Matter of Trust

by Sydney Bauer

  Patty nodded. ‘She’ll make a good impression,’ she said, before her forehead knotted as she read the apprehension in David’s eyes. ‘It’s okay to be nervous, David. You’ve always done better when you’re nervous. You remember when you were in the finals of your fourth grade spelling bee, and you put your face near the heater to feign a fever so that you wouldn’t have to go through with it?’

  ‘It didn’t work,’ he said.

  ‘Of course it didn’t. You’re not a quitter.’

  ‘It wasn’t the actual bee that freaked me out, Mom. It was going up against the Cunningham kid who swore he’d beat me up if I won.’

  ‘But you won anyway.’

  ‘I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.’

  ‘And he didn’t beat you up.’

  ‘Well, actually I think he was going to, but Sean warned him off.’

  ‘Your brother had his eye out for you then,’ she said, searching his face for some indication of where her two sons currently stood with one another. David and his mother had not spoken about his and Sean’s recent altercation, Patty Cavanaugh perhaps sensing that David would come to her when the time was right.

  ‘He still does,’ said David.

  Patty nodded. ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘We’re coming, you know,’ she added after a time. ‘Me and Sean. We are coming to court today, and for the rest of the trial until the verdict comes in.’

  David felt an unexpected wave of gratitude. ‘I’d appreciate that,’ he said.

  They sat in silence for a while, until David couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘Is it true?’ he asked, not wanting to hurt her, but knowing that if he didn’t ask now, he never would.

  ‘I believe so,’ she said.

  ‘Does Lisa know?’

  ‘No,’ answered his mother, the look in her eye telling him that she had spent a lifetime trying to protect her two younger children, and intended to keep doing so when it came to her only daughter.

  David nodded. ‘And you forgave him?’ he asked, referring to his father.

  ‘Your father was a good man.’

  ‘He made mistakes.’

  ‘The burden of which he carried for most of your life.’

  And David understood it then – the reason his father had been the way he had been.

  ‘Was he different before I was born?’ he asked, needing to know.

  ‘Not different – lighter. He loved you, DC, more than anything. Sean might have been more like him – and Lisa was his precious baby girl, but in you he saw everything he wasn’t, and if he seemed standoffish, it was only because he was not sure how to deal with such overwhelming feelings of pride.’

  ‘I never thought he understood me,’ said David. ‘Sean began filling Dad’s shoes as soon as he was able to walk – but as for me, they never seemed to fit.’

  ‘That’s because you outgrew them.’

  David took her hand and smiled, grateful for her insight, her understanding, her love.

  ‘I’m not sure I can do this, Mom,’ he said after a time.

  ‘Then you must trust me when I say that you can.’

  He nodded. ‘There’s a reason I could never be like him, you know – it was because I was too much like you.’

  ‘And would it be selfish of me to admit that I was glad of it?’

  ‘No,’ he said, before meeting her eyes and saying it once again, ‘No.’

  95

  The long narrow windows on the east-facing wall of the Essex County Veterans Courthouse building were shaped like slots. They punctured the walls like cut-outs designed for oversized quarters. This morning they let in long, narrow fingers of light that cut across the courtroom in stripes – the airconditioning barely managing to cope with the numbers, the anticipation, the suspense.

  ‘Your turn, Mr Cavanaugh,’ boomed an already shiny-browed Judge Jones, indicating it was time for the defence to present their case. ‘Are you ready to call your first witness?’

  ‘Yes, Your Honour,’ replied David. He nodded to Chris, ran his eyes briefly over his fellow defence attorneys, and turned quickly behind him to offer a smile of encouragement to his client’s three kids. ‘The defence calls Mrs Rebecca—’

  ‘Your Honour.’ It was Marshall, stunning the entire room with an early interruption.

  ‘Mr Marshall,’ responded the judge with a hint of frustration. ‘Law 101, Sir – you do not object until there is something to object to.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Your Honour,’ said Marshall with a smile. ‘But I am afraid there is one more matter the prosecution needs to deal with before Mr Cavanaugh introduces his first witness.’

  ‘What matter?’ asked the judge, the sweat on his forehead now beading.

  ‘A final witness for the prosecution, Your Honour.’

  ‘Judge,’ objected David without hesitation. ‘Permission to approach.’

  Judge Jones gestured for both David and Marshall to join him at the bench. ‘What’s this all about, Mr Marshall?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Your Honour, but this witness, a tradesman Mr Peter Hogan . . . the information he has to provide, well . . . at first, I was not aware of its significance.’

  Marshall twitched, and David was sure the man was lying.

  ‘But I believe Mr Hogan might be able to shed considerable light on the events surrounding Ms Maloney’s death,’ the FAP continued. ‘Mr Hogan was at the Kincaid house on the day of the murder, Your Honour – and as such, observed the family’s movements. He was later able to make further relevant observations relating to the period during which the murder took place.’

  ‘The tradesman spent the night? Judge, seriously,’ began David. ‘I could stand here all day and list a million reasons why this stunt is a breach of legal responsibility – unfair surprise, failure to provide the name of proposed witnesses, failure to provide discovery, false representation of—’

  ‘Your Honour,’ a jittery Marshall cut in.

  He wants this witness – and he wants him badly, thought David.

  ‘Investigations, criminal trials – they are fluid not static beasts,’ the FAP went on.

  Jesus.

  ‘We cannot always control the timing of when new and relevant information comes to light. I understand Mr Cavanaugh’s concerns, but he will have more than enough opportunity to question this witness on cross. And if Senator Kincaid has been honest with his friend . . .’ Marshall shot David a quick glance before correcting himself, ‘I am sorry, his counsel regarding his whereabouts on the night of January 12, then I would suggest Mr Cavanaugh has nothing to worry about. You do believe your client, don’t you, Mr Cavanaugh?’ asked Marshall then, addressing David directly.

  ‘Of course I do,’ countered David, inevitably boxing himself in, just as Marshall had intended.

  ‘Then I’ll allow your witness to take the stand, Mr Marshall,’ interjected Jones. ‘But I warn you, if I get any hint that his presence is not due to circumstance, but rather to design, I shall cut you off at the knees and hold you in contempt.’

  Marshall stretched in his platform shoes. The man was lying and it did not come naturally. In fact, David was sure this was the first time Marshall had pulled such a low stunt at trial. He wanted this so much that he was willing to compromise his by-the-book reputation, which made David worry all the more.

  ‘I understand, Your Honour,’ said Marshall.

  And David shook his head in disgust as the judge ordered the two sparring lawyers to step back.

  Obviously relieved with what he had gotten away with, and not wanting to fuel Judge Jones’s discontent, Marshall got straight to it. He began by asking the tall, tanned witness his name and occupation and followed through with some questions about the nature of his work.

  ‘Drives are my specialty,’ replied a proud Hogan. ‘A lot of people think that paving a drive is just like paving or tiling any other part of your yard or home – but drives need special care, because of the weight and frequency of stresses on both the pavers
and their foundations.’

  ‘I see what you are saying, Mr Hogan,’ smiled Marshall. ‘Paving drives is an art.’

  ‘You got it,’ Hogan returned the smile.

  Marshall then went on to clarify that Peter Hogan had been hired to pave the Kincaid’s drive at number 14 Walnut Crescent, Short Hills. Hogan described the drive as an unusually long, wide strip on the substantial property’s northern boundary and explained that he undertook the job back in January, not long after the New Year.

  ‘Mrs Kincaid called me early in the month. She said I had been recommended by a neighbour. I told her I could come round for a quote the following Wednesday with a view to starting the job on the Saturday, January 12.’

  ‘And your quote was approved?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And so you came on the twelfth?’

  ‘I’m a man of my word, Mr Marshall.’

  Marshall said he did not doubt it. ‘And could you describe this job for us, Mr Hogan? Was it easy, difficult . . . ?’

  ‘It was a big job but reasonably straightforward. The light rain was a little annoying but the adhesive I use is topnotch – it dries hard and fast – so the moisture wasn’t such an issue. In fact,’ Hogan went on with a faraway look in his eyes, ‘I can remember that after Mrs Kincaid left to go out, I stepped back and surveyed my work and realised that this drive was one of my finest – perfectly symmetrical, not a paver out of place.’

  ‘Once again I have no doubt, Mr Hogan – but allow me to backtrack a little. You said Mrs Kincaid left to go out?’

  ‘Yes, at about seven she came out with the two little girls and her older son – who was carrying a big bag of clothes to the car for her. I imagine she was dropping them off at the good will or something.’ Hogan took a breath. ‘Anyway, she said she was taking the little girls to a movie and I told her not to drive on the pavers for a good twenty-four hours, and she promised not to before getting in her Mercedes and driving off.’

  ‘She took the Mercedes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Certain. I remember because I admired the car. It was a new model S500, black, sleek, smooth.’

  Marshall moved back to his desk and picked up a photograph that he had left on top of a pile of other documents. ‘Would this be the car you are referring to, Mr Hogan?’

  Hogan waited for the court clerk to approach him with the photo. ‘Yes. Mrs Kincaid popped the trunk and I saw the Mercedes logo flash as the older kid put the clothes in.’

  ‘There’s no doubt in your mind, Mr Hogan?’

  ‘Not a one, Mr Marshall.’

  Marshall turned to the court. ‘Let the record show that the witness recalls seeing Mrs Kincaid getting into her husband’s Mercedes at approximately—’

  ‘Objection,’ David was up. ‘Relevance, Your Honour. Mrs Kincaid gave a statement to the police regarding her taking her husband’s car to the movies that evening and, as soon as the defence is permitted to commence its case she will reaffirm this in her testimony.’ It was a cheap shot but David couldn’t resist. ‘Mrs Kincaid’s own car was parked some distance up the street, in the same location it was spotted early the next morning.’

  ‘Your Honour,’ Marshall turned to Jones at the ready. ‘If you will allow me some latitude, I promise I will show relevance forthwith.’

  Jones considered Marshall’s response. ‘Objection overruled. I’ll allow you some movement here, Mr Marshall, but believe me when I stress you are on a very short leash.’

  David re-took his seat, trying desperately to resist the urge to turn to his client and ask where the hell this might be going.

  ‘This was not your last visit to the Kincaid residence Mr Hogan, am I right?’

  ‘That’s right. Mrs Kincaid called me back a few days later. She said there was a problem with the job. She was nice about it, but I sensed she thought I’d mucked it up somehow. She said the tiles near the top of the drive were all squashed up.’

  ‘And were they?’

  ‘Yes. But not because I did a botch job, Mr Marshall. Those pavers had been driven on. I’ve seen it a million times before – folks too anxious to get their car on top of those spanking new pavers. The tyre marks at the top of her drive were from a heavy, thick-tyred vehicle coming in, stopping short and my guess is, reversing out once again when the driver realised what they’d done.’

  ‘And you know this because . . . ?’

  ‘The indentations were only at the top of the drive – made by the two front tyres. If the car had been parked there for some time there would have been indentations near the back wheels as well. No,’ Hogan shook his head, ‘this car, it came up and backed out quickly, probably even rolled the wheels some as it tried to grip the pavers which were sitting on still wet adhesive.’

  ‘And you said the tyre marks were thick.’

  ‘Yep. In fact I knew at the time that it wasn’t the Merc. These tyre marks came from a bigger, heavier car – like the SUV.’

  ‘And you were aware that Mrs Kincaid drove a BMW 5 series?’

  ‘I’d seen her get out of it the day I came over for the quote.’

  ‘So you assumed Mrs Kincaid had forgotten – and accidentally either late on the twelfth or early on the thirteenth, driven up her own drive.’

  ‘That’s what I figured. But she denied it. She said she’d left her car up the street.’

  ‘And you thought she was lying out of embarrassment.’

  ‘No – to be honest, I found Mrs Kincaid to be real nice. She didn’t look like she was lying. She apologised for getting me over again, but she swore she didn’t drive on those pavers.’

  ‘And you believed her?’

  ‘Yes. She seemed honest, genuine, and to this day I still think she still thinks it was a case of me botching the adhesive.’

  ‘But you know that wasn’t so. Did you come to any other conclusions regarding the broken pavers?’

  Hogan nodded. ‘I figured someone else could have taken the car out and brought it back up the drive without thinking – her husband, maybe. I thought he might have gone out and made the mistake and then reparked the car up the road deciding it was best not to rock the marital boat by telling his wife about it.’

  ‘Objection!’ shouted David.

  ‘Overruled,’ countered Jones. ‘You’ll have your turn on cross, Mr Cavanaugh.’

  Marshall gave a quick nod of gratitude.

  ‘In other words, Mr Hogan, you supposed Senator Kincaid acted in a deceptive manner in order to save his own skin.’

  ‘I guess you could say that.’

  ‘I guess you could indeed.’

  And then nothing. Silence, as the entire room took it in. Even Judge Jones did not speak as the extended pause continued.

  And then the heads started to turn slowly, toward the defendant and his lawyer, everyone sensing that this is where the ‘objection’ was meant to come.

  But it didn’t – and Marshall looked more shocked than anyone, like an amateur cyclist who had just lapped Lance Armstrong.

  ‘I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honour,’ said the now glowing FAP, barely managing to contain his excitement.

  And the shocks didn’t stop there, as David – with no other alternative left to him – floored the courtroom once more. ‘The defence has no questions for this witness, Your Honour,’ he said, seemingly throwing in the towel.

  ‘Are you sure?’ urged an equally as stunned Jones.

  ‘Yes, Your Honour,’ replied David, trying to ignore the stares from his now pale-faced client and confused co-counsel.

  And as the judge agreed to David’s request for an early adjournment, Sara moved to his side, desperate to know exactly what was going on. ‘David, I know you must have a reason for what you just did – or rather what you didn’t do. But seriously,’ she shook her head in pure frustration, ‘that was . . .’

  ‘We were wrong,’ David interrupted her, meeting her pale aqua eyes.

&nbs
p; ‘Wrong about what?’

  ‘About everything.’

  Sara frowned. ‘No. I know how this looks David, but Chris is innocent, he is your friend – and he did not kill that girl.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You know?’ Sara took hold of his wrist and squeezed it. ‘But if you know . . . Jesus, David!’

  ‘There were three of them,’ he said. ‘He said it himself – you should stand by your friends.’

  ‘Three? What three?’ she asked, but even as the words left her mouth, he could tell by her eyes that she saw it.

  She met his eye. ‘Oh God, David.’

  ‘I know. What the hell are we supposed to do now?’

  96

  Half an hour later

  Will Cusack did not believe in destiny. There was no such thing as fate. People both made their own luck and fucked up their own futures. The fucking up bit tended to come when a person failed to acknowledge that it was time to get out (his father had been like that), when good sense made way for gluttony and opportunity morphed into greed.

  After three days of thinking on it, Will had decided that there was no option left to him but to cut his losses. For while they had not achieved what they had set out to, risking their futures was not an option – or future more to the point, considering he wasn’t the one with the prospects that were way too promising to shatter.

  Not that he was giving up. Will promised himself that he wouldn’t rest until the debt was paid – or ‘debts’ to be specific; one left by a good man who could no longer make amends, and a second on his own ledger which he wanted more than anything to settle.

  He was in Chris Kincaid’s study.

  The family was in court.

  He had waited for the maid to leave by the front door before slipping quietly in through the back.

  It was getting late. He would have to be quick. He glanced quickly through the study window to see the maid lowering herself into her Mazda coupe before moving toward the cabinet.

  A shadow from a garden elm cut across his face, the silence consumed him, as he unlocked the cabinet and returned the antique pocket watch to its rightful place. Will, unlike his father before him, had never taken anything unless it served a greater purpose, and he wasn’t about to start, not now.