Gospel (39 page)

‘Why on earth would I kill the man who was on the verge of elevating me to the highest position in my field in this country? If he were still alive I would have been made US Surgeon General before the year was out, I would have secured my research funding at the next appropriations subcommittee meeting and I would have kissed Jessica Douglas a sweet goodbye and taken a wrap on the knuckles for my trouble. That is what I
do
, I manipulate people for personal gain, and I am very good at it. Tom was even better – the only difference being his motivations were more altruistic.'

Montgomery paused there, taking another sip of his now room temperature iced tea which sat on the table beside him.

‘So you see, Mr Cavanaugh, Ms Davis, Mr Wright, there is no way that I would have risked all of the above by killing the incumbent and taking my chances with a new Vice President. I had put too much work into the current one – Tom Bradshaw – my
friend. That
, my dear colleagues, would have been plain stupid and, as anyone will tell you, I am many things but I am
not
a stupid man.'

Just then a strong breeze blew through Arthur's window, capturing some of his papers in its journey and tossing them up towards the ceiling in a flourish. It was almost as if the wind was punctuating Montgomery's final point – the pure frankness of it – and none of them doubted it was true.

‘What about the OxyContin?' said David, returning to the issue of the FBI's case.

‘What about it? I prescribed it for an old friend who was riddled with cancer.'

‘But there's your problem, Professor,' said David. ‘The FBI claim Oliver Caspian never came to visit you on Saturday 16 April. They also say the OxyContin script was for you, or rather, written and filled by you so that you could use it to . . .'

‘Murder Bradshaw,' said Montgomery, shaking his head as he finished David's sentence. ‘Ridiculous, isn't it, I mean, why on earth would I go to all that trouble?'

‘I don't understand,' said Sara.

‘My dear girl, let me assure you that in the process of learning how to be “life savers”, physicians are also exposed to a myriad of ways as to how we could accomplish the opposite result. In other words, when they teach us how to preserve life, they also teach us how to extinguish it. If I wanted to kill the Vice President, I could think of a million easier, less incriminating ways of doing so.'

‘Such as?' asked Arthur.

‘Once again I remind you that physicians are master pharmacists, we have the knowledge of and access to hundreds of narcotics which, when taken in certain combinations, can effectively stop the heart.

‘We, and when I say
we
I mean the American people, are all drug addicts of sorts. American doctors are writing 2.8 billion prescriptions a year, an average of ten per year per person. The US Institute of Medicine recently reported there were about 100,000 deaths due to medical errors of which about 7000 were attributed to drug reactions – and that doesn't include the “innocent” mistakes when a patient fails to tell their doctor about his or her usage of herbaceuticals or dietary supplements.

‘Long story short, for a physician of my calibre, with my connections in the pharmaceutical and narcotics industries, killing Tom would have been easy. In fact, if I had killed him, I would not be sitting here. My “murder”, dear friends, would have been completely undetectable. In other words, I would never have undertaken such a dangerous project unless I was sure of getting away with it.'

‘But you're forgetting one major flaw in your argument, Professor,' said Sara. ‘Tom Bradshaw was a recovering addict;
any
drugs in his system would have looked suspicious.'

‘Yes, but don't you see, that's what makes it all the easier. He
was
an addict and addicts are always after their next fix, Ms Davis, recovering
or not. In lots of ways OxyContin was a silly choice because the level of respiration depression is different in each individual – in other words, the levels in Bradshaw's blood may not have been enough to kill another person. They took a risk and just got lucky it had the desired effect.'

‘And you believed it was used because it can be traced back to you,' said Arthur.

‘Exactly. And I make a fitting scapegoat, I make it
personal
. I had motive, means and opportunity. And more importantly, I maintain Bradshaw's shiny image by dispelling the original theory of suicide. They get rid of Bradshaw and take me down in the bargain. It's a win–win for them.'

They sat there in silence for a moment taking it in. Realising Montgomery had just summarised the prosecution's case in succinct clarity – motive, means, opportunity.

‘Mr Cavanaugh,' said Nora, poking her head around the door frame. ‘The two prison gentlemen say it is time to leave. It's almost two.'

‘Thanks, Nora,' said Arthur. ‘I am afraid our time is up, Professor, but I am sure David and Sara will be seeing you within the next few days. In the meantime I suggest you try to recall every relevant detail regarding your working relationship with the late Vice President. If it is as you say, we will need to support your testimony with examples.'

Arthur looked to David with raised eyebrows as if checking there was anything else he needed to ask. And David responded with a nod, and a new look of caution, as if this final query was one he needed to phrase very carefully.

‘Professor,' he began. ‘We've all talked about what you
didn't
do on the night of the Vice President's murder, but you haven't told us exactly what you
did
do for him. You visited his suite, you were inside for almost five minutes. What treatment did you administer – and how did you find him?'

Just then Montgomery, who was in the process of rising from his seat, appeared to falter ever so slightly, as if David's words had hit a nerve causing an involuntary shiver down the learned Professor's spine.

‘Well,' said Montgomery, straightening his stance and recovering his cool demeanour. ‘I examined him, of course. It was a standard check – blood pressure, heart, lungs and so forth. And he seemed . . . fine, calm, happy.'

They all stood there, listening to his simple explanation in silence,
David facing Montgomery eye to eye, and in that second realising that his client had told them his first and all-telling lie.

‘All right then,' said David at last, breaking eye contact and walking them to the door. ‘Just remember what Arthur said, about your relationship with Bradshaw – the recall.'

‘Of course,' said Montgomery, turning to shake David's hand. ‘This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is perhaps, the end of the beginning,' he said, and for the first time David saw a trace, if only small, of relief and perhaps gratitude in his smile.

‘Churchill, my friends,' announced Montgomery, reaching to shake Arthur's hand as well. ‘No doubt, Mr Wright, he and Aristotle would have got along famously.'

‘No doubt, Professor,' said Arthur, returning the smile. ‘No doubt.'

‘Good afternoon, my dear lady,' said Montgomery, kissing Sara on both cheeks. ‘I am delighted to say that I believe I may have underestimated you. You have spunk, and I like a woman with spunk, just ask my wife.'

David saw Sara glance at Karin, her pale blue eyes meeting his ex-wife's deep brown counterparts briefly, before Sara turned away again.

‘And you are . . .' Sara paused awkwardly as if unsure as to how to take Montgomery's ‘compliment', ‘quite a surprise yourself, Professor.' And David noted the beginning of an unsuspecting smile on her face. ‘I'll have Nora walk you and your wife to the back entrance.'

‘Delighted,' he said, before turning at the office door to face his team of attorneys one more time. ‘Yes, delighted.'

Exactly ten seconds after the Montgomerys were escorted from his office by Sara, Arthur closed the door behind them and said two words to his young protégé. ‘Spill it.'

‘Am I that transparent?' asked David.

‘Only to me.'

‘It was just something he said. It's probably nothing.'

‘Come on, David. I know you better than that, your nothings too often turn out to be somethings, for better or for worse.'

‘This one is for worse,' said David.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean, if I'm right, our client just stood here and lied to our faces.'

‘About examining the Vice President?' asked Arthur.

‘Yes.'

‘You don't think he checked him out?'

‘I don't know, Arthur. All I do know is that last question caught him off guard. It was so straightforward, so basic, but it took him by surprise, almost as if it was the one question he most feared he would have to answer.'

‘But why? Even if it was a lie it should have been an easy one to tell. The man is a competent spokesperson, his interview was quite convincing, so why the glitch on the simplest question of all?'

‘Because it brought back a vision he didn't want to re-visit,' suggested David. ‘Because it reminded him of what he saw. Because it made him realise what serious shit he is in, because if answered honestly it would . . .'

‘. . . crucify him and end his life for good?'

‘That's my guess.'

‘And yet you think he is innocent?' asked Arthur.

‘Yes.'

Arthur nodded. ‘And so do I.'

And then Arthur stood there next to his friend, saying nothing, knowing that sometimes David's ‘conundrums' were best left inside his own head until he could think them through. They had a theory that sharing ‘slants' on cases was often a mistake, as it clouded both attorneys' perspectives and often sent them down the wrong track.

‘You need time to chew on this one a little?' Arthur asked at last.

‘Yeah.'

‘Then chew,' said Arthur, patting his protégé on the back. ‘This is your case, David, and despite how it looks right now, you'll get to the bottom of it.'

‘You think so?' David shook his head. ‘I'm not so sure. Every which way you look, the prosecution has a strong case, largely because there are no other suspects.'

‘Then, we will find them,' said Arthur, moving across the room to his icy cold bar fridge in the corner, stacked full of Australian beer.

‘Easier said than done,' replied David, accepting a tall frosty bottle and using the opener to pop the top before taking a long slow drink.

‘As a wise old philosopher once said,' began Arthur after a time, ‘“Do or do not. There is no try”.'

‘Jesus, Arthur, not more Aristotle. Haven't we had enough of that old Greek for one day?'

‘Ah, but that's not Aristotle, my friend. It's someone much older and wiser and braver for that matter.'

‘Okay, I'll bite,' grinned David.

‘It's Yoda, Jedi Master extraordinaire, and my point is, I'm here to help. Just think of me as your Yoda and you as my . . .'

‘Luke Skywalker?' David laughed. ‘No way. I wanna be Han Solo. He got the girl.'

‘That he did my friend. That he did.'

She was in the cubicle when she heard someone else enter the bathroom and move towards the large horizontal mirror above the deep oval sinks. The lighting was dark as it tended to be in these old historical buildings. The muted illumination bounced dully off the black-veined green marble floor, creating shadows at odd angles and a stately atmosphere all round.

It wasn't Nora who entered the outer door, she knew that much from the click of the high heels and the slightly hesitant gait of the walk: click, click . . . click, as if someone were visiting their private third floor rest rooms for the first time. She opened the cubicle door to see her – Karin Montgomery – holding a wet face cloth to her cheeks. She looked flushed and a little embarrassed when Sara moved towards the mirror to wash her hands at the basin on her far right.

‘I'm sorry,' said Karin. ‘I saw Stuart off at the back entrance but there was no point in my going back with him. Visiting hours finished at two. The press were parked out front so I thought I'd come back up to see if Mrs Kelly could call me a cab. Then, for some reason I felt a little flushed so . . .'

‘It's okay,' said Sara. ‘I am sure Nora can arrange for a taxi to drive down into the garage and pick you up from the car park. I'll go ask her for you,' Sara added, now feeling a little warm herself. She shook her hands dry, not wanting to walk beyond Karin to the paper wipes on the back wall, and headed towards the door.

‘Ms Davis,' said Karin, stopping Sara just as she was about to leave. ‘Forgive me I . . . I know this is awkward and . . . and I just . . . I wanted to apologise for involving you in . . .'

‘Don't,' said Sara, now feeling more than just a little uncomfortable. ‘I'm an attorney, Dr Montgomery, this is my job.'

‘Karin, please. Call me Karin, and while I appreciate your professionalism I just want you to know that David and I, well, it was all such a long time ago.'

‘Really, you don't have to . . .'

‘Yes, yes I do,' said Karin, taking a deep breath. ‘Leaving David was a mistake, and I am not telling you this to make you worry. I have no intention, nor any hope, of altering the past or reinventing the present. I say this because I want you to know that I respect him, and perhaps respect you even more for taking this on under the circumstances.'

Sara just stood there, unsure of what to say until it came out of her mouth before she could stop it. ‘We're moving in together,' she said. ‘Independence Day long weekend. That is to say, I am moving in with him – to his apartment.' And then she stopped, immediately regretting what she had just said. It made her sound defensive, possessive, insecure – which right now, looking at this beautiful talented woman before her, she was . . . and she was . . . and she was.