by Sydney Bauer
Another shake of those curls. ‘No. Not unless the mother is giving birth to twins.’
Katz stopped in his tracks. The space around him was so still he could almost hear the dust particles dancing in slow motion, trapped in a sunbeam that now fell across the defence table.
Sienna Walker froze. It was like she had only just realised that like those dust particles, she too was trapped in the spotlight.
‘And Mrs Walker,’ Katz continued, ‘was she indeed carrying twins?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the second child?’
‘It was delivered approximately ten minutes after the first. The second baby was healthy, beautiful, just like its sister.’
Katz waited for Cavanaugh to object, but the counsel for the defence had nothing.
‘And this child, was it a boy, a girl?’
‘It was a little boy.’
‘And the birth certificate you signed and gave to Mrs Walker to register, it said as much?’
‘Yes.’
‘But the birth certificate tabled for this court, the same one registered by Mrs Walker to the Massachusetts Registry of Vital Records and Statistics and the Department of Health, it not only recorded the birth of a singular child but also gave your name as Mary Brown.’
‘Yes.’
‘And I gather you do not have any aliases, Miss Malloy?’
‘No.’
‘And to your knowledge this second child, this similarly perfect little boy, did anyone even know this child existed apart from yourself and Mrs Walker?’
Malloy shook her head. ‘Not that I am aware of, Mr Katz.’
‘But then why did you not come forward with this information earlier?’
‘Because I had moved back to Dublin, because I didn't know until recently that anything was amiss – and when I did, well … to be honest I was scared, Mr Katz. Over the past few months, someone has been trying to track me down, through my old employer and my family and friends, and I suppose I feared it was Mrs Walker trying to, you know, convince me to remain silent.’
‘Because you were the only one who could bear witness to the birth of this little boy – the one who went missing on the night of his birth?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you feared what happened to him might happen to you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you think the boy was murdered?’
‘Yes.’
‘By his mother?’
‘Yes.’
Silence held its shaky grip on the room around him for one, perhaps two, maybe even three seconds until Sienna Walker got to her feet behind him. Katz turned to see her lift her chin and look to the heavens and scream at the top of her voice, ‘No!’ And then she turned to her attorney, offering a few quiet words of what must have been a pathetic attempt at an apology, before finally buckling at her knees and collapsing onto the floor.
And as Katz heard her fragile bones crack and the back of her head thud as it hit her chair on the way down, he looked at Cavanaugh but spoke to the Judge behind him in the calmest of voices, ‘I have no more questions for this witness, Your Honor. The prosecution rests.’
3.32 pm
Joe Mannix's breath caught in his throat. He turned to Frank, whose mouth was agape. The gallery was up – literally up, in and even on their seats – as they tried desperately to catch a glimpse of the baby serial killer who had collapsed at her own execution.
The jury were in shock, the Judge was banging his gavel and the media were clambering to get to a door to file the story of the decade.
Joe was shoved left as they passed him, Marc Rigotti catching his eye and shaking his head ever so briefly as he hit the door with the rest of them. The Judge shot to his feet as court security formed a circle around the defendant, and Sara climbed under the defence table in an effort to get to her client.
David dived under the desk also, his body bending low and forming a human shield over Sienna. Joe saw Sara lift Sienna's head and cradle it on her lap as the blood gushed from a wound that sliced across the back of Sienna's head. And then Sara repeated their client's name over and over as David yelled for security to call the paramedics, and Joe whipped out his cell to call for more cops and an ambulance, which was when he saw he had five messages from Arthur in his inbox – and when someone grabbed him hard from the right.
‘Are you Detective Mannix?’ asked the scruffy-haired young man.
Joe shook him loose as Frank grabbed the man's elbow.
‘Who wants to know?’ asked Frank over the hubbub.
‘My name is Dr Lucas Cole. I specialise in genetic research. I work with Lisa Cavanaugh, and her brother got me to check some DNA.’
Joe grabbed the man by the forearm and dragged him hard and fast into the corner. ‘You were testing Hunt's DNA?’
‘Yes.’
‘So …?’ urged Joe as Stein ordered security to clear the room and a team of paramedics banged through the door behind them.
‘It's his, the baby was his. Hunt was the father but that is not why I was told to find you.’
There was so much to take in. The room was hot and thick and pulsing with people pushing in, pushing out, and Joe's eyes moved left and right for the briefest of seconds, catching Leo King now pulling out his badge and offering to help the paramedics.
‘Who told you to find me?’
‘Lisa Cavanaugh.’
Joe frowned, an ache forming in the pit of his stomach. ‘Why?’
Cole swallowed as he tried to get the words out. ‘A girl came into emergency, and she was unconscious, and Lisa knew her, so she rushed to her brother's place and Jesus Christ, man, no one was there.’
The ache became a stab. ‘Who was the girl?’
‘Her name is Stacey Gilmore. She is Sara and David's nanny.’
‘And Lauren?’ Joe clutched at the doctor's shirt then.
‘Lisa said she's gone,’ he said. ‘Holy shit, Detective, these people have taken their daughter.’
3.35 pm
Joe made a split-second decision. He let go of Cole and shoved his cell at Frank. ‘Listen to Arthur's messages,’ he said before turning back to Cole. ‘Get Lisa on your phone for me.’ Joe grabbed Cole again and pulled him out into the corridor where he had a chance of hearing someone on the other end of a cell.
‘Lisa,’ he said.
‘Oh god, Joe,’ said a hysterical Lisa. ‘I can't find her.’
Joe's gut wrenched. ‘Where are you now?’
‘In the street,’ she sobbed. ‘Near David's apartment.’
Joe pictured her, frantic, crying, running around the streets. ‘Stay out front. Have your key to David's place handy. I'm sending some cars.’
He hung up, knowing there was no time for platitudes, before starting to punch in a call to HQ. ‘Frank?’ he said, needing to know what Frank had learnt from Arthur while he was on the phone to Lisa.
Frank said, ‘Davenport has the pregnant girl. They just arrived at the airport. They're in the domestic terminal. Arthur and Madonna are tailing them.’
Joe held up his hand as HQ picked up. He told the desk sergeant to call for an all car response to David's address. He named Lisa as the contact. He said the call had to be treated as a Code 1 abduction. Then he told the sergeant to call him back within the minute as soon as that was done. Then he looked back at Frank.
‘Madonna and Arthur found Davenport at the Eliot,’ Frank continued as they rushed toward the elevators, a nervous Lucas Cole following. ‘They witnessed an exchange between Davenport and an older couple, who arrived at the Eliot in a taxi. Davenport handed over a baby. Arthur had to make a split-second decision – Davenport and the girl, or the couple and the baby. He chose Davenport given they knew the pregnant girl could be in danger. They let the couple go,’ he swallowed, ‘but they took the cab's details.’ He held up the cell indicating that he had them.
Joe shook his head as they got into the elevator. He flashed his badge indicating to the crowd trying to enter that
this ride was for cops and their cohorts only.
Cole pressed the button for ‘G’.
‘Can Madonna identify the couple?’ asked Joe of Frank.
‘She said she'd seen them before. Said they were new clients. She didn't know their names, but that the woman was white and the man was African–American.’
Joe shut his eyes. He knew what Frank was saying. One white parent, one African–American. His cell began to ring just as the elevator hit the ground floor.
‘Sergeant,’ said Joe after he answered, ‘I'm gonna hand you to Frank McKay. He's gonna give you details of a taxi. I want an APB put out on it yesterday.’
‘You want me to divert some of the cars going to the previous address?’ asked the sergeant.
‘I want you to call in everyone you have. I want a three-way split. The Downtown apartment I gave you,’ he said, knowing it was best not to give David's name as calls like this would hit the wires in seconds and he did not want to alert the media to their situation, ‘the taxi cab and Logan domestic.’
A pause. ‘Your priority?’ asked the sergeant, Joe hating the fact that the short-staffed sergeant had to ask.
‘The taxi,’ he said, making a call.
The sergeant rang off as Joe and Frank hit the ground running, which was when Joe noted the doctor behind him.
‘Wait,’ said Cole. ‘Don't you have to tell them?’ he asked, obviously distressed. ‘Jesus, it's their kid. If it was mine, I'd wanna know.’
Joe took a breath. He knew Cole was right. He could have told David back in the courtroom but at that point he knew they had no time to waste and no matter what, his priority was finding Lauren. He knew he could call David himself but the chances of his friend picking up his cell at this point were close to zero. So he turned to Cole to say, ‘You have to tell them.’
Cole physically slumped. ‘Jesus, what the hell do I say?’
‘Tell them Hunt has their daughter but that I will find her.’
Cole ran his hand through his hair. ‘Jesus.’
Joe grabbed him by the shoulders as Frank started up the car. ‘Tell David everything you just heard. Tell him to call me. Tell him I will find her,’ he repeated.
And then Joe got into the car and attached his police-issue light to the roof. And then the siren screamed and Frank slammed his foot on the accelerator and Cole turned and sprinted back inside the courthouse.
3.44 pm
They couldn't revive her. Her heart had slowed and her breathing was shallow, so the paramedics hooked her up with some oxygen and shot her up with a drug David assumed was something like adrenalin. But still her body lay limp.
Sara's face was now tracked with tears. David helped to lift his client onto the trolley bed, his hands smeared with blood.
Sara stood, her skirt sticky with red fluid. She used her middle finger to shift Sienna's hair out from underneath her oxygen mask. The paramedics slammed the trolley bed's wheels into action. They headed for a side entrance where Stein held the large door open. David looked to his left at Leo King, who had been down on all fours with them, before turning back to the paramedics. ‘I want to come with you,’ he said.
‘No room,’ they answered.
‘Then we'll meet you at emergency.’ He thought of Lisa, hoped she was on duty.
Simba stood up next to them and David felt a need to say it. ‘She didn't do this, Simba,’ he said. ‘Before she collapsed, she asked me to make sure her son remained safe.’
Simba said nothing, merely wiped his own bloody hands on his shirt.
‘David!’
David turned toward a voice at the back of the room. It was Lucas Cole. He was being held by two security guards.
‘Let him in,’ said David, but the security guards didn't budge.
‘Do what he says,’ said Leo King as he pulled out his badge.
David rushed toward Cole, Sara following. ‘Lucas,’ he said, starting to offer his bloodied hand but thinking better of it. ‘You have something,’ he said, knowing there was no time to explain why he was standing there covered in his client's blood.
‘I got a match,’ he said.
Leo King pushed forward to join their huddle.
‘Hunt was Eliza Walker's biological father,’ Lucas said after David gave him a nod that he could continue in front of Simba. ‘But that's not …’ he began, his eyes tracking between David and Sara. ‘That's not why I'm here. Joe Mannix told me to come see you.’
David shook his head, confused.
‘Daniel Hunt, the doctor … Davenport – they've taken your daughter and they've … they've sold her,’ said Cole, not knowing how else to say it.
And then Sara began to scream.
3.51 pm
Art rocks – or apparently some idiot thought so. He was at the unusually busy Logan International Airport, weaving quickly toward his departure gate. He was headed for New York, where he would catch a connecting flight to Sydney, Australia. His eventual destination would be Hong Kong but he wanted to take an extra flight using a different passport just to cover his tracks.
He passed another multicoloured rocking chair. Some bright spark with nothing better to do had decided to justify his or her salary by starting an initiative whereby local artists painted the chairs for display in the terminal. The chairs were supposed to reduce traveller stress but he did not need the chairs to relax him. He was light on his feet. His bank account had swollen into the tens of millions thanks to the latest deal and the double-cross he had pulled on Davenport. He knew his friend was bailing. He had chosen the baby over the cash. He was like the dimwit who came up with the rocking chairs.
He took the last available seat at the gate. He was travelling business class so he would get to board very soon. He checked his boarding pass. He was booked under the alias of John Wilcox. His profession was listed as a US marshal, which was why he was allowed to carry his gun. He looked at his watch – another minute or two. And then his attention was caught by a newsflash cutting into local programming on the fuzzy TV hanging on the far wall. And for the first time in his entire life, he hated himself for being right.
3.59 pm
Davenport had decided to fly her out of the US to Ottawa for five reasons. One, he had been savvy enough to arrange precautionary fake passports for himself and Sophia so he knew it was safe to fly international. Two, he knew it was easy to get on a last-minute Air Canada flight to Ottawa's McDonald Cartier Airport. Three, he did not want to be in the air for long in case Sophia went into labour, and the flight to Ottawa was only one and a quarter hours long. Four, he knew he needed some distance between himself and the US of A, and five, because he knew a man in the seedier end of Ottawa's Byward Market who could provide him with a new passport for his soon-to-be-born baby daughter.
They were at an Au Bon Pain. It was packed, but they managed to snaffle two seats in a far corner. Sophia was eating a muffin. She looked pale and confused but he had spun some story about the baby being in danger and that the only one that could help it was a specialist he knew in Canada. He knew the girl was suspicious but her desperation to protect her baby overrode her sense of reason so, so far so good. Until his cell began to ring.
‘Have you seen the news?’ said the voice – the last he wanted to hear.
Davenport said nothing.
‘There was another. A boy. Your screw-up was even bigger than we first thought, Dick. You put the wrong fucking embryo in the wrong fucking woman.’
Dick Davenport went cold, trying to take it in. Oh god, he thought then, this was my mistake after all.
‘I didn't know,’ he said.
‘Well you do now, and as such you can understand that this changes things a little.’
Davenport knew what he was saying and was trying desperately to work a way out. ‘Eliza was enough,’ he said. ‘I can't do this anymore. I don't even care about the money from the latest exchange. You can take it. I will walk away.’
‘Don't be an idiot, Dick. I already took it, so
you have nothing to bargain with bar your life.’
Davenport swallowed. ‘You'll never find me.’
‘Au Bon Pain, Terminal B. I've always admired the efficiency of an airport like Logan,’ he added, ‘domestic, international, the terminals interlocking, connecting both services with aplomb.’
Davenport shot to his feet, knocking over a sugar container on their little table as he did so. He turned his head left and right. Sophia looked up at him. He took a few steps away from her.
‘There were three, Dick, three pieces of evidence – which is not good, my friend, not good at all.’
‘That's not possible. There were only ever two. I may have confused the sexes but …’
‘Best to quit while you're ahead, Dick. The way you are trying to cover your screw-ups – in all honesty, it is kind of pathetic.’ He laughed.
Davenport swallowed. ‘There is nothing you can do to us, not here.’
‘Are you willing to take a chance on that, Dick?’
Davenport took a breath.
‘I can hear it, you know, your brain working in overdrive. You're thinking about the opportunity you missed. You're thinking about the little boy, the genetic complement to the girl your swollen friend there is carrying? You're imagining having the twin-set, playing father to two of the finest genetic specimens on the planet.’
It was true. He was.
‘It isn't going to happen, Dick. None of it is going to happen.’
‘Listen …’ said Davenport, now starting to panic. He was pivoting on his feet, moving around a column, trying desperately to spot the caller. ‘This doesn't have to end this way. I can help you find him – the boy – perhaps the clients are still interested. Perhaps they will pay a premium for him.’
‘Not going to happen, Dick, not after the publicity this case has received. Besides, it's time I finished what I started. I should never have agreed to let you keep the girl, Dick. Eliza, the girl inside your friend Sophia, the missing boy – they all track back to me genetically, and I am afraid that is unacceptable.’
‘For god's sakes – you're talking about your children.’
‘They are evidence, Dick, little time bombs just waiting to explode. They will grow into walking, talking pieces of proof of what we have been up to, Dick, and I for one am not about to let that happen.’