Gospel (32 page)

‘Forgive me, Special Agent King.'

‘It's Leo.'

‘Leo, but there is one other thing I don't understand,' she said. ‘Why us?'

‘Excuse me?'

‘We all agree these people are dangerous. They are killers with influence who obviously have no problem annihilating people who get in their way. Joe has explained why he needed David to represent Nancy Doyle and I understand that.' She looked at David as if trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘I even understand why he didn't tell me about it, because he didn't want to get me involved. But what I don't understand is why you are here
now
. Besides acting as sounding boards,' she went on, ‘I don't see how else David and I can help you, and forgive me for being frank but, it seems to me, just knowing what we know now puts us both on a new level of risk, a risk I am not too sure we should be willing to take.'

King looked at her and then at Joe.

‘I'm sorry, Sara,' said Joe. ‘But we are here because we . . .'

‘We want David to agree to his ex-wife's proposal,' said Simba, knowing how hard this was for Mannix. ‘We believe Karin Montgomery knows her husband is being framed, and we are afraid she may go public. If she does that, she puts her life at risk and maybe the lives of others as well.

‘We have thought about it and thought about it, and you're right, this is a hell of an ask but we also believe there is no other way.' Simba turned to David. ‘We need you to represent him, David. Like it or not, you know what you know and we cannot risk involving anyone else. There is no other lawyer on the face of the planet who can play this the way it needs to be played – for proving Montgomery's innocence goes hand in hand with finding the real culprits and that is, well, I don't need to tell you how dangerous that may be.'

King glanced at Sara then, as if apologising for all he had set upon them.

‘I am sorry, David,' he said at last. ‘But we need you to defend Professor Stuart Montgomery – and we need you to win.'

Sara was speechless, but she barely had a chance to register any of what King had said before David was up, out of his chair and grabbing his coat from the back of his door.

‘David,' she said. ‘You didn't tell me . . . When did she . . . ? Why didn't you . . . ? Where are you going?'

‘To the Regency Park,' he said without stopping. ‘To prevent another God-damned disaster.'

F
or Christ's sake
, Caroline Croft thought to herself as she poured Karin Montgomery another cup of strong black coffee.

This was the last thing she needed. She had less than twenty-four hours to turn around the interview of the year and her subject was as tanked as a sailor on leave . . . or at least she
was
, a little over half an hour ago, before Croft had helped her to the limestone tiled bathroom so that she might throw up the liquid contents of her stomach and then enlisted her assistant Macy to drown her in cup after cup of pure caffeine.

‘Feeling better?' asked Croft, her frustration totally disguised behind her well made-up face, including smiling parted lips coated in the camera-friendly shade of frosted bronze.

‘Yes, much. Thanks,' said Karin, obviously embarrassed by her behaviour. ‘I didn't have any dinner and I think I just . . . Believe me I don't usually . . .'

‘Of course you don't,' said Croft who in all honesty couldn't give a crap whether Karin Montgomery was a teetotaller or a seasoned drunk. ‘You have been under so much pressure,' she said, taking a seat next to Karin on the soft, chintz-covered down sofa. ‘It is completely understandable that you might seek some form of release.'

‘Yes, I suppose you're right,' said Karin.

Croft patted Karin's hand with practised understanding and then studied the woman before her. Yes, she thought, another fifteen minutes and she should be ready. The colour was finally returning to her cheeks and, truth be told, she looked damned beautiful. The redness around her eyes was still there, but that would just add to the drama – the ‘poor distraught humanitarian wife of leading Professor facing execution for assassination of America's most popular politician' look . . . so to speak.

‘What say we fetch you a glass of iced water, apply a fresh application of light make up and get started. I have a feeling this interview may be just the release you need, my dear. You have a story to tell and should not be ashamed to tell it.'

‘All right,' said Karin who, Caroline noticed, took a deep breath, releasing a slight shudder on the exhale. ‘Let's do it,' she said quietly, almost to herself, and then, turning to Croft in a louder, more confident tone, ‘Let's do it before I change my mind.'

Damn it! No cabs. Downtown Boston on a humid summer night was a hive of frenetic activity. There were the late commuters pounding the pavement on their way to T-stations anxious to get home after a long day at work. There were others, with a more relaxed gait strolling to Harbourfront restaurants and still more, a lot of them summer vacationers, flocking to nearby Faneuil Hall Marketplace, Boston's most visited tourist destination.

No cabs.

He should have known this would be the case and asked Mannix for a lift down to Copley Square. But for some reason he needed to do this on his own – even though he was still not completely sure of what he was going to do. There was only one solution. It would only take him minutes to run home and retrieve his Landcruiser from the underground parking garage, then he could drive directly west along Beacon Street which bordered Boston Common and the Public Gardens, praying there were no post peak hour traffic jams along the way.

He entered the front lobby of his high rise Washington Street apartment building, ignoring the elevator and heading straight for the fire stairs, running down them two at a time. He pulled his keys from his pocket, heard the familiar beep signalling the release of the central locking and
yanked the door open, putting the key in the ignition while fastening his seatbelt.

He was on the road in seconds, heading south down Tremont and backtracking north-west on Park before taking a sharp turn into Beacon past the golden-domed Massachusetts State House on his right and Boston Common on his left. He looked at his watch. 9.17pm. It had been a good twenty minutes since he spoke to Tony. God only knows what Karin was currently telling Croft in the privacy of her hotel suite.

Privacy my ass
, he thought to himself. Whatever Karin was saying, he was sure Croft, who he had crossed before in the course of various defence investigations, had every intention of making it as public as possible within the next twenty-four hours.
Newsline
aired on Fridays and David knew Croft would turn any interview with Karin into a major headliner for tomorrow night's show.

He put his foot on the accelerator and saw the familiar front lights of the Bull and Finch Pub at 84 Beacon just ahead and to his right. The pub was better known as the famous
Cheers
bar, the same watering hole on which the popular TV show was based, and as usual there was a queue trailing up the famous front steps and along the sidewalk, and worse still, a traffic jam right out front.

‘
Come on
,' David honked his horn. ‘Move it.' But it was no use, the procession of cars was at least ten thick with hopeful restaurant patrons alighting slowly from vehicles, their drivers no doubt promising to find a place to park while their friends and family waited in the queue.

‘For God's sake.' David pressed his palm flat on the car's horn again. ‘
Come on!'

At last the congestion cleared and, ignoring the looks of anger and several calls of ‘
asshole
' or ‘
jerk
' from drivers' car windows, David overtook a large Mercedes SUV to reach Arlington Street, taking a sharp left towards the Regency Park. He broke with a screech outside the elegantly lit four star institution, turned off the ignition and jumped out, throwing the keys to a valet and telling him to leave the ticket with the concierge.

And then he was in the lobby, bounding over the ornate thick pile rugs, crossing the marble floor and leaning over the reception desk, asking a fresh faced young man if he would call Doctor Karin Montgomery's room and tell her David Cavanaugh needed to see her – urgently.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Cavanaugh. I'm afraid that's impossible,' said the young man who, David noticed, wore a name tag bearing the moniker of Tobias, Reception Manager.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I am afraid Dr Montgomery left strict instructions that she not be disturbed under any circumstances.'

‘Now you listen to me,
Toby
, I need to talk to Karin Montgomery and I need to talk to her now.'

‘I'm sorry, sir, but I . . .'

And just then he remembered it, the beer coaster from
Bristow's
. She had written her cell number on it. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and retrieved the still damp coaster from an inside pocket, thanking God the ink had not run. And then he brought up his cell and punched in the number.

‘There is nothing to worry about.' Karin heard the words and saw the practised look of comfort in Croft's eyes. ‘We'll take it slowly, perhaps starting with how you first met your husband, and how you . . .'

‘No,' said Karin, ‘I told you, no questions about David Cavanaugh.'

‘No, no my dear. I meant how you met the Professor – your second husband, your
current
husband.'

‘Of course. Yes. I'm sorry.' God, what was wrong with her.

‘That's all right, my dear, a natural mistake. Then we'll progress through some of your professional milestones and those of your husband and gradually move on to more recent events.'

‘All right.'
But
, thought Karin,
it wasn't all right, was it?

‘I know you have some very important things to say,' Croft went on, ‘and my advice is to tell your story openly and honestly. Do not be afraid to tell the American people the
truth
, for if what you say is correct, and I am sure it is, they have been fed some very destructive propaganda over the past few months – at yours and your husband's expense.' Caroline stopped here for effect. ‘I promise you we shall treat your account in the same open and honest manner that you convey it. If we feel we have a good flow of material your interview will run uncut. You have my word on that, Karin.' Another pause, and a warm smile of understanding. ‘Are we on the same page then?'

‘Yes.'

‘Great,' cue smile, place right hand on Karin's left, and give gentle squeeze. ‘Then let's begin.'

Beep . . . beep . . . beep
.

‘Whose cell is that?' And in that second, Caroline turned on her staff, her congenial demeanour temporarily forgotten.

‘I'm sorry,' said Karin. ‘It's mine. I'll turn it off.' Karin went to her handbag and retrieved her cell, first checking the incoming number to see if she recognised it. It was another cell, the number somehow familiar but now was not the time to be taking calls. She pressed the top corner button, turning off her cell and returned to her chair by the window, ready to begin.

‘
Shit
,' said David, prompting a stern look from Toby who looked all of twenty-one going on twelve. She had answered but immediately turned off her cell. The interview had already begun. ‘
Shit.'

His mind was racing. How could he find out her room number? Certainly not from Toby who was already whispering to the bell captain – no doubt about having a certain visitor removed. He could try the hotel operator but there was no way they would give out a room number – especially one of a guest who would have been plagued by the press all week.

There was only one solution, but it was slow and risky. He figured Croft would have hung the customary ‘
Do Not Disturb
' sign on the appropriate door handle, and he also figured Karin would be on one of the hotel's more exclusive upper floors.

He would start at the top and work his way down, knocking on every door which carried the ‘
Do Not Disturb'
notice. One thing was for sure, he was about to become the most unpopular man in the building and if Toby or his security friends found out, he would be out on his ear within minutes.

No other choice
, he said to himself. And with that he moved to the lifts and pressed the arrow indicating up.

Karin was relieved. Caroline had indeed been true to her word. The questions were easy, chronological, and she found herself relaxing as she answered each one calmly, stopping only once to refresh her dry throat with a sip of iced water. She had taken her through her internship,
registrarship and early days with Stuart. Karin told of her marriage, her love for her work at Washington Memorial and the various cardiac medical milestones both of them had achieved over the past decade.

‘My work has always been hands on, while Stuart's position became more administrative,' she said. ‘By that I mean he was called upon more and more to be involved with broader medical decisions – with the Department of Health and Human Services and the Latham administration in general.'

‘Were his new duties largely due to his relationship with Vice President Bradshaw?' asked Caroline.

‘Not really. Stuart had been Tom Bradshaw's physician for some years. The Vice President had suffered from mild endocarditis or cardiac infections in the past. These infections are common in drug abusers and can be successfully treated with no side effects or threat of future complications. Tom Bradshaw took care of himself. His good health was public record.'

Caroline nodded at Karin, urging her to go on.

‘Basically,' Karin continued, ‘their doctor/patient relationship was separate from their professional one. I think the Vice President recognised Stuart's potential and certainly encouraged and supported his move into departmental politics, but if you are asking me if Stuart's increased role in national health issues was a result of the Vice President favouring his personal physician over others, the answer would be no.'