by Sydney Bauer
Haynes thought back to something Katz had told him weeks earlier, when asked why Cavanaugh hated him so much – something about Katz defeating him in that murder trial, the case which ended in a girl’s suicide. Cavanaugh was attached to the defendant, and blamed Katz for her demise. There was something there, something Verne could use, manipulate, exploit. He would speak with Vincent immediately. He would know what to do.
He could hear Louise enter the outer office and allowed himself one final thought of Caesar before she knocked on his door.
Caesar had once said: ‘Veni, vidi, vici’ – ‘I came, I saw, I conquered.’
Haynes smiled again. And so to war.
It was a macabre job. Trying to match the impressions on Christina’s skin with the piece of jewellery she had in common with her friends. But the markings were there, and quite deep. The proofs not only corresponded with their theory, they pretty much confirmed it.
‘I think I can make out a heart shape, and look here, this impression has to be the miniature peace sign. See?’ said David.
‘Yes, I see.’
Boston City Medical Examiner, Gustav Svenson was a man of few words. The Swedish-born Svenson was tall, over six four, with a lithe frame and Nordic features. David handed him Teesha’s bracelet and he turned the shapes over in his large hands, his long delicate fingers rotating the charms as he looked at the photographs he had taken of Christina’s right foot a few weeks ago.
Svenson was practical and efficient. His reputation, like that of most ME’s, was one of being pro-prosecution. But this was somewhat unfair. Medical Examiners, by the very nature of their job, often provided the ‘meat’ to the State’s case – details of the nitty gritty of murder – and thus came across as anti-defence.
David knew Svenson was unbiased and despite his low key demeanour was relatively up-beat for a man who spent his life in the cold reality of mortuary rooms.
‘So what do you think?’ asked David. ‘Do we have a cause of death, or at least a probable one?’
‘No, asphyxiation was the cause of death and drowning was the basis for such asphyxiation. But if you are asking me if this piece of jewellery acted as a trigger which led to such events I would have to say, for want of any other logical explanation, that the scenario you describe is a plausible one.’
They looked at the shots a minute longer before David broached the subject.
‘So Gus, have you had any other ah . . . enquiries about . . . ?’
‘David, you know it is not my job to give you information on what the prosecution may or may not have been asking of me.’
‘I know.’
Another pause.
‘I suppose you want to take these photographs with you,’ said Svenson.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll need some time to make copies. I have only these originals.’
Usually, the prosecution made use of copied proofs in their investigations, keeping the originals under lock and key for trial. If Katz had requested copies, Gus would have made more than one, assuming the defence would want a set too. These were the originals so Katz had not yet asked for another set. The Commonwealth still didn’t know, and Gus was giving him the tip.
‘No doubt you will have some questions about this at trial,’ said Svenson.
‘Yes.’
This was an awkward point for Svenson. David knew he would not want to be put in a position whereby the prosecution could claim he withheld information. He now knew of the anklet and David was worried about what he would do with this information. Rumour had it there was no love lost between Svenson and Katz, but Gus played it straight and David respected him too much to cause him any trouble with the DA.
‘You realise, if I am asked about these injuries I must share my knowledge of the trinket,’ he said, as if reading his mind.
‘Yes. But what if no one asks the question?’
‘Hmmm,’ said Gus, removing a cream-coloured rubber glove and tossing it into a nearby medical disposal unit. ‘The information on the ankle markings is in the report. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of which Mr Katz has a copy.’
‘Sure.’
‘This ornament does not belong to the victim. No?’
‘No.’
‘It was given to you voluntarily.’
‘Yes.’
‘So it was not part of reclaimed evidence.’
‘No.’
‘You will make this piece of jewellery known to the prosecution.’
‘Ah, yeah,’ said David. ‘Eventually, sure.’
‘Well then. This is your responsibility. Nothing to do with me.’
‘Thanks, Gus.’
‘Do not thank me. Like I say. They ask, I tell.’
It was late when David left the ME’s office, but he had one more stop to make before heading home. Joe Mannix had left a message saying he needed to talk and David knew when Joe left such a message, it was something important.
Joe had chosen a quiet Irish pub in South Boston, a place named The Idle Hour. It was a run-down, cosy joint filled with locals smoking and listening to Tommy Dorsey playing on an old jukebox.
‘Nice place,’ said David, with just a hint of sarcasm, sliding onto a well-worn stool in the far back corner.
‘I like it. Makes me feel anonymous.’
They ordered a couple of beers and sat listening to Dorsey a minute longer before Mannix looked up at his friend.
‘So, how’s it going?’
‘Better, if that’s what you mean.’
‘I heard about your mother.’
So that was it.
‘Harry McNally at Newark PD is an old friend. I went to the Academy with his brother.’
‘It’s all sorted out, Joe.’
They drank some of their beer before Joe went on.
‘You know, the better it gets for you guys, the worse it gets for you guys.’
‘I’m not scared of him, Joe. He messed with my family, you have no idea of the pleasure I will get in bringing this guy down.’
‘You going to ignore my warnings? The DA . . .’ Mannix did not want to betray Scaturro’s confidence, but he didn’t know any other way to get through to his friend.
‘What about the DA?’ David looked at his friend. He was tired of being treated like a naive apprentice.
‘Joe, I know what you are saying but can’t you see, there is no halfway with this. The only way to set Rayna Martin free is to expose this guy and everything he stands for.’
They drank some more, leaving David’s words hanging, a stark and dire reality.
‘You need my help?’ asked Mannix.
‘I thought the cops worked for the DA’s office.’
‘You know better than that.’
‘Do I? Maybe you should ask Paul Petri who he’s working for.’
It was a low blow and David regretted it as soon as it left his mouth. But all this to-ing and fro-ing was starting to wear him down.
‘I told you,’ said Mannix. ‘Petri’s going through a tough time. His wife is dying. She’s up at Ashleighford – cancer.’
‘I’m sorry, Joe, but Ashleighford, on a cop’s wage?’
Joe looked at his friend, obviously hoping beyond all hope that he was wrong.
‘Petri’s a cop’s cop. He wouldn’t cross the line, he doesn’t know any other way.’
‘Yeah, well, I know of at least one uniform who would disagree with you.’
Joe looked David in the eye as if willing him to elaborate. David knew he had to make a decision then and there. He had known Joe for almost ten years, and had grown to both trust and respect him. He was scared of putting Tommy Wu in danger, but maybe not saying anything was taking an even bigger risk. More importantly, his primary obligation was to Rayna. She was his client and she was the one he was supposed to be defending to the best of his ability. He realised he had spent the past few weeks tiptoeing around everyone else’s sensibilities and time was running out. Maybe he had to stop playing
it so safe and start trying to win this case, no concessions, no compromises.
‘If I tell you this,’ he started, ‘you have to promise to tread softly. Don’t go shooting your mouth off, don’t go playing hero, not just for our sakes.’
‘What is it, David?’
‘You were the one who warned me about Haynes in the first place. Did you think I would be his only target?’
‘No. But I didn’t . . .’
‘The thing is, you were right. I thought you were exaggerating just to keep me on my toes, but it wasn’t a cloak and dagger routine, was it Joe? And you know it.’
‘Is Petri in trouble?’
‘Probably, but more than likely for all the wrong reasons. The person I am worried about is Tommy Wu.’
‘What? Tommy’s a good kid, how in the hell . . . ?’
‘He has become involved with the case.’
‘He was the attending officer.’
‘One of them.’
‘And?’
‘Let’s just say he may have some information to our benefit which he is unwilling to part with. You see, Tommy has a sister who has a kid and—’
‘Shit,’ said Joe. ‘Shit, David. Shit. Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?’
‘Because I knew you would act like this and because I didn’t want to take advantage of our friendship and because like you said, Tommy is a good kid.’
‘And still a little green around the ears, and dedicated and idealistic.’
‘Well, maybe his ideals have lost a little of their shine of late.’
Joe shook his head.
‘Joe, I know you, and your first instinct is to go and smash someone’s head in, but you have to handle this carefully, for Tommy’s sake. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Believe me, I’ve tried, and I don’t blame him.’
‘So where does Petri come into all of this?’
‘I’m not sure, but like I said, Ashleighford Private Clinic ain’t no public facility.’
They finished their drinks, not knowing what to say from there.
‘Leave it with me,’ said Joe pulling a twenty from his pocket and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Joe don’t . . .’
‘I know, I know. I just wish you had told me sooner.’
28
‘Sweet Jesus,’ Tyrone Banks let out a sigh. ‘That tastes good.’
Tyrone had just downed one of Mick’s large fresh orange, grapefruit and honeydew melon juices, and he was already ordering another.
‘I’m outta shape. Exactly how far did we run?’
‘I’d say about seven miles give or take,’ said David, finishing his own orange and pineapple concoction.
‘These are the best, Mr McGee,’ said Tyrone.
‘Thank you Sir, and it’s Mick,’ said the Irishman, pouring Tyrone a second juice. ‘So he dragged you on one of his crazy rampages around our fair city I gather?’
‘Dragged, heaved, lugged – I’ll be hurting tomorrow.’
‘Don’t listen to him, Mick. He’d still be going if we hadn’t got thirsty.’ They all laughed.
‘You in town long, Tyrone?’ asked Mick.
‘Yeah, I’ve moved back to Boston for the next month or so, to be with the family during the trial.’
‘You sure your office is okay with this?’ asked David, fearing he had put too much pressure on him to help.
‘Absolutely and, to be honest with you, if they’re not they’re just gonna have to cop it. I’ve given them more than my pound of flesh over the years.’
‘We’ll see you again then,’ said Mick shaking his hand.
‘You can count on it.’
David and Tyrone moved to a small side table, allowing Mick to serve his other customers. They took a seat by the window, taking in the green and blue expanse of the Boston Harbour foreshore and beyond.
‘So you’re staying at Delia’s?’ asked David.
‘Yeah. Delia’s set me up in the spare room and Teesha unpacked all my stuff and moved me in true and proper.’
‘You’re a good uncle to her, probably the most important man in her life.’
‘Well, they’re just as important to me,’ Tyrone went on. ‘I’ve screwed up in the past, David, acted like a right ass putting work before everything and everybody. I thought I was doing myself a favour but as it turned out the joke was on me. This whole thing with Rayna has made me realise how important family is. I want to help them David – and I thought that . . .’ Tyrone put down his juice and fished into the pocket of his shorts, ‘maybe this was a good way to start.’
Tyrone pulled out three pieces of paper, folded in quarters and stapled together at the top left hand corner. David took the sheets and opened them up – seeing what at first glance appeared to be a list of names, or couples.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘It’s the Republican Party’s invitation list for Rudolph Haynes’ banquet which I believe is being held at the Haynes’ Chestnut Hill Estate in two weeks’ time.’
‘How did you get this?’
‘Not all my friends are Democrats, David. I do know a few who bat for the other team.’
‘So how can this help?’
‘Well, from my experience you can learn a lot about people – who they are and what they believe – by looking at those they invite to dinner, so to speak. Even more telling could be what we learn from who isn’t on this list.’
‘You know who all these people are?’
‘Pretty much. If not I can find out.’
‘You had this in your pocket all morning?’
‘Yup. In fact, the extra weight was what probably slowed me down those last coupla miles.’
This was just what David needed after his conversation with Joe last night. A new lead. A reason to keep fighting.
‘It will be a nightmare. I can’t believe he is actually going ahead with this dinner. You would have thought that after the funeral . . .’
‘I know,’ said Loretta Scaturro sitting across from Joe Mannix and Roger Katz in her basic but comfortable office on the fifth floor of a rather nondescript building near Government Centre known as One Bulfinch Place.
‘The Senator shouldn’t have to stop his life just because he has been victimised.’
‘You got some details you wanna give me?’ Joe couldn’t help it, he had to cut the Kat off. Joe had five unsolved homicides on his books and here he was, talking to the DA and her idiot offsider about the ribbons and bows on a dinner party for Christ’s sake. And all in honour of that bastard. ‘I don’t mean to rush you but I hadn’t planned on being called here this afternoon and we’re kinda backed up downtown.’
‘Of course, Joe,’ said Loretta casting a quick frown in Roger’s direction. ‘We appreciate this isn’t your area – not ours either to be honest – but under the circumstances we thought it best that we all have our heads around what will take place tomorrow fortnight.’
‘Sure. So?’
‘So, the majority of guests are staying at the Regency Plaza. Their rooms have been booked and paid for by the Republican Party and we will provide you with a list by early next week.’
‘How many of them are there?’
‘About 350.’
‘Sounds like a check-in nightmare and an anti-Republican sniper’s dream,’ said Mannix.
‘Ah no, the guests get their room numbers in advance. They don’t even have to check in. Each will be sent a key card in the days prior to the function. There won’t be any lobby backlog. The Party’s in-house security thought this best considering there will be a lot of big names milling around on the night.’
‘Good thinking. What about transport?’
‘Well, as you know, the banquet itself is at Highgrove, the Haynes’ home in Chestnut Hill. It was originally planned for the Regency Plaza Ballroom but it was felt security would be easier to control on a private estate where we can block off streets without having to reroute copious amounts of city traffic. As for the order of
the evening, drinks will be held under a big marquee in the garden and dinner in their ballroom.’
‘They have their own ballroom?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘Good for them.’
‘Chief Mannix, I really don’t think these little digs are . . .’ Katz began.
‘What about transport?’ Joe interrupted again.
‘The guests will be transported from the Hotel to Highgrove in a series of circling limousines. The trip only takes about twenty minutes. Each guest will be given a time to be in the lobby and departures to the banquet will be staggered. Chief Mahoney has assured me he will have two precincts at the Hotel, on top of extra Hotel security, and another two shifts at the house for arrivals and then departures later in the evening. The departures will be staggered too. On top of all this, Haynes will have his own private security team at the house for a full twenty-four hours leading up to and during the event.’
‘What’s the rough start/finish.’
‘Eight and midnight.’
‘And you want me?’
‘At the house.’
Joe couldn’t think of anything worse. ‘What? Don’t you think that’s a bad idea? The press know who I am and are gonna be wondering why the head of homicide is playing security guard at a party.’
‘You’ll be inside.’
‘Did the Haynes request this?’
‘No, I did. I mean, I am, if that’s okay?’
When she looked at him, Mannix saw the same apprehension he had seen in her eyes at the ball park. She didn’t want anything going wrong at that party for fear Haynes would find a way to blame her. She was nervous. She wanted back-up.
‘Sure,’ he said, watching her shoulders relax just a little. ‘You gonna be there?’
‘No. We thought it best under the circumstances. We do not want the guests to be asking any uncomfortable questions. This night should have nothing to do with the impending trial. It is a political tribute, nothing more.’
Katz made a huffing sound, just like a child who had been told he could not attend his best friend’s birthday party. Scaturro ignored him. She was getting good at that, thought Joe. Good for her.
