Move to Strike

by Sydney Bauer

  ‘Almost there,’ said Harrison, the first words he had spoken in over half an hour. All that Harrison would tell David was that they were meeting Tony in Plymouth. And David, knowing that was where J.T. Logan’s detention unit was located, decided not to push any further, hoping Tony had actually gone out on a limb and got him some sort of quasi-communication with the young boy he wanted so desperately to represent.

  But his hopes were dashed as Harrison turned off just before the large block structure that was the DYS Plymouth Juvenile Detention Unit. David immediately asked where the hell they were going, and Harrison, who had obviously had enough as he pulled into a roadside diner parking lot, looked David squarely in the face.

  ‘I have never broken the law before,’ he said. ‘I come from four generations of attorneys and I could lose my licence over you.’

  Despite Harrison’s misery, David felt his heart rise again and he nodded. ‘Thanks.’

  Moments later they were inside, David looking desperately around the sparsely populated diner for the man whose friendship he was now feeling incredibly guilty for doubting. Then Tony Bishop, sitting in a far corner booth, lifted his head with a nod, before leaning across the table to tell his companion that the person they were waiting for was here.

  And in that moment, as an incredibly thin, pale-skinned J.T. Logan turned and rose up on his knees so that he could see David approaching from over the top of the high-backed booth, the young man’s eyes met his, and for the first time since David had known him, J.T. Logan smiled.

  Moments later, Harrison having chosen a separate table way at the other end of the room, David was in a huddle with his friend and the young teen who looked more like a child than ever. And after several questions regarding J.T.’s welfare, David finally got to the point.

  ‘How many ways are we breaking the law here?’

  ‘I lost count when I hauled J.T. from the detention unit next door. Told them I was his attorney, said I was transporting him to a private conference with the ADA.’

  David nodded. ‘I hate to state the obvious, but I am in breach of the APO,’ he said, referring to the abuse prevention order still in place against him.

  ‘Yeah well, that’s our first order of business – reversing the 209A.’

  ‘I appreciate the sentiment, Tony, but in case you haven’t noticed, neither of us is a judge and . . .’

  ‘No, but I was lying when I said I was lying before – when I told you about pulling J.T. here from Plymouth, about meeting the ADA.’

  ‘He does have a meeting with the ADA?’ said David, just as it hit him. ‘Jesus, Tony, has Logan convinced the kids to plea?’ David knew that although J.T. was sitting right next to him, this was no time for platitudes and he figured J.T. was smart enough to know that too.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tony, immediately dashing David’s hopes. ‘And no,’ he finished before looking quickly at his watch.

  ‘Tony,’ said David. ‘I still don’t . . .’

  But Tony was already on his feet, lifting his right hand in greeting to two other visitors who had just entered the front door of the diner.

  David swivelled in his chair so that he might see them, and blinked twice just to make sure they were real – ADA Amanda Carmichael and behind her the prettiest red-haired teenager David had seen since he first met her mother all those years ago, Chelsea Logan.

  49

  ‘Doctor Taylor was adamant,’ said a breathless Lisa Cavanaugh, putting away the sugar before walking around the kitchen annexe and handing Nora Kelly a cup of English Breakfast tea. After Sara had called the office to explain she was off to the doctor, with Lisa Cavanaugh (who had swapped shifts with the afternoon nurse) as her companion, Nora had promised she would pop by at lunch – which, of course, she did.

  ‘Sara has to take it easy,’ Lisa continued. ‘So I am telling you, and my workaholic brother when I can get him on the phone, so that this one here . . .’ she said, gesturing at Sara, who was now sitting rather awkwardly on her sofa, ‘. . . does not do too much!’

  ‘She’s right, dear,’ said Nora, looking at Sara.

  Lisa nodded, before grabbing her bag, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder and heading for the door.

  ‘Keep at her, Nora,’ she said, winking. ‘And you call me if you need anything,’ she pointed to Sara. ‘And tell my brother he is an inconsiderate ass.’

  And with that she was gone.

  The truth was, Sara was worried – about the baby, about herself, about David and his obsession with this case, about her lack of contribution at work, about what the manipulative Jeffrey Logan might be up to next, and about Nora who, despite her attempts at bravado, was obviously still wracked with the misplaced guilt of ‘being responsible’ for the McCall woman’s fate.

  This was not going the way it was supposed to. She was pregnant – a mere three weeks away from giving birth – and she and David were meant to be happy, excited, ecstatic, fulfilled! But ever since Stephanie Tyler’s death, David had been different. It was as if a dark cloud had descended upon him, growing thicker and heavier each day. His feeling of responsibility to save those kids, to avenge his friend’s death, was now at the point of fixation, despite the danger it might be putting him in, and, by association, her and their unborn baby as well.

  David had been away for most of the day and had not yet bothered to call. Lisa had tried his cell three times but got his voice mail at every attempt. And Nora, despite her efforts to make light of it, did not know where he was – which meant he could be anywhere with anyone and, despite herself, Sara saw a quick flash of the beautiful Amanda Carmichael streaking swiftly through her mind.

  She re-focused. ‘I’m okay, Nora, really.’

  Nora smiled. ‘No, dear,’ she replied. ‘No, you are not.’

  ‘The doctor said I would be fine. Just that I have to rest a little more. The baby is almost to term but Doctor Taylor said she would prefer it if he or she had that extra couple of weeks . . .’

  ‘It’s not the baby I am worried about. This is not good for you, Sara. This case, this pressure, young David’s determination to . . .’ But Nora stopped there, obviously not wanting to state what they both knew to be true.

  ‘What is it about this one?’ Sara asked. ‘I mean, he has always been determined but even on his toughest of cases, he still manages to see past it – to see me.’

  ‘And he still sees you, Sara. It is just that this one – well, there are children involved and he is about to become a father and, sometimes, men like David, they want to make a better world for the child that they have created and that results in their priorities going a little askew. He is afraid, Sara, of not doing enough.’

  ‘I know,’ said Sara. ‘So afraid that he is not doing enough.’

  Nora nodded, before taking Sara’s hand and pulling her into a hug.

  ‘I have a bad feeling about this, Nora,’ said Sara after a time.

  And the normally comforting Nora did not reply – her silence telling Sara she was thinking: Me too, dear, me too.

  50

  ‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Amanda Carmichael, staring at the two hugging teenagers before her. The minute Chelsea Logan had walked into the room, J.T. had turned in his seat, climbed over David and run directly towards his sister. And now the pair stood right in the middle of the diner, their heads buried in each other’s shoulders, the slight vibrations in their bodies telling David that both were now sobbing.

  ‘Jesus, Tony, everyone is watching. Someone needs to pull those two apart,’ Amanda continued. And while her tone was cool, David saw in her eyes the slightest tinge of discomfort – perhaps at being witness to such a raw outpouring of emotion. Or maybe it was embarrassment, considering her job was to see these two kids were separated for the rest of their lives.

  ‘Amanda,’ said David, now rising from his bench. ‘I am not too sure how or why you swung this but, honestly, I am so grateful.’

  ‘Shut the hell up, Cavanaugh,’ she barked, sw
ivelling on her high heels to address him face to face. Then she swallowed, and David knew that this woman – this incredibly beautiful, highly manipulative, extremely ambitious woman – was trying desperately to ‘recover’. And David guessed that as much as she would never admit it, putting these two kids together had got to her.

  ‘Don’t for one second think my arranging this little get-together has anything to do with my concern for you or for the Logan children’s futures. In case you have forgotten, I am the lead prosecutor in this case and I will do everything in my power to make sure these two murderers are sent away for life.’ Another swallow.

  ‘My interest here, Cavanaugh, is not with if, but how I get this done. Bishop might have told you I had the chance to take a plea, or square off against a man who should have done the world a favour by turning off his pacemaker years ago. But this case is my ticket to the big league, and that ticket is worth all the more if I whip your ass.’ She took a step forward then, her body mere inches from his.

  ‘So you can have your five minutes with these matricidal maniacs, and if they consent to withdrawing their statements against you, I will talk to the district judge and get that APO reversed. Then you can defend Dick and Jane here with all the determination you can muster, and then I will bring you down – all three of you – and you will wish that you had made certain decisions differently, and regret your mistakes for the rest of your Goddamned life.’

  Every now and again, when the extremeness of a situation calls for it, when the pressure is so tight, the risks so high, the human body has the ability to rise above its current circumstances and transcend to a completely different universe where reality ceases to exist.

  As Amanda and Tony turned to join Harrison, and as J.T. and Chelsea took their seat in the bench across from him and instinctively drew themselves into his huddle, David felt it – felt the three of them remove themselves from the environment around them so that they might finally say what needed to be said.

  While David was terrified that the sheer force of Jeffrey Logan’s power might still be enough to paralyse his children into submission, he hoped that this reunion – the combined force of J.T. and Chelsea’s dedication to each other and perhaps, ironically, the sense of freedom they felt to be out of their father’s house – would finally give them the courage to tell it as it was.

  ‘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 hol
ding 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.’