by Sydney Bauer
Ring!
The shrill of the telephone rocked him, so much so that he almost knocked over a series of family photographs that lined the top of the cabinet like evidence of the big fat lie.
Ring!
‘Shut the fuck up,’ he whispered as he took a step back to glance out the window at the maid who had still not shut her freaking front car door. She was getting out. Shit! She was coming back in to answer the fucking phone. Now she was running for fuck’s sake, with her goddamned keys held out in the ready.
There was no time to think about it. Will knew the closest phone to the front door was this one in the study. And if she came in here, if she—
‘Hello.’ Will picked up the phone. His eyes glued to the maid who, ears now primed at attention, shook her head and turned slowly to retreat to her beaten-up hatch.
Will sighed, his shoulders relaxing in relief, until he registered that there was someone talking to him on the other end of the line. He was going to hang up, but then he realised, as crazy as it seemed, the caller actually thought that they were talking to Chris Kincaid.
He felt it then, the stab of shock that started in his chest and spread through his entire body like a million fluttering fireflies. It was followed by a wave of adrenalin that pumped his heart and fuelled his body with everything from feelings of guilt and self-admonishment to relief and opportunity, and hope.
And that was when fate – yes, fucking fate – stepped in, not once, but twice, as Will managed to corral his thoughts and say his piece to the caller, before hearing the ring of his own cell screaming for attention from his pocket.
And then, at least in Will’s mind, the first call shook hands with the second.
And then his new friend destiny came valiantly in to play.
97
When David was a boy and attended Sunday mass with his family, his mother always led them to the same scratched wooden pew. It was the one at the front of the back section – halfway down the church. He had no idea why she had chosen it, but as he got older, he guessed it was because it had a walkway in front. It was the place where the old men who passed around the plate cut across from one side of the church to the other – the spot where the offertory table sat stocked with bread and wine. It had no kneeling ramp but it offered plenty of leg room – and space for three energetic children to move about reasonably freely without too many eyebrows being raised.
There had to have been three.
If Will had acted alone, in order to avoid detection, he would have left Rebecca’s car where he found it – way up the other end of the street. But the car was driven up the drive, and then reversed, which meant the person driving it not only did the natural thing and drove the car home, he also knew of the paver’s warnings regarding the wet adhesive – warnings Connor Kincaid had overheard the paver reiterating to his mother earlier in the evening.
As far as Jack Delgado was concerned – he had to be involved for the three-way alibi to work. Both Will and Connor couldn’t have slipped out of the Kincaid’s house without Jack knowing. But now David was guessing that Jack and Will were never at the Kincaid house to begin with – and that Connor had gone out alone.
And so here they were – David, Mike, Rebecca – three of the original five, plus Connor, the boy who had paid the price of their friendship. In the end, David knew there was no other way to play this – which was why he had called Rebecca and told her that with Chris in prison and Connor about to snap, she would have to be the one to hold this whole thing together.
‘It was in there,’ Mike Murphy said at last. Filling the silence that followed the half hour of David telling Connor and Rebecca what they knew of Will Cusack’s involvement in Marilyn Maloney’s murder. They were gathered at David’s old pew, on the bench seat and a pair of chairs Mike had brought down from the altar. Sara had wisely suggested that she, Arthur and Nora wait in Mike’s nearby sacristy, an absent Harry McNally now meeting with Carla Torres to finalise the taps on Cusack’s phones.
‘We used one of those slow-running recorders,’ Mike continued, having gestured toward the now dark confessional on the far western wall. ‘It was considered high-tech at the time because it automatically switched the tape to the other side of the cassette when the first side was full. Of course the tape only held 120 minutes per side, which meant that once the first batch of confessions were over, we got a whole lot of nothing. And even the twenty we did hear were pretty disappointing, in one way or another.’
Connor Kincaid said nothing, merely sat, strangely composed, in a chair placed inches from his mother. ‘It was a stupid thing to do,’ he offered at last.
‘It seemed innocent enough at the time,’ replied Mike.
‘These things always do,’ responded Connor. ‘But then you hear what you hear and you do what you do and you trust your friends and you justify your decision by laying blame on people you love without . . .’ the boy swallowed. ‘I am so sorry, Mom.’
‘It’s okay, honey,’ replied Rebecca, reaching out to take both of her son’s hands in her own.
‘It’ll take some time to tell it,’ said Connor, wiping the tears from his eyes as he looked directly at David, perhaps sensing that time was the one thing his father did not have – and perhaps never had had, when it came to listening.
‘That’s okay, Connor,’ responded David. ‘I’ve always found that lies take a lot longer to tell than the truth.’
Connor nodded, then looked at his mother as if needing her permission to start. Rebecca Kincaid smiled as her son turned toward Mike Murphy, and began the only way he knew how. ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.’
Connor pictured them as he made the call – Will and Jack in Jack’s bedroom, the icy afternoon snow falling outside the window, Jack’s mom’s voice drifting up from some tea party downstairs.
Jack put his cell on speaker and told Will to come close, and then the two boys fell into silence as they listened to Connor tell his story from down the line.
‘How do you know all this?’ Will asked, when Connor finally took a breath.
‘Because I heard him. He was on his study phone, the door was ajar. I could tell he was upset. He called her, left a message, said he was sorry for breaking it off with her but that he knew it was for the best – that he had a family and . . . Jesus . . .’ Connor paused. ‘He broke up with her for Mom – for me.’
‘Fuck that,’ said Will. ‘Your father has a career to protect, remember? He broke up with her to save himself, Connor. What else did he say?’ The volume of Will’s voice increased and Connor pictured him moving closer to the phone.
‘Not much – just that he regretted hurting her, that he would always love her and he hoped that she would be okay. He asked her to call him, after her shift at work, after midnight. He said he’d keep his cell close by.’
‘He’s a fool,’ said Will. ‘He should have kept the break clean – no contact.’
‘Jesus, Will,’ said Jack.
‘All right. I’m sorry.’
‘So what do I do?’ asked an anxious Connor, grateful that he had two friends to share this with. ‘I mean, you heard her. She said if she found out that Dad knew about the money, that she’d, you know . . .’
‘Your dad didn’t mention the money in the phone call?’ asked Will.
‘No, but what does it matter? He broke up with her, Will – which means he must have paid her off.’
‘He’s right,’ Will said to Jack. ‘If I was his dad and I had the dough, I’d play it safe by paying her off too.’
‘So what do I do?’ Connor squeezed back into the conversation.
‘You can’t stop her from going public, Connor,’ said Jack.
‘But Dad’s career, his reputation . . .’ Connor left the sentence hanging. He knew Jack and Will were both thinking that his dad should have considered those things before he started sleeping with his girlfriend.
‘You don’t do anything,’ said Will after a pause.
‘You think you
can help me?’ asked Connor, knowing the hope in his voice was unmistakable. ‘God, Will, if you could think of something. Seriously, man, I would be so grateful.’
‘The way I see it,’ said Will, ‘the whore would be an idiot to pass up on the money now – what with your dad doing a runner and all. So maybe if someone made her see sense – that it’s better to cut her losses?’
‘You’d TALK to her? God, Will, if you could . . . I mean . . .’
‘Don’t mention it. Your dad’s been good to me.’
Jack was silent.
‘Leave it with me,’ said Will.
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
‘You’re the best, Will. I mean . . . I don’t know how to thank you.’
‘No thanks necessary, Connor, I’m your friend, remember?’
‘Sure – same goes, Will.’
Connor stopped there, lowering his eyes to examine his now limp hands in his lap.
‘I should have realised what Will had planned from the outset,’ he said after a pause. ‘He saw this as an opportunity. We knew the woman had the money and that she didn’t want to use it. I told Will my dad had been calling her, so he must have come up with the idea to impersonate Dad and text the woman.’
‘My guess is he’d been thinking about that money for some time,’ said David. ‘But your dad’s decision to break it off with Marilyn . . . Will must have known he had to move fast in case an angry Marilyn decided to cut her losses and run off with the money after all.’
Connor nodded.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Rebecca after a pause.
David looked across at her, seeing a new resolve on her face.
‘How did . . .’ she swallowed, before sitting up in her seat an inch higher. ‘How did Will know . . . about their alias – about the Matt Dillon thing?’
Conner took a breath before turning to look toward Mike.
‘She mentioned it, in the confessional,’ said Mike, obviously knowing the time for discretion had passed. ‘She gave him all the information he needed to carry out his plan.’
David nodded. ‘So Will sent the texts and went to the hotel – and then, when she didn’t show, he decided to go straight to her apartment. But how did he know where she lived?’ David looked to Mike for confirmation once again.
‘She mentioned that too,’ said Mike. ‘Made some joke about Chris putting her up in her apartment at 5 Park Avenue. We both knew she never took anything from Chris,’ Mike continued, before turning his attention to Connor. ‘And your father had too much respect for her to offer.’
Rebecca squeezed her son’s hand, and Mike took a breath before continuing, ‘It’s funny. I don’t recall her mentioning which apartment she was in?’
‘She did, Father,’ Connor assured him. ‘That’s what made Will’s plan so easy.’
Mike nodded. ‘I’m sorry. Of course, she must have.’ He turned to David. ‘Will must have buzzed, and Marilyn had been drinking so . . .’
‘Will probably said he was Chris,’ continued David. ‘Marilyn must have cooled down by then, forgiven Chris . . . changed her shoes . . . ?’
‘No, I don’t see it.’ It was Rebecca. ‘I mean, I know it’s been a long time since we were friends,’ Rebecca swallowed, ‘but Marilyn, despite all she went through, she never lost her pride. Maybe Will buzzed various apartments at random, until somebody else let him in.’
‘Maybe,’ said David. ‘But that still doesn’t explain why she changed her . . .’
‘Shoes,’ finished Rebecca. ‘Yes, I see.’
Rebecca shook her head as if annoyed with herself for not being able to solve the conundrum. David glanced at Mike. He could tell Mike was marvelling at her loyalty as much as he was.
‘As annoying as the detail is,’ said David, sensing that for Connor’s sake it was time to move on, ‘it’s a mystery we may never solve, and in the end it won’t help us one way or the other.’ He turned to Connor. ‘I know this is hard, Connor, but given we now know Will’s story about he and Jack visiting your house – about Jack’s helping you with your assignment, and Will’s watching that DVD – was a fabrication, you need to tell us what really happened later that night.’
Connor nodded, taking a long deep breath before lifting his chin to look at David. ‘Will called late . . . about 1 am. I was just finishing up with my assignment. Mom and my sisters were in bed. Dad was in the study and . . .’ he faltered. ‘I knew the moment Will said my name that something had gone wrong. But he wouldn’t give me any details. He just said I had to get over to the woman’s apartment fast – in Mom’s car. That if I didn’t, Dad would be . . . that he would be “fucked” and . . .’ The boy glanced at his mother. ‘So I grabbed Mom’s keys and snuck out the back door. And then I ran up the street to get the car. I sped to the city hoping a cop didn’t pull me over considering I was only on my provisionals. And then I parked right out front and buzzed Will at the apartment number he’d given me, and again Will’s voice scared me. He told me to come up – quickly, which I did, and . . . and . . . that was when I saw her, and everything got shot to hell.’
‘Jesus! Fuck! Oh God, Will!’ Connor thought he was going to puke.
‘Shut the fuck up and close the door,’ said Will, his bloodied hand now dragging his friend into the apartment. Jack was standing in the far living room corner, one shaking hand covering his mouth.
‘Oh God,’ said Connor again as Will’s grip marked him as a co-conspirator. ‘I . . . God, Jack . . .’ Connor’s chin jerked up to look at Jack before he tugged free of Will just as Will went to pull him into the living room proper.
‘Get in here, Connor,’ Will threw him a wet towel. ‘Man the fuck up and help us clean this shit.’
Jack, who held his own limp towel in the hand that was not at his mouth tentatively moved forward. But Connor’s legs were frozen – his eyes fixed on the blonde woman who lay spread-eagled on the floor before him. His stare began at her feet – her high-heeled sandals twisting her ankles at odd angles. Then he tracked up her pale bruised legs to the place where her genitalia lay swollen and exposed. She was bleeding – from inside, her pale pubic hair matted with knots of already drying blood. Her blue dress was hiked up around her waist, her breasts pressing hard against the fabric. Her neck was stretched, her head craned back as if she had been frozen in the middle of a scream.
‘Oh God,’ said Connor again, cupping his mouth in an effort to halt the wave of bile surging up his throat. The woman’s white-blonde hair was coated with blood – strands of it lying limp and wet in the slowly growing pool of crimson beneath her.
He took a step forward – for some reason needing to see her face. And he was not surprised to discover he had been right. Her eyes were closed but her perfect mouth open – as if someone had pressed the pause button on the tragedy that had bought her life to an end.
‘Will,’ he managed. ‘What . . . ?’
‘What the fuck do you think?’ answered Will, as Jack made a sound like he was going to vomit.
Will sprung to his feet and lifted his bloodied arms and placed them squarely behind Jack’s head. Then he pulled Jack’s neck forward so that his forehead met his own.
‘I told you this is all going to be okay if you just do what I say,’ he said quietly before turning once again to Connor.
‘Listen to me.’ He was in Connor’s face now, forcing him to focus. ‘If you keep looking at her, you’re going to go into shock.’ Will grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘Look me in the eye, Connor. Your dad did this and we have to clean it up. We need to remove all the evidence and get out of here as quickly as humanly possible. If we don’t, he will get caught and be sent away for life. And I don’t think you want that to happen, Connor. I don’t think you want him to . . .’
‘No!’ The room started to spin. ‘No, Will . . . he couldn’t have.’
‘Think, Connor.’ Will’s grip tightened. ‘Who the fuck benefits from this woman being silenced? Whose troubles melt away the mi
nute she disappears?’
‘No,’ said Connor again, his head now jerking from side to side in protest.
‘I found her like this, Connor. The poor woman has been raped, beaten. She must have threatened to expose him and your dad must have killed her in a fit of rage. And then he must have realised what he’d done and panicked – run without having the sense to clean up the mess he’d left behind.’
But Connor still shook his head in denial.
‘He took the money, Connor,’ said Will, moving forward to block Connor’s view once again before gesturing at the woman’s clean-surfaced living room dresser. ‘The hundred grand – it’s gone. He raped her, killed her, took back his fucking money and ran.’
‘Oh God,’ said Jack from behind them. He was kneeling on the floor trying to mop the blood, but his knee had slipped and he had fallen face first into the crimson.
Connor gagged as he saw Jack’s now bloodied face. And then it hit him – the reality of it all – the woman, the blood, the rape, the bruises, the empty dresser, his father and his two best friends.
‘You’re doing this for my dad,’ said Connor.
Will’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. ‘Why else the fuck would I be doing it? I’m doing it for him and I’m doing it for you.’
Connor finally nodded. He started to inhale but gagged on the insipid stink of blood.
‘Did you bring your mom’s car like I told you?’ asked Will, obviously trying to get Connor to focus.
‘Yes,’ he managed.
‘Where did you park?’
‘Right out front.’
‘Good. We’re going to need to wrap her tight. We don’t want to leave any DNA in your mom’s car.’
And that was when Will went to the bedroom to grab a blanket, and Connor joined his good friend Jack Delgado on the bloodied living room floor.
Silence, as Connor took another breath and his three listeners sat consumed by the stillness around them. Rebecca Kincaid was crying – softly, silently, her hand still holding that of her brave son.