“Define this.”
Sam takes a deep breath. She glances at Brian, who nods encouragingly.
“For the past year or more that I have known Brian, he has always been infallibly punctual and reachable by all methods of communication. We spend a lot of time together, and in the past few months, it has become an almost daily affair.”
Sam pauses. Now that she has articulated it, she realizes every word of it is true.
“So when I couldn’t get hold of Brian for two days, I started to panic. With everything going on in his life and the impending court case, I was worried that he would . . . do something stupid.”
“Such as?” Karen probes.
“My first thought was that he was in an accident, and I didn’t know about it. He had been seeing a shrink as well, and my second thought was that . . . ” Sam falters. She doesn’t want to mention the word ‘suicide’, especially not in present company.
“You were afraid he might have been hurt?” Karen says in a gentle tone.
“Y-yes. But then I had another suspicion, especially since I had been arrested for breaking and entering only days before. I acted on my instincts and drove to Delilah Faulkner’s apartment. I saw Brian’s Jeep parked in the visitor parking lot.”
“Did you take a photo?”
“I wasn’t in the presence of mind to do that. It was only after I went home that I began to think of what I should do. Especially when Brian showed up and wouldn’t tell me where he had been.”
“What did you decide to do?”
Sam’s stomach floats, and she tries to quell it by holding her breath, but it doesn’t work. “I asked a private investigator to procure a recording device for me.”
“You mean a bug?”
“Yes.”
The crowd is hanging on to every word.
Sam says, “It was in the shape of a button. It’s an extremely effective and sensitive device. My PI . . . he was ex-CIA or something. He got it for me for a huge sum of money. I sewed it into the hem of Brian’s leather jacket. It was what he usually wore.”
“And you have recordings of Brian’s conversations with Ms. Faulkner?”
“Objection!” Norma Hennessey is purple in the face. “Ms. Faulkner is not on trial here, your Honor!”
“But Mr. Morton is,” Karen shoots back, “and these conversations are vital to the case and in proving my client’s innocence!”
“Proceed, Ms. Fox.”
Karen makes a big to-do about setting up an iPad and two speakers on a table in front of the Judge’s desk. The jury and crowd are restless, murmuring to each other.
She presses ‘Play’.
Sam, with the help of Karen, has condensed the pertinent recorded conversations.
Delilah’s voice is obvious. Sam cringes. No matter how many times she listens to this, she can never get that creepy feeling out of her spine.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry. I got held up.”
“Fucking that perky Ms. Muffet again?”
“I got held up at the gym. I work there, you know.” Brian’s tone is short.
A pause.
“Take off your clothes, Brian.”
Silence. The hesitation is obvious even on playback. Slithering sounds.
Sam feels her skin crawl. She knows Brian has been with other women, especially in the earlier part of their relationship, but she can never be totally OK with it, no matter how much she tells herself she should.
“Come here.”
Kissing. Footsteps padding away.
A whine, and then a cut to another scene.
Brian’s voice. “I don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“All this.”
“What part of it don’t you get?”
“Why you’re doing this. You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Brian.
“You hate me enough to set me up for rape. Tell me something, how did you do it, huh? Pills in my Jim Beam when I wasn’t looking? Sam mentioned this drug your company has on trials – CK . . . something. Is that what you slipped into my drink?”
Delilah’s voice is sharp. “Where did you get that?”
“I have my sources too. So what did you do, Adie? Strip me when I was unconscious and get my dick to stand up on its own? Did you have a good time f**king me when I was out . . . or making me f**k you?”
“Shut up, Brian. Get on the bed.”
“What? You gonna punish me?”
Noises. A clinking sound.
Brian, deadpan. “I’m not really into bondage as much as you like to think I am. Ow!”
“Shut up and lie still.”
“What would be the point?”
A scramble. Scene shift.
“I’m sorry, Adie.” Brian’s voice. Hoarsely.
“Don’t call me by that name.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry for what I did to you in college. I’m sorry it turned out this way.”
“Shut up.”
Sounds of kissing. Sucking.
Scramble. Another scene shift.
“I want this. I want this to continue. I want us to be together. A couple. I want you, Brian. You owe me.”
“For how long will this new deal continue?”
“For as long as it takes.”
Pause.
“I can’t do that. I’m not in love with you.”
“You were never the sort of man to ‘do’ love. So don’t begin that sort of talk now.”
“You want me to live with you. Be your lover. For keeps. There’s no timeline definition. I can’t do that, Delilah. I can’t live like that.”
“You want to go to prison?”
“No, I don’t want to go to prison. But in prison, at least I won’t have to live a lie. So I’ll take my chances on the stand.”
“They are going to rape you in there. Someone with your face and body. You wouldn’t last a week.”
Karen lets the recording go on and finally wind down. The court has sat through two hours of recordings.
“The defense rests, your Honor,” she says with an air of finality.
14
Even though the evidence presented has been stark and clear, Brian is all wrenched stomach and fraught nerves. The jury has already taken three hours to deliberate. Three f**king hours.
Brian is freaking out in the waiting room. He had to use the washroom twice. He threw water on his face and scrubbed his hands, but he still couldn’t calm down.
By this time tomorrow, I may be serving a prison sentence.