Matter of Trust (62 page)

As he spoke, two sensations struck him. The first was one of hope as he knew that what he described accounted for many of the discrepancies of the case – such as the presence of Marilyn's shoe in Rebecca's car, and the dislodging of those all-telling pavers. But the second was one of dread – for David realised that telling the story that he did went against everything his occupation represented. Never before had he sat before his opponent – the lead prosecutor in a case he was defending – and spilled
every detail of his client's defence
. But then he told himself that desperate times called for desperate measures and, more importantly at this juncture, the boy who'd killed his old friend was getting away with murder.

Finally – after absolutely no comment from the expressionless FAP – David concluded with the information McNally had provided earlier in the evening about Gloria Kincaid's call to Will Cusack and their subsequent concerns that the boy was escaping with cash and a car worth over $150,000. And when he'd finished, after he sat filled with hope and dread and a sickness to his stomach, he concluded his soliloquy by telling Marshall what he had come for – his permission to launch a statewide, and beyond, search for the boy capable of such a brutal rape and murder.

Silence.

Nothing.

Until, several soul-destroying moments later, Elliott Marshall sat forward in his seat, his striped pyjamas legs folded neatly at the cuffs.

‘Marshall?' prompted a now despairing David.

But the FAP remained silent, eventually responding in a way David could never have anticipated. Marshall lifted his hands and brought them together, once, twice, slowly at first and then to a faster beat until David realised the man was offering not reason, not action – but applause.

‘Bravo,' said the now smiling prosecutor. ‘Seriously, Cavanaugh, I would like to say I have to hand it to you, but that would be a massive understatement. This story, this
concoction
, it is nothing short of brilliant.'

David lunged forward in his seat, trying desperately to control his anger. ‘This is no story, Marshall, and I have Connor Kincaid's statement to prove it.'

‘I am sure you do, just as you have the dead woman's cell phone and the foggy hotel video and the illegally obtained transcript from this Cusack's phone.'

Marshall started to laugh, his hunched-up body now shaking in convulsions. ‘Honestly,' he caught his breath. ‘I have seen some desperate defence attorneys in my time, Cavanaugh but . . . this . . . I guess the main thing I want to know is,' he took a second breath as if trying to compose himself, ‘how much did it cost you? How much did the Kincaids sign over to the boy named Cusack – the “mystery killer”,' Marshall used two fingers on each hand to enclose his last two words in imaginary inverted commas, ‘to play the scapegoat and disappear into the sunset. I am gathering this boy is on a plane to some exotic location with his pockets filled with money.'

‘You think I paid Will Cusack to pretend to be Marilyn's killer?' David could barely contain himself. ‘You think I sat down and made up this whole story about three kids and my friend's bloodied corpse and . . .'

‘Oh no,' Marshall's face suddenly turned stony. ‘The bloodied corpse was real, Cavanaugh, I will grant you that, but as for the rest of it . . .' He shook his head and got to his feet, any sense of joviality gone.

‘So that's it?' asked David, now standing himself to tower over the squat, arrogant, selfish little man before him. ‘You're going to ignore my pleas. You won't even help me track this kid down so we can compare his DNA to the DNA found under Marilyn's—'

‘No, but I am going to remember everything you said just now so that when this trial is over, I can charge you with perversion of justice. But in
the meantime,' Marshall turned his back on David before walking toward the hallway and indicating it was time for him to leave, ‘I am going to leave you with the assurance that I will rise above your banality and see this trial to its inevitable conclusion – starting Monday, when I'll see you in court.'

T
he following morning was cool and crisp, the early breeze providing some respite from the heat that was sure to follow. Mike Murphy closed his eyes and tried to draw some strength from the silence that surrounded him. He knew what he was about to do would reek of betrayal, but he also knew that as Jack's priest – as his
friend –
that he owed it to him to be the one to say it.

At first David had been against the idea. He'd argued that it wasn't Mike's responsibility to ask Jack to testify. But Mike maintained that Jack had reached out to him before. The kid trusted him, and so, if anyone had a chance of convincing the poor kid to speak out against Cusack, it was Father Mike.

Mike opened his eyes to stare at the freshly painted door before him, sensing the stillness behind it. And in that moment he both thanked God for giving him the courage to be here and cursed him for presiding over a universe where good people like Vicki and Jack Delgado would be once again forced to suffer.

He knocked.

Silence. Then some movement, a light switching on beyond the entryway. Footsteps. Vicki Delgado opened the door, her face registering surprise before it morphed easily into a smile. ‘My goodness, Father, I've
forgotten haven't I?' She shook her head as she fastened her robe at the waist.

Mike frowned in confusion.

‘The profits from the church benefit, I was meant to drop off the cheque yesterday. You need it, to pay the delivery people. I'm sorry.'

‘No.' Mike shook his head, his heart aching at what his visit would inevitably do to her. ‘I'm here to see Jack.'

Vicki's brow furrowed.

‘It's all right Mom,' said Jack, appearing a foot or two behind her. His light brown hair was tousled, his white tank and boxer shorts creased from what Mike guessed would have been another restless night's sleep.

‘You got something to tell me, Father?' His voice was even, calm.

‘I . . .' Mike's eyes flicking from Vicki to her son. He'd thought Jack would want to do this solo, but the boy didn't seem to want to move.

‘The truth is out, son,' he said.

Jack nodded.

‘They need you to testify.'

Vicki Cusack looked at her son, her eyes widening in confusion. ‘Jackie, what's this all about, honey? Does Chris Kincaid need you as a character witness?'

But the look on his face told her that this was not the case.

‘Jackie?'

‘When do they need me?' asked Jack, looking past his mother to Mike.

‘Monday morning, first thing,' said Mike.

A pause, as Vicki Delgado's eyes shot in panic from one face to the other. ‘Jackie? Father?'

‘I'll be there,' said Jack.

Mike nodded, realising there was nothing left to say.

‘Did you tell them?' asked Jack, as Mike turned to leave.

‘No,' said Mike.

Jack nodded. ‘Thank you, Father,' then, ‘my life is about to change.'

Mike met his eye. ‘I'm so sorry, Jack.'

‘That's okay,' said the boy, looking more like a child than ever. ‘I guess I always knew this was coming – and, in the end, anything is better than living like this.'

I
f nothing happens by chance, then what did it mean when nothing happens? Does it mean that there was never anything there in the first place, or that what was there was so insignificant that it didn't amount to anything in any case?

David's mind had turned to mush. It was now Sunday afternoon – over thirty-six hours since he had staggered, exhausted and defeated, from Marshall's sterile apartment, and he had barely slept.

Nothing had happened – literally nothing. Will Cusack had not been sighted, McNally's conversation with Gloria Kincaid had done nothing to shed light on Cusack's whereabouts, and David still feared that despite all their efforts, none of this would amount to anything if they couldn't link Will Cusack's DNA directly to the crime.

Mike had called to report on his conversation with Jack Delgado and David had contacted the boy asking if he wanted to go over his testimony. But while the kid said he would confirm Connor's story on the stand on Monday, he asked that he and his mom be left alone until then – a request, at Sara's urging, that David finally agreed to.

‘That was McNally,' said Sara now, as she hung up the call on her cell and moved from the patio back into the kitchen.

‘Let me guess, Cusack's a no-show,' said David. McNally and Carla
Torres were spending their Sunday camped outside Cusack's apartment building while Arthur was doing the same outside the Delgado house – just in case Will Cusack came home. But David knew the chances of this were slim.

‘I'm afraid so,' said Sara, obviously reading David's disappointment. ‘But he did have some news. Carla Torres managed to stretch the stolen vehicle report to the extremes of at least five counties.'

‘That's good of her,' David replied flatly. He knew the alert on Gloria Kincaid's Audi would probably turn up nothing, given Will Cusack had most likely crossed the state boarder almost two days ago. ‘I'm sorry,' he smiled. ‘I should be better at the “think positive” stuff. It's my job to keep the whole team afloat.'

‘You're doing the best that you can,' she said, walking across the room to kiss him before turning to smile at his mother. ‘They're having fun.'

Patty Cavanaugh stood near the kitchen door watching her grandchildren play in the sun on the front patio. She had set up a plastic wading pool – one of those blow-up ones with animated ducks on its sides – and she and Sara had been tag-teaming supervising Lauren who now sat proud as punch in a waterproof play seat plunked in the middle of the three-inch deep water, her three older cousins fawning over her with delight.

‘They're having a ball,' Patty returned the smile. ‘Do you want to watch them while I put on a fresh pot of coffee? Or perhaps something stronger for the boys?'

‘You stay where you are, dear,' said Nora, moving to the fridge to get some beers before sweeping over to the coffee maker and switching it on. ‘I'll take care of this round.'

And so the frustration continued, as each of them tried desperately to think of a way out.

‘Do you think this asshole might get greedy and come back for the other $50,000?' asked Sean after a time, perhaps sensing it was their only hope.

‘I doubt it,' said David. ‘Too much to lose. I want to say I feel sorry for Gloria – now that she knows the truth and the part she played in it.' He looked at Sean, realising just how many levels this comment worked on. ‘But if it weren't for her determination to control this thing . . .'

‘She won't forget McNally's dressing down for some time,' said Sara.
Carla Torres had described in detail her partner's thirty-minute tirade against the silk robe-attired Gloria at one o'clock in the morning.

‘Until the next time one of her family is in need of her chequebook,' said Sean.

Sara nodded.

‘Has Gloria tried to call this Will Cusack?' asked Patty from the door. It was a thought they had already considered – a call from Gloria designed somehow to pull him back in.

‘She tried,' said David. ‘We thought that if he answered we might at least get a location on his cell phone, but he's not picking up.'

Patty sighed. ‘And Gloria's testimony won't help you?'

‘A little maybe,' replied David. ‘But not enough.'

And that was their problem. No matter how many people they put on that stand, they couldn't arrest Cusack for a crime they had no direct evidence he'd committed. Sure he'd done the deal with Gloria but that could be perceived as a cold-hearted swindle on his part – or as Marshall would see it, simply a case of Gloria Kincaid reimbursing the kid for going along with David's contemptuous scam.

No – they would have to find a way of linking Cusack to the murder. David knew that with Marshall fighting tooth and nail for the prosecution, the court would accept no less.

Moments later Sean broke the stillness by getting to his feet and pulling out a chair for his mother. ‘You take a load off, Mom,' he said. ‘I'll watch them for a while.'

Patty smiled in gratitude as Sean moved to the door and leaned back against the frame. He looked out at the children – their laughter filling the stillness. David wondered if his brother was wishing for the same thing that he was, that their kids would always exist in a world filled with people who loved them – a world without people like Will Cusack, who were consumed with anger and greed and hate.

David picked up his beer and moved to the door to join his brother. ‘They're good kids, Sean,' he said, referring to his niece and two nephews.

Sean gave a rare smile. ‘They're happy because they're accountable, DC. Teresa and me, we've always made sure they knew where they stood.'

David nodded.

‘I'll bet this Will Cusack was never made to be accountable.'

‘His dad was a dirty cop who used to beat his wife and kid.'

‘Then his dad should be made accountable.'

‘The dad died in 9/11,' said David, knowing Will's past was a tragedy but finding it difficult to feel compassion considering what the kid had done.

Sean nodded before his brow knotted and he turned to meet David's eye. ‘It's hard to know, isn't it?' he said then. ‘How much is environmental and how much of a person's behaviour is passed on genetically, from father to son.'

David knew what he was saying. Sean had made that single mistake by cheating on his wife – just as his father had done before him.

‘I don't know,' said David. ‘I think maybe it's a combination of both.'

‘You think this Cusack would have turned out the boy that he did if he didn't have a criminal for a father?'