by Sydney Bauer
Loretta was now on the edge of her chair, listening to the arguments that had been going through her own head all night. Hearing Roger play them out started to give them validity.
‘Okay, let’s think of all the things she didn’t do that she should have. She let four kids on an outboard built for three, and these are adult-sized kids, Loretta, not babies. She failed to check their bags for alcohol. She let them out of her sight which meant the capsize occurred beyond her field of vision. She believed a drunken teenager when she said she was (a) a good swimmer and (b) sober enough to play Flipper way off shore for at least five minutes. We have more than probable cause, we have the foundations for a very strong prosecution, and we’ve only just scratched the surface.’
Loretta sat back in her pink and white floral chair and considered her colleague’s reasoning. Add this to the Senator’s determination and it certainly sounded more than plausible to at least charge the woman and proceed with formal investigations.
‘Then there’s the other matter,’ said Katz quietly, his eyes avoiding contact.
‘No, Roger, we are not going down that road,’ she snapped. ‘It could be a disaster for all concerned. It could be fatal for us.’
‘So it’s Involuntary Manslaughter then?’
Loretta could see the excitement in his eyes. He was willing to take what he could get, at least for now.
‘Call the District Court and talk warrant. Then call Mannix. Better still, hand me the phone and I’ll make the calls myself. Let’s do this now, before I have a chance to change my mind.’
Vincent Verne had a love–hate relationship with computers. On one hand they allowed incredible access to information – and not just the free-for-all kind but the confidential stuff which was exactly the sort Vince was interested in. On the other, they left a trail. They had powerful hard drives with infinite memories that seemed all too permanent for a man who enjoyed the reassurance of anonymity.
Vince felt the same way about telephones, great for accumulating knowledge but landlines were too easy to trace. So he always used a cell that was registered to a fake name and, at times like this, he would change the number every twenty-four hours.
He found it easy to be anonymous. He had learned the art of being nobody from a very early age. His mother was only sixteen when he was born and thirty when she died. She took more notice of the liquor cabinet than she did of him. Looking back, he knew it had been good training for his career in obscurity. She had actually done him a favour.
And so this morning as he sat at his hotel room desk, having cleared it of brochures and note pads and other useless paraphernalia, he drew on such experiences and considered the significance of what was to come – his most important assignment yet. He had based his career, his entire adult life on protecting those more important than him. From the moment he left his poor excuse for a home, he’d set out to create a new life for himself by joining the Secret Service, and eventually he’d met the man who would take the place of the father he never had.
Now he had the ultimate opportunity to assist the man he respected more than any other. True, it was an opportunity doused in tragedy, but an opportunity nonetheless. And so he set out on his task. It had only been eighteen hours and he had had already obtained extensive information on Rayna Martin – everything from her social security number to her health records, from her family background to her entire career history, her Boston University law school graduation marks, her car registration number, her home and cell phone details and a wealth of other intimate information extracted from her email inbox. He even discovered her favourite food was sushi, which he had never taken a liking to himself.
He had not slept but he wasn’t tired; in fact, he felt invigorated. He took great pride in knowing the neatly compiled file before him was accurate, detailed and more than enough to get things started. Soon he would start on the other witnesses – the Martin girl, Mariah Jordan and Francine Washington. As the Senator always said, information was your friend and he was more than happy to provide such friendship to the man who had once saved his life.
Mick McGee held the view that Americans were, in general, a bigoted lot. This, he would tell his customers, was because they always assumed a woman’s cooking was better than a man’s.
That’s why Mick McGee’s Downtown Café and Deli was called Myrtle McGee’s and the food, regardless of who cooked it, was delicious. Mick was a big man, over six foot four with a wide girth, ruddy complexion and shocking orange hair that was cut close to his freckled Irish scalp.
‘How’s it going, Davy Boy?’ said Mick, looking up from his juicing machine with a smile. ‘I see you’ve been on the receiving end of a football boot or two. I just hope the other fella looks worse than you do, which is probably a technical impossibility. You been for your run this morning?’
‘Yeah. Did about five miles along the Harbour. Just here to pick up some take-out for an office brunch. I need enough for three.’
David was finally at the front of the queue at the ever popular Myrtles. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt open at the collar and khaki chinos – both of which had been ironed within an inch of their lives. His still wet, sandy brown hair was combed down and he even managed a quick shave, something he usually avoided on a Sunday.
‘So who’s the girl,’ said Mick as he wrapped up the bagels with cream cheese, and stacked some fruit between the coffee and juice in a take-out tray.
‘No girl, just work.’
‘So all three in this meeting are of the male persuasion then?’
‘Well, one of them is Arthur and I’d be happy to pass it on that you may be unsure of his persuasions?’
‘Playing the jester this morning are we? Well, get along with ya then,’ said Mick. ‘I’ve got better things to do than listen to your ramblings all day. And by the way,’ he yelled just as David reached the door. ‘Tell your lady friend I put extra cream cheese on her bagel. You need all the help you can get.’
David arrived at his office to find Sara waiting out front. She was wearing a pale blue dress the same colour as her eyes. Her hair was pushed back from her face with her sunglasses, and she smiled as she rushed forward to help him carry the food and coffee trays.
It was just before ten thirty and David used his security key to let them into the old Federal-style building. He loved this part of town, so much so that his own high rise apartment was only a block away. There was something inspirational about working on the street where the Declaration of Independence was first read aloud, a stone’s throw from where Samuel Adams called upon the revolutionaries to throw Britain’s highly taxed tea into the Harbour and a short stroll from where Benjamin Franklin went to school.
They entered the office to find Arthur looking his usual scruffy self, already at work with various law books strewn across his beloved old desk. David had called him early this morning knowing his boss would be anxious for an update, after which Arthur must have come straight to work, no doubt eager to get a head start on what they needed to cover.
Introductions were made and brunch unpacked as Arthur dove into his initial summation.
‘Okay, so we’re supposing that the DA and her merry men may succumb to what we believe may be significant pressure from Senator Haynes to find someone to blame for his daughter’s death.’
‘In a nutshell,’ said Sara.
‘All right then, let’s start with what we know. The DA was personally involved with the holding of Mrs Martin at Headquarters yesterday. She must have already spoken with Haynes and spent the best half of last night stalling so that the police could help her find probable cause and arrest Rayna whilst she was still at HQ. This failed, but David’s subtle tip from Tommy Wu would suggest the DA is most likely still dedicated to finding such probable cause and issuing a warrant for arrest on the charge of involuntary manslaughter asap. By this stage she would have involved her ADA Roger Katz who will be salivating at the political and publicity potential for such a case. Add this to Hayn
es’ tenacity and in all honesty I would expect our client to be arrested before the day is out.’
Sara shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
‘Okay, so let’s talk about their probable cause,’ said David.
‘We must remember that Christina’s last words were to Rayna,’ said Arthur. ‘So everything Rayna describes regarding that last conversation is hearsay.’
‘In other words,’ interrupted David, ‘the prosecution could claim Rayna blatantly abandoned Christina to seek out her daughter and the other two girls. In fact, that is their most likely scenario, a straight case of negligent abandonment – or in this case favouritism – which resulted in a helpless teenager being left alone in historically dangerous waters at a significant distance from shore.’
‘Creating the likelihood that her life would be put in imminent jeopardy,’ finished Arthur.
‘This is crazy,’ said Sara. ‘You are making this sound like an open and shut case. When you put it that way it sounds . . . I don’t know, hopeless.’
‘No, my dear,’ said Arthur. ‘Just more interesting. In any case Rayna must be prepared for scrutiny at all levels. If my guess is correct, Scaturro and Katz will be after a grand jury indictment within the week. The State will depend on finding character flaws or incidences that show a pattern of irresponsibility.’
‘Well, they won’t. I know Rayna, she’s a good woman,’ said Sara.
‘I’m sure she is,’ said Arthur, lifting his grey eyes above the half spectacles that settled on the end of his nose, ‘but so was Joan of Arc, and look what happened to her.’
They worked on possible prosecution scenarios until three in the afternoon – when David got the tip off. Petri and Rico were on their way to Rayna’s house with a warrant for her arrest.
Whilst strictly speaking Mannix was walking a fine line calling David with this information, David knew his friend would have weighed up the pros and cons of making such a call and would not have done so unless he believed Rayna Martin had the right to some form of ‘legal back-up’ upon her arrival at Headquarters.
Mannix had told him he predicted an all out frenzy considering the press had been calling all morning looking for the next instalment for tomorrow’s newspapers. And now, one look at the gathering crowd outside the new glass and granite police headquarters facility told David and Sara that he had been right.
The game was on. The circus had come to town. Television vans blocked traffic on the busy intersection of Ruggles and Tremont, whilst reporters and photographers grappled for position on the large, open plan entry way leading up to the glass front doors. Cameramen divided themselves between the main and side entrances, unsure which way the unmarked detective’s car would approach, whilst a third group hedged their bets by covering an alternative access at the building’s rear.
David and Sara moved inside the building, just beyond the garaged back entrance where high profile prisoners were admitted. They knew the detectives always avoided the front doors or ‘red carpet drive’ as it was sometimes called, in cases of high media interest such as these. Occasionally they would use the main doors, usually when a cop killer or paedophile saw them abandon any regard for the alleged criminal, but a case such as this would definitely be an undercover delivery.
But for some unknown reason, the detectives took Rayna through the front. Petri approached Headquarters with lights flashing and siren blazing, and parked the car right near the TV vans on Ruggles Street, more than 400 feet from the crowded main entrance. A seemingly frustrated Rico pulled a hand-cuffed Rayna from the back seat and led her through the minefield of media who pushed and shoved, cameras held high.
It took over five minutes for them to negotiate the distance, giving the press their pound of flesh and then some, before ADA Roger Katz, all seriousness and importance, opened the front doors and shepherded them into the building.
David and Sara rushed through the building trying to catch up with the action out front and saw Katz doing his best performance for the hungry audience milling around him. That explained the grand entrance. The Kat was making a curtain call and David headed straight for him.
‘You bastard. How dare you parade my client through that mob.’ David grabbed Katz by the arm and spun him around hard.
‘What’s the matter, Counsellor, your detective buddy give you a bum steer on the back door?’ Katz said low enough and with a thoughtful look on his face so that any reporters looking through the front doors would assume Mr Cool was as collected as ever.
He told David he would be able to see his client once she had been processed, but until then, he would have to sit tight.
‘You know the drill, Counsellor, but forgive me in advance if the processing takes a little longer than usual. This is a rather high profile matter and we want to make sure everything is done by the book. Don’t you agree? So, if you’ll excuse me, Mr Cavanaugh, Ms . . . ?’
‘Davis. Sara Davis,’ said Sara through gritted teeth.
‘A pleasure,’ said the Kat before turning to follow Petri and Rayna down the marbled passageway.
Sara looked up at David. ‘That man is the lowest.’
David didn’t need anyone to tell him how low Katz could go. They had worked on opposite sides of the fence for a long time and every case seemed to see the Kat find a new meaning to the word shallow.
‘Don’t let him get to you,’ said David. ‘Consider him an asset to the defence.’
‘An asset? How so?’
‘He just gives us another reason to fight. A few minutes ago I just wanted to win this thing. Now I’m going to enjoy doing it.
Luckily Rayna’s sister Delia had been at Rayna’s home when the detectives arrived. She and Teesha had followed the unmarked car in her BMW. David and Sara met up with them in the front lobby and did their best to reassure Teesha who was shaking in Delia’s arms.
Delia was a larger than life version of her sister – in fact, thought David, everything about Delia was big. She was at least a foot taller than Rayna with big hair, colourful clothes and a large diamond ring on her large left hand.
Sara introduced them and Delia immediately grabbed David by the shoulders, pulled him towards her and engulfed him in a hug. It seemed Delia Banks had a big heart too and was not afraid to show it.
‘Your mother is in processing,’ said Sara, taking Teesha’s hand. ‘You will be able to see her as soon as the paper work is completed.’
‘Will she have to stay in jail tonight?’
‘Probably,’ said David. There was no point in lying. ‘Your mom will most likely be arraigned tomorrow. This means she will stand before a judge who’ll read the charge to her. That’s when she gets to tell everyone she is not guilty. Then we get your mom out on bail,’ he said, looking towards Delia, sensing that she might have a hand in organising the bond money, ‘. . . and back home to you.’
Delia gave him a nod.
‘I want to tell them it wasn’t her fault,’ said Teesha, breaking from Delia’s embrace to look David directly in the eye. ‘It was my fault, it was my party. It was my idea to take the boat into the cove. We should never have drunk Francie’s champagne.’
‘Stop that, girl,’ said Delia, hitching up her skirt so that she might bend down to Teesha’s level.
‘We’ve been over this all night. Your momma knows how much you love her and this is nobody’s fault. It was an accident – a tragic one indeed but all part of God’s plan. Sara and Mr Cavanaugh are good lawyers, Teesha, and more importantly good people. They’re gonna make sure your mom is free of all of this nonsense real soon.’
With that Delia gave David a look of pure admiration and squeezed Sara’s hand, the bracelets on her right arm jingling with approval, before taking Teesha to buy something to eat.
‘Talk about pressure,’ said Sara, and he caught the small shudder at the intake of her breath.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go wait up in Homicide.’
‘Enjoying your weekend, Joe?’
/> David and Sara tapped on Mannix’s office door and walked in.
David was tempted to have a go at his friend over the afternoon’s front door fiasco, but decided against it. He knew Katz was behind the pathetic parade and Petri was most likely acting under the ADA’s orders. Joe was Petri’s boss, but the lines of authority were becoming increasingly blurred in this case – and Joe had tipped them off, after all.
‘Yeah sure. My eldest kid was in his baseball prelims today. Don’t even know the score.’
Joe and his wife Marie had four sons all of whom looked exactly like their mother. Mannix claimed it was his greatest gift to them, a mother with looks.
‘Look David, I’m sorry about the . . .’
‘It’s okay, Joe.’
‘I’m gonna have a word with Petri. I had no idea what he was going to do.’
‘It’s okay. Thanks for the tip off,’ David interrupted him.
Joe managed a smile. ‘What tip off?’
David smiled back. ‘This is Sara Davis by the way, she’s working on the case with me.’
‘Hi.’ they shook hands and Mannix looked out through the glass of his office partitions before shutting the door. ‘You see the Kat out front?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. We had a few words.’
‘Watch him, David.’ Mannix paused looking at Sara.
‘It’s all right, Joe. She’s okay.’
‘All I’m saying is, Scaturro is one thing, she plays the political game but she’s pretty straight up. Katz on the other hand . . . Haynes will want to pull the strings on this one and Katz will let him.’
‘But Scaturro’s in charge, right? You told me that yourself.’
‘All I know is the Kat is looking very happy with himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if he and the Senator were having some private dialogue of their own.’
‘You know this for a fact?’ asked Sara.
