Undertow

by Sydney Bauer

‘What I am saying is, you can’t be a cop in this city for as long as I have and not notice things, see a pattern.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘When Haynes wants something he gets it,’ said Mannix. ‘He makes things happen. The guy is a zealot when it comes to fulfilling election promises, growing his financial interests, protecting his inner circle, punishing those who let him down. He walks all over people, David, and he does it with a smile on his face.’

  ‘Can you give me an example?’

  ‘Okay, take this guy, an accountant at Locke and Baum, mid thirties, wife, two kids, rosy future, right? One day he gets himself in a car accident, breaks his arm, his pelvis. Leaves him in traction for six weeks.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So the accident happens in his own driveway. He claims some crazy drunk sped up there by mistake and then took off. Didn’t get the plates or the make of the car, couldn’t even say what colour. But the neighbours see it different. They see a black Mercedes swerve into his house and nudge him up his own drive while he’s fixing his kid’s bicycle. The driver winds down the window, says something to the accountant and takes off.’

  ‘Who was the accountant, Joe?’

  ‘He was handling Haynes’ finances at the time and there was some suggestion of embezzlement. The fraud squad were investigating him but, after the accident, they were called off.

  ‘And don’t forget, next year Haynes is up for re-election,’ Joe went on. ‘And believe you me, no one is gonna get in the way of him winning another term. Whether you like it or not, this case is a forerunner to his campaign. You defeat the prosecution and you defeat Haynes by default – he’ll either come off as a loser or a man to be pitied – and both perspectives, I can promise you, have no place in the great Rudolph Haynes’s pre-determined road to victory.’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying,’ said David, his head down as he scuffed his shoes on the pavement.

  ‘Do you?’ asked Mannix, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder and forcing him to look up. ‘Well, just to make sure, let me put it another way. If I found myself on Haynes’ hit list I would take Marie and the boys and move cities. Hell, I’d migrate to Fiji. Don’t underestimate him David because he’ll stop at nothing, and no one will ever be the wiser.’

  ‘Except you.’

  ‘Except me,’ said Joe, perhaps realising he had scared his friend enough to at least keep him on the alert. ‘And by then I’ll be sailing a yacht off some idyllic, tropical island paradise without a care in the world.’

  It was late. Arthur told David and Sara to go home. They should get some sleep and start again early tomorrow.

  Sara had driven to the church with Delia so her car was still at home. David liked it that Sara didn’t wait for the offer for a lift home, she just climbed into his Toyota Landcruiser as if knowing he was going to insist anyway.

  ‘We made a mess of things today,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah,’ he replied.

  They sat in silence as he pulled out and headed north towards Sara’s brownstone.

  ‘David.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you what he said to me.’

  David had forgotten seeing Haynes mouth something to Sara. So much had happened so quickly. He now remembered the horrified look on her face just before he reached her.

  ‘What was it?’ he said, turning to look at her.

  ‘He said, ‘forget or regret’.’

  David knew what Haynes had meant, forget Washington’s conversation or suffer the consequences.

  ‘Look Sara, the guy is all bluff. He was emotionally distressed, he was just trying to rattle you.’

  But David knew better. These three words scared the hell out of him, especially after his conversation with Mannix. But there was no point in alarming Sara unnecessarily, and he wanted so desperately to alleviate her fears. ‘I wouldn’t let it worry you.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she said. ‘Silly isn’t it? I mean what can the guy do?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  They sat quietly as David approached her terrace, the front light left on by her friend Cindy.

  ‘The guy just wants to unnerve us, keep our minds on everything else but defending Rayna.’

  ‘I know. I just . . . I really want to win this, David. For Rayna, of course, but also because we have to fight for what’s right. This case has nothing to do with race. Rayna is one of the most tolerant people I know, she doesn’t even notice the colour of people’s skin, just who they are, what they do, how she can help them.

  ‘I have seen bigotry at work; that’s one of the things that drew me to Rayna in the first place. She is so incredibly free of any form of bias. I worry what this is doing to Teesha, I . . . I just hope I’m good enough a lawyer to help you pull this off.’

  He took her hand, and without thinking brought it up to his lips and kissed it. ‘You’re more than good enough,’ he said. ‘Everything you just said proves that.’

  She brought up her other hand and touched his cheek.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, leaning in towards him ever so slightly.

  They looked at each other then, inches apart, and David felt an all-consuming need to kiss her. He sensed that she felt the same way, her eyes locked on his, her breaths long and slow and warm against his face.

  ‘Sara, I . . .’

  ‘I know,’ she said, cutting him short. ‘It’s just that there is so much happening right now . . .’

  ‘I didn’t mean to . . .’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said, and then paused before going on. ‘I have to go. But David, I need you to know that, I guess there is a time for everything and this is, well . . .’ she paused again. ‘Like I said, thanks for everything.’

  And then she turned and climbed out of the car, closing the door behind her, moving quickly up her front walk, without looking back.

  He had no idea how long he sat there. Seconds, minutes, longer. He was so tired, so terrified, so overwhelmed, so confused.

  This is what it is like, he thought to himself, realising that he had forgotten. And then he turned the ignition key and pulled out towards home, feeling more alive than he had in years.

  9

  Arthur leaned forward and put the paper down.

  ‘Not good,’ he said.

  ‘Could have been worse,’ offered David who then turned to page three to see a photo of himself rearing back to punch Roger Katz in the face, ‘or maybe not.’

  ‘No, maybe not,’ said Sara looking over his shoulder, the scent of perfume on her neck.

  They had started early, and neither had mentioned last night’s ‘moment’. It was as if they both realised that work was the priority; but there was no awkwardness, and this in itself was re-assuring.

  ‘Anyway, what’s done is done,’ said Arthur. ‘We should get back to work.’

  The strategy they had devised for Rayna’s defence had originally been based on the charge of involuntary manslaughter but the new charge of murder two required a different tack. Initially, they were to focus on Rayna’s reputation as a responsible person, and whilst this was still the case, they now also had to prove that Rayna was not a racist and this is where the lines became foggy.

  For starters, Rayna worked for a minority support organisation. Despite the fact that AACSAM was a respected community establishment, it was still associated with race division. Secondly, she had managed to build a good reputation as a talented civil rights lawyer. But this meant that ninety per cent of the time she represented the little guy – meaning minority – against the bigger guy – usually meaning corporation run or owned by powerful, wealthy, white people. The State could claim her actions ‘against’ Christina were representative of her feelings towards the affluent, white establishment as a whole.

  Finally, whilst Rayna had white friends, her larger social group was African–American. The only time she had to socialise was on the odd occasion after work, with her workmates, or on the weekends which she usually spen
t with Teesha, Delia and people associated with Teesha’s friends, like Elise and Ewan Jordan.

  ‘All black,’ said Sara as Arthur outlined his reasoning.

  ‘All black.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ asked Sara.

  ‘With two options,’ said David. ‘First up, we paint a picture of our client which proves she is incapable of murder. Remember, all we need is reasonable doubt. Secondly we establish the laying of the charge itself was racially motivated, and that the girl’s father is a bigot seeking retribution for his daughter’s death.’

  ‘You want us to expose Haynes as a racist?’ asked Sara, her expression indicating how difficult she knew this would be.

  ‘Yes. Nothing’s impossible, Sara.’

  ‘Maybe not, but exposing a big, powerful, popular politician as a white supremacist is not going to be easy.’

  ‘Nothing about this is going to be easy,’ said Arthur.

  ‘Okay,’ said Sara, ‘so where do we start?’

  ‘By talking to the three girls,’ said David.

  ‘I can talk to Teesha if you like. You can take Mariah,’ said Sara.

  Arthur interrupted: ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea. No offence intended Sara, but you are too close to Teesha.’

  Sara looked at David.

  ‘Witnesses answer with a greater degree of detail when questioned by people with whom they have no emotional attachment,’ said David. ‘When they know you too well they leave out the finer points because they assume you can fill in the gaps. I think I should speak to Teesha alone.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said with just the tiniest hint of disappointment.

  ‘As for Mariah and Francine,’ said Arthur, ‘I think the two of you should be present at both interviews. I am sure their parents will want to be in the room and I think one of you should ask the questions whilst the other observes the parents. If Ed Washington is in Haynes’ pocket, you’ll see it in his eyes and hear it in Francine’s answers.’

  ‘That’s if he lets us near his daughter in the first place. We have to assume Haynes has advised him against it,’ said David.

  ‘True, but we have to try.’

  ‘Okay, so what about Rayna?’ asked Sara. ‘One of us should check in with her daily, get her take on things, make sure she’s okay.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said David. ‘But Rayna will have to understand her immediate emotional well-being can’t be our priority. The prosecution want a speedy trial and Judge Stein agrees. We can drag this thing out if we want, but I can’t help but think the less time we give the press to turn this into a racial war, the better.’

  ‘You don’t think a ground swell of African–American support can help us?’ asked Sara, and David could not help but wonder if this whole issue was becoming a personal one for her. ‘It might remind the DA who put her into office.’

  ‘No,’ said David a little too quickly. ‘You have to step back from it, Sara. Minority ground swell can just as easily be interpreted as prejudice. We don’t want a situation where the Haynes become the underdogs. You more than anyone should know this.’ He regretted it the minute it came out of his mouth.

  ‘Can you excuse me for a minute?’ said Sara, and David could see her aqua eyes were starting to pool with tears.

  ‘Sure,’ they both said.

  The office door was open and Sara walked out towards the ladies restroom. Nora smiled at her as she passed and then turned to give Arthur and David the look from hell.

  ‘What?’ said David, playing innocent but feeling terrible.

  Nora walked around her desk and into the office.

  ‘Honestly you two. The girl is attached to this case no matter what. She cares for the defendant and her daughter. She even knew the victim for goodness’ sake. That might make her a little emotional, and she is young to be sure, but I’ve seen you both win cases because you cared. She gives your defence some heart. Since when did you two he-men become so callous?’

  Nora was right.

  ‘I understand what you’re saying Nora but that doesn’t mean we won’t have to keep an eye on her,’ said Arthur. ‘For her own sake as much as anyone else’s. You know her better than we do, David. Is she up to this?’

  David thought about it for a second or two.

  ‘Sara may not be the world’s most experienced attorney, but she is certainly a lot better than I was at twenty-nine. She might care too much, but that just means she’ll work her butt off to get the verdict we need. Yeah, she’s up to it,’ he said. ‘She may even surprise us.’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ said Nora. ‘You mark my words.’

  Boston Mayor Moses Novelli stared at the blue message paper one more time. He even picked it up, passed it back and forth between his thick olive-skinned hands, and stared at it again.

  It was identical to two others on his desk, all three with the name Senator Rudolph Haynes at the top, all three with Haynes’ home, cell and work numbers below and all three with a tick in the box next to the words ‘please call’. Although this third one also had a tick in the box marked ‘urgent’.

  It was late Thursday and he knew he would have to call before the day was out. He just couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone. The whole thing was just so awkward.

  The funeral had been a disaster, an almighty embarrassment for Haynes, and God knows how that was playing out in that obsessive mind of his. Truth be told, Moses had not wanted to read at the service. He loved Christina, and her father was one of his oldest friends, but that was the problem wasn’t it? He knew Rudi too well.

  His deputy mayor had hinted at the problems any association with Haynes might cause. Normally, Haynes was a man to be seen with; but the past few days – the arraignment, the funeral – had seen a shift in Boston’s conservative social clique. Word had it Haynes was coming off a little extreme. And the talk (gossip) amongst the ‘wives’ was that Elizabeth had become quite ‘vague’. And Boston being Boston, unfair or not, those that ‘counted’ were sitting back and waiting until the dust settled before they started wearing any badges of support.

  A slight smile crossed his face as he realised how fickle a community they had become or, perhaps, had always been. Boston, the city of paradoxes – on one hand the land of liberals, the birthplace of revolutionaries, the capital of education, the Athens of America, and on the other, the custodian of conservatism, the citadel of self-importance, the ‘Hub’ of the universe. Moses knew Bostonians liked to think of themselves as progressive but this was a city with a history of banning books. Hell, tattoos had been illegal here until 2001.

  He knew reading at the service would send out a message that he stood by Haynes and therefore was against the Martin woman and her growing minority support group. Imagine, the blue collar bastion, Italian–American Moses Novelli siding with the big, rich white guy!

  Worse still, he knew where he stood in his heart. If he had to choose sides he would go with the defence. He had done a fair bit of investigating of his own since the weekend and thought that Rayna Martin should never have been arrested in the first place. But that was not his call and nor should it be.

  He leant back in his ridiculously large leather chair and closed his deep-set brown eyes so that he could remember the sweet little girl who grew into an idealistic teenager with no regard for the small-mindedness of bigotry. Then he thought back to two other teenagers many years ago, a pair of very unlikely friends who spent a good deal of the greatest years of their lives together. That was almost half a century ago, but right now, it felt like yesterday.

  They called Rudi Haynes ‘Clark’. Not ‘Clerk’ as in law clerk but ‘Clark’ as in Clark Kent, as in Superman.

  ‘Clark’ was tall and handsome, with the physique of an athlete, the brain of a professor and the confidence of a politician. He was born and bred on Beacon Hill, his heritage pure Brahmin, his accent to match. He was top of his class at Harvard Law, on the swim team, the rowing team, the debate team and lacrosse. He was a favo
urite of the teachers, a hit with the girls, a hero of the boys and a sure thing for a big future.

  As for Moses, he was dark and swarthy, short and stocky, shy and self-conscious, and totally inept at anything that required physical exertion. He was at Harvard on a scholarship, his father a leather-worker, his mother a homemaker and his address working class. Bottom line, he was Rudolph’s unlikely shadow, his awkward alter ego, his odd choice of friend. Clark oozed confidence whilst Moses oozed sweat. Clark was Superman and Moses his Jimmy Olsen.

  True, Moses was bright, he could match Rudi grade for grade but he had to study night and day to do it. In lots of ways he had his popular friend to thank for his success in life, for it was his dire need to keep up with him that saw him graduate with honours. His high distinctions got him a job at Foley, Simmons and Grasso, a small but respected Boston law firm, and he grew his career from there.

  But now, as he looked around his expansive but conservatively decorated office, realising how far he had come, he understood that the seeds of the future were firmly planted long ago. It had taken decades for Moses to finally hang up those all-too-comfortable rose-tinted glasses and see Rudi for what he really was. And he hated himself for not acknowledging it sooner.

  Clark always avoided the black kids in the locker rooms, or he would accidentally kick their sweats into the shower or absentmindedly knock their gym bags onto the floor. Clark never sat next to the Latinos in tutorials, avoided the study groups with the Asian kids and transferred from classes given by coloured professors. Clark slept with every girl on the debate team bar one, a pretty dark girl named Molly Pope who, like the rest of them, would probably have said ‘yes’ if she had been asked.

  Then there were the throwaway comments, the talk of ‘chain gangs’, ‘shoe shining’, ‘cotton picking’ and other meaningless banter which meant nothing and everything all at the same time. It seemed harmless enough, back in the days when PC meant Pepsi Cola – but it wasn’t then and it wasn’t now.

  Not long after graduation, Moses experienced Clark’s shallowness first hand. It wasn’t long after Rudi met Elizabeth, and slid smoothly into the Connecticut Country Club set. The phone calls stopped, the correspondence waned and the visits were cancelled and never re-booked. He wasn’t even invited to the highly publicised, much anticipated, well-to-do Westport wedding. It was as if he had vanished from Rudi’s life altogether and merely looked at him through windows provided by the society papers and upmarket magazines.