Undertow

by Sydney Bauer

  Over time, Moses wondered if their friendship was a friendship at all, or rather just a case of Rudi needing a lap dog in college. Back in College he thought the relationship made him look cool, now he realised it made him look like a chump.

  In fact, it wasn’t until years later that Rudi resurfaced, as a US Senator – rich, famous and powerful to boot, his friends all in similar categories.

  In 1992, attorney at law Moses Novelli left Foley, Simmons, Grasso and Novelli to set up his own practice Downtown. He became involved with local politics, attending public meetings at City Hall, befriending councilmen and women with similar sensibilities and eventually acting as a legal council to the then Mayor of Boston.

  By the late 1990s he had become one of the more popular and influential fringe figures in local government. He was seen as a man with vision and energy, his strength in conviction enhanced by his personable manner and obvious love for the city. And so, when the opportunity arose, it seemed only natural that he run for Mayor and his victory, driven by his working class supporters, was overwhelming. Little Jimmy was now a force to be reckoned with and that’s when Clark reappeared.

  The Haynes had moved meanwhile from Beacon to Chestnut Hill, keeping the old family residence as their inner city home whilst enjoying the newfound luxury of a ‘mansion expanse’ New England style.

  ‘You must come to Highgrove for dinner,’ Rudi had said, in his best rendition of the ‘we should have done this sooner’ song, to a tune as original as it was contrived.

  Moses guessed asking him to be his daughter’s godfather was linked to his strong Catholic background. The Haynes’ were Episcopalian and Moses was a conduit to the powerful working-class Catholic element which, in a post-Kennedy era, held its own political sway in Massachusetts. Not that Moses didn’t take his responsibilities seriously. Christina grew up calling him Uncle Mo and he made sure he was very much part of the little girl’s life.

  But he was not stupid. He knew the request to read at the service was Clark’s way of telling the people of Boston that their mayor was behind him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had a little something on US Chief of Staff Bryant either, otherwise he doubted she would have attended the funeral in the first place. But then Rudi made everybody else’s business his own. It was how he got things done.

  One thing is for sure, he would hate to be in David Cavanaugh’s shoes right now.

  Novelli looked at the message note again, knowing he should call, and took a deep breath before reaching for the receiver and poising his finger to punch the number. It will all be over in a few minutes, he told himself, just dial the number.

  He watched as his hand retreated as he put the receiver back on the hook and told his secretary he would not be taking any more calls for the day. He felt the irony of guilt seep into his veins and did his best to chase it away before Jimmy Olsen returned.

  ‘I’m not his little man anymore,’ he said out loud before tidying his desk, gathering his coat and his briefcase and walking towards his office door. ‘So long Jimmy,’ he whispered to himself. ‘The super hero ain’t so super after all.’

  10

  ‘It could just as easily have been me.’

  Mariah’s mother, Elise Jordan, was an attractive woman in her forties who could have passed for thirty-five. She smiled graciously at David and Sara as she led them through her sprawling two-storey Providence home and onto the sun-drenched back patio.

  The past week had been hectic as the defence team had started to put their case plan together. The success of any defence often came back to administration – keeping up-to-date files, well-labelled folders, accounting for every piece of discovery and evidence. These clerical duties sounded mundane, but they more often than not became the saviour of an attorney at trial who had to access small details at a minute’s notice. Further, every file and folder would all be used again if there was need for an appeal – which they were hoping would not be the case.

  Sara and David had thrown themselves into their work, fallen into a rhythm that well-oiled teams often do. Neither of them had mentioned that night in his car, and there were moments when David wondered if he had imagined what seemed at the time to be a mutual attraction. And then there were those insensitive comments he made in Arthur’s office. Comments he wished he could take back.

  Whatever the case, he knew this was no time for distractions, and if Sara did not feel the same way he did, then he would have to settle for the solidarity that came with the determination to set this thing right.

  Today’s ‘chat’ with Mariah was their first major interview and as such would be recorded and noted, scrutinised and tabled.

  ‘Honestly,’ Elise Jordan continued. ‘It could have been Mariah’s birthday. Ewan sails quite a bit. He could have taken the kids to the Cape and he could be sitting in prison right now.’

  ‘We know what you mean, Mrs Jordan,’ said David.

  ‘Call me Elise, please.’

  ‘Elise, that’s the frustrating thing about this case, it could have happened to anyone but Rayna is being placed as the scapegoat.’

  ‘Rayna Martin is one of the best people I know. Her daughter is a delight. Do you have children, Mr Cavanaugh?’

  ‘It’s David and no Ma’am.’

  ‘Well, when you do you’ll know how wonderful it is to see your child befriend other good people. Mariah boards at Milton, the commute from Providence is just that little too far. But just knowing Rayna is short drive away from the school gives me comfort. I know my daughter is safe at the Martin home and I hope Rayna feels the same way about us.’

  ‘I’m sure she does,’ said Sara.

  ‘Well, that’s nice to know.’

  Elise Jordan passed the biscuit tray and went on. ‘All right then, I understand you two are very busy and as much as I am enjoying your company I know you want to speak with Mariah. If it’s all right with you, I’ll play silent witness, just for moral support. She’s had a tough week and I think it might relax her a little if I sit quietly in the background.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Sara.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll just go call her. Help yourself to some more iced tea.’

  A moment later Elise returned with her daughter – a tall, poised, younger version of her mother. Her arms were long and graceful and she walked with a calm assurance which most young girls did not acquire until they were older and more comfortable in their own skin. She had shoulder length brown hair and large brown eyes.

  ‘Hi, Ms Davis,’ said Mariah recognising Sara from her visits to Teesha’s house.

  ‘Hi Mariah, and you know you can call me Sara. How are you doing?’

  ‘Okay, I guess.’

  ‘This is my friend David Cavanaugh, he’s the guy trying to get Mrs Martin home to Teesha,’ said Sara, obviously trying to put the girl at ease.

  ‘I know. How do you do, Mr Cavanaugh?’

  A teenager with manners, now there’s a treat, he thought.

  ‘I’m fine, Mariah. Has your mom explained that we want to ask you a few questions about what happened at Teesha’s party?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do anything I can to help.’

  Immediately David realised this girl, at sixteen, should not be treated like a child. She stood tall, sat with a straight back, held her arms neatly on her lap and relaxed her shoulders. She was slightly nervous but determined to help and, according to Teesha, one of the smartest girls in her class.

  ‘I know what Francie has been saying. I have read all the papers and watched the news.’

  ‘Okay,’ said David. ‘Then if it’s all right with you, let’s start with one of the most important issues we have to cover and backtrack from there.’

  Mariah nodded.

  ‘Mrs Martin was the last person to talk with Christina. Christina urged Mrs Martin to leave her in the water so that she might go to you three immediately. Christina said she was worried about Francie, the fact you girls had taken off your life jackets.’

  ‘That’s r
ight. Chrissie would say that. She was very considerate. She was also a great swimmer. Me, I’m pretty hopeless, but she was on the ‘A’ squad at school and could swim a fifty freestyle faster than most of the seniors.’

  ‘Right. Now, you are probably aware that the prosecution are claiming this conversation never happened. They say Mrs Martin saw Christina from The Cruisader, but that she was already unconscious. And that she chose to leave her there so she could rescue you three. Because you were black . . .’

  ‘And she was white.’

  ‘That’s right,’ David nodded. ‘So you can understand how important it is that we establish the true content of that final conversation and that Mrs Martin is not a racist.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right, well, that’s a good start. Now, let’s go back to the beginning, from the time you arrived at Teesha’s house.’

  ‘I’m happy to do that, Mr Cavanaugh, but before we go on, I think I should tell you something.’

  ‘Sure,’ said David.

  Mariah took a deep breath and sat up even straighten ‘I cannot confirm that Mrs Martin had a final conversation with Christina.’

  They all paused a moment, waiting for her to go on.

  ‘I have wracked my brain trying to remember something, anything that gave me that impression. But she didn’t mention the conversation.’ Mariah obviously noted the horrified looks on their faces. ‘I never assumed it didn’t take place but it’s just that she never really told us about it.’

  David and Sara were speechless.

  ‘Believe me, Mr Cavanaugh, I want to remember it. I am sure that it happened, but all I remember is Mrs Martin say that Chrissie was floating next to the cruiser . . . floating,’ she said the word again. ‘I am so sorry, but my mom and dad told me to tell the truth. They said “tell the truth and everything will be okay”. But it won’t will it? I am just as bad as Francie.’ A single tear started its way down her left cheek, gliding smoothly over her young, unblemished skin.

  ‘It’s okay, baby,’ said Elise, wrapping her arm around her daughter.

  ‘I am so sorry, please forgive me,’ she said again. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  The silence was broken by the simultaneous shriek of two cell phones chiming in uninvited clashing tones. Everyone flinched as the jarring sounds sliced into the quiet.

  ‘That’s me,’ said Sara who had jumped an inch out of her white patio chair.

  ‘Me too,’ said David. ‘Would you excuse us for a minute Mariah, Elise?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Mariah, glad for the break and wiping her eyes with a small white handkerchief her mother had pulled from her pocket.

  David pressed receive. ‘Cavanaugh.’

  ‘David, it’s Arthur. Katz has his indictment.’

  So Katz had waltzed Francie Washington straight from the arraignment to an audience with the grand jury – and her statement had been convincing enough to give the DA their precious go ahead. It was official. They were headed for trial.

  ‘How much time do we have?’

  ‘I would expect Katz or Scaturro to contact us on Monday. They’ll want a trial before the year is out and Judge Stein will probably clear his docket to accommodate them. I tend to agree with you David, a speedy proceeding might work to our benefit as well.’

  There was a pause. ‘David, are you there?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry Arthur. I was just thinking. We have a problem with Mariah Jordan.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ll explain later. You around this evening?’

  ‘What else would I be doing on a Friday night – dancing the tango with Ginger Rogers?’

  ‘I think poor old Ginger is dead, Arthur.’

  ‘Then I am definitely free. See you then.’

  Sara had come up behind him. He turned to tell her about the indictment but stopped short when he saw the look of shock and confusion on her face.

  ‘What is it?’ he said, instinctively putting his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘That was my dad on the phone.’

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘Yes, I mean, no . . . it’s my brother Jake. He’s been arrested.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘For possession – cocaine. I know him inside out, David, my brother doesn’t do drugs. There must be an explanation.’

  ‘Where did they find the cocaine?’

  ‘Dad wasn’t making much sense, something about Jake being pulled over and the drugs being in the glove compartment of his car.’

  ‘Why was he pulled over?’ David was already thinking like a lawyer. Could they prove the search was unlawful?

  ‘I asked Dad the same thing. He’s at police headquarters. He’s confused, so I got him to get the charge sheet and read it to me.’

  ‘And . . .’

  ‘That’s what’s weird. He wasn’t pulled over by uniform cops, but by an unmarked car – detectives.’

  ‘What? Why would they?’

  ‘That’s not all. The detective that pulled him over and found the drugs . . . it was Detective Petri.’

  ‘A homicide detective playing traffic cop?’

  ‘Apparently he said he thought Jake’s rear right brake light was out. But he’s the same guy that arrested Rayna. It’s not right. Tell me I’m being paranoid but . . .’

  ‘We’ll soon find out. Let’s apologise to the Jordans and . . .’

  ‘No David, you stay, I’ll be stuck in processing all afternoon. God, he’ll probably be held overnight. There is nothing you can do right now. Finish the interview. You know it’s the most sensible thing to do. I’ll call you later.’

  David knew she was right, there was probably nothing either of them could do until tomorrow and he didn’t want to break Mariah’s momentum.

  ‘Well, you take my car. It’s over an hour’s drive,’ he said.

  ‘How will you get back?’

  ‘I’ll work something out. Just go.’

  She moved forward and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace so natural it caught him by surprise.

  ‘Give my apologies, will you? And David, thanks.’

  ‘It’ll be okay. Just promise you’ll call.’

  ‘Now . . . the napkins,’ said Deloris Du Bois. ‘We could go with either red, white or blue. My personal preference is a combination of all three so the overall appearance gives a scattered effect of our national colours.’

  The Senator could not believe he was sitting here listening to this.

  ‘Of course, the flowers will be white. No question. But I think the . . .’

  ‘Ms De Bra,’ he said calmly.

  ‘It’s Du Bois Senator.’

  ‘With all due respect Ms De Bra, I don’t give a crap about the colour of some God-damned napkins. Red, white, blue, pink . . . hundreds of little American flags – I couldn’t care less.’

  ‘Well, Sir, we couldn’t go with the flags because people would be wiping their mouths on them and it may be a little inappr—’

  ‘Don’t you get it? I’m busy. I have staff for these matters. Go see my wife, see my secretary Louise, see any of my endless number of employees who probably know a hell of a lot more about organising a banquet than I do.’

  She sat a few seconds longer as if stuck to the chair before jolting herself up and out of his office. My God, he would kill Louise for this.

  The long awaited banquet to celebrate his fifty years in politics was originally scheduled for tonight but had been postponed to Friday, 28 June for obvious reasons. Some bright spark had sacked the original function organisers and hired a whole new group – Ms Du Bois included – so the preparations were starting from scratch. A few days ago he was going to cancel it all together, but the funeral had changed all that. God, the funeral. What a nightmare.

  The Senator was not blind to public opinion or more importantly, the exclusive inner circle gossip that permeated the political scene in this city. He knew that while the press had largely gone his way, painting the defence as a bunch of unscrupulous savages, the reb
ound effect had people talking about his possible bias – and that of his wife’s.

  He intended to use the banquet as a PR exercise; the guest list would be racially balanced, even loaded their way if necessary. He had already told Louise to include two more Senators from California – one black, the other Hispanic – and the seating would be carefully arranged to give, in Ms De Bra’s words, a scattered effect.

  A smile crossed his face as he realised this was a lot like choosing napkins, except of much greater importance. The funeral chaos was a setback, but many great strategies had setbacks and they could, in fact, be used to keep you focused. The sad truth was, these days all this bullshit about the rights of the defendant had turned this country into a pathetic playground for criminals who roamed the streets because of technicalities, suppressed evidence, plea bargains and other feeble legal tripe which had no regard for the damage done to victims and their loved ones. He would not allow this to happen in this instance. And so it was left to him.

  Verne had begun his new phase of the operation and the prosecution were still in his pocket. Scaturro had not returned a call today, which concerned him, but he knew he had the goods to keep her in line, especially considering she was up for re-election in a matter of months. He would get Verne to send her a little reminder.

  As for Katz, he was fairly confident the ADA, so blinded by ambition, would follow his instructions to the letter. He had put all of his staff on the case so the Senator knew there were plenty of overzealous young clerks digging like rats into Rayna’s background. They would find witnesses willing to give evidence of her bigotry and he would reward them for their time.

  Novelli had called at last, although the conversation was rushed and distant. But then, he had always controlled little Moses and always would. The Mayor would support him if for no other reason than he wanted a second term. Moses understood his old buddy Rudi still knew how to get him on the ‘A’ list and keep him there.