FACING THE REAR OF THE courtroom, Fauhomme glared for a moment at Ariadne Stupenagel and Karp’s wife. He wanted to fix their faces in his mind; after all, he hadn’t gotten to where he was in life by forgetting or forgiving people who crossed him.
Where you are in life? Are you crazy? You’re sitting in a courtroom with a murder case hanging over your head. Can’t you feel the noose tightening?
Fauhomme reached up and loosened his tie as he fought the feeling of panic and an uncomfortable tightness in his chest brought on by the voice in his head. It was the same voice he used to use to deride and debase others, but now like a junkyard dog it had turned on him.
The two women in the back of the courtroom met his gaze with hard looks of their own. He averted his eyes to the rest of the gallery, but there wasn’t a friendly face in the crowd. With a shudder he turned back around.
The attorneys were all up at the judge’s dais arguing, and he couldn’t remember why. The trial was just grinding on and every day seemed to bring a new defeat. He looked over at Tucker Lindsey, who sat staring at the table in front of him with his red-rimmed eyes. More to have someone to talk to than because he empathized with Lindsey, he said, “Don’t worry. It will get better when we present our case.”
Lindsey’s pale face flushed as he raised his head slowly and then turned to Fauhomme. “We’re fucked,” he whispered. “And it’s your fault.” Then his expression went blank again and he resumed staring at the table.
The venom in his codefendant’s voice rattled Fauhomme, who was still trying to decide how he would retort when the lawyers finished their business. Faust and Caulkin returned to their seats, having obviously lost whatever argument they were trying to make. They looked almost as defeated as Lindsey when Karp announced, “The people call Connie Rae Lee.”
Mustering a smile, Fauhomme turned to look as the tall brunette entered the courtroom. He’d fantasized that she would appear in court and then refuse to testify against him. After all, they’d shared some good times. He’d taken her places and introduced her to people she would never have met if it wasn’t for him. She’d told him more than once he was a great lover and . . . their eyes met and he realized that his fantasy was not about to become reality.
When she edged into the room she looked frightened, but when she saw him her face hardened and her jaw set. Her eyes flashed in anger, wiping the smile from his face. He felt her pass behind him, and his skin crawled as if he expected her to plunge a knife into his back. Instead, she opened the gate between the gallery and the well of the court and walked purposefully up to the court clerk to be sworn in. Climbing up on the witness stand, she looked at him again with contempt.
A mixture of fear and rage coursed through his body. Here’s another one to put on the enemies list, he thought. The voice started laughing so hard that he hardly heard the first introductory questions and answers, and he had to concentrate to hear the next question.
“Miss Lee, would you please tell the jury what your relationship to the defendant, Rod Fauhomme, was in October of last year.”
“At that time how long had he been your boyfriend?”
“A little more than three years.”
“And did you know the other defendant, Tucker Lindsey, as well at that time?”
“Not well,” Lee replied. “I saw him at some parties and political functions. I knew he was the president’s national security adviser and that he and Rod talked a lot. But that was it. I never sat down and had a cup of coffee with him or anything like that.”
“You said the defendant, Fauhomme, was your boyfriend. Would you describe the nature of that relationship?”
Lee shrugged her shoulders. “He lives . . . lived . . . in Washington, D.C., and I’m here in New York, so I saw him whenever he came to town, and sometimes I would go down there. He paid for my condominium on the Upper West Side and gave me an allowance so I wouldn’t have to work.”
“What did the defendant do for a living?”
“He runs political campaigns, including the president’s. I think he gets paid for television talk shows and the consulting he does, too, but he didn’t tell me much about where his money all came from. I just know that he had a lot of it.”
“During last year’s presidential campaign, how would you describe your boyfriend’s involvement in the day-to-day process?”
“He’s a control freak,” Lee said. “He also thinks he’s the smartest guy in every room he walks into. Everything passed through him. I once watched him scream at some volunteer college students at a rally for not approving their signs with him first. Anything, or anybody, that was going to be on television or in the newspapers had to be run by him. He used to brag to me that even the generals at the Pentagon had to brief him about what was going on. He had the media so scared that they’d call him and read him their stories, and he’d tell them how to write their quotes.”
“Did he at any time ask you to assist him with his job?”
“Yes. He expected me to be the hostess for parties he threw here in New York.”
“And what were your duties at these parties?”
“Oh, the usual stuff like arranging for the caterer, passing the invitation list through him, getting in touch with people, and making sure there was plenty of alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.”
“Anything else? Maybe not quite so ‘usual’?”
Lee flushed slightly. “Well, a lot of these parties were for wealthy people that he was hitting up for campaign donations or political support. Anyway, they were mostly men, so I was supposed to make sure there were a lot of pretty women there, too.”
“Who were these women?”
“Some were friends or girls I met at my yoga studio—I’m an instructor—or at the theater where I sometimes acted. Others were just girls I’d meet and if I thought they were a good fit, I’d get their names and phone numbers and invite them to the parties.”
“Besides attending these parties, did you ever ask any of these other young women if they would be willing to do more than just show up?”
Lee bit her lip and nodded.
Karp moved in front of the witness stand. “I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up so that the stenographer can record your answer.”
“Yes,” Lee said quietly. “Sometimes the men at the parties would be single, or away from home, and they’d express an interest in female companionship.”
“Did this companionship include sex?”
Again Lee nodded, but added, “If the men wanted that, then yes.”
“Were the women paid to have sex with these men?”
“Yes.”
“Did the men pay the women for sex?”
This time Lee shook her head. “No. At least not directly, though they were contributing large amounts of money to these funds Rod controlled.”
“Rod would give me the money, and I would put it into an account, and then transfer the money from there into their accounts.”
Karp strolled over until he was a few feet from the defense table and looking at Fauhomme. “This man, the defendant Rod Fauhomme, would give you money to pay young women to have sex with the men invited to these parties?”
“Yes.”
Hearing a small commotion behind him, Fauhomme turned in time to see several members of the media get up and leave the courtroom. He knew why. Testimony that the president’s campaign manager had paid young women to have sex with important men was about to hit the morning news cycle. He shook his head and turned back around.
In the meantime, Karp kept pressing. “Was the purpose of this just to keep these wealthy men happy?”
“Only partly,” Lee replied. “But Rod also expected the girls to report to me about things they might learn from the men that would interest him.”
“What sort of things?”
“Just about anything. If they were considering supporting another candidate. Or who they were doing business with. How much money they were thinking about donating. A lot of them were associated with big corporations or were from other countries, and he’d want to know their secrets. Like I said, he’s a control freak, and the more he knows, the more he can control.”
“How much would these women be paid?”
“It depended,” Lee answered. “A thousand per date, maybe five thousand for a week.”
“Depended on what?”
“If it was just going back to the guy’s hotel it might be a thousand,” Lee responded. “But if they called me with something Rod particularly liked, he might tell me to ‘give them a bonus.’ Certain guys were simply worth more than others—more money to donate, or more secrets.”
“How would these women get this information?”
“Whatever came up in conversations, pillow talk,” Lee replied.
“What, if anything, would Fauhomme do with this information?”
“I don’t know,” Lee said. “I’d sometimes overhear him talking to someone on the phone about expecting a big donation or that something he’d heard from me needed to be discussed. But if I asked him what he wanted with the information, he’d tell me to mind my own business.”
“Do you know a young woman named Jenna Blair?”
“Yes. I’ve known Jenna for several years. We’ve been in some off-Broadway theater productions together; we both came to New York to be actresses and became friends.”
“Did you at some point ask Jenna to attend one of these parties?”
“Yes,” Lee said. “Rod had seen her a couple of times at my apartment, and he asked me to invite her.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Well, Jenna’s pretty and has that sort of sporty, athletic look that some men like. Most of the other girls were your typical model or actress types. But not every guy is attracted to that and Rod thought she would be a good fit.”
“And did she attend one of these parties?”
“Yes. I told her she might meet some important people with connections. I didn’t tell her about getting paid for sex.”
“And did one of the men at this party ask to date her?”
“Yes. An Israeli businessman named Ariel Shimon was real interested in her. He asked me to ask her if he could take her out.”
“Was he expected to pay for her sexual favors?”
“No. It was just sort of understood that the girls at Rod’s parties were available for that if the men wanted.”
“Did you tell Miss Blair about Mr. Shimon’s interest?”
“Did she agree to go out with him?”
“Not at first, especially when I told her that she’d be paid if she also had sex with him and reported anything he said.”
“How’d she react to that?”
“I don’t think she believed me at first,” Lee said. “It wasn’t like she was a call girl who knew the score. So my offer came out of the blue. But I knew she was hurting for money and also wanted to go to law school someday. I thought there was a chance she’d go for it. Ariel’s a good-looking guy for his age, and rich. But she just laughed it off and went home.”
“Did she eventually agree to go out with Mr. Shimon?”
“Yes. He wooed her and she went out with him.”
“Did they eventually become lovers?”
“Yes, after several dates.”
“And was she paid?”
“I think it surprised her, but yes, I told her that the money had been deposited in her account.”
“Why do you think it surprised her? Wasn’t that what she’d been told?”
“Well, yes, but I think she genuinely liked Ariel and went out with him for the fun of it.”
“And did she eventually report any of this ‘pillow talk’ that the defendant, Rod Fauhomme, was interested in?”
“Yes. She wasn’t comfortable doing that, but I convinced her it was harmless, like getting a tip for the stock market before everyone else.”
“And what would you do with that information?”
“I would tell Rod,” Lee replied. “He said that as soon as I heard from her—or any of the other girls, for that matter—I was supposed to tell him. He’d get angry if I forgot or put it off.”
“Why was Fauhomme interested in what Mr. Shimon had to say?”
Lee shrugged. “He didn’t tell me specifically. But he had a couple of drinks once when we were alone and he said that Ariel was a big-shot Israeli defense contractor and trying to get into politics. He said that Israelis have a big influence on Jewish voters in this country and it was important to keep him happy.”
“You said that Jenna Blair seemed shocked, or surprised, when you told her money was in her account. Did she give the money back?”
“No. She kept it. She told me later that she knew he was married and going back to Israel so she was just a fling for him and she got some money for law school and a good time out of it. It was a win-win for both sides.”
“And did Mr. Shimon eventually return to Israel?”
“Yes. I believe he was here for a few weeks, maybe a month.”
“And what was Miss Blair’s reaction to his leaving?”
“I think she was hurt,” Lee said. “Especially the way he did it. He gave her an expensive bracelet and basically said, ‘Thanks for the good times, don’t contact me, good-bye.’ And that was it.”
“Did Miss Blair attend any more parties and agree to go out with any other men?”
“Not at first,” Lee said. “But eventually I talked her into it. She was sort of picky about the men she’d see; if she didn’t like them or wasn’t attracted, she wouldn’t go out with them. I don’t think she was ever really comfortable with it, but she wanted to go to law school and didn’t see another way.”
Fauhomme was relieved when Karp walked away from the defense table to stand at the jury rail. “Did you know General Sam Allen?”
Lee nodded. “I knew who he was from television, and then I met him over the Fourth of July weekend at Rod’s beach house on Long Island. Rod had a big party and Sam was one of the guests.”
“Was Jenna Blair also present at this party?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know how she came to be there?”
“I don’t know the specifics, but a little while before the party—maybe a week—Rod asked me to have her stop by my apartment so that he could talk to her in private. He even made me leave. All I know for sure is that she was at the party and I didn’t invite her.”
“Was she there to meet General Allen?”
“Yes. Rod did tell me to make sure they were introduced and seated next to each other at the dinner table. He also told me to let her know that Allen was going for a run on the beach in the morning and that she should use that opportunity to spend more time with him.”
“So you understood that this was a setup for Miss Blair to meet General Allen?”
“Yes. I knew what was happening.”
“And was this setup successful?”
Lee nodded again. “Yes, but in ways I don’t think even Rod thought it would be. It was clear from the beginning that they liked each other. Sam was in great shape and Jenna runs and surfs and climbs mountains . . . just his kind of girl. And he was handsome, charming, smart, and, I think, lonely. If it wasn’t love at first sight, it was close.”
“Did Jenna Blair and Sam Allen establish a relationship?”
“Yes. They began seeing each other . . . dating.”
“And was Jenna Blair paid for this as well?”
Lee shook her head. “No. She told Rod she didn’t want the money and that she was done.”
“How do you know?”
“Sam and Jenna spent the second night together that weekend at Rod’s beach house. After Sam left in the morning, Rod went to talk to Jenna to see how it went. When he came back to the main house, he was pissed off and swearing up a storm. He said, ‘That little whore has decided to develop a conscience at the wrong time. Talk some sense into her.’ ”
“Those were his words? ‘That little whore has decided to develop a conscience at the wrong time’?”
“Yes. His exact words.”
“And he told you to talk some sense into her?”
Lee nodded. “Yes. So I met her for lunch. She said that after the night at the beach house she didn’t expect to hear from Sam. She thought he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with her now that they’d . . . now that they’d slept together. But he’d called a couple of days later, and they’d been seeing each other ever since. She was obviously head-over-heels. So I went back and told Rod that she wasn’t going to spy for him and didn’t want his money.”
“How did Rod—the defendant, Fauhomme—take the news?”
“He’d been drinking and got angry. He said it was my fault.”
As Karp continued questioning Lee, Fauhomme noted how the prosecutor had to tiptoe around one subject. He’d been charged with domestic violence for hitting Lee the night of the election. The District of Columbia prosecutor had put off going to trial until the New York case was over, but in one of the few “victories” won by his lawyers, Karp wasn’t allowed to mention the assault charge.
“What, if anything, did the defendant, Fauhomme, do after that in regard to Ms. Blair’s refusal to participate further in his scheme?” Karp asked.
“He thought about it for a little while. Then he said he had a Plan B.”
“Do you know what Plan B entailed?”
“Not exactly, except I know it involved Ray Baum.”
Karp walked over to the prosecution table and picked up a photograph. “Can you identify the man in this photograph, People’s Exhibit 25?” he asked, holding it up so that she could see it.
“That’s Baum.”
“What was Mr. Baum’s relationship with the defendant, Fauhomme?”
“Basically, his right-hand man,” Lee answered. “He traveled with him. He’d stay in a hotel near my place whenever Rod was with me. He was sort of a bodyguard, but he did a lot of stuff. Anything Rod needed done, Baum did it.”
“You said you know that the defendant’s Plan B involved Mr. Baum. How do you know that?”
“Because after he got done . . .” At a look from Karp, Lee changed what she was going to say to, “After he got mad at me, he called Baum and told him to come over. When Baum got to my place, they went back into the office. They didn’t close the door all the way and I heard Rod tell Baum to get photographs of Sam and Jenna together.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all I heard. One of them closed the door the rest of the way.”
“When was this?” Karp asked.
Lee thought about it for a moment then replied, “Well, sometime after the Fourth of July party. I remember it took a little time before I could get together with Jenna, and by that time she’d been going out with Sam for . . . I don’t know, a few weeks. So late July? Early August?”
Karp nodded. “Let me skip ahead a little bit to October,” he said. “Was there an occasion when you walked in on a conversation the defendant, Fauhomme, was having in the office of his home in Washington, D.C., with the defendant, Lindsey?”
Lee looked over at the defense table and frowned. “Yes. I knew he was talking to Lindsey and Ray Baum. They’d both come over about noon.”
“Was anyone else present?”
“Well, not in his office. But two of Lindsey’s men were parked outside and one of them came to the door once.”
“Okay, so explain to the jury why you entered the room.”
“Well, I was walking past the office when I heard Rod yelling.”
“What, if anything, was he saying?”
“I heard him yell, ‘Wrong! They’re not fucking Al Qaeda!’ It got a little muffled but then I heard a loud bang, so I decided to poke my head in and see what was going on.”
“What, if anything, did you see?”
“I saw Rod, Tucker Lindsey, and Ray Baum watching the television.”
“Could you tell what they were watching?”
“Not exactly. It was black and white, maybe some green. I could see little white images of what looked like tiny people running around on it. I didn’t get much of a chance to see it.”
“Why not?”
“Rod screamed at me to get out. He could be a real bastard sometimes and treated me like crap,” she said.
Fauhomme felt his face flushing and swallowed hard when his former girlfriend, the one he’d imagined crawling back to him, shot him a hate-filled look. “He thinks I’m stupid, but I’m not. I listened and I saw a lot of what was going on around me.”
“Did you leave the room?”
“After he screamed at me, yes, of course.”
“Was this about the time one of the men who’d been waiting outside came to the door?”
“Yes, it was right after that. He knocked on the door and said he needed to speak to Tucker Lindsey right away. I showed him to the office. He knocked on the door and Rod shouted, ‘Now what?’ He probably thought it was me. But the guy opened the door.”
“Did you hear anything about what he had to say?”
“I was standing a little behind him where Rod couldn’t see me,” Lee said. “I heard him say that he had a message or something about Chechnya, but then he went in and shut the door behind him.”
“Did he stay long?”
“No, just a couple of minutes. He left without saying anything, but he gave me kind of a funny look on the way out.”
Standing against the rail in front of the jurors, Karp looked over as Fauhomme shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You said this man mentioned something about Chechnya,” the prosecutor said. “Was there something about Chechnya that you later associated with what you saw on the television?”
Lee nodded. “Yeah, that was the day that attack happened over there . . . the one where some Americans got killed and some others got taken.”
“By ‘over there,’ do you mean in Chechnya?”
“Yes, Chechnya.”
“What was the defendant Fauhomme’s reaction to the events in Chechnya?”
Fauhomme winced every time Karp described him as “the defendant,” which was just about any chance he got. It wasn’t just a description, it was an accusation the tall man hurled at him.
“Oh, he was pissed off,” Lee said. “It was only a little before the presidential elections and I’d hear him muttering to himself about how all the ‘idiots were going to fuck it all up.’ I was around a lot then—he liked to take me to all the dinner parties and events to show me off—and he was always having these little conversations, and I’d overhear things. Like about Chechnya. And Al Qaeda. He was real uptight if somebody brought up Al Qaeda. I remember we were having a small reception at my place and this tough-guy actor made a joke about the ghost of Al Qaeda attacking us in Chechnya, and Rod went through the roof. He told the guy to follow him out to the balcony, then closed the door; but me and all the other guests could see that he was yelling at the poor guy.”
Karp walked over to stand in front of Lee. “Did Sam Allen ever come up in the conversations about Chechnya?”
“Yes, Rod was mad because Allen was causing problems . . . that’s what he said, ‘That fucker’s causing problems.’ ”
“What, if anything, did the defendant, Fauhomme, ask you to do in regard to General Allen?”
“He told me to call Jenna and find out what Allen was saying about Chechnya and who he was talking to.”
“And did you?”
“I called her and asked in a sort of roundabout way if Sam ever said much of anything about Chechnya. But she wouldn’t say and told me that if I wanted to stay friends, I’d quit trying to get her to spy on him.”
“Was there some other mention of Sam Allen in regard to Chechnya between the two defendants, Mr. Fauhomme and Mr. Lindsey?”
As he spoke, Karp walked back toward the defense table. Fauhomme watched him come over and tried to look defiant as his enemy approached. Don’t let them see you’re afraid, he thought. But you are afraid, the voice in his head replied. You are very afraid.
“Yeah, there was some meeting he went to . . . I think at Lindsey’s office. I could tell he was worried when he came back from that meeting.”
“How could you tell?”
“Well, for one thing he called Ray Baum to come over. I could tell Rod was sort of scared or nervous so I was paying attention. I listened at his office door when he told Ray to follow Allen. He said, ‘If he drinks a cup of coffee, I want to know about it, and who he’s drinking it with.’ ”
“How did you learn that Sam Allen had died?” Karp asked, looking from Fauhomme to Lindsey and then back at the witness stand.
“It was a few days later, after the weekend, a Monday, I think. I was back in New York. Rod was there, too. I’d just come back from yoga class and when I came in, Rod was sitting in his favorite chair smoking one of his smelly cigars and watching the television.”
“Was he doing anything in particular?”
Lee pursed her lips and shook her head. “Not really. Just sitting there watching. It took me a second to realize that the news was about Sam Allen. He’d been found dead in a hotel. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Did the defendant, Fauhomme, say anything at all?”
“I gasped and he just pointed at the television with his cigar and said, ‘Sam Allen’s dead . . . that’s too bad.’ ”
“And what, if anything, did you think about his reaction?”
“I thought it was weird. I started to cry and he just looked at me like I was crazy and told me to knock it off or go to my room. I even asked him, ‘Why are you acting like this? Sam’s dead!’ And he just kind of shrugged and said, ‘People die all the time.’ I was stunned. He just seemed so cold.”
“What happened next?”
“I thought about Jenna and that she must be heartbroken. I tried to call her but didn’t get an answer. I got scared, like maybe something happened to her, too. Then she called me. She was hysterical. She screamed that Sam had been murdered. I was like, ‘What? What?’ The television didn’t say anything about murder.”
“Where was the defendant, Fauhomme, during this phone call?”
“He was sitting in his chair but got up quick when I asked her why she thought it was murder. He put his head next to mine so he could hear what she was saying. She started talking about how she’d left her webcam on and recorded the murder. Rod turned sort of white and started writing me these notes. He said he was sending someone over to help her, and that if Sam was murdered, it might have something to do with the Chechnya stuff. He sent Ray Baum.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was standing there when he called him. Then he went into his office. I heard him tell Baum that he was an idiot. A little while later, maybe an hour, he got another call—I think from Baum because he called him an idiot again. He was in his office but he was practically screaming when he said, ‘Find her, goddammit, and get that fucking computer. You hear me, or you’re fucking finished.’ ”
Lee hesitated. “Uh, sorry about the language, but that’s what he said.”
“That’s okay,” Karp said. “The jurors understand that you’re just trying to be accurate. What, if anything, did Fauhomme say to you after that?”
“He came out of his office and saw me standing there,” Lee said. “His face was purple, he’d been yelling so loud. But he kind of pulled himself together and was actually nice. He said that Jenna was missing and that he was worried about her safety. He said that if I heard from her I was to tell him right away. He said it was a matter of life and death.”
“What was he like over the next twenty-four hours or so?”
“He was a wreck. Tucker Lindsey flew in from D.C. and stayed at a hotel near my place; they holed up a lot in Rod’s office. Then Jenna called.”
“What, if anything, did you do then?”
“I walked into Rod’s office and pointed at my phone so that he would know it was her.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I thought Jenna was in danger.”
“But why not tell her you were talking to Rod?”
“He told me not to; he said he was worried that whoever killed Allen was trying to use Jenna to smear the president. And he said they might be able to hear my phone calls and he didn’t want them to know that he was after them. I still . . . I still believed in the president and that Rod, whatever he was as a boyfriend, which wasn’t much, he cared about this country. Anyway, in those days I did pretty much whatever I was told.”
“So go on, please, tell the jury what you said to Jenna and then what happened next.”
As Lee began to recall Blair’s telephone call that set up the meeting at the theater, Lindsey slumped in his seat. “I hate you,” he whispered to his codefendant.
“The feeling’s mutual, you faggot,” Fauhomme whispered back. “You queers just don’t have what it takes.”
“I hope that keeps you warm in prison,” Lindsey shot back. “I think you’re going to meet a lot of queers who will give you more than you can handle.”
For once in his life, Fauhomme was speechless.