Matter of Trust (12 page)

David raised his eyes from the thick creamy froth sitting on top of the mud-like liquid in front of him.

‘You got something you need to tell me, Chris?' he asked at last.

‘I . . .' his friend began. ‘It's funny,' he said, his face breaking into an oddly inappropriate smile. ‘All those years ago, it was Mike causing me trouble and you brokering the peace, now, if he was here, it would be the other way around.'

Despite David's memories of the old Mike, from what he had been told of the new one, he guessed that Chris was right.

‘I was sleeping with her,' Chris said, just like that. ‘I've never stopped sleeping with her. I loved her. I've always loved her. And Rebecca, as much as I know she is devoted to me, she was a mistake. Our marriage is a sham – the only good to come out of it being Connor and the girls and . . .' Chris took a breath.

‘That first night I was with Rebecca all those years ago, I'd heard that Marilyn had slept with someone else. I'd heard she cheated on me with . . .' Chris stopped short, his eyes flicking away as if he had said too much.

‘She was it for me, David,' he went on after a beat. ‘Marilyn was in my blood. She got under my skin from the very moment we met – at that dance. Do you remember? How beautiful she looked? How spunky she was? How she sparred with Mike and left you speechless and literally swept me off my feet? And even then, I could not believe that she chose me. Mike had the personality and you had the looks and, despite it all, even now, I still can't believe that a girl like that saw something special in a brooding punk like me.'

Chris shook his head, the smallest pools of tears now teetering on the lower lids of his deep-set, dark brown eyes.

‘But now it's over. There can be no more clandestine coffees or late-night visits to get us through the hours in between. And somehow I have to work out a way to save what I have, to work out a solution so that I don't lose everything, because . . .'

‘Does Rebecca know?' asked David. The first words he had spoken in minutes.

‘Yes.'

‘And she doesn't care?'

‘She married me knowing how I felt. Rebecca, she – you remember, DC – she was one of us, but she wasn't. I think when I slept with her I took advantage of that vulnerability without realising it. I am not sure if she loved me or if she loved the idea of being with me, but either way, she decided to take what I had to give her – which I know, has never been enough.'

‘And your mother?' It was the first time Gloria Kincaid had been mentioned since Chris had called David earlier in the week. But Chris did not flinch at the question, for he knew David knew his mother – and they were sitting in Quincy's after all.

‘She knew. She hated Marilyn. She was the one part of my life over which Mother had no control – which strangely makes this all the harder, knowing that finally, Mother has won.'

Despite all that had happened, David found himself forming some sort of respect for the heartbroken man opposite him – the boy who had finally grown into a man and made the gut-wrenching decision never to see the woman he loved again.

‘It's the right thing to do,' David said gently, ‘breaking it off with Marilyn, I mean.'

‘
What
?' said Chris, now lifting his chin, his face contorting into an expression of irritation, of frustration at his old friend's failure to understand. ‘You think that's why I brought you here – to tell you that when Marilyn returns, I'm going to cut her loose?'

‘I think that no matter how hard it is, in the end, you have no choice – if you want to continue what you're doing, if you want to be who you are.'

Chris said nothing, but David saw him flinch.

‘Listen,' Chris reached across the table to grab David by the forearm, ‘this stops here,' he said, just as he had done, all those years ago. His fist was clenched, his brow furrowed, his dark eyes mirrors to his obviously troubled soul. ‘It was part of our pact of forgiveness and solidarity, do you remember?'

And then the truth engulfed David in an icy cold wave of clarity. The
woman on that slab, the swollen, grey-skinned form, was the same beautiful young girl who had dazzled them with her looks and daring almost a quarter of a century ago.

‘It's her,' he said.

‘Yes.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes.'

‘But her body . . . it was . . .'

‘At first I wasn't sure, but . . . I mean, her features, her beautiful face, it was . . .' Chris took a breath. ‘But then I saw that box of her possessions at the end of the table. There was a key – a big gold security key. It was one of those unusual oversized keys without teeth but with grooves that run parallel to each other right down the middle. It's the same as the one she has always used to unlock the front door to her building. She always had it with her. It's her, DC. I am sure of it.'

David swallowed, the bile rising hot and bitter in his throat. ‘You have to tell McNally. You have to go back and say you think you made a mistake.'

‘No.'

‘They will find out eventually in any case. McNally said they'd be chasing up dental records or they'll try matching DNA. Marilyn will be identified, sooner or later, whether you like it or not.'

‘That kind of stuff can take a while. I used to be a prosecutor, David – I know. So at the very least, I have bought myself some time.'

‘Time for what?' asked David. ‘Jesus, Chris, you didn't kill her. You have nothing to be afraid of.'

‘I had sex with her – at the Grand Summit Hotel – on the Saturday morning of the twelfth. McNally said there was evidence of sexual activity in the hours before her death. If they retrieve the semen inside of her, they could trace it back to me.'

David shook his head. ‘Chris, you saw that body. It's highly unlikely that they'll be able to extract a sample good enough to—'

‘Then why did McNally mention it?' asked Chris.

David knew he had a point.

‘They don't have your DNA, Chris, so even if they manage to recover a viable semen sample, they won't have your DNA to compare it with.'

‘But if I go back to them, they'll ask me to provide one.'

David knew that he was right, and a refusal to provide a sample would be almost as good as admitting culpability. ‘It doesn't matter, you still have no choice. You used to, Chris, but you don't anymore.'

‘You think my time is up?'

‘Yes.'

‘They're going to come after me?'

‘Yes.'

‘And no matter what happens, DC,' Chris said. ‘You will be with me when they do?'

David imagined himself refusing, even
planned
to in his mind, but once again he found himself answering as he knew he always would: ‘Yes.'

S
eventeen-year-old Jack Delgado lived in a house that was painted green. It was a free-standing, four-bedroom, two-storey, wood shingle place on North 5th Street in the largely Hispanic area of Roseville, not far from the picturesque Branch Brook Park. It had white-painted windows and a red brick fence and was more than big enough for the two people living in it – Jack and his semi-famous mom.

The house was much bigger than their last one in the Portuguese Iron-bound – on a better street, close to better schools. But despite his improved surroundings, the new place still managed to depress him – most likely because his mom had bought it with his dad's life insurance money, and the day after they moved in, his older brother Eddie had won his scholarship to UNC where he now lived on campus and, if they were lucky, returned home once a month for a visit.

‘Jackie, honey,' said his mom Vicki – a pretty, olive-skinned woman with long dark hair and warm brown eyes, ‘you're not dressed.' Vicki Delgado breezed into the kitchen like she swept into every new space she encountered – with confidence and enthusiasm.

‘I know it's a Sunday, honey, but we have to leave by nine. And you're going to have to wear a collar and tie,' she added as she glided behind his kitchen counter stool and bent to kiss him on the top of his head. ‘The
mayor of New York is going to be there,' she said, having missed his head by a good two inches. ‘And his people told me this event will be more formal than the others. They have a Baptist choir singing and the mayor's gonna speak, and then he'll present me with the cheque – which, if it is as much as I think it's gonna be, will go a long way to boosting our legacy funds – which means more 9/11 kids get to go to college and . . .' Vicki paused for a rare breath. ‘Not all of them are as clever as you, Jackie.' She smiled as she switched on the coffee machine. ‘And considering all they've been through, they deserve the chance to go to college and make their fathers proud. Just like you, Jackie,' she said, throwing him a quick smile before turning back to put some bread into the toaster. ‘Which reminds me, you said you were going to meet Connor last night. How did that go?'

Jack knew this was coming – and that he should have prepared a reply. But he'd gotten in late after his two-hour session with Connor and Will, and hadn't felt much like rehearsing anything, let alone a lie to the mother he loved.

‘I didn't ask him, Mom,' said Jack, his voice mellow but self-assured. ‘I thought about it, but decided it would be much better if I went to Senator Kincaid myself. He respects me, and I think I'd be doing myself and the senator a disservice if I didn't ask him personally.'

Vicki smiled. ‘You're right – as usual.' She rolled her eyes in mock self-admonishment. ‘And I'm sorry, honey, I know you are on to it – it's just that, I know you have high ambitions,' she said as the toast popped and water boiled and she used one hand to grab a butter knife from the drawer and the other to grab some marmalade from the refrigerator. ‘And rightly so, but by gosh, Jackie – Harvard! Don't get me wrong – they'd be lucky to have you, but the application numbers are simply ridiculous. Gabby Alverez – you know Gabby, Victor's mom who was married to Richie who was that firefighter from Queens who had three kids from a previous marriage? Anyway, Gabby said that Victor, who is super smart, was looking at Harvard, but in the end decided it was all too hard given application numbers are now around twenty thousand a year.' Vicki went back for the milk before lifting the carton in the air as if to punctuate the craziness of it all. ‘
Twenty thousand
– can you imagine? And apparently the pre-law courses are the most highly sought after and so expensive and . . .' She poured herself a coffee. ‘All I am saying is, I know we decided
against the scholarship – and I know you hate to ask for favours and Lord knows your father and I have lived our lives without ever being indebted to anyone, but this is an exception, honey. Your dad worked so hard to save that college fund, and if a reference from the senator helps secure you that much sought-after place then . . .' Vicki Delgado shrugged as if to say, ‘You do what you gotta do', before taking a bite out of her rye and stirring sugar into her coffee.

‘Chris Kincaid knows what a great kid you are, Jackie. He's thrilled that you, Will and Connor have become friends. He knows you boys would do anything for each other –
anything
and . . .' Vicki stopped short, her last words hanging in the air like a tragically fulfilled prophecy. ‘Actually, you know what, honey?'

Jack saw that familiar light come on in her eyes. His mother had an idea, the first of hundreds she would have today.

‘It hasn't been confirmed, but I'm pretty sure Chris Kincaid will be there this morning. I mean, he was the one who helped us start this drive – and that visit to your school this week, announcing the education grants, well, of
course
he'll be there. His PR people would be mad not to milk the education theme and this is the perfect opportunity. Not that Chris Kincaid needs to be told how to help the people of his home state, but it doesn't hurt to have his people backing his decisions and I'm sure, in this case, that is exactly what they'll do.'

Vicki took a swallow, her russet eyes finally finding her son's similarly pale brown ones. ‘Honey?' she said. ‘You look a little tired. Are you okay?'

It was one of those questions that did not do justice to the answer.

‘Sure, Mom,' smiled Jack, placing his hands on the counter and pushing himself up off the stool. ‘I'll just go shower and change. Will's coming too, said he'd meet us here before ten.'

‘That's great. He's a rock, our Will,' she said as she placed her bread-crumbed plate in the dishwasher before kicking it shut with the toe of her high-heeled left shoe. ‘And you might want to ask Will his opinion on how to approach the senator. Will may not get the grades you do, Jackie, but he sure has a way with words. And I think maybe you should wear your blue pants so you can take the matching jacket in case people are wearing suits – and you could text Will and tell him to bring a jacket also. And Jackie,' she said, catching his attention once again as he turned
to leave the room, ‘I know there are a million other things you and Will would probably prefer to be doing today. So, you know . . . thanks for agreeing to come, for doing all this stuff for me. Seriously, sometimes it's hard to believe you're only seventeen. You just seem so . . .' she hesitated, a rare moment for Vicki Delgado, ‘grown up!'

And Jack smiled, despite himself.

‘I love you, Jackie,' she said, moving around the kitchen island to give him a kiss, a proper one this time, on his smooth left cheek.

‘I know, Mom,' he said, her kiss burning his cheek with a smarting of shame. ‘I love you too.'

F
ive minutes later, just as a dutiful Jack Delgado was pulling his navy blue suit from his oversized closet, another son sat with his own mother in a small but tidy kitchen several miles south-east.