Alibi (32 page)

Finally, he denied having “confessed” to his friends Simpson and Westinghouse. He had no idea why either of them would concoct such a story, but assumed they must have misconstrued a conversation he had with them at the Deane University bar, better known as The Fringe, the night before last. They invited him to meet them and he had gotten rotten drunk, and while he was not sure exactly what he said, he believed he may have told them of his guilt at not being able to save Jessica Nagoshi’s life.

As for the shoes—he had no idea.

Bottom line, he gave one of the most legally “perfect” post-arrest statements David had ever heard in all his years of practicing law. His answers were short and to the point, polite but direct, and devoid of the telltale hesitations that littered the depositions of liars. It was a statement that, while guided by David’s direction, gave testament to Matheson’s expansive legal knowledge and, more importantly, to his innocence.

By 2:30 a.m., David had been talking for close to an hour. And for that entire time Matheson sat still and focused, his bloodied dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, which supported his upper body as he leaned on the stainless-steel interview room table before him.

He looked disheveled, drained and yet determined to take in every word his attorney delivered—which David did calmly, slowly, realizing that while his client was doing his best to maintain some sort of control, it would not take much to push him over the edge.

“You did well, James,” he said at last, and James nodded. “Now the police will need time to compile your statement along with their other evidence, before making a full report to the ADA.”

“The man tried to force us outside,” said James. “He was rude to Meredith. He thinks he is God.”

“Among other things. But don’t worry about Katz. You leave him to me.”

As much as David wanted to protect his client, he also knew, given James’ legal nous and serious circumstances, there was no point in denying that the ADA would be able to build a very solid case against him. Katz had established probable cause for the arrest and now, David knew, would be working his ambitious butt off to secure the next step in his meticulously charted route, in the form of a grand jury indictment that would confirm his client’s route to trial.

Even circumstantial evidence like James’ ability to use a kayak oar, or his close proximity to the victim on the night of her death, was enough to take to a grand jury, which, no doubt, Katz would be doing within days. Add James’ lies, Simpson and Westinghouse’s testimonies and the denial of alibi from Barbara Rousseau, and David had no doubt the ADA would have his precious indictment before the week was out.

“There is little point in trying to reason with the ADA,” David explained. “And even if we wanted to plea, Katz would not consider it. Katz hates to plea at the best of times, especially when he is guaranteed the ring leader’s position in a high-profile case such as this. He is in this for the long haul, James, and we will be giving him hell, every step of the way.

“All you have to do is keep your head down. Show the same respect for our system of justice as you did in this interview room tonight, restrict your visitors to immediate family and whatever you do, do not, I repeat, do
not
have any communication with your two so-called friends.”

And there it was—the stab that cut the deepest. It was the suggestion of Westinghouse’s and Simpson’s betrayal that had obviously hurt James the most. David knew his client was clinging to the idea that his drunken ravings at the university bar had been misconstrued by his two best friends, and convincing him otherwise was going to take some doing.

“It’s not like they need the money,” said James. “I must have said something on Thursday to make them think I was somehow involved. I can remember talking about her—it was a relief, you know, to get it off my chest. But as for a confession . . . ? Why didn’t they come to me first, David? If they asked I would have told them.”

“I’m sorry, James,” said David. “But sometimes it’s better to know the truth about what your supposed buddies are capable of.”

They sat there for a moment, taking it all in, until James asked the one question David knew he could not answer.

“How did this happen?” he asked at last, his simple question bouncing hard and hollow off the cold cinderblock walls.

“There’s no one answer to that, James,” replied David. “Sometimes one wrong turn sets us on a course we never anticipated.” And that was the truth of it, David knew, the harsh, horrible truth that lives can be shattered with the blink of an eye if those are the cards that fate has dealt you.

“This is all a mistake,” said James, his eyes now glistening with tears, his swollen face making that sad but unavoidable transition from optimist to realist, boy to man. “Just a few months ago I honestly believed I was the luckiest person on earth and . . . I was. I had a real future, and I’m not just talking about the money or the career. I loved Jess, David, more than I have ever loved anyone or anything in my entire life. She was so smart, so intuitive—so different from anyone I have ever met before.”

David nodded. “I know it is hard, James, but right now I need you to think in the now rather than in the past—or in the future. I promise you I will do everything I can to help you reclaim your life. On that you have my word.”

James managed the slightest of half-smiles in gratitude.

“You need to get some rest,” said David at last. “Try to sleep. I’ll be back by nine.”

James nodded. “The detective said I could use the private holding cell.”

“Mannix is a good guy. He appreciated you being so cooperative—in processing, giving your statement, providing your DNA.” And then David saw the confusion in James’ eyes, as if a new question had just entered his obviously overcrowded brain.

“Why did they do that?” he asked. “I understand their taking my prints, but from what I’ve been told, there was no DNA left at the scene.”

David looked at him then, and realized he did not know. But then again, if she did not tell him, how could he? The police did not elaborate on why they required the DNA sample, and his friends had not given this second piece of “privileged” information as part of their traitorous testimonies.

“James,” he began, “I am so sorry.”

“What?” asked Matheson. “What is it?”

“Jessica was pregnant, James, and chances are the baby she was carrying was yours.”

“Oh God,” he said with an almighty intake of breath, holding it, and then releasing it with a long, silent shudder.

“I didn’t know,” he went on as the tears started to roll unevenly down his cheeks, traces of dark dried blood making for tiny obstacles in their rocky path toward the metallic table before him.

“She didn’t . . .” He went on as his body started to shake, his head now resting in his hands, which were clenched into tight contorted fists.

“My life is over, David,” he said, looking up at last, barely managing to speak through the sobs that wracked his entire being with grief. “They are both gone. No matter what they do to me, David, nothing could be worse than this.”

David, Sara and James had been at it all day, or rather James had been at it while David and Sara sat back and listened. They wanted to spend these early hours getting to know James better and so allowed their client to speak freely without interruption. James spoke of his unusual but loving upbringing, of his mom and dad’s unique relationship, his move to Australia and his return back home to Boston. He told them he had spoken to both of his parents who were now en route from overseas locations and similarly devoted to assisting his attorneys in whatever way possible. He talked of his time at Deane, about his friendship with Westinghouse and Simpson, about his studies, his sport, his career plans and finally about Jessica Nagoshi.

As far as David and Sara could tell, James and Jessica’s relationship, although grounded in lifestyles of privilege, was a basically normal one for two young lovers set on keeping their growing attraction discreet. They did typical things like walking, swimming and studying together, and venturing to standard student haunts like art galleries and museums. James told them about their rendezvous in New York early last June, and how they first made love at the Plaza which, while definitely not the usual “hookup” location for new college lovers, did not seem terribly out of the ordinary, given Jessica’s New York base and her father’s more than substantial fortune.

The defense scored an early break in the form of the morning’s news reports which, David had to admit, were fairly unbiased given the spectacular nature of the arrest and the identity of the poster boy suspect. Luckily photographs were limited—thanks largely to last night’s ban on press inside the venue. In fact, the only images used were some yearbook photos and a long-lens shot of James being shepherded into an unmarked police car, parked some yards from the media who had been moved back by Mannix’s efficient uniformed backup. They were even more grateful that Joe had been able to keep the news of Jessica’s pregnancy out of these early reports, a coup Mannix managed despite what would have been some heavy-duty pressure from the ADA, who no doubt was determined to paint James as a callous, cold-blooded killer from the outset. All in all, not a bad start, but they knew this was not going to be easy, and so were determined to take it one step at a time.

Sara left on her own errand at three, after which David began by describing to James the protocol for tomorrow morning’s arraignment, stressing that, as James no doubt knew from his studies, arraignments are procedures of record rather than argument. He was just beginning to approach the subject of bail when he was interrupted by a knock on the door, marking the presence of a casually attired Mannix who poked his head around the frame to look directly at David.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

“Sure,” said David before nodding at James and following Joe to the adjoining room.

“It’s Sunday, Joe. You should be at home with Marie and the kids,” David began as he shut the interview room door behind him.

“I should also be sailing a yacht around the Caribbean, but that ain’t happening any time soon either.”

David released a small laugh as the two men turned toward the one-way mirror, watching an obviously exhausted James Matheson fidgeting in the room next door.

“Something’s up,” said Joe.

David turned to look at his detective friend.

“I just got word the Kat has been down at the ME’s office all day,” Mannix went on.

“That’s easy,” said David. “He is probably pissed as all hell Gus won’t have the paternity test results until tomorrow afternoon, and even madder at you for managing to keep the news of Jessica’s pregnancy out of the morning papers.”

“No.”

“No?”

“If he wanted the pregnancy in, it would have been in. A newsworthy leak like that would have hit the front page with one phone call. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never known the Kat to sit on protocol.”

“Me neither,” said David, his brow now furrowed in confusion.

“Then ten minutes ago it got even more interesting,” Joe went on. “I got a call from John Nagoshi. He wanted to thank me, and asked me to pass on his thanks again to ADA Katz.”

“What for?”

“Apparently we made a joint decision to continue to withhold the public release of the pregnancy until we confirmed paternity. Katz told Nagoshi that he and I appreciated he was a man who has his children’s best interests at heart. He said we agreed it would be best to protect Jessica’s memory, or more to the point, her reputation, by limiting the public’s knowledge of any possible sexual partners she may have had over the past few months. Katz told Nagoshi he didn’t want the media speculating on Jessica’s sexual promiscuity. He told him we decided not to speak of the unborn child until Matheson was confirmed as the father.”

“But why would he do that?” asked David, thinking on his feet. “The Kat should be busting his balls to get the pregnancy into evidence, and tomorrow’s arraignment would have been perfect—public, high profile.”

Joe nodded.

“Even if he doesn’t have the results,” David went on, “Katz could still table it in court tomorrow. It might play better if James is the father, but regardless of whose baby it was, the ADA could still play the ‘boy murders pregnant girl’ card and wring it for all it is worth.”

“Right again.”

“So what is he up to?”

Joe shrugged. “Not protecting Nagoshi’s sensibilities. That much is for sure.”

David nodded, the slight twinge of a headache now creeping into his temples.

“Well, thanks for the heads-up,” he said after a time.

And Joe nodded.

They stood there for the moment, listening to the shallow hum of the air-conditioning unit, watching James who sat like a specimen in a cage—young, primed, genetically blessed.