Matter of Trust (34 page)

‘You want back in?' he asked in disbelief.

‘Yes.'

‘
Why?
'

‘Because I believe you.'

‘But nothing has changed. I'm still the man I was in January – when you left.'

‘And I'm still the person you knew as a kid, Chris. Sara and I want to help you. There've been some new developments. We believe we can see this through.'

Chris looked at Sara and back to David. ‘You think you can
win
?'

‘I think we can try. I think there are stones left unturned. I think the real story is only just beginning to rear its ugly head. I think we can find out who did this, if you're willing to give us the chance.'

Chris said nothing until, ‘You want me to trust you?'

‘You've done so before.'

‘But time is so short.' Chris shook his head. ‘I mean, have you ever prepared for a trial in less than three weeks, DC?'

‘I've been defending you since you were a kid, Chris. Just how hard can it be?'

Despite it all, Chris allowed himself a smile. ‘It's a huge risk, David. Not that I don't have every faith in your abilities, but . . . we are playing with my life here. If we lose, I won't be out before I'm eighty and you will—'

‘Never be able to forgive myself,' finished David.

‘That's a lot to ask, my friend.'

‘But you're not asking, Chris. I'm offering. And I wouldn't put you through this if I didn't think we had a chance. There's new evidence, stuff we need to explore in the short time we have left. So you need to make a decision and you need to make it fast.'

Chris said nothing, just hung his head as if the burden of such a decision lay heavily on his shoulders.

‘I don't deserve you,' he said.

‘You need to let me be the judge of that, Chris.'

Chris lifted his chin, to look at David, across to Sara and then back to David again. ‘You think Edward Fisk III has ever been sacked from a case before?'

‘Not likely,' smiled David, relief rushing over him.

‘And Elliott Marshall, you think he's used to having his pleas rejected?'

‘I figure there's a first time for everything.'

Chris nodded. ‘I don't think I've ever lost a race before in my life, David – and this is no time to start.'

‘Then we better get started,' smiled David.

‘Okay, DC. I'm in.'

T
he sermon was long, but Will wasn't listening. He was trying to remember that story from the Bible – the one about that time when Jesus threw a fit – something to do with some entrepreneurs using the church as a marketplace, some opportunistic merchants set on overcharging the poor. Jesus made some whip out of rope and chased them from the temple, screaming something about turning his father's house into a certifiable ‘den of thieves'.

Maybe there was something in that divine intervention thing after all, thought Will, as Father Mike blabbed on about ‘an all-knowing and all-seeing God'. Just the fact that he'd ended up seated next to the very person he needed to see was a blessing. And this whole damned thing had started mere feet from where he was sitting. So in many ways he had come full circle, as he finally saw the answer to getting this thing done.

‘Connor said your son is going to plea,' he whispered low and husky into Gloria Kincaid's ear. He saw no point in waiting. From what he knew about Gloria Kincaid, she was not one to suffer those who beat around the bush. He just prayed that she would respond to him, not leave him hanging, with nowhere left to go.

‘Not that it is any of your business,' replied Gloria Kincaid. ‘But Connor is wrong.'

And Will was somewhat surprised to see the woman did not flinch. The old bird was tougher than all the other Kincaids put together, which was exactly what he was counting on.

‘I have a business proposal for you,' he went on.

Gloria turned slightly to meet his eye. ‘Forgive me . . . William, isn't it? But the chances of you and I ever doing business are as about as likely as—'

‘Your son is a liar, and the odds against him are huge. He has no alibi, he was sleeping with the victim, he tried to pay her off but she refused to take the dough.' Will paused to let his words sink in. ‘He's killed some chick before, they found the latest woman's shoe in his wife's car, and from what I'm hearing, the prosecution are going to drop the bombshell in court that the woman was still alive when she was tossed into the Passaic, so – my guess is – your boy ain't gonna to be running for President any time soon.'

He had held strong and he could see it had rattled her. She was obviously wondering how the hell this public school degenerate knew the things that he did. Not that she moved or made a sound, it was more the subtle clenching of her well-defined jaw that gave her away – that, and the fact that the offertory procession was over, and she had forgotten to re-take her seat.

‘What do you want?' she asked almost inaudibly after a time.

‘Money.'

‘Hmmph.' She gave the slightest of smiles. ‘At least you are honest enough to admit it.'

‘Sure. You have it. I want it. I can provide a service that you need so . . . It's basic economics, Mrs Kincaid – supply and demand.'

But she said nothing.

‘I can get him off.' It was a gamble of course, taking this route. He was praying the senator had not told his mother about his similar, but opposite, proposal back in January. But something told him Chris Kincaid wouldn't have mentioned their little meeting to anyone, partly because it stunk of conspiracy, and partly because Chris Kincaid genuinely cared for Will – but this was no time to be thinking about that.

Gloria Kincaid blinked.

‘I can provide him with an alibi,' Will continued, ‘or at least a partial one – a window to give the jury that much needed reasonable doubt.'

‘I don't think so,' said Gloria, but Will could see the hesitation in her eyes. She wanted her son to survive this thing more than she had ever wanted anything else in her whole goddamned life, and that would be her weakness.

‘Whatever you are proposing, it would reek of conspiracy,' she said, ‘they'd want to know why you did not come forward earlier.'

‘You think I haven't considered that?'

She shot a quick glance at him before focusing on the altar once again. ‘Even if you have, this is not the time to discuss it.'

Even if you have . . .

‘Okay,' said Will. ‘I'll be at your place at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. We can discuss it then.'

Gloria did not reply, but merely gave him the slightest of nods before shifting herself as far away from Will as possible and turning her attention back to the mass.

And that was when, despite it all, Will found himself joining in with enthusiasm, as the congregation recited, ‘Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world'. And that was when he realised that perhaps he and God were not so different after all.

I
t was late by the time they reached David's mother's place. He and Sara had spent the better part of the weekend covering the basics of their discovery with Chris. They had gone through everything from Chris's alibi – which remained as Chris had originally described it – Lorraine Stankovic's death – Chris having apologised profusely for his failure to share this earlier – and to the issue of the old class ring found in Marilyn's apartment – Chris explaining it would have been the same one he had given her twenty years ago. But Chris still had no explanation as to how Marilyn's shoe was found in his wife's car, or who was responsible for the $100,000.

‘So where do you think the money came from?' David had asked.

‘My mother, I guess,' Chris had replied. ‘But I have asked her, and she denies it.'

‘Does your mother have an alibi for the night of January 12?'

Chris had met his eye. ‘Yes,' he'd replied, the slightest trace of resentment in his voice. ‘She was hostess at the annual Leukaemia Foundation Dinner. I know this because I was supposed to go. She stayed late – and I know
this
because the following day she told me she was talking to the CEO of CTC Insurance until 1 am, and that if I'd been there, I could have secured myself a five-figure campaign donation.'

David had nodded. ‘I'm sorry, Chris, but I had to ask. I don't think your mother killed Marilyn either – but if she is behind the 100K, her coming clean could help you.'

‘Maybe so,' Chris had relaxed a little. ‘But I believe she sees it differently. Don't forget I haven't come out publicly and confirmed I was having an affair with Marilyn – and the press have only skirted around the issue because the prosecution are keeping so much of this case under wraps. I think my mother wants it all – an acquittal for me and a confirmation that Marilyn and I were nothing but friends. She wants my career to pick up where it left off.'

‘That is not going to happen, Chris,' David had said.

Chris had nodded. ‘I know.'

‘Did the prosecution provide any documentation that suggests they've traced the $100,000?'

‘They can't find it anywhere – at least that's what Fisk said. But I'm not sure that helps me, DC, given politicians are notoriously good at hiding their money. And let's face it, Marilyn's satchel kind of pinned it all on me.'

He had been right, of course – as he had been about other details. Chris was an experienced ex-prosecutor after all, and David and Sara had expected no less. First up, he had pointed out that while it was a positive that the DNA sample from under Marilyn's fingernails did not belong to him, the fact that it was still unidentified after all these months meant there was little chance of either the prosecution or the defence finding the man who attacked and raped Marilyn before killing her.

David could see Chris was grappling with the internal struggle of, on the one hand, being relieved the DNA did not tie him even tighter to the crime, but on the other, coming to terms with the fact that the woman he loved had most likely been violently raped in the hours immediately preceding her death.

Further, while the ME's conclusion that the injury to Marilyn's head was a result of a fall rather than a blow appeared to reduce the severity of aggression of which their client was accused, it did little to exonerate him. Marshall would simply claim Chris pushed his girlfriend so hard that she lost her footing. And in the end, it was the action of throwing her body in the river that killed her – not the rape, or the controversial head injury.

Finally, Chris, despite being buoyed by David's recent discoveries
involving the second mysterious cell, had pointed out that the very fact David had received Marilyn's cell through less than legitimate means, and then had failed to hand it over to authorities as soon as it was in his possession, meant that the cell and everything associated with it could well be deemed inadmissible.

‘As grateful as I am for this new info, DC,' Chris had said. ‘You're walking a very fine line here. Marshall will scream foul the minute you present it in court. He'll claim you failed in your obligation to produce discovery, he'll file a motion to have it thrown out before we even get a chance to—'

‘I don't want to give the cell to Marshall at this early stage,' David had cut in. ‘We're not even sure what it means as yet. Handing it over will only allow him to make a counter argument. He'll try to stick that second cell to you and he has a chance of doing it considering we don't know the identity of the real texter. If he does that, you're screwed, because the texts have you setting up a rendezvous with Marilyn on the very night of her death.'

Chris had agreed. ‘I see what you are saying. We have to nail this mystery texter another way, take what little we've learnt from his messages and use it to identify him – which isn't going to be easy, considering you're only a team of two and Marshall has an entire homicide squad at his disposal.' Chris had taken a breath.

‘When is the Sands hearing?' Chris then asked, referring to the hearing David had requested in an effort to seek a ruling that would make the Lorraine Stankovic matter inadmissible.

‘Wednesday,' David had replied, reminding himself he had only three days to prepare for this all-important event.

‘Will Sara be accredited by then?' Chris had countered, referring to the fact that Sara was not yet allowed to act as David's co-chair given she had not passed the bar in the state of New Jersey. Sara had studied law at Boston University and was licensed to practise in Massachusetts, which meant she would have to apply for accreditation in Jersey.

‘We think so.' David realised exactly how all this was sounding.

‘And what about jury selection – it starts next week. Have you hired a specialist?'

‘No,' David had admitted, knowing Chris was not trying to be hard
on him, but had every right to point out just how strapped for time and resources they were.

‘The best one I know is booked solid in Boston,' David had said, referring to their colourful friend Phyllis Vecchio. ‘Sara's made some investigations, but we were going to ask who you recommended.'

Chris had nodded. ‘I'll give you some names.'

And then the silence had hung heavily in the air until their goodbyes were said and David and Sara headed for home.

‘Chris was right,' David contemplated as he pulled up in front of his mother's house. ‘Our lack of support in my birth city is crushing us.' Without the base of his many contacts in Boston, David was at a loss.

‘You are going to need help, DC.' Chris's parting words echoed loudly in his ears. ‘Time is incredibly short.' And that was when David knew, that in the very least, he needed to conscript his ‘third team member' as quickly as possible.