Love, Lies, and Murder Read online

  “How long has it been since you have seen the contractor. . . or the painter?” Jones asked.

  “Over a year. Year and a half maybe.”

  “During the year or year and a half, did they ever make any attempts to physically harm Janet or have any contact with her?”

  “Certainly not to my knowledge, Mr. Jones.”

  Perry said that Janet had apparently caught an employee of one of her subcontractors stealing chairs from their house, and she had apparently confronted him about it. She had also caught another employee stealing materials for his own personal use.

  “I know that Janet caught a trim carpenter on our job one afternoon on a beautiful day making a birdhouse out of our materials, on our time, and she took the birdhouse away from him,” Perry said. “So, again, this is a process that lasted over a year. There were a great number of people flowing in and out that my wife had personal contact with. . . . So, I guess, I’m just trying to be honest with you. . . . There must have been over a hundred people in some aspect of [the] work, flowing in and out of our project that Janet had day-to-day contact with. Sometimes one shot and sometimes over a protracted period of time.”

  “Do you think any of these people might have killed her?” Jones asked.

  “Mr. Jones, I play with theories constantly about where my wife is,” Perry responded. “It is my fixation. It is all I think about. So, nothing is beyond the realm of speculation for me. My own situation is so bizarre that nothing appears bizarre to me.”

  “My question was, do you think any of these people killed her?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A little later in the questioning, Jones again asked Perry if he and Janet argued on the night of August 15.

  “It’s a matter of semantics, Mr. Jones,” Perry replied. “The answer to the question is Janet was upset. I did not argue, but I believe she was upset with me and she did argue.”

  Jones wanted to know what the argument or confrontation had been about, and how it began.

  “Janet wanted to discuss her continuing issues with our marriage,” Perry responded.

  “Okay. You said that’s what she wanted. I’m asking what was said. How did the discussion or the argument get started?”

  “Again, Mr. Jones, I don’t specifically recollect. My wife had—it was routine that Janet had lists of issues, things she wanted to discuss, recurrent themes, and she wanted to bring them up and talk about them. I sat at the kitchen table. She talked for a while, asked me what I was going to do, and left.”

  “Did you ever tell the Levines that you had an argument with Janet on August fifteenth?”

  “I—you know, I may have—matter of degree, Mr. Jones. And a matter of when I told the Levines that. You have to understand I was in an extremely upset frame of mind after my wife ran off. I could not find her. I did not know where she was. I missed her terribly and I was concerned for her safety. So, the specific time frames and what I said and who I said them to immediately following Janet’s leaving, very difficult for me to recollect.”

  “Now, my question is, did you tell the Levines that you and Janet had an argument on August fifteenth?”

  “Again, Mr. Jones, I don’t specifically recollect the statement, but I’m certain that it could have been said because I know that Janet was upset and I was not withholding anything.”

  “Did you tell the police that you had an argument on August fifteenth?”

  “Again, certainly a strong possibility.”

  “Was that the truth?”

  “Absolut—well, again, Mr. Jones, it’s a matter of degree of what you consider to be an argument. . . . The truth is that I did not have an argument. The truth is that Janet did, but it’s hard to dance with only one person. So, someone observing it may say it was an argument between a husband and a wife, but I can tell you that my demeanor was the exact same as it is here today with you, sir. If Janet was upset . . . she grew emotional and passionate. That was her nature. . . .”

  “And it was your demeanor that night not to become upset and you didn’t become upset on August fifteenth. Is that correct?”

  “That is absolutely correct.”

  “You never lost your temper on August fifteenth. Is that correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “You never went into a rage or became emotionally upset and angry and lost control of yourself on August fifteenth. Is that correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “You did not do anything on August fifteenth in the heat of passion. Is that correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Anything you did on August fifteenth in regard to Janet—”

  “Let me say this to you, Mr. Jones.”

  “Let me finish—you did with full control of your emotions and with full insight and knowledge into what you were doing. Is that correct?”

  “That is actually not correct, Mr. Jones. As the evening wore on, and I became more and more concerned for my wife’s safety and her emotional stability, I did become ever increasingly distraught and I did become ever increasingly emotional in concern—in relation to her safety. . . . I started to call hotels. I called my brother. I called my sister. I became worried.”

  “Before she left, at all times on August fifteenth . . . anything you did with her that evening was done by you with full control of your emotions and full insight and understanding of your actions and your thought processes and what was going on. Is that correct?”

  “I—you know, I believe so,” Perry responded with much difficulty at finding what it was he was trying to say. “I mean, I don’t know if I—if—I can’t—I don’t—I think the only—I mean, we obviously were upset with each other during our conversation before she left. And I’m not sure if I was upset with her or she was upset with me about other issues when I came home. . . . But correct me if I’m wrong, the tenor of your question is was I upset or angry or was there anything of that nature going on that evening, and the answer is we were—we had a general disquiet, a general sense of upsetness between the two of us. Things weren’t right in our marriage, Mr. Jones.”

  “Okay. . . . Would you read the question back, please?” Jones asked the court reporter. “And I’ll try to move on from this, but I really need an answer.”

  “Before she left,” responded the court reporter as she read back the original question, “at all times on August fifteenth before Janet left, anything you did with her that evening was done by you with full control of your emotions and full insight and understanding of your actions and your thought process and what was going on. Is that correct?”

  “I guess the only way I can answer that truthfully,” Perry responded, “is I don’t recollect. I don’t recollect every moment of the time when I came home. It was a routine day for me. It did not become unroutine until I started becoming worried about my wife’s safety.”

  “After she left,” Jones added.

  “After she left.”

  “Up until the time she left, you had not become angry with her. Is that correct?”

  “Well, again, I’m modifying my answer to make it more truthful, which is I probably was upset to some degree with her from the moment I even came home. But it was a general issue in our marriage at that time that we both had unresolved tensions with each other.”

  “Before she left that night, had you become angry with her?”

  “Again, a matter of degree of what someone would call angry and what someone else would call angry.”

  “I’m asking you about what you would call it. Would you say, ‘I was angry with her,’ the way you use that term?”

  “I don’t recollect. I may have been.”

  “In other words, you can’t remember one way or the other?”

  “That’s absolutely true. I cannot remember one way or the other.”

  “Did you ever lose any consciousness that night or have any blackouts that night?”

  “No.”

  “Are you on any medications today?”

&nb
sp; “No.”

  “Is there anything going on that affects your memory here today or impairs your ability to give rational answers ?”

  “Not at all. Other than the fact I just had the flu. But I’ve recovered, I think.”

  “You don’t have any illness and you’re not under any medications that keep you from having normal ability and thought process [es]. Is that correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Now, because you’ve modified your answers as we’ve gone along, to use your words, I want to know where we are. Because where Janet is, or what happened to her, or what you know about it, may be affected by your view that night of what happened. . . . Do you claim at any time before Janet left, you did anything in any passionate state, or in any heat of passion, or in any emotional state, where your normal judgment and ability and control of your actions was impaired?”

  “To the best of my recollection, no.”

  “Can you remember one way or the other?”

  “To the best of my recollection, no, sir. I say to the best of my recollection.”

  “Could your recollection be wrong about that?”

  “I don’t believe it is. I’ve given you an answer.”

  “Okay. What were you and Janet arguing about that night? I used the term, ‘argument.’ Now, we’ve gone back and forth about it. Is it your position that you and Janet had an argument on August fifteenth or that you did not have an argument on August fifteenth?”

  “Again, Mr. Jones, truly it’s a matter of degree. And I think that it’s fair to characterize it as an argument, but it’s also fair to characterize it as really not an argument. I don’t—I don’t know how to answer your question, but I think that a rational person listening would be able to answer it and understand what I’m talking about.”

  “Did she yell at you?” Jones’s inflection displayed a degree of sudden irritation, and at times the interaction between Perry and Jones was almost comical—not unlike a scene from a Three Stooges short film in which the bailiff repeatedly tried to swear in Curly, who did not understand the question that was being asked of him.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you yell at her?”

  “No, I did not yell back.”

  “Did you throw anything at her?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Did she throw anything at you?”

  “No, not that night.”

  “Did she talk about divorce?”

  “No. That night I don’t believe she did.”

  “What was the subject of this discussion, which some people might fairly call an argument and what some people might not call an argument?”

  “Again, I believe—the general tenor was how was I going to make up to her for the period of time that she claimed I had deserted my duties to the household.”

  “Did you talk about money that night?”

  “Not at all. I don’t believe so.”

  “Were you under any financial pressure as of August 15, 1996?”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Did you have any outstanding unpaid bill or debts at that time? Other than just routine monthly bills?”

  “I had a ten-thousand-dollar payment due at some point in the near future, but I had planned on moving my offices, so it wasn’t—I mean, I don’t know what you want me to say about that. . . .”

  “What was the ten-thousand-dollar payment for?”

  “In settlement for a disputed claim of harassment when I was at Bass, Berry, and Sims.”

  “Who was the debt to?”

  “Leigh Biggs Reames.”

  “Was that a pressing matter as of August 15, 1996?”

  “I didn’t believe it was.”

  “Well, tell me what was going on as of August fifteenth with regard to that debt, if anything.”

  “That I owed the debt . . . but I had sent a letter off explaining that I was moving my office. I would get the payment made sometime in the next couple of months, unless I heard otherwise, and I hadn’t heard otherwise.”

  “Was that payment overdue?”

  “Yes, but disputed as well.”

  “What do you mean ‘disputed’?”

  “Means that I had a legitimate claim, I believe, and I still believe to this day that I may not pay that debt based on breaches of confidentiality.”

  “As of August fifteenth, were you still promising to pay the debt?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Had you been pressed shortly before August 15, 1996, for payment of that debt?”

  “I may have received a letter saying pay, but I wrote back a letter saying, ‘I’m not paying it till this next time period,’ so, you know, legally I didn’t feel pressed.”

  “What do you mean, the ‘next time period’?”

  “Sometime in September or October.”

  “Did you tell your wife about that debt?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t recollect. On a number of occasions.”

  “Tell me about those occasions in telling her about that debt.”

  “Again, I don’t recollect, but sometime early in the process I told her about the situation. Couple years ago. And then I know specifically she and I discussed it at length when we were on our last trip to Quebec together, and that was sometime in February or March of this year.”

  Perry said that he had discussed his debt to Leigh Reames with Janet again in June or July 1996, to explain to her that he owed his final payment and that he was going to try and clear up the debt after he moved his office. He explained that he had established a separate bank account that he utilized to pay the debt to Leigh Reames.

  “Why didn’t you just pay it out of your joint account?” Jones asked.

  “Because my understanding with my wife was that money had to come out of my extra money. It was not to impact our household finances at all.”

  Perry said that anytime he had extra money to spare, it was easier to keep it separate by placing it into the special account he had set up.

  “So, you talked to your wife about that before you established that account. Is that correct?” Jones asked.

  “I’m not sure if I—I—I have to be truthful. I don’t know if I established that account before I told—talked to Janet about it or after I talked to Janet about it. But certainly she—she knew about it.”

  “Well, if you established it after you talked to Janet about it, what you said about why you established it would be totally just untruthful and a lie. Isn’t that correct?”

  “I don’t know how you’re characterizing it. Why don’t you explain that or ask me a question.”

  “Did you or did you not establish that account to keep these payments to Mrs. Reames and her husband a secret?”

  “Yes. No. No. No. No. No, I’m sorry. Not to keep it a secret. I established the account to pay the Reameses.”

  “If you didn’t want to keep that secret—those payments secret from your wife, was there any reason to establish a separate account to make payment to the Reameses?”

  “Yes. It was easier for me to monitor it. It wouldn’t impact my household finances at all. I could—I knew exactly what the balance was in the account. I could monitor the account easily. And it had—my wife would move in and out and take money out of my checking account, put money into my checking account, move funds freely amongst all of our moneys. She was in charge of our moneys. And that account was one that I could easily maintain because I had a contractual obligation to do so, Mr. Jones.”

  “When did you mail the letter that bore the date August 13, 1996, to the Reameses asking for more time, saying you couldn’t pay them right then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you have that letter with you when you came home, unsent and unmailed, on August 15, 1996?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you mail a letter to the Reameses on August 16, 1996?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is that
something you could possibly forget, Mr. March?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, on August sixteenth, after your wife was—had disappeared the night before, you might have mailed a letter asking for more time on this ten-thousand-dollar or twelve-thousand-five-hundred-dollar debt to the Reameses that you just forgot about doing. Is that correct?”

  “Absolutely. Correct.”

  “Because you were so distraught on August 16, 1996, you just can’t remember what you did that day. Is that fair?”

  “Well—well, Mr.—Mr. Jones, I—your characterizations are your—you’re speaking from my testimony, sir.”

  Jones had become brutal in his questioning, and it was obvious that Perry March had been rattled by his approach.

  “Well, how do you characterize them?”

  “On August sixteenth, I wasn’t totally distraught,” Perry responded. “I was upset. I thought she had packed her bags and she was gone for a few days. I honestly, on August sixteenth, believed my wife would be home when I came back from the office. I was slightly upset with her. I was slightly miffed that she would have left that night without calling anybody, letting us know where she was, what—whether she was safe or not safe. And then not calling the next morning even.”

  “And you’re telling us that this matter with the Reameses and this debt to the Reameses was of so little concern to you that you don’t know if you were essentially begging them for more time, as of August 15 or 16, 1996. Is that correct?”

  “I don’t understand your question.”

  “You just can’t understand those words. Is that correct?”

  “You’re—you’re speaking an answer. Why don’t you just—why don’t you just rephrase your question, Mr. Jones?”

  “Are you telling us that you don’t understand that question ?”

  “Again, Mr. Jones, I reiterate. I’m seriously not attempting to be difficult with you. I approached this deposition fully cooperative. I want to find my wife. This is a tragic situation. I simply want to answer the questions truthfully without you putting words in my mouth.”