The 3rd Victim (39 page)

‘Thank you,’ said Sienna. ‘I'm all right.’

‘Well I'm not,’ said a now frustrated Sara, moving back toward them. ‘Davenport, he … the man took an oath to save lives, not to exploit, rob, ruin and take them.’

Sienna blinked away a tear before focusing on Sara once again. ‘Dick's lies they … they made me feel so
angry
, so helpless. They believe him, Sara, and why wouldn't they? He was so calm, so composed, so
convincing
.’

‘No he's not.’ The words came from the back of the room, from one of the two young girls in the corner.

Sienna turned toward them.

‘Dr Davenport,’ the girl continued, ‘he may look like he's all calm and in control, but I can tell he is starting to lose it. He pretends to be okay in front of other people but he's doing weird things like staring into the distance and talking to ducks.’ She raised her eyebrows to punctuate her point.

Sienna got up from her chair and moved slowly toward her. ‘You're Madonna,’ she said.

‘Yeah,’ said Madonna, also standing up. ‘And you're Mrs Walker. I used to think that you were, you know … not so nice. But obviously you are so … sorry.’ Madonna wiped her hand on her leopard print skirt before nervously extending it toward Sienna.

But Sienna held out her arms instead. ‘I don't know how to thank you,’ she said, pulling Madonna close.

A stiff Madonna finally relaxed into Sienna's arms, returning the hug.

‘This is my friend Carina,’ she said when Sienna pulled back.

The even more nervous girl took her hand. ‘Hello,’ she said, before adding, as if in apology, ‘I don't normally dress like this.’ Carina was wearing an oversized grey sweatsuit, her bottle-blonde hair pulled into a messy low ponytail.

Then Nora returned to the room. ‘The jury are about to return,’ she said, handing Sienna the water.

David nodded before turning to his client. ‘We haven't had time to talk – about Madonna and Carina, I mean.’

‘David, we have to go,’ said Arthur from the doorway.

‘It's okay,’ said Sienna. ‘I trust you, remember?’

David nodded, first at his client and then at the two girls in the corner. ‘You girls ready?’

‘Check,’ said Madonna.

David smiled. ‘Then let's do this.’

Five minutes earlier, 12.31 pm

Roger Katz was in shock. Literally. He could not speak. He just stood there with his mouth wide open. He had no idea how to react. The woman before him had just knocked him off his feet. He had to pinch himself to confirm he was hearing what he was hearing, and the pinch hurt, which meant he was – hearing what he was hearing, that is – which also meant the wave of ecstasy starting to overcome him now was justified. He was in serious fucking bliss!

‘Are you sure?’ he asked her, his eyes now flicking to the clock on the court administrator's wall. He knew time was short and the woman had only just arrived. Her hair was a mess from the eight hours in a coach but that could be fixed. Besides, at this point it wouldn't matter if she was wearing fishnets and suspenders; it was what she had to say that counted.

‘Of course I'm sure, Mr Katz,’ said the woman, whose real name was Malloy. ‘How could I be wrong about such a thing?’

That was the beauty of it – she couldn't.

‘Why didn't you tell me over the phone?’

‘Because I was scared. People have been trying to track me down and … I left my home, my job and … The woman is obviously a killer and my story – it sort of changes things for her, don't you think?’ Her Irish accent was endearing, the ‘r's’ rolling off her tongue like a whippoorwill.

‘It sure as hell does.’ Katz was smiling so hard his face hurt.

Malloy looked at him blankly and Katz realised he probably needed to turn the glee factor down a little. ‘Don't worry. You're safe here with me, and I'll make sure you are protected. I am afraid we won't have time to prepare your testimony but I want you to follow my lead, okay? You won't have to wait long. Mrs Walker's attorney will attempt to cross my previous witness but he has nowhere to go so …’ He caught himself smiling again. ‘Can I get you something while you're waiting?’

‘A tea would be nice,’ she said.

‘By something I meant water,’ he said, pointing at a jug in the corner. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘Sit tight. And don't leave this room until you are called, do you understand?’

She nodded.

‘Do you have a hairbrush?’

‘In my bag.’ She tugged at her hair self-consciously.

‘Okay, and some make-up wouldn't hurt – not too much though, just some colour on your cheeks.’

The woman nodded as the administrator knocked on the door.

‘They're going back in, Mr Katz,’ he said from the other side, not enough balls to walk in.

‘I have to go,’ said Katz, checking his reflection in the window. ‘Sit tight,’ he said.

12.58 pm

The beauty of working with people you know and trust is that you don't need to tell them what to do. No instructions, no questions, no discussion, just action, which is exactly how Joe Mannix liked it.

Susan Leigh moved first. She got out of the car and walked toward the back of the gas station. She headed toward the rest rooms which were advantageously located on the far right.

Frank went inside. He pretended to peruse the drink refrigerators at the side of the store. This was just in case De Lorenzo went for a magazine or a soda, or decided to pay cash for the gas.

Joe got out of the car, which he'd parked behind De Lorenzo's, and started to open the gas tank. He saw De Lorenzo take out his wallet to count exactly how much he could spare. And then he shook his head before using his credit card again, opting for another ten flat.

Joe waited. The time went quickly given ten dollars doesn't buy you shit. Joe wasn't sure if he'd move inside to get a soda or get back in his car. But then he stored the bowser and moved around his car, heading for the store to part with whatever he had left in change.

‘Mr De Lorenzo,’ said Joe, knowing it was safe. De Lorenzo was now standing in the middle of an invisible triangle formed by Leigh and McKay and Joe.

He jerked around, his face a mixture of fear and indecision given he was now a good twenty feet from his car and his only option was to run.

‘Not worth it, Marco,’ said Joe, advancing on him then, holding his BPD badge up front. The man wasn't carrying, of this Joe was sure. His belly was exposed under an oversized shirt which flapped in the cool southerly breeze. ‘We got you covered,’ he said then, gesturing toward Frank and Susan who were now walking toward them.

‘I didn't do shit,’ said De Lorenzo.

‘I know, Marco,’ said Joe. ‘We're not here to bust your balls.’

‘That's what the other guy said,’ replied De Lorenzo.

Joe shot a look at Frank. ‘What other guy?’

‘The one in the suit, the one that said I couldn't talk to anyone about it, at least not until the timing was right.’

Joe could not believe what he was hearing. All this time he thought De Lorenzo had been a long shot, but now he knew he wasn't such a long shot after all.

‘Frank?’ said Joe. ‘You got your BlackBerry handy?’

Frank pulled out his BlackBerry and logged on to the internet, knowing exactly what his boss was asking. ‘This the guy?’ said Frank, shoving the screen toward De Lorenzo. He'd used Google images, Daniel Hunt's face materialising in seconds.

De Lorenzo squinted at the screen, the recognition almost instantaneous. ‘That's him,’ he said.

Frank looked across at Joe and nodded.

‘He knows what happened?’ asked Joe.

‘Yes,’ said De Lorenzo.

‘You're a lucky man, Marco. Something tells me the timing would never have been right,’ said Joe, referring to Hunt's instructions. ‘As far as we're concerned, however, it is definitely time to share.’

Marco De Lorenzo nodded. ‘I never should have tried to take advantage of my brother.’

‘That's okay, Marco,’ said Joe, steering De Lorenzo toward their sedan. ‘Think of this as your chance to make amends.’

1.01 pm

‘Good afternoon, Dr Davenport. Let me repeat the District Attorney's words when I say we are grateful for your giving up your time to be here today.’

David's approach had caught Davenport by surprise. He had expected antagonism but had gotten appreciation in its stead.

‘That's not a problem, Mr Cavanaugh,’ said Davenport, now shifting slightly in his seat.

‘No, seriously,’ David continued. ‘I can only imagine how busy you must be. Let's face it, you deal in the most precious commodity known to man – like you said, you make dreams come true, Dr Davenport, you create families, you give life.’

Davenport shot a glance at the District Attorney in the hope he could shed some light on where the hell this was going, but the DA remained stony faced, just as confused as his witness.

‘Tell me, Doctor, are some months busier than others?’

‘Excuse me?’ said Davenport, now refocusing on David.

‘You know, more births in one month compared to …?’

‘Oh,’ said Davenport. ‘I see what you are asking, Mr Cavanaugh. Yes, some months are lighter on than others. Of course my work is continuous, conception is an ongoing struggle for many couples. But in regards to births, yes, some months I have many, others are very quiet.’

‘Any impending right now, Doctor?’ asked David, a quick glance at the Kat telling him the DA was now completely perplexed.

‘Ah … no, actually. We are having a quiet spring, but summer will be busy.’

A satisfied David nodded, ready to change tack and move on.

‘Doctor, in your testimony this morning you spoke of your fondness for my client and her daughter.’

‘Yes.’

‘You cared for them both – not just as patients, but personally.’

‘Yes.’

‘And Eliza, would you say she was well looked after?’

A pause. ‘Why … yes.’

‘Well fed, well cared for, a picture of health?’

Davenport was stuck and David knew it. The moment he insinuated Sienna had been remiss in her care of her daughter, he was admitting to failing to take action – for not reporting Sienna and perhaps preventing her daughter's death.

‘Eliza was well,’ he said, sitting on the fence.

David nodded again, ready to throw his next curve ball. ‘Tell me, Doctor, did Eliza Walker look like her mother or her father?’

The question shocked him, just as David knew it would. The whole purpose of David's strategy, given he knew he had no direct evidence to nail Davenport, was to scare the hell out of him. He knew that there were two things people did when they were terrified – stay and fight or turn and run – and David sensed, or rather he
hoped
, that Davenport was a runner.

‘Ah … she looked like her mother,’ Davenport replied, his eyes once again flicking toward the DA.

David followed his eyes. ‘It's okay, Doctor, Mr Katz won't have any objection to your telling the truth in this case. So Eliza looked like her mother and not like Jim Walker – which I guess was no surprise to you in any case.’

Davenport coughed, his neck jerking toward the prosecution's table.

‘Objection.’ Katz was up.

David knew the DA was reacting to his witness's obvious distress and prayed the Kat had no idea how to follow up his objection.

‘Your Honor, really, this is beyond petty,’ Katz attempted. ‘Is this line of questioning actually going anywhere?’

‘That's not exactly a valid objection, Mr Katz, but I could ask the same question, Mr Cavanaugh?’ said Stein now looking at David.

‘Your Honor,’ David was ready. ‘Dr Davenport has gone to pains to establish his closeness to my client and the victim. As such, I am trying to quantify this relationship by clarifying said closeness and thus shed some light on the doctor's ability to assess my client's apparent resentment toward her daughter.’

This was a load of crap but it sounded believable – in a half-baked sort of way. David didn't care if Stein thought he was an idiot, what he needed to do was keep poking at the witness until he wanted to scream.

‘All right, your objection is overruled, Mr Katz, but you need to move things along, Mr Cavanaugh. We don't have all day.’

David nodded, as if ready to continue.

It was at this point that the back door opened. Two young women entered the room. One was dressed in a leopard print mini-skirt and the other, heavily pregnant, in an oversized grey sweatsuit.

Davenport saw them immediately and the look on his face was priceless. The colour drained from his cheeks and his left eye started to twitch as he placed both of his hands on the railing before him, leaning forward to take the pair in. But Madonna was fast. She shuffled her friend, who wore a baseball cap low over her eyes, into a back bench and sat down quickly just as David had instructed.

‘Doctor?’ said David, now standing in front of the witness and blocking his view of the gallery. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yes,’ replied Davenport. ‘I … I am fine, please go on, Mr Cavanaugh.’

Fight or flight
. Davenport wanted to fly and David knew it. Davenport was bursting to confirm the two girls were who he feared they were – Madonna and his pregnant surrogate Sophia.

‘Dr Davenport,’ David continued, now ready to push that bit further. ‘Earlier this morning you told the court that you administered sedatives to my client on the night of her daughter's murder – that she was incredibly distressed and as her physician you made the decision to medicate her.’

‘Yes,’ said Davenport, his neck still craning to the left.

‘Did she ask you to give her the sedatives?’ asked David.

‘I … no,’ he said. ‘But she was close to hysterical and I did not think it was in her best interests to be interviewed by the police in that state.’

‘You were trying to protect her?’

‘In a way … yes.’

‘Because you thought she might have killed her daughter?’

‘Well,’ another flick at Katz. ‘I thought it was a possibility.’

‘Even then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Because she was depressed?’ It was a trick question.

‘Yes … I mean
no
. As I said, Sienna Walker did not suffer from PPD.’

‘But you told the police she was depressed,’ shot David. This was a lie. Joe's witness reports had confirmed Davenport had said no such thing on the night of Eliza's death. But David was pretty sure that Davenport was too confused to remember what had happened a moment ago, let alone on the night in question, and so he pressed on. ‘Doctor?’ he said.