Authors: Joyce Maynard
I remember looking at the clock on the wall, looking at the light coming in the window, hearing the sound of the dispatcher and the voices of the cops outside. And thinking, remember this moment. This might be your last hopeful moment. Last moment you still have any shot at all of thinking life might turn out OK.
Then I ask him. “Did you do it?” And like I said, Jimmy never lies.
T
HE NICE DETECTIVE, THE
big one, said to call him Mike. He said he knew how hard this was for me and not to worry because he’d be with me every step of the way. He had a daughter about my age, he said. He knew what it was like, trusting somebody so much you get led down the wrong path. When you’re young and impressionable it can happen real easy, he said. The main thing was now I’d come to them. I was doing the right thing.
I didn’t even know what the right thing was anymore. All I knew was I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit in my house anymore going crazy. At least this way I’d have something to do. Somebody’d be talking to me besides my mom, that never leaves me alone.
So they hooked me up with this tape recorder I put on under my clothes. There’s a little microphone, but it’s so small you can’t hardly tell it’s there. Plus it’s not like I’d be wearing some skintight midriff top. I always wear these baggy tops anyways.
Then I called up Suzanne, like they told me. At first she just says she doesn’t have anything to say to me anymore, and would I please just leave her alone. But then I say no, I got to talk to her. I’ve been wondering if maybe I should talk to the cops. I hated saying that—lying, when really I already talked plenty to the cops. But Mike explained to me that sometimes it’s like a white lie you got to tell, so in the end the real truth gets told. I was like an operative of the police department. Like a spy. Only I was working for the good side.
I knew when I said that about talking to the police that she’d have to get together with me. “All right,” she says. “We’ll meet at the mall. Just don’t call the police or anything dumb like that.” I figure she picked the mall to remind me about all the fun times we had there. Maybe she was even planning on buying me some more underwear. But there wasn’t anything I wanted anymore. I don’t even wear my sneakers, if you want to know how bad I feel.
She was already waiting when I got there. Mike would’ve given me a ride only that would’ve tipped her off. So I got this friend of my aunt’s that works at the Wendy’s right near there to drop me off. It was a hot day, and I’ll tell you, I was sweating so much you had to wonder if maybe it was going to short-circuit the tape recorder.
She was carrying a bag. It was these little gold earrings just like she wears. “I wanted you to have these,” she said. “Fourteen-karat gold always has a different look from the fake stuff. It’s the little things people notice.”
I would’ve given them back only then she’d just wonder what was up, so I said thanks. I put them in my bag but I knew I wouldn’t ever wear them.
“So,” she said. “What’s this crazy business about talking to the police?”
“Well I was just wondering,” I said. “Now that they’ve arrested the boys and they know about you and Jimmy and everything. You know Russell’s going to tell about you putting him up to it, if they haven’t guessed it all already. Maybe the best would be to tell them everything and then they wouldn’t be so mad, knowing we told the truth.”
“Are you nuts?” she said. “It’s not like we’re talking about shoplifting a pack of gum or anything. You know what the penalty would be for murder?”
“It was only an idea,” I said. “I was just wondering.”
“Look,” she said, “it’s important not to panic now. Just because they picked up Jimmy and Russell is no reason for you and I to Worry. Everybody knows those two are troublemakers. Nobody’s going to believe them. The main thing is the police don’t have any evidence against us. No fingerprints. No weapon. Nothing.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But you can’t very well let Jimmy and Russell take all the blame when it wasn’t just their fault. The whole thing being your idea and everything. You can’t just leave them to rot in jail.”
“Look,” she said. “They wouldn’t even be in this mess if they’d kept quiet. I had everything planned perfectly, if they’d just followed directions and not gone blabbing about it. They fucked up is all. It’s not my fault they can’t keep their fucking mouths shut. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let them drag you and me down.”
“I can’t sleep at night sometimes,” I told her. “Sometimes I just lay there, thinking about him. Larry I mean. I wonder if he’s up there someplace, hating us. I know this sounds crazy, but I even wonder about God. If he knows. And sometimes I think somebody’s going to come get me. Punish me, like in that movie
Carrie
.”
“The only ones you should be scared of are the cops, Liddy,” she told me. “Don’t you know you’re the one that would get in the biggest trouble of all if they found out?”
“What do you mean?” I said. “I wasn’t even there that night. In the end I even tried to stop you.”
“That’s not the way I remember it,” she said. “The way I remember it is you planned the whole thing. If you hadn’t gone and got that gun, Larry would be alive today.”
“But you asked me to get the gun,” I said. “You asked Jimmy to do it. You were the one that offered Russ the money.”
“What money?” she said. “Did Russell receive any money from me? The way it looks to me is Jimmy had a crazy adolescent obsession with me, and he had built up this bizarre idea that if he killed Larry, he could have me. Russell’s such an animal he figured he’d come along for the thrill of it. And you were so hung up on Jimmy you’d do anything just to be near him. Knowing you couldn’t have him yourself. Seems to me like you were getting your kicks off of thinking about Jimmy and me. Sexually frustrated people do things like that. If they know nobody’s ever going to be interested in them, for their own self. And let’s face it, Jimmy barely knew you existed, before.”
I was feeling dizzy. I wished I had a piece of chocolate to put in my mouth, just to calm my nerves. I remember staring down at those earrings she gave me, kind of like I used to stare at this picture of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn that we used to have on our wall. When Chester was touching me. Just think about the kitten, I’d tell myself. Keep thinking about the kitten.
“I thought we were friends,” I said. And the truth is, even then, even sitting there with this tape recorder strapped to my bra, I was wishing we could just be friends and feeling bad I was doing this to her. Only now it was hitting me, whatever I’d do to her, that was nothing compared to what she’d do to me.
“I was at a job interview the night of the murder,” she said. “It seems to me all the evidence points to you.”
“You were the best friend I ever had,” I told her. “The only friend.” I’m crying now. That part wasn’t some act for the cops either. I couldn’t help that part.
“Yeah, well then,” she said to me, “take a little advice from a friend, why don’t you? Just keep your fucking mouth shut. It’s just their word against mine. And who are they? A bunch of sixteen-year-old losers who grew up in shacks, and their parents sit around drinking and screwing their cousins? I’m a professional person, for goodness sake. I come from a good home. Who do you think a jury would believe?”
I
WAS DOING MY
exercises in the living room at my condo. I remember because I had a Jane Fonda video on, and we were just at the inner thigh portion of the workout. There’s a knock at the door. I go to answer it—I’m wearing my leotard mind you. Weights strapped to my ankles. I must’ve been a sight.
There’s a television camera staring me in the face. That and a couple of policemen. “Suzanne Maretto,” one of them says, “I’m placing you under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder. You have the right to remain silent,” etcetera etcetera. Just like on some police show, only this was real life.
Still I couldn’t believe it. “This is some joke, right?” I said. “I’m a widow. I just buried my husband six weeks ago, and now you’re telling me you want to put me in jail?” Even a strong person has her limits.
My parents were down at the station within minutes of course. I knew once my father talked to them he’d get things straightened out. I could just picture him, taking down people’s names, making phone calls. I mean, my dad probably sold half these people their car. No way was he going to let me rot in this sickening jail with a bunch of losers on drugs and who knows what diseases going around.
So the real shock came later, when they let my folks in to see me, and my dad had to break it to me that I’d have to stay here until the bail hearing. Ten days before we’d get this mess cleaned up.
I won’t pretend I wasn’t upset. But then I just switched gears. OK, I told myself. I’m going to benefit from this experience. I’ll keep a journal. I’ll do exercises. Cut back on my calories—which believe me, once you’ve taken a look at what they serve here, is not that hard to do. I decided to view my time in the correctional facility kind of like I was at a spa. Well, not a spa exactly. Maybe a religious retreat or a prisoner-of-war camp. Something to broaden my experience. And when it was all over, I’d have some dynamite material to market.
N
O COMMENT.
T
HAT’S WHAT
I have to say. A person sees their daughter led off in handcuffs to a women’s prison and there’s some reporter sticking a microphone in my face. What do I know about tape recorders? How do I know the tricks they can do to make it sound like a person’s saying something they never said? They twist your words around, I know that much. They make it sound like you said things and did things you never did. They get an image of how they think a person is and then all they care about is convincing everyone it’s true. They’ll do anything to get people tuning in to their news show. Which might as well be called “Entertainment Tonight.”
I’ll tell you what I think of television reporters. They’re the scum of the earth. They’re vultures. First they tear your heart out. Then they play it back for the world to see on the six o’clock news.
I
NEVER LIKED
J
ANE
Pauley. Have you ever noticed how one side of her face doesn’t match the other? Next time you see that magazine show of hers, put your hand on the screen so it covers up one of her eyes and half her mouth, and you’ll see what I mean. And that hair. I could see it if she was maybe doing the weekend update or something, or the sunrise report. But the “Today” show. It’s not like there aren’t other people out there.
I have to admit I have a controversial opinion about Deborah Norville. I know people say she isn’t very intelligent, but they don’t understand the broadcasting business like somebody on the inside. All the things you have to know, and how complex it really is. Which camera to look at. Being aware of your lighting and your monitors, and knowing how many seconds before you have to cut to commercial. They think these people are just sitting around in their living room shooting the breeze or something. They don’t know all the talent and training that goes into a production like that. And in my opinion, Deborah Norville was the best in the business.
I wrote a letter about my situation to “20-20.” I wrote to “60 Minutes” too, but I’d prefer doing “20-20.” Barbara Walters used to be kind of my idol. Now she’s pretty old of course. But you have to remember all the people she’s met. Billy Joel. Donald Trump and Maria Maples. Tom Hanks. Elton John. You have to respect someone like that.
What we had in mind was an exposé. About the conspiracy these kids cooked up, and how they can ruin a person’s life. Only as I said before, I always think positive, so I’m not prepared to say they’ve ruined my life. All they did was try.
My lawyer was telling me about this play some famous writer wrote. I’m not sure but I think they made it into a movie or a “Hallmark Hall of Fame” or something. It was about this town called Salem, Massachusetts, a couple hundred years ago, where a bunch of teenage girls got the idea of accusing some people of being witches, and everybody started believing them. The girls were just bored or something, looking for something to do, and I mean, in those days, there wasn’t much. So they thought it would be fun. Only in the end the people were found guilty and they got burned alive. The writer used to be married to Marilyn Monroe, if that rings a bell.
In my case, it’s pretty obvious what happened. The two ringleaders, Russell and James, had some kind of crush on me. Or whatever you want to call it. I won’t even repeat some of the remarks they used to make when I’d walk past them in the hall. Just because I’m not a hundred years old and fifty pounds overweight, they think they can get away with their obscene remarks. I have a theory that it has to do with the music they listen to. 2 Live Crew, Guns ’N Roses and so forth. I mean, I don’t sit around listening to Lawrence Welk or anything, but these groups are too much. A boy like Russell, listening to some song about killing your mother or your girlfriend all day long, probably just started to believe it. Everybody knew he was already a hood. And then when I didn’t want anything to do with them, they figured they’d kill Larry, and then I would. That’s the way their twisted brains work.
As for Lydia, well you’ve seen what she looks like. I mean, I tried to help her. I took her to aerobics with me a couple times and I kept telling her to stay away from chocolate. But she had no willpower. Basically she’s just a very pathetic person. And in the end I think she was just so jealous she had to hurt me somehow. So she cooked this up.
It appears the judge understood this. I mean, at my bail hearing the DA tried to give the impression that I might flee the country or something, if they let me out free. Like I’m some desperate criminal. The judge could take one look at me and know I wasn’t exactly the type to hotfoot it off, because he granted bail, in spite of all the ridiculous insinuations they were making about me. So at least I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight, instead of that godforsaken women’s correctional facility. Now all I have to do is wait for the trial, to clear my good name.