Move to Strike (31 page)

‘
Or a bird who could fly
,' Stephanie would add until all three were transported to another world where the days were bright and the nights were peaceful and the burden of time ceased to exist.

And so, as strange as it may have seemed, it felt natural for Chelsea to look up at her little brother – who sat across from her in his too-big maroon jumpsuit – and ask the same question once again.

‘What if?' she asked with a smile, the only genuine smile she had offered in almost a week.

‘What if,' he said back, meeting her eyes now, the two of them connected by an unbreakable bond that came from years of experiencing the same secret torment.

‘I was a bird who could fly,' she said, recalling her mother's favourite response.

‘Or a wizard with magical powers,' he added.

‘Or smart enough to know what to do,' Chelsea said then, her eyes now pooling with tears.

This was not fair
, she told herself.
I am meant to be the strong one. I have learnt enough over the past sixteen years to realise that hiding my true emotions is the only defence I have
.

But this was her little brother she was speaking to – the only one she could have this conversation with without fear of the inevitable reprisals. And so she straightened her back and swallowed her sobs and looked him squarely in the eye.

‘I made a mistake,' she said.

‘How?'

‘I talked to the woman – Sara Davis.'

J.T.'s eyes met hers as his smooth brow knotted. ‘I thought we said we wouldn't . . .'

‘I know. But I saw the opportunity and took it.'

Then she explained to her pale-faced little brother what had happened three days ago.

‘I had to do something,' she said. ‘Father is watching my every move. He had a meeting with Katherine this morning so I put a piece of cardboard in the door jamb so that it wouldn't slam shut – I put the timer on pause and I'll punch in the code and reset the clock when I get home so it appears like I only went out to collect the morning paper . . . but still,'
she added, glancing at her watch, ‘it would be dangerous for me to stay too long.'

J.T. nodded. ‘So you told her the
truth
?' Her brother was obviously distressed. She knew he was not angry at her for trying to ‘break through', more worried for her welfare given their father was cleverly manipulating their current ‘separation' by playing one sibling's safety off against the other.

‘I tried to.'

‘And do you think she . . . ?'

‘I think she thought I was on drugs. Seriously, I sounded like I was tripping. But I do think she understood that we were being recorded – so that in itself is something.'

But the flush-faced J.T. was too distressed to see any positive in their predicament.

‘I'm sorry, J.T.,' said Chelsea, wishing beyond anything that she could ease his fears. ‘I know we were supposed to stick to the strategy, and I know you are worried that he will follow through on his threats.' J.T.'s eye darted upwards to meet hers. ‘It's okay, I know he has told you that if you didn't do as he says, that he would take it out on me.'

‘He told you?'

‘He didn't have to.'

J.T. nodded.

‘The thing is,' Chelsea went on, now reaching across the table to take his hand, ‘I can't help but think that if Mom were here, maybe she would
want
us to tell them. She trusted them, J.T., and maybe we should too.'

‘No, Chels. Even if we did decide to tell, we'd have to tell it the way we all agreed upon. Mom told us never to tell anyone.'

‘Mom didn't count on things going the way they have.'

J.T.'s breath was quickening. ‘I'm sorry, Chels,' he said, his wide eyes meeting hers. ‘It's just that, being in here – so far away – I can't stop thinking about what he might do if you try to help me.'

Chelsea loved her brother more than ever at that moment – her little hero, her valiant little bro.

‘I know,' she said, as she squeezed his hand – realising that for J.T.'s sake, she could not take this any further, at least, not now, not yet. ‘Maybe you are right. Don't worry, J.T., from here on in I will stick to the story.'

J.T. nodded, relieved that she would not try to save him.

Chelsea looked at her watch once again. ‘Something else is going on,' she said after a pause, not wanting to upset him further but desperately needing to get his take on the latest events at the Beacon Hill home.

‘What is it?' asked J.T.

‘The police were at the house again yesterday – they took all of our home computers.'

‘Why?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Was Father there?'

‘Yes.'

‘And was he . . . ?'

‘Cooperative? He practically carried them out to their cars for them.'

J.T.'s forehead furrowed in confusion, that familiar crease now dissecting his brow in two.

‘And that's not all. I heard Father on the phone, talking to another lawyer by the name of Bishop. They had an appointment in court yesterday – but I don't think it had anything to do with you.'

‘I don't understand,' said J.T.

‘Neither do I. But then they started discussing something about sub judice, about what they could and couldn't say on TV.'

‘Father is going on TV?'

‘I don't know.'

J.T. said nothing.

‘I am so sorry, J.T.,' Chelsea said, swallowing back the lump in her throat. ‘None of this is working out like we thought it would. And I just feel so . . .'

‘You wish it had been you,' he said, reading her mind.

‘Yes.'

‘Don't. I was where I was and it is what it is, and if anything I am safer in here than you are out there.'

She nodded. ‘Is it all right?' she asked – the first time she had asked it. ‘In here, I mean.'

He looked at her then and she could see that her brave little brother felt an all-encompassing need to comfort her. Everyone thought he was the mirror image of their father, but in truth, he was just like their mom.

‘I've stayed in worse.' He smiled.

And she understood.

‘What if?' she asked, as if trying to raise a smile.

‘What if?' said J.T., the slightest crack in his otherwise steady voice.

‘We were playing “what if?” ' she said, placing her other hand on top of his.

‘Just you, and me, and Mom.'

T
he
Doctor Jeff
studio set was a mammoth circular construction which sat low and round opposite a wall of plush, violet-coloured audience chairs that hugged the main stage in a semicircle of anticipation. The floor was carpeted in a complementary mauve, with various wooden platforms (used for guests' entrances and exits) leading like the spokes of a wheel from the circle's nucleus where Jeff would sit in his modern but comfortable cream-coloured armchair.

His higher-than-usual perch was angled so that he could be easily seen by the spectators before him and be equally as accessible to his guests
de jour
, who hunkered down on the slightly less comfortable wood-framed chairs beside him. The basic lighting was all subtle pinks and blues – but, as Katherine de Castro had explained, could be altered depending on the subject matter, wavering from the deep purple illumination used for more serious topics, a more upbeat lilac for the lighter episodes which, she went on to elaborate, ‘
balanced with the heavier topics and gave Jeff a chance to show the down-to-earth cheerfulness that audiences loved'
.

Caroline almost puked.
These talk show divas thought they ruled the airwaves
, she thought.
But throw them into the battlefield that was news and current affairs and they would not last a Goddamned week
.

It was after eight and Caroline Croft was in her element. She had
compromised by allowing Doctor Jeff to stay in his usual leading man's chair but asked that another seat – identical to that of her ‘subject's' – be provided so that in the very least she and the clinical psychologist star would appear on equal footing.

She was buzzing, her hair and make-up already in place. She was re-checking her questions, talking to the camera operators about angles and demanding that the lighting on her own right profile remain particularly soft. She could not believe she had talked Logan into it – adding the third guest, that is, and was even more surprised when he agreed it was best not to tell de Castro. As tough as Katherine de Castro was purported to be, there was no doubt that Logan wore the pants in that business relationship. Which, if she were honest, surprised Croft somewhat – as she sensed the ‘power' had only shifted of late.

Maybe he was fucking her
, she thought.
No, de Castro was not his type
. Caroline got the feeling Jeffrey Logan liked his women minus a pair of balls – which was why, after tonight, she suspected she would probably have made herself an enemy for life, given de Castro was not the only one who was in for a surprise this evening.

‘It's Frank,' said Marie Mannix as she handed Joe their red telephone handset – the one in the kitchen, with the extra long cord.

They had just finished dinner, the four Mannix boys, aged from seven to thirteen, now raiding the freezer of the oversized refrigerator for chocolate-chip ice cream.

‘
Boys!
' whispered Marie. ‘Keep it down. Your father is on the phone.' But Joe had already pulled the lead around the corner into the living room annexe so that he could hear his partner properly on the other end of the line.

‘What's up, McKay?'

‘No idea, Chief – but nothing it is not, and something it definitely is.' Frank had a tendency to talk like Yoda when he was agitated, and this didn't sit well with a now curious Joe.

‘I just got a call from O'Donnell down at the station,' began Frank, ‘who just got a call from Carmichael, asking him to meet her downtown.'

‘What?'

‘O'Donnell said he just wanted to give us a heads up. Carmichael told
him to high-tail it to CBC's studios. He said he knew it had to have something to do with the Logan case – which was originally our collar so . . .'

‘It's almost nine o'clock on a Friday night. Why the hell is she going to the studios?' Joe asked himself out loud.

‘Like I said, Chief, no idea. But O'Donnell says the ADA asked for at least two units of back-up.'

‘It'll be on the police wires,' said Joe, thinking ahead. ‘The media will pick this up.'

‘Maybe that's the idea,' said McKay.

Joe nodded.

‘I wonder if Cavanaugh knows about this?' he asked after a pause.

‘Well, given Jeffrey Logan was last seen in the company of some other big shot lawyer, my guess is probably not. You think we should call him?'

‘I think that is exactly what we should do.'

‘Maybe we should have told him about Starkey's call as well, boss,' said Frank, referring to their decision not to tell David about George Starkey's ‘gossip' until they discovered exactly what had gone down.

‘Yeah, Frank. I think maybe you are right.'

Joe had rung David late the day before with the disappointing news of his conversations with Calvin Galveston from Maine and they then had discussed Rigotti's news regarding Jason Nagle and his kick-ass rifle. But he had stopped short of telling his disheartened friend about George Starkey's ‘intelligence', hoping he could find out (a) if what Starkey claimed was correct and (b) if it was, what the hell Logan had been up to.

But the day had gotten away with him, and thanks to a fatal hold-up in Mattapan, Joe had missed a Friday afternoon call back from his court administrator friend – which meant he still did not know if Jeffrey Logan had indeed been at Boston's Municipal Courthouse yesterday afternoon, and if he was, what his slick visit was all about. Just like he had no idea what he was up to right now.

‘I could be wrong, Frank, but I don't think Amanda Carmichael is going to cut us into her loop on this one – given we haven't got the call and the woman hates our guts.'

‘I would tend to agree with you there, Chief – but I think if we chew on this one a little, we can probably figure it out for ourselves.'

‘What are you thinking, Frank?' Joe asked, guessing Frank had his own take on what was about to go down at CBC's studios tonight.

‘Well, it seems to me that Carmichael likes the attention, and her way of getting it is to think out of the box.'

‘She likes to screw judicial convention for personal gain,' said Joe.

‘Couldn't have put it better myself, Chief. That's why she arrested the big-time TV star, dragged him into court, and then chose that high-profile forum to release the guy and arrest his kid while the cameras were still rolling.'

‘A kid she is trying as an adult,' said Joe.

‘Two for two. So my guess is, she is on a roll. She thrives on two things: the element of surprise and the opportunity to drop her bombshells in front of the biggest audience possible.'

‘She's planning something on TV.'

‘Well, considering this is a woman who defines the word “court” as something you do to the media when you want to see your own mug on the box . . .'

‘She doesn't want us crashing her party, Frank,' said Joe, continuing McKay's thought process. ‘She likes playing everything solo, and given she knows she cannot count on us for applause . . .'

‘We can safely assume we didn't drop off her invite list by mistake.'

Joe said nothing.

‘You got a problem with writing our own invitations to this studio shindig, Frank?' asked Joe after a time.

‘Seems to me it was rude of her not to include us in the first place.'

‘And you're free this evening?'