Matter of Trust (40 page)

The old priest took a sip of his whisky. ‘Perhaps the pressure has finally gotten to him. Jack Delgado has always been under one form of pressure or another. His mother is well-meaning, but the standards she sets are high.'

‘It's more than that, Father,' said Mike. ‘He had that look in his eye – as if he's being eaten up by regret, or responsibility, or guilt.'

‘You think he feels ashamed of his opportunities – given Will's restricted
options? For if that is the case, dare I say it, Will Cusack has made little effort to advance his own prospects so . . .'

‘I think Jack feels lost,' said Mike.

And Father Patrick nodded once again. ‘It's never easy, Michael,' said the old priest after a pause, ‘trying to protect the young. I had my doubts about you, and it seems to me you turned out okay.'

‘Don't be so sure, Father,' smiled Mike in resolution. ‘Even so, this is different,' he added, seeing the old priest register the potential seriousness of the situation.

‘Do we need to intervene here, Michael?'

‘Even if we did, I am not sure how we would go about it. The boy was a long way from wanting to communicate this morning, Father.'

‘Then perhaps the only thing left to you is to give the boy some space until he is ready to seek help.'

‘But that's just it, Father. I get the feeling Jack Delgado is running out of space.'

‘He trusts you, Michael – you have been the most important older male influence in his life since his father's death. And so, if and when he comes to you, you will do what you can to help him.'

‘And what if I can't?'

‘Then just listening, just keeping the young man's confidence, will have to be enough.'

B
y 8 pm both Sara and David were craving some time with Lauren. They had spent a good part of the afternoon discussing exactly how they should handle their new discovery regarding the boy named Will, and after no clear resolution – McNally had favoured confronting the young man, while David warned such an approach would alert the kid to their findings which he did not want to do at this point – they had decided to sleep on it and meet again in the morning.

As much as the new information was useful, David knew that while the security video confirmed Will Cusack was somehow involved in the events that took place on the night of Marilyn's death, it did not prove that he killed her. Admittedly the kid had shown an unusually high level of interest in the case from the get-go – an interest David had originally written off as an over-zealous dedication to the Kincaid family – but once again his behaviour was not proof that the kid was the one who took Marilyn's life.

Further, Will's presence at the hotel presented David with another conundrum which he knew would be difficult to tackle. Connor Kincaid had vouched for Will's whereabouts on the night in question – which meant the alibi Chris Kincaid was lacking, Will had secured from his son. And on further contemplation David realised just how savvy this Cusack
may have been. He remembered Will telling Rebecca Kincaid, on that first morning at her house, that he'd left Jack and Connor alone to work on the assignment while he went downstairs to watch some DVDs. At the time, the boy's detailed description of events hadn't meant anything, but now David understood the kid could well have been setting up his own alibi – a four-hour window during which he could have slipped from the house and committed the crime for which Connor's father now stood accused.

‘God, I am beat,' said Sara as she lurched up the back kitchen stairs. ‘And there's so much to do – and so little time.' She smiled at the cliché, reaching for his hand as they made it to the door. ‘I hope Lauren hasn't gone down yet,' she added. ‘I miss her so much during the day.'

‘Me too,' said David, feeling a pang of guilt for involving Sara in this whole damned mess in the first place. ‘Sara, I . . .' He turned toward her. ‘Are you sure you're okay with this?' He needed to ask. ‘I mean, I know this whole thing with Cusack means we're making progress, but this is just the beginning. Our workload is going to be huge over the next few weeks, and I feel like I've . . . I don't know . . . abducted you or something.'

She reached up to silence him with a kiss. ‘We've been over this, David. We're a team, remember? And teams work together – no matter what. Besides, the trial is in less than two weeks which means that one way or another, this thing will probably be over in less than a month.'

And then it hit him, the speed at which this would all happen. He tried to swallow the panic in his throat, so that she wouldn't see how worried he was about their ability to pull this off, but he wasn't sure he managed it; there was a look of concern in her pale blue eyes.

‘Let's be honest with ourselves, Sara, the odds against us are massive. Marshall and his experienced team have spent the past six months building a strong case against our client, and we're just two out-of-town attorneys and a put-out-to-pasture cop who have only been on this case for a little over three days.' David took a breath, trying not to let the pressure get the better of him. ‘It's already Monday night and next week we'll be holed up in court trying to select a jury. We have the Sands hearing on Wednesday, I have to find us a decent jury expert before the weekend, and while all that is going on, somehow, we have to find the time to work out what the hell that kid was doing in that hotel on the night of Marilyn's death.'

She looked at him, the wisps of her long curly hair dancing in the cool evening breeze. And then she reached up to touch his cheek. ‘Do you remember when we first met – on the Martin trial,' she said, ‘when I was young and angry and always looking for a reason to blame the world for everything?'

David nodded.

‘And do you remember how I used to accuse you of being too idealistic, and you would argue back, telling me that my realism prevented me from seeing the future with hope?'

And he did. When he'd first met Sara, she'd been a product of her circumstance – a somewhat lost young woman unsure as to how she fitted in with the world. Her mother had been a teenage African–American prostitute who conceived Sara after sleeping with one of her many white ‘johns' and, while Sara had been adopted by a loving white couple from Cambridge who brought her up with just as much love and affection as they showed her younger naturally conceived brother Jake, she still found it difficult to see beyond her past.

‘But things are different now,' he said, hoping this was true. ‘Aren't they?'

‘Yes,' she said, ‘because of
you
. You changed the way I look at things, David. You showed me that the world can surprise you with miracles if you simply open your heart to the possibilities.'

‘You're saying I've forgotten how to dream,' he said slowly.

‘Not exactly. Just that, being home like this . . . it's hard for you to see past how it used to be and recognise the way that it
is
. It's okay to be worried, David – hell, I can't remember a time when that kind of adrenalin didn't help to push us over the line. But Marilyn's death, this thing with Chris, dealing with his family, being with your mom and your brother – you've been trying to manage this stuff for months now and I'm worried that you've been bottling things up for my sake.'

‘Sara, I . . .' he stopped, not sure what she was getting at.

‘You're trying too hard, David – to be all things to all people; a son to your mother, a brother to Sean, a husband to me, a father to Lauren, an attorney and a good friend to Chris. What I am trying to say is, it's okay to be worried, but it's not okay to hold it all inside.'

‘I don't want to put any more pressure on you,' he said.

‘But if you don't let off some steam, it'll end up wearing you down.'

‘You want me to hit the bar and drink myself into a stupor?'

‘Sure, if it helps. If you need to scream, scream, if you need to run, run, but make sure it's just to work up a sweat and you return to me and Lauren with your sanity intact.' She smiled.

David took her hand. ‘You think we can do this?'

‘What I think doesn't matter,' she replied.

He nodded. ‘I can't do this without you.'

‘Then you can do it.' She reached up to kiss him once again. ‘Just don't ever underestimate your beautiful, intelligent wife,' she added, with a smile. ‘I won't let you drown, David. You need to trust me.'

He held her close, her words of encouragement already easing his doubts. ‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘For forgetting.'

‘Don't be,' she smiled again as she gestured toward the door. ‘Now let's go inside, because behind that door is one massive dose of hope guaranteed.'

And she was right, and she was wrong.

 

‘Hey baby,' said Sara, seeing their fair-haired baby girl now cradled in David's mother's arms. The pair was standing in the far corner of the kitchen, a look of pure delight on Lauren's rosy-cheeked face.

‘Mama!' exclaimed Lauren, her blue eyes lighting up with pleasure as her legs kicked and her arms reached out for her mom to take her.

‘Thanks so much, Patty,' said Sara. ‘Honestly, we're so grateful for your . . .'

But then Sara stopped, sensing the air of tension in the brightly lit room. She met Patty's eyes and followed her gaze toward the kitchen table where an unexpected visitor sat straight-backed and stern-faced.

‘You must be David's wife,' said the woman, getting to her feet but not going so far as to extend her hand. ‘My name is Gloria Kincaid, and I'm not going anywhere until I get an explanation.'

Sara looked back at an anxious-faced Patty, then turned to meet David's eye, suspecting that her earlier advice about letting off some steam was about to be followed with gusto.

‘Look out, Lauren,' Sara said softly to her baby daughter. ‘I think Daddy's about to blow.'

*

‘Okay,' began David. ‘Let's get one thing straight. This is my mother's home and I will not have you coming in here and abusing her hospitality by attacking us the minute we walk in the door.'

Gloria said nothing.

‘Secondly, we owe you no explanation, Gloria. I expect you are wondering why I didn't tell you that I was back on Chris's case. I'm also guessing you're questioning the competence of my wife – an experienced trial attorney – and that you're concerned we're not good enough to stand up for your son in court. Well, bottom line, Gloria, there is no way I would offer to represent Chris if I didn't think we were capable – and in the end, it's Chris's decisions, not yours.'

But Gloria was ready for him. ‘You have known my son long enough to understand he does not make decisions alone. I have made him what he is, David.'

‘What, a man accused of murder?'

‘No,' she snapped, ‘a respected man of the people. Do you think it was easy keeping him on track when he was surrounded by other young men who lacked his potential, and cheap young women who tried to seduce him with their penchant for forbidden romance?'

David swallowed, his hands curling into fists.

‘No, I have fought long and hard for my son's success, David,' Gloria Kincaid went on, ‘and I am not about to toss it away just because you think friendship is enough to win him his freedom.'

‘So you didn't ask Rebecca to contact me?' David had suspected Gloria was the one who pushed Rebecca into making that call.

‘Of course I did. But not so she could convince you to come back and represent my son for God's sake; merely so you would call and convince him that it was not in his best interests to plea.'

‘So you see my role in this as purely perfunctory?'

‘I believe my son respects your opinion – but as for your ability to . . .'

‘No,' said David.

‘No what?' asked a defiant Gloria.

‘No, you don't get to dictate where I stand in regard to your son.'

‘I think you are forgetting how pivotal I have always been to my son's survival.'

‘And I think you're missing the point.' David moved around the kitchen
table to face her, Sara and Patty stepping back – giving him the room he needed.

‘I don't
care
what you think, Gloria. I'm not sure if I ever have. My parents taught me a long time ago that their role in life was to prepare me to make decisions for myself and I thank God each and every day that they had the courage and the wisdom to stand back and let me fail. I've made mistakes, more than I care to remember, but at least they were
my
mistakes, Gloria, not reactions to the demands of my parents.'

‘You're blaming me for Chris's mistakes?' she asked, horrified.

‘I'm blaming you for trying to make them go away.'

She shook her head. ‘The charges relating to the death of that hairdresser were withdrawn years ago.'

‘And the $100,000 that was offered to Marilyn earlier this year?'

And there it was – the unspoken truth that had been hanging in the air since Chris was first arrested.

‘Why can't the FAP find any evidence of the withdrawal, Gloria?' David took another step toward her. ‘Do you have wads of cash just sitting in that spotless mansion of yours just in case you need to pay off the next unfortunate who stands in Chris's way?'

Gloria flinched.

‘That money is going to bury him, Gloria – the offering of it, the fact that it disappeared. The FAP is going to claim Chris stole it back when he went to visit Marilyn's apartment, and if I were a juror, I'd find it very difficult not to believe him.'

‘I . . .' the woman began, failing to find words for the first time since their conversation had started.

‘I told you back in January that your cash is worthless,' David went on. ‘It's time you stepped out from behind your chequebook and understood that this thing is not going to go away. A woman is dead. A woman you tried to pay off. A woman who loved your son and never asked him, or you, for a goddamned thing in return. And Chris will pay for it – he'll be convicted of murder and sent away for the rest of his life, if you don't do what you can to save him.'