Matter of Trust (44 page)

She was early and the game did not finish until one-thirty, so she decided
to sit in her car until the very last minute. She checked her make-up in the rear-vision mirror, licked her teeth, smoothed her skirt and wound down the window as she contemplated the situation at hand.

Which way to go?

It was a difficult one and came down to how much she trusted Cavanaugh and his pretty little wife. While she had to admit they'd certainly impressed her more than she had anticipated, she also knew that, given they were fish out of water in a state built on legal connections, the odds of them actually succeeding were slim.

Cavanaugh was committed – that was a plus. His wife would play well with the press. But that horrible county prosecutor was like a bulldog on heat and Gloria guessed he would stop at nothing to tear her successful son down.

She had spent the morning with her own attorney – a stodgy but efficient paper-pusher named Blunt – drawing up a statement about her involvement in ‘providing the $100,000 as compensation for Ms Marilyn Maloney's losses in the event she removed herself from the relationship with her son', a statement she would give Cavanaugh her permission to use at trial. But even so, she felt nervous, especially given she sensed that what they were accumulating was nowhere near enough.

So which way to go?

Initially, after the other night in the neat but dreary Cavanaugh kitchen, she had decided that cutting the Cusack boy loose was the answer. She even considered allowing him to keep the $10,000 as a pay-off to remain quiet. Will Cusack was a common criminal – a lower-class opportunist who, under normal circumstances, Gloria wouldn't even deem to speak to, let alone do business with. But upon further consideration she had wondered if a criminal like Will wasn't exactly what her son's defence needed. Perhaps this was a case of desperate times calling for desperate measures – and times were desperate indeed.

So she had decided not to call off the boy, at least not yet. She would give him a little time to fly, to see if he could perhaps fool the police with his story.

The boy said he would wait to pick his moment, so there was probably still time, she told herself then as she looked at her Rolex and checked her lipstick before raising the window and alighting from her car. She would
see how Cavanaugh progressed over the next week and then make a final decision on whether or not to rescind on her agreement with the boy.

With any luck, the entrepreneurial little thug might even be successful in his mission – after which the charges against Chris would be dropped and the truth about her son's illicit affair with that troublesome whore would remain hidden from the public forever.

‘S
mile.'

‘What?'

‘Smile,' repeated David to his detective friend. ‘Look pleased with yourself – like we've just made a breakthrough, like things are looking up.'

The idea had come to David upon Father Patrick's return. The priest had stormed red-faced into his office booming something about his being ‘too old for this game of Red Robin' – his hand flailing wildly as he gesticulated his frustration, before pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his brow. And that's when David had noticed it once again – the old school ring on Father Patrick's hand. Every senior who passed through Saint Stephen's, including himself and Chris, had received one of those shield-encrusted pewter rings upon entering their final year – and one quick query to the crimson-hued headmaster told him this was still the case.

David had then asked the now confused priest if he could both borrow his ring and guide them down to the senior quadrangle – two requests the old priest finally relented to, but only after David promised that he would not approach Will Cusack directly, just give the boy the opportunity to avail himself to them.

‘Are you ready for this?' asked David of his detective friend as he slipped the ring on his finger and started out across the quadrangle, a grim-faced
Father Patrick, who remained near the quad's entrance, having stopped short of wishing them good luck.

‘So you
do
have a plan,' replied a still in-the-dark McNally.

‘Who said I had a plan?' asked David, scanning the area where Father Patrick had said Will Cusack was sitting.

‘You're making this up as you go along?'

‘Pretty much.' David picked up his pace, his eyes squinting against the early afternoon sun. ‘I can't see him,' he said. ‘Unless . . . Jesus, he got his hair cut. See,' he said without gesturing. ‘There, beyond the orange trash can.'

David knew McNally wouldn't have remembered the kid by sight, but the haircut stood out amongst a sea of longer mops.

‘He looks like a Marine,' said McNally.

‘He's had a crew cut.'

‘Pretty hard to pull a DNA sample from that head,' said McNally.

‘You think that's significant?' asked David.

‘Could be,' returned McNally, before falling silent once again.

Seconds later, the two men were moving directly across from Will, pretending to talk animatedly and praying the kid would take them in. It was not hard to do. The quad was full of boys in grey and maroon school uniforms and David and McNally stood out like foreigners in a sea of clones.

‘Mr Cavanaugh . . .'

David let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

‘Hold tight,' whispered McNally. ‘He's coming on over.'

‘Mr Cavanaugh,' the boy called again. He looked even older up close – the lack of hair seeming to broaden his already wide features. His shoulders were broad and his leg muscles strained against the faux wool fabric of his worn grey trousers.

David turned to face him, feigning an initial lack of recognition.

‘It's me – Will Cusack. We met a few months ago at the Kincaids' house. Connor told me you were back on the case and . . . that's great news, man.' He shook David's hand with gusto. ‘Really, really great news.'

‘Thanks, Will,' said David, holding tight to the kid's palm. ‘And of course I remember you. The short hair put me off for a second but – yeah, you've been there for the family from the outset.'

‘Sure,' said Will. ‘I . . .' but then Cusack hesitated, as he took in the
second man now standing behind David. ‘You're . . .' he began, hesitating ever so slightly before extending his hand to the second visitor.

‘Detective Harry McNally, Newark PD Homicide,' said McNally, making no bones about it.

Will managed a half-smile and David knew he was wondering if Chris Kincaid had reneged on his promise – if the cop was here to arrest him for that attempted $100,000 bribe. ‘I don't understand,' he said, searching David's eyes for an explanation before turning back to McNally. ‘The last time I saw you, you were . . .'

‘Arresting Chris Kincaid,' finished McNally. ‘I guess you could say I had a change of heart,' he offered, simple as that. And Will's shoulders relaxed, just a little.

‘Well, that's great,' he said, his feet shuffling ever so slightly as if he wasn't sure which man he should be addressing. Then he made his decision. ‘Mr Cavanaugh, what are you doing here? I know the trial starts the week after next so . . . ? You just visiting for old time's sake – or are you looking for some divine intervention from Father Patrick, or your old pal Father Mike?'

‘Not exactly,' smiled David, his eyes shifting left to McNally as if to say ‘We came here for more than that'. ‘Connor told you that I went to school here – me and Connor's dad and Father Mike?'

‘Sure, Connor's always comparing what you three had with me and Connor and—'

‘Jack Delgado,' finished David.

‘You know Jack?'

‘I met him at the arraignment,' said David.

‘Oh – yeah, of course,' said Will, obviously wondering if it was commonplace for David to be so proficient at recalling people's names.

‘You three are tight,' said David.

‘We got each other's backs,' said Will. ‘Like you do Senator Kincaid's.'

‘Absolutely,' said David, smiling at the kid again. ‘But seriously, Will, as good as it is to see you, we really have to go.' He shook the kid's hand again before turning his back and praying beyond anything that . . .

‘Mr Cavanaugh.'

David could almost hear McNally's relief.

The boy caught up. ‘I was just thinking, you know, if I can help with
anything – to do with Saint Stephen's, or whatever. I know this school inside out, Mr Cavanaugh – I know all the kids, how it operates, what's going down.'

And then there was a moment of silence as a seemingly contemplative David stopped short – hesitating, as if making a decision before turning ever so slightly toward McNally. ‘Can't hurt?' he said, half statement, half question.

‘I guess not,' said McNally, who David knew had no idea where this was going.

David turned to the boy again, taking him by the elbow before leading him to a quiet corner of the yard. ‘The truth is, Will,' David began, looking quickly around him to check nobody else was in earshot, ‘we've made a bit of a breakthrough. At least it will be a breakthrough, if we can talk Father Patrick into selling it to the parents.'

‘Selling it?' said Will, his head down as if part of the conspiracy. ‘Selling what?'

‘It started with this,' said David, lifting his right ring finger.

‘A ring?' asked Will.

‘Not just any ring Will, the Saint Stephen's senior class ring – the same one me and every other senior who ever graduated from this place was given in their final year. You have one too, I assume.'

The boy hesitated. ‘Sure. Just don't have it on today is all.'

David counted his blessings. ‘Right,' he said, putting his hand quickly back in his pocket. ‘But that's how we made our breakthrough, Will. Connor may have told you we found one of those rings in Marilyn Maloney's apartment.'

‘I think he mentioned something about that. But the senator probably gave it to the girl way back – when you were kids, right? Like some sort of commitment ring.'

‘Right again,' said David, smiling at the kid's ingenuity. ‘But the ring Chris gave Marilyn isn't the same one the police found as part of their evidence.'

‘It's not?' asked a now confused Will.

‘No. They thought it was at first but Marilyn probably lost that old ring years ago.'

Will shook his head. ‘But you just said they found . . .'

‘The ring was new,' said David.

‘The ring was new?' Will repeated, as if needing to confirm it.

‘Yes, you see, early last September the school changed the design of the ring. It's a subtle change – something to do with the font of the motto – but bottom line, the ring found in Marilyn's apartment had to belong to someone who received it during the last nine months.'

‘It belongs to a current senior?' Will's voice was even, but the sweat on his brow was betraying him.

‘It has to . . . which means there's a possibility that someone from Saint Stephen's – someone currently missing a senior class ring – could have been in that apartment, Will. They may have been involved in Marilyn Maloney's death.'

Cusack stood there. His dark eyes wide, his jaw muscles tensing, the sweat on his forehead now trickling down toward his eyes. ‘Wow,' he said.

‘I know,' said David.

‘But . . . what . . . how . . . ?'

‘We need Father Patrick's help. We want him to speak to the parents about volunteering their sons for DNA testing.'

‘You want to test the entire senior class's DNA?' asked Will, the scope of it now evident in his voice. ‘I didn't think there was any DNA found at the crime scene. I mean, I think Connor mentioned something about the . . .' he took a breath, ‘. . . about the lack of sperm inside the woman and . . .'

‘He was right. But the prosecutor's kept a number of things under wraps for trial, one of them being that they found some unidentified DNA under the fingernails of the victim. So, we're thinking,' David looked to McNally, ‘if we can link the ring to the DNA – you know, find a senior who's missing the ring and whose DNA turns out to be a match . . .'

The boy swallowed. ‘Sure . . . yeah . . . I see. That's great, but . . . but the parents – seriously, I doubt they'll agree to . . .'

‘Then we'll look at the ones who refuse,' said David. ‘Process of elimination, Will.' David let the silence hang.

‘I know what you're thinking,' he went on when Cusack failed to speak further. ‘Why don't we ask every senior to produce his class ring, and then test those who can't produce one to the police? Well, we'll certainly start that way, but you see,' David scratched at his forehead, ‘we figure that if
the perp realised he dropped his ring at the apartment, chances are he might have already replaced it to cover his ass.'

Will's nod turned into a shake. ‘I didn't know you could replace those things.' He pointed toward David's pocket. ‘I mean, I assumed they only gave out a certain number per year.'

‘No.' David shook his head. ‘According to Father Patrick, any student can order another if they lose their original,' he lied. ‘The school wants every kid who's been through here to wear that ring as a reminder of his roots. And believe it or not, it works,' he added, not having put on his own ring in decades.

‘You want me to ask around?' Cusack said, his eyes lighting up with possibility.

‘Ask around?'

‘Sure. I could see if anyone knows someone who lost their ring back in January.'

David looked at McNally, as if this was one of the best ideas they had heard all morning.

‘Couldn't hurt,' said the seemingly short for words McNally, now nodding at David in agreement.