Move to Strike (57 page)

‘You better be right about this, Cavanaugh,' he said.

‘I know him, Joe.'

‘No, you don't, David. Nobody knows this guy, and that's been his advantage all along.'

J
effrey Logan was in exceptionally good spirits. In fact, he could not remember the last time he felt so fine. It had been a great day, topped off by that somewhat self-indulgent gesture he had granted himself, and now this – the appearance of the woman before him,
his
Katherine, wearing both the Bulgari necklace and the Rolex he had sent her weeks before. She was coming around. She was succumbing. He could imagine himself swallowing her – and she tasted good.

‘Katherine,' he said, not hesitating before moving into her hallway and drawing her into an embrace. ‘You look beautiful.'

‘Thank you, Jeffrey,' she said, her arms resting lightly across his shoulders.

‘Did you get my other gifts?'

‘Yes,' she said, stepping back with a smile. ‘Jeffrey, it is all way too much. I should have called to thank you, but it was all so overwhelming. I . . . I don't know what to say.'

‘You could say yes.'

‘To what?' she asked evenly.

‘To the question I am building up to.' He smiled, before shaking his head and leading her down her own corridor. ‘But I am getting ahead of myself. I have had a very productive day and I would like nothing better than to share it with you.'

‘And I with you,' she said, as they entered the living area, Katherine making a detour towards the kitchen to pour them both a glass of wine. And then she hesitated, her attractive face breaking into a frown.

‘What is it, Katherine?' he asked, taking the chilled sauvignon blanc and leading her towards the sofa.

‘Well, I don't know how to tell you this. It really is quite distressing.'

‘You can tell me anything, Katherine.' He ran his hand down the back of her right arm.

‘But – you have been so busy, trying to do what is best for your children and . . . well, it is nothing short of criminal.'

Despite his recent elation, Logan found his own brow starting to furrow. Something was going on, and he had no doubt that David Cavanaugh was behind it.

She began at the beginning – or at least where Detective McKay had instructed her to start – with her general concerns that the children's defence attorneys had an unhealthy view of this case from the outset, that David Cavanaugh's past relationship with Stephanie had robbed him of his ability to be objective. And then she explained how she had always felt quite intimidated in David and Sara's company – she sensed they had a desperate need to ignore the truth that Stephanie was a hardened emotional abuser, which meant they were determined to find somebody else to blame.

‘There is something not right about them, Jeffrey. I know David Cavanaugh has a stellar reputation, but now I think I understand why you were wary of his involvement in the first place.'

‘I agree,' said Jeffrey wholeheartedly. ‘Which is why I applied for that APO.'

‘Yes,' she said, allowing him to take her hand. ‘I know they are losing in court, Jeffrey – and this will all be over soon.'

‘Over in one sense, Katherine.' He gave her a smile. ‘But it will be just the beginning for us.'

‘Yes,' she said, forcing her own mouth to widen. ‘But, the thing is, after today, I . . .'

Katherine diverted her eyes, hoping beyond anything that she was doing what Frank McKay had suggested – drawing Logan out, slowly, carefully, pulling him along with the finest of invisible strings.

‘What is it, my dear?' he asked. ‘What happened today to upset you so?'

‘I . . . I wasn't going to tell you. I mean, you already have so much on your plate but . . . It's Sara Davis, she came to see me – here, at home, while you and her co-counsel were in court.'

Logan shifted in his seat. ‘What did she want?'

‘She wanted to blind me with her lies.' The line was a little over-dramatic but Katherine met Logan's eye and was reassured when he did not flinch. ‘She told me things, Jeffrey, horrible things about you and what you are supposed to have done.'

Logan's eyes narrowed, his dark orbs boring into her own pale brown ones. He was looking into her soul, she knew, but she did not falter, she did not blink.

‘It was awful, Jeffrey,' Katherine went on. ‘She told me they were getting proof that you forced J.T. to murder his mother, that you were the one who altered Stephanie's life insurance policy, and that you framed your own daughter as a co-conspirator and . . . and . . .'

‘What else?' asked Logan, his voice now rising just a little.

‘She said they knew about other things – things you had done in your past, something about your father dying in a car accident – and your mother . . . Jeffrey, they told me she was alive but that someone had recently tried to kill her and . . .'

‘Both my parents died in a car accident a long time ago, Katherine,' said Jeffrey. ‘I told you that when we first met.'

‘I know,' she said, reaching for her wine with her free hand and taking a long, slow drink. ‘So how can they make this stuff up, Jeffrey? I mean, Stephanie, your parents – and then there were their claims about the gun.'

‘What gun?'

‘The one that killed Stephanie, of course – that big-game rifle. She said it was
your
gun, Jeffrey. That you had bought it years ago, under another name, and sold it and bought it back and . . .'

She paused then, trying desperately to read his reaction without giving the game away. But Logan said nothing, merely reached for his own glass of wine and sipped it, slowly, as if rationing every drop.

‘Is that all she said?' he asked.

‘Yes, but she said there was more and they would find proof. I am afraid, Jeffrey. These people are very determined. What if they start making these accusations in public? I mean, we both know they are ridiculous, but if the press gets hold of such claims . . .' And Katherine let that one hang.

‘You have worked too hard, Jeffrey, we both have, to build a career where trust and believability are paramount. But their lies – their dirty filthy fabrications – could do some serious damage if they were to get out. And I would not put it past them to leak this. They are dying in court, Jeffrey, and desperate times call for desperate measures.'

And then she paused again, hoping for some indication of how Logan's complicated mind was reading the information she had shared. But he gave her nothing – a good thirty seconds of pure stoicism, until his features broke suddenly, disconcertingly, into a wide and reassuring smile.

‘Dearest Katherine,' he said. ‘I do not want you to worry. These people are maniacs – slanderous criminals who are committing career suicide by taking the route that they have. You and I both know that the phenomenon of celebrity is both a blessing and a curse – and we have ridden a wave of positivity for a very long time. But everyone faces a storm at least once in their career, my dear, and I am afraid ours is more tumultuous than most.'

Katherine nodded, forcing herself to squeeze Logan's now cool and clammy palm.

‘Sara Davis asked me if I had any other evidence against you, Jeffrey – anything else that would help their cause. But of course there is . . .'

‘Nothing,' finished Logan, his voice resolute.

‘Of course not.' She smiled. ‘Don't worry, Jeffrey, if she calls again I shall not answer the phone, if she knocks I won't be in.'

‘That's a good idea, Katherine,' he said, inching that little bit closer. ‘In fact, I would not open the door to anyone but me until this trial is over. For as Shakespeare once said: “
Love me, trust few
.” '

‘I believe that was “
Love all, trust few
”, Jeffrey,' she found herself correcting him, as he moved towards her.

‘Then consider me your new Shakespeare, Katherine,' he said, his lips
now mere inches from her own. ‘And from here on in, you can stick to my script, the one I am writing especially for you.'

‘Jesus,' said David, pulling one of the headphones from his ears. ‘That Katherine is something.'

‘She is one tough cookie,' agreed Joe as they listened to the disconcerting sounds of Logan and Katherine kissing. ‘And we owe her big time,' he added.

David nodded, his stomach turning with a mixture of revulsion and guilt for forcing Katherine into this corner in the first place. ‘Do you think it was enough?'

‘If it wasn't, this psycho is more in control than we figured. If Barbara is right, the guy should be fighting some very powerful urges right now.'

‘He'll hold on to them until after tomorrow. Considering what Katherine just told him, he'll be bursting to have his say in court.'

‘And then . . . ?' asked Joe, perhaps needing to hear it one more time.

‘Then he'll go for his guns, and we'll be playing shadow every step of the way.'

‘Unless that unknown factor rears its ugly head.'

‘What unknown factor?' asked David.

‘Human nature,' said Joe. ‘The abandonment of logic, the need to hunt, the need to protect, the need to win.'

In that moment, just two miles across the Charles, the ‘unknown factor' was packing herself a bag. Nora Kelly, had just received another call from Tracey Scabo, who had told her that Miss McCall had telephoned once again to assure her she was fine, but also once again refused to divulge her whereabouts. But the savvy Ms Scabo had then ‘Star 69-ed' the last call received, and come up with another 508 number, also based in Chatham.

‘The number belonged to a restaurant known as the Captain's Table,' Scabo had told Nora. ‘They confirmed an elderly woman of Deirdre's description had made a call after a light dinner – before taking off on foot.'

‘Chatham is a small community, dear, she has to be staying nearby.'

‘Yes,' agreed Scabo. ‘I think so too, because the woman at the restaurant said that this was her third meal there, which means she could well . . .'

‘Head for the same restaurant again,' Nora had finished.

And so, knowing there was little she could do in the office, given Arthur and Sara had completed their motion requesting the exhumation of Malcolm Tyler's remains, and David was busy in court, Nora decided to head for Chatham first thing in the morning – in the hope of tracking down Deirdre McCall by nightfall. If she could just talk with the woman she was sure she could convince her that they had the situation in hand. With a little luck she figured she could have McCall safely back here in Boston by this time tomorrow. And she was Irish – and they were always in luck.

‘T
he Commonwealth calls Doctor Victor Siebel,' said Amanda Carmichael, calling her first witness of the day. Siebel was the child psychologist she had hired to examine J.T. and Chelsea Logan, and David knew they were in for a beating.

Carmichael looked particularly fresh and confident this morning – in a pale pink suit and flat ballerina shoes. Her hair was down for the first time all week, and this softer look told David the woman was trying to humanise herself for today's ‘emotional' examination of Doctor Jeffrey Logan. He knew the ADA would want to be seen as a sympathetic bystander when it came to Logan's testimony, simply guiding the skilled orator through the events of the night of eleventh May, allowing his words to wash over the jury who, there was no doubt, were already true believers – devoted Doctor Jeff sympathisers who wanted nothing more than to help this helper of others to finally regain his life.

‘Where is he?' asked Arthur, bending across J.T. to whisper in David's ear.

‘Don't worry, he'll be here,' said David, who had woken his boss early to bring him up to speed on the events of the past night. Jeffrey Logan was yet to make an appearance at court this morning, but David was not concerned. Joe already had two uniforms tailing the famous TV doctor
and as of five minutes ago, his car, along with the driver he had hired to chauffeur him around all week, was still sitting safely just inside the back garage of his Beacon Hill home.

‘Joe's got him covered,' whispered David. ‘Logan's probably going over his lies for this afternoon's one man show.'

Arthur nodded as they both refocused on the events at hand.

Child psychologist Victor Siebel was a cold and opinionated man who seemed to have an answer for everything. Unlike many in his chosen profession he did not appear conducive to the nuances of variation in human behaviour. Rather, Doctor Siebel was one of those annoying individuals who viewed every diagnosis in black and white – and had no problem with labelling David's two clients as amoral assassins from the outset.

‘They are sociopaths,' he said, plain and simple. ‘And no, it is not uncommon for one family to produce two such psychological misfits. Psychiatrists have long believed there is a gene for sociopathy so it only makes sense that every now and again, one family spawns two or more offspring of similar . . .'

‘Objection,' said David. ‘Your Honour, I understand the witness, at the prosecution's request, is giving his own clinical analysis of my clients' psychology.' David wanted to make the point that this man had been hired specifically by the ADA. ‘But I would ask he refrains from talking about the two teenagers next to me as misfits or spawn or . . .'

‘He's right, Doctor Siebel,' said Kessler. ‘Perhaps you would like to rephrase without the dehumanising vernacular.'

‘Your Honour.' It was Carmichael's turn. ‘Doctor Siebel is highly experienced in his field of child psychoanalysis, and as such his terminology . . .'

‘Must be such that it is accessible for the jury and does not unduly prejudice their view of the defendants,' finished an obviously frustrated Kessler. For some reason David got the sense Miss Pretty-In-Pink was pissing the judge off this morning. ‘The objection is sustained. Move on, Miss Carmichael.' Which the ADA did.