Matter of Trust (61 page)

‘You're doing this for my dad,' said Connor.

Will's shoulders relaxed a fraction. ‘Why else the fuck would I be doing it? I'm doing it for him and I'm doing it for you.'

Connor finally nodded. He started to inhale but gagged on the insipid stink of blood.

‘Did you bring your mom's car like I told you?' asked Will, obviously trying to get Connor to focus.

‘Yes,' he managed.

‘Where did you park?'

‘Right out front.'

‘Good. We're going to need to wrap her tight. We don't want to leave any DNA in your mom's car.'

And that was when Will went to the bedroom to grab a blanket, and Connor joined his good friend Jack Delgado on the bloodied living room floor.

 

Silence, as Connor took another breath and his three listeners sat consumed by the stillness around them. Rebecca Kincaid was crying – softly, silently, her hand still holding that of her brave son.

‘Will said that Chris took the money,' said David. It was a detail that worried him. He was sure Cusack had pocketed the lot, but he was trying to work out how he'd concealed such a large amount on his person while cleaning up the mess and then later, when moving the body.

‘That's what he said,' responded Connor. ‘And we never saw it – the whole time we were there.'

David nodded. The issue still concerned him but he knew there was no point in pursuing it now. ‘So you wrapped up the body and . . .' he prompted, needing Connor to see this through.

‘We cleaned the floor with bleach and then took her downstairs in the elevator. Jack went ahead to make sure no-one would see us and he opened the trunk. We put her in, and then Will asked for the keys so he could drive.'

David nodded. ‘Will drove to the river. And you threw her in – without realising that she was—'

‘Still alive,' finished Connor, perhaps needing to voice it himself. ‘Yes. Will suggested we drive up to North Arlington and put the body in there. He put some rocks in the blanket to weigh her down. He said the Passaic was full of bacteria and she'd decompose under water. The river was full of ice. He said she'd get trapped under it. He didn't think the current would be strong enough to pull her a few feet let alone all the way to Newark.'

‘And then you drove back home?' prompted David once again.

‘Yes. I dropped Jack and then Will and then raced back home. By that stage it was close to sun-up. I was worried one of my sisters would wake early, find my room empty and go tell Mom. So I raced up the drive, but then the front wheels started to spin a little and I remembered the pavers, so I reversed and took the car back up the street. Then I ran home and tried to remember where I had picked up Mom's keys – from the kitchen bench or the side table?' Connor met David's eye. ‘I may have just killed another human being, but I only just got my provisional licence which means it is illegal for me to drive between midnight and 5 am, and . . .' Connor swallowed, the irony of his words not lost on anyone.

‘You had no idea Marilyn's shoe was still in your mom's trunk?' asked David.

‘No, and by the time it was found, we were committed to the secret. Will was determined that we hold firm, that we continue to be each other's alibi – it was all he ever talked about. And Jack . . . well, as much as he is hurting, he and Will are like brothers. As for me,' the boy sighed, ‘I was too gutless to stand up to him even when he failed to fix things like he promised. When I look back now, it all makes sense – Will wanting the money – but I was too stupid, too blinded by my loyalty to him to see it.' Connor hung his head.

‘Do you think Jack will stand up for us?' asked David. He knew that because Connor was the son of the defendant, his testimony may not be enough.

‘I don't know,' replied Connor. ‘Perhaps if we explain it to him. But as I said, Will is like the twin Jack lost.'

‘Jack won't stand up against Will,' interrupted Mike, the entire group now turning to face him.

‘How do you know?' asked David.

Mike shook his head as if indicating that it wasn't a question he was at liberty to answer. ‘He's sorry for his part in this,' Mike continued, looking directly into David's eyes, ‘but I expect, like Connor says, his loyalty to his friend will prevent him from coming forward.'

David returned Mike's stare – dying to ask the question but knowing he didn't have the right. ‘He might not have any choice, Mike,' he said instead.

‘If the choice is made for him, it will no longer be his choice.'

‘I'll do whatever I have to do to save Chris.' David needed to make it clear to his old friend.

‘And as his friend, so will I. But as a priest, DC, as a priest I . . .'

‘David!'

It was Sara from the front of the church. She came hurrying down the side of the altar with an anxious-faced Arthur and Nora behind her.

‘What is it?' asked David, moving to meet them halfway.

‘It's McNally.' She kept her voice low as she held out his cell. David had asked her to hold on to it so that he wouldn't be interrupted. ‘He says it's urgent – something about a call to Will Cusack.'

David took the phone and moved further up the aisle. He could barely hear his detective friend over the background noise. ‘McNally, Jesus, where the hell are you?'

‘Market Street, just outside the 3rd Precinct. I have Carla with me, she put a tap on Cusack's cell.'

‘You got something?' asked David, cupping his free hand over his left ear as he walked closer toward the altar.

‘Cusack got a call earlier this evening. We just downloaded the conversation.'

‘Who was the caller?'

‘Kincaid.'

‘
What
?' This didn't make sense.

‘Shit, sorry, it was your client's mom – Gloria Kincaid.'

And immediately David knew where this was going. ‘Cusack's done some sort of deal with her.' His mind was racing. ‘Another bribe or . . .'

‘Not a bribe, at least we don't think so. Cusack said he had a better alternative to his first offer.'

‘Jesus, Gloria's been talking to him for some time.'

‘Looks like. The kid said the alibi didn't mean shit now – that he had a way to get her son off. But he wanted another forty on top of the ten, before the final payment of fifty.'

‘The hundred grand.'

‘I knew that number was going to haunt us.' The noise around McNally decreased as he got into his car. ‘Cusack is playing to the mother's desperation. He told her he had new information and that he could produce it in court, but first he was coming over to get the $40,000 and—'

The phone dropped out.

‘
Shit,
' said David, his head jerking back in frustration. He looked up, his eyes catching on Station of the Cross number eleven –
Jesus is Nailed to the Cross
. ‘McNally, are you there?'

‘Yeah, sorry. Had to use both hands to pull out.'

David exhaled. ‘You said he was going to Gloria's to get the money and . . .'

‘Her car.'

‘Her
car
?'

‘He said he needed it for the weekend to track this new evidence down. Said he'd be back in time for the trial on Monday and, long story short, she fell for it hook, line and sinker.'

As angry as David was, he didn't find this so hard to understand. Gloria Kincaid would do anything to save her son's reputation, and her future as the woman who controlled him. ‘What time was this?' he asked.

‘About six.'

‘
Shit
, that's over five hours ago. We need to stop him, McNally. I may finally have a break on this case and the kid is doing a runner.'

‘The Kincaid kid came clean?'

‘Yes.'

‘He give you enough against Cusack?'

David thought about it. ‘A lot, but not enough.'

‘You think Cusack is running – without the extra 50K?'

‘No question,' replied David. ‘He has no other evidence. He killed Marilyn Maloney. But now he has $50,000 and a . . .'

‘Gloria drives an Audi 500.'

‘A car worth a hundred grand.'

‘You're right, he's running,' said McNally, and David heard a siren start up in the background.

‘You're going after him?'

‘No, there's no point. Carla and I are just a band of two. Somehow you need to raise a warrant for the kid's arrest so we can raise an all-persons alert and get a statewide team onto finding the fucker. We're going to interview Gloria Kincaid, so it's up to you to get the warrant.'

David shook his head. ‘But the only way I can do that is by going through Elliott Marshall.'

‘Exactly.'

‘You want me to ask Marshall to authorise a statewide search for a kid I'm throwing up as an alternative suspect to my client?'

‘You got any better ideas?'

But David didn't answer, merely looked once more toward the heavens – his eyes now caught on Station of the Cross number twelve,
Jesus Dies on the Cross.
‘He'll never go for it,' he said at last.

‘Then you have to make him – because if you don't, you'll never forgive yourself. This kid killed your old friend and now he's making a profit from her murder.'

McNally was right.

‘Where does Marshall live?'

‘I'll find out and text you his address.'

Silence until, ‘Good luck,' said McNally.

‘I'll need more than luck, Harry.'

‘The tide has to turn our way sometime, David – maybe this is it.'

E
lliott Marshall lived in a neat downtown highrise not far from Newark's famous Prudential Center. It was one of those buildings that could easily have passed for a newly constructed office block or overpriced private hospital – designed by architects big on efficiency but short on imagination.

David parked illegally, directly in front of the building, figuring any cops who were cruising the city at 1 am on a Saturday had better things to do than write him a ticket. He ran to the front security grille and held his pointer finger firmly on the button for apartment 6B, praying that the FAP wouldn't think it was some drunken reveller causing random mayhem on his way to nearby Penn Station and ignore it – and hoping further, that if Marshall did respond, David would know exactly what to say.

Buzzzzzzzz.

Nothing.

What to do? He pressed the button again as he pictured McNally knocking on Gloria Kincaid's door at 1 am in the morning. He pressed again as he thought of Nora spending the night typing up Connor Kincaid's statement. He pressed again as his thoughts went to Will Cusack slipping further away into the night, and he pressed a fifth time as he understood that defeat was not an option – one way or another he would make the FAP—

‘
What the hell is this
?' Marshall's voice barked through the security intercom. ‘If you continue to press that button, I shall call the police and have you arrested for harassment and disturbing the peace. And don't for one minute think I am joking here . . .'

‘Marshall,' David interrupted him.

‘Who is this?' asked the FAP. ‘Jesus, is that you Cavanaugh? I don't believe this. You are beyond—'

‘I'm sorry. I need a word.' David knew there was no point in being antagonistic; his objective at this point was to talk Marshall into letting him into the building – nothing more, nothing less. ‘Please, I know it's late, but there's been an urgent development in the Kincaid case. You know I wouldn't be here if this wasn't important. You need to let me in Marshall, we need to talk.'

‘I don't need to do any such thing. I had my doubts about your intellectual competence when you bailed on that witness this afternoon, Cavanaugh – and obviously I was right.'

‘Ten minutes – fifteen tops,' begged David, resisting the temptation to smash his fist through the security board, and ideally short out its electricals in the process. ‘I just want you to listen to what I have to say. What you do from there is your call – okay?'

Marshall was silent, as the static of the connection crackled and the front sliding glass doors remained fast on their tracks. But then David heard a click and the doors shook ever so slightly before parting ways at the middle. David forced himself to utter, ‘Thanks' before slipping into the brightly lit lobby and pressing the elevator for six.

The door to 6B was open when he reached it – Marshall staring back at him from a dimly lit corridor beyond. ‘This better be good,' said the FAP, gesturing for David to shut the door behind him and follow him into the living room – a modern space filled with modular furniture, the only personal item in view being a small photograph of an elderly woman which sat centred on the mantle.

David took a seat across from Marshall who had placed himself in the middle of a long steel-coloured bench-style sofa, an oversized low-lying coffee table acting as a no-man's-land between them.

Marshall offered no refreshments or further comment, which led David to believe that he had his ten minutes and ten minutes only. So he
began at the beginning – starting with the boys' taping of Marilyn's confession at Saint Stephen's and the information they had garnered from it. He then moved on to describe his first conversation with Will Cusack at the Kincaid house, before telling Marshall of Cusack's attempt to bribe his client. Next he spoke of the discovery of Marilyn's cell phone, his subsequent investigations at the Airport Hilton and the security recording showing Cusack's presence at the hotel at a time when he swore he was at the Kincaid house. David then described the trick he'd played on Will Cusack regarding the old class ring before giving Marshall a detailed summary of the true events of the night of January 12, as told by one of the last three people to see Marilyn Maloney alive – Connor Kincaid.