Gospel (34 page)

Bang, bang, bang, bang.

It was the door. Not a knock but a fist, banging, pounding. Karin ran to it, turned the handle, pulled the door open . . .

‘David,' she said, and he could see the tears at the corner of her eyes.
For an instant their eyes met, but then he pushed past her and moved straight towards the back of the suite where Caroline stood with her now confused crew.

‘This interview is over,' he said, looking straight at Caroline.

‘Mr Cavanaugh,' said Caroline, extending her hand with a half smile. David guessed his interruption could not have come at a worse time for the over-zealous reporter but also knew Caroline was not the type to dwell on the negative.

She was probably already looking for the upside to his intrusion
, he thought. And it was obvious, wasn't it? Here they were,
together
, after all these years, and she had them, exclusively.

‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Caroline Croft from
Newsline
.'

David ignored her outstretched hand. ‘Ms Croft, I represent both Karin and Professor Stuart Montgomery and neither of them will be making any further statements without my approval. Further, I will be filing an injunction preventing the broadcast of any already recorded material. In other words, as far as the world is concerned, this interview never happened.'

‘It's nice to meet you at last, Mr Cavanaugh,' said Croft, withdrawing her hand. ‘But I am afraid you are misinformed on at least one point. The interview
will
go to air because Dr Montgomery signed a legal document giving us permission to do so.'

‘Oh God,' said Karin.

Caroline handed David Karin's pre-requested written agreement and he was horrified to see she was right.

‘I'm sorry, David,' said Karin, the tears now making silent tracks down her cheeks. ‘I did this to protect us. So that I would have some control over . . .'

‘This agreement gives Karin final right of approval,' said David, noticing clause 3(b) on the finely printed document.

‘That's right, but if you will also note clause 5(a), her veto only applies to certain phrasing or wording, not overall removal of entire blocks of material,' said Croft who had had the
Newsline
attorneys include this clause prior to her meeting with Karin this evening.

Karin looked at Croft. ‘You said I had final approval. You didn't tell me about the . . .'

‘Karin, forgive me, but I said I would show you the filmed material
prior to it going to air, but that doesn't give you the right to edit the material at will.' She took the legal document from David's hand and held it up. ‘In any case, it was all here for you to read, my dear. You could have declined to sign and . . .'

‘But when I signed it I was, you could
see
I had had too much to drink. I wasn't well.'

Croft paused before replying, obviously not wanting to burn her bridges with the soon-to-be-famous accused murderer's wife and her striking young gun attorney.

‘Look,' she said, ‘there is no reason why we all cannot benefit from what has occurred tonight. As far as I can tell, Mr Cavanaugh, the Professor – your
client
– is in need of a serious public make-over. Right now he is, I daresay, the country's most vilified individual – public enemy number one so to speak.' She paused here to make her point, gave a slight smile, followed by an understanding nod.

‘David . . . Can I call you David?' She took his elbow, directing him towards the sofa. ‘It is my opinion, that after viewing what we have here, you may see the potential in letting it go to air as is. I'm no lawyer, but your ex-wife is a very clever woman and I believe this interview could trigger a shift in public opinion, which is exactly what you need.'

David stole a glance at Karin before turning back to Croft.

‘All right, Ms Croft,' said David. ‘Let's take a seat and you can show us what you've got. But I warn you, if it in any way compromises our . . .'

‘It's Caroline, and it's my pleasure,' interrupted Croft, and David knew she was silently congratulating herself for salvaging the potentially disastrous situation and transforming it into a coup. ‘Because, David, I think you are going to like what you see.'

I
t was no use. He looked at his bedside digital. 3.42 . . . click, 3.43. The clock was an original Copal, the one where the numbers tumble down with an audible ‘click'. It had been beside his – and then their – bed for over twenty years, the first year at least of which it was considered super hi-tech and downright ‘cool'.

Leo King sat up in bed, trying not to wake his lawyer wife Janet who, he knew, had to drop their twin daughters at a week-long summer tennis camp at seven o'clock this morning. He had missed dinner but wasn't hungry, had scores of departmental reports to read but couldn't face them, and worst of all knew this latest bout of insomnia was due to more than just the usual stresses of his job – it was due to the guilt, and the fear.

Involving Mannix and his detective friends was one thing; they were homicide cops who signed up for the possibility of professional peril the minute they entered the Academy. But Cavanaugh and his girlfriend were in another category all together – as was his wife and their ten-year-old daughters, Elena and Michela.

He and Mannix had waited at Cavanaugh's office for the call – and sure enough it had come, David confirming he had signed his two new clients. He saw the look on her face when it happened – Sara's, the smart, pretty girlfriend – who had, knowingly or not, just signed up to play second
chair in a case which would make or break her professional career, her relationship, and maybe even her life.

Shit
, he said to himself. At least he had not vocalised the thought which had barged into his head like a road train earlier this evening, when he was telling them about Ramirez and his immediate dismissal of foul play on the night of Bradshaw's murder. At least he had not said her name –
US Chief of Staff, Maxine Bryant –
whose simultaneous, or was it initial, manipulation was just as definite and twice as strong. Maxine Bryant, Presidential confidante, Vice Presidential mother-in-law, ambitious, astute, manipulative, powerful, and perhaps even worse, popular.

Was she the one?
he wondered.
Was she ‘John'?

There was no reason John could not be a woman, of course, but he was sure it had not entered the others' minds. And he would not say anything, at least not yet, until they had talked to Dick Ryan and he had made a few more discreet enquiries of his own.

‘What is it, honey?' asked Janet Leung King turning to face him, her delicate features illuminated in the white moonlight which filtered through the large eastern bay windows.

‘You've been tossing and turning since you got in. Anything I can help with?' She sat up now, taking his hand.

‘Nothing. I'm sorry, Janet. I'm gonna get up for a while,' he smiled. ‘You go back to sleep.'

Leo knew Janet would not ask for the specifics. She had been with him since he was an eager rookie and over the years had learned it was easier on both of them if she didn't pose questions he could not answer. And he loved her for it.

‘Just work,' he said.

‘I called the office at eight. They said you'd gone home.'

This wasn't an accusation, Leo knew, more a statement – an opening for her husband to offer some way in which she could help.

‘This one's tricky, Janet.'

‘You making enquiries you shouldn't?'

‘You could say that.'

‘I wouldn't have expected anything less,' she said with a knowing smile, but he could see the concern creep over her flawless face.

‘Janet?'

‘Yes.'

‘While Ellie and Mickey are at camp, why don't you have your mom come up and stay? She loves it up here, could be good for her.' Janet's mother Linda Leung lived on her own in the four-bedroom original New Haven, Connecticut Leung family home. Her father, the late John Leung, had been a much loved and respected Hong Kong born Chinese/American diplomat, and his passing last year had left a huge hole in her mother's life.

‘Okay,' said Janet. ‘But I'll be working and she'll be disappointed the girls aren't around.'

‘She can meet you for lunch, keep you company when I am working late.'

‘You predicting more late nights?'

‘Afraid so.'

‘Not too afraid, I hope,' she said, only half joking. ‘Should we be worried about this, Leo?'

‘No. Everything's gonna be fine. Just be extra careful with home security for a while. Okay?'

‘Okay.'

They sat there for a moment, saying nothing before Janet looked towards the windows and said, ‘Full moon.'

‘I noticed. That's good fortune isn't it, I mean, in Chinese mythology?'

‘It means new beginnings, new hope,' said Janet, squeezing her husband's hand.

‘Hope,' said Leo. ‘I could sure use some of that.'

It was late when he knocked on her door – or early, depending on how you looked at it. The air was thick with humidity, and heavy with the mixed aromas of the now empty nearby Italian eateries, and the brackish breeze from the sea. She was preceded by the muted porch light, and he heard the click of her lock as she emerged, eyes squinting against the brightness, her hair loose around her face, her arms wrapped across her body which was clothed in a light cotton robe.

‘Sara, I . . .' he began.

‘It's late,' she said, her eyes still adjusting to the light.

‘I know. I just needed to tell you I am sorry – for not including you sooner. For not . . .'

She stepped out on to the porch, half closing the door behind her.

‘David,' she interrupted, her eyes finally meeting his, ‘I know what you are going to say – that you kept all this from me for my own good, for my protection, because you were worried about me.'

‘Yes.'

‘Bullshit,' she said, her words cutting through his somewhat feeble attempt to justify his actions. ‘That may be true now, but it wasn't six days ago, when she first asked you to represent her husband.'

She was right. He should have told her of Karin's request immediately after it was made. But he didn't. He chose to keep her in the dark for selfish reasons – because he was too afraid to face what Karin's re-entry into his life – into
their
lives – might mean.

‘I never lied to you, Sara,' he said, knowing that even this was a stretch of the truth.

‘You didn't tell me what happened – it's the same thing.'

They stood there for a moment, the only sounds coming from the distant buzz of crickets and the freshening breeze forcing its way up the narrow winding streets.

‘I can't do this without you,' he said at last.

‘Perhaps you should have thought of that before you ran to her rescue without consulting me.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘So am I,' she said, taking a slight step back, wrapping her arms even tighter across her narrow torso.

They paused again, the heaviness of their awkwardness foreign and unsettling.

‘So what are you going to do?' asked David.

‘My job of course,' she snapped back. ‘When I accepted the position with your firm I made a commitment to Arthur – and to myself – to represent every one of our clients to the best of my ability.'

‘And what about . . .'

‘
Us?
' she interrupted. ‘You tell me, David. You're the one who seems determined to ruin what we have – or at least what I thought we had.'

He took a slight step forward. ‘Just tell me what to do, Sara. How can I make this right?'

‘You can start by realising I am your equal, David. I don't want to be
protected, I want to be respected. I deserve to know the truth, even if you think I am not going to like what I hear.'

‘Fair enough,' he said without hesitating. ‘But you have to realise, this Montgomery thing – it isn't going to get any easier. In fact, I am afraid we are in for a whole lot more than we bargained for.'

‘Than
you
bargained for, David,' she countered, shaking the hair away from her face. ‘You were the one that agreed to take this on, not me.'

He nodded and stepped back again.

‘So, are we going to be okay?' he said at last.

‘Not unless you start seeing me for what I am – an independent human being who will not settle for anything less than the truth. Not now, not ever.'

‘I promise.'

And then she nodded and David took some relief from their stilted attempt at a truce, even if it was doused in the regret of what he had done – and all that they were about to face together.

‘It's late,' she said, looking down once again. ‘I'm tired.'

‘I'm sorry,' he said again. ‘I love you, Sara.'

But Sara said nothing, just nodded before taking a step backwards and pushing the door open behind her. And then she turned, went back into the house, re-locked the door, turned off the light and left him standing there, completely in the dark, just as he deserved.

I
t was 21 June – the longest day of the year. The sun rose at 5.15 and beat down upon the Harbour, pounding it from sleep and triggering the usual miracle that was simultaneous order and chaos in a big seaside city such as Boston. And as the waters turned from silver to green, green to turquoise and finally to a magnificent royal blue, the fishing trawlers, transport ferries and private vessels snapped into life, tracking back and forth upon the very same liquid canvas once turned brown by bales of tea and red with the blood of revolutionaries who fought for independence and, eventually, won.

Today was also a day of endings and beginnings. Hector Gabbit was set free. The Boston police searched Veronica Mulch's home and found not only evidence of the tools used to tamper with her late husband's wheel-chair, but also life insurance documents, airline tickets to the Caribbean and a note to Veronica's other extra-marital hobby, a professional ten pin bowler named Hal.