by Sydney Bauer
‘I understand what you are saying David,’ she began. ‘But part of me is also worried we may spend a great deal of our limited time chasing ghosts.’
‘I agree,’ said Arthur. ‘We have to be sure we are going to find something worthwhile before we go looking for skeletons.’
David knew these were all reasonable responses to his ‘history’ theory. But he had this feeling, right to the pit of his stomach, that looking to the past was the only way of nailing Haynes.
‘So where to from here?’ asked Arthur, breaking the silence.
‘Research,’ said David. ‘That means, pure old-fashioned cramming . . . interviews, contacts.’
‘But we know it will be hard if not impossible to get someone to go on the record,’ said Sara.
‘Even so, that someone may point us in the direction of somebody else who will. And talking to people who knew Haynes back then may be a lot easier than confronting his current circle. He wasn’t always as powerful as he is now.’
Sara and Arthur both stared at David, unsure.
‘Look,’ he said approaching Arthur’s massive wall of books on the far side of the room. ‘What is the law if not history? This nation’s entire legal system is based on precedent. If we can prove that Haynes was a racist, chances are we can convince the jury he still is. Even better, if we can prove he has acted on such views in the past, it will seem all the more plausible that the man is capable of influencing the political process and perverting the course of justice.’
‘And then,’ said Sara, ‘the jump to threats, bribery and blackmail is not such a stretch.’
‘Exactly,’ said David.
David paused then, Joe’s warnings about Haynes coming back to haunt him. He did not want to alarm his colleagues, or more to the point Sara, but he was the one taking them down this road and he knew he had an obligation to at least float the idea of possible repercussions.
‘One more thing before we go on,’ he said. ‘We know Haynes is a man not to be trifled with. He’s powerful, determined and used to getting what he wants. So if we decide to take him on we have to be prepared for . . .’
‘I’m not scared of him, David,’ said Sara cutting him off.
‘I know but, I don’t think you realise how . . .’
‘Rayna Martin is our client,’ interrupted Arthur. ‘And we owe it to her to do everything in our power to secure a “not guilty” verdict. If that means taking on a man like Haynes then so be it.’
‘Like Arthur says,’ said Sara, a look of energetic determination on her face. ‘Bring it on.’
David nodded, half of him terrified of what ‘it’ might be and the other feeling a swell of admiration for Sara’s dogged commitment to save their client.
‘This isn’t going to be easy,’ said Arthur, breaking the moment. ‘Haynes is not the one on trial here. We run the risk of losing control of our defence by going on the attack. If we screw up, Scaturro and Katz will say we are chasing the victims because we have no case.’
‘He’s right, David,’ said Sara. ‘It could backfire. I’m worried we’ll spend all our time chasing Haynes and forget we are supposed to be defending Rayna.’
‘All right. I see your point,’ said David. ‘So let’s break the plan in two. First, we make sure Rayna’s case is as strong as it can be – and then we go after Haynes.’
By seven they were exhausted. With Ed Washington still refusing to take their calls, they had spent the best part of the day planning for next Monday’s interview with Teesha, and were just deciding to back off Tommy Wu until next week when Nora tapped at Arthur’s office door.
‘You are forgetting one other all-important issue,’ she said.
‘Which is?’ asked Sara.
‘You all need to get some rest. There is still a month to trial and you do not want to embarrass the firm by toppling over like bowling pins the minute the Judge says “All rise”.’
‘Well said, Nora,’ agreed Arthur, who was rubbing the bridge of his nose where his glasses had worn deep, red divots. ‘And on that note, I’d say it’s time for some Friday night refreshments.’ Arthur headed for the bar fridge in the corner before being interrupted by a voice at the office door.
‘Ah, excuse me.’
Sara looked up to see a good looking man in workman’s clothes standing behind Nora. He was about forty, tall, strong, with sandy brown hair and green eyes. In fact he looked a little like . . .
‘Sean,’ said David rising quickly as Nora moved aside, allowing his older brother into the office. ‘I’ve been trying to call you.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Sean to Nora, who nodded replying, ‘No, please come in Mr . . .’
‘Cavanaugh,’ said Sean.
‘So you’re the older brother,’ said Arthur, moving away from the fridge to shake his hand.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Arthur. Call me Arthur.’
‘And this is Sara,’ said David. ‘Sara, this is my brother Sean.’
‘It’s so nice to meet you,’ smiled Sara, taking his large calloused hand in hers. ‘I can see the family resemblance.’
‘This is a real surprise,’ said David who was now starting to worry. ‘Is everything okay? How are Teresa and the kids?’
‘They’re fine. Just fine.’
But David could see the growing agitation on his brother’s face. David knew Sean was not comfortable in places such as these. Hell, his brother used to feel uncomfortable in his school uniform, let alone in an office block full of lawyers and accountants. Something was up, and it was serious.
‘Can we talk?’ said Sean, turning to David.
‘Sure, in my office. Excuse us for a second.’
David led Sean outside, leaving a concerned Sara, Arthur and Nora behind. The three sat patiently saying nothing as they heard the growing volume of what was obviously a one-way conversation going on next door.
The brothers were in there for no more than a few minutes before returning to Arthur’s larger room where the three stood quietly, concerned but not wanting to pry.
‘I have to go home to Jersey,’ said David, his cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger, guilt and worry. ‘Mom’s in trouble and I’m afraid we’re the cause.’
‘Jesus DC,’ said Sean, obviously not done with berating his younger brother. ‘I came here to kick your ass for ignoring my calls and not calling mom in weeks. Now I find out Mom is in trouble because of your precious job.’
‘Is she all right?’ asked Sara, trying to diffuse the conflict and find out what the hell was going on.
‘She will be,’ said David. ‘It’s a legal matter. Sean came down to get me when I couldn’t be reached on the phone.’
‘Couldn’t be reached?’ said Sean, his sun-tanned brow now shiny with perspiration. ‘Too busy to bother is more like it, DC. When was the last time you had more than a rushed conversation with mom? You know how much she misses Dad. You would think in the very least you could have . . .’
‘I said I was sorry, Sean.’ David took a deep breath, realising flying off the handle would not help them now. ‘These are my friends and I think they can help.’
Sean, looked at them then, still standing in the doorway and David could see he was not too sure whether to walk on in and join their world of legal mumbo jumbo or grab David by the arm and drag him all the way to his car.
‘Let’s hear it then,’ said Arthur walking over to Sean and directing him towards a comfy chair in front of his desk. David knew Arthur had picked up on his brother’s discomfort and was grateful for the intervention. ‘But before we do, I’d say we all need that cold beer.’
‘Sean?’
‘Ah,’ said Sean, standing next to the suede-covered chair, looking over at David one more time before making the decision to stay. ‘All right.’
‘That’s beers all round then, and a sherry for Nora. No excuses, Mrs Kelly.’
‘Wasn’t going to offer any, Mr Wright,’ said Nora, smiling at Sean and taking a seat by the window.
Arthur opened the bar fridge that was set on a temperature closer to a freezer, allowing billows of cold air to escape in an inviting cloud of frost. He reached in, his arm now lost in the cool fog, and felt around for a couple of long neck bottles of imported Australian beer.
Nora moved to Arthur’s desk to gather the mountain of open files strewn across the worn mahogany surface, stacking them neatly into the far corner ‘in’ tray. She then proceeded to the glass-doored cabinet on the far wall to retrieve four beer tumblers and one crystal sherry glass for herself.
‘Just what we need,’ said Arthur, collecting a bottle opener from his drawer before attacking the first long neck with gusto. But in his enthusiasm to unleash the cold amber liquid, he released the pressure from inside the freezing bottle a little too quickly, causing a flood of frothy beer to gush from its narrow mouth and cascade quickly across his recently cleared work space.
‘Oh dear,’ said Nora, now rushing forward with the mini towel she had grabbed from the top of the refrigerator, her outreached hand clashing with Arthur’s elbow as he tried to stem the flow. The result was one almighty mess – including an overturned desk lamp and a broken nineteenth-century vase that fell to its side and rolled slowly across the tacky, still-bubbling surface.
And in that moment Arthur flashed a look at David, who followed his boss’ eyes to the upturned vase. And there it was, sitting snug and tight on the base of the cracked antique urn.
Arthur said nothing, just looked at the others in the room around him with a new expression of apprehension. ‘Shhh,’ he said, effectively harnessing their full attention before opening his mouth to whisper, ‘No one say another word.’
18
He was tired and frustrated and angry. It was late afternoon and David had just arrived back in Boston. He’d spent the weekend in Newark, easing his mother’s fears about the investigation and having Sunday brunch with Lillian O’Shae who he remembered from St Francis’s and appeared not to have aged a day. Lillian had recounted the entire story and David sat back to ask one final question.
‘Mrs O’Shae, what is your personal take on all this?’
‘That’s just it. I really don’t have one. I have no idea why Mrs Putty would target your mother with such ludicrous accusations. If anything Patty has been bending over backwards to reach Louis. There is no answer to that question, David. None at all.’
But there was, and David knew it. His mother was particularly distressed by a call from an attorney with the unfortunate name of Richard Butt who said he would be ‘representing Nell Putty who, on top of any criminal charges that may be laid, intended filing a civil suit against her sons teacher for emotional distress caused over the paint jar incident and subsequent inappropriate abusive punishment’.
So David and his mother spent Monday at Social Services, speaking with a woman named Rosemary Farello who was investigating the case. Mrs Farello was a large, hearty, garrulous woman who, by the end of the day, seemed at least to some extent convinced that the accusations against Patty Cavanaugh were difficult to justify.
She also discovered that the Puttys were once the subject of some suspicion themselves. About six months ago, a neighbour had called Social Services, concerned when he saw one of the children playing naked in the backyard in the dead of winter. This report had unfortunately fallen through the cracks in the ever-burdened system of case overload, and was yet to be investigated.
Of course, Mrs Farello, true to the ‘suspect until proven otherwise’ mantra of a department riddled with the ever-present threat of litigation from both the accuser and accused, could not rule on any specific findings until investigating further. She would speak with Mrs O’Shae and the parents of other children in Mrs Cavanaugh’s class, but ‘felt quite certain there would be no further action against Mrs Cavanaugh’. Further, she insinuated she may make an unscheduled visit to the Putty home some time during the week. At least that was a start.
On Tuesday morning David went to see a Sergeant Harold McNally at Newark PD who assured him no charges had been laid and no charges would be laid unless Social Services found a case for abuse, which at this stage was unlikely.
That afternoon, David made an appointment to see attorney at law Richard Butt and told him that under no circumstances was he to call his mother direct – that he must deal directly with David, who, after speaking with Social Services and the police, was ready and willing to represent Patricia Cavanaugh in the filing of counter charges against Mrs Putty for false accusations and emotional distress.
He could have left on Tuesday evening but chose to spend the night with his family, largely to make sure his mom was okay but also to avoid Sean’s constant snipes that he was too busy and too selfish to take time out with his family. His older brother was a hard-working man with strong views and set opinions and, whilst David was grateful for his watching after their mother whilst he and Lisa were in Boston, he was also a little tired of Sean’s repeated jibes about David’s career and ‘priorities’.
‘I suppose you’re off first thing then?’ he asked David at dinner.
David, seeing Lisa immediately looking up from her lamb casserole with a glare that said ‘don’t turn this rare family dinner into a shit fight’, tried to stay calm.
‘The trial is less than a month away,’ answered David. ‘Rayna Martin is a good woman – a dedicated single mom who . . .’
‘Glad to see there are some mothers who get your attention.’
‘Boys!’ their mother said at last, tired of the undercurrent of animosity. It had been like this as long as David could remember – Sean and him having a go at one another, their mother letting it go to a point before finally stepping in. ‘Enough! We all have our responsibilities, Sean, and right now David’s are in Boston.’
‘Yeah well, sometimes I don’t think my little brother knows what a responsibility is.’
‘Jesus, Sean,’ said David, slamming his knife and fork on the table. ‘Give it a rest will you?’
‘Shut up, both of you,’ interjected Lisa. ‘Can’t we have one pleasant family dinner without the two of you going at it? Sean, get off David’s case. He just managed to get Mom out of some serious trouble.
‘Trouble he got her into in the first place.’
‘It wasn’t his fault and you know it.’ Lisa turned to David. ‘DC, I know your job is important but you gotta make the time to call Mom – and me for that matter, a little more often. And every now and again, when I come home to Newark for a weekend, you can come with me. Okay?’
David said nothing, just nodded. And that was that.
The rest of dinner went on without any outward signs of aggression, with talk of Sean’s kids, his mother’s friends and Lisa’s run-down on the latest from her work and social life, and David found himself happy enough just to sit back and listen. Although, he had to admit, his mind was split between the dinner table and a two-by-four cell in Boston where his client sat facing the possibility of never returning to the real world again.
Maybe Sean was right, he thought. Maybe I am obsessed with my work. Or maybe I just can’t handle seeing assholes like Haynes using their power to trash the lives of innocent people. Either way, rightly or wrongly, he was looking forward to getting back ‘home’.
The next morning he kissed his mom and shook hands with his brother before climbing into Lisa’s Geo and heading north again – back to the Martin case, and the all-important interview with Teesha. The entire office had been swept for bugs with only one found in the base of the vase. That made two all together, including the one found in David’s home telephone. Sara’s house was clean, as was Arthur’s big bachelor condo in Cambridge. They had decided against informing the police, knowing it would only have bogged investigations down with more accusations and counter-allegations and, besides, there would be plenty of time for ‘payback’.
While David told himself he was still on top of things, he knew his focus had been compromised. His demeanour swayed between a contr
olled determination not to let them get the better of him, and a burning desire to head straight to Highgrove and smash Haynes in his arrogant, self-important, pompous-assed face – not just for delaying his trial preparations but for making this personal by involving his family. He now knew how Sara had felt after Jake’s arrest, a frustrating combination of rage and guilt as you watched the people you loved being dragged into a mess they had nothing to do with, all because of you.
19
‘Are you under the influence, Detective Petri?’
‘What? No way. No Sir. Just tired. I pulled a double shift yesterday.’
‘Because, given the situation, and your part in it, that would be completely inappropriate.’
‘Yeah, sure. I know that.’
Petri was on a pay phone at the corner of Dorchester and Geneva. Early this morning, when he had climbed into his beaten-up Buick outside his tired looking Dorchester semi, he had found a note on the driver’s seat asking him to call a certain cell number from this specific pay phone as soon as possible.
Petri was not a nervous person by nature. Hell, he had seen so much in his long and disturbing career that these days he sailed through even the most macabre of scenarios without batting an eyelid. But he had to admit, this dude had always made him a little chilly. His voice was hollow, monotone, robotic even. He got the feeling this guy would have no problem following through on any of his threats, without even breaking a sweat. Petri covered his mouthpiece with his right hand before letting out a raucous cough, the result of too many whiskeys and not enough sleep.
‘Detective Petri?’
‘Yeah, yeah. I’m here.’
‘This is simply a gentle reminder. Stay calm, watch your back, keep your ears open and your mouth shut.’
‘Right. No sweat, loose lips and all that.’
