The 3rd Victim (18 page)

Sara placed her hand on Sienna's shoulder. ‘It's okay. I know this is hard and that it feels like we're clutching at straws but –’

The noise of David's chair scraping backward on the parquetry floor stopped her short. They watched as he moved to Arthur's desk and picked up his iPad – Arthur's latest technological plaything. ‘You were right, Arthur,’ he said as he pulled up a search engine in seconds. ‘I seriously need to upgrade.’

Arthur opened his mouth to comment but then shut it again, obviously sensing David would reveal all in good time. But as David fiddled with the device and tapped his foot on the floor as he waited for the information to present itself, Sara threw her hands up in frustration and moved so that she was directly behind his shoulder. ‘What are you looking for?’ she asked.

She watched as the loading symbol rotated, now crouching low so that she could read the glossy flat screen. And that was when she saw the name and a Wikipedia page present itself and she got to her feet and stood to look at their client. ‘Judge Edward Baker,’ she said.

Sienna joined them in front of the iPad. ‘This Ted Baker is a judge? I don't understand.’ She looked at David.

‘Ted Baker made his name as a high-powered federal prosecutor. He was famous for representing the government against the high-flying hot shots who used Wall Street as their personal money pit back in the eighties, the era of Gordon Gekkos run amuck.

‘Then he was offered a place on the Supreme Court, but his tenure didn't last long and there were rumours he was forced into retirement. But he remains a voice on Capitol Hill. In fact he makes it his business to root out modern-day Gekkos and make sure they are brought to justice.’

‘You said he was forced into retirement – why?’ asked Sienna.

‘The talk was that Baker had started to believe his own publicity, that he was a one-man crusader with the power to influence the way our economy worked. He made friends in high places, started driving Bentleys and smoking Cubans while he continued to speak against the fat cats making money on the open market. Basically he had the reputation of a man who went after what he wanted, no matter what the cost.’

‘And you think Jim sought him out?’ said Sienna, but the look on her face told them she was not convinced. ‘Perhaps we are making a wrong connection here. Ted Baker is a common name, and it could have been Tom or Todd.’

‘No,’ replied David, ‘I think we are on to something here. I think your husband thought it was safer to go to Baker than direct to the SEC. Maybe he thought Hunt had friends at the SEC – which explains why he didn't approach their regional office here in Boston – and I know he didn't, because I checked.’

But Sienna was still shaking her head. ‘Why would Jim have listed this Baker's name next to Westfield? The man obviously has nothing to do with the retail multinational that was Jim's client. It goes against Jim's routine, his pattern, the way he made his notes – name/place, place/corporation or name/corporation … Ted Baker/WDC … it just doesn't click.’

But David met her eye with a smile. ‘The WDC doesn't refer to Westfield.’

‘It doesn't?’ said Sienna.

‘It doesn't?’ echoed Sara.

‘No. WDC had nothing to do with Jim's client and everything to do with where he was headed.’

And then there was silence as the last piece of the jigsaw finally settled into place. ‘It's like Sienna said,’ said Sara. ‘Name/place. It's like NYC. Jim was headed to where Ted Baker was based.’

David nodded. ‘But he was killed before he could get there, in Baltimore, Maryland – a mere forty miles short of Washington DC.’

38

J
oe and Frank had had to wait a week to make the most of this opportunity. Frank had made several discreet enquiries as to Dick Davenport's surgical routine and had discovered that the good doctor worked out of his Beacon Hill surgery Tuesday to Friday, with Mondays spent at a nearby private clinic where he undertook the surgical procedures associated with IVF.

With Joe's investigations into Jim Walker's death hitting a brick wall, he and Frank decided to come at this from another angle, and to follow an obscure lead Dan Martinelli had noted when the forensics reports first came in a number of weeks ago. It was a very long shot, and a detail only Davenport and perhaps one other person may have been aware of. But at this stage beggars could not be choosers, and so they set out to track down that second person who might have the information they were after.

‘The doc in?’ asked Joe, not bothering to reintroduce himself. They found the relaxed-looking Madonna Carrera giving herself a pedicure. With no doctor in the surgery, the dressed-to-the-nines assistant had obviously taken the opportunity to paint her toes a blazing shade of red. Joe caught sight of the glossy digits forced apart by some sort of spongy contraption before Carrera whipped them quickly back under her desk.

‘He is not,’ said an indignant Carrera. ‘And if you might have been cordial enough to call ahead, Deputy Superintendent Manic, I might have told you as much.’

‘Mannix,’ said Joe.

‘What?’

‘You called me Manic – and I'm not manic. And you look like you're doing it pretty easy yourself,’ he added, pointing at the toes beneath the desk.

‘I'm on my lunch break,’ she said.

‘At 11.30 am?’ asked Joe. ‘You must have started early.’

But Madonna would have none of it, reaching beneath her desk to remove the spongy separators from between her toes before sitting up again, her cheeks now flushed. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’ she asked at last, her tone still indignant but her attitude humbled somewhat.

‘How long have you been working here, Miss Carrera?’ asked Frank.

‘A few months,’ she said.

‘Did the doctor's old receptionist leave?’

‘The doctor's old receptionist was exactly that –
old
– and she has taken some overdue vacation time – some god's-waiting-room cruise for the over sixties.’

‘I'm gathering you two didn't get on?’ asked Joe.

‘Esther Wallace was not conducive to accepting the friendship of others,’ said Madonna. ‘I bet Dr Davenport kept her on out of the kindness of his heart. I can tell you, the doctor appreciates the fact that I have brought his administration into the modern era, because it was stuck in the dark ages … before I came along.’

‘We don't doubt it,’ said Frank, ‘but she is coming back, right, this Esther Wallace? We heard she was a qualified nurse – which means the doc could be missing her specific expertise?’

This was a pointed question. Joe and Frank's preliminary enquiries into Wallace's qualifications had revealed that the woman was much more experienced than the temp that was seated before them. As such, they were hoping Wallace might be able to give them a better handle on Dick Davenport and his medical practices – and, more specifically, information on the period when Jim and Sienna Walker first engaged Davenport's services.

Madonna bristled in her seat. ‘I can assure you I am all the help Dr Davenport needs, Detective,’ replied Carrera.

‘I don't doubt it,’ said Frank. ‘And as such, I dare say it will be tough for the doc when you have to give up this gig. Which is when, by the way?’

‘It was supposed to be some weeks ago, but the doctor informed me Mrs Wallace had asked to extend her vacation, a request he kindly agreed to despite her lack of pro … professionality.’

Joe swallowed a smile.

‘Which means,’ continued Madonna, ‘that I could be here for the long term considering Dr Davenport, while he would never admit to it, is clearly in no hurry to have her back.’

‘That's what we call in our business wishful thinking, Madonna,’ said Joe.

Madonna shrugged as if to say she could wish if she wanted to.

Joe shot a quick glance at Frank.

‘Miss Carrera,’ said Frank, returning his boss's glance with the slightest of nods. ‘Do you think I could use the little boy's room while I'm here?’

Madonna rolled her eyes. ‘If you must,’ she said. ‘It's down the hall to the left.’

‘Thanks,’ replied Frank, making his way back toward the door before turning to face her again. ‘While I think of it, when I was a kid I lived next door to a girl named Esther Wallace – red hair, green eyes. Mrs Wallace didn't grow up in Dorchester by any chance?’ he asked.

‘Mrs Wallace has grey hair and blue eyes and she lives a mere block from this surgery. She thinks that nurse's degree and her Beacon Hill address make her better than everyone else.’

Frank smiled. ‘The doc must be a saint to put up with her,’ he said.

‘Totally,’ said Madonna, as Frank turned to leave the room.

‘You want me to tell Dr Davenport that you came in?’ asked Madonna after Joe fell silent – a deliberate ploy to see what else this veritable book of knowledge might come out with.

‘No,’ said Joe. ‘That's okay, it's nothing urgent. We just wanted to thank him for his cooperation in handing over Mrs Walker's medical file without any drama.’

‘You should never have asked him to do such a thing – violate his hypocritical oath.’

Joe stifled a smile. ‘Did you know the Walkers?’ he asked.

‘Yes. He was pleasant and she was a bitch.’

Joe's brow furrowed. ‘How so?’

‘He was a friend of the doctor's so he would sometimes come in on his own. But she was so …’ Carrera searched for the appropriate adjective, ‘… stuck up. She would come in here – after her poor husband's death – and hold on to that baby for grim death. She had that hoity-toity accent. She didn't like people touching her precious little baby – the same kid she topped with a carving knife, so go figure.’

This was interesting. Jim Walker made independent appointments with Davenport which were not noted in his file. Perhaps he really did agree to a third party sperm donorship – a concession Davenport didn't insert in the file in honour of the man's memory. Further, Carrera's description of Sienna Walker's attitude while at the surgery suggested she wasn't exactly comfortable in Davenport's presence. Once again this did not tell Joe anything concrete, but it was an observation nonetheless, one he filed in the recesses of his brain in case it became relevant later on.

Seconds later, Frank returned. ‘All done,’ he said, wiping his hands on his trousers. ‘Thanks for that,’ he added, smiling at Madonna in gratitude.

‘Pleasure,’ said Madonna before swivelling in her chair to face her computer. ‘But if you want to see Dr Davenport at another time I suggest you call ahead. Your turning up unannounced like this is unexceptional.’

Unexceptional.

‘Will do, Ms Carrera.’

‘It's Miss, not Ms. I am not a lesbian, Detective.’

Enough said.

*

Minutes later Joe pressed his palm against the building's cool glass doors, he and Frank pushing through and upping the pace as the rain hit their faces with a vengeance.

Joe pumped the central locking button and they jumped into the car for shelter, Joe shaking the drops from his hair before turning to Frank to ask, ‘What have you got?’

Frank pulled out his notebook from his inside jacket pocket. ‘Esther Jane Wallace, sixty-five, Caucasian, never married, parents deceased, no siblings, childless, address 53 Mt Vernon Street, Beacon Hill.’

Joe nodded. ‘And what about this cruise Carrera was talking about?’

‘There was no cruise,’ said Frank. ‘I made a call to the building's super. He said Mrs Wallace left Boston unexpectedly about two months ago. Said he saw her carrying an overnight bag and getting into a taxi early one morning back in November and he asked her where she was headed, and she said she was visiting her sister in Vermont and would be back in a matter of weeks.’

‘The only child has a sister?’ asked Joe.

‘So she said. Anyway, the super also happened to hear Mrs Wallace give the taxi driver her destination, which was Logan.’

‘Logan.’ Joe repeated the name of Boston's busy airport.

‘International.’

‘Dick Davenport's old receptionist was flying the coup.’

‘Literally,’ said Frank.

The pair fell silent.

‘We may be barking up the wrong tree here, Frank, but it wouldn't hurt to get a warrant to search her apartment,’ said Joe.

‘My thoughts exactly, Chief,’ replied Frank. ‘In fact I made the call before I came back into the surgery.’

Joe managed a smile. ‘Looks like we're negotiating our own yellow brick road after all, Frank.’ He put the key in the ignition.

‘Well you are the Wizard of Hom–’

‘Frank!’

39

R
oger Katz looked at his reflection in the blade of his sterling silver letter opener. It was early. He was on hold. The girl at the other end of the phone said her boss, one Dr Richard Davenport, would like a conversation with him and he noted that there was already a slight smile on his freshly shaven face. He could almost hear it – another penny dropping into his already growing pot of evidentiary bliss. Mannix had said the doctor had been somewhat recalcitrant when the topic of Sienna Walker's culpability was discussed, but Katz was beginning to think that Davenport's less than cooperative responses might simply have been a reaction to Mannix's less than satisfactory people skills. Initially Katz suspected he might have to subpoena the doctor to give evidence as to the defendant's lack of emotional illness, but now he hoped (with some subtle encouragement from a top-notch persuader such as himself) that the good doctor might step forward voluntarily. Good for him! And even better for Katz.

‘Mr Katz,’ said the voice down the line, prompting Katz to put down the letter opener and concentrate on the conversation at hand.

‘Dr Davenport,’ replied Katz, not wanting to appear too eager given it was the doctor who had called him.

‘I am sorry to bother you. I know you must be busy, but I was wondering if you could spare some time to meet with me – perhaps this evening, about seven, here at my surgery if that suits.’

Katz swallowed his grin. ‘Well … allow me to check my schedule. Would you mind holding a moment, Doctor?’ asked Katz, after which he put Davenport on hold and counted to fifteen. ‘That should be fine,’ he replied. ‘But might I ask, before I cancel a previous appointment, what this might be regarding?’

‘It's about Sienna Walker.’

‘Well yes, I gathered as much but –’

‘Mr Katz,’ interrupted the doctor, ‘as you are aware, I am in the business of helping couples conceive, and in the course of my work, as you can well imagine, I see many couples struggling to come to terms with the fact that their journey is a great deal more arduous than most. As such it grieves me when those that are successful … how should I put it? … fail to treasure the gift they have been given.’

Katz could barely contain his excitement. ‘I understand completely, Doctor. The gift of life is the most precious one we can give. Are you suggesting that Mrs Walker …?’

‘I am suggesting that perhaps her priorities were not in line with those of her husband, and her husband was my friend, and as such, I feel that I owe it to him, and to Eliza of course, to be honest about …’ he hesitated. ‘But as I said, this is probably a conversation best held in person.’

Katz didn't doubt it. ‘Well let's talk at seven,’ he said.

‘I appreciate your clearing your schedule.’

‘Not a problem – but, Doctor, might I suggest you do not share any of this information with Mrs Walker's attorney. David Cavanaugh has a tendency to twist the truth, and given the high esteem in which you're held in this community, it would be in your best interests to limit the people you discuss this with.’

‘He's left me a number of messages.’

Katz didn't doubt it. ‘Of course he has, but it's probably best to keep matters between us from this point onward.’

‘I understand.’

‘Thank you, Doctor, and I appreciate your coming forward. I know how hard things like this can be.’

‘Eliza Walker was a beautiful little girl, Mr Katz. She deserves justice.’

‘My thoughts exactly, Doctor. I could not have put it better myself.’

*

Five minutes later Daniel Hunt was hanging up from a call during which the caller had done all the talking. The conversation was short but full of information. It reminded him of how many balls they had in the air and that at any given moment any one of them could land where they did not want it to.

Of course he did not show his concern to his caller. On the contrary, he held firm, solid, strong, reiterating that they were on track and that it was merely a matter of time before they reached their objectives.

He was pleased that Davenport would be receiving a visitor later that evening, knowing that at this late stage of the game, they needed to shove the investigation in the right direction. To a certain extent he felt powerless, but that was the nature of his circumstances, given his high profile and the facade he was forced to present.

He also knew that it was time he did some pushing of his own. He would have to tread carefully given this was always about deceiving others as to where his loyalties lay. Cavanaugh was the obvious choice, but he sensed he would get better results if he came at the defence attorney from the side rather than hitting him front on. And so he made up his mind to deviate from protocol so that he might expedite his objectives. For no matter what he told himself, this was personal, and Daniel Hunt had never been a man to accept that no course of action was the best course of action. Never had been, never would.