by Sydney Bauer
‘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 Hun
t'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.’
34
‘Turn if off, Gabe,’ called Joe Mannix to his eleven-year-old son Gabriel. Joe was in the kitchen with his wife Marie, Sienna Walker's medical file and Dan Martinelli's forensics report splayed across the table in front of him. Marie was trying to be as quiet as possible as she stacked the lunch plates in the dishwasher – her efforts at keeping the noise to a minimum thwarted by the increasing volume of the argument coming from the living room next door.
‘It's my turn, dumbass,’ yelled Gabe's older brother Stephen, who was obviously pissed at his younger sibling for hogging the much sought after Wii. The altercation had started pretty low key but now sounded like it was accelerating to some sort of brotherly pushing and shoving. And that was where Joe and Marie always drew the line with their four sons – not because the boys could not use some physical pushing and shoving every now and again, but because doing so in the living room usually ended in something getting broken, like a vase or a lamp or a –
Suddenly the phone rang and just as suddenly stopped. Joe knew his eldest son Joe Jr would have scooped it up from the extension in the hall upstairs. Joe Jr was fourteen and had taken a liking to Hudson, a girl down the block, and not for the first time Joe found himself wondering why the hell two seemingly sensible people would name their daughter after a filthy river in New York City.
‘Daaaaad,’ called Joe Jr down the stairwell. ‘It's David, but you have to make it quick because Hudson was meant to call me at eleven.’
It was 11.01.
Joe picked up the phone.
‘It's me,’ said the voice without stopping for a response. ‘I'm on my way over. Do you have the reports?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it's okay if I come?’
Joe paused, but only for a second. ‘You eaten?’ he asked.
‘I had a coffee at Arthur's. Apparently I'm Team Jacob.’
‘Am I supposed to understand what that means?’
‘No.’
‘Okay then. I'll ask Marie to get out what little is left over from breakfast. My kids eat like hyenas.’
‘I don't want to be a pain, Joe.’
‘Since when?’
David managed a laugh. ‘I'll see you in twenty.’
*
‘There's no post-partum depression.’
Joe threw the first report – Davenport's file on Sienna – across the coffee table at David. Marie had taken the three younger boys to a movie while Joe Jr was hanging out with his girlfriend.
David picked up the report.
‘It's well organised – almost anal,’ said Joe. ‘It notes each of your client's visits to Davenport's surgery – the first with her husband close to sixteen months ago.’
‘They wanted to have a baby,’ said David.
‘That's what it says there,’ he said, standing from his armchair to join David on the sofa. ‘But that alone doesn't appear to make sense.’
David moved over so that Joe could find the page he was referring to.
‘Look.’ Joe pointed at Davenport's notes. ‘According to what's written here, Davenport put them straight on the IVF program, but … wouldn't the first step be to test the pair's fertility? I mean, maybe they just hadn't got lucky as yet. Isn't it standard to test the mechanics before you hand over the keys to the car?’
David nodded. It was a good point.
‘Sienna said they both had fertility issues.’
‘That's what Doctor Dick told me as well. So why not test?’
‘I don't know,’ said David. ‘Maybe he did, but he didn't note it?’
But Joe was shaking his head. ‘No. This guy is super organised. The file has been painstakingly constructed. It's full of his various test requests and results and so forth, but none are to do with questioning either Sienna Walker or Jim Walker's fertility.’
‘Maybe they're in his file?’ asked David.
Another shake of the head. ‘Davenport kindly included Jim Walker's file as an adjunct to his wife's,’ he said, flipping to the back of the file to show David a second lot of paperwork enclosed in a plastic sleeve.
‘He volunteered a report you didn't request?’
‘Nice of him, wasn't it?’
But David said nothing.
‘Bottom line,’ said Joe, moving on, ‘according to Davenport's report your client was in good health, physically, emotionally. The pair underwent two unsuccessful IVF cycles using the more complicated ICSI method before falling pregnant with their daughter.’
This was exactly how Sienna had explained it.
‘Each cycle involved Davenport fertilising Sienna's eggs with her husband's sperm to produce embryos which were then implanted back into your client. The first two cycles didn't work, but the third gave them Eliza.’
David considered the irony. ‘She was a miracle.’
Joe nodded. ‘I know it shouldn't, but somehow it makes it worse.’
David knew exactly what Joe was saying. ‘What does Davenport say about the birth?’
‘Very little given Eliza Walker was delivered by a female midwife at home.’
David looked up. ‘Sienna didn't mention that.’ He shook his head. ‘Then again, I didn't ask.’
Joe shrugged. ‘In a physical sense it's irrelevant, given the birth went to plan. But it sure pissed the good doctor off. He's at pains to show that he was the one who monitored the pregnancy, so I guess he felt like he was left at the altar.’
‘Hell hath no fury like a OB/GYN scorned.’
‘Something like that. Davenport justified the snub by claiming your client preferred to have her child delivered by a female.’ He picked up Eliza's birth certificate. ‘The midwife was Irish. Her name was Mary Brown. I tried to track her down but she's gone back to her native Dublin – not that, like I said, it makes too much difference given the birth was relatively smooth, the baby in good health.’
David nodded once again. ‘And after Eliza's birth?’
‘Davenport saw the baby every week or so – eight times in total before her death.’ Joe turned the page to the child's records. ‘Eliza Walker had minor colic, a little reflux, but she was feeding well, and growing at a healthy rate.’
David flicked through the pages. ‘A normal paediatric file,’ he said.
‘Except for the fact that it stops at nine weeks.’
David shut the file and turned to face his friend. ‘This doesn't tell us anything, Joe.’ He paused.
‘But what it doesn't tell us means a lot. Like there's no PPD.’
‘True, but from my standpoint that doesn't really matter. If anything it screws the Kat.’
‘What?’ asked David. ‘The Kat doesn't want to argue PPD?’ This was a major surprise. If the DA wasn't going with PPD as a motive, then what the hell was he planning?
‘It's not like that asshole confides in me, David. But my guess is he's looking for something a little more …’ Joe hesitated, ‘show stopping.’ Joe dropped his eyes, he was getting close to that invisible line, the one David knew he shouldn't push him over.
‘No PPD?’ he had to ask the question. ‘But that means he forfeits the option of securing a guilty verdict for murder two or manslaughter.’ David was thinking aloud – and the process was starting to scare the hell out of him. ‘Jesus – he wants to go for broke so the jury can't rule on a lesser sentence.’
Joe nodded. ‘That's what it looks like.’
A frustrated David ran his fingers through his hair.
‘There is one positive,’ said Joe, perhaps trying to give David something to hold on to. ‘If Katz goes for murder one and murder one alone, a “not guilty” will see your client walk.’ Joe was referring to the fact that, if the DA decided to go for first-degree murder without any lesser charges as alternatives, the jury would not have the ‘fall back’ option. If they decided Sienna Walker was not guilty of murder one – a charge much harder to prove than murder two or manslaughter – then she'd be released.
‘Katz doesn't have a motive, Joe,’ said David, knowing he shouldn't push but unable to stop himself.
‘Not an obvious one.’
David knew what Joe was suggesting – that the DA never needed an obvious motive to push his cases over the line. More than once the DA had resorted to reconstructing the facts to secure the verdict he wanted. And David knew he'd want this one – and want it badly. ‘If he wants a fight I'll give it to him, Joe.’
Joe nodded. ‘I don't doubt it, my friend, but …’ he pointed at the second report before them, ‘if this is any indication, you have your work cut out for you.’
David opened Dan Martinelli's report. ‘Don't tell me. The forensics are as bad as we expected?’ As much as this worried him, it wasn't a surprise.