Page 92 of The Wife

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?”

“No.”

I said it in such an offhand manner that Rocco marched forward with the first few words of her next question before registering my response. The entire room fell silent until one of the jurors coughed. Rocco stared at me, as if expecting me to retract my answer. I returned her gaze but said nothing.

“So, you weren’t telling the truth to Detective Duncan when you said Mr. Powell was with you at home?”

“No, I was not.” I had made Colin call two other defense attorneys to make certain that I had immunity. The law was absolutely clear: because I was subpoenaed as a grand jury witness, I could not be charged, not even for my dishonesty to Detective Duncan about Jason’s alibi. I could, however, be prosecuted if I lied to the grand jury, so I was determined to be truthful.

“Do you know where Mr. Powell was that night?”

Technically, the correct answer was no,but I still wanted to protect Jason. “He was with Colin Harris.”

Once again, I had caught Rocco off guard. “If you knew where your husband was that night, why did you lie to Detective Duncan and say that he was with you?”

I did my best to make eye contact with each juror as I told them about the stress we’d been under since Jason’s mistress had framed him for a sexual assault as punishment for not leaving his family to be with her and to curry favor with her corrupt employer. Rocco tried to cut me off, but I reminded her that I was only answering her question. The same grand juror who had pointed out Rocco’s earlier imprecision said she wanted to hear my explanation.

“We’d spent weeks feeling like everything we did got twisted around, to where no one believed anything we said. On that particular day, Jason and I had gotten into a fight because I finally realized the extent of his infidelities. He wasn’t a criminal, but I wasn’t exactly happy with him either. I didn’t want to explain all of that to Detective Duncan—this is hard for me today, in fact, but I don’t have a choice—so I said he was home with me instead.”

“But you don’t know for certain that he was with Colin Harris all night, do you?”

“I know that Colin told me he was, and Colin Harris is the most honest person I know. And I’m sure the police have our phone records. You’ll find a call from Colin’s house to my cell phone that afternoon. That was from Jason right after he left the house.”

“Please answer the question: You don’t know firsthand where he was for the rest of the night, do you?”

“No, not firsthand.”

I had no idea what evidence the police had used to obtain their arrest warrant for Jason, but this sudden change in his supposed alibi, courtesy of his own wife, was not going to help matters.

I knew that, as I spoke, Olivia Randall was taking Colin to ADA King, so Colin could provide a sworn statement regarding Jason’s whereabouts, but we had no real way to prove where Jason was that night. Olivia had sent an investigator to Colin’s building: they no longer had camera footage to establish that he and Jason had stayed in the apartment that night; on the other hand, there was no footage to prove that they hadnot.

“Please don’t punish Jason for this,” I said. “I just got nervous under pressure and blurted out that he was with me. But he was with Colin. The point is, he was nowhere near Long Island.”

I looked again to the grand jurors for signs of support, but found nothing but eyes avoiding my gaze. Not only did I not have an alibi for Jason, but the fact that I had initially lied for him made him look even guiltier.

“That’s enough,” Rocco said. “I think your testimony speaks for itself.”

If they arrested him, they must have evidence.These people had heard the evidence, and they had concluded that Jason was a murderer, and I was the idiot trying to protect him.

I thought she was about to excuse me from the room when she asked another question. “Does your ex-husband smoke, Ms. Powell?”

“No, he quit at New Year’s.”

“Does he use anything to help control the cravings?”

“He chews Nicorette.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

I could still feel my heart pounding in my chest as I stepped onto the elevator.

I had planned to take the Long Island Railroad back to the city after testifying, but decided to board an eastbound train instead. I’d be in East Hampton within ninety minutes, give or take.

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