Matter of Trust Page 8

  17

  ‘We were planning a reunion,’ said Chris, the words now coming calmly, easily.

  ‘A reunion,’ repeated McNally, an old detective’s habit of repeating the previous assertion so that the subject would go on.

  ‘Yes,’ said Chris with a nod. ‘It’s been almost twenty-five years since we first started to hang out together – me and David here and our friend Mike – and Marilyn and her friends from Saint Agnes’s.’ A pause when McNally did not respond.

  ‘About a month ago, I ran into Marilyn in the city and I suggested we should get together – the lot of us from Saint Stephen’s and St Agnes’s. And she said we should do it properly – like some sort of unofficial reunion, and I agreed, and she said she’d help organise it, and I said I’d ask Cavanaugh here to help and . . . it all sort of went from there.’

  David was in shock, his entire body left numb by the lies his friend was telling.

  ‘So Marilyn and I exchanged numbers and we kept in touch, and I finally managed to clear a weekend so David could come down and we could get together and plan something – you know, for old times’ sake.’

  ‘Sure,’ said McNally. ‘Nothing like a stroll down memory lane with people you actually want to catch up with – the folks you actually chose to mix with when—’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Chris, cutting the detective short. ‘Those official school reunions can be pretty trying, but we saw this as a sort of smaller, more relaxed version.’ He looked toward David as if the two of them had agreed upon this whole reunion thing weeks ago. ‘Believe it or not, we were quite a gang way back then, Detective. In fact, most days I’m surprised we turned out as well as we did.’

  Chris smiled while the irony of his last comment washed over David in waves.

  ‘And given how busy we all are,’ Chris continued, ‘the stresses of our personal and professional demands, we figured a chance to reminisce on the good old days would do us all a world of good.’

  Chris went on to explain that he’d spent the past week or so trying to get in touch with Marilyn, to confirm she was fine for this weekend before David made the trip south. He explained he’d even called her place of work and went to her apartment building where he’d spoken to the super who said he’d not set eyes on Marilyn since Saturday the twelfth.

  ‘It’s just not like her,’ said Chris, despite the fact that just an hour earlier, he’d been cursing Marilyn for her unreliability. ‘Or it wasn’t like the girl we remembered.’

  We, thought David. He said ‘we’. Chris was pulling him into this lie, lock, stock and barrel, and there was nothing David could do about it.

  ‘When I couldn’t get in touch with her, I was going to call David’s visit off, but then I saw that piece in the paper about the drowned woman, and . . . the description . . .’ Chris hesitated. ‘I told David and he suggested he make the trip in any case. He said he knew you, and that you weren’t the type of cop who’d label us a couple of worrywarts for fronting to ask if . . . well, if there could be any possible connection between this poor drowning victim and the Marilyn we knew . . . I mean, know,’ he corrected himself.

  McNally blinked, before turning in his chair and leaning forward to meet David’s eye. David winced, ever so slightly, at both McNally’s stare and the piney scent that came from the clever detective sitting before him. And that was when he noticed that McNally’s hair was still damp around the collar and realised that McNally had been sitting in on the ME’s examination all morning – and that the shower, the dousing of cologne, were the results of his trying to rid himself of the sickening smell of the autopsy that had eaten into his skin.

  ‘That’s a lot of foresight on your part, David,’ said McNally, his face stony before relaxing ever so slightly. ‘But that’s the trouble with us cops and lawyers,’ he added. ‘We look at everything like it’s an investigation waiting to happen. Am I right?’

  David went to answer – to say . . . he was not sure what. But Chris interrupted again.

  ‘I know this is crazy,’ Chris began. ‘But I guess we wanted to rule it out so we can stop worrying.’ He shook his head. ‘We spent our teenage years looking out for each other, Detective, and I guess that’s a hard habit to break.’

  David winced again, and despite the fact that McNally’s attention was now back on Chris, David was certain the detective caught it, out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘All right, then,’ said McNally at last. ‘Here’s the thing. I would love to put you two friends at ease. But I’m afraid there’s only one way to do that, and it isn’t going to be easy.’

  ‘You want us to identify the body,’ said David, the sound of his voice foreign in the mix.

  McNally nodded, his eyes now drifting back to Chris. ‘But once again, I stress that this isn’t going to be pleasant. This poor woman was in the water for close to two weeks so . . . Then again, I hate to say it, but the timing on your friend does fit, so . . . you’d be doing me a favour if . . .’

  ‘We want to do whatever we can to help,’ said Chris, the twitch in his left eye returning, just for a second. ‘So, let’s do it,’ he added, looking at David as if to say, ‘She was our friend, DC, it is the least we can do’. ‘Let’s do it now.’

  18

  Boston, Massachusetts

  ‘A penny for them . . .’ said Nora Kelly as she reached for the sugar. She and Sara were at Myrtle’s having a late afternoon tea, Lauren sound asleep in the buggy beside them.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nora,’ said Sara after Mick had refilled her mug of coffee. ‘I know I’ve been a little distracted.’

  ‘Is it this trip to Newark?’ the perceptive office assistant asked, knowing the answer before it was offered.

  Sara smiled and gave the woman she thought of as a mother the slightest of nods. ‘David said it was just an overnight stay so . . . Oh, Nora, tell me I’m being silly?’

  ‘I would if you were, lass.’ Nora returned the smile as she stirred her tea. ‘I am sure David will be home lickety-split, but you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t a little concerned about his rushing off to help his friend like this.’

  Sara realised just how lucky she was to have this woman as a friend. ‘I’m not sure Newark is good for him,’ she said after a pause. ‘He wants the best for his friends and he loves his family, but you must have noticed how he avoids visits home.’

  Nora nodded. ‘So why do you think that is, lass? What makes going home so . . . uncomfortable?’

  Sara took a moment to think on this, her hands cupped around her steaming hot coffee. ‘I know this is going to sound strange, but I think a lot of it has to do with guilt.’

  ‘Now I know guilt comes with the Irish Catholic territory,’ said Nora, ‘but what on earth does David have to feel guilty for?’

  ‘For choosing to lead his own life – for leaving the one carved out for him.’

  Sara saw the look on Nora’s face – a need to understand and, more importantly, to help if she could. And so Sara started at what she thought was the beginning – or at least what she’d gleaned from the scraps a reluctant David had shared with her over the past four years.

  ‘I suppose you could say David is your typical middle child – a combination of his sunny schoolteacher mom and determined dock-worker dad. David speaks freely of his affection for his mother, but he has always found it hard to talk about his relationship with his dad. It’s almost as if the two never quite got each other; David at pains to comprehend how a man such as his father – resilient, stoic, smart – didn’t want more from life than what he already had, and his father frustrated by his son’s restlessness and his need to seek more.’ Sara took a breath.

  ‘The differences seem to have been exaggerated by David’s older brother Sean – who seems set on replicating his father’s existence – marrying early, having three kids, and taking pride in being his father’s apprentice in a shipping business he now runs. You’ve met Sean,’ Sara continued after a pause. ‘He’s a good man.’

&nb
sp; Nora nodded, obviously remembering David’s stockier, dark-haired, somewhat reserved older brother from the night he had visited their offices a few years ago.

  ‘But he is just so . . .’ Sara searched for the right word to describe her brooding brother-in-law, ‘. . . rigid. I don’t think a day goes by without him silently cursing David for leaving Newark – for turning his back on the family business, for leaving their mom. And despite the fact that I know David is sure he did the right thing, in many ways I think he lives in the shadow of Sean’s disappointment, a dissatisfaction that grew tenfold when their father died almost a decade ago.’

  Nora nodded again. ‘And Lisa?’ she asked, referring to David’s younger sister.

  ‘Is fantastic,’ smiled Sara. ‘She totally understands the friction between her brothers, but accepts them for who they are. I think she spent the bulk of her first nineteen years acting as a buffer between them. But then she followed David to Boston which, of course, gave Sean another reason to blame his brother.’

  ‘So where do David’s old friends fit in to all this?’ asked Nora. ‘You mentioned they were a mischievous band of three. If David has always felt uncomfortable trying to live up to the demands of his older brother, perhaps these boys were his way of . . .’

  ‘Escaping?’ finished Sara. ‘I think so. By the sounds of things, Chris Kincaid and Mike Murphy were nothing like Sean. I think all three of them were dreamers who spent every day trying to push at the boundaries – to seek, to reach, to explore.’

  ‘Which, in all fairness, Senator Kincaid has done,’ said Nora. ‘But what about the other boy – the one named Mike?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Sara, her brow now twisting into knots. ‘Like anything to do with Newark, David doesn’t talk about him much. The only new piece of information about Mike or Chris that I managed to extract from David before he left was that Chris’s mother was one of those relentless, domineering types. Chris’s father was Governor of New Jersey, the family came from money, and, from what I can gather, Chris’s mom is driving her son’s career.’

  ‘Does David think the mother knows about this other woman?’

  ‘Reading between the lines, David believes there is little Chris’s mom doesn’t know.’

  They sat in silence for a while, finishing their drinks.

  ‘Listen, Sara,’ said Nora then. ‘David’s a big boy and he’s probably spot-on when he says he’ll be down and back in a jiffy. He’s told you he’s committed to staying at home, to playing things a little on the safer side now that he’s got you and Lauren.’

  ‘But what if he can’t help himself?’ Sara asked the inevitable.

  Nora took Sara’s hand. ‘David has faced some extremely powerful adversaries in the past, my dear – high level government officials, the FBI, national identities with the power of the media behind them. And despite the incredible odds against him, he’s always come out on top, if a little battered and bruised.’ Nora managed a smile. ‘So when it comes to home – his friend’s domineering mother, his brother’s stubbornness, the memories of feeling ill at ease – I can’t help but feel that David will take it all in his stride. He’s a survivor, Sara – and he’s dealing with people he knows, so—’

  ‘No,’ said Sara, interrupting her well-meaning friend. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, Nora, but in this case I believe David has no idea what he’s getting himself into.’

  Finally Nora understood exactly what Sara was trying to say. ‘You think Chris Kincaid had something to do with that poor woman’s death?’

  ‘I’m not sure. But I think men like Chris Kincaid don’t do anything without calculation. I think it is odd that he asked David to make discreet enquiries in the first place. I think it is strange he asked David to fly down to accompany him to see the Newark police.’

  ‘And if he was involved? If he is charged?’ asked Nora.

  ‘Then I have no doubt David will represent him.’

  ‘But David never defends anyone unless he believes in their innocence.’

  ‘Then I guess he’ll convince himself that Chris is exactly that.’

  Nora met Sara’s eye, and Sara could see that her friend knew she was right.

  ‘It’s early days, my dear,’ Nora said, as if in consolation.

  But Sara was shaking her head. ‘I don’t think so, Nora. I think that whether he realises it or not, the whole reason David took the bar in Jersey in the first place was to show he wasn’t leaving them completely, just in case one day, he could play the knight in shining armour and save one of his family or friends and in doing so, prove to them all that his decision to leave, to become what he has, was the right thing to do after all.’

  ‘You think he seeks approval – from the people he loves most?’

  Sara nodded. ‘Don’t we all, Nora?’ she said with a sigh. ‘Don’t we all?’

  19

  In the State of New Jersey, the Office of the State Medical Examiner, or OSME, is established within the Division of Criminal Justice of the Office of the Attorney General and the Department of Law & Public Safety and is under the immediate supervision of a State Medical Examiner, or SME.

  The SME supervises the state’s Northern and Southern Regional Medical Examiner Offices (NRMEO and SRMEO), which provide death investigation services to six of New Jersey’s twenty-one counties, accepting close to 2500 examinations each year.

  In the case of the NRMEO, the busiest office in the state by far, a staff of six or so headed by Regional Medical Examiner Salicia Curtis burn the midnight oil trying to keep on top of the huge numbers of cases that move through their office every year – cases that involve close to 1500 autopsies – hundreds of these sadly falling under the category listed as homicide.

  For David, the trip to the ME’s offices had been nothing short of suffocating. McNally had suggested they all go in his car and Chris had immediately agreed. David knew his friend was avoiding the inevitable one-on-one they would need to have as soon as they were alone – he felt Chris was dragging him down his road of deception as far as was humanly possible, making it all that much harder for David to turn back.

  Half of David hated his friend for the position he had placed him in, and the other half hated himself for not standing up and walking out the minute the first lie had been told. He could not help but recall the times when he’d followed Mike and Chris to the headmaster’s office, often knowing that they were as guilty as sin. But back then, he’d felt a sense of gallantry in his determination to protect his two friends’ backs, and right now, he knew beyond anything else, that what he was doing was . . .

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ said Salicia Curtis, interrupting David’s thoughts as she met them in the scantily furnished lobby. The area was pleasant but clinical, the only signs of life a friendly-looking receptionist behind a blue-coloured petition in the far right-hand corner and a series of climbing plants whose tendrils lay limp and disappointed on the brown tiled floor.

  ‘I appreciate situations like this are difficult, so I shall try to make things as easy as possible,’ continued the attractive, straightforward woman who, it became obvious, was practised at explaining the tragic but necessary process of identifying the deceased.

  ‘In the case of the body in question, I need to warn you that her features will appear both swollen and distorted – an irreversible state caused by the length of time her body spent in the water. I suggest you examine the victim’s facial features carefully, and try to ascertain if there is any chance that the woman in the neighbouring room might be the person you knew.

  ‘I want to stress that what you are about to see may be incredibly upsetting, and while we have done our best to clean her up following this morning’s autopsy, we will understand completely if the identification process is impossible. You should not feel disappointed if you cannot make a call, one way or the other.’

  Moments later, after McNally had excused himself briefly before returning to the viewing room, Curtis asked if they would move
toward a window where a privacy curtain would be drawn and they could examine the body which she explained would be covered by a plain white sheet. And as the curtain was pulled, David took the slightest of steps back – a natural instinct at seeing a life reduced to the enlarged grey mass in front of them – and Chris Kincaid took in an audible gasp before moving slowly, but determinedly toward the window.

  While David knew he was there for Chris, he could not help but feel that this identification was a personal moment for him too. His eyes were drawn to the woman’s white-blonde hair and her swollen, sightless eyes. And in that moment, he felt an inexplicable sense of relief, as if there was no way this lifeless form before him could be the Marilyn he once knew. It was ridiculous really, but he sensed that, given all Marilyn had put into life, there was no way that life would reduce her to this.

  ‘Chris,’ he said, as he moved forward, so that he might stand next to his old schoolfriend, so that they could share in their relief together, and put an end to this unholy mess.

  ‘Chris,’ he said again, as he watched Chris’s eyes move slowly from the woman’s face, and smooth blonde hair, down the crisp white sheet and over the mounds that hid her chest and her hips, to the box of what must have been her meagre possessions at the other end of the cold, aluminium table.

  Chris’s eyes watered as they flashed quickly from the body to David, to a now close-by McNally, and back to his old schoolfriend once again.

  ‘It’s not her,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked McNally, David hearing the slightest trace of what he thought was disappointment in the detective’s voice.

  ‘It’s not her,’ Chris said again, managing what looked to be a smile. ‘It’s not Marilyn. I am sure.’

  20

  Connor Kincaid took another sip of his now flat Pepsi as he adjusted his butt away from the mangled foam protruding from a tear in the vinyl-covered bench underneath him.