonard?” Mark asked. “What about Evan Borders?”
Her face appeared genuinely puzzled, but she was a fine actor. “I’ve heard Evan’s name, but the others are new to me.”
“Sure they are. I’ll find out where you got the drug and I’ll connect you to them, but it won’t be necessary for that stupid damned recording anyhow. People will hear that and they’ll know that I was set up. You just proved my story with that alone.”
“But what if they heard this?” she said, and she played another segment.
I had a snitch in Coleman prison down in Florida. He told me that he’d heard a rumor that someone in there had killed Lauren. And so I offered him ten thousand dollars and free legal assistance for his appeal if he... if he confirmed the rumor.
And how was he going to do that?
By any means necessary. And if it was confirmed, he had another hundred grand coming his way, though even he didn’t know that, because we didn’t get far enough along.
What was the other hundred grand for?
Killing him.
You would have arranged a man’s murder? You would have been comfortable with it?
If I could prove that he was the one who’d killed my wife? Absolutely. Without hesitation, I’d have had him killed. My only regret would be that I couldn’t do it myself.
Mark couldn’t speak. The plan that he’d had for the inmate in Coleman had existed only in his own mind. He’d had no fear that someone might find out about it, because he’d never voiced the plan to a soul.
Or so he had believed. They’d talked about it, but he hadn’t said... Even as he thought about it, though, it began to feel familiar. Feel vivid, in fact. He could see that table in the bar, could see her face, the face he’d believed was Diane Martin’s, and could recall her composed acceptance of the news when he’d delivered it. Yes, it had happened. How in the hell had he not remembered it?