Matter of Trust (19 page)

‘
You think she did that out of kindness
?'

‘I know part of her probably enjoyed the fact that she lorded it over Mom by paying Dad a salary, but that doesn't mean she—'

‘Jesus, you have no fucking idea.'

‘Then explain it to me, Sean. Why do you hate these people so much when, besides their pomposity, they've never really done anything bar help us out when we were down?'

Sean's cheeks flushed as he attempted to put his frustration into words. ‘People like the Kincaids,' he began, ‘they make it their life's mission to own people like us. Gloria owned Mom and Dad once, and now she has a chance to do it all over again with you. She'll be footing your bill, DC. You'll be in her employ. And what for? So that you can stand up and defend her lily-livered hypocrite of a son who's been pissing on his wedding vows for decades?'

‘That has nothing to do with Gloria,' he said.

‘Bullshit. She knew what her son was up to and turned a blind eye. She'll be pulling your strings and taking the greatest of pleasure in knowing that Mom will be watching her do it. And then she and Kincaid will use their combined bank balances and connections to get him a pass on murder. And you'll be patting yourself on the back for freeing a killer without any regard for the girl he dumped into the Passaic.' Sean took a breath. ‘Forgive me if I'm wrong, DC, but you used to like that girl.'

‘I did,' argued David, ‘which is exactly why I am doing this.'

‘You think Marilyn Maloney would
thank
you for defending her goddamned killer?'

‘I think Marilyn would want me to avenge her death – to help find the real culprit rather than drag the one person she cared about through the mud. She loved him, Sean.'

‘From what I've heard, she loved lots of people.'

‘Then you heard wrong.'

David realised that it wasn't just the Kincaids who were guilty of
wrongly judging others; Sean had immediately put a label on Marilyn, based on rumours he had heard.

‘Not all of us can be as perfect as you, Sean,' he said.

‘You don't think I have the right to judge them?'

‘I don't think you have the right to judge anybody.'

‘Bullshit.' Sean sprung to his feet, the backs of his wide calves knocking over the metal-legged plastic chair behind him. ‘You made this my business the minute you stood up for Kincaid. Just because there's a lot of water under the bridge doesn't mean we've moved on.' Sean's heaving chest pulled at the buttons on his worn plaid shirt. ‘You need to go home, David.'

‘That's funny, for years you've been berating me for leaving.'

‘Then maybe I was wrong,' said Sean after a beat.

‘I'm not a quitter, Sean.'

‘Quitting is one thing little bro, but blind loyalty is another . . . and I promise you, if you go down this road, you will regret it, wholeheartedly, for the rest of your goddamned life.'

Boston, Massachusetts

I
t was two minutes after eight. Sara knew this because the screech of the telephone had woken both she and Lauren from an all too rare synchronised sleep, and her eyes had gone instinctively, as they were so accustomed to do of late, toward the green glow of the digital clock which sat like a constant companion on the dresser beside her bed.

She had slept in – most likely because she had stayed up late waiting for David's call. She had seen Chris Kincaid's arrest on the news and knew exactly what was to follow and, despite all her reservations, she had decided not to voice them. She had been doing a lot of thinking over the past twenty-four hours, and while she knew David had made a commitment to reject any cases that would adversely affect their family, she also sensed that stopping him from doing what he needed to do would be like forcing him to become someone he was not.

She searched for the phone. ‘David,' she said.

‘I woke you.'

‘I slept in.'

‘You stayed up waiting for me to call you,' he returned.

‘Do you think I spend every living moment worrying about you, David Cavanaugh?'

‘Yes – me and Lauren.'

‘So sue me.'

‘You'd represent yourself and I'd lose.'

She managed a small laugh, before, ‘I saw the news. Things have happened.'

‘Yes.'

Then he told her everything – right down to Sean's objections, obviously desperately needing for her to see it as he did. She listened without interrupting, temporarily ignoring Lauren's cries so that he might say his piece. Then after she had enquired about the first appearance set for some time today, and despite the fact that his taking on this case would place a huge burden on her both personally and professionally, she told him, without hesitation, exactly what he needed to hear.

‘Chris is innocent,' she said – a statement, not a question.

‘Yes.'

‘Then it would be wrong of you not to defend him.'

He said nothing, but she could hear the conflict in his silence.

‘I made you a promise,' he said eventually.

‘Yes. To love, honour and respect. But I am
not
telling you
not
to do this. Do you understand?'

‘Yes.'

More silence.

‘I'm missing you already,' he said.

‘And we're missing you,' she replied, trying desperately to swallow the quiver in her voice. ‘But David,' she hesitated. ‘I need you to promise me one thing. You will be careful, won't you? You know, being down there, on your own I mean.'

‘I'm surrounded by people I know, Sara.'

‘That's what I'm afraid of.'

Another pause.

‘I promise I'll be careful,' he offered, as if wishing to reassure her. ‘I always am.'

‘And I believe that's the first lie you've ever told me.'

More silence until, ‘I'll call you tomorrow,' he said.

‘I'll be here,' she replied, trying to sound supportive. ‘I love you.'

‘I love you too.'

*

David was right about one thing and wrong about the other. The first appearance was scheduled for morning – but not for another twenty-four hours.

He was both relieved at and troubled by this unexpected delay. While he was grateful for the opportunity to spend Monday consulting with his client, he was also uneasy about the fact that an early call to the court administrator had revealed the postponement had been at Elliott Marshall's request. Last night the prosecutor had seemed keen to push this matter into action, yet now he was asking for the case to be moved to the following day, which meant he wanted more time for something – David just wasn't sure what.

David's head was still reeling from the early morning argument with his brother. Sean was a stubborn ass, but David knew that part of what he'd said was true, which made the words sting all the more.

David hadn't spoken to Mike since Chris had been arrested, which meant he still hadn't had the opportunity to quiz his Catholic priest friend as to why he blamed himself for Marilyn's death, something David had decided against sharing with Chris – at least for the time being. ‘
. . . it is all my fault
,' he had said – a confession David sensed had more to do with what Mike knew rather than anything he had done. He needed to see Mike as soon as possible.

The media had already set up shop outside the aqua-coloured, high-security Essex County Corrections Facility. David had arrived in a taxi that dropped him alongside the walk bridge which led to the main visitor's entrance. The mob had caught sight of him and suddenly he'd been surrounded, and as he'd tried to push his way through, he'd gotten caught on the wire fence, and tore the only decent pair of pants he'd brought with him from Boston.

The headlines had been brutal – New Jersey's biggest selling paper, the
Star Ledger
, leading the pack with a front page photo of Chris being escorted down his driveway in handcuffs. The shot took advantage of a rainbow that appeared to have formed a halo around Chris's head, the banner above it screaming: ‘
KINCAID ARRESTED FOR MURDER: LOCAL HERO – SINNER OR SAINT?
'

Luckily for David and his now exhausted-looking client, there were no references to Chris's relationship with Marilyn bar a mention that they
used to date as teenagers. But David expected this to change as soon as the zealous Marshall got the proof he needed to beef up his case. While Chris suggested Marshall's rigid obsession with protocol might act in their favour, meaning he didn't expect the prosecutor to surprise them with any legally questionable tricks, David knew that if the ME's report confirmed any retrievable DNA inside Marilyn belonged to his client, then the ‘by the book' Marshall would have more than sufficient evidence to go to the grand jury and convince them to indict.

‘What are the media saying?' asked an orange jump-suited Chris when David entered the tiny whitewashed interview room. ‘How are they representing this? What did they say?'

David shook his head. ‘This is no time to worry about your political reputation, Chris. I'm more concerned about your life than your career.'

‘Life . . . yes.' Chris shivered as they both took their seats on the worn plastic chairs. ‘Marshall's going for murder one. He hates me, David. I used to be his boss for God's sake. He has a grudge to settle.'

‘You didn't get on when you worked together?'

‘Marshall was a good worker, but he had no imagination. I was tough on him like I was all my staff. But criticism doesn't sit well with a man like Marshall. I think he resented my privilege, thought I got the job because of my contacts rather than my record.'

‘And did you?' David knew he was perhaps the only person who could ask such a question without rebuke.

‘Hell, no. That was one of the few positions in my life I had to battle for. My mother wanted me to go direct to the Attorney-General's Office – and she had the contacts to make it happen. But I wanted to build my career locally. Kick some goals.'

‘Well, in the very least your experience as a prosecutor will be a huge asset to our case,' said David. ‘Which brings me to what I need to get clear from the get-go. From here on in, you have to commit, Chris. No more lies, no more half-truths, no more skirting around the issues for your reputation's sake.'

‘I understand,' nodded an earnest-faced Chris. ‘No more lies,' he repeated.

‘No matter how hard it gets.'

‘You have my word.'

David nodded. ‘Then let's go back to the day that she died – Saturday, January 12. I want you to tell me everything that went down – starting from when you two hooked up.'

Chris sat forward, placing his forearms on the scratched metal table before him. ‘You know, as terrifying as this is, there's something about being here – in this battle with you . . . I couldn't do this without you, DC.'

‘I'll do everything I can to help you,' said David.

‘I know, DC. I know.'

‘We met at the Grand Summit at about ten.' Chris settled into a rhythm. ‘We had sex and afterwards, ate a late breakfast in the room. Marilyn was upbeat – said she hadn't had a drink in two weeks and was really quite proud of herself. She said she wanted to quit – for me.'

David nodded, noting the sadness in his client's eyes. ‘So what did you tell Rebecca – about where you were going?'

‘I told her I had a budget meeting at the office – with my finance manager.'

‘Wasn't that kind of risky? I mean, she could have called the office.'

‘Why? She knew where I was.'

David nodded again, understanding what was understood, and acknowledging in the process just how important Chris's wife would be to his case.

‘I left about midday and that was that,' said Chris.

‘That was the last time you made contact with her?'

‘It was the last time I saw her, but not the last time I tried to contact her.'

‘You tried to call her?'

‘Yes, later . . . from home and from my cell – to her cell and at the hotel – in case she'd decided to stay in the room. I'd requested a late check out for her benefit, so . . .'

‘You used your cell and home phone to call both her cell and the room at the Grand Summit?'

‘Yes,' winced Chris, knowing exactly how this would look once Marshall subpoenaed his telephone records. ‘A few times. I wanted to check she was okay.'

‘Why wouldn't she be okay, Chris?' asked David, fearing where this was going.

Chris took a breath. ‘When I left her, she was . . . distressed.'

This was getting worse. ‘You had a fight?'

‘Of sorts.' Chris could read the concern in David's face. ‘I know I should have told you this on Saturday. But at that stage I was . . .' Chris hesitated, ‘. . . I was still holding on to the hope that this thing might all just go away.'

‘That was never going to happen, Chris.'

‘I know that now – perhaps I even knew it at the time. But I was ashamed, David – ashamed of what you might think of me if I told you the truth.'

David braced himself. ‘What were you and Marilyn fighting about?'

‘Our relationship.'

‘She asked for something more?'

‘I asked for something less.'

‘
You told her you were breaking up with her
?' David could not believe what he was hearing.

Chris nodded. ‘Yes.'

‘Shit! Did anybody else know about this? Could your fight have been overheard or . . . ?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘
For God's sake, Chris
.' David was sweating now, despite the too-cold airconditioning that wheezed noisily above them. ‘Marshall will have a field day with this. Your phone calls to the Grand Summit will lead him straight to your rendezvous – and if there are any witnesses, I promise you he will find them.'