Move to Strike (39 page)

Joe lifted his hand at Frank McKay, who was just outside his door and using his thumb to indicate he was also about to hit the road with a fellow homicide detective named Rico.

‘Ms de Castro,' said Joe, gesturing for Frank to come in. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘I just . . .' she began. ‘I just had a question for you, Lieutenant, and it is going to sound very silly. I mean, something came to me last night. It is ridiculous really.'

The woman was on ‘the tightrope'. Joe could feel it. He had heard that tone before – the one where a family member or friend hadn't quite made the decision to come clean on something they knew about a loved one. It
was the tone people adopted when they were overcome by guilt or shame or fear – when they were 100 feet above the ground, knowing a fall was inevitable, but still not sure which way was the right way to jump.

‘I wanted to know what issue of
Vanity Fair
Stephanie Tyler was reading before she died?'

And jumped she had, Joe sensed. The question meant nothing to him now, but his gut told him that it would – eventually.

‘To be honest, Ms de Castro, I am not sure,' answered Joe, careful not to make light of her query. ‘Is there a problem – with the issue, I mean?'

‘No!' she said, almost too quickly. ‘Oh God, it really doesn't matter, I'm sorry to have bothered you.'

‘It's no bother,' said Joe, trying to keep her on the line, grabbing a pad and pencil and writing a quick note for Frank that said: ‘
Tyler, Vanity Fair. What issue?
' ‘I can find out. It is really no trouble. I have it here somewhere.' He was fudging while Frank bounded from the room to call the guys in evidence. ‘Did the issue belong to you?'

‘No. I mean, it might have,
yes
. You see I collect
Vanity Fair
and I was missing a few issues.'

Now she was lying – Joe knew it. ‘You want it back?'

‘God, no. I am so sorry, Lieutenant. I must sound so petty. It was a random thought . . . I . . .'

She was on the verge of jumping the wrong way, Joe sensed, his heart now beating in double time. She went all the way out onto that cliff and now she was jumping the Goddamned wrong fucking way.

‘Hold on,' he said, frantically waving his arms for Frank to hurry up. And then Frank hung up the phone and bounded into his office, before shoving the hastily scribbled note under his boss's nose.

‘It was the October '93 edition,' said Joe at last. ‘A tenth anniversary issue, with Julia Roberts on the cover.'

And then there was silence.

‘Funny, that is what I thought it was,' de Castro said, a tone of dull realisation in her voice. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant, and I promise I won't be bothering you again.'

Plymouth, Massachusetts, is about forty miles south of Boston on what is known as the state's South Shore. It is most famous for being the landing
site of the
Mayflower
– and, David recalled, for the somewhat less than spectacular rock which was said to be the first piece of American ground William Bradford and his fellow Pilgrims stepped onto in 1620. The rock was an anti-climax – and David prayed that his unexpected ‘abduction' south would not prove similarly disappointing.

The weather had turned. After weeks of sun the city had been swallowed by a mass of clouds and accompanying sea fog. It was cool but humid, the air thick with a damp that hung heavily on David's skin, a red-faced Harrison sweating copiously beside him – his left leg shaking nervously, his grey eyes shot with tiny flecks of red.

‘Almost there,' said Harrison, the first words he had spoken in over half an hour. All that Harrison would tell David was that they were meeting Tony in Plymouth. And David, knowing that was where J.T. Logan's detention unit was located, decided not to push any further, hoping Tony had actually gone out on a limb and got him some sort of quasi-communication with the young boy he wanted so desperately to represent.

But his hopes were dashed as Harrison turned off just before the large block structure that was the DYS Plymouth Juvenile Detention Unit. David immediately asked where the hell they were going, and Harrison, who had obviously had enough as he pulled into a roadside diner parking lot, looked David squarely in the face.

‘I have never broken the law before,' he said. ‘I come from four generations of attorneys and I could lose my licence over
you
.'

Despite Harrison's misery, David felt his heart rise again and he nodded. ‘Thanks.'

Moments later they were inside, David looking desperately around the sparsely populated diner for the man whose friendship he was now feeling incredibly guilty for doubting. Then Tony Bishop, sitting in a far corner booth, lifted his head with a nod, before leaning across the table to tell his companion that the person they were waiting for was here.

And in that moment, as an incredibly thin, pale-skinned J.T. Logan turned and rose up on his knees so that he could see David approaching from over the top of the high-backed booth, the young man's eyes met his, and for the first time since David had known him, J.T. Logan smiled.

Moments later, Harrison having chosen a separate table way at the other end of the room, David was in a huddle with his friend and the
young teen who looked more like a child than ever. And after several questions regarding J.T.'s welfare, David finally got to the point.

‘How many ways are we breaking the law here?'

‘I lost count when I hauled J.T. from the detention unit next door. Told them I was his attorney, said I was transporting him to a private conference with the ADA.'

David nodded. ‘I hate to state the obvious, but I am in breach of the APO,' he said, referring to the abuse prevention order still in place against him.

‘Yeah well, that's our first order of business – reversing the 209A.'

‘I appreciate the sentiment, Tony, but in case you haven't noticed, neither of us is a judge and . . .'

‘No, but I was lying when I said I was lying before – when I told you about pulling J.T. here from Plymouth, about meeting the ADA.'

‘He
does
have a meeting with the ADA?' said David, just as it hit him. ‘Jesus, Tony, has Logan convinced the kids to plea?' David knew that although J.T. was sitting right next to him, this was no time for platitudes and he figured J.T. was smart enough to know that too.

‘Yes,' said Tony, immediately dashing David's hopes. ‘And no,' he finished before looking quickly at his watch.

‘Tony,' said David. ‘I still don't . . .'

But Tony was already on his feet, lifting his right hand in greeting to two other visitors who had just entered the front door of the diner.

David swivelled in his chair so that he might see them, and blinked twice just to make sure they were real – ADA Amanda Carmichael and behind her the prettiest red-haired teenager David had seen since he first met her mother all those years ago, Chelsea Logan.

‘D
octor Taylor was adamant,' said a breathless Lisa Cavanaugh, putting away the sugar before walking around the kitchen annexe and handing Nora Kelly a cup of English Breakfast tea. After Sara had called the office to explain she was off to the doctor, with Lisa Cavanaugh (who had swapped shifts with the afternoon nurse) as her companion, Nora had promised she would pop by at lunch – which, of course, she did.

‘Sara has to take it easy,' Lisa continued. ‘So I am telling you, and my workaholic brother when I can get him on the phone, so that this one here . . .' she said, gesturing at Sara, who was now sitting rather awkwardly on her sofa, ‘. . . does not do too much!'

‘She's right, dear,' said Nora, looking at Sara.

Lisa nodded, before grabbing her bag, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder and heading for the door.

‘Keep at her, Nora,' she said, winking. ‘And you call me if you need anything,' she pointed to Sara. ‘And tell my brother he is an inconsiderate ass.'

And with that she was gone.

The truth was, Sara was worried – about the baby, about herself, about David and his obsession with this case, about her lack of contribution at
work, about what the manipulative Jeffrey Logan might be up to next, and about Nora who, despite her attempts at bravado, was obviously still wracked with the misplaced guilt of ‘being responsible' for the McCall woman's fate.

This was not going the way it was supposed to. She was pregnant – a mere three weeks away from giving birth – and she and David were meant to be happy, excited, ecstatic, fulfilled! But ever since Stephanie Tyler's death, David had been different. It was as if a dark cloud had descended upon him, growing thicker and heavier each day. His feeling of responsibility to save those kids, to avenge his friend's death, was now at the point of fixation, despite the danger it might be putting him in, and, by association, her and their unborn baby as well.

David had been away for most of the day and had not yet bothered to call. Lisa had tried his cell three times but got his voice mail at every attempt. And Nora, despite her efforts to make light of it, did not know where he was – which meant he could be anywhere with anyone and, despite herself, Sara saw a quick flash of the beautiful Amanda Carmichael streaking swiftly through her mind.

She re-focused. ‘I'm okay, Nora, really.'

Nora smiled. ‘No, dear,' she replied. ‘No, you are not.'

‘The doctor said I would be fine. Just that I have to rest a little more. The baby is almost to term but Doctor Taylor said she would prefer it if he or she had that extra couple of weeks . . .'

‘It's not the baby I am worried about. This is not good for you, Sara. This case, this pressure, young David's determination to . . .' But Nora stopped there, obviously not wanting to state what they both knew to be true.

‘What is it about this one?' Sara asked. ‘I mean, he has always been determined but even on his toughest of cases, he still manages to see past it – to see
me
.'

‘And he still sees you, Sara. It is just that this one – well, there are children involved and he is about to become a father and, sometimes, men like David, they want to make a better world for the child that they have created and that results in their priorities going a little askew. He is afraid, Sara, of not doing enough.'

‘I know,' said Sara. ‘So afraid that he is not doing enough.'

Nora nodded, before taking Sara's hand and pulling her into a hug.

‘I have a bad feeling about this, Nora,' said Sara after a time.

And the normally comforting Nora did not reply – her silence telling Sara she was thinking:
Me too, dear, me too
.

‘F
or Christ's sake,' said Amanda Carmichael, staring at the two hugging teenagers before her. The minute Chelsea Logan had walked into the room, J.T. had turned in his seat, climbed over David and run directly towards his sister. And now the pair stood right in the middle of the diner, their heads buried in each other's shoulders, the slight vibrations in their bodies telling David that both were now sobbing.

‘Jesus, Tony, everyone is watching. Someone needs to pull those two apart,' Amanda continued. And while her tone was cool, David saw in her eyes the slightest tinge of discomfort – perhaps at being witness to such a raw outpouring of emotion. Or maybe it was embarrassment, considering her job was to see these two kids were separated for the rest of their lives.

‘Amanda,' said David, now rising from his bench. ‘I am not too sure how or why you swung this but, honestly, I am so grateful.'

‘Shut the hell up, Cavanaugh,' she barked, swivelling on her high heels to address him face to face. Then she swallowed, and David knew that this woman – this incredibly beautiful, highly manipulative, extremely ambitious woman – was trying desperately to ‘recover'. And David guessed that as much as she would never admit it, putting these two kids together had got to her.

‘Don't for one second think my arranging this little get-together has anything to do with my concern for you or for the Logan children's futures. In case you have forgotten, I am the lead prosecutor in this case and I will do everything in my power to make sure these two murderers are sent away for life.' Another swallow.

‘My interest here, Cavanaugh, is not with
if
, but
how
I get this done. Bishop might have told you I had the chance to take a plea, or square off against a man who should have done the world a favour by turning off his pacemaker years ago. But this case is my ticket to the big league, and that ticket is worth all the more if I whip your ass.' She took a step forward then, her body mere inches from his.

‘So you can have your five minutes with these matricidal maniacs, and if they consent to withdrawing their statements against you, I will talk to the district judge and get that APO reversed. Then you can defend Dick and Jane here with all the determination you can muster, and then I will bring you down – all three of you – and you will wish that you had made certain decisions differently, and regret your mistakes for the rest of your Goddamned life.'

Every now and again, when the extremeness of a situation calls for it, when the pressure is so tight, the risks so high, the human body has the ability to rise above its current circumstances and transcend to a completely different universe where reality ceases to exist.

As Amanda and Tony turned to join Harrison, and as J.T. and Chelsea took their seat in the bench across from him and instinctively drew themselves into his huddle, David felt it – felt the three of them
remove
themselves from the environment around them so that they might finally say what needed to be said.

While David was terrified that the sheer force of Jeffrey Logan's power might still be enough to paralyse his children into submission, he hoped that this reunion – the combined force of J.T. and Chelsea's dedication to each other and perhaps, ironically, the sense of freedom they felt to be out of their father's house – would finally give them the courage to tell it as it was.