by Sydney Bauer
She looked at him and smiled. ‘Rebecca, she worships me of course, and I like to think I’ve been a good friend to her. But one day she’ll wake up and see me for what I am – a hopeless cause in a pretty package, and she’ll eventually find the courage to move on and make her own way, one way or another.’
‘Marilyn,’ he said, looking straight at her now. ‘You shouldn’t say these things about yourself.’
But then she lifted her hand and placed her right pointer finger softly against his lips – the small grains of sand falling silently from her skin before resting softly in his lap.
‘You’ve only ever looked at me one way, Rob – with respect. You saw past my eyes and my hair and my body. You looked beyond my drunken father and my shithole of an apartment and you saw what my dead mom saw all those years ago.
‘She thought I’d be the one to change people’s lives, Rob – and she was right – but not in the way she anticipated. I do change people – but not in a good way. I walk in and cause trouble and turn people’s lives upside down without ever intending to. But while I cause chaos, Rob, you make a difference. You see and listen and you act out of compassion. And my mom – when she talked about it only taking one – she was talking about you.’
They were silent for a while, until, ‘I’m going to miss you, Marilyn.’
‘Me too,’ she smiled, now looking back toward the blackness as her hand covered his. ‘But you’ll be back all the time to check up on me,’ she said, as if needing to reassure herself. ‘And even if you can’t, I’ll know you would do, if you could.’
81
David found him in the park. He was sitting by the lake watching the fountain in its centre pumping a geyser of water into the air, the bulk of it catching in the wind, the spray forming a mist that drifted across the landscape like a ghost.
‘You know,’ said David, hitching his pants as he took a seat on the dew-covered grass next to the tired-faced young man, ‘when I was a kid, my big brother dared me to swim out to the middle of the lake and put my hand against the base of that geyser.’
Connor Kincaid didn’t flinch. It was almost as if the boy was expecting him.
‘Did you do it?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, I did,’ David managed a smile. ‘The water was freezing and the geyser cut my fingers to shreds.’
‘What did your brother do?’
‘He called me an idiot for taking the dare, then he pulled off his T-shirt and wrapped it around my hand and made me swear I wouldn’t tell our dad when we got home.’
‘And did you?’ asked Connor, still facing the lake. ‘Tell your dad, I mean.’
‘No,’ said David.
Connor nodded. ‘How did you know I was here?’ he asked after a time.
‘Your mom said you and your friend Jack had been coming here of late – watching the kids play baseball.’
Connor didn’t reply.
‘I know what it’s like, Connor,’ David continued. ‘Watching your father suffer but not knowing what the hell to do about it. I came from a good home, my mom was devoted and my father was fair. But when he died about ten years ago, I realised he never really seemed happy. Maybe he never got what he wanted out of life – maybe he never asked for enough.’
‘My father asked for too much,’ said Connor.
‘Maybe, but not out of greed.’
‘Same result.’
‘Different intent.’
There was silence once again, and David realised just how troubled this kid had turned out to be.
‘Your dad didn’t kill Marilyn,’ said David after a time, knowing he may not get another chance to speak to this boy like this. ‘He made mistakes, maybe a lot of them, but he is not guilty of murder. Someone else killed her, Connor,’ he took the plunge, ‘someone who was after something, knew where it was, and took advantage of a window of opportunity to—’
‘When I was a kid, I hated Sundays,’ Connor interrupted then, his comment coming completely out of left field. ‘Father Mike used to say Sundays were for family, but my dad took Sundays as an opportunity to entertain other people’s families. He’d have his politician friends around for barbeques, and he’d wear this stupid apron that said “King of the Grill”, and the politicians’ kids would tear up our back lawn playing football, and cover their sausages with ketchup, and take sips out of the grown-ups’ beers.
‘But later, after everyone had gone, he would sit on the back verandah with a cold beer in his hand and gesture for me to join him so we could watch the sun go down. And that was when I stopped hating Sundays and starting loving them – just for that moment or two.’
David nodded, finally understanding just how much Chris had lost in his determination to have it all.
‘And then he would tell me how important it is to value your friends. He’d say a good friend is someone who protects you, someone who champions your talents and hides your secrets all at the very same time.
‘And it’s the secret part I can’t get past, Mr Cavanaugh,’ said the boy, as he finally turned toward David. ‘I am my father’s son, I’ve made mistakes too – big ones – but as much as I want to ease my conscience, I won’t betray the people I care for. This isn’t just about me or my dad. This is about friends and what they’ll do to protect one another.’
David realised that this poor desperate kid had reached a point where secrecy had made way for candour – or rather, candour would be applied to his secrecy, his devotion to his friend now clear.
‘Friends aren’t always what they seem, Connor.’
‘I didn’t think so either – but then I was proven wrong.’
‘You think you can live with your decisions?’
‘You think I have a choice?’
‘You always have a choice, Connor.’
But while Connor opened his mouth to answer, he soon hesitated, and closed it once again.
‘In years to come you’ll realise the mistake you are making, Connor,’ said David after a time. ‘When you go to Princeton and make new friends and look back on this time and your old friend from Newark with a whole new perspective.’
Connor met his eye once again. ‘If that’s true, then answer me this. If my dad was here with you now, and he said his life depended on your swimming out to that geyser and holding your hand against it, would you do it, despite knowing that your hand would be cut to shreds?’
The boy had him – David hesitated only slightly before answering Connor with a yes.
‘I’ll do whatever I can to save him, Connor,’ said David after a pause, but even as he said it, he did not know if it was a promise or a threat.
‘I know,’ said Connor, a slight smile of understanding on his young, handsome face. ‘He’s your friend, Mr Cavanaugh, and in the end, he deserves nothing less.’
82
The following morning, the day before the trial was to begin, Sara woke to find the bed empty beside her. It was early, the sun barely up, and so she went down to the kitchen to look for her husband. When he wasn’t there, she poured them both a coffee before heading back upstairs, knowing exactly where she would find him. And there he was, standing over his only child, the illumination from Lauren’s Cinderella’s Castle night-light turning Lisa’s old bedroom pink.
‘I thought I’d find you here,’ she whispered as she handed him his coffee and joined him to look down at their sleeping daughter. Lauren’s mouth was open, her blanket thrown off as if she had travelled a million miles in her dreams. Her fair hair was soft against her pillow, her tiny fingers spread, and as David reached over the cot to touch her cheek, Sara wrapped her arm around him, and softly pulled him close.
‘She may not know it yet, but she is proud of you,’ she said.
‘I don’t want to let her down, Sara.’
‘You won’t.’
Silence.
‘You did your best, David,’ she said after a time. ‘Connor Kincaid has to live with his own decisions, whatever the reasons behind them.’
; But she could tell by the look on David’s face that he blamed himself for his failure to reach the boy.
‘You could approach Jack Delgado,’ she offered after a pause.
‘No,’ he replied softly. ‘Delgado is even tighter with Cusack than Connor. These boys are loyal to one another, Sara. Jack Delgado will tell Will Cusack if we start asking questions about him – of that much I am sure.’
She nodded, pulling him that much closer.
‘Do you think I was wrong to come back?’ he asked after a time. ‘Maybe Chris should have stuck with Fisk, maybe the plea was his best option?’
‘You don’t believe that,’ she said.
But David said nothing.
‘The other night,’ he continued after a time, ‘I remembered something Marilyn once said to me. She told me I was special – that I had the ability to change people’s lives.’
‘She was a smart woman,’ said Sara as she rested her head on his shoulder.
‘I’m going to have to betray her, aren’t I?’ he asked then, plain and simple.
‘Helping Chris will not betray Marilyn, David. You told me she loved him more than anything. So maybe, if she could speak to you, she would tell you to do whatever was necessary to save him.’
‘Even if it means destroying her reputation?’
‘I didn’t know her, but from what you told me about her, Marilyn was above gossip and speculation.’
David nodded. ‘She was wrong about one thing,’ he said then.
‘What’s that?’
‘She told me she changed people’s lives too, but always for the worse. She said she created chaos and disaster without realising it. But even if there was some truth to that part, just knowing her was worth it.’
‘Then maybe you owe her. Maybe you need to fix this thing so she can rest in peace.’
They looked down at Lauren again.
‘Will you hug her for me when she wakes up? I need to shower and get down to County.’
‘You want me to come with you?’ she asked.
‘No. I guess, in the end, I knew it would come down to Chris and me. He trusts me, Sara. If I suggest it, he will go for it, no matter how much it hurts.’
‘I’ll hug her tight then,’ she said. ‘And I’ll tell her to save the return hug for you.’
83
‘Long time,’ said Salicia Curtis as she sat down at the café table across from McNally. The ME was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt and looked like a fresh-faced supermodel. She smiled and McNally felt the warmth of it. He had missed her, he realised, and he wasn’t too sure what to make of that.
‘How are you, Harry?’ she asked, genuine concern in her dark brown eyes. ‘I left you a message after that thing with Marshall, but when you didn’t return my call, I figured maybe you needed some time.’
McNally knew that in a way Sal was right. Time was both his enemy and his friend. It was fading the memories of his wife, but it was also making the heartache that much easier to deal with.
‘I’m sorry, Sal. I should have called.’
‘That’s okay. You’re here now and . . .’ She studied him then. ‘You look good, Harry, as if your burdens have eased a little.’
‘I still miss her,’ he said then, surprised he was able to speak of it.
‘Of course you do. But Megan wouldn’t want you to mourn forever, Harry. She’d want you out there, working, doing what you do best. Have you spoken to your lieutenant? When do you think you’ll go back to . . . ?’
But she must have seen it then, the ‘I haven’t been completely honest’ look on his face.
‘Harry,’ she said, as the waitress placed a skinny cappuccino in front of her, ‘what have you been up to?’
McNally nodded in thanks for his strong hot black before waiting for the white-haired waitress to leave their table. ‘You’re gonna think I’m crazy,’ he said.
‘I already think you’re crazy, McNally,’ said Curtis. ‘I just want to know the specific kind of crazy you are talking about.’
‘I’m still on the case,’ he said, not knowing how else to put it.
‘What case?’ But then she shook her head and McNally knew Sal understood exactly what case he was referring to. ‘Jesus, you’re working the Kincaid thing? Seriously, Harry, does Marshall know about this? Well, obviously he doesn’t know about it. He kicked you off the case in the first place. So you’re investigating things solo. But to what end? I mean, the trial begins tomorrow and from what I hear, Marshall’s case is solid and Kincaid’s lawyer is an out-of-towner, so . . .’ It came to her then. ‘Oh no, Harry, please tell me you’re not working for the defence?’
‘I’m working for the truth.’
She shook her head again as she reached across the table to cover his hand with her own – and he noticed it was warm from her cupping her cappuccino.
‘I know you mean well, Harry, and believe you me I completely understand your wanting to conduct an investigation away from that narrow-minded FAP. But working with Cavanaugh? As soon as Marshall finds out, you will lose your job.’
‘So maybe we have to stop him from finding out. It’s worked so far.’
‘But if you’re investigating the case, Cavanaugh will want to call you.’
‘Cavanaugh is a good guy, Sal, he hasn’t asked me to give testimony. My role so far has been completely behind the scenes.’
Sal looked at him then, lifting her hand to return it to her coffee mug. ‘I want to ask you why you’re doing this, Harry, but to be honest I’m afraid of your answer.’
‘Kincaid is innocent,’ he said.
‘And there you go.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘Do you have proof?’
‘Not exactly.’
She sighed.
‘But I’ve been a cop for a long time, and I know the difference between innocence and guilt.’
She looked at him once again. ‘So do you know who did do it?’
‘I think so.’
‘But you don’t want to share . . . ?’
‘If I tell you, you become part of this, Sal, and Marshall will have your job as well.’
‘Marshall is an ass.’
‘Marshall is still the second most powerful prosecutor in the county.’
‘So he’s a powerful ass.’ She managed a smile.
‘No argument there,’ he said, returning the smile before leaning an inch closer toward her. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said.
‘You too, Harry, but my guess is this little rendezvous has a dual purpose. If you want my help, all you need to do is ask for it.’
‘I won’t ask for anything that will get you in trouble.’
‘You want to rob me of a chance for a run-in with Marshall?’
‘I want to protect you is all.’
And she smiled again. ‘What is it you need?’ she asked after a time.
‘A copy of the DNA report on that unidentified fingernail sample.’
‘You have someone to run it against?’
‘Not exactly,’ he said again.
She took a long slow drink of her coffee.
‘You want a couple of slides to go with that report?’ she asked after a pause. ‘I still have several in storage.’
‘The actual slides could help.’
She nodded. ‘Today is Sunday. If you drive me up to Norfolk Street, we can retrieve them while the office is quiet.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, placing his own hand over hers and squeezing.
‘I’m not doing this out of pity, Harry,’ she said, perhaps a little embarrassed by his tenderness. ‘I’m doing this out of professional responsibility. I work for the victim not Elliott Marshall.’
‘Me too, Sal. Me too.’
84
Chris Kincaid sat opposite David – leaning in so that their faces were no more than a foot apart. David had started with McNally’s good news from last Friday night – how he’d located Robert Jones and how Jones had subsequently ID’d Will Cusack. Then David mentioned how McNally was
working on getting a tap on Cusack’s phones, and he’d just started to reiterate the importance of having George Brewster on the jury, before Chris finally saw through his stalling.
‘You went to see Connor,’ he said.
‘How did you know?’
‘Rebecca said you asked about Connor’s whereabouts.’
David nodded, knowing there was no point in denying it.
‘So how is he?’ asked Chris – beyond anger and now only interested in knowing how his son was coping.
‘He’s not doing so good, Chris,’ David answered honestly.
Chris lowered his chin and nodded. ‘Did he help you with your case against Will?’
‘No.’
Chris nodded again. ‘I didn’t think so. Does he think I did this?’
‘I’m not sure,’ David answered.
‘I haven’t earnt his trust, David.’
‘But you will.’
‘From prison?’
‘It doesn’t have to be that way.’
‘I know you’ve done your best, DC – but the time for platitudes is gone.’
Silence, until, ‘This is not how it is meant to go, Chris. This is not where you get to give in.’
Chris looked up to meet his eye, his cheeks flush. ‘I’m not giving in, David, I am just being realistic.’
‘We have Marilyn’s cell and Will’s use of the alias at the hotel – and Jones’ indisputable ID.’
‘So Will was at the Hilton on the night of Marilyn’s death – under a name that has precarious links to me. A good prosecutor might even argue that it was me who put Will up to it – offered to give him a previously agreed sum for getting back the $100,000. And when he failed, when Marilyn didn’t show, I took matters into my own very capable hands.’
David went to respond, but he was not too sure what to say.
‘We believe Will Cusack taped Marilyn’s confession, but we have no proof.’ An increasingly agitated Chris got to his feet. ‘We suspect he went to her apartment when she didn’t show at the Hilton, but we have no evidence that he was anywhere near the building. We’re assuming that Will used Rebecca’s car even though my son has provided him with an alibi – and . . . here’s one last gem to light your fire, DC,’ Chris was getting worked up. ‘If Will was at that apartment, if he did rape and murder Marilyn, if he did manage to procure that blessed $100,000, then why the fuck is he hanging around? If he’s a rich young man, then why in the hell hasn’t he run?’