The 3rd Victim (6 page)

12

N
ew York born,
Boston Tribune
Deputy Editor Marc Rigotti knew that journalism was a matter of swings and roundabouts. At face value the electronic news guys had it all over their newspaper competitors given they could put a story to air in minutes whereas Rigotti had to wait until the following morning to release his investigatory wares. But there were advantages in playing the game in print, the first one being that Rigotti could move in and out of a potential story set-up without the telltale entourage of a camera and audio tech, and the second being the time lapse between investigation and publication, giving Rigotti and his fellow broadsheet hacks the chance to dig that fraction deeper and unveil details the pretty boys had left unearthed.

The getting-in part was easy. Rigotti simply strolled past a security dude who was busy dressing down two TV guys who had their equipment laden crews in tow. The ER itself would be harder to tackle, he might even have to stretch the professional boundaries by dodging a nurse or two.

But it could be well worth it, he reasoned, given there were a couple of things that told Rigotti this visit was about more than just Roger Katz getting his publicity-hungry rocks off – the first being the rumour that Sienna Walker was being released from the hospital, and the second being the fact that Rigotti had spotted Joe Mannix's Nissan parked illegally out front. Rigotti had spent a solid ten years on the
Tribune
's crime desk before becoming Deputy Editor – long enough for he and Mannix to become friends of sorts, as much as their respective professions would allow.

The DA, the Head of Homicide and the mom of a murdered baby, Rigotti thought to himself as he nipped quickly in and out of a nearby male rest room, allowing a dark-haired nurse to pass by before slipping through the still closing automatic doors. Add to that the TV crews out front and the nervous-looking security dudes and one might guess that something was about to go down.

And he was right of course, his assumptions confirmed when he heard the raised voices just beyond the corridor's next bend – and given he had spent a good decade of his life attending crime scene after crime scene, and reporting on trial after trial, he knew exactly who those voices belonged to, and counted himself more than just a little lucky that the narrow hospital walkway acted as an amplifier to the argument taking place beyond.

*

‘Blatantly irresponsible … professionally negligent … grossly inept.’

After a good minute of berating, Joe had finally had enough. ‘Why are you here, Roger?’ he asked, taking a step toward the red-faced DA.

Katz stepped back, just a fraction. ‘What do you mean “Why am I here”? I am here because you have failed in your duties to keep me informed, I am here because I am the District Attorney and I care about the victims of crime in this county, I am here because we owe Mrs Walker an explanation as to what happened to her child and I am here because the public needs to know we are doing our best to ensure that the perpetrator is apprehended.’

And then the penny dropped. ‘You've called the press,’ said Joe. ‘You've set up your own mini-showcase to go with the woman's release from hospital.’

But Katz did a double-take. ‘Sienna Walker is being released?’ His face lit up momentarily before settling back into ‘man of the people’ mode. ‘Well I was not aware of that, but that makes my visit all the more pertinent. Mrs Walker needs to know she has the support of the people. She needs to know we won't leave a stone unturned until …’

But Katz was interrupted by the ring of Joe's cell.

‘I thought you were going to turn that thing off,’ Katz took another shot before Joe, immediately recognising the incoming number, turned his back on the DA and signalled for Frank to join him.

‘It's Martinelli,’ Joe whispered to his partner, referring to their Crime Lab Unit chief. ‘You need to get down to room 13 and stand watch over Walker.’

Frank turned to move down the corridor as Joe finally picked up the call.

‘Martinelli,’ said Joe. ‘I have a situation here so you need to talk fast. You got something for me?’

‘More than something,’ said Martinelli.

Joe's heart skipped a beat. ‘What is it?’ he said, taking several steps further away from the now hovering DA.

‘Well, I got some preliminaries on the blood at the crime scene. The bulk of it came from the kid, and she was AB positive.’

The type was rare, but that had no bearing on the case at hand. ‘Okay.’ Joe cupped his cell to his ear.

‘But there is a second sample – quite a substantial sample – which was A.’

‘The perp's,’ said Joe.

‘Has to be. It was found in the cot and on the carpet so that's what we're thinking.’

‘This doesn't give me anything, Martinelli – and it won't until you can work on the DNA.’

‘You're right, and like I said, these things take time, but just now, in the lab, I noticed something from the get-go. I did some preliminaries and it appears that the blood from the kid and the blood from the unidentified person, well …’ Martinelli hesitated, ‘they have commonalities.’

‘Commonalities?’ Joe's brow furrowed.

‘Markers that indicate the two are related.’

‘The second sample belongs to the mother?’

‘I'd stake my career on it, and a sample from her will confirm it.’

Joe glanced at Katz, predicting exactly what was going to happen next.

‘Mannix?’ said Martinelli. ‘You there?’

‘I'm here. You work on that nightshirt yet?’

‘It's in analysis. But I know about Gus's suppositions and from where I stand, the blood on Walker's nightshirt was transferred.’

Joe nodded. ‘Okay. Listen, I gotta go. I'm about to see the mom now.’

‘You need a preliminary report for the DA?’ asked Martinelli.

Joe stole a second glance at the impatient-faced DA. ‘The Kat is clawing up my ass as we speak,’ he whispered.

‘He's at the hospital?’

‘Him and twenty or so of his closest media buddies.’

‘The man is a fuckwit.’

‘That's the general consensus,’ replied Mannix, before thanking Martinelli and hanging up.

13

‘I
don't understand,’ said Sienna Walker, trying desperately to maintain her composure. She clutched at the front of her dressing gown. She felt vulnerable, afraid, her head still groggy from a second day of drug-induced detachment. ‘Daniel, why are we going this way, why do I need to …?’

‘Because the police do not have your best interests at heart,’ said Dick Davenport, who with Daniel Hunt was now rushing Sienna Walker down a set of fire escape stairs. ‘Listen, Sienna, we have a car waiting out front for us. We asked the driver to keep a lookout and he texted us saying he saw two plain-clothes police entering the hospital in a hurry. Their descriptions matched the two detectives who attended your house on Saturday, which means we need to act quickly – to make sure you are
safe
. I can take you home. I can organise for security. You need to rest. You need to recuperate.’

‘
Recuperate
,’ bit Sienna, Davenport's words cutting instantly through the fog. She fought desperately to hold it all together, knowing that at least at this point, it was the only option open to her. She stopped short on a concrete stair landing, staring at the two all-too familiar faces that looked down at her with intent. ‘I am not sick, Richard, my daughter has been murdered.’ She swallowed the sob in her throat.

‘Yes,’ said Daniel, the first words he had spoken in moments. Daniel's eyes searched her own as he moved forward to take both her hands, her left wrist still encircled by the hospital's plastic ID bracelet. ‘But after listening to Dick's reasoning, I think he is right. The fact is, Eliza is gone, and your immediate priority is damage control.’

Sienna took a breath.

‘The police want to ask you questions,’ Daniel continued, his cool hands firm against her own, ‘which is why we need to get you out of here, and speak to your lawyer.’

He pulled her further down the stairwell as she shook her head, trying desperately to make sense of it. ‘I have a lawyer?’ she asked.

‘I'm in the process of organising it.’

‘Why do I need a lawyer?’ she asked.

‘Because Eliza is dead.’

‘And they think … you think I …?’

‘It is not about what we or anyone else thinks, Sienna. Our only desire is to protect you.’ Davenport hesitated then and slowed to turn toward her. ‘Jim is dead. You were grieving. Eliza was a handful. You were tired, emotional.’

‘I didn't kill my daughter,’ she said through gritted teeth, attempting to shake free from his grip.

‘You've been through a very tough time,’ said Davenport.

As they reached the level labelled ‘Exit’, his cell echoed in the stairwell, causing Sienna to jump.

‘It's the driver,’ said Davenport, opening the text message. ‘Someone alerted the media. They are blocking the entrance out front.’

Hunt's hand moved upward to form a circle around Sienna's ID band. ‘This might be an opportunity,’ he said to Davenport, completely ignoring Sienna. ‘We should take her out the front. Show the media she has nothing to hide.’

Davenport's brow folded but Daniel turned to Sienna, decision made.

‘Appearances matter,’ he said. ‘We need to turn around and take you back out the front, and you need to follow my lead, move when I move, stop when I stop, and when I give you the signal, profess your grief but your hope that the person who killed your daughter will be brought to justice. You need the media on your side, Sienna, and that means getting them to fall in love with you …’ his fist tightened against her skin, ‘… the moment you walk out that door. Do you understand me?’

Sienna Walker stood stock still on the landing, her bare feet cold against the smooth grey concrete. There were, of course, so many ways she could react – with tears, despair, gratitude, violence, resistance,
rage
– but in the end she chose the safest option, that of controlled acquiescence. ‘I understand,’ she said, turning her wrist ever so slightly to indicate that she was willing to do as they said.

*

‘They're gone,’ said Frank McKay, announcing the news as he ran up the corridor toward Joe.

‘
What?
’

‘Who's gone?’ asked Katz. ‘I demand to know what is going on.’

Frank looked at Joe, his expression saying that the time for stalling was over, that like it or not, Katz had a part to play in all this, and they would need him to get this done.

‘Go find out if there is a rear exit way out of here,’ said Joe to Frank. ‘Radio HQ for backup and keep in contact.’ Joe lifted his own radio, signalling for Frank to stay on the line.

‘Mannix.’ Katz grabbed Joe by the upper arm. ‘I said, what the hell is –’

‘All right, just shut the hell up and listen,’ Joe cut him off, shrugging his hand from Katz's grip. ‘Sienna Walker is a suspect.’

Katz's jaw dropped to the floor. ‘You have evidence against her?’

‘The wire screen on the kid's window was forced from the inside, my fingerprint experts confirm the woman never attempted to turn on the light after she found the cot empty, and Martinelli just called to confirm he found not one but two blood samples at the scene – the second one genetically related to the first.’

Katz's almond eyes widened as he took it all in. Joe could see it, the cogs of self-preservation turning in Katz's brain. He was working out how to make the most of this new set of circumstances, which Joe figured would not take long.

‘Right. That's more than enough for probable cause,’ he said, just as Joe had predicted he would.

‘Hold on, Roger, there's still one thing that bothers me,’ said Joe.

Katz rolled his eyes. ‘This is no time for your cowardly conservatism, Mannix.’

‘It's the nightshirt,’ a determined Joe went on, ignoring the jibe. ‘Svenson thinks the kid bled out at the scene, while being held up –’ Joe cradled his arms – ‘like this. But the blood on Walker's nightshirt was minimal, transferred, which means …’

‘Which means she got rid of the evidence,’ Katz dismissed him. ‘And it's your job to find the missing item of clothing so that I can do my job.’

The smile was starting to form now, and Katz made little or no effort to contain it. ‘Granted motive is foggy,’ he said, thinking aloud. ‘I've heard all this shit about baby blues, and that's no doubt the way she'll play it … but hiding the nightshirt indicates the woman had not lost the plot completely, and murder is murder, and it is our duty to see that little girl did not lose her life in vain so –’

‘Chief.’ It was Joe's radio, interrupting the DA mid-sentence.

‘Frank,’ Joe replied, bring the radio to his ear, ‘where the hell are you?’

‘I'm out front,’ responded Frank, the background noise almost deafening. ‘And I found them. Jesus, Chief, it's pissing down out here now – just in time for the main players to walk the red carpet.’

‘Fuck,’ said Joe. ‘Hunt and his friends have decided to make a show of it.’

‘Smart, when you think about it,’ said Frank.

Joe nodded before turning to Katz. ‘Walker's out front along with your entourage,’ Joe said, making no bones about knowing it was Katz who'd alerted the media, and another smile from the DA confirmed it. ‘You sure you want to do this, Katz?’ he added.

Katz's expression turned serious. ‘Of course I'm sure.’ He straightened his tie.

And so Joe pushed past him, running toward the front entrance – and catching sight of a familiar face in the doorway of a men's room as he sped by.

‘Jesus,’ he said into the radio. ‘I think I just saw Rigotti.’

‘What's that?’ asked Frank over the hubbub.

‘Nothing. Hold tight. I'm on my way out, Frank.’

‘Did Martinelli come through?’ asked Frank. ‘Are we gonna make the collar?’

‘We're making the collar,’ said Joe.

‘Then we're not gonna be popular. Walker looks the picture of innocence.’

But then the noise drowned him out as Joe Mannix rounded the corner and saw that the circus had come to town.

14

The following morning

D
avid had not yet told Sara about the call he'd received from Daniel Hunt the previous morning. He'd wanted to, several times, but she had been on the phone in her office all of yesterday morning and had left for her court appointment early. And then he was out all afternoon, and then home late, missing dinner after an unexpected call from an anxious young client due in court first thing today.

‘So much for last night's dinner,’ she said, reading his mind as the bread popped from the toaster and she kicked the dishwasher closed with the toe of what looked to be a brand new high-heeled shoe. They were dressed for work already, a giggling Lauren making a mess of the cereal on the highchair table top before her.

Sara grabbed a cloth from the kitchen sink before rounding the breakfast bar and joining them at their small annexe table.

‘I'm sorry about that,’ said David. ‘I was with Walter and his grandmother,’ he said, referring to his eighteen-year-old client and the woman who had raised him.

‘Is he okay?’ She looked up from the marmalade she was spreading on her toast.

‘As he can be,’ he replied before meeting her eye across the table. ‘You caught the news on the abduction murder in Back Bay, the one that stole Joe away from the Taj?’

She nodded. ‘God, David, it's awful. The little girl was only a couple of months old.’ She shook her head, her hand automatically reaching across to touch a smiling Lauren on the cheek. ‘I mean, who in the hell …?’ She picked up her coffee. ‘I missed the news last night, was there an update?’

‘They've arrested the mother.’

Sara stopped short. ‘The mother! You're kidding me?’

‘She's a friend of Daniel Hunt's,’ he added.

Her aqua eyes hit him straight on. ‘Are you serious? How do you know?’

‘He called me.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Hunt called you? Why?’

He took a breath before relaying his conversation with Daniel Hunt, following that up with a recount of his earlier discussion with Joe.

She listened intently, her only movement to sip the coffee from her oversized mug. ‘Oh god, David,’ she said again. ‘That is … unbelievable.’

He nodded as he took a mouthful of his own black brew, the room turning quiet as he waited for Sara to go on, which she usually did, the two of them used to this familiar process of bouncing off of one another.

‘Sara?’ he said when she failed to go on.

She met his eye. ‘I understand why you turned him down,’ she said. ‘It's your prerogative.’ She rose from the breakfast table.

‘My prerogative?’ This was not exactly the response he was expecting.

‘The woman killed her daughter.’ Sara rounded the breakfast bar with her plate and mug in hand.

‘You're saying she's guilty,’ he called to her as she moved out of sight. ‘And I only represent the –’

‘… innocent,’ she called back. And he had to admit it irked him the way she'd risen from her seat, heading to the kitchen as if this conversation didn't warrant any further discussion.

‘Sara,’ he said again, now standing to follow her into the kitchen, offering Lauren her sippy cup on the way. ‘Do you disagree with me?’

‘I didn't say that.’

‘She killed her daughter.’

Sara turned from the sink to look at him. ‘Maybe. And even if she did, isn't that just …’ she leant back on the bench behind her, ‘… so sad, David. I mean, in no way do I condone what she is accused of doing, but you have to wonder – what kind of emotional state would a mother have to be in to take her own child's life like that?’

‘She didn't just take her child's life, Sara.’ David was ready for an argument if she wanted one. ‘She cut her throat and then disposed of the body in order to hide her culpability. That reeks of premeditation.’

‘No it doesn't, David.’ She put a finger to her lips indicating that they needed to keep their voices down. ‘It reeks of desperation, of serious emotional illness.’

The finger annoyed him. ‘You're taking Hunt's side.’

She sighed, and that annoyed him too. ‘I'm not taking anyone's side – but I have to admit, at face value it certainly seems like he is just trying to help his friend.’

David rolled his eyes.

‘Post-partum depression is a very real, very tragic condition, David,’ Sara went on. ‘Women do things they would
never
consider under normal circumstances. It's hormonal, uncontrollable.’

‘Then why didn't she seek help?’

‘From the sounds of what Joe and Daniel Hunt told you about the presence of her physician, maybe she did.’

Sara turned her back on him again, this time to rinse her plate. But David had heard enough. He had expected her to support him in his decision, even share a jibe at Hunt's audacity, but the fact that she had done the exact opposite – even rubbed his decision in his face … ‘Did you tell Daniel Hunt we were looking to buy a place in the suburbs?’

Her shoulders stooped as she dropped her plate in the sink. ‘Excuse me?’ She turned to face him once again.

‘Did you fill Hunt in on our domestic situation while he was spinning you around that dance floor with his hands all over you?’

Her mouth opened as she placed her hands on her hips. ‘You cannot be serious.’

David lifted his palms as if to say, ‘Do I look like I'm joking?’

She shook her head. ‘Hunt asked me where we were living. I told him. He said that must be difficult, bringing up a small child in small quarters without a yard, and I said it was.’ Her voice raised a notch. ‘He said there were deals to be made in suburbs like Fenway and Brookline. He said he had some contacts in the real estate business that might be able to help us. I said that was very kind of him. And then he said …’ her voice rose again, ‘… that you were a real legal talent and that you could make five times the money you are making if you came to work for him. And I said I agreed you were talented, but that you loved what you did. And then he –’

‘Let me guess,’ David interrupted, the volume of his own voice now going one better. ‘He went on and on about how I was wasting my time in criminal law, and that I was a fool to stay in a place where I was paid
shit
to defend people who were wrongly accused of crimes they did not commit.’

‘No,’ she bit back, picking up a dish cloth to twist it in her fingers.

‘
No
?’ he echoed.

‘He offered a job to me.’