Page 106 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

“Another time Mr. Glass had a pretty nasty knot on his forehead. He claimed he ran into the door. Mrs. Glass – I mean, Ms. Russo – was tearing the house apart at the time. We asked Mr. Glass if he was in danger, and he said no. We asked if we should call the police, and he said no. We told them to keep it down and left.”

“The last time that you were called?”

“Mr. Glass had locked himself in a car in his driveway. We were called because neighbors reported yelling. When we arrived Ms. Russo was attempting to smash in the vehicle’s windows with a baseball bat. Mr. Glass was sitting in the front seat, and he was holding the cat. I remember because at first it didn’t look like a regular cat; it looked kind of… diseased. And Mr. Glass was crying, begging her to stop.”

“No further questions,” I say.

When I move to return to our table, I catch Gigi pouting at me, and this one is very clearly ‘pissed’. I guess when I out her for pissing on her husband’s records, I get the pissed pout. Meanwhile, Teddy has a hand threaded into his hair and is staring at the table. He taps his foot to a steady, silent beat, and I pat his arm encouragingly.

Mike Murdock stands with a flourish. “Did you file any reports about these visits? Any security logs?” he asks the witness.

“No,” the security guard says.

“Why not? Isn’t it part of your job to keep records?”

“Mr. Glass… asked us not to.”

“And you just complied, out of the goodness of your heart?”

“He, um.” The guard’s gaze dropped. “He paid us not to report it.”

“So he bribed you?”

“I dunno. Yeah. I guess.”

“No further questions.”

***

“What the hell are we going to do?” I whisper to Quentin as we hover near the water fountain during recess. “That was the best shot we had.”

“We’ve got the Ryde driver.”

“Quentin. What are we doing? We’re going to call a surprise witness and roll the dice? What if Grayson was wrong? Better yet, what if he lied? This could all be part of Mike Murdock’s plan. Send us after Grayson, feed us a fake witness, and unleash his wrath, like a damn Trojan horse.”

“What other choice do we have right now?” he says. “Go big or go home.”

This is how I end up making what will either be the best or worst decision of my entire career.

The Ryde driver’s name is Andre. He’s a self-described entrepreneur in his mid-thirties. He smells like patchouli and looks like he was once an extra in Jersey Shore. Against my better judgment, I put him on the stand.

“Are you aware of Ms. Russo having an affair?” I ask.

“Which one?” he laughs. “Yeah, she had a lot of guys. She usually had me drop them off before her.”

“How do you know they weren’t just friends?”

“Do you make out with your friends in the backseat?” he counters.

“Did Ms. Russo ever say anything to you about her marriage?”

“Only that she was planning to end it and that she expected a large sum of money.”

“Did she say why she wanted to end it?”

“She said it had served its purpose. She was really interested in dating one of the golf pros. She was convinced she could turn the relationship into a reality show. She was talking to some low-level producer about it.”

“Objection, your honor. Relevance?” Mike says.

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