The 3rd Victim (9 page)

20

‘T
ell me, James, do you have a problem with me?’ It was Daniel Hunt's first question to the smartly dressed young executive before him.

Jim Walker did not hesitate. ‘No, Mr Hunt, why would I have a problem with you? The great majority of my colleagues have been shown the door, but you're offering me an opportunity to save my job.’

‘You don't resent me for letting your friends go?’

‘You're running a business, Mr Hunt, not a soup kitchen.’

Hunt sat back in his soft leather office chair. He had made the chief executive's space his own the moment the papers were signed – fast tracking a complete refurbishment of all three floors occupied by the now insolvent Capital Consolidated. ‘I didn't save your job, James – true I may have let the great majority of the old employees go, but this isn't a case of my saving your job, it's a case of my considering creating a new one for you.’

Considering.

‘You want me to apply for this new position, Mr Hunt?’

‘It's Daniel, and I simply want to know more about you, James.’

‘It's Jim – and if you want to know more about me, Daniel, you only need ask.’

The room fell into silence.

‘Do you want to work for Hunt and Associates because you want to make money for the company or you want to make money for yourself?’

It was a question designed to see if Jim Walker was a liar – and if so, just how good at it he was.

‘Both, Mr Hunt,’ replied Walker, once again without the slightest hesitation. ‘But I also want to make money for your clients, because as you and I both know, the capital raised by this firm is exponential – the primary exponent being the client, the secondaries being the firm and the people employed by it.’

Hunt said nothing so Walker took the cue to go on.

‘But, if you will forgive me, Mr Hunt, the real reason I want this job isn't because of the reputation you are building or the clientele you attract. It's not just because the
Boston Tribune
's business section recently described you as the most exciting new force in corporate finance this city has seen in years, or because you drive a $250,000 car or wear a $5000 suit. It's because you're smart, Mr Hunt. You think out of the box. You've realised that people are sick and tired of specialisation, you've grasped the concept that CEOs are no longer willing to sit through ten conference calls or read an inbox full of emails to make sure their needs are being met. Hunt and Associates have questioned the entire validity of corporate management specialisation. You people trade in commodities and futures, you offer brokerage services for independent investors, you manage hedge funds, structure financial investment packages for your clients, you source funding for local corporations from off-shore venture capitalists, you manage buy-outs, you hopscotch around the tax constraints and you offer legal representation to corporations looking to avoid unnecessary expense or embarrassment or both.’ Walker sat forward in his seat. ‘You make things happen, Mr Hunt, and I want to be a part of what you and your associates are doing here – to move things forward, to make decisions that count.’

Hunt considered him. ‘You've done your homework Jim,’ he said – an observation, not a compliment.

‘It would be an insult to you if I didn't, Mr Hunt.’

Hunt nodded with the slightest of smiles.

‘How old are you, Jim?’ he asked, changing tack.

‘I'm thirty-one.’

‘According to your Capital Consolidated personnel file, your IQ is five times that.’

‘Five point three one times. My IQ is 169.’

Hunt paused, before: ‘What did your father do, Jim?’ Another curve ball.

‘My father was a lawyer, he graduated Princeton magna cum laude in 1972.’

‘What kind of people did he represent?’

‘My father represented corporations. He got a summer internship at Fellows and Partner's New Haven Office when he was twenty-two and was made CEO of the national corporation at the age of thirty-five. But I assume you know all that, Mr Hunt – as my guess is, you have done your homework as well.’

It was true of course. Hunt had even organised for five of his younger, impeccably dressed employees to sit in his outer office with fake resumes in their hands knowing full well that Walker was the only man they were interested in.

‘Is your father retired?’ asked Hunt after a pause – another question he had known the answer to several weeks before.

‘No, Mr Hunt, both my parents are deceased.’

‘As are mine,’ offered Hunt. ‘My father suffered a coronary the morning of my Bar exam.’

‘I'm sorry,’ said Walker.

‘Don't be. I achieved the highest mark in the Commonwealth.’

Walker nodded in acknowledgment.

‘Are you married, Jim?’

‘Engaged,’ answered Walker. ‘My fiancée is British. She graduated from Oxford with a degree in the history of art and architecture. She works as a senior curator at the Isabella Stewart Gardiner. Her specialty is sixteenth to nineteenth century European.’

‘She sounds busy, ambitious.’

‘She's both.’

Hunt nodded. ‘Do you compete with one another?’

‘To some degree.’

Another nod. ‘I'd like to meet her,’ he added, before standing to offer Jim Walker his hand. ‘You start the day after tomorrow, Jim, 9 am, but the day after that and every day that follows it'll be five. Tomorrow you go shopping on the corporate account. My assistant will arrange an appointment with a tailor on Newbury Street. I don't ever want to see you in an off-the-rack business suit again, Jim. Do you understand?’

Jim Walker nodded, as Hunt guided him toward the door.

‘I believe your requests to Capital Consolidated's management for a company car were rejected,’ said Hunt.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then do you prefer BMWs or Mercedes?’

‘BMWs,’ said Walker.

‘All right, we'll start you on a three series and go from there.’

Walker smiled. ‘I am sorry, Mr Hunt, I don't mean to seem ungrateful but …’ Walker turned to face him. ‘There are five other candidates in your outer office and, given I know you are a man to consider all alternatives, why employ me before speaking to them?’

‘Because they are not real candidates, Jim,’ said Hunt.

‘I didn't think so,’ said Walker. ‘You won't regret this, Mr Hunt. I won't disappoint you.’

‘I know you won't, Jim.’

‘Why is that, sir?’

‘Because I won't give you the opportunity.’

*

The clock's chime cut into the crisp air around him, bringing him back into the present. He moved toward the open window, shutting it against the downpour which proceeded to slap in defiance against the reinforced glass. When he first found out, Dick Davenport had apologised – he said that he'd made a mistake and that the responsibility should rest with him. But Dick had been wrong – not just about his being solely responsible for their decision but about it being a mistake. Jim Walker was not a mistake, he was an opportunity, for it was Jim Walker who attracted the woman who eventually became his wife.

Loss and gain, that was what it came down to – and at present the two were on equal footing, one daring the other to step forward so that he might force his adversary out of the game. And it
was
a game, and one of exceptionally high stakes, not just because of the investment they had made and the risks they had taken to support it, not just because no one else on this planet had the expertise or the infrastructure to offer the same services they supplied, not just because the people they dealt with were smart and incredibly influential, but because this was his brainchild – and one he was determined to protect.

The irony, of course, was that Sienna was both the solution and the problem. Even more ironic was the fact that they had
never
had the conversation – it was almost like the verbal expression of what they both knew was unnecessary, vulgar almost, considering their respective talents.

Everything was still going to plan – of course now it was somewhat awkward given his situation and the focus inevitably put on him. True, Dick had missed an opportunity on the night of the child's death, but time had been short and the risk too high and the situation had been remedied late last night so in hindsight no harm no foul.

At first glance Cavanaugh appeared a potential problem, but the new evidence should mean that his attachment to the case would be brief. And his dropping of the case would speak volumes. The game would be over for Sienna and then it would be time to move on.

And if not … well, if anything Cavanaugh and his wife's involvement could well lead itself to a unique and potentially highly valuable opportunity. He was not sure how it would work, if it would be necessary, or even if it was possible, but the idea had an almost erotic level of appeal to him – and as such, was well worth exploring, despite the extreme level of risk.

21

T
hey had walked in silence from the county jail's interview room and remained quiet as they rode the elevator to the ground floor, handed in their security badges and made their way toward the oversized reinforced double glass doors. They were both lost for words but simultaneously bursting to discuss the unexpected revelation from their new client that her family had been annihilated – all because of her.

‘What do you think this means?’ Sara asked the minute they took their seats in a corner of a comfortingly crowded, wood-panelled coffee house near the busy North Station.

David shoved the salt and pepper shakers aside so that he could lean into the table. ‘God, Sara, I don't know. She was very definite in her assessment of her situation but – I don't know … when pressed about it she seemed more than a little vague, and Sienna is not an ambiguous woman. She's smart, realistic and she says what she thinks.’

This was true. David and Sara had obviously pushed their client to explain her comments regarding the death of her husband and the subsequent murder of her daughter. But all Sienna could come up with was that Jim Walker had worked with a lot of seriously wealthy clients, people who had millions at stake in investments, people who used and abused the system, people who might be willing to kill in order to protect their empires and the illegalities that kept them afloat.

‘Her argument is that Jim found out about a wrongdoing concerning a particular, but at this stage unidentified, client – and that this client had him killed to keep him quiet,’ Sara spelt it out. ‘And then, as a follow-up to that, the killer murdered Eliza as a warning to Sienna – he assumed Jim told his wife about the illegal activity and killed her child in warning.’

‘But if that is the case, why not just kill Sienna?’ asked David.

Sara shook her head. ‘I don't know. The whole story does seem pretty crazy, David, which is strange because in every other regard she is logical, clever, clear. I mean, if we put that theory in front of a jury as it stands …’

David knew what she was saying – that any jury, hell, any defence attorney with half a brain, would conclude that Sienna Walker was guilty, that the evidence against her would make her outlandish alternative theory look like a desperate – and crazy – attempt to exonerate herself.

Also David was convinced that Daniel Hunt was tied into this situation somehow, but their client certainly made no attempt to point the finger at him – in fact she seemed determined to avoid discussing Hunt altogether.

‘You still think Daniel Hunt is tied to this in some way.’ Sara was reading his mind.

‘It's just an instinct, but I can't seem to shake it.’

She nodded, before meeting his eye. ‘You're sure this has nothing to do with his …?’

‘With his coming on to you?’

‘He didn't come on to me, David.’

But David was shaking his head. ‘Yes he did, but that's not the only reason he rubs me up the wrong way. His closeness to Sienna is unsettling. According to Joe on the night of the murder he was hovering over her like a praying mantis. If Sienna is right about her husband's situation then Daniel Hunt is the last person we want anywhere near our client. He could well have known what was going on. That's why I told Sienna not to talk to him. I'm sure Hunt will make attempts to visit her, but she has to blow him off. It's also why I've ignored his calls,’ David continued as he gestured at his cell which he'd placed on the table between them. ‘He's called me five times in the past twenty-four hours.’

Sara nodded. ‘She certainly didn't seem keen to see him. If anything she seemed … guarded.’

‘I agree,’ said David.

‘Do you think she may be scared of him?’ asked Sara.

‘He scares the hell out of me, Sara, not in the traditional sense but … if we're right, then just think of what this asshole is capable of.’

‘I understand what you're saying, but we have to remember we're doing a lot of hypothesising here, David. Don't forget that Daniel Hunt was with
us
when Eliza was killed, and he was in Boston when Jim Walker faced off with that truck.’

‘And I am sure a man like Hunt has people to do his bidding – and the legal fraternity of Boston is a fantastic alibi, and I'll bet he was seen out and about in Boston on the night Jim Walker was killed.’

But Sara still looked unsure – and he knew what she was thinking.

‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘Jim Walker's death was ruled an accident. There were no bullets, no knives, no outward indications that his death was anything but an unfortunate tragedy.’

‘And proving otherwise, especially since Walker's car exploded on impact, will be nothing short of impossible,’ she reminded him.

He nodded. ‘Then I need to talk to Joe.’

‘It's a big ask, David,’ she said. ‘The accident occurred way south of his jurisdiction, and Joe is the one who has built the case against her. He works for Homicide.’

‘He works for the truth.’

‘Agreed, but right now it looks to all the world that our client is guilty – that David Cavanaugh has either got it wrong or finally compromised on his convictions.’

‘You think people will expect me to go to Weeks and make a case for my removal?’

She nodded. ‘If we are right about Hunt, then maybe that was what he was counting on also – for you to take it on, and then drop it like a hot potato.’

‘Not going to happen, Sara.’

‘I didn't doubt that for a second,’ she smiled.

‘Daniel Hunt wanted me on this case and now I'm on it.’ He looked at his beautiful wife, and in that second remembered the way Hunt had held her. ‘So now he can bring it the hell on.’