Move to Strike (50 page)

‘Special Agent?' repeated David, the humour now gone from his voice.

‘I . . . yes,' Bond whispered.

‘Excuse me, Special Agent?' said David, now lifting his right hand to his ear.

‘I said
yes
,' repeated Bond, the anger in his tone unmistakable. ‘
But there is no question who left that voice mail
,' he continued in frustration. ‘
Our tests were unequivocally correct. It was Chelsea Logan, she rang to change her mother's will. It was her voice. She did it, she
. . .'

‘Well, of course she did,' replied David to the now shocked courtroom, Jeffrey Logan finally turning his head in disbelief.

‘Chelsea Logan left that message, Special Agent,' said David, his eyes never leaving Logan as he addressed the witness. ‘And for once, I agree, that in this matter alone, you are unequivocally correct.'

S
ara could not believe her eyes. Katherine de Castro's living room table was like a Rodeo Drive jewellery store display. There must have been at least twenty boxes on the table – some unwrapped, some not, the packaging heralding gifts from the likes of Tiffany, Cartier, Bulgari and more.

‘Oh my God,' she said, picking up the long narrow Tiffany box closest to her to see a ruby-studded bracelet with matching earrings inside. ‘Katherine, this is . . .'

‘I know,' responded de Castro, her dark eyes resting resolutely on the table before her. ‘He started with the necklace – the noughts and crosses. And then came the Cartier bracelet and the Bulgari necklace and the gold ladies' Rolex and . . .'

‘He sent all of these by messenger?'

‘Most of them. Although we had breakfast at the Fairmont a few weeks ago but . . . he had to leave unexpectedly, when he got the bad news from his attorney that his children had opted for alternative representation. And after he left, after I sat drinking coffee after coffee, the waiter sent me a breakfast soufflé with a fresh white rose as embellishment. And there was a ring – a five carat sapphire – placed along its long thorny stem.'

‘Katherine,' said Sara, leading her to the sofa so that they both might take a seat. ‘Has Logan actually asked you to marry him?'

‘No.' She shivered. ‘But I believe he intends to – that he expects it to happen, that it is definitely part of his plan.'

‘And his advances – they make you feel . . . ?'

‘Uncomfortable, helpless, scared,' Katherine responded. ‘It is like the man I have known all these years – the savvy business partner whose career I have fostered for almost two decades – has suddenly become someone else.'

‘Or maybe he was the someone else before,' suggested Sara. ‘And what you are seeing now is the real Jeffrey Logan.'

‘You think Jeffrey has always been the type of man who would fight to have his kids incarcerated?' asked Katherine, incredulous.

‘I think Logan is the type of man who manipulates everyone who crosses his chosen path – tactically removing those who become a hindrance while subtly seizing control of those he desperately wants to possess.'

Katherine lifted her chin to meet Sara's eye. ‘There's more, isn't there?'

‘I am afraid so.'

And Katherine took a breath before nodding for Sara to go on.

Sara began at the beginning – starting with their information about the sharpshooter Logan as a child up to his more recent psychopathic activities – including the laundering of the gun, the staging of the video, the manipulation of his wife's life insurance and the reign of terror he had managed to hold over his children until they were both incarcerated and safely behind bars.

Katherine did not flinch; she simply listened, calmly, carefully – a reaction that might have seemed strange had Sara not sensed that Katherine de Castro had come to her own conclusions regarding the agendas of her trusted Doctor Jeff, conclusions that no doubt prompted her to ring Joe Mannix two weeks ago and feed him the information regarding Stephanie's Tyler's telltale
Vanity Fair
.

‘The thing is,' said de Castro after a time, ‘I never suspected anything – for so long. He was always so charming, so clever, so determined to succeed.'

‘We have done some psychological investigations on Logan, Katherine, and his intelligence and charm fit the profile of a charismatic psychopath to a T. The man works meticulously, methodically to set his plans in motion and does not waver.'

Katherine nodded. ‘Years ago, when we first met, he was a nobody. He was a two-bit psychologist running his own hokey practice out of some down and out duplex in Vegas. But I saw something in him, a determination, a passion, a drive. He wanted it, Sara, and he knew I could give it to him so . . .' Katherine hesitated, a new look of horror now falling across her gaunt olive-skinned face.

‘What if this is my fault? What if I contributed to all that has happened by giving him the power to control the views of the public? I was the one who built his career, after all. I have been by his side every step of the way. I even helped set up that TV special where Caroline Croft and Chelsea . . .'

‘No,' said Sara, twisting in her seat to face the teary-eyed Katherine. ‘Logan – he was born the way he is, Katherine. True, he might have used you to further his agenda but I am sure – no matter what – that he was destined to become the monster that he is.'

Sara took a breath, hoping beyond all else that what she had to say next would not ruin her chances of getting de Castro on board.

‘I know how you feel, Katherine, I know how frightened you must be, and while I do not want to make this any worse for you, I do know that you are in a unique position to help.

‘Logan murdered his wife, Katherine, as sure as he is now sitting behind the prosecution determined to send his kids away. And those teenagers are helpless victims – kids who face a lifetime in prison just because their father happens to be who he is.'

‘I can't help you,' said a distressed Katherine, her eyes closed tightly as if willing Sara away.

‘Yes, Katherine, yes you can,' Sara pushed on. ‘Whether you like it or not, Logan has set his sights firmly and determinedly on
you
. And I truly believe that the only way you can save yourself is by making sure that the man pays for everything he has done. There is no way out, Katherine, pretending this isn't happening will not make it go away. Logan wants you, and what Logan wants Logan . . .'

‘The last time he wanted a woman he blew her to pieces.'

‘The last time he wanted a woman she took too long to fight back. Logan feels the need to win you over, and if there is some way you can get him to believe that you are on his side, if there is some way you
can convince him that you agree with his actions – that you are loyal and devoted and willing to share his secrets and dreams, then . . .'

‘Dear God,' said Katherine, clutching at her stomach as Sara took her hand.

‘We need you to wear a wire, Katherine. We need you to go to Logan and show him just how loyal a partner you plan to be. We need you to stroke his ego and tell him how free you will both be once the children are incarcerated but explain that in order for you to surrender to his desires, you need to know the truth.'

‘I can't,' she said.

‘Yes, Katherine.
Yes, you can
.'

There was silence as Sara, teetering on the edge between what could and would not be, prayed beyond anything that Katherine would agree to help. And while she hated the idea of placing this poor woman in danger, while she knew she had not yet spoken to David or Joe about her idea, she also sensed that bringing Katherine on board in a controlled environment might be the only way she could prevent David from going after those guns – and selfishly, just days from the birth of her child, that was the one and only thing she needed desperately to do.

Her thoughts were cut short by the buzzing of Katherine's doorbell – a short, sharp shrill that made both of them jump.

‘Do you want me to . . . ?' asked Sara.

‘No,' gasped Katherine, her breath catching in her throat. ‘What if it is Jeffrey – if he sees you here he will . . . ?'

‘Logan is in court,' said Sara.

‘But just in case,' returned Katherine.

And so the terrified Katherine de Castro got to her feet and began down the hallway, her head cocked slightly to the left as if she might have the ability to see through the solid wooden door, her eye poised upwards to that she might line it up with the peephole that would reveal the visitor beyond.

‘It's a UPS delivery man,' she said.

‘Let him in,' said Sara, which Katherine proceeded to do.

Minutes later, the parcel signed for, the two women returned to the living room, Katherine asking Sara to unwrap the package, explaining she did not believe she was capable of receiving one more gift.

Sara tore the UPS envelope to reveal a medium-sized silver box inside, the label indicating the contents were from some exclusive jewellery store in London. ‘More jewels,' she said. ‘From the UK.'

And then, as she prised open the lid, what she saw inside was enough to make Sara physically sick to her stomach. It was a clutch purse, embedded with what were no doubt real diamonds and emeralds interwoven with an outline of delicate strands of gold.

‘Oh my God,' she said, holding up the purse.

Katherine's hand reached for her throat. ‘It's in the shape of a . . .'

‘. . . Gun,' finished Sara, unable to take her eyes off the intricately crafted piece, the purse itself no bigger than a modern palm-sized pistol, its clasp wrapping neatly over the barrel, its ‘stock' patterned with rubies spelling out the two letters J and K.

And then, as Katherine met Sara's eye, the tears now tracking down her smooth ashen face, she said the three words that Sara, despite herself, hoped beyond all else to hear.

‘I'll do it,' said Katherine at last. ‘I'll do it.'

‘Q
uick, Frank, turn it up,' said Joe Mannix, pointing at the TV on top of his corner filing cabinet. And Frank, tuna sandwich in hand, moved to the corner of his boss's office and hiked up the volume on the twenty-four inch TV.

It was a midday bulletin, and a serious-looking journalist with freckled skin and orange hair was reporting live from Suffolk County Superior Court – saying something about the bizarre events that had just taken place in the overcrowded courtroom 908, where defence counsel for J.T. and Chelsea Logan had admitted one of his clients had impersonated her mother.

‘Nobody knows what David Cavanaugh is up to,' said the journalist whose name, according to the graphic beneath him, was Dillon O'Brien. ‘One minute he is claiming J.T. Logan was not alone when he fired the bullet that killed his mother, and the next he is admitting his sister was the one to change her mother's will.

‘His unusual actions this morning have sparked speculation that Cavanaugh has decided to lay all the blame on the older of his two clients, so that the younger one gets a better shot at a lighter sentence.'

O'Brien paused there as the screen cut away to his anchor in the studio.

‘And the prosecution?' asked the anchor, an attractive middle-aged woman with Peter Pan hair and large green eyes. ‘What do they make of Cavanaugh's bizarre approach to the defence?'

‘Well, Olivia,' said O'Brien, ‘I was able to catch up with ADA Amanda Carmichael just moments ago as she left the courtroom for the lunchtime recess and she told me, and I quote: ‘
If Mr Cavanaugh ever wants a job in the DA's office I would be happy to accommodate'
, obviously meaning that she too is shocked that Cavanaugh and his normally competent team did not go with the more obvious strategy of self-defence.'

‘But as you say, Dillon,' said the serious-faced Olivia, ‘Cavanaugh is a solid criminal defence attorney and has a reputation for being able to pull a rabbit out of a hat.'

‘True, but in all honesty, Olivia, the general feeling here is that Cavanaugh is swimming in circles on this one, and it does not help that the children's father, Doctor Jeffrey Logan, has become a steadfast supporter of the prosecution. We spoke briefly to Doctor Jeff as he entered the courthouse this morning and he reiterated that, as difficult as it was to admit to himself that his children had conspired to murder their mother, he would do whatever he could to make sure his children get the best psychiatric care available.'

An interested Olivia nodded as the screen split to show both presenters.

‘There was also a theory that Cavanaugh's performance this morning may have been compromised by the fact that his heavily pregnant partner and co-counsel Sara Davis was absent from the courtroom – which led some to speculate that perhaps Ms Davis had gone into labour, leaving Cavanaugh in two minds as to where he was needed most.'

And that was when Joe noticed her, standing stock-still in his doorway. He could see the anger in Sara's eyes as he muted the TV and moved around his desk to lead her into his office, as Frank's feet shuffled nervously on the carpet and Sara grabbed Joe's hand and said: ‘They can shove their theories up their ass, Joe. I've found a way out of this thing but it will only work if you agree to help me.'

‘What is it, Sara?' asked Joe as he directed Sara to his small office sofa. And when he held her elbow, he felt it shaking and Joe knew that despite her bravado, this case had finally got the better of her, and that she was barely holding on.

‘We have to stop him, Joe. We have to use Katherine de Castro to end this thing. Because if we don't, David will go after the guns and Logan will kill him. Of that much, at least, I am sure.'

Half an hour later, Sara's cell phone calls from David ignored, Joe Mannix finally took a seat in the visitor's chair across from Sara. He had been pacing his office while he listened, perching himself on the edge of his desk every so often in between wearing tracks in the grey government-issue carpet. Frank McKay had remained silent, his untouched home-made tapioca pudding now sitting flat and dry in a scratched pink Tupperware container on the small coffee table before him.