Alibi (2 page)

“Then maybe I am asking too much.”

They lay in silence for a while, the street noise beyond cosseting them in anonymity.

“I want to meet your father,” said James at last. “Tomorrow.”

“Shhh,” she whispered, lifting her long narrow finger before stretching her neck to meet his lips with hers. “
Asu no koto o ieba, tenjo de nezumi ga warau.
Nobody knows what tomorrow might bring.” And he kissed her in return.

“Jessica,” he said. “I want you to know . . . that whatever happens, you are . . . I am . . .”

“It is all right,” she interrupted. “In case you have not noticed, I made my decision weeks ago, by the riverbank on that morning filled with color. For as my mother once told me, it is the choices that we
don’t
make in life that we live to regret—not the ones that we do.”

Friday, September 11

 

“Okay,” said Boston attorney-at-law David Cavanaugh as he took his girlfriend by the arm and led her inside the warm cocoon that was O’Sullivan’s Bar in riverside Cambridge. “It’s official. I am old, Sara Davis—over the hill, past it, seriously on the wrong side of thirty.”

David took Sara’s coat and looked around the student bar. It was cozy and dark and filled with good-looking twenty somethings, all knocking back beers and wines and other alcoholic concoctions of various colors in long slender glass bottles.

“David,” said his fellow attorney girlfriend. “I wouldn’t call thirty-seven over the hill. And besides, you’re fit, healthy and still pretty hot—for an old geezer that is.”

David grabbed both ends of the wool knit scarf that hung around Sara’s neck and pulled her close, kissing her squarely on her lips, which were tinged with a hint of blue despite the now tepid surroundings.

“You’re cold,” he said. “I’ll get us a drink.”

“Let me find Jake first,” she said. “He is the reason we are here after all.”

David had met thirty-one-year-old Sara Davis almost two years ago when she asked him to represent her boss, Rayna Martin, in what turned out to be one of the biggest hate trials of the decade. David had made many good friends—and enemies—during the course of that high-profile trial, and even better, had fallen in love with his long-haired, brown-skinned, turquoise-eyed co-counsel.

Last year Sara agreed to join David’s law firm—Wright, Wallace and Gertz—run by David’s boss, friend and mentor Arthur Wright, and since then they had taken on a range of cases together, including the high-profile defense of Professor Stuart Montgomery, the man accused of killing the vice president of the United States.

“There he is,” shouted Sara, in an attempt to be heard over the din as she pointed to the far back corner of the hotel. “You grab the drinks and meet me over there.”

While David headed to the bar Sara jockeyed her way down to the back, ignoring the various stares and proclamations of love by at least two drunken college boys who, she knew, would definitely be feeling it in the morning.

She wrestled her way into the tightly knit group as politely as possible before coming face-to-face with one of the three men she loved most in the world—her little brother, Jake Davis.

“Hey bro,” she said wrapping her arms around her blond-haired, blue-eyed sibling. Sara had been adopted by her parents six years before they surprised everyone by giving birth to a second child the natural way. “Congratulations, kiddo. This new job is huge, right? Who would have thought, my scruffy little brother the big corporate executive.”

“Thanks, Sara,” said Jake, pulling her into his circle of friends. “But it’s only an internship, and I still have to finish my . . .”

“I know, I know. But it is seriously great, Jake. I’m allowed to be proud of you. That’s what big sisters do.”

Earlier in the year, twenty-five-year-old Jake had completed the much respected Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s Sloan’s Undergraduate Program in Management Science at the top of his class. This meant he could pretty much choose his career path from a long list of alternatives including consulting, commercial and investment banking, financial analysis, commercial marketing, software engineering or new product management.

He had decided on continuing his post-graduate studies by taking on a further degree in international business law, a course he would now have to complete part-time considering he had just been offered a high five-figure internship by Credit Suisse First Boston.

“So here he is,” said David, putting down the three beers on a now-sticky walnut bar table before joining the huddle to shake Jake’s hand. “The budding Donald Trump. So how long before I can hit you up for a loan?”

“Actually,” said Jake, “I was gonna ask you guys to lend me a coupla bucks tonight. With only a few days of freedom left, the boys are in the mood for partying and I figure we better make the most if it.”

“The most of what?” Sara smiled. “Us having more money than you, or you being able to cry destitute little brother just one last time?”

“Both.” Jake laughed.

“Fair enough,” said David, pulling out his wallet.

Jake was right, the crowd was obviously in for a long night. The new college year started the following week and, judging by the festive mood around them, this lot were going to milk this unusually cold final week of summer vacation dry—literally.

“Let me introduce you to my friends,” said Jake with one arm around his sister and the other draped over David’s shoulder.

“Look out, guys,” he said, turning to his circle of drinking buddies. “There are two lawyers in the house so no talk about tax evasion strategy until after my sister and her boyfriend here leave.” Jake smiled before downing most of his freshly poured beer and proceeding to give the introductions. “Seriously, Sis,” he said, turning back to Sara again, “I am so glad you guys made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sara said, smiling at her brother.

A little over an hour later the crowd started to disperse, with talk of clubbing here and hooking up there. David and Sara were just about to leave when an expensively dressed, good-looking young man with short dark hair and pale green eyes made his way through the group to their cozy little corner at the far end of the room.

“Hey, Jake,” said the boy, shaking Jake’s hand with enthusiasm. David noticed the young man was a little rocky on his feet. “I heard your news. That’s just great, man. Seriously. I just hope it rubs off.”

“Thanks, James. You’ll be next. Don’t worry.”

“Not without your tutoring I won’t. You’ll still have time to fit me in, won’t you?” said the boy, now steadying himself on the back of Sara’s stool.

“Sure,” said Jake as he turned to gesture at Sara and David. “And even better I might be able to hook you up with an even more experienced . . .”

“I don’t believe this,” said James then, a fresh expression of recognition lighting up his bright green eyes.

Jake smiled. “This is my sister, Sara, and you obviously know of her boyfriend David . . .”

“Cavanaugh,” said James then, his eyes now set on David as he shook Sara’s hand before pumping David’s palm with enthusiasm.

“Nice to meet you,” said Sara with a smile that suggested she was highly amused by this young man’s obvious fascination with David.

“Mr. Cavanaugh,” said James. “I . . . well, in a strange way you are responsible for my making Law Review. I wrote my competition essay, the one that saw me selected to Deane Law Review, on
Commonwealth v. Martin
. And then, in my second year I wrote a manuscript on
US v. Montgomery
, which was published on the front page.”

“I read it,” said David. And he had. He remembered thinking the kid that had written it saw possibilities in precedent that even he had overlooked. “And I thought it was terrific. Apart from the fact that you probably credited me with a fair bit more insight than I was entitled to.”

“No, sir,” said James. “Attorneys like you, Mr. Cavanaugh, without trying to sound like a total kiss-ass, are why I chose law in the first place.”

“Thanks, James,” said a now embarrassed David. “And if you ever need any help, any advice, Jake has my numbers so . . .”

“That would be amazing. Thanks so much,” James said before turning back to Jake. “Geez man, you didn’t tell me you knew David Cavanaugh.”

“I try to keep it a secret,” said Jake. “You know, in case the paparazzi start going through my rubbish.”

They all laughed.

“Well, anyways,” said James. “Like I said, Jake, any time you have would be most appreciated.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll work something out,” Jake told him. “Besides, you guys at Deane have so many connections you were practically born in Harborside offices. Right?”

James punched Jake’s shoulder in mock admonishment.

“Miss Davis, Mr. Cavanaugh,” he said then. “It’s been a pleasure.”

“It’s Sara and David.” Sara smiled. “And it’s been great to meet you too, James.”

“Thanks. And . . . just so you know, a group of us are headed over to the Lincoln. I can leave your names at the door if you like.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” said Jake. “I’m not sure the Lincoln Club is ready for us yet,” he said, referring to the exclusive watering hole. “Promise to call me though.”

“Thanks, man,” said James. “And congrats again.”

“Wow,” said Sara as the young man made his way back to his friends. “Who the hell was
that
—besides David’s number one groupie?”

“James Matheson as in Matheson Bailey,” replied her brother. Matheson Bailey were a well-known institution of merchant bankers and James’ father, Jed, was the CEO. “I posted a tutoring ad on the Deane notice board about a year ago and he was one of the first to call. He is just about to start his final year of law.” Jake finished his beer and went on. “Majoring in economics. I tutor him once a week.”

“The Lincoln Club? Deane?” said David, noting both institutions’ exclusive reputations. “When I was at BC we used to say Harvard was for the intellectually rich and Deane for the rich intellectuals.”

And he was right. Deane University was officially the most expensive college in the country with average tuition fees at around $70,000 per year.

“Not that his paper wasn’t amazing—it was certainly a hell of a lot better than anything I could have written in law school.”

“And what were you writing in law school, Mr. Cavanaugh?” joked Sara.

“Oh, I don’t know, mortgage checks, bar tabs.” David had worked at a smoky bar in South Boston to pay for his tuition at Boston College.

“Yeah, well,” said Jake. “James Matheson may be loaded, and connected, and a serious chick magnet to boot, but like David says he’s also incredibly smart. You think I got a career ahead of me—just wait till you see what that guy can do. The kid is so savvy it scares me sometimes, the way he thinks, analyzes, identifies ways to manipulate the system.”

“Sounds like a corporate lawyer to me,” joked David.

“Tell me about it,” said Jake. “That kid is going places, believe you me.”

Saturday, September 12

 

Sammy Ito was a fortunate man.

He acknowledged this blessing, as he did every morning, as he slid the long silver key into the freshly polished lock of the carefully painted dry oak garden shed door at the top of Mr. Nagoshi’s extensive Wellesley estate, Japanese Garden.

Sammy was a
uekiya
. A third generation
uekiya
, from a family of similarly fortunate gardeners who took honor in tending some of the most beautiful Japanese gardens a man ever had the privilege to till. He understood and respected the principles of
wa
, or balance, that less is more, that
ma
, or space, defined the elements around it and that carefully placed
ishi
, or rocks, played a superior role to plantings, or
shukusai
, in a garden where
mizu
(water) and
okimono
(ornaments) worked together to create the true spirit of
in
and
yo
, or as the Chinese put it, yin and yang.