Move to Strike (40 page)

‘Okay,' he began, leaning an inch further into their private little group. ‘We don't have much time so I am going to cut to the chase and say some
things that I believe to be true. These are my opinions, and while I must warn you that I don't have any real evidence substantiating these views, I can promise you, with all my heart, that if you tell me I am right and if you want me to represent you, I will do anything,
everything
in my power to prove these allegations and set you two kids free.'

He was talking like a lawyer and he knew it, but somehow he sensed that was exactly what these kids needed – a grown-up they could lean on, perhaps the only adult they had been able to put their trust in since the death of their mom. And when Chelsea's eyes met her brother's and J.T. gave her a nod, David took this as a cue to continue – which he did, starting at the beginning.

‘Your father had been planning it for weeks, months, perhaps even years,' he said. ‘His strategy was long and complicated. He knew that beyond all else he had to supply you with a motive for your mother's death,' he said, looking at J.T. ‘And so he set about creating the myth that Stephanie was an emotional tyrant – the one who had been abusing you both since birth.'

The kids did nothing bar squeeze each other's hands, which David took as an indication that they were ready for him to continue.

‘He compiled his evidence. He started telling Katherine de Castro about Stephanie's relentless need to control. He preyed on Katherine's loyalties knowing she would repeat the stories when asked, taking comfort in the knowledge that she would want to help
him
– and in the process think that she was helping you too.

‘And so the next step was getting the evidence – in the form of that hellish home video where he directed your mother to hold a gun to your head.' David saw J.T. flinch. ‘And he wrote the script and made you learn your lines and he forced you to play along by . . . by . . .'

‘Placing a gun on the table,' finished Chelsea. And in that moment David felt a distinct wave of relief flow through his entire body, for Chelsea had opened the gate and finally let him in.

‘He said it was a Smith and Wesson .38 special. He said it was made out of titanium and alloy. He said it weighed less than a pound. He put it in the . . .'

‘Gravy boat,' finished David.

‘How did you know?' asked a wide-eyed Chelsea.

‘I sensed he was controlling you with something, and I knew your mom,' he said. And this explanation was enough.

‘We didn't have to learn our lines though,' Chelsea went on, ‘because Father had set up one of those machines from work – an electronic auto-cue which scrolls at a preset pace.'

An autocue, of course! Logan would have had access to one at his studio
. He had seen one of these machines before; they emanated a distinct computerised glow which in this case must have been green – not unlike the ultrasound in Doctor Taylor's office.

‘Your father held the tape until it was needed,' said David. ‘His final preparations for your mother's death being the increases to her life insurance – which he did from your computer, Chelsea, using your username and password so that any investigation would lead straight back to you.'

‘Yes, but I didn't know about the life insurance until the night I was arrested. He must have done that while I was at school.'

David nodded. ‘And then he set about teaching J.T. how to use the gun – the same high-powered rifle that had always belonged to him. And he did this like he did everything else when it came to your education,' he met J.T.'s eye. ‘By forcing you to study the weapon inside and out, by learning its mechanics, so that nothing would be left to chance.'

‘Yes,' said J.T., the tears now falling freely down his cheeks, just as David was jolted back into reality by a forceful jab on his shoulder.

‘This is taking too long,' said Carmichael, standing over him.

‘Five more minutes,' said David.

‘No,' said Amanda. ‘This love fest has to end now. I need to get Chelsea back to Brockton,' she added, referring to the female juvenile detention unit where Chelsea was being held.

‘Come on, Amanda,' said David. ‘You want me back in, and in order to do so I need the briefest of consultations with my clients. All I need is five more minutes. Six or seven tops.' He knew he was stretching it.

She looked towards the children. ‘You have three,' she said, before walking determinedly away.

‘He tested me,' said J.T. ‘He made me memorise every component of that gun. He instructed me on how to fire it. He said if I didn't go through with it that he would simply pick up a rifle and kill us all – me, Chelsea and Mom.'

David nodded once again as the boy took a breath, hoping that if there was ever a time that J.T. was going to trust him, that this was going to be it.

‘He planned it down to the second,' continued J.T., his boyish voice raising just a notch. ‘He made us synchronise our watches every morning before we went to school because he said he did not want us to know exactly which night he planned to do it. He said it could happen today, or tomorrow, or next week, but we had to be always on the ready. He said if we warned our mom he would kill us all,' he repeated. ‘He had already loaded the gun. He had locked it in a drawer in the garage so that on the night he was ready, when he came in from work, he could move quickly, out of the car, and take out the gun before meeting me at the bottom of the stairs.

‘And on that night we were upstairs, and like every night in recent weeks we were dreading the sound of his car pulling into the drive. But then we heard it, and I went down,
like he told me too
. And then he walked down the hall holding the gun and Chelsea was looking down at me from the landing and we knew what was going to happen. Chelsea started to cry and he grabbed my arm as I tried to run to Mom, who was in the kitchen, exactly where he knew she would be.'

‘How did he know that, J.T. ?' asked David, his heart pounding hard in his chest. ‘How did he know your mom would be sitting where she was, doing what she did?'

‘Because that is what she always did before dinner. It was her routine. If she did not do it, he would take it out on us. He made her drink the wine. He said it made her submissive. She had to read the same magazines over and over. They were very old.'

David nodded for J.T. to go on.

‘And in the end,' J.T. continued, his voice now a high croaky sob, ‘no matter how many threats he made, I could not do it. I knew I had to, but I couldn't. I didn't care if I died. I looked up at Chelsea and she was shaking her head. He told us to shut the hell up and I tried to scream ‘
No
'. But he placed his hand on my throat and I was scared. Chelsea was crying. And then he turned the gun on her and he whispered that he would shoot her if I did not obey.

‘And I
still
could not do it. I hated myself, and was proud of myself all at the very same time. Then he held the gun on Chelsea and released my
neck and pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket and told me to rip it in three. He screwed up two small pieces and shoved them in his ears before putting the rest back into his pocket. Then he grabbed me around the neck again and he pushed me HARD,' J.T. caught his breath, ‘. . . fast, towards the kitchen door. And then he wrapped one arm under my T-shirt around my waist and held the rifle high in the other and then he forced us both through the door with a BANG! And I saw her, I SAW HER. I shouted. And I screamed for Mom to run. I tried to break free, but he slipped his hand under my T-shirt and through the sleeve and forced my right arm up so my finger was locked against the trigger. And then my mom looked at me and she said that everything would be okay. She looked at my father and she begged him please to STOP. And then, I felt the force of his finger against mine. I closed my eyes, TIGHT. And then I heard the loudest noise I had ever heard in my life. And my ears burned like they were on fire. And then I felt the warmth of her blood upon me – and then I felt sick, and then I felt dead.'

Chelsea held him, as David placed his own forehead against J.T.'s. And then J.T., perhaps sensing that time was running out, swallowed hard before taking a breath and finishing his story.

‘My father took the handkerchief pieces from his ears and pulled me from the room and then he dragged me to the toilet and flushed them. Chelsea could not stop screaming and my father told her to shut up. Then he grabbed the rest of the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped down the gun and his hands, which were clean from being under my T-shirt in any case, before moving back into the hall and calling 911. And then he called Katherine, and made us go back . . . INTO THE KITCHEN.' He shook his head. ‘And then we saw her, and I shut my eyes again and Chelsea was crying and my father said if we did not follow his lead he would kill us too, and if one talked he would kill the other. And then the police arrived and he CONFESSED and we knew, both of us, that this was part of his plan, and that if we did anything that he would kill the other, and that our mom was gone and that she was the only person who could save us and . . .' The boy's head bent down as he fell exhausted against the diner table, and David knew he had finally said his piece.

‘You're wrong,' said David. ‘Stephanie was not the only one. Your mom . . .' He took a breath. ‘She knew, in choosing me, that I would help
you. She knew that this was going to happen, which is why she changed her will.'

Chelsea nodded. ‘We were scared of Father – that he might kill us all. And I think somehow we thought if we kept quiet about it like he told us to, that he might change his mind. Mom did not say anything, but I think she must have known about the changes he made to her insurance. I also think she found that receipt, the one for Katherine's necklace. And that told her that Father was getting ready – to move on.

‘The morning of the day that she died, she asked me if I could borrow a friend's cell phone at school. Father monitored the home telephone, and Mom knew this call would have to go undetected so . . . She told me to find somewhere quiet at lunchtime and call her lawyer, a man named Harrison. And she told me to pretend I was her and to give him specific instructions about how she wanted to change her will.'

David held tight to Chelsea's hand.

‘She never thought about herself,' Chelsea went on. ‘She only thought about us – and how she could protect us from . . . this.' She lifted her free hand at her surroundings. ‘But Father was too smart. He had an answer for everything. And now that Mom is gone, we are . . . we can't . . .'

‘No,' said David, taking the girl's hand and squeezing it. ‘Your father is a clever man – granted. But in the end, I believe your mother was smarter. She had her own ideas about how to stop him, and I promise you I will see them through.'

Chelsea looked up at him. ‘She liked you,' she said after a pause. ‘When you won that case last year she told us she was your friend, and that you were the lawyer she would have liked to have been.'

David looked into Chelsea's eyes and saw her there, his old college friend, with the open heart and the big ideals.

‘You mom wasn't just a brilliant lawyer, Chelsea,' he said to her, his own eyes now filling with tears. ‘She was one of the best people I have ever known, and if the situation had been reversed, if you had been my children, I know she would be sitting here, doing the same for me.'

Ten seconds later Amanda Carmichael, an anxious-looking Tony Bishop behind her, was upon them once again – pulling Chelsea and J.T. from the booth and dragging them to their feet.

‘You have two weeks,' she said, causing David's mouth to drop open in shock.

‘Two weeks?' he said, not believing what he was hearing. ‘That's impossible, Amanda. I have only been back on this case for what . . . fifteen minutes. There is no way I can prepare for trial in a fortnight.'

‘The trial was originally scheduled for mid-August, Cavanaugh, and if you hadn't fucked up with the kids' father you would be ready for the showdown now. So if you want me to follow through with helping you reverse that pesky 209A, I suggest you save your arguments for court.'

‘Amanda,' David hated to beg, but under the circumstances . . . ‘I can't guarantee these kids fair representation if I don't have the time to . . .'

‘Time?' she interrupted as she turned to face him before advancing towards him as he rose from the booth. ‘Is your schedule full, Cavanaugh?' she asked then. ‘You got somewhere else to be from mid-to-late August?'

The thought raced through his head –
of course
he had somewhere else to be. He would be with Sara, for the delivery of their baby, and more likely than not, Amanda Carmichael knew it too.

‘No,' he said, the word alien even to him as Tony Bishop's eyes met with his from behind the ADA.

‘Two weeks it is then, or considering it is already Tuesday afternoon, thirteen days to be exact,' she said, the slightest of smiles on her porcelain-skinned face.

And despite himself, David nodded. ‘I'll be there, Amanda. You have a date.'

I
t was Sinatra. He was singing ‘Come Fly With Me'. Deirdre McCall could hear it but she could not see it – or rather, him. She must be back at one of his shows. She loved Frank's shows. She remembered one night at The Sands, she had just got her first gig in the chorus line and Frank was performing in front of a wall-to-wall sell-out crowd. He was wearing a fedora, holding a cigarette, his blue eyes bright under the mellow stage lights. He was singing ‘Embraceable You', he was smiling, at
her
, at every starry-eyed woman in the room.

But wait –
no
– that was too long ago. It was back then, before . . . she wasn't sure? Maybe if she could just open her eyes she might be able to . . .