by Sydney Bauer
He knocked.
Silence. Then some movement, a light switching on beyond the entryway. Footsteps. Vicki Delgado opened the door, her face registering surprise before it morphed easily into a smile. ‘My goodness, Father, I’ve forgotten haven’t I?’ She shook her head as she fastened her robe at the waist.
Mike frowned in confusion.
‘The profits from the church benefit, I was meant to drop off the cheque yesterday. You need it, to pay the delivery people. I’m sorry.’
‘No.’ Mike shook his head, his heart aching at what his visit would inevitably do to her. ‘I’m here to see Jack.’
Vicki’s brow furrowed.
‘It’s all right Mom,’ said Jack, appearing a foot or two behind her. His light brown hair was tousled, his white tank and boxer shorts creased from what Mike guessed would have been another restless night’s sleep.
‘You got something to tell me, Father?’ His voice was even, calm.
‘I . . .’ Mike’s eyes flicking from Vicki to her son. He’d thought Jack would want to do this solo, but the boy didn’t seem to want to move.
‘The truth is out, son,’ he said.
Jack nodded.
‘They need you to testify.’
Vicki Cusack looked at her son, her eyes widening in confusion. ‘Jackie, what’s this all about, honey? Does Chris Kincaid need you as a character witness?’
But the look on his face told her that this was not the case.
‘Jackie?’
‘When do they need me?’ asked Jack, looking past his mother to Mike.
‘Monday morning, first thing,’ said Mike.
A pause, as Vicki Delgado’s eyes shot in panic from one face to the other. ‘Jackie? Father?’
‘I’ll be there,’ said Jack.
Mike nodded, realising there was nothing left to say.
‘Did you tell them?’ asked Jack, as Mike turned to leave.
‘No,’ said Mike.
Jack nodded. ‘Thank you, Father,’ then, ‘my life is about to change.’
Mike met his eye. ‘I’m so sorry, Jack.’
‘That’s okay,’ said the boy, looking more like a child than ever. ‘I guess I always knew this was coming – and, in the end, anything is better than living like this.’
100
If nothing happens by chance, then what did it mean when nothing happens? Does it mean that there was never anything there in the first place, or that what was there was so insignificant that it didn’t amount to anything in any case?
David’s mind had turned to mush. It was now Sunday afternoon – over thirty-six hours since he had staggered, exhausted and defeated, from Marshall’s sterile apartment, and he had barely slept.
Nothing had happened – literally nothing. Will Cusack had not been sighted, McNally’s conversation with Gloria Kincaid had done nothing to shed light on Cusack’s whereabouts, and David still feared that despite all their efforts, none of this would amount to anything if they couldn’t link Will Cusack’s DNA directly to the crime.
Mike had called to report on his conversation with Jack Delgado and David had contacted the boy asking if he wanted to go over his testimony. But while the kid said he would confirm Connor’s story on the stand on Monday, he asked that he and his mom be left alone until then – a request, at Sara’s urging, that David finally agreed to.
‘That was McNally,’ said Sara now, as she hung up the call on her cell and moved from the patio back into the kitchen.
‘Let me guess, Cusack’s a no-show,’ said David. McNally and Carla Torres were spending their Sunday camped outside Cusack’s apartment building while Arthur was doing the same outside the Delgado house – just in case Will Cusack came home. But David knew the chances of this were slim.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Sara, obviously reading David’s disappointment. ‘But he did have some news. Carla Torres managed to stretch the stolen vehicle report to the extremes of at least five counties.’
‘That’s good of her,’ David replied flatly. He knew the alert on Gloria Kincaid’s Audi would probably turn up nothing, given Will Cusack had most likely crossed the state boarder almost two days ago. ‘I’m sorry,’ he smiled. ‘I should be better at the “think positive” stuff. It’s my job to keep the whole team afloat.’
‘You’re doing the best that you can,’ she said, walking across the room to kiss him before turning to smile at his mother. ‘They’re having fun.’
Patty Cavanaugh stood near the kitchen door watching her grandchildren play in the sun on the front patio. She had set up a plastic wading pool – one of those blow-up ones with animated ducks on its sides – and she and Sara had been tag-teaming supervising Lauren who now sat proud as punch in a waterproof play seat plunked in the middle of the three-inch deep water, her three older cousins fawning over her with delight.
‘They’re having a ball,’ Patty returned the smile. ‘Do you want to watch them while I put on a fresh pot of coffee? Or perhaps something stronger for the boys?’
‘You stay where you are, dear,’ said Nora, moving to the fridge to get some beers before sweeping over to the coffee maker and switching it on. ‘I’ll take care of this round.’
And so the frustration continued, as each of them tried desperately to think of a way out.
‘Do you think this asshole might get greedy and come back for the other $50,000?’ asked Sean after a time, perhaps sensing it was their only hope.
‘I doubt it,’ said David. ‘Too much to lose. I want to say I feel sorry for Gloria – now that she knows the truth and the part she played in it.’ He looked at Sean, realising just how many levels this comment worked on. ‘But if it weren’t for her determination to control this thing . . .’
‘She won’t forget McNally’s dressing down for some time,’ said Sara. Carla Torres had described in detail her partner’s thirty-minute tirade against the silk robe-attired Gloria at one o’clock in the morning.
‘Until the next time one of her family is in need of her chequebook,’ said Sean.
Sara nodded.
‘Has Gloria tried to call this Will Cusack?’ asked Patty from the door. It was a thought they had already considered – a call from Gloria designed somehow to pull him back in.
‘She tried,’ said David. ‘We thought that if he answered we might at least get a location on his cell phone, but he’s not picking up.’
Patty sighed. ‘And Gloria’s testimony won’t help you?’
‘A little maybe,’ replied David. ‘But not enough.’
And that was their problem. No matter how many people they put on that stand, they couldn’t arrest Cusack for a crime they had no direct evidence he’d committed. Sure he’d done the deal with Gloria but that could be perceived as a cold-hearted swindle on his part – or as Marshall would see it, simply a case of Gloria Kincaid reimbursing the kid for going along with David’s contemptuous scam.
No – they would have to find a way of linking Cusack to the murder. David knew that with Marshall fighting tooth and nail for the prosecution, the court would accept no less.
Moments later Sean broke the stillness by getting to his feet and pulling out a chair for his mother. ‘You take a load off, Mom,’ he said. ‘I’ll watch them for a while.’
Patty smiled in gratitude as Sean moved to the door and leaned back against the frame. He looked out at the children – their laughter filling the stillness. David wondered if his brother was wishing for the same thing that he was, that their kids would always exist in a world filled with people who loved them – a world without people like Will Cusack, who were consumed with anger and greed and hate.
David picked up his beer and moved to the door to join his brother. ‘They’re good kids, Sean,’ he said, referring to his niece and two nephews.
Sean gave a rare smile. ‘They’re happy because they’re accountable, DC. Teresa and me, we’ve always made sure they knew where they stood.’
David nodded.
‘I’ll bet this Will Cusack was n
ever made to be accountable.’
‘His dad was a dirty cop who used to beat his wife and kid.’
‘Then his dad should be made accountable.’
‘The dad died in 9/11,’ said David, knowing Will’s past was a tragedy but finding it difficult to feel compassion considering what the kid had done.
Sean nodded before his brow knotted and he turned to meet David’s eye. ‘It’s hard to know, isn’t it?’ he said then. ‘How much is environmental and how much of a person’s behaviour is passed on genetically, from father to son.’
David knew what he was saying. Sean had made that single mistake by cheating on his wife – just as his father had done before him.
‘I don’t know,’ said David. ‘I think maybe it’s a combination of both.’
‘You think this Cusack would have turned out the boy that he did if he didn’t have a criminal for a father?’
‘Maybe. After all, there’s something inherently evil about someone who . . .’ David paused, the seed of an idea coming to him. ‘Cusack is his father’s son,’ he said, not so much a statement but an explanation.
Sean frowned. ‘That was my point . . . DC?’
But David’s mind was elsewhere, as in that moment, after all of these years, he realised just how much he needed his big brother, after all.
101
Monday
The courtroom was standing room only, the majority of the gallery squashed tight into the long narrow benches shoved so close together that the taller members were sitting at odd angles so as not to knock their knees against the back of the bench in front.
David watched as the courtroom clock jerked that fraction closer to nine. His eyes flicked from the clock to his own watch, which confirmed exactly what the clock had told him – that Jack Delgado was late.
‘Mrs Delgado,’ he said, turning in his seat to speak to a nervous-faced Vicki Delgado who was sitting between Mike and Rebecca Kincaid behind him. ‘I’m sorry, but can you think of any reason why Jack might be held up?’
Jack Delgado’s presence at this point was crucial. While David was counting on three elements – Jack Delgado’s testimony, Connor Kincaid’s testimony, and the ‘long shot’ idea Sean had given him yesterday to secure a statewide and beyond search for the criminal named Will Cusack, he also knew the order of these three elements was key. He had to lead with Delgado – as he knew the jury would be much more willing to believe Jack than they would the defendant’s own son. Playing it the other way around would look as if Jack was simply repeating Connor’s testimony – which would give Marshall more ammunition to shoot the real truth down.
Vicki Delgado shook her head nervously. ‘No . . . as I explained earlier, I wanted him to come with me, but he insisted on coming with Connor.’
Connor was not in the courtroom this morning either – but this was at David’s request. David didn’t want the jury to see one boy in the room while the other was giving testimony, just in case Marshall pushed the idea of conspiracy.
Rebecca took Vicki’s hand. ‘I encouraged Connor and Jack to come together – I said Jack could drive my car. The boys give each other strength.’
‘But you’re sure Jack knew he had to be here by nine?’ asked David, turning his attention back to Vicki Delgado.
‘Absolutely,’ she answered, taking a short sharp breath before shuddering on the exhale. ‘David – do you think he’s okay? I mean, Jack is usually so punctual. He’s a good kid and . . .’
‘He’ll be here any minute, Vicki,’ chimed in Mike, his tone less than convincing. ‘I’m sure of it.’
But David wasn’t. In fact this whole situation was starting to . . .
Bang! The jolt of the side door startled him as it opened wide and slammed into the back of another chair which had been added to the rest of the extras allocated to the burgeoning media contingent. Two corrections officers led Chris Kincaid into the courtroom, steering him toward the defence table and David and Sara.
‘It’s 8.57,’ whispered Sara before Chris reached them. ‘The jury will be brought in at any moment.’
‘I know,’ replied David, before turning to look for McNally, who he’d spotted standing in the far right-hand corner of the room. McNally shrugged, indicating he had no answer for Jack Delgado’s tardiness. David knew his detective friend would be furious at himself for not giving Delgado a police escort, and David was starting to think he should have been the one to insist he and Sara pick up Jack Delgado on their way to court.
‘There is nothing else we can do,’ he said to Sara now. ‘Nora’s out front, and Arthur is waiting in the hall. The minute they spot the two boys they’ll come in and tell us. Until then, we have to find some way to stall this thing.’ David stopped as Chris took a seat between them, smiling at Sara and shaking David’s hand.
‘Are we ready to—’ Chris began.
‘All rise,’ said the bailiff announcing the arrival of the judge – and David glanced right toward a smug-faced Marshall, who lifted his head and smiled. And then David turned one last time in the hope Arthur might be coming through the back door to announce their first witness’s arrival – but the doorway was all too empty, and he sensed that finally, they had run out of time.
‘Good morning,’ said Judge Jones, the weekend obviously having calmed his demeanour somewhat. ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I trust you had a restful weekend – and I want to thank you for being with us once again this morning.’
The jury smiled.
‘Good morning, Mr Marshall,’ Jones looked to Marshall. ‘Mr Cavanaugh,’ he turned his attention toward David. ‘I trust you are ready to proceed.’
Just then Arthur entered the back of the room, moving quickly up the aisle to hand a seriously relieved David a note before retreating from the room once again.
‘If it pleases the court, Your Honour,’ said David, asking for a moment to read the note and praying Jack Delgado was now waiting out in the hall with David’s mentor.
‘Nora’s spotted Rebecca’s car,’ he whispered to Chris and Sara. ‘It went into the car park.’
‘Jack Delgado isn’t here yet?’ asked Chris, his voice tinged with panic.
Sara smiled. ‘It’s okay, Chris. Jack is coming with Connor. He’ll be up here any minute.’
Chris nodded.
‘We still have to fill a few minutes,’ said David. ‘And I’m not sure how we do that given—’
‘Your Honour,’ said Sara before David could finish. She rose determinedly to her feet.
‘Ms Davis,’ replied Jones.
‘Before we begin, I wanted to express our gratitude.’
The judge looked at her over his glasses – a look of surprise on his wide shiny face. ‘And I’d be happy to accept it, Ms Davis, if I knew what it was for.’
The room managed a chuckle. ‘It’s the water, Judge.’
‘The water?’
‘In these pitchers,’ she said, gesturing at the pitcher on their desk. ‘The one on our desk and Mr Marshall’s desk and the pitcher over there made available to the jury.’ She pointed across the room.
‘Is there something special about this water, Ms Davis?’
‘No, Your Honour,’ smiled Sara, and David noticed the entire room smiling with her. ‘I just felt that, given we are guests in your courtroom, I should comment on it. You see it is not something the Superior Court in Massachusetts provides – ice water, that is – even in the middle of summer. It’s a small thing but given your hospitality during this trial, I just wanted to say thank you – on behalf of my co-counsel and our client.’
Jones’s eyes widened. ‘You want to thank me for the water?’
‘Yes, Your Honour.’ Sara glanced at the clock, just as one of the jury members lifted her hand to a clerk and requested a glass of water. This was followed by a second request and then a third.
‘Well,’ said Jones, obviously not sure how to respond. ‘These trials are long and . . .’ he poured himself a glass of water. ‘I appreciate you
r expression of gratitude.’
‘My pleasure, Judge,’ said Sara, before finally re-taking her seat.
David heard the whoosh of the heavy door at the back of the courtroom swinging open once again. He breathed a sigh, before craning his neck to look for Arthur who he knew would join them at the defence table before David called his first witness.
And there he was, limping quickly toward the defence desk, David not registering the full impact of their dilemma until he spotted the boy behind him.
‘Your Honour, I apologise,’ said David as a white-faced Connor Kincaid approached him. ‘If I may have a moment?’
He didn’t even wait for the judge’s answer, merely placed his hand on Connor’s shoulder and pulled him close. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘Where’s Jack?’
‘He didn’t arrive,’ said Connor.
‘What?’
‘He said he’d be at my place at 8.15, but he never came. I called his cell, like a million times, but he didn’t answer so . . .’ Connor took a breath. ‘I drove by his house – but he wasn’t there and neither was his mom’s car. But then I figured he might have forgotten he was meant to pick me up . . . but he’s not here, is he, David?’ The fear in Connor’s dark brown eyes was unmistakable. ‘Jack isn’t here.’
Vicki Delgado stood up behind them. ‘What is it?’ she demanded. ‘Connor, where is Jack?’
‘Your Honour.’ The voice came from the back of the room. David turned to see Harry McNally advancing toward them, holding his Blackberry in his hand.
‘And who are you?’ asked Jones, obviously approaching his limits.
‘I’m Detective Harry McNally, Judge. Newark PD Homicide, and I have some—’
‘Hold on a moment,’ interrupted Jones. ‘You’re the one on leave.’
‘Only according to the FAP, Your Honour. I’ve been working this case for the last month or so, with the defence.’
McNally shot a look at David that said, ‘It’s okay, the time for protecting me is past,’ while Marshall went to object and a now confused Jones held up his hand.
‘Detective, you have permission to approach. Mr Marshall, Mr Cavanaugh,’ he beckoned the two men forward, ‘what the hell is this all about, Mr Cavanaugh?’ the judge demanded. ‘Is what Detective McNally says true?’