Authors: Sydney Bauer
32
J
oe Mannix's Roxbury Crossing office was a square-shaped space located to the right of a wide corridor which ran the length of Boston Police Headquarters' expansive third floor. The building itself was a concrete and glass masterpiece, a state-of-the-art, 180,000 square foot mini-city that housed everything from Joe's Homicide Unit to a brightly painted day-care centre – life and death, future and past, hope and despair sitting right there alongside each other, like the unlikeliest of friends.
It was Saturday, February 14 and Frank McKay was seated on Joe's office sofa. He had just opened the third of three Tupperware containers Frank brought with him to work every day – the first containing breakfast cereal, the second fruit salad and the third some complimentary sweet.
‘What is it today, McKay?’ said Joe, knowing his partner would tell him in any case.
‘Blueberry scone,’ said Frank, before his eyes narrowed at the second item in the container. ‘And a candy in the shape of a heart.’ He held up the red foil-covered sweet. ‘It's from Kay.’ McKay's wife's name was Kay. ‘Valentine's Day,’ he said, perhaps noting the crease between Joe's eyes. ‘Jesus, you forgot,’ he said with a shake of his downcast head.
‘Shit,’ replied Joe. ‘But Marie was still asleep when I left the house, so technically …’
‘Oh no, my friend,’ said Frank. ‘There are no technicalities allowed on Valentine's Day.
Joe threw up his hands in surrender. ‘I'll stop for some flowers on the way home.’
Frank nodded before popping the candy into his mouth.
They fell silent. Joe looked at the clock. It was 8.15 am – they had been waiting for forty-five minutes.
‘They'll be here any minute,’ said Frank. He was referring to Sienna Walker's medical records which Davenport had finally handed over to the police. Joe had dispatched a patrol car to pick up the file from Davenport's surgery right on the dot of the twenty-four-hour deadline, which meant it was due back at HQ any second.
‘It's like waiting for a false positive,’ said Frank, ‘for confirmation that what we know
won't
be there
isn't
there, just as we figured.’
Frank was right. Ned Jacobs' assessment – and David's opinion – that Sienna Walker was
not
suffering from PPD was probably correct, which meant Davenport's records should confirm Walker's competency, leaving the twenty-nine-year-old accused even further up the creek without a paddle.
‘The Kat has a hard-on for this woman, Frank,’ said Joe, his mind taking the next logical leap.
‘Forgive my frankness, Chief, but the Kat has never needed a woman to give himself a hard-on. It's all about his lofty goals – Walker is a means to an end and the absence of the baby blues will mean the DA can go for broke.’
Frank was right.
‘Can anybody join this party or do they have to have brought a plate?’
Joe and Frank looked up to see an unexpected visitor standing in the doorway. It was the first time they had seen FBI Boston Field Office Special Agent in Charge Leo King since the meeting in Katz's office, the one during which the DA had railroaded the profiler Jacobs into providing the assessment that suited him – the one during which King had sat mute.
‘You're pissed at me,’ said Simba, as he walked into the room. ‘Listen, Joe,’ he said as he took a seat on the arm of the sofa, ‘I don't like it any more than you do, but our Director is on a PR mission and he has made it very clear that we need to offer all assistance necessary to the local authorities – and that includes Roger Katz.’
‘Katz isn't an authority, he's an asshole,’ said Joe, making no bones about it. ‘And you weren't assisting him in an investigation in there, Simba, you were kissing his arrogant ass. He's gonna milk his association with the Bureau for all it's worth during this trial, and you know it.’
King shook his head. ‘Is that such a bad thing if it helps build a case against the accused? I mean, from what I'm hearing the evidence is stacked against her.’
‘The medical records are yet to be examined,’ began Joe, ‘the preliminary forensics don't come in until late this afternoon and the ME won't be finished with the autopsy until sometime later today. Walker has entered a plea of not guilty and there's no indication that is about to change given –’
‘Given our friend Cavanaugh is her lawyer and he only defends the innocent?’ finished King with the slightest shake of his head. ‘Have you spoken to him?’
‘We've shared a word or two,’ answered Joe.
‘He was railroaded into this one, Joe. I know, because I was there. Maybe, given recent discoveries, he'll request to be removed.’
‘He hasn't dumped her yet, Simba,’ said Joe. ‘Maybe he believes her.’
‘Does that worry you?’
‘Should it?’
‘The guy does have a knack for calling it.’
Joe said nothing.
‘But he's not a time-traveller, Joe – he can't place himself in that nursery and prove she didn't do it.’
‘I wouldn't count on that, Leo,’ said Joe, meeting King's wide brown eyes.
But King did not respond, instead he gave Joe the slightest of shrugs in acknowledgment. ‘I need a favour,’ he said after a pause.
‘You want me to shine the Kat's shoes for you, Simba?’ asked Joe.
King managed a smile. ‘I need you to keep me up to date on this one – like you said, I threw Ned Jacobs in the deep end so, at the very least, I owe it to him – and the Bureau – to keep my head around how the Kat will be using us in court.’
Joe shook his head. ‘I didn't know lion cubs could do a back-pedal, Simba.’
‘It's not a back-pedal, Joe – it's me covering my ass. I might have overindulged in our hospitality.’
‘Well at least you admit it,’ said Joe.
King smiled once again. ‘So we're good?’ he asked as he got to his feet, moving aside as a uniform entered Joe's office to hand Joe the oversized envelope they'd been waiting for.
‘I'll keep you in the loop,’ Joe finally conceded, knowing that most of the time King hated playing politics almost as much as Joe did. ‘But, Leo,’ he added, a final thought coming to him as the Bureau Chief turned to leave. ‘If I need your help in return, I'm assuming that that hospitality you were talking about extends to the BPD as well.’
‘Under the Kat's radar?’ asked King.
‘If necessary,’ replied Joe.
King shook his head. ‘What he doesn't know won't hurt him,’ he replied, before turning and walking out the door.
Joe didn't waste a second before reaching for the envelope and ripping at its seal.
33
A
rthur Wright lived in a comfortable two-storey wood shingle home in Cambridge's Harvard Square. The house was painted a subtle tone of grey, with glossy white accents around the windows. The garden was wild but controlled, with stepping stones weaving their way in and out of the undergrowth until they reached the awning-covered front door. The outside smelt of soil and dew and wet oak, the inside of cigars and aged whisky and the spent embers that now glowed blue in the antique fireplace before them.
This Saturday morning meeting had been David's idea. He was here to spell out Sienna Walker's story to his mentor, boss and friend. When it came down to it, David probably respected Arthur's opinion over all others – most likely because Arthur had become a sort of father figure to David over the past fifteen years, a man who understood him, unlike his own father who, despite his best efforts, had always found his second son a mystery.
David prefaced Sienna's story by explaining that her delay in sharing was simply because of her fear of what the consequences of telling it would be. He knew Arthur would be sceptical, which was why he was determined to take it one step at a time, beginning at that moment when Daniel Hunt first entered the Walkers' lives.
‘Daniel Hunt first met Jim Walker when he took over Capital Consolidated back in early 2009. He kept Walker on for one reason and one reason only – because Walker was smart, savvy and, more importantly, he looked after the wealthiest of CC's impressive list of clients.’
‘And these clients expressed a desire to stick with Walker,’ said Arthur.
‘Yes – they were impressed by him. He was already working on ways to pull them out of the hellhole that was the 2008 crash. He was starting to recoup their losses.’
‘The financial wizard,’ said Arthur.
‘He would have been running CC by thirty-five if it hadn't gone under.’
Arthur nodded for David to go on.
‘As Sienna tells it, one of Walker's clients was a man named Markus Dudek. Dudek was a seventy-two-year-old capital investment entrepreneur famous for taking risks and reaping the benefits. He was one of those sons of Polish immigrants who took the determination of his parents and turned it into the American Dream – a dream that now includes a portfolio to the value of somewhere near 2.3 billion dollars.’
Arthur raised his eyebrows. ‘That's some account balance,’ he said.
‘And some commission for the middle-man who facilitated Dudek's investments.’
‘Walker.’
David nodded. ‘Dudek liked Walker from the get-go. He liked the way Walker thought outside the box. And in turn Walker became close to the old man whose fortune he nurtured with an inspired mix of caution and imagination.’
Arthur nodded. ‘And after Capital Consolidated fell over? After it was taken over by Hunt?’
‘Hunt saw an opportunity. He knew that there was only one way to get his slice of Markus Dudek's fortune and that was via Walker, the conduit to Dudek's cash.’
‘Okay,’ said Arthur, cupping his oversized coffee mug – one of two given to him by his teenage niece – Arthur's reading ‘Team Edward’. ‘So Hunt saw this Dudek as his cash cow by default, but Walker was working for Hunt now, so he must have reaped the benefits of such a wealthy client by default.’
But David was already shaking his head. ‘No.’
‘No?’
‘Dudek was eccentric, a control freak, and he'd only deal with Walker, which meant Hunt was pretty much cut out.’
‘So Walker was making money Hunt saw as his own.’
‘In a way – but more to the point, Hunt saw Dudek as an opportunity that was not being milked to its full potential. This wasn't so much about the assets that Walker brought to Hunt and Associates, but more about the obstacles that prevented Hunt from doing what he wanted with those assets.’
A now intrigued Arthur gestured for David to go on.
‘By mid 2010 things started to take a turn for the worse. Dudek got greedy. His post-crash investments were making solid returns but the man didn't want solid, he wanted fireworks. Dudek wanted Jim Walker to stretch his imagination further, to seize on new opportunities even if they were outside the boundaries of the law. And while Walker was loyal to his client, he made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that he was not interested in stepping outside the boundaries set by the multitude of law enforcement authorities who watched the market for fair trading breaches like hawks. Sienna said he was adamant about it, despite the pressure he was under to acquiesce.’
‘And did Hunt find out about this squabble?’
David nodded. ‘Walker actually went to him for advice, and Hunt told him to back off, give Dudek time to cool his heels.’
Arthur nodded once again. ‘So Hunt moved in,’ he said.
‘For the kill,’ answered David. ‘Within hours of that conversation Hunt was on a plane to New York where Dudek is based. Hunt was impressive. He told Dudek everything he wanted to hear, including suggesting that he was willing to go where Walker would not. Don't forget Hunt was better connected than Walker. His contact list is huge. There's his top-notch clients, his friends in banking, investment, politics, the federal reserve.’
But Arthur's face was folding into a grimace. ‘Hold up there, David. If this is going where I think it is, you are about to accuse Daniel Hunt of using his inside knowledge for profit. And if so my question is – why the hell would he bother? The man is obviously making money hand over fist.’
‘True,’ agreed David. ‘But not in the realm of a Markus Dudek – we are talking big dollars here, Arthur. Think about it,’ said David, now pushing an old cushion aside so that he could lean that inch further toward his mentor. ‘Hunt's clients include tobacco multinationals, electronics corporations, drug companies, car manufacturers and, more importantly, powerful international banks who trusted Hunt and his employees to make important strategic decisions on their behalf. He knew things, Arthur, confidential things that if thrown together could make a speculator millions – hundreds of millions in the case of a man like Dudek.’
‘But if this happened there should be proof of it – trades made by Dudek that reflect what he and Hunt were up to. That sort of information is public record, David, so I am gathering you have …?’
‘Looked into it?’ finished David. ‘I've started to. And admittedly nothing stands out at this point. But this only began a few months ago, Arthur, and my guess is, before Hunt got busy he wanted to rid himself of any obstacles that could ruin his chances of success.’
‘Obstacles plural or obstacle singular?’ asked Arthur, once again seeing where David was taking him.
‘Singular, at least to start with. It didn't take long for Jim Walker to realise what was going on and a late night visit to Hunt's office, where he accessed his boss's emails, confirmed it.’
But Arthur was shaking his head. ‘No. A man like Hunt would not be that stupid.’
‘You're right, which is why the communication between Hunt and Dudek was in some sort of code. But Walker read between the lines, he knew what was happening, Arthur, even if he didn't have proof.’
Arthur ran his hand through his mop of grey hair, the look in his steel-coloured eyes suggesting that this was all just a little too convenient – square pegs where they should be, same going for the round. ‘Sienna told you all of this?’
‘Her husband confided in her, Arthur. I mean, who else was he going to tell?’
‘I understand that, David, but – and correct me if I am wrong – you are about to take a leap here that catapults Daniel Hunt from the category of a noughties Gordon Gekko to a killer of men and their children.’
‘Is that so hard to believe? Hunt found out that Walker was wise to him – and let's face it, he had way too much to lose. He sent Walker on that business trip – he set up his death to make it look like it was an accident – and then, given he knew Walker's relationship with his wife was a close one, he set about silencing Sienna, taking the only thing she had left to hold on to as a warning to keep her mouth shut.’
But once again Arthur was protesting, his finger now up and shaking as if to say David had seriously overstepped the mark. ‘No – that doesn't make sense, David. If you are right, then killing the child didn't help Hunt, it just took away his collateral. In this scenario Sienna had nothing to lose by coming forward and telling the authorities what she knew.’
‘True, but Hunt is cleverer than that, Arthur. He killed the child to set up the mother. Who in their right mind would believe this story if they were convinced of Sienna's guilt? Hunt is being careful, perhaps delaying Dudek's strike on the market until Sienna has been convicted and put away for good. She doesn't have a leg to stand on, Arthur. The man has every base covered. He even set me up as her defence counsel so that I would dump her, and in effect consolidate her culpability.’
‘You have no proof of that, David.’
‘In the end that doesn't matter, because I am no longer playing to his script.’
David finally leant back on the old sofa behind him, allowing the soft cushions to swallow him, exhausted by the discussion.
‘I'm sorry, son,’ said Arthur after a time. ‘I don't mean to be negative, but you have to understand, this theory, it comes solely from our client – the accused – and even if it was from an independent source it would still be …’
‘Hearsay,’ finished David, frustrated by Arthur's logic. ‘Speculation.’ He threw up his hands.
‘That and very difficult to prove. You go into court with a tale like that and Roger Katz will have you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.’
‘So we start from the beginning, we back up the truth with evidence.’
‘And how exactly do you propose to do that, son? By talking to this Dudek? By hacking into Hunt's emails? If you are right, these people have their tracks well and truly covered.’
‘They have to have stuffed up somewhere, Arthur. Take Walker's death, for example. The coroner down in Maryland ruled it accidental because he had no reason to think otherwise, but if you come at it from this new angle, from an alternative point of view …’
‘You're going to waltz down to Maryland and attempt to show their police, their forensics teams, their ME and their coroner how to suck eggs?’
‘Not me,’ said David.
‘Not you?’
‘Joe.’
‘You've enlisted the help of the lead investigator for the prosecution?’
David could not help but smile. ‘It cost me breakfast at Myrtle's.’
Arthur went to argue, but in the end he just sat back and drained his mug. ‘If I say tread carefully, will it make any difference?’ he asked after a time.
‘Has it ever?’ asked David.
Arthur shook his head with a weary smile. ‘All right then, but promise me you'll look before you leap, son. It's Valentine's Day. Go home, make your wife a late breakfast – and listen to her reasoning when she tells you to hold up.’
David nodded. ‘Okay, but it'll have to be a late lunch considering I'm gonna head over to Joe's to see if he has Martinelli's forensics report. It was meant to come in late last night.’
‘Your wife is a saint, David.’
‘And her husband knows it,’ he said as he got to his feet. ‘Don't worry, Arthur. I'm all over this thing.’
‘That's what I'm afraid of.’