NATURAL

JUSTICE

PETER O’MAHONEY

Natural Justice: A Legal Thriller

Peter O’Mahoney

Copyright © 2021

Published by Roam Free Publishing

1st edition.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

NATURAL JUSTICE

TEX HUNTER SERIES BOOK 6

PETER O’MAHONEY

Also by Peter O’Mahoney

*****

In the Tex Hunter Series:

Power and Justice

Faith and Justice

Corrupt Justice

Deadly Justice

Saving Justice

*****

In the Jack Valentine Series:

Gates of Power

Stolen Power

The Shooter

The Thief

*****

In the Bill Harvey Legal Thriller Series:

Redeeming Justice

Fire and Justice

Will of Justice

A Time for Justice

Truth and Justice

*****

Chapter 1

The lock was broken.

Criminal defense attorney Tex Hunter had only been in Longford, Illinois for five days, but word traveled fast in small cities. He jiggled the door to his temporary office, pushed his shoulder against it, and it popped open without using his key. He stepped inside the office space and looked around—his computer was on the floor, chairs were tipped over, and the drawers of the cabinet were left open, with several files spread across the worn gray carpet.

Hunter didn’t leave any sensitive information in the office. He knew better than that. He’d rented the office through an agent five days earlier, but he could sense their distrust for him when he picked up the keys. There wasn’t much to the bland office in the half-empty strip mall, as there wasn’t much to the city surrounding it, but it was the closest available office to the courthouse. He placed his briefcase on the wooden desk and saw a note, scrawled on a plain piece of paper in red pen. ‘Go home,’ it read. He never expected to be welcomed in the small city of 15,000 people close to the Illinois-Kentucky border, he never expected them to like him, but this was worse than he anticipated. Five hours from his home in Chicago, and only twenty-five minutes’ from the state border to Kentucky, the city felt more Southern than Midwestern, and in the middle of July, the heat was almost unbearable. It was the worst heatwave in five decades, the news said. The air was thick with summer humidity, making an oven out of any outdoor space.

Hunter picked up the office chair from the floor, gathered the loose files, and sat down. He removed the folder from his briefcase and opened it to the photo of his new client, Javier Mitchell. A twenty-one-year-old Mexican-born man facing life in prison for the murder of all-star city jock, Chad Townsend. Although he had an American passport, Javier Mitchell spent his formative years in Puerto Vallarta on the Mexican Pacific coast with his American father and Mexican mother.

A sedan skidded into the parking lot outside Hunter’s temporary office, stopping across two spaces with little regard for the white lines. It was a police vehicle—one of only ten in the local area. Hunter recognized the man that stepped out of the car. He’d seen his photos displayed across the city’s website. Phillip Michael Richardson, the third. He was the Police Chief of Longford, like his father before him.

Richardson didn’t stop as he walked through the office door. He didn’t knock, he didn’t pause, and he didn’t announce his arrival. This was his city, his town, and outsiders weren’t welcome. He stormed into Hunter’s separate office space and slammed a photo on the desk in front of Hunter.

Hunter raised his eyebrows. “I assume you’re Chief Richardson.”

“I’m not here to play games, boy.” Richardson’s wiry white hair was dripping with sweat; his face had the redness of a man who spent most of his nights at the bar, and even in his sixties, he had arms thick enough to be tree trunks. An odor of cigarette smoke followed him into the room, and yellow patches of sweat stained the collar of his white shirt. “This isn’t your city. This isn’t Chicago. This is Longford, Southern Illinois. Hear that—Southern Illinois. My city. My place. My rules. I give the directions here. If I say jump, then people jump.”

“I assume you’re Chief Richardson?” Hunter repeated.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” Richardson pointed his yellow-stained finger at Hunter. “I’m in charge. You’re in a different world now.”

Hunter waited, without responding, staring at the cop. He couldn’t break now. If he showed any weakness, if he showed any fear, Richardson would exploit it for the entire case.

“That’s our dead kid. Look at him.” Richardson grunted, pressing his finger into the A4-sized color photo. “I said look at him! He could’ve made it to the big leagues. He could’ve been anything. He could’ve put our city on the map. But your client, that scum piece of trash, killed our boy in cold blood, and it’s going to be my mission to see he pays for what he did.”

“If that’s the city hero, then you need to make sure this case goes by the book. You need to make sure you don’t break any rules that’ll let my client walk.”

“Really? You’re that stupid?” Richardson scoffed. “Is that how you think it works here? You think your big city processes will work down here?”

Hunter stood, his imposing height looming over Richardson. Richardson scoffed again. He looked Hunter up and down, and then wiped the sweat off his brow. “You’re the son of a serial killer, right?”

Hunter didn’t respond.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’ve read about you. As soon as we saw your name on the files, tongues were wagging. People needed to know why a big city lawyer is coming all the way out here to defend a twenty-one-year-old kid. So, we did our research—your father killed eight teenage girls. A serial killer for a Dad. And somehow, someway, they let you become a lawyer. Your family’s past isn’t going to go down well in this city. We’re good people here. Honest. Hard-working. We live life by the book. We don’t take kindly to outsiders, especially not ones from Chicago.” Richardson paused and stared at Hunter. “I need this Mexican kid to stay behind bars. The people of this city are expecting someone to pay for this murder, and I need it to be this kid.”

“And I need to get him free.” Hunter’s response was blunt. He remained standing. “I’m here to defend a man who’s claiming he’s innocent.”

“You won’t win in this city, lawyer boy,” Richardson grunted. “This is my town, these are my people, and I need to protect them. I own this city and everyone in it.”

“You don’t own me.”

“Not yet.”

Richardson held Hunter’s stare for a long moment, before he turned and walked back through the door, pushing hard against it as he went past. The door almost fell off its hinges. Hunter stepped around his desk and walked to the entrance, standing on the sidewalk while Richardson squealed the tires of his car going out of the parking lot.

Hunter didn’t know a lot about the case yet, but one thing was painfully obvious—there would be trouble ahead.

Chapter 2

Tex Hunter’s life had been drenched in hate. He saw it everywhere he went. School. Work. Social occasions. His family’s name had shadowed him most of his life, covering him in a long dark cloud of disgust. He was only ten years old when his father was arrested, still just a child when his life changed forever, and he had no idea the impact those events would always have on his life. He had no idea he would spend his teenage years defending his family name, he had no idea he would spend his adult life fighting for respect, and he had no idea he would dedicate his life to proving his father’s innocence. Through it all, hate was a constant. Always there for him. Hate was the feeling, the friend, he knew best. He tried his best not to return the hate. He tried his best to always turn away. Hate, his mother once told him, is the fire that fills the world with evil. But sometimes, when it all became too much, when the rage would conquer him, hate was the feeling that unleashed. That uncontrollable rage, that hate, frightened him when it bubbled to the surface.

Hunter switched on the desk fan in his office, blowing hot air into his face, and loosened his tie. He looked up at the air conditioner and considered turning it on, but it’d seen much better days. Much of the office had. In fact, most of the city had. The city of Longford was suffering the same fate as many cities around the area had—it was dying a long, slow, and painful death. Once fueled by the coal mine industry, the city’s population had been cut in half since its heyday. Longford survived as the commercial and retail hub for the surrounding farming towns, and the service industry was the only remaining type of commerce that stopped the city from completely falling apart.

There was a knock at his door. It creaked open, and a woman’s voice called out, “Mr. Hunter?”

Hunter stood and walked to greet the woman at the door. “And you must be Mrs. Delany.”

After Hunter had put out a call for a legal assistant in the city of Longford, Carol Delany had by far and away the most impressive resume. She was in her sixties, but looked much younger than her years, bringing a sense of calm and peace with her. The look on her face was nice, friendly, and relaxed. She held herself well, with pride. Her blonde hair was well kept, her blue dress was new and well-fitted, and the smell of spring followed her.

“Please, call me Carol. No need for any formality. We’re here to work, not to impress each other.” She looked back at the door. “Problems already?”

“A guy is coming to fix it this afternoon.” Hunter nodded. “It’s no problem.”

“I’m sure,” she said in a tone that didn’t seem convinced. She entered the office, reached across, picked up the air conditioner’s remote control, tapped it twice on the wall, and then turned on the machine. A puff of dust spluttered out before it whirled into action. “This used to be an accountant’s office, but he retired around five years ago. Nobody’s been in the office since. On the corner of this block is one of the busiest shops in Longford—a taxidermist. That should give you an idea about the priorities around here.” Carol leaned forward. “And young man, I’ll give you some advice for free—if you’re ever being chased by a pack of taxidermists, don’t play dead.”

Hunter tried not to smile, but his dimples gave his reaction away. It was hard not to smile in the presence of Carol. She had a cheeky grin that warmed the room.

“You’ve got a sense of humor. That’s good.” Carol smiled back.

Hunter motioned for her to sit on the chair in front of his desk as he walked around the other side and sat back down. “This’ll be my office while I try to work through this murder trial. I’ll be down here from Chicago a few days a week until the resolution of this case or the trial, but hopefully, it doesn’t get that far. Hopefully, we’ll have a resolution shortly, and we can get this circumstantial case thrown out.”

“Thrown out? In this case? I doubt that very much.” Carol sat down opposite Hunter’s desk, holding her purse on her lap. “And tell me, I know we spoke on the phone, but before we go any further, I need to know why a big-time lawyer like you would take on a small city case like this? This case is almost a slam-dunk for the prosecution team. We’ve got a poor Mexican kid accused of killing the city jock in an altercation in a park on a Friday night. There must be a reason why you’re here, and before we go any further, I would like to know why.”

“I’ve been asked to help Javier.”

“By whom?”

“Someone important to me.”

Carol paused a moment, and then smiled. “Mr. Hunter, let’s get one thing straight. You won’t find a better, or more experienced, legal assistant within fifty miles. So, if you want me to take this job, then you’d better answer my questions. Respect flows both ways.”

Carol was right. He struggled to find anyone with the expertise to assist him. No other applicant on the list even came close, and she exceeded all his criteria. She had twenty-five years’ experience with a defense lawyer who retired five years earlier and had been filling in around the southern part of the state since.

“It seems everyone around here likes to hear a straight answer.”

“You can trust me,” Carol added, sensing Hunter’s reluctance. “I’ve chosen to help you because I know there’s a lot of corruption in this city, I’ve seen it firsthand, but we’ve never had the chance to beat them. With you on our side, I figure you might be able to expose some of the fraud that happens here.” She drew a breath. “But first, I need to know that Javier isn’t connected to any drug gangs. That’s the rumor circulating these parts. This city has had enough problems with hard drugs, and I won’t help any gang member, whether they’re innocent or not. If you’re here to help the drug gangs bring in ice, opioids, or methamphetamines to Longford, then I’m walking straight back out that door.”

“My presence here isn’t gang-related.” Hunter leaned forward on his desk. “Somebody who knows Javier’s mother and father has asked me to help. That somebody has information I need. If I get Javier out of prison, then they’ll provide the information to me. That’s why I need to win this case.”

“Sounds like its important information.”

“Very.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Carol placed her purse on the ground next to her. “You’ve hired me to help with this case, but I’m guessing what you really need is my local experience. You need to know how this city works. Who has power over who.”

“Chief Richardson stopped by this morning, giving me a nice welcome to Longford. He told me he owns this city.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Phillip used to be such a nice guy, a real community cop, there for everyone. But ten years ago, his wife was killed by a foreign driver who was high on meth, and Phillip changed overnight. He turned into a hardline Police Chief. Anyone who even thought about hard drugs was thrown in prison. And that hardline stance spread to everything, except the corruption in City Hall.” She stood and motioned for Hunter to follow her. “Come out here. I’ll show you where your problems are going to be.”

Carol walked back to the entrance of the office, stepping out onto the sidewalk. Hunter followed.

“You probably have a lot better view than I do.” She looked up to his height and then pointed down the street to a building one block away. “That’s City Hall. That’s where you’ll find a lot of your problems.” She pointed further down the street. “And that’s the courthouse, that’s where you’ll be doing battle, and on the other side of that, just out of view, is the police station. Do your best to avoid Richardson. He’s on the warpath lately. And that,” She pointed to the blaring sun. “Is a very strong sun that’ll be annoying you all summer.”

Hunter smiled as Carol turned back into the office. He tried to shut the door behind him as he entered, but the top hinge was broken, and the door could only swing out to meet the frame.

“I spoke to your assistant Esther on the phone last week. She sent through all the details about the case, but I have a question about her.” Carol moved to stand under the ceiling air-conditioner, cooling herself down. “Why didn’t she come to Longford to help you?”

“She has work to do in Chicago. I have cases I’m still managing there while this case progresses.”

“I don’t believe that. I think there’s another reason.”

“You’re quite inquisitive, aren’t you?” Hunter grinned as he leaned back in his chair.

“You have to be in a city like this. Everyone knows everything,” she said. “So, why didn’t she come to Longford with you?”

Hunter looked away, unsure how to respond. “We’re getting off-track. We should-”

“I’ve seen that look before. You like her and you haven’t told her.” She came back to the chair and sat down. “I’ll give you another piece of advice for free—after my many decades on this planet, I can tell you that love is what life is about.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hunter smiled. “I like your firm attitude, Carol. Conviction in your opinions is important.”

“Good,” she replied. “Here’s the deal, Mr. Hunter. You know my fees, and you know my experience. But I’ll only work for you if you agree that during your time in Longford, you’ll come to my house for dinner with my husband and family.”

“Sorry, Carol. I’m here to work,” he said. “I’m not sure I’ll have much spare time to socialize.”

“Well, good luck finding someone else.” She stood, picking up her purse from the floor. “There’s no one else in these parts with my experience, and there’s no one else in this city willing to help you. I’m the only lifeline you have. You take my deal, or I walk back out that broken door.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Hunter beamed. “I can’t let you walk out that door. It’s a deal.”

“Good.” She sat back down. “Then let’s get started.”

Chapter 3

In a region of Illinois where tourists rarely ventured, hundreds of miles from Chicago, was the Marline County Jail. Tucked away from the city streets of Longford, next to acres of farmland, the complex sprawled out across the flatlands, marking a gray scar across the green fields. The high barbed wire fences were the first thing most people spotted when they turned down the dirt road of Prison Drive. The closest house was a mile away, and even that was empty, boarded up after a prison hostage situation ended badly. Behind the tall wire fences and thick concrete walls, Division One of the Marline County Jail housed one hundred and fifty-five male inmates, most of them violent felons, and most of them repeat offenders.

Javier Mitchell stood in line, arms by his side, the dull orange jumpsuit uniform loose on his body. He could smell his own stench. He hadn’t showered in days. His uniform was itchy, scratching at his skin, and his feet were tired, squashed into the prison shoes that were two sizes too small. He struggled to hold down the vomit that threatened to come out, and his hands were constantly shaking.

The line in the mess hall moved forward. There were potatoes and peas on the menu, there always were, and Javier couldn’t identify the third substance. It was a sloppy brown lumpy liquid. Javier could barely think about it. He picked up the tray and moved a step forward in the line.

When Javier first arrived in Longford, he never expected the hatred some had for his cultural background. The youngest son of an American father and Mexican mother, he traveled to work for his uncle, who owned a burger restaurant. Thanks to his father’s birthplace, he had an American passport, and he wanted to spread his wings and live the American dream. The mega-cities didn’t appeal to him much, and he thought Longford was a good place to begin his adult life.

When he arrived five months earlier, his Uncle Thomas warned him about Longford. He said a small group of people would hate him and warned him to steer well clear of them. He said never retaliate, no matter how bad the abuse became. Javier did his best to keep his head down, flipping burgers by night and studying business and economics at an online school by day. His cousin introduced him to several friends, and he settled in, living in the back room of his uncle’s restaurant.

Longford seemed nice most of the time, but it was on the streets, where people drove past and yelled cultural slurs at him, that his heart broke. After a month of random abuse, he told his uncle he’d work for a year in the restaurant to save up enough money to buy a car and drive west to California. It was in the west that he hoped to find a place to settle forever.

“What are you looking at?” A bald, shorter man in front of Javier turned around. He had tattoos all over his body, and on the side of his neck, Javier spotted a small Nazi swastika tattoo tucked in amongst other marks. “I can smell you looking at me. I can smell your eyes.”

Javier didn’t respond, despite the temptation to tell the man that his sentence didn’t make sense. If he thought the back streets of Longford were bad, the men behind the prison walls were proving to be a lot worse. The Marline County prison was home to murderers, rapists, and petty thieves, all lumped in together. The one-level prison was built in the 1970s, and even then, it was outdated. Everywhere in the building smelled the same—a mixture of mold, sewage, and body odor all rolled into one pungent aroma. The cement walls were painted a dull gray, the cells were tight and narrow, and the ventilation was non-existent in some parts.

The justice process had been a whirlwind. His arrest, the bond hearing, and his Preliminary Hearing passed in a blur. He didn’t understand what was happening. The people in power, the people who hated him, wasted little time before they decided to send Javier behind bars.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s a harmless little doll.” It was a new Mexican prisoner behind Javier. The man was short, stocky, and had a round face. “I’m Carlos.”

“Javier.” He moved another step closer to the brown sludge that was to be his lunch.

“I’ve heard about you, Javier. You murdered Chad Townsend. That’s upset a lot of people back here.” Carlos rolled something around in his mouth. “You’ve got to be careful back here. Being by yourself will mean you’ll end up dead before you even make it to trial. And you’re good-looking. Boy, you could’ve made it in Hollywood. Look at those brooding looks. That’s not going to help you back here. Trust me. I’ve spent the last ten years in and out of places like this.”

Javier nodded.

His uncle came to visit him the day after he was arrested. He told him to keep his head down, stay out of trouble, and not join any gangs. Prison was a criminal university, he said, where good people entered, and gang members exited. But Javier’s first two weeks in prison had already consisted of five beatings. A purple bruise covered his ribs. It hurt to turn left. If he didn’t pledge his alliance to the other Mexicans behind bars, the beatings would increase in regularity. Joining them was the only way to survive.

“You look too fresh to be in here.” A prisoner slopped a lump of mashed potatoes onto Javier’s tray. The man winked at him. “But don’t worry. That won’t last long. You’ll lose your innocence quick enough. We’ll make sure of that.”

Javier stepped closer to the brown sludge, and he wasn’t sure if it was food or sewage that he could smell.

“Everyone’s got a story.” Carlos stayed close to his new friend as they moved along the line. “What’s your story?”

Javier didn’t say anything in response.

“Like that, uh? Well, we’ve got lots of time to get to know each other. The five of us Mexicans have to stick together.” Carlos nodded to another man behind him. “This is Al. He’s the muscle for the Mexicans back here. You’ll want to stay on his good side.”

Al was tall, thick, and had tattoos running up his neck and across his jaw. He had two teardrop tattoos under his eye. Javier nodded to Al.

“I was just put back in here last night. Breaking and entering. Been in here a few times, though.” Carlos accepted the lumpy mashed potatoes from the server. “If I’d known you looked so innocent, I would’ve found you and told you to get out of Longford and never come back. I wish someone told me that when I first arrived.”

Javier nodded. He put his tray out for the peas. A step closer to the brown sludge.

“Heard you got a good lawyer,” Carlos continued. “A big-city lawyer that’ll get you out of here. How’d you afford that?”

“I didn’t. He’s doing it as a favor for someone.”

“Look at that!” Carlos slapped him on the back. “The kid can talk!”

Javier nodded again. The sludge was next.

“But I’ll tell you something, even if that lawyer is a magician, he’s got a hard job ahead of him. Unless he’s got evidence to prove you’re innocent, you’re never walking out of here. There’s no way they’d let that happen,” Carlos continued. “I was innocent the first time Richardson arrested me as well. This time I did it, but the first time they locked me up, I was totally innocent. They said I robbed a guy and beat him within an inch of his life, but I didn’t do it. Being back here toughened me up. Taught me new skills. Back here, it’s a different world. You’ve got to do what you have to do to survive.” He tapped the teardrop tattoo under his eye. “When’s your trial?”

“Soon.”

“Don’t say much, eh?”

Javier nodded. He held out his tray and the brown sludge was lumped onto it by the next server. Javier swallowed hard, struggling to keep the vomit down.

“Stick close to us, Javier. There are people in here that’ll beat you for your skin color. The Aryan Brotherhood are strong in this prison.” Carlos looked over his shoulder. “Don’t trust anyone but us. If you killed the Townsend kid, then there’ll be people after you. Don’t even trust the guards. Those pricks will want to make you pay, and they have the power to do it.” Carlos pointed to the guards. “But if you join us, we’ll make sure they can’t touch you.”

Javier swore to his uncle that he wouldn’t join a gang in prison, but he was starting to realize that he had little choice.

Chapter 4

In the prison meeting room, surrounded by unsympathetic concrete walls, Tex Hunter waited as Javier Mitchell was escorted in by two prison guards. Javier kept his eyes down the entire time, refusing to give anyone eye contact, his black hair falling over his face. He didn’t move as the guards uncuffed him. The meeting room was spacious, almost large enough for an echo, and the air was stale and heavy, used up and burned out by the summer heatwave. There was one small window near the top of the wall, only one door, and one air vent. The table was metal and screwed to the ground, as were the chairs. They were uncomfortable, at best.

Originally picked up by the public defense lawyer, Javier’s case had barely progressed at all. According to the notes, the Preliminary Hearing was brief, and the public defender did little to help Javier. When Hunter requested the case, the public defender took a further five days to get back to him, but then threw the matter to him without any additional questions. Hunter had talked to Javier twice via conference call, however, this was his first face-to-face meeting.

“Javier Mitchell.” Hunter offered his hand to shake. “My name is Tex Hunter, the lawyer you’ve been speaking to over the phone.”

“Hello.” Javier shuffled forward and shook Hunter’s hand. His palms were sweaty. “Thanks for everything.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t dealt with the case yet.” Hunter had his briefcase on the ground next to him and several files stacked on the table. “There’s a long way to go, and by the end of it, you might not be thanking me.”

Javier nodded, a blank expression on his face. His breathing was shallow.

“As we discussed over the phone, I’m doing this case pro bono, which means there’s no cost to you.” Hunter sat down on the warm metal chair. “As you’re my client, I’ll be working to achieve the best outcome for this case, and it may include discussing a deal with the prosecution. I need you to be honest and forthcoming with your knowledge about what happened the night Chad Townsend died.”

“They’ve said you’re a good lawyer.” Javier finally raised his eyes to look at Hunter. “They said you might get me out. Lots of people have been talking about you.”

“I have a lot of experience,” Hunter said. “Usually, my fees for this sort of case run into the hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“So why are you doing this for free?”

“A friend of your mother asked me for help. Someone in Puerto Vallarta, your home city.” Hunter drew a long breath. “That person has information I need about an old case.”

Javier didn’t respond. He was skinny, only a few months past his twenty-first birthday, and had the sort of face many young women would fawn over. His eyes were dreamy, his jaw was square, and his black hair was luscious. His Hollywood good looks helped him in the outside world, but in prison, they were proving to be a nightmare.

“Javier, I’ll be blunt. I’m not going to string you along. I need to win this case.” Hunter leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But this isn’t an easy case to win. The prosecution had offered a deal of fifteen years in prison for an early guilty plea, but, according to the files, you’ve rejected the offer. They’ve said they won’t make another offer. It’s already a difficult situation, but what makes this case even worse is that they’ve charged you with the murder of the city’s super jock. On top of that, Chad Townsend’s father owns the main mechanic shop in the city, and Chad’s mother is a social queen bee of the local scene. The Townsend family is revered in this city.” Hunter paused and then chose his words carefully. “And things happen differently in small cities.”

Javier nodded. He was beginning to realize that.

“I’m not going to ask you if you did it or not, because it may limit what I’m able to say in court. Although we’re covered by the attorney-client privilege, I can’t, and won’t, lie for you in court, so the truth may limit what I’m able to say. If you murdered Chad Townsend, you’re under no obligation to tell me,” Hunter said, holding his pen in his hand. “But I need you to tell me everything you remember about the night of June 25th, the night Chad Townsend died. We’ve got a lot of time on our hands, so take a deep breath and calm yourself down. We’re here to work towards a solution.”

“I don’t even know what happened,” he whispered. “I have no idea what happened. It was just another night in this city.”

“Then tell me what you remember.”

Javier nodded. “We were at a—”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“Myself, and the friends I’d made since arriving here. They were mostly other people from my uncle’s restaurant—my cousin Jim Mitchell, the server, Steve Bain, his girlfriend, Renee Watts, and another of Jim’s friends, Jack Sully. Jim and I are around the same age and we both like basketball, so it was easy to hang out with him when I arrived in Longford. I’d been on vacation with Jim and his family when I was younger as well, so I knew him before I arrived. Family was one of the reasons I first came to Longford, instead of going straight to California.”

“Go on.”

“We arrived at Dave Spiller’s house on Baker Street for a party on Friday night. His parents were away, so he thought he could throw a party for a few of his friends. There were about twenty-five people there having a good time, singing and drinking. Just good fun. Nothing bad.” He drew a breath. “Then Chad and his friends showed up.”

“What happened when Chad arrived?”

“Chad was… he wasn’t a nice guy. He hated me because of my Mexican background. They don’t get many Mexicans around here, so I stood out everywhere I went. Chad was the king of the youth in this city, but since my arrival, I think he felt threatened by me. So, he had to prove he was tougher than I was.” Javier shook his head, his hair moving with it. “He was always telling me that I was just a Mexican and I didn’t deserve to stay in his country. He’d driven past me on the street before and threw stuff at me. Over the few months I was here, he tripped me over, he pushed me, and he punched me.”

“What happened when Chad arrived at the party?”

“He punched me again. Right on the nose. I was bleeding.”

Hunter waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “The punch isn’t the end of the story, is it?”

“I didn’t kill him.” Javier looked away. “That’s the truth, and it should be the end of the story.”

“But it’s not.” Hunter pressed. “What happened next at the party?”

“He… he was always bullying me, and I’d had a few beers, so I snapped. After he punched me, I threw a clean right hook and it landed on his jaw. He fell to the floor, so I grabbed him by the collar and said to leave me alone or I’d hurt him worse next time.” Javier shook his head again. “I’m not a violent guy, I never get in fights, but he pushed me past my limit, you know? He punched me first, and then I retaliated.”

“You both threw punches. He hit you, and then you hit him.”

“That’s right.”

“When you grabbed him by the collar, was your nose bleeding?”

“It was.” Javier nodded. “That’s how my blood got onto his clothes. It fell onto his shirt. He was bleeding as well, and that’s how his blood got onto my shirt. We both had blood on us.”

“What happened after you grabbed him when he was on the ground?”

“His friends grabbed me, but then Dave pulled out his father’s shotgun. Chad hesitated, but then he saw Dave with the gun. He got up and left with his friends. As he was going, he said he’d make me pay for this.”

“And what did you do next?”

“I left the party around 10:30pm.” Javier didn’t continue.

“And where did you go?”

“I went for a walk.”

“A walk? I’m going to need more than that, Javier.”

“I just… I went for a walk.”

“We’re covered by the attorney-client privilege. This is your privilege to refuse to disclose any confidential communications between you and me. Also, I cannot be compelled to disclose matters conveyed in confidence. Here is a safe place. And I need you to answer the question.”

Javier shook his head.

Hunter waited. He knew it would take time for Javier to trust him. He had to let the information pass for now. “After you went for a ‘walk,’ what’s the next thing you remember from that night?”

Javier stared at the white concrete wall again. There were cracks down the walls, chips taken out of the edges, and the white paint was peeling under the intense heat.

“I’ve read the police report and charges many times.” Hunter moved on. He opened the folder on the table and picked up the first page. “I know what they’ve reported, and I know why they’ve charged you. But for us to have a chance to win this case, I need to hear it in your own words.”

“Is it any use?” Javier stood and walked to the far edge of the room, tapping his head against the wall. “Everyone wants me behind bars, and in this city, people get what they want.” He paused before he looked at Hunter. “I can still stay in the country, can’t I? Even if I get a criminal record? I’ve got an American passport.”

Hunter didn’t like the kid’s chances—not of getting off, not of getting free, and not even of getting a good deal. “The prosecution has built quite the case against you already. They’re moving quickly to file this case in court,” Hunter stated as he opened another file on Chad Townsend’s death and Javier’s subsequent arrest. “Chad died as a result of blood loss after he sustained an injury to his skull. According to the report, he was attacked and suffered damage to his head when he fell in Norwich Park. When his head hit the ground, he was kicked in the mouth, and this act rendered him unconscious. The impact caused his brain to swell, and along with the blood loss, that was what killed him. The prosecution has two witnesses who place you near the park, one of whom claims they saw you around the time of death. The prosecution will show more evidence at your trial, but along with your blood being on Chad’s shirt and sneakers, and your hair on his shirt, they’ve got a number of witnesses who claim you threatened to kill him that night. They’ve got a motive, and although circumstantial, the evidence is strong. That’s going to be hard to disprove in a court of law.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Javier whispered. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

Hunter drummed his fingers on the table. “When you were arrested, did you say anything?”

“I was in shock. I couldn’t believe it. But they said something to me… this conversation is covered by the attorney-client privilege, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Hunter waited. “Go on.”

“Chief Richardson said he didn’t care if I was innocent. It didn’t matter to him. He said someone had to go down for Chad’s murder and it might as well be me. That’s bad, isn’t it? He can’t say that, can he? He’s a cop.”

Javier didn’t have the presence of a killer. He wasn’t egotistical, heartless, or hostile. He wasn’t vengeful, nasty, or vile. He was wearing his heart on his sleeve, and his nervousness and confusion were real.

“It might help us negotiate down to a different charge,” Hunter said. “Part of my role as a criminal defense attorney is to work to achieve the best outcome for you.”

“I don’t want to stay here. I’m innocent.”

A long silent pause spread over the room.

“I think that’ll do for this discussion.” Hunter closed the files and placed them inside his briefcase. “Javier, you can’t talk about this case to anyone else here. Don’t talk about your trial to anyone but me, especially not behind bars. Not your cellmates, not the people in the prison yard, and not even the guards. You can’t trust anyone back there. Understood?”

“So, does this mean you’ll get me out of here?” Javier was almost begging. “Please?”

“We’ll be in touch soon.” Hunter stood and walked to the door. “Keep out of trouble and try to survive back there.”

Hunter tapped on the door, and it was a few moments before the guard opened it. He stepped out without looking back, leaving the meeting feeling unconvinced about his ability to win the case. He wanted to help Javier, he wanted to help a vulnerable young man in a bad situation, but there was also something else driving Hunter, another powerful reason why he needed to win the case.

And he was sure it would be exposed soon.

Chapter 5

Hunter and Carol walked along the wide sidewalk of Main St, towards City Hall. The walk took them through the central business district of Longford, highlighting a day in the life of the town. Trucks parked outside diners, a drugstore owner stood at the entrance to his shop, eager to talk with anyone that passed, and housewives filled the hairdresser, circulating gossip to whoever would listen. The summer heat was baking the streets, and even by mid-morning, the air was oppressive, hot with the promise that the day would soon be under the spell of a glaring blue sky and a relentless golden sun.

The Longford City Hall was the centerpiece of the small city, placed right in the heart of the business district. Built in the late 1920s, the Classic Revival style building was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The entrance was covered by a portico extending from the roof; supported by four large red brick columns spanning the height of the building, and the exterior was well-maintained. One of the tallest buildings in the city, it housed Longford's city government, the center of power in the region.

As Hunter and Carol walked towards the City Hall from their office a block away, a passing male spotted them. The man parked his truck, crossed the wide road, wiped his brow, and waited for them to reach the City Hall’s steps.

“Hello, Carol.”

“Mike.” Carol was short with her tone. “I’m surprised you’re not running the other direction right now.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I mean, I’ll be there this Friday to fix the fence. It’s just… I ran into some money trouble and couldn’t afford the lumber. But I’ll be there on Friday with all new lumber for the fence.”

“I paid you upfront to fix it. There shouldn’t be any money trouble.”

“Of course.” The older man took off his hat and bowed his head. “I’m sorry. You’re right. As always. It’ll be done by Friday night. I promise. I’ll get my boys over there to help me. We’ll be there at 7am. No later. You have my word.”

“It’d better be done by Friday night because I have people coming over on Saturday.” Carol stepped onto the bottom step of the City Hall, standing over Mike. “Run along, Mike. I’ve got work to do.”

The man turned and looked at Hunter’s tall figure—he was wearing a fitted Italian suit, seemed to be the only man in the city wearing a tie, and was well-groomed with thick black hair. “What does Hollywood want with our city?” the man leaned closer to Carol and then indicated towards Hunter.

“He’s a lawyer, Mike. He’s here to defend Javier Mitchell.”

The look on the man’s face changed to a snarl as he turned back. “I hope you’re not helping him, Carol.”

“What I do for work is my business.”

Mike remained silent as he stared at Hunter. He then cleared his throat and spat on the ground near Hunter’s feet, before he began his walk back to his truck. Carol watched as Mike entered his truck and then turned back to Hunter. “You can expect that a lot in this city. Everyone adored Chad Townsend, even if he wasn’t a very nice boy. He was the sports star; someone everyone could be proud of. Had a rocket of an arm, and there was talk a few Major League teams could be interested, and I even heard some scouts came out here looking for him. People around here had hopes that Chad was going to put Longford on the map.”

“I’m used to being hated.”

“Hate is a sign of the weak,” Carol said. “It’s the fire that fuels the evils of this world.”

Hunter paused for a moment, her words were the same ones his mother told him many years ago. Carol didn’t stop to ponder her words of wisdom, continuing up the ten steps to the entrance. Hunter followed a few feet behind.

Inside, the entrance to City Hall was heavy with the musty smell of wet carpet. The walls were covered in 1980s wallpaper, which had seen better days, and several of the pictures that hung on the walls were crooked. The foyer was large and open, although dim, and the carpet was worn. There were five brown plastic seats near the side wall, next to one of the plastic plants, and the receptionist desk that separated the foyer from the offices was long and bland. There seemed to be little happening.

“Hello Carol,” the young brunette receptionist greeted her. “How can I help you?”

“This is Mr. Hunter.” She turned to Hunter. “And he has an appointment with the Mayor.”

“You’re the big city lawyer?” The younger lady quipped before looking him up and down. She smiled and turned back to Carol and whispered. “He’s cute and—”

“Now, now, his heart belongs to someone else,” Carol interrupted. “Can we please see Bob?”

The receptionist held her gaze on Hunter for a long moment, nodded her approval of his looks, and then leaned over the desk to face the hallway.

“Bob!” She shouted down the corridor. “The big city lawyer is here to see you!”

She sat back down and looked at Hunter. “The phone’s broken.” She explained, pointing at the phone on the desk, before twirling her hair. “It’s been broken for a month now. Perhaps you know how to fix it? You could take me out to dinner and tell me how to do it.”

Before Hunter could answer, the door to one of the meeting rooms swung open.

“Mr. Hunter. My name is Mayor Bob West. I’ve been the Mayor out here for fifteen years.” The Mayor stood at the entrance to the room ten feet away. He turned his gaze to Carol. “Hello Carol. Always a pleasure.”

“Hello Bob.” Carol’s voice was curt.

Bob West filled out his white shirt, his stomach hanging over his belt. He was a touch over six-foot-tall, his hair was gray and balding through the middle, and his eyes looked weary and tired. His shoes were polished, but his black trousers weren’t ironed. “It’s nice to see you here, Carol, as always, but the thing is, I need to have a private chat with Mr. Hunter first. Man to man.”

“Really?” Carol raised her eyebrows. “We’re going to be that sexist, are we? We’re going to travel back to the 1970s and pretend it’s ok?”

“Come on, Carol. I didn’t mean to offend you,” West groaned. “But this will be quite a robust conversation and I might say some things that are quite distasteful. I don’t want you to hear what I’m going to say.”

“Now you listen to me.” She pointed her finger at the Mayor. “I’ve heard more ‘robust’ conversations than you’ve had nights at the bar. And I know, that’s a lot.”

He dropped his head and closed his eyes, before drawing a long breath. “Carol. Please. I’d like to talk to the city lawyer one on one. Give him a lay out of the land.”

Carol looked to Hunter.

“Carol’s experience is extensive,” Hunter stepped forward and defended his new employee. “There’s nothing you can say to me that you can’t say to her.”

Bob West didn’t know what to say, standing at the door with a confused look on his face.

Carol stood a little taller. “No, it’s ok.” She reached out and touched Hunter on the arm. “Thank you for defending me, but Bob’s right—it would be good for the two of you to talk alone. It’ll give you an idea of how corrupt the people in this building are.” Carol sat down on one of the brown chairs to the side of the room. “I’ll wait here for you to finish.”

The Mayor groaned at Carol’s remarks, and then opened the door wider. Hunter strode forward and stepped inside the meeting room. The meeting room matched the blandness of the foyer. There was one large window at the end of the room, looking out to Main St, and a long white Formica table in the middle. Five office chairs, each of various age and quality, were placed around the outside. There were five small abstract paintings on the wall, and Hunter couldn’t tell if they were painted by someone with years of experience, or by students in elementary school.

“You’ve got a winner there, Mr. Hunter.” West closed the door behind him and pointed to the seat at the end of the table for Hunter to sit on. “If Carol sets her sights on something, you can guarantee nothing will stand in her way. One of the smartest women in this city, but also one of the strongest. There’s no way you can tell her what to do.”

“She’s very experienced.” Hunter took the offer to sit down. “And she seems to know everyone and everything that happens around here.”

“She’s friends with all three of my ex-wives. That’s why you’ll never see me at a dinner at her house.” West smiled as he sat down opposite Hunter. His smile was uneasy, shrewd. He leaned his thick arms on the table and then nodded to the window at the end of the room. “You’ve chosen a tough time to arrive in Longford. Everyone is a bit wound up with this heatwave. It’s worse than I’ve seen in decades. Are you sure you can handle this type of heat?”

“I’m doing fine.”

“Good. My office is upstairs,” West paused for a moment to watch Hunter’s reaction. “I wanted to meet you in this meeting room because I didn’t want to let the son of a serial killer into my office. I didn’t want the evil stench of crime soaking into my walls.”

Hunter didn’t respond, keeping his glare on the Mayor. He’d been painted with that brush so often that he found silence was the best way to keep the conversation from continuing. He knew West was poking him, trying to see if he could elicit a reaction, trying to see how much fire and fight was within Hunter.

West waited for him to respond, but when Hunter didn’t, he nodded. “Right, it’s like that. I understand.” He sat up a little straighter. “I called you because I needed to talk to you, off the record, before you jumped too far into this case with the Mexican kid. But I need this chat to be off-the-record.” West leaned back in his chair. The chair struggled under his weight. “Agreed?”

Hunter nodded.

“I’ll start with the big question then—are you sure you want to do this, Mr. Hunter? There’s a world of hurt and pain in this city, and being an outsider, the local folk are going to take it out on you. We’ve seen a lot of economic pain over the last two generations, and I should know, my family has been in the area for over a hundred years. The city’s population has been cut in half since its heyday, and we had a big drug problem up until ten years ago. Chief Richardson cleaned up the streets. I know it’s a sob story, but we’re talking about people’s homes and their hearts. There’s not a lot of hope in a place like this, and Chad, well,” He sighed. “Chad was the biggest light this city had in years. The whole city used to go to his high school football games and he excelled in baseball. He had the best arm I’d ever seen. His success gave us all hope.”

“That shouldn’t influence a court case.”

“I’m sure it won’t.” He scoffed. “But I need you to remember we’re surrounded by farms. Everyone here owns a weapon.”

“Is that a threat?” Hunter squinted.

“Not a threat, but a warning. I wouldn’t want you to go back to Chicago in a box.” West stood and walked towards the window. He leaned against the frame and looked to the street. “We don’t like outsiders, especially not ones that want to ride into our city and let murderers walk free.”

“Javier is claiming he’s innocent.”

“I’m sure they all say that to you. I bet most of the murderers you defend say they’re innocent. And Javier’s Mexican.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you can’t trust a single word that comes out of his stinking mouth.” He growled. “They’re all like that. They kill each other all the time down there. Haven’t you seen the movies? They’re all liars, drug dealers, and scum. We had a group of Mexicans move into the city a decade ago, and all they brought with them were drugs and violence. Lying little tacos.”

“Your racial prejudice has no place in the legal system.”

“The legal system?” He laughed. “You think this is about the legal system? Mr. Hunter, you’re in deeper than you know. Do you really think we have the same laws as they do in Chicago? We have our own laws here. We’re outside your ‘system.’ We have a system that works. Not like Chicago, where you guys can’t even put away a murderer. What did I read the other day? Fifty percent of murders aren’t solved in Chicago. Fifty percent! So, if I shoot someone, there’s a fifty-fifty chance I walk away from it. How can you talk about crime and justice when you come from a city like that?”

“Policing isn’t my job.”

“No, your job is to destroy the real America by letting criminals walk the streets. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Destroy our great country. You’re a traitor to the flag.” He waited for Hunter to respond with anger, but when he didn’t, he continued. “My job is to protect America. The real America. The little people. My job is to make sure that people like Javier Mitchell don’t bring their drugs, crime, and illegal behavior into my city. Can you imagine what this city will be like if we don’t punish him for what he did? The city would be overrun with drug-dealing Mexicans within a month. You can keep them in Chicago. We don’t need them here.”

Hunter held his gaze on the Mayor, remaining calm.

“All Chicago does is drain the resources from the rest of the state,” West continued. “You take our taxes and our resources and our money, and you fund your drug-fuelled, murderous, violent city. It’s filth! We shouldn’t have to pay for your sins. We should be our own state in Southern Illinois.” West walked back to his chair but didn’t sit down. He leaned against the back of the chair, staring at Hunter. “Tell me, do you vote red or blue?”

“I vote for policies, not parties.”

“A true fence-sitter, of course.” West scoffed and waved his hand in the air. “Too scared to commit to a cause. I say choose a side—right or left. Don’t sit in the middle. Commit to a side.”

“The middle of politics is where commonsense lies,” Hunter said. “We need the left to advance ideas and keep society moving forward, and we need the right to make sure we hold onto traditions and don’t change with every new idea. But in the middle of those two sides, in the middle of politics, lies the majority of people. The middle is where people are able to look at both sides of the argument and make well-informed decisions.”

“What a load of bull. You need passion in politics, not people who change ideas on a whim. You can’t trust people who keep changing sides. People need trust. They need commitment to an ideal. You can’t flip and flop between positions and policy. Choose a cause—”

“And follow it blindly?”

“How dare you.” West slapped his heavy hand on the table. “In this city, we have passion in our choices. We have faith in our decisions. We have faith in the Lord. In this city, we do things by the book. We have confidence in our choices. We punish murderers. We respect each other. We don’t shoot each other over parking disagreement like they do in Chicago. Longford is a city of respect.”

Hunter waited a moment, before he sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “And it’s a city full of corruption.”

“Corruption?! How dare you!” The Mayor slapped the table again and pointed his finger at Hunter. “I need to make myself clear so there’s no confusion. Everyone in this city hated the Mexican kid. The only friends he had were those young kids with the woke ideals. These woke folk will wake up one day and find out how bad their decisions were.”

Hunter drew a breath. “Was there something you needed to tell me, or did you just need someone to listen to your racist speech?”

“I’m not racist.” He shook his head and began to pace the floor again. “I believe all people are the same, the color of their skin doesn’t matter. But if one group of people consistently bring drugs and violence into my city, then I need to protect the residents. That’s not racist; that’s a rational policy. There’s not a racist bone in my body.”

“Judging people on their race is racist.”

“Don’t be pedantic. I called you here because I know you’re heading to court this afternoon to file a motion to move the case to another county. I’m telling you that you don’t want to go to the court appointment. Make up an excuse and then skip out of the city. Nobody will think any less of you. In fact, we’d never even think of you again. Leave before you get in too deep.”

“Thanks for the chat.” Hunter stood. “It was very informative.”

“My eyesight might be failing, but I can still see a dirty rat when I cross one.” West walked to the door and rested his hand on the handle before he turned back to Hunter. “Did you hear what I said? I need you to skip out of the city. It’d be best for your health.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“This is a tough city, Mr. Hunter. People here have been through more than you could ever imagine.” West opened the door fully. “So, I’ll give you this piece of advice for free—there are guns everywhere. Just remember that before you think about crossing us.”

Chapter 6

After stepping out of the City Hall into the blaring morning sun, Hunter stopped on the sidewalk and looked up to the sky. It was a pale blue, drenched in the glare of summer brightness. Carol stepped out after Hunter, looked up to him, and raised her eyebrows. Hunter nodded his response. No words were needed. She knew what their conversation was about, and she knew what was said behind the closed doors. Not only was it obvious what the Mayor was going to say, but the walls in the City Hall were paper-thin, and she could hear every word exchanged between the two loud men.

“We’ve got two hours until court,” Carol looked at her watch. “I’ll grab a couple of subs to go and meet you back in the office. There’s a little deli around the corner, and they make the best beef sub in the state. And while the subs might be big, trust me, you’ll need the energy for court. It’s going to be hotter in that courtroom than on these streets.”

“Thank you, Carol,” Hunter responded. “I’ve got a call to make.”

Carol walked down the street, careful to stay in the shade of the buildings and out of the sunshine. One touch of the direct sun could melt even the toughest of souls.

Hunter walked in the other direction, back towards his office. There was hostility in the air, and he could sense it. A man in a passing pick-up truck stared at him with unwavering anger, before spitting out his open window onto the street. Five teenagers had gathered near the entrance to the parking lot next to Hunter’s office. They stopped their conversation as Hunter walked past, calling Hunter a number of names once he was further away.

Hunter ignored them and called his investigator in Chicago, Ray Jones.

“Hello, Ray.” Hunter loosened his tie as he approached his office. “What have you found out about the Javier Mitchell case?”

“Well, Tex, I’m glad I’m not there in Longford with you right now. Everything I’ve read about this city says that it’s not a nice place for a person of my skin color,” Jones replied, referring to his African-American heritage. “Unemployment is 15%, youth unemployment is even higher, and new business investment is practically non-existent. There’re claims of corruption that stretch back decades, the high school is ranked poorly in the state, and there isn’t one nice thing to say about the police force. This isn’t a city you’d put on the map for tourist vacations.”

“Especially during this heatwave. You couldn’t relax here,” Hunter replied, fumbling with his keys and opening the newly fixed office door. His first act inside was to turn on the air-conditioner. “What about the family of Chad Townsend?”

“One of the few families in the city that seem to have consistent work. The father runs the main diesel mechanic shop in the city. Mostly deals with trucks and loaders from the surrounding farms, but also gets a lot of work from the nearby highway 45. The Townsends seem like one of the more popular families in the city—hard-working, respected, good church family. They host a large gathering every fourth of July, where family flies in from all over the country to attend, and they regularly host Sunday cook-outs. And they were very supportive of their son. Always at his football games, always at his baseball games, and always with their photo in the local paper. Obviously, they’re devastated they had to bury their son a month ago.”

“And Chad Townsend?”

“He’d been dating the police chief’s daughter, Maggie Richardson, for a while. There were numerous photos of them together throughout their high school years, and they looked destined to marry. High school sweethearts that could lead into marriage. Chad had posted a lot of photos on social media with comments like ‘My future witch,’ or ‘My future ball and chain.’ Real charming. It looks like they broke up a few months ago, because Chad posted a few things about being heartbroken, and then there were no more photos of them together. And it looked like Chad didn’t move on.”

“Why do you say that?”

“In the months before his death, the tone of his social media profiles changed. He went from being all high and mighty, quite arrogant really, to being quite aggressive. He made some stupid accusations online against other people. Really angry stuff, along with a lot of bullying. I found one string of comments on a social media site where he attacked a fifteen-year-old kid in a wheelchair, and called him some nasty names. Names that shouldn’t be repeated.”

Hunter wheeled his chair to sit under the direct blast of the air-conditioner. “And what can you tell me about Maggie Richardson?”

“Hard to tell, because all her social media pages are private. She could’ve moved on to someone else, or she might not have. I don’t have any information about that right now, but I’m working on it. As Chief Richardson’s daughter, it looks like she liked to keep things offline as much as possible.” Jones drew a long breath. “But honestly, Chad Townsend looked like an all-around prick. He might’ve had everyone’s respect because of his athletic ability, but it didn’t help his personality. There are videos of him bullying younger kids on YouTube, posted by himself, as if his behavior was something to be proud of. And he’s laughing the whole time that he’s pushing these kids half his age. He’s made some really terrible comments about people with disabilities and some nasty comments about poor people. It doesn’t look like he listened to the pastor when he went to church as a kid.”

“Keep digging around on Chad. He’s got to be our focus. Anything you can find may help.” Hunter wiped the sweat from his brow. “Even though he was popular, he must’ve made some people angry. Perhaps there’s a group of kids who were sick of being bullied by him? You might be able to talk to them and get the inside word.”

“I’m on it. What else do you need me to do?”

“I need you to look into anyone around the city that might be the city’s main gossip. In a small city like this, there’s always one or two people who air the city’s dirty laundry online. I need you to find the person that posts the most things about the city on social media. They might be good to speak with, someone with a weakness for gossiping who we could pressure a bit into letting something important slip.”

“If there’s one person like that, I’ll find them.”

“Thanks Ray. I’m going to need every bit of help I can get with this one.”

Hunter ended the call as the air-conditioner stopped. He picked up the remote, pressed the power button a number of times, but the machine didn’t turn back on. He slapped the remote against the palm of his hand, pressed the button again, and then the machine clunked back into action.

Carol arrived a moment later with the subs. He thanked her, and they ate them in the office with the sound of the air-conditioner for comfort. Carol was right. The subs were good. Fresh. Two hours later, after reviewing their files, they exited the office and drove the two blocks to the courthouse on Main St. The temperature had passed ninety-five, and even the shortest walks would drench them in sweat. The Marline County courthouse faced south, a two-story red-colored brick structure that was bland enough to pass for a high school building. Located near the center of Longford, a block from City Hall, it was non-descript, blending into the surroundings, and not attracting attention.

Hunter was able to park his BMW sedan directly outside the front steps. Led by Carol, they walked into the courthouse and were met by a force of cold air pushing down from the ceiling over the front doors. Inside the courthouse was no more exciting than the outside. Dull colors. Old furniture. Little natural light. Hunter thought he’d stepped back into the 1970s.

“You’re the son of a killer, right?” The first guard greeted Hunter before he walked through the metal detector, just inside the entrance. “I know things are different in Chicago, but out here, we don’t like killers. Especially ugly-looking ones like you.”

Hunter glared at the man and stepped closer, towering over the guard.

“Settle down. Let’s not do anything silly.” Carol’s tone was firm before she turned to the guard. “And David, keep your mouth shut. Your job in this courthouse is to nullify violence, not instigate it.”

The guard swallowed and stepped back from Hunter, before raising his hands. “Just making a joke to make the guy feel at home, Carol.”

When Hunter took his eyes off the guard, he saw all the eyes in the foyer were staring at him. Twenty people were standing around in groups, talking to each other, discussing the city’s latest rumors. Hunter was sure that most of the rumors would’ve involved him. On the far side of the room, the Townsend family were gathering. Someone yelled across the room, before being restrained by another family member. It was the most challenging part of Hunter’s job—every crime had a victim, every victim had a family, and most families wanted revenge, not justice. Those families saw Hunter as the enemy, the man who blocked their quest for vengeance.

Hunter stepped through the metal detector to be confronted by a man waiting for him. He was commonplace in appearance—in clothing, in features, and in posture. He was of average size and average build. His hair was ordinary brown, his eyes a usual blue, and his skin-tone pale, but it was the look on his lips, a stealthy, sly grin, that alerted Hunter to trouble.

“Mr. Matthew Tanner.” The man greeted Hunter and held out his hand. “I’m the prosecutor for Javier Mitchell’s case. We’ve spoken a few times over the phone.”

Hunter shook the man’s hand. He wished he hadn’t. The handshake was soft and weak, sending a shiver up Hunter’s spine.

“I’m sorry about the abuse around here. People around here wear their hearts on their sleeves. I’m sure you can understand that.” Tanner pointed down the hallway, directing him to the courtroom, and walked alongside Hunter as they approached the edge of the foyer. “But by all reports, you’ve been in a lot of fights. A boxer, I hear?”

Hunter stopped, tilted his head, and squinted at Tanner.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Hunter. I research all my opponents to make sure I can expose every little crack in their armor.” The niceties were already gone from Tanner’s voice. “We’re in courtroom one at the end of the hall. I’ll see you in there.”

Tanner stepped away from Hunter, walking back towards the other side of the courthouse foyer, where Chief Richardson waited next to the far wall. Richardson didn’t take his eyes off Hunter once.

“Don’t worry about them.” Carol leaned close to Hunter and nodded to indicate they should continue towards the courtroom. “They’re trying to intimidate you. Don’t worry if they get to you. I’ve seen lesser people run away from these guys. There’s no shame in being intimidated.”

At the entrance to the courtroom, Hunter paused for a moment. He took a deep breath before he continued through the tall wooden doors. Stepping inside, Hunter scanned the room. Brown was the color of choice. The long wooden pews were light brown, the wooden walls were dark brown, the doors were brown, and the gate was brown. The tables for the defense and prosecutor were brown, the judge’s seat was brown, and the chairs in the jury box were brown. The natural light coming in from the side of the room did little to lighten the brownness. At least the carpet was off-white, and the ceiling was cream-colored.

Hunter went through the gate to the defense table, and Carol moved into the first row of pews behind him. He opened his briefcase and sat down on the brown leather chair. They reviewed the case files for the next twenty-five minutes, reading over the options to move the case to another venue. At 1:55pm, Tanner entered the room with two female assistants, followed by Chief Richardson, and then Mayor Bob West. Soon, a small crowd began to gather behind them. Javier, still in his prison uniform, was escorted into the room by the bailiff and seated next to Hunter. The clerk at the front of the room read the case number in a robotic fashion, and then asked the room to rise for Judge Gregory Johnson. Judge Johnson walked into the room, not giving Hunter the privilege of eye contact, keeping his eyes on his seat.

Judge Johnson sat down, picked up the file in front of him and then groaned loudly, his tone wearied after decades of courtroom drama. His gray hair was thinning, his olive-skin tanned by too many hours in the sun, and the wrinkles in his face showed years of sadness. He was in his late-sixties and close to retirement, having spent much of his life controlling the courtroom, yelling at people who dared question his authority. His weight had gotten away from him in recent years, and he looked much heavier than his profile photo.

“Proceed, counsel.” Judge Johnson was still reading the brief as he waved at the lawyers. “I see you’ve entered a Motion to Change Venues?”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Hunter stood at the defense table. “The motion to change venues, pursuant to the 725 ILCS 5/114-6, has been filed to move this case where the jury pool won’t be prejudiced against my client, as there exists such prejudice on the part of the inhabitants of this county that he cannot receive a fair trial in Marline County.”

“Prejudiced against your client?” Judge Johnson looked over his reading glasses at Hunter. “Please explain further.”

“Your Honor, due to the extensive media coverage of the charges against Mr. Mitchell, it’s impossible for him to receive a fair and impartial jury trial on this set of charges. This entire city is aware of the death of Chad Townsend, and they all have a personal opinion on this matter.”

“Response?” Judge Johnson looked to Tanner.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Tanner stood and buttoned his gray jacket. “The prosecution is strongly opposed to moving the venue. This murder happened in Longford, the victim lived in Longford, and the accused deserves to be judged by residents of Longford. Moving it to another venue is disregarding the nuances of this city.”

“Your Honor, this isn’t about nuances of a small city. This is about a fair trial. The Illinois Code of Criminal Procedure provides the discretion to approve this motion if there’s a substantial risk to the fairness of this trial.”

“I’m well aware of the ruling.” Judge Johnson grunted. “The defendant has pleaded not guilty?”

“That’s correct, Your Honor.”

“And we’re set to start this trial in late July?”

“We are,” Tanner replied. “And the State requests we continue with this trial in this county.”

“Your Honor,” Hunter argued. “This would severely weaken the defense’s ability for a fair trial, and the defense would be at a major disadvantage if the case was to remain in this county. The jury pool within Longford is tainted, and this would severely prejudice the case against the defendant.”

“You don’t think this court is capable of being impartial, Mr. Hunter?” The disdain in Judge Johnson’s voice was clear.

“It’s not the court I am concerned about, Your Honor. It’s the jury pool.”

“And that’s why we have a voir dire,” Tanner argued. “People in this city are impartial, and not biased, as the defense suggests. That’s a wild and misleading accusation, because there have been many studies to show exposure to publicity isn’t enough to prove bias, as potential jurors don’t need to be completely ignorant of the facts of a case to be able to sit in judgment of a defendant. If a potential juror proves to be incapable of fairly judging the evidence against a defendant, he or she is dismissed from serving on the jury during voir dire.”

“And you’re currently satisfied with this case continuing in Marline County?” Judge Johnson looked at Tanner over the top of his glasses.

“We are.” Tanner tried to hide his smirk, but it was obvious. “And as you can understand, we have a limited budget to try cases in this area, and this trial may take months to resolve, and we fear moving the trial to another jurisdiction may unfairly limit the prosecution’s ability to call witnesses. We don’t have endless resources.”

“Your Honor, these are very inflammatory arguments,” Hunter stated. “The cost to the prosecution for this trial shouldn’t be a factor in the decision for this motion.”

“Understood.” Judge Johnson read the report. “The defendant is a dual citizen?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Hunter retorted. “I’m not even sure how that’s relevant to this motion.”

“Given your client’s situation, and the motion that you’ve provided, I’m inclined to agree with the prosecution. I completely understand the prosecution’s apprehension about moving venues.” Judge Johnson continued to read the file. “The motion is denied, pursuant to The Illinois Code of Criminal Procedure,” Judge Johnson stated. “However, to appease the defense as I’m sure there’ll be further arguments, the court will provide the option to refile this motion if voir dire proves the bias this motion alleges.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Tanner smiled.

Hunter didn’t respond as Judge Johnson stood and moved out of the courtroom.

After Judge Johnson had exited, Hunter sat down and wrote a number of notes on his legal pad. The crowd was jovial behind him as they left the courtroom, happy that the city lawyer had been beaten in the local court. A fair trial was a joke to them. This was a celebration of revenge. A celebration of reprisal. Once the crowd had moved out, Hunter packed up his briefcase and moved towards the doors. Carol waited a few moments, organizing more files, and then followed him.

“Unlucky, pal,” Tanner stated in his most patronizing voice as soon as Hunter had stepped out of the courtroom doors into the poorly lit hallway. “You should get used to it. That’s what’s going to happen over the next few months. Nobody’s on your side here.”

Hunter turned to Tanner. “You smug piece of trash. You don’t get to play with people’s lives.”

“And nor do killers like Javier Mitchell.” Tanner lifted his chin, trying to square up to the much taller man. “He killed someone, Hunter. He doesn’t get to walk free, and he doesn’t get to do it again. We need him behind bars, serving his punishment for this crime.”

“He claims he’s innocent.”

“Innocent? That’s rich. I could understand if you’re trying to say it was an accident, or if they got in a fight and he didn’t mean to kill him. That would be some sort of defensible legal argument. But innocent? Come on. There’s no way that’s going to fly. I would’ve thought you could’ve seen that.” Tanner scoffed. “You’re out of your depth, and nobody wants you here. Nobody wants you in these courtrooms. Go home and cry to your killer father.”

Hunter stepped past Tanner, his breathing short and heart thumping against his chest. Hunter could handle smugness, he could handle arrogance, but he couldn’t handle the slander against his father’s name.

“Tex, don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Carol pulled on Hunter’s sleeve, saving Tanner from scoring a black eye and Hunter from sore knuckles. “Not yet, anyway.”

Hunter grunted and turned away from Tanner, walking away from the prosecutor.

“You’re out of your depths, Hunter,” Tanner called out after him, displaying courage as he looked at Hunter’s back. “You won’t be able to save Javier Mitchell.”

Chapter 7

Hunter woke in Chicago on the following Saturday morning with a hangover. The long drive back and forth from Longford was taking its toll, but he was cautious about spending extra nights in the small city. Not only was the hotel bed as hard as concrete, not only was the area suffering a heatwave, but he was worried what the locals might do after a few drinks on a Friday night. Any knock on the hotel door was met with apprehension, any noise made him wary, and anytime he heard his name, he was guarded.

His apartment on the fifteenth floor in River North, a neighborhood on the edge of Downtown Chicago, was far more spacious than his hotel room. The tall ceilings provided space to be free, the view of Chicago’s skyscrapers provided perspective, and the comfort reminded him how many obstacles he’d overcome. He didn’t like having things to fill empty space, instead he preferred a minimalist lifestyle, quality over quantity.

After two aspirin, two coffees, and a large glass of water, he sat at the desk in the separate office in his apartment, reviewing file after file on his computer. Before he knew it, the morning had turned into the afternoon, and he was running late to meet his brother at a Cubs game. Within minutes of realizing the time, he was out the door and racing towards the stadium. As he drove along Lake Shore Drive, he thought about his assistant, Esther Wright. He missed her smile, he missed her laugh, and he missed her company. He missed their time together, their long personal chats over coffee, and their heated discussions about case work. But most of all, he missed her presence.

As he drove into the Wrigleyville neighborhood, he picked up his cell and went to dial her number, trying to think of a work excuse to talk with her, but he couldn’t think of a reason. He placed his phone back down as he neared Wrigley Field. The roads were clear, thanks to the game starting half an hour earlier. Hunter parked his BMW in a parking garage and jogged to the stadium. The gate attendant updated Hunter on the score. It didn’t sound like he was missing much.

Waiting in the stands, surrounded by nothing but empty seats in the far bleachers, Patrick Hunter watched the game intently. He had a book with the player’s profiles and statistics next to him, an earphone in to listen to commentary, and his tablet on his lap to search for updates. He preferred to sit by himself and watch the game. He didn’t like being distracted by the crowds while analyzing the Cubs’ chances for a win.

“Patrick.” Hunter walked along the row of empty seats. “Sorry I’m late. I was having computer issues.”

“Hard drive?”

“No, the commute was fine. It was my laptop that was the problem.”

Patrick chuckled, stood, and greeted his younger brother in a solid hug with a heavy slap on the back. He pointed out to the field. “You’re in time for the bottom of the second, it’s 2-1, but the team is looking good. Look at this kid. Last pick in the draft.” Patrick pointed to one of the players warming up in the dug-out. “Being the last pick drives people. If you’d picked this kid first, he’d have nothing to prove. But now, with being picked last, he has to prove everything.”

“Always psycho-analyzing things.” Hunter smiled. “You can’t step away from being a psychiatrist, can you?”

“It’s my job, Tex. You can’t switch that off,” Patrick said. “And mental ability is the most underrated asset in sports. Look at Tom Brady. If you picked him in round one, if you picked him with your first pick, he wouldn’t be half the player he was. But at pick 199, well, it leaves a chip on someone’s shoulder. It leaves something to prove, something to work hard for. People need a reason to drive for success. If everything is handed to you on a platter, then you have no reason to dig deep.”

“Brady is an anomaly.”

“No, he’s not. It happens everywhere.” Patrick sat down as his brother did the same, leaving an empty seat between them. “Look at Conor McGregor, the Irish UFC fighter. When he grew up poor, striving to reach the top, he did everything he could to win. He needed to be the best and he had something to drive him. He had something to prove. But when he reached the top, when he had nothing left to prove, he started losing. It’s tough to be a savage when you sail into a fight on a 300ft yacht.”

“The boxer, Marvin Hagler, said something similar—it’s tough to get up at 5am and train when you’ve been sleeping in silk pajamas.”

“Exactly. On any given day, everybody has the will to win. That’s not what’s important. What matters is the will to do the work to win. It’s the discipline to do the work while nobody’s watching. That’s what this rookie kid’s got. He’s driven to do the work. He grew up poor, struggled to get by, and was the last pick by the Cubs in the draft, but I’ve seen him train. He’s got an opportunity and he’s willing to do the work even when no one is watching. That’s what makes great players.”

“So, he should be thankful he was the last pick?”

“The disappointments in life shape who we are and how we live. I would’ve thought that you understood that.” Patrick paused and looked at his younger brother. “Without our father’s actions, you never would’ve become the man you are today. I hope you realize that.”

“That’s quite condescending.”

“It wasn’t condescending.” Patrick smiled. “I was just talking about things that only a superior brain like mine can understand.”

“Typical, Patrick. Always laughing at your own jokes.” Hunter laughed. “It might be time for some introspection for you.”

“Introspection?”

“If you don’t know what I mean by that, then you need to take a long, hard look at yourself.”

Patrick chuckled and reached across and slapped his brother on the shoulder. “Nice.”

Hunter laughed, watching as another Cubs player struck out. The crowd responded with a collective groan. It was another average season for the Cubs—not too good, but also not too bad. Just enough wins to give the fans hope, and just enough losses to break their hearts. The rookie, only twenty-one years old, was up next.

Patrick paused and looked over his shoulder before he continued. The green seats were empty behind them. “I went and saw Alfred last week. He said you haven’t been in for a few months.”

“Still not calling him ‘Dad?’”

“I haven’t called him Dad for years and you know why.”

“You said that you thought he may be innocent. You said that yourself.”

“If he’s innocent, then it’s even worse than I first thought. If he didn’t do it, and he knows the truth, then it’s the ultimate betrayal. I told him that. That’s why I went there. I went to vent my anger.” Patrick looked out to the field. “He’s hidden secrets from me and you for the past thirty-five years. Can you believe that? That event, that trial, destroyed our lives, and he had, or still has, the power to change it and he chooses not to. He put me and you, and our mother, at the bottom of the list. After what we’ve been through, after all the hate we’ve experienced on his behalf, he still keeps the truth a secret. That’s not forgivable in my book.”

A silence fell over them as they watched the rookie take the first ball. He swung hard, connected well, but the ball flew into foul territory.

“He’s the walking dead, Tex. It’s over. It’s only a matter of months before his body fails. The cancer has beaten him,” Patrick continued. “After I shouted at him for destroying our lives, he apologized but still refused to tell me the truth. However, he asked me to do something.”

“Which was?”

“He asked me to convince you to let it go.” Patrick leaned closer. “And I agree. It’s time to let the past be the past. It’s time to stop the crusade that you have for the truth.”

Hunter shook his head. “It’s not over until it’s over.”

“I know you’re desperate to hear the truth from our sister Natalie. I know you need her to come to Chicago and spill everything she knows… but perhaps it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie. Because have you thought about what happens if she arrives? What happens if she admits she was the person who murdered those girls and our father took the fall for her? What happens if Alfred has been protecting his daughter all this time? That’s the scenario we’re facing. Natalie could be the murderer, and Alfred could’ve been protecting her.”

Hunter didn’t answer as the rookie swung and missed his second pitch.

“Have you even thought about it?” Patrick pressed. “We never heard from her after she left for Mexico. We didn’t even know if she was still alive until two months ago. I know Natalie said she’ll tell you the truth if you get the Mexican kid out of prison. I know she said this is her friend’s child. I know she used this as a bargaining chip for you, but what if…” Patrick chose his next words carefully. “What if the truth is something you’re not ready to hear? She left the country and moved to Mexico before our father’s trial. She went to school with all those eight murdered girls. That’s not a coincidence. We know she was violent; we know she’s been to prison in Mexico. She’s not an angel. What if you’re not ready for the truth?”

“I don’t know.” Hunter conceded. “All I know is that I need to understand what happened. Those events changed our lives, they changed everything we had, and we deserve the truth. You and I deserve to know what really happened, even if we can’t do anything about it.”

“But perhaps it’s time to drop this. You can even drop your case in Longford. Let the town deal with the crimes that happen on its streets. They don’t need you riding in there to shake things up.”

The rookie shaped up for the next pitch.

“This is more than about Natalie now. You’re right—I took the case because Javier’s mother is a friend of our sister. Natalie said she would come back to Chicago, for the first time in thirty-five years, and tell us the truth about our father’s convictions.” Hunter turned to the big screen to watch the next pitch. “But this is about more than Natalie now. I can’t stand by and watch injustice happen. I need to defend the kid.”

“Always the lawyer.” Patrick sighed. “You can never walk past injustice, can you?”

“Maybe you’re right.” Hunter turned to him. “Maybe my drive for justice is because of what happened to our father. Maybe that’s why I can’t let it go.”

“Acceptance is the first step to recovery,” Patrick said. “Tex, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s time to move on. Perhaps it’s even time to ask Esther out on a real date. Not just for another work meeting, but a real date. Give yourself another focus. Or perhaps it’s time for you to choose another job. One where you’re not obsessed with the outcome.”

“I can manage my own life, thanks.”

“Tex,” Patrick sighed. “I just want you to be happy.”

Hunter looked away, desperately trying to avoid the effects of the emotional conversation with his older brother.

The Cubs rookie swung hard, connected, and the ball sailed over the back fence. The crowd cheered, as did Hunter, ending the emotional moment, and allowing him a welcome chance to avoid any other feelings. After that, the brothers only talked about baseball.

Chapter 8

Hunter returned to Longford on the following Monday, leaving his apartment at 5am to beat the heavy traffic surrounding Chicago. He hummed to the easy tones of Bob Dylan, tapping his thumb on the steering wheel as he cruised along the Interstate 57, taking in the sights with growing familiarity. The I-57 was the longest interstate in Illinois, and for the majority of the drive, it was long, wide, flat, and boring. The pale roads seemed to be never ending, as did the farmlands that surrounded it. Hour after hour after hour ticked past, only broken up with the occasional excitement from erratic truck drivers. At five minutes past 9am, four hours into the drive, his phone rang. It was Esther Wright. Hunter drew a breath, subconsciously checked his hair in the rear-view mirror, and then answered the phone, placing her on speaker as he drove.

“Good morning, Esther. How was your weekend?”

“Hello, Tex. The weekend was good. I spent most of it doing home renovations.” There was a smile in her tone. “I went to the hardware store on Saturday and asked for some nails to hang up some pictures. And the guy asked me, ‘How long would you like the nails?’ I said, ‘I’d like to keep them forever, if that’s alright with you.’”

Hunter laughed. Esther was always ready with a joke to break the ice. For the next hour, they talked about the week of work ahead, running through the details of their workload. They went through the other cases they had on the books, from white-collar crime to defending against minor drug charges, and Esther agreed to prepare a number of files for Hunter to review when he returned to Chicago. By the time he’d arrived in Longford, just past 10am, they’d wrapped up their conversation. The discussion left a smile on Hunter’s face as he drove past the sign with bullet holes that welcomed people into Longford. He drove past Sam’s Sports Bar, which Hunter reasoned was more likely a strip club, the dollar store, and then the Walmart complex that marked the edge of the central business district.

Hunter parked in the lot outside his office, directly outside his door, and stepped out from the comfort of his air-conditioned car. The sun was blaring down on the streets, pushing past ninety-five again, and well on its way to a hundred. The heatwave hadn’t broken. Carol was already inside, waiting by the coffee machine, reading a file in her hand.

“Good morning, Carol,” Hunter said as he pushed the door open with his shoulder. “It’s going to be a hot one out there today.”

“You’ll get used to that conversation over the next few weeks,” she said. “Even after living in these parts for my whole life, I still spend every summer talking about the heat. But it’s an extra big heatwave this year. I can never remember it being this bad. And when it gets this hot, I always have strange dreams. Last night, I had a dream I was sleeping in an executive hotel room. I guess you could call it a ‘suite’ dream.” She laughed. “Coffee?”

Hunter smiled, his dimples showing. “Thank you, Carol.”

Hunter walked to his desk, placed his briefcase down, turned on the desk fan, and then looked up at the air-conditioner. It was working hard, but it wasn’t making much difference.

Carol placed a mug of coffee in front of Hunter and sat down on the other side of his desk. She paused for a few long moments before she spoke. “I’d like to ask you something, and it’s personal, so if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”

Hunter opened his briefcase, removed his laptop and several files. “Go on.”

“I was talking to a cousin over the weekend, Frank Powell, he’s Longford’s Fire Chief. He’s a good man. But when I mentioned that I was working for you, all he could talk about was your father. And thinking about it, it’s been the topic of conversation over and over and over again, ever since we heard you were coming to the city.”

“I’m used to it.” Hunter reached across to the coffee mug, and sipped the black coffee. “I can’t change what people think about.”

“It was big news here back in the day. That was the first trial I’d seen on television, and it captured everyone’s attention. Your father, the accountant, was the media star of Illinois,” Carol continued. “I remember the trial. In fact, I remember seeing you as the innocent-looking ten-year-old kid in court. I felt sorry for you, as did every mother in the country. You were just a kid and you had to deal with all the media attention. That was horrible and at the time, we all wondered what would happen to you. We all wondered if you would turn out like him.” Carol paused. “Everyone looked at Marcel Smith, the city’s accountant, differently after that. This was his old office. The rumor was that all accountants could be serial killers. Poor Marcel didn’t recover socially after that.”

“It affected a lot of people.” Hunter nodded. “It’s a story I’ve heard a lot of times.”

She leaned forward. “Are you ok?”

There was concern in Carol’s voice, genuine concern, and it caught Hunter by surprise. Carol’s question wasn’t an off-the-cuff comment, it wasn’t a passing query, it was said with tender love and care. Apart from Esther, no one had asked him that question in a long time. He drew a deep breath, looked down, swallowed hard, and then shifted his focus to the file on his desk.

“Could you please gather all the evidence in the meeting room?” Hunter kept his eyes down on the file. “I’d like it all spread out on the table so we can review what we have.”

Carol waited a moment, and then responded softly. “I can do that for you.”

She stood and opened the door to the meeting room. Once she’d left his office space, Hunter drew a long breath. Was he ok? He didn’t know anything different than fighting against the tide. His normal was never ok. He couldn’t even think about what ok meant. Where would it leave him when his father passed? His father’s convictions had consumed so much of his life, so much of his thinking, and there’d be an empty void without it. He didn’t know what life could be like without the hatred and pain that engulfed his well-being. Was he ok? It wasn’t a question he could think about. If he dwelled too long, if he tried to answer the question honestly, he would collapse into an emotional mess. Was he ok? He didn’t know the answer. He turned back to the files, reading the same line over and over again.

Fifteen minutes later, when Carol stepped back out of the meeting room to gather more notes, Hunter was still staring at the page in front of him.

“I’ve got all the evidence ready,” she said.

“Thank you.” Hunter stood, and walked into the meeting room.

The boardroom in the temporary office was long and narrow, barely able to fit the wooden table and five chairs. There was a new whiteboard at the end of the room, at Hunter’s request, and two 1990s inspirational posters hung on the walls, leftover from the last tenant. Hunter liked those posters. One highlighted the value of teamwork, and the other had the slogan ‘Dare to Soar,’ complete with a picture of a bald eagle gliding over treetops.

Carol had organized Javier’s case work into separate folders, filling the boardroom table in a systematic pattern. There were character profiles in one pile, crime scene photos in another, and evidence documents in another. Each pile was organized with precision, a post-it note placed on-top of each one with their description. Although all their files were stored in cyberspace, Hunter still preferred to work with the information spread out in front of him.

He leaned his hands on the table. “What do we know so far?”

“That Javier has little chance of winning.”

“That’s not very positive.”

“I said ‘little,’ not zero. If anyone has a chance of winning this one, then it has to be you.” Carol slid a file across to Hunter. “Crime scene photos. There’s no evidence of anyone else being there at all. No footprints in the mud, no blood on the handrails, and no clothing left behind. No witness saw anything, there are no houses nearby to hear any arguments or screams, and there’s nothing to indicate anyone else was there at all. Mayor West is the passing witness who places Javier near the park at the time of death, but nobody saw him in it.”

“And there’s no other video cameras that can help us?”

“We have very few cameras in Longford.” Carol moved around the table to another file. “Not even the police station has cameras. The only cameras are at the courthouse and the bar. The bar has a live stream online that anyone can see. I think the owner, Bradley Whiteman, doesn’t know about it, but his wife, Danielle, has left it online because some of the wives in the city like to check on who’s there. You know, just to know that their husbands aren’t running around with someone else.” She raised her finger. “Don’t go telling anyone about that though, because we’d like to keep that a secret from the men of the city.”

“Small town secrets, eh?”

“There’s a lot of secrets in this city, but I don’t like to think that’s a secret. It’s just a little undisclosed statement.”

Hunter nodded. “What about Chad Townsend—what do we know about him? Enemies?”

“Lots of enemies. Your investigator has built quite the file on Chad. He might’ve been popular, but he wasn’t a nice guy. He was good at sports and the best-looking kid in the city, but he also made a lot of people angry with how he treated them. He bullied a lot of people, said a lot of nasty things, and had an arrogant demeanor. Everyone excused his behavior because they said that’s what it takes to be the best. You have to have the swagger. The father, Brick Townsend—”

“His name is ‘Brick’?”

“His real name is Tony, but everyone calls him ‘Brick.’ Once you see him in person, you’ll know why,” Carol said. “He had an issue with another mechanic about five years ago, but it resolved over time. It was an ongoing feud that led to a few fist fights, but nothing too serious.”

Hunter walked to the whiteboard and wrote Chad Townsend’s name in the middle. Over the next twenty-five minutes, he proceeded to fill the whiteboard with names, lines connecting them all with what he knew. Soon, the board was filled with scribbles down the side, notes from Hunter’s thoughts, but Carol could barely read his handwriting.

“If I was to step back and look at this subjectively, then I would say that someone found a dead body in the morning, and the local police had little evidence. They needed a result, so they turned on the Mexican kid. They didn’t even investigate it.”

“There’s Chad’s blood on Javier’s shirt, Javier’s blood is on Chad’s shirt, and they were seen arguing the night before. Witnesses claim Javier threatened to kill him. Javier doesn’t have an alibi for the time of death. Somebody had to be arrested, and Javier had the motive,” Carol said. “I wouldn’t call it racist, because if anyone else was in this situation, regardless of color, then Chief Richardson would’ve done the same thing. The circumstantial evidence they had all pointed to Javier.”

“Where’s the file about Chad’s shirt?” He searched the desk.

“Are your eyes painted on?” She tapped the folder directly in front of him.

Hunter smiled and looked over the file. He scanned page after page, until he reached page fifteen of the document.

“What’s this?” Hunter scanned over the page. “There are three blood samples found on Chad’s sneakers. Chad’s, Javier’s, and a third unidentified blood sample. Why haven’t we been told of this?”

Carol leaned over to check the file. She read over the page. “I’d imagine it’s because they don’t want you to know about the sample.”

“So, they tucked it into page five of the report about the shirt. A small paragraph between lines and lines of technical information.” Hunter groaned. “We need to have an independent expert analyze the third sample of blood on the sneakers. That could be the blood of our killer. At the very least, it’s going to create doubt in the courtroom.” Hunter clapped his hands. “We’ve got a lead.”

“I’ll get right onto it,” Carol said. “We don’t have any blood analysis experts in Longford. Anyone you want me to use?”

“Use the company I use in Chicago—Tec House Crime Analysis. I’ll have someone come down and take a look at the evidence.” Hunter wrote a note on a piece of paper and handed it to Carol, but he saw the apprehension on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“They won’t like it,” she conceded. “They won’t like having an outside ‘expert’ override what they’ve found. Especially not one from Chicago.”

“It doesn’t matter what they like. There’s blood and DNA on the sneaker and it may point to the killer. We need it tested, and then we need to find a match.”

She nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“That’s our first option.” Hunter moved around the table. “Our second is if we find a witness who could place Javier somewhere else at the time, then we can walk Javier out of prison. We need something.”

“Like I said, we don’t have any cameras. But…” A thought tracked through Carol’s head as she placed the phone number down. “But there’s a guy down the street, Greg Oakley. He’s the city’s weed dealer. He does deals at the south end of Norwich Park. I worked for a lawyer who defended him once, but I don’t see his witness statement here anywhere. That’s interesting. I could almost guarantee he was near Norwich Park on a Friday night.”

“But cannabis is legal in Illinois. Why the need to deal out of a park?”

“In theory, cannabis is legal, sure. In Chicago, I’m sure you’ve got shops that sell that stuff. I’m sure you can go into any shop and buy your gear, go home and smoke it. But out here—no way. There’s no way a dispensary will be approved in this county, so someone has to bring it in from outside the county. Oakley does that. What he does isn’t legal but he’s the only dealer in the city. And he was doing it long before it was legalized.”

“Chief Richardson doesn’t stop him?”

“He’s tried in the past, but it’s no use,” Carol said. “Maybe Javier was dealing drugs at Norwich Park as well? Maybe that’s why he won’t tell you where he went after the party?”

Hunter thought for a moment. “Have you got his details?”

Carol typed into her laptop and brought up Oakley’s information. According to his online profiles, Greg Oakley was in his mid-twenties, struggling to get by, and if the photos were anything to go by, heavily addicted to marijuana. Within five minutes of typing, Carol had information on Greg Oakley including his phone number, address, current employment, and every personal detail they could need.

Hunter typed the number into his cell phone and placed it on the table, putting the call on speaker. He stood at the edge of the table, leaning across to bring his voice closer to the microphone.

“Greg Oakley?” Hunter asked when the phone was answered after one ring.

“You got it.” The accent sounded Californian. “Who have I got on the line?”

“My name is Tex Hunter. I’m the lawyer representing Javier Mitchell.”

There was no answer.

“Mr. Oakley? Are you there?”

“I can’t help you. I’ve been told not to talk to you.”

“Why have you been told not to talk to me?”

“Because… that’s what I was told.”

“Who told you that?”

“People.”

“Which people?”

“Important people.”

“Were you at Norwich Park the night Chad Townsend died?” Hunter pressed.

There was a long pause before Oakley responded. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, alright? I just do my thing, cruise along, and live my life. I can’t help you and I can’t tell you what I saw.”

The phone went dead. Hunter re-dialed the number. The call went immediately to voicemail.

“He’s blocked your number.” Carol dialed the number from her phone, but the call rang out. “And he’s not talking.”

“Will he talk to you in person?” Hunter turned to Carol.

She shook her head. “I throw a bit of weight around in this city, but if Chief Richardson’s got to him, then there’s no way he’ll talk anyone. Not even I outweigh Richardson’s might.”

“Then we need the blood analysis of the sneaker.” Hunter tapped his finger on the file. “The third blood sample is our way out of this.”

Chapter 9

After weeks locked away from life as he knew it, Javier Mitchell was rolling through the feelings of pain, resentment, and regret. He was surrounded by anguish, surrounded by people with no hope for the future, and no long-term outlook. The only way prisoners knew how to express their emotions was through anger, rage, and violence. All the pent-up agony, all the pent-up fury, usually came out in the form of bloodshed.

Under the blaring July heat, Javier stood next to his Mexican friends in the dusty prison yard, leaning against the chain-link fence. There were five of them, talking about nothing, doing nothing, and planning nothing. The yard was mostly filth and dirt, although there were a few grass patches near the edges. The metal bleachers provided somewhere to sit, however, there was no shade in the yard from the direct sun. Javier leaned against a fence, the bleachers were too hot to sit on, and looked out at the fields surrounding the prison. Through three chain-link fences, he could see the city of Longford in the distance. It wasn’t far away. He could run the distance in under an hour, he reasoned.

Carlos, standing next to Javier, knocked Javier’s elbow to get his attention. Javier turned around as the two guards moved away from their post at the far end of the yard. Al tapped Javier on the arm and then nodded to another post. Carlos and Javier looked up at the furthest tower and saw the empty loft. Carlos leaned forward to the other Mexicans.

“Trouble’s coming,” he whispered. “Be ready.”

The two other Mexicans stood up from their position on the bleachers, their eyes searching the yard for any movement. The Mexicans moved closer together, forming a circle around each other, as if they were Gladiators preparing for battle.

Life had changed drastically for Javier. Only seven months earlier, he was living in the Mexican tourist city of Puerto Vallarta, finishing his education, and working in a restaurant, making tacos for the Americans that traveled there. Javier’s father often told stories of voyages and adventure, inspiring his sons to do the same. He’d traveled the world before he landed in Puerto Vallarta. It was there, as a young man, that he met a girl, fell in love, and never traveled back to Illinois. Javier still had dreams of travel, but they were slowly slipping away.

There was one guard left looking at the yard. A group of prisoners on the far side of the yard began to assemble.

“What’s happening?” Javier asked.

“I’m not sure,” Carlos said. “It could be for us. Be ready.”

“What is it?”

“A fight.” Al grunted. “That’s why the guards are moving away. I hope you like breaking skulls ‘cause we are about to open our presents.”

One of the Aryan Brotherhood members began to move, waiting for one last guard to move away from his post. Everyone was anxious, eyes were darting everywhere. The tension in the yard was palpable. The two Black inmates furthest from the door began to move. They were the most outnumbered. Their five-man gang had been split up in the yard, as the others had been taken away for time in solitary confinement two days prior.

Javier watched the last guard. He was still looking at the yard.

The final guard turned and moved from his post.

The largest group of men sprang into action. The Aryan Brotherhood, ten of them, raced past the Mexicans, charging towards the two Blacks.

It wasn’t much of a fight. It was a beating. Screaming, blood, and pure rage filled the air. It wasn’t a boxing match, and it wasn’t a street fight. It was a prison beating by hardened men with little empathy. Punches, head-butts, kicks, and stomps. Screams for help echoed through the yard. Although larger than each individual, the two Black men stood no chance against the sheer weight of numbers. Once on the ground, the group stomped on the fallen.

“We’ve got to help them,” Carlos said. “They’ll die without help.”

Carlos didn’t wait for a response. He moved without a second thought for his safety, as did two other Mexicans. They launched into the brawl, throwing punches, and pulling people off the men on the ground. Javier stood next to the chain-link fence, unsure what to do.

Seconds later, a gunshot fired into the air.

The prisoners spread, leaving behind two Black men lying on the ground, bleeding profusely and barely moving. Their faces were covered in blood and brown dust. The Mexicans came back together. Carlos stood next to Javier, wiped the blood from his knuckles onto his prison uniform, and then folded his arms.

“Next time I say ‘Let’s go,’ it means you go.” Carlos mumbled under his breath as the guards pointed their weapons at them from raised positions above the yard. “We’re in this together. They’ve had our backs in the past, and we need to have theirs. It’s give and take in here. Clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Javier replied.

“And don’t say a word about this. We don’t want a rat in our pack.” Carlos lowered his voice. “And we don’t want it to be us next time.”

When commanded, the prisoners fell to the ground, their hands locked behind their heads. The guards walked in from the entrance, guns ready. They walked slowly to where the men had been beaten, looking down at the mess of blood, staring at the two men barely clinging to life.

“Get the doctor,” one of the guards groaned, in no rush to help. “It’s a mess down here.”

One of the guards walked over to Javier and kicked him in his exposed ribs. “What happened here? And don’t lie to me, Freshie. If you lie, you’ll do a week in solitary.”

It was meant to be a threat, but to Javier, it sounded like a reward.

“I didn’t see a thing, sir.” Javier kept his head down, his nose in the dirt. “I had my eyes closed.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think that’s funny? You think you can lie to me, Freshie?” The guard grunted. “You’re off to solitary, son.”

The guard grabbed Javier by the back of the collar, lifting him to his feet, and then escorted him out of the yard, past the two bleeding bodies, who were moaning on the ground without any assistance. At that moment, Javier knew if he stayed in prison, if he stayed behind the barbed wire, he would need protection.

If he wanted to survive, he had no choice but to join a gang.

Chapter 10

The Big L City Hotel and Conference Center was the best accommodation in Longford, but it provided little comfort. The bed was too hard, the décor was twenty-five years old, and despite the rooms being non-smoking, a heavy stench of cigarette smoke seeped through the rooms. The conference center on the bottom level was dated, the foyer looked like it was from the 1980s, and the hallways were bland in color. In his executive suite, Hunter had a king-sized bed, a small kitchenette, an office desk, and a balcony that had a view over the nearby lake, which was easily the hotel’s best feature.

Standing outside on the third floor balcony, Hunter watched a dark sedan edge past the entrance to the hotel, circle the block of buildings once, and then a few moments later, drive past a second time. The third time the sedan edged past, it turned into the hotel parking lot and continued around the back, sheltered from the road, or any possible witnesses. Hunter stepped back inside the hotel room, went to the drawers beside his bed, and removed his Glock handgun. He checked to make sure it was loaded, then placed it on the table next to the hotel room door. There was a way up to the third floor via the back fire stairs, which was two doors down from Hunter’s room, and it avoided any cameras or hotel staff.

Within five minutes, there was a knock at the door.

“Tex Hunter?” The man called out in a hushed tone. “You in there?”

Hunter stepped towards the door and held it ajar, peering at the person outside. “Who are you?”

Despite the heat, the man was wearing a black sweatshirt with a hood over his head. The man’s black shoes were shiny, his black trousers had been ironed within an inch of their life, and underneath his sweatshirt was the straight collar of a white shirt. Around five inches shorter than Hunter, he looked like he weighed around fifty pounds less, although his body appeared toned. He was the type of man that Hunter could reasonably assume was a cop.

“My name’s Jack Yale. Can I talk to you inside?” The man came close enough for Hunter to smell his minty breath.

“What’s it about?”

“I’m a cop here in Longford, and I shouldn’t be here. Don’t leave me standing out here in the hallway where someone could see me.”

Hunter looked back into the room, and then opened the door further, allowing the man inside. The man stepped through, checking over his shoulder one last time, before he removed the hood of his sweatshirt. In his thirties, Jack Yale had a straight posture, a military order to his appearance—clean-shaven, recently trimmed hair, and his skin glowed of someone in good health.

“Expecting trouble?” The man pointed to the gun on the table. “And I hope you’ve got a permit for that.”

“I’m allowed to carry.” Hunter looked over the man and considered him no threat. He unloaded the gun, moved it to the bedside drawer, and placed it back inside its storage box. “And I’ve got enough reasons to be concerned in this city.”

“I understand that.” The man looked at the view of the lake at the end of the room and then pointed to the chair in front of the desk. “Can I sit down?”

Hunter nodded. “What is it you need, Jack Yale?”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Yale said as he sat down. The sweat was starting to show on his brow. “If anyone knew I was here, I’d lose my job in a heartbeat. I’m risking everything just talking to you. Driving here, I couldn’t even think of a reasonable excuse if I was caught here.”

“So, what are you doing here?” Hunter stepped back and leaned against the wall near the entrance.

“Because I’m done with it.” Yale gritted his teeth and shook his head. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be a cop in this city. No. That’s wrong. I can be a cop; I just can’t be a cop working for Richardson. He’s as corrupt as they come. I can’t stand by and watch any more. If anyone goes against him, he sets them up for an arrest. And if they bring the right amount of money, the charges disappear. I need this corruption to stop.”

“What does he do?”

“Nothing out in the open. Nothing I could ever use to report him.”

“But you think he’s corrupt?”

“He doesn’t earn much money, and yet, he still has one of the best houses in the city on Elliston Avenue. And he drives the best truck. He goes on expensive vacations and his young girlfriend is always getting nice jewelry. There’s no way he does that on a cop’s wage.” He looked up at Hunter. “Where do you think the money comes from?”

“He could have investments,” Hunter replied. “Thinking someone is corrupt is one thing, proving it is something else.”

“There are good people in this town. You’ll never meet a better person than the Fire Chief, Frank Powell. He’s been helping me try to deal with Richardson.” Yale stood and wiped his brow, his nerves clearly visible. “I came here to say that I’m sure Javier Mitchell is innocent.”

“Why?” Hunter was still cautious.

“Because there was a witness who claims Javier was elsewhere, but now, the witness has changed her story. Richardson got to her after I interviewed her.”

“Can you prove it?”

“No, and that’s the problem. All the computer files have been wiped because Richardson said the witness was mistaken. There’s no record of any of my interviews anywhere. But I know it. I heard what the witness said with my own ears.” He tugged at his ear. “At first, I was sure the witness was lying to protect Javier. I didn’t believe a word she said, but a day after I interviewed her, and gave those interview reports to Richardson, the witness changed their story to say she didn’t see Javier after the party, and when I went to check my records on the system, they’d been wiped.”

“Who was the witness?”

“I’ll get to that, but first, I need to tell you what I think.” Yale started to pace the room. His nerves filled the air. “I think Richardson knows what really happened to Chad, and he’s trying to cover it up. I think he chose Javier as the suspect because he hates the kid and he’s trying to protect someone else. He saw an opportunity and he took it. He destroyed the kid’s life just because he’s Mexican.”

“Are you playing me?” Hunter questioned.

“What?” He looked at Hunter with a confused look. “No. I’m not playing you. I’m sick of our city being run by a corrupt group of old men. It’s time for a change, and it’s time for things to move on. This isn’t the eighties anymore.” Yale went to the window, pulled the curtain back slightly, and peered out. “I have to go before someone sees me here.”

“What will happen if you’re seen here?”

“I’ll end up six feet under, just like Chad.” Yale waited a moment. “There are two things I’ve come here to tell you. One—Richardson didn’t like Chad Townsend. Apparently, Chad hit his daughter when they were dating, and he didn’t like that. Although I’m sure Richardson hit his daughter in the past as well.”

“And two?”

“The witness who claimed they saw Javier elsewhere was Maggie Richardson.” He paused. “She’s the soft spot. If you need to get to Chief Richardson, talk to his daughter, Maggie. She talked to me after Chad died and said she saw Javier elsewhere at the time of death, but Richardson walked in, told her to stop lying, and threw her out of the room. And I mean, physically threw her out of the police station. He slapped her for good measure as well. I’ve tried to talk to her since, but she said she can’t. She knows something.” Yale looked at Hunter, put his hood back over his head, and then hurried to the door. “That’s your lead. That’s where you’ve got to start.”

“Thank you, Jack.” Hunter was still cautious.

“And I was never here.” Yale opened the door, checked outside in the hallway and then leaned back in. “You tell anyone about this, and I’ll deny it all.”

Yale left the door open, hurrying down the hallway towards the fire escape. He had his head down. Hunter waited a moment and then closed the door behind him. He walked back to the balcony and watched the dark sedan drive past and exit the parking lot. As soon as the sedan drove away, Hunter called investigator Ray Jones.

“Ray, I need to know everything about Maggie Richardson.” Hunter’s voice was strong. “She’s going to be our chance to break this case wide open.”

Chapter 11

Ray Jones worked quickly. Within twenty-five minutes, the investigator had sent through Maggie Richardson’s address, social media profiles, work history, tax records, and school transcripts. With a name and a location, the internet provided more than one could ever imagine. It was all there—all out in the open for the world to see. Photos by friends. Mentions of names on school websites. Locations posted on social media. The lack of awareness about internet security astounded Hunter, but for him it was different, he’d grown up hiding his identity. He didn’t want anyone to know his address, he didn’t want anyone to know his movements, and he didn’t want anyone to know his personal details. He tried a social media account once, but was bombarded with a hundred hateful messages within the first five days. He quickly deleted the account.

Due to his father’s actions, his was a life lived in the shadows. However, his job, along with his infamous family name, meant his face had been splashed in the Chicago papers more times than he cared to count. Some families would’ve been proud of his success, some grandmothers would’ve kept all the newspaper clippings, but not the extended Hunter family. They abandoned him after his father was convicted. Nobody wanted anything to do with his side of the family. Their name was tarnished and damaged forever by the actions of one man.

With the information Jones provided, Hunter moved to sound out his new target. The Steeler’s Agriculture Store was on the east side of the city, with farmlands behind it, and a strip mall to the west side. Half the shops in the strip mall were empty, some with broken windows, while the remaining shops looked like they were barely clinging to existence. There was only one other car in the parking lot.

Hunter stepped through the store’s entrance and a small bell rang, hanging above the door. The décor in the shop was busy. The shoulder height shelves were filled with farming tools, most with John Deere branding, and the shop was heavy with the smell of diesel.

A young girl was behind the counter at the left side. She froze the second she saw the tall well-dressed man. The blonde twenty-year-old was slim and fit, with the figure of a tennis player. Her skin was tanned, her hair pulled back tightly, but her eyes showed years of anguish.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was shaky.

“Maggie Richardson?” Hunter approached her.

She nodded, mouth hanging open.

“I was wondering if I could talk to you. My name is—”

“I know who you are. You’re the new lawyer.”

“Hey.” A short, round, older man stepped out from behind one of the shelves, rubbing a cloth over his greasy hands. “Are you here to buy something, lawyer? If not, you can get out of my shop. I don’t want you in here.”

Hunter’s reputation preceded him. Word traveled fast in the small city, and he was recognized everywhere he went. Even without the tie, he was still the best-dressed man in the city, and there was no hiding for a man of his height.

“I would like to talk to Miss Richardson for a moment.”

The man looked at Maggie, and she shook her head.

“Not today, buddy. She’s busy working. I don’t pay her to stand around talking.” The man grunted and stepped closer to Hunter. “Unless you’re here to buy something, you ain’t welcome in the store.”

Hunter stared at Maggie for a long moment, before he turned and exited the shop. He stepped outside into the humid air and looked at his watch. It was 4:55pm. There was only one car in the parking lot—a large pick-up truck parked towards the back edge. Hunter assumed it wasn’t Maggie’s.

According to the map on the internet, it was a fifteen-minute walk from the store to where Maggie lived with her father on Elliston Avenue, and it went straight through Norwich Park, passing the spot where Chad Townsend had died a few weeks earlier. Hunter drove his BMW sedan out of the parking lot, and down the wide street, before stopping behind a large oak tree at the edge of Norwich Park, ensuring he was parked out-of-view.

He took off his jacket, undid another button on his shirt, and exited the car, waiting in the hut at the edge of the park. The public park hut was an open shelter space. It had no windows and a narrow swinging door. The wooden frame was weathered, and the structure had seen better days after decades of use. Hunter entered the hut and looked around. It had a concrete floor, and there was one picnic table in the middle of the room. There were engraved hearts and initials on the wooden walls, professing undying love that would last forever. Hunter doubted their claims of ‘4ever’ were true. He looked over them and saw some names were carved as long as fifteen years ago. He sat on top of the table, his feet on the seat, and kept his gaze out the window, watching to see when Maggie approached.

On the outskirts of the city, Norwich Park consisted of a playground to the east, a basketball court, and beyond that, two baseball fields that were mostly used for Little League games. The trees were mature, the grass was short, and although there were patches of green, it was wilting in the heatwave. The park’s centerpiece was the lake that stretched the length of it, complete with five small bridges that crossed it. Groups of ducks dotted along the edge of the lake, birds were chirping in abundance, but there were no people. Even as the sun started to dip and the heat began to ease, nobody came outside.

The nearest bridge to Hunter was the small rock bridge that crossed the narrowest part of the lake.  It was where Chad Townsend met his demise. A thought crossed Hunter’s mind as he waited. He stepped out of the hut and looked around. There were no lights near the park, and the nearest house was over a hundred yards away.

At fifteen minutes past 5pm, Hunter saw Maggie approaching. He waited for her to cross the bridge before he stepped out from behind the hut to talk to her, however, she’d stopped and leaned on the railing on the bridge, staring at the ducks swimming in the water.

“Not many people walk between places out here,” Hunter said as he approached her. “Most people drive to work.”

Maggie Richardson drew a short breath when she saw him. Hunter raised his hands in peace. “I’m not here to hurt you, but I need to talk to you.”

“I’ve been told not to say anything.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “My father warned me to steer clear of you. He said you were trouble.”

“And do you do everything your father tells you?”

She shook her head and looked behind her. Nobody was following and nobody could see them from the road. They were sheltered from any passing traffic by lines of bushes, and there was little activity in the park.

“I can either talk to you now, or we can do it in court.” Hunter was gentle in his approach. “The choice is yours.”

“Can you do that? Force me to talk in court?”

“I can.”

She checked over her shoulder again. “Why do you need to talk to me?”

“Because in my investigations into Chad Townsend’s death, your name has come up. You were Chad’s girlfriend. You should’ve expected I would need to talk to you.”

“Ex-girlfriend. I hadn’t dated Chad for around five months before he died,” she said. “We weren’t a couple when it happened.”

“Chad didn’t seem to want to let that go.”

Her eyes cast back to the pond. “I really shouldn’t talk to you.”

“Like I said, we either do it now, or I subpoena you as a witness.”

Her gaze turned to the spot where Chad had died. There were a number of bouquets of flowers there, each with a card, although the flowers had started to wilt under the summer heat. Someone had left a baseball, and another left a single rose.

“Do you get along with your father?” Hunter stepped closer and leaned against the railing on the other side of the bridge, cautious not to invade her personal space.

“I hate the old man,” she snapped and then drew a breath and calmed herself back down. “Ever since Mom died, and it’s been almost a decade now. I was only ten at the time and I was left with him to raise me. He’s an overbearing prick who thinks I’m still his property to use as he pleases. He thinks it’s his life, not mine, but it’s my life and I get to make my own choices. Not him. All the men in the city are like that. Chad was the same. He thought he owned me.” There was fire in her voice. She gripped the edge of the bridge hard before she calmed herself. “Ok. Sure. You’ve made your point—I won’t do as my dad says. I’ll talk. What do you need to know?”

“I would like to ask you about your relationship with Chad.”

“We used to date. He was the sports hero and I was the lead cheerleader, so it should’ve been a perfect match, but he was too much like my dad. Exactly like him, really. I couldn’t do it. I wanted to travel, see the world, taste the foods of Europe. I wanted to eat pasta in Rome, bratwursts in Berlin, and baguettes in Paris. I didn’t want to settle down and have babies right away. Chad wanted that. He wanted to own me and use me like a piece of meat. I’d just be his ‘wife,’ and nothing more.”

“So, you broke up with him?”

She nodded. “So many people told me not to break up with him. Everyone said Chad would give me everything, he would give me a great life and a great family, but I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t want to be stuck with a violent bully. That’s not the life I wanted.”

“And your father? Did he like Chad?”

“No, he hated him. They were exactly the same, and they were constantly battling to be the alpha male whenever Chad came to my house. They were always arguing. Chad thought he was the king, but my father wouldn’t have it. He kept putting Chad in his place, and they infuriated each other,” she said. “Dad was actually happy when I broke up with Chad. It’s funny, the only person who was happy that we broke up was another violent bully. I guess my father wasn’t ready to lose ownership of my life.”

“Do you know what happened to Chad the night he died?”

She shook her head. Hunter waited for her to continue. Everyone in the city seemed quick to point the finger at Javier, but Maggie didn’t take that opportunity.

“Were you at the party on Baker St?”

“I was, but I left around 9:30.” She pulled on her earlobe. “I went home.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

“My dad.”

Hunter went to ask another question, but a loud diesel truck drove past the back corner of the park, echoing the sound through the air.

“I should go,” Maggie said. “I can’t be seen talking to you. My father would hit me if he heard I was talking to you.”

She said the statement with such casual ease, and Hunter understood she’d been beaten many times by her father. Hunter stepped aside at the end of the bridge, allowing her to walk past. She put her head down and brushed past, but once she was a few feet past him, she turned back.

“But I’ll tell you this—Javier didn’t do it. As much as my father wants to put him away, I can tell you he’s innocent,” she said. “And I know you’ll find a way to get him out of prison.”

“How would you know that?”

“Those corrupt old men are just looking for someone to blame. They didn’t like Javier, so he became their target. But he’s innocent. I can guarantee it. And I’ve read about you. I know you can win this.”

Hunter watched her walk away, a feeling of unease surrounding her.

Chapter 12

Javier Mitchell hated the guards.

More than the other prisoners, more than the convicted murderers, he feared the guards the most. Some good souls were working in the prison, good people trying to do a good job, but they weren’t powerful enough to overcome the other guards' hatred for him.

The older guards were the worst. They were the ones with something to prove. It was the ultimate bully job. In his first week behind bars, he saw one of the younger guards tell an older guard to stop beating a guy, and Javier never saw the younger guard again. With unemployment high in the surrounding area, people had to shut their mouths or lose the chance to support their families.

Javier found the first day in solitary confinement was bearable. There wasn’t anyone to threaten him and he didn’t have to run with a gang. It was lonely, and boring, but it was still living without fear. He had five days to pass in the hole. The cell was hot and emotionless and lonely, but that was ok. The emotional rollercoaster of the last five weeks had been enough for a lifetime.

Javier understood there was protection in the gangs. They were a family behind bars, willing to die for each other, ready to risk it all for their brothers. Javier reasoned he could be part of a gang behind bars, but he knew it was back out on the streets, back out in the real world, where they cashed in on those bonds. Many people entered prison as lone criminals, and exited as gang members with hundreds of new associates.

That’s not where Javier wanted to go. That’s not the life he wanted to lead. He wanted to learn, grow, and make something of his life. He wanted to make a difference in the world. He wanted to travel like his father.

As he sat in the stuffy cell, he tried to think about his past with Chad Townsend. They’d met on the first weekend Javier arrived in America. Javier attended a party with his cousin, and in their first meeting, Chad put his arm around Javier and said, “Welcome to the US of A.” Javier smiled and thanked Chad, but Chad landed an unexpected right punch in Javier’s abdomen, crippling him to the ground. Chad then laughed, spat on him, and told him to go home to Mexico. He told him he wasn’t welcome.

In the following months, Javier and Chad had crossed paths numerous times. One night, as Javier was walking home after time at a friend’s place, Chad drove past in his truck and threw a full beer can at Javier, hitting him in the back. The deep purple bruise lasted for days. He tried to report the incident to the police, but they laughed and told him to go home. Javier asked his uncle for advice, and his uncle told him the best thing was to do nothing. The more he ignored it, the quicker they would go away, he said.

The last night Javier saw Chad, they had an argument at a party. Chad threw the first punch, not a hard one, but enough to make Javier’s nosebleed. Javier had enough and retaliated, landing one quick hook to the jaw. Chad fell onto the ground, blood coming out of his nose and mouth, and Javier grabbed him by the collar. He told Chad to leave him alone. He’d had enough. Two of Chad’s friends grabbed Javier while Chad landed a punch in his stomach.

Javier woke the following morning in pain but proud he’d stood up to the city’s bully. That pride didn’t last long. By midday, Javier received word from his uncle that Chad had been found dead by the lake at Norwich Park. By 5pm, the police had arrived and arrested Javier, taking his bloodied shirt with them.

“Hey, scumbag.” A guard rapped his knuckles on the door. “Time to get up.”

Javier didn’t respond but stood up. The guard opened the hole in the door and Javier stuck his hands through to be cuffed, but the door swung open. There were two guards there, both older men.

“What’s going on, sir?” Javier questioned.

The guards looked at each other, and before they said another word, a bar hit Javier’s knees. Javier crumbled to the ground, curling into a ball. He couldn’t fight back, not here, not with them. The best he could do was protect himself. Five kicks landed on his legs before he heard another noise further down the hall. It was another guard, one of the higher ranked younger men.

“What’s going on here?” the guard asked.

“Nothing,” the first guard replied, stepping in front of the fallen Javier. “This prisoner fell over.”

Javier stayed on the ground as the younger guard came over. “Is that right, Javier?”

Javier climbed to his feet and looked at the two attackers. They stared at Javier, daring him to tell the truth and see the consequences. “Yes, sir. I fell over.”

“Ok,” the guard replied. “Make sure you stay on your feet in the future.”

He walked away.

“You’re lucky, Javier.” The first guard grunted as he watched the younger guard walk away, and then pushed him back towards the solitary confinement cell door. “Next time, I’ll make sure you pay for what you did to Chad Townsend. His family asked me to look after you in a special sort of way.”

The guard pushed Javier back into his cell. He fell backward, hurting his tailbone, before the door slammed shut.

Even in solitary confinement, locked away from the world, he wasn’t safe.

Chapter 13

Hunter sat in the boardroom of his office in Longford, looking over the options to move the case forward, his eyes struggling to focus after weeks of little sleep. His assistant in Chicago, Esther Wright, was on the speakerphone as they discussed ways to have the case thrown out before it reached the trial stage. Hunter ran his pen over page after page of notes, file after file, looking for the one clue that could break open the case for them.

“Do you think it’s a reversible error on the motion to change venues?” Esther asked.

“The judge made an appropriate call for the motion. He wanted to make sure the case reflects the ideals of the local area. Under The Illinois Code of Criminal Procedure, he was well within his rights to do so, and he’s given us the opportunity to re-lodge the motion when jury selection is finished.”

“What about a motion to strike the evidence? The evidence they have is all circumstantial and it’s very weak. All they have is Chad Townsend’s bloodied shirt, a bloodied sneaker, and a hair of Javier’s on the shirt. Nobody saw the alleged altercation, there’s no video of it, and nobody heard them arguing in the park. There’s not a lot of evidence to convict Javier other than motive, so if you can remove those pieces of circumstantial evidence from the case, then they have to let him go.”

“There’s little chance for a motion to strike any of the evidence. Judge Johnson has made it clear this case is moving forward, but I think some of his errors will present strong grounds for appeal.”

Hunter picked up a file and looked over the contents. Esther was right, there was a lack of hard proof to convict Javier, the case was built on circumstantial evidence, but the two witnesses who placed him near the park entrance near the time of death were a problem.

“How did the discussion go with the attendees of the party?” Esther asked.

“Nobody wants to talk to me. No, it’s worse than that—nobody wants to be seen talking with me. There’s a real fear that if you cross the powerful people in this city, then you’ll pay the price. It feels like the residents accept that corruption is the price of law and order. Chief Richardson cleaned up the streets after an ice and methamphetamine drug surge through the city ten years ago, and now they accept it’s the price they have to pay.”

“One evil for another.”

“Maybe,” Hunter replied. “There’s some truth to the point that his hardline approach has done good for this city. He’s almost eliminated drug crimes here over the last ten years. He took a hardline stance on anyone that was found with drugs and locked them up. You just have to look at the surrounding areas to know he’s done a good job. A town only twenty-five miles from here has had a real problem with drugs and it’s destroyed the whole place. The residents of Longford look at the surrounding towns and think if it wasn’t for Richardson, that could be them.”

“So it gives him leverage to be judge, jury, and executioner? It doesn’t sound right, Tex.”

“Laws aren’t self-executing.”

“Meaning?”

“You can write the law, you can draft legislation on a piece of paper, but you’ll always need someone to enforce those laws. That power belongs to the police. They have the opportunity to choose how, when, and with whom, they enforce those laws. You can write that drugs are illegal, you can spell it out on a piece of paper, but it’s the people on the front lines who have to enforce it or not. Some police officers might give leverage to hard drug users, whereas Richardson gives zero chances. He’s locked them up, even if they were just in the same room as a drug user. The message he sent was clear.”

“A hardline approach to crime and justice doesn’t always work,” Esther replied. “Last week, I read an article about drug use in Portugal. Did you know all drugs are legal in Portugal for personal use? And since they made all drugs legal, usage has actually gone down over the past two decades.”

“How does that happen?”

“Instead of putting money into the police department for enforcement, they put the money into health education about drugs. It took a decade, but the change is real. Just think about how public health education has changed the way we see smoking. Smoking used to be cool. It used to be everywhere, but public health education has pushed it to the fringes and the number of smokers has dropped so much. Almost 45% of Americans smoked in the fifties, and now it’s down to 16%. That’s due to public health education, not police enforcement.”

“You make a good argument, but it’s expensive. Especially when you’re talking about hard drugs.”

“No, it’s not. Public health education has proven to be cheaper than police enforcement.”

“I’m not sure I agree with the approach but any change comes with risk. That’s why people don’t want to change, even if another way is more effective. Making changes against the status quo is a huge risk, and nobody wants hard drug use to get worse.”

“Even if it’s better for society?”

Hunter paused for a moment. Esther was the only one who always questioned him, the only one who always pushed him on his ideas. She was broad-minded, open to new theories, and she was always happy to share them with Hunter.

“How’s Chicago treating my office?”

“Your office?” Esther replied, a smile in her tone. “You don’t want to know about the people in your office?”

“I guess if the office is doing ok, then the people inside those offices must be doing ok as well.”

“Well, there was some big news about Chicago this morning.”

“I haven’t switched on the news reports yet. What is it?”

“Two men stole 500 bottles of Viagra from a hospital,” Esther said. “The news said police are on the lookout for two hardened criminals.”

“That’s terrible.” Hunter laughed.

Hunter’s cell phone buzzed. He removed it from his pocket, and looked at the number. It was Carol. Hunter hesitated, before sending the call to voicemail.

“Where’s Carol today?” Esther asked. “Is she in the office with you?”

“No, I’ve got her looking into the files at City Hall. She has a lot of respect around here, and she’s able to access things that would take me months to get my hands on. She tells people to jump, and they complain about it, but then they jump higher than they ever have before. She has a soft demeanor, a happy one, but also has a glare that makes most people fall into line.”

“Sounds like the right woman for the job.”

Hunter’s phone buzzed a second time. He turned it over and looked at the number. It was Carol again.

“Is that your phone buzzing?” Esther queried. There was a hint of jealousy in her voice. “Have you got yourself a girlfriend down there?”

“No, it’s Carol, but I’m talking to my number one assistant,” Hunter said. “Carol will have to wait.”

The phone buzzed again. Hunter looked at the number, but again sent it to voicemail. He didn’t want to be disturbed.

“Another girlfriend?” Esther joked. “How many have you got down there?”

“It’s Carol,” Hunter responded. “It can wait. You—”

Hunter’s phone pinged again. He looked at his phone.

It was a message.

Tex, this is urgent. Call me right away when you get this.

“Sorry, Esther, but I’m going to have to go,” Hunter said. “Carol says there’s something urgent.”

“Ok, Tex. Just…” She paused for a long moment. “Just be careful down there.”

“Always. You too.”

He tapped end call on the speaker phone, and then called Carol on his cell. “Carol.”

“Tex,” she responded. “You’re not going to like this.”

Carol explained what she’d received from the prosecution about the discovery information. It was the news they didn’t need. The news Hunter dreaded. The news that could change the course of the case.

Hunter listened to what Carol said, and asked her to repeat it, but there was no miscommunication, and no chance he misheard.

Chapter 14

Hunter didn’t ask the receptionist for an appointment. He strode past her desk, ignoring her requests for him to stop, directly into prosecutor Tanner’s office in the building next to the courthouse. He swung open the door and stood in the entrance.

The office was spacious. A hefty brown desk sat at the end of the room, in front of the large floor-to-ceiling window, with a bookshelf to the left. The wall on the right was filled with Tanner’s various degrees, and a photo of his family at the end. The dark Oak desk was neat, only a computer monitor and keyboard on it, and the bookshelf was equally as tidy. Waiting behind the desk was prosecutor Tanner, and on the other side, in a comfortable office chair, sat Chief Richardson.

Tanner looked at his watch. “Quicker than I thought you’d be, Mr. Hunter, although I should’ve expected Carol would’ve been right on top of things. She’s a good woman. Very efficient.”

“The evidence is ruined,” Hunter grunted and pointed his finger at Richardson. “You did this.”

“It’s unfortunate.” Richardson stood. “But I would caution you very strongly before you make any wild accusations that could get you into trouble. Accidents happen.”

“This is no accident,” Hunter growled. “This is a deliberate attempt to divert the course of justice.”

“Maybe I can calm this situation down,” Tanner said. “Mr. Richardson and I were discussing the options we have to rectify this situation. It’s unfortunate this happened to the evidence before the company could test the blood sample on the sneaker. That’s why we’ve asked you here.”

“You need to tell me how it became contaminated.”

“It was a mistake.” Richardson sat back down, facing away from Hunter. “That’s all it was. Everyone makes mistakes, and nobody’s perfect. Unfortunately, one of my officers had the evidence on the table when the sprinkler system in the station was set off. There was a small fire in the kitchen, and the system kicked into gear. The system was so old that we couldn’t turn it off in time, and the sneaker became soaked with water.”

“Contaminating the sneaker and rendering it useless for a DNA analysis.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. The DNA and blood analysis was already conducted.” Tanner’s tone was calm. “It’s lucky we had a reputable source conduct the analysis of the DNA on the sneaker before this unfortunate accident happened.” Tanner held up a paper file and waved it in the air. “And the expert analysis clearly stated the blood on Chad Townsend’s sneaker belonged to two people—Chad Townsend and Javier Mitchell.”

“And a third person. There’s a third DNA sample that we’ve been denied the right to analyze.” Hunter slammed the door behind him and strode to within inches of Richardson. “That DNA is the evidence of the real killer.”

“Careful, big guy.” Richardson looked up at Hunter towering over him. “If you touch me, I’ll arrest you as well. You can join Javier behind bars.”

“Both of you, settle down,” Tanner said. “Our experts said there was not enough DNA on the third blood sample to match to a source before the evidence became contaminated anyway. This is all one big mistake.”

“A mistake? You expect me to believe that?” Hunter was exasperated. “The day after our experts contact your department for approval to review the evidence, this happens. That isn’t a coincidence. This is a miscarriage of justice.” Hunter stared at Tanner. “How can you allow this to happen? How is this fine with you?”

The question hit Tanner hard. He looked away and drew a long breath.

“I requested the officer to review the sneaker. That’s perfectly normal procedure.” Richardson held his hands out wide. “We don’t have the funding of the police department in Chicago to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

“You’ve jeopardized your entire case.”

“Not jeopardized, Mr. Hunter,” Tanner said, leaning on the back of his large brown leather chair. “I imagine you’ll file a motion to dismiss, but we’ve already decided we’re going to push ahead with this case. We have a legitimate DNA sample on the shirt and hair samples found at the scene. Those samples are still intact and available to be reviewed.”

“That won’t fly. The missing evidence is in bad faith.”

“Maybe in Chicago it doesn’t happen, but out here, well, what can I say.” Richardson stood and moved to lean against the bookshelf to the side of the room. “As is our procedure, we evacuated the building when the fire alarms went off. The poor officer didn’t have time to neatly pack away what he was researching and the sneaker became contaminated. It was absolutely soaked by the time the fire department got into the building.”

“Mr. Hunter,” Tanner said. “I know this is unfortunate, but it’s nothing more than a mistake. This is just unlucky. We’re sorry this happened to the evidence, but we’ve recovered the rest of the evidence and the report of the DNA is still available, along with the hair samples. We’ll still be using the evidence at trial.”

“This is a complete miscarriage of justice,” Hunter grunted. “I’ll file a motion to dismiss. Without the evidence, you’ve got nothing. You’ve destroyed your own case.”

“That’s quite the accusation you’re making.” Richardson folded his arms across his chest. “Are you questioning the quality of our experts?”

“Yes.”

Richardson smiled. “Well, you can question all you like, but it’s not going to change anything. We can’t go back in time and prevent the accident from happening.”

“This isn’t how fair and impartial justice works.”

“Listen, big shot,” Richardson said. “We don’t have the funding to be perfect. We have to do what we can with the money we’re given. I’ll investigate what happened and see if there’s some way for us to improve our processes to do our jobs better, but we don’t have the funds in this city like you do in Chicago. Your city takes all our resources, while we barely have enough to enforce justice.”

“When I prove that you’ve destroyed evidence, you won’t have a job.”

“Prove it? Are you serious?” Richardson came back closer to Hunter. “You think you can come into this city and play by your rules? No. You play by my rules out here. I do what’s best for my city. I protect my people from all harms—including those Mexicans bringing their drugs here. We don’t need drugs in this city. We don’t need Chicago’s troubles.” Richardson snarled. “I need to protect my city from those dirty criminals.”

“You serve the people; they don’t serve you.” Hunter focused his attention on Richardson. “This isn’t some job where you can make things up as you go along. You swore an oath to serve these people.”

“I serve the people. I protect them.” He slammed his fist against the wall. “Do you know what it’s like to arrive at your wife’s car crash and see her mangled body? Do you know what’s it’s like to be the one to hold her hand as she dies stuck under the steering wheel? Do you know what that’s like?” He snarled. “And then you turn around and find a Puerto Rican high on methamphetamines driving the other car. He caused the accident. He killed her. That drugged-out foreigner killed my wife. You want me to protect the people? I’m protecting them from having to suffer the pain I suffered. I won’t let that happen to anyone else. I won’t let foreigners bring drugs into my city.”

“Javier is not the driver of that car. He’s not a drug addict and he’s not even Puerto Rican.”

“Now, now, everyone calm down,” Tanner interrupted them. “We’re getting off-track. The contaminated evidence was an accident, and these things happen. We’ll do our best to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Hunter stared at Tanner and then turned back to Richardson.

“I’ll prove you tampered with the evidence, and when I do, I’ll take you down.” Hunter pointed at the Police Chief. “By the time I’m through with you, you’ll wish you never took a job as a cop.”

Richardson stepped closer to Hunter. “Good luck surviving that long, lawyer boy.”

Chapter 15

“Another motion, Mr. Hunter?” Judge Johnson groaned as he looked over the file. “When are you going to finish this ridiculous rollercoaster of motions?”

“Your Honor, we’ve submitted a motion to dismiss. One of the main pieces of evidence against my client has been tampered with. Without that piece of evidence, without the DNA sample, the prosecution does not have a case. In the interest of being fair and impartial, this case must be thrown out.”

“Counsel,” Judge Johnson turned to look at the prosecutor. “Your response?”

Tanner stood at the table, two of his assistants next to him. The courtroom was empty behind them, except for Carol sitting behind Hunter, and Richardson behind the prosecutors. Richardson had his arms folded across his chest, ready to hear the argument against the evidence, and to assist Tanner where needed.

Both sides had presented written memoranda to address whether the case could continue once the evidence had been contaminated. Hunter had worked until midnight preparing the motion, and by the look of Tanner’s eyes, the prosecutor had done the same. Each man had the hazy, red-eyed look of lawyers battling for trial supremacy. Judge Johnson had retired to his chambers that morning to consider both briefs, and returned to hear the oral arguments, although his tone indicated he’d already made the decision.

“The report of the analysis conducted on Mr. Townsend’s sneaker is still available to be reviewed, and the sneaker itself is still intact.” Tanner began. “We’ve had our fair and impartial DNA experts look over it and we’ve received a report about their findings. Mr. Hunter has full access to the file. And we still have more evidence that’s sufficient to convict Mr. Mitchell. This piece of evidence was not essential to our case.”

“Your Honor, this sneaker has been washed under a flood of water. It cannot be allowed to be presented in this courtroom as evidence. It’s fundamentally unfair to force the defendant to confront scientific analysis whose basis the defense can’t assess. All the DNA evidence, which was contained in the one DNA report, must be dismissed.”

“I’ve heard that from you before, Mr. Hunter, however, I still disagree,” Judge Johnson responded. “The evidence report is available, and the remaining evidence is still enough to charge Mr. Mitchell. The DNA report can be split into parts and the DNA on the shirts can be presented separately. You’ll also have the chance in court to question the credentials of the expert.”

“Your Honor, our experts cannot conduct analysis on the piece of evidence. They were ready to examine the sneaker. In fact, they sent a request to examine the sneaker the day before the evidence was contaminated.”

“I’m not sure what you’re suggesting, Mr. Hunter, but I see your point.” Judge Johnson considered his next words for a while. “As the defense experts were not allowed to examine the evidence before it was contaminated, the blood-stained sneaker will not be allowed to be presented in the trial. Mr. Hunter, I need you to present a motion to strike the evidence, which I’ll approve when received.”

“Your Honor, the motion is to dismiss the case, not to strike the evidence.”

“Did you need the evidence struck out or not, Mr. Hunter?” Judge Johnson groaned.

Hunter paused, his trial strategy running through his head. “If the case is to continue, then we would like the sneaker to remain as evidence. However, we would like to reserve the right to challenge the evidence in the future.”

“What are we even doing here?” Judge Johnson mumbled under his breath, and then paused for a moment to glare at Tanner. “Without the evidence being struck from the case, there’s enough evidence to continue with the charges against Mr. Mitchell. The motion is dismissed, and the trial will continue as planned.”

The gavel banged, and Judge Johnson exited the courtroom without another word.

Hunter stood at the defense table, fuming as he stared at where the judge had sat and the flag behind it. He was beginning to doubt a fair and impartial trial in Longford was possible at all. Tanner and Richardson congratulated each other as they left the courtroom. Carol waited by the door.

“Looks like nothing will stop this case from going to trial,” Carol said as Hunter approached. “Judge Johnson wasn’t on our side today.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Carol. Nothing will stop it, and nothing will stop the jury from convicting Javier. Jury selection hasn’t even happened yet, but I feel they’ve already convicted him.” Hunter stepped through the doors of the courtroom into the hallway. “It’s not a fair fight.”

Hunter followed Carol through the courthouse doors and onto the street as the sun began to dip into the horizon. The heat was easing, and gray clouds were gathering.

“Storm season won’t be far away.” Carol pointed to the skyline in the distance. “With all this heat, there’s bound to be some terrible storms following it.”

Hunter looked to the horizon, looking at the storm, but out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a white pick-up truck further down the road. It was moving forward at a crawling pace, despite the road being clear ahead of it. Hunter had seen the dented white truck circle past his office earlier that day. The vehicle slowed as it approached the end of the block, almost as if the driver was staring at them, waiting for them to move.

“There’s bound to be a storm coming in that courtroom as well.” Hunter kept watching the truck. “I’m not going to let them run the justice system however they like. I’m going to stand up to them.”

“They won’t like that,” Carol responded. “It’ll make a lot of people angry.”

Hunter looked across the street. Richardson had stopped to smoke a cigarette, leaning on his police car, looking back up to the courthouse.

The truck edged up the road.

Closer.

“Tex, I think we should play their game a little. Fall into line, just a little bit,” Carol said. “If you try to fight them on everything, then you’ll never win anything. But if you can show them that you’re willing to compromise, then perhaps they can also compromise a little. Meet them in the middle.”

“That’s not how I work.” Hunter stared at the beaten-up truck. Its windows were tinted and the paint was scratched.

“I know, but this isn’t Chicago, this is a little city trying to survive. Perhaps this time you should play their game. There’s still a lot of anger out here about the murder, and by taking it easy, you might make things easier on yourself.”

Hunter didn’t respond. He watched the truck, tires rolling forward, then turned his attention to Carol.

It was closer now.

Something wasn’t right. There was electricity in the air. A storm was brewing.

“Tex?” Carol questioned. “Are you ok?”

The tinted window of the truck rolled down. It stopped at the intersection outside the courthouse. Hunter couldn’t see inside; there were too many shadows.

It was only a second before Hunter saw the rifle. It was pushed out of the window, resting on the door of the truck.

Hunter looked at Carol.

“Move!” He screamed at her. “Take cover!”

The first gunshot rang out. It was unmistakable, echoing down the street.

Hunter grabbed Carol and moved towards the edge of the entrance, his back to the road, protecting his assistant.

The second shot came quickly after the first.

His arms were wrapped around Carol as they huddled next to the pillar at the entrance.

A third shot rang out before the tires of the truck squealed forward. Hunter turned and watched the truck race down the street. The other people on the street were panicked, but there were no obvious injuries to anyone. Hunter turned back to Carol. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” Carol dusted off and straightened her dress. “But whoever fired the gun won’t be when I’m through with them.”

Hunter turned back to the street, looking for any clues about the shooter.

And still standing on the opposite sidewalk, still smoking his cigarette, unfazed by the gunshots, was Police Chief Phillip Richardson.

Chapter 16

In the five weeks that passed, Hunter juggled the upcoming trial in Longford with his other cases in Chicago. There was always more than one client, always more than one place to focus. He parked outside the Cook County Prison and looked up to the high concrete walls. The system wasn’t perfect in Chicago, it wasn’t even close, but it was the system he knew. Perhaps the defense lawyers in Longford felt the same, he reasoned. He stepped out of his car and drew a deep breath. It was cooler in Chicago, a welcome break from the heatwave that seemed to be trapped over Southern Illinois.

The police in Longford didn’t find the shooter, although Hunter didn’t expect them to. It was a random attack, the official police report said. Despite the number of people on the street, only one person came forward as a witness. The woman claimed to have seen the gun pointed towards the sky, showing that the gunman had no intention of hurting anyone. Perhaps more witnesses came forward, Hunter reasoned, and Richardson wiped their statements before they could be filed.

Numerous trips to Longford had ensued over the past five weeks, and with every trip, the code of silence grew stronger. The shopkeepers, at first friendly, stopped greeting him when he bought their goods. The gas station attendant stopped cleaning his windshield when he arrived. The café doubled the time it took to serve his coffee. He had dinner with Carol’s family, as agreed, however, her two adult sons were openly hostile in his presence.

Javier’s parents had returned to Mexico. They were heartbroken to leave their son, but they couldn’t afford to stay in Illinois while waiting for the trial. They’d be back for the court case, they promised. Hunter wished them well, and Carol called them to provide weekly updates.

Javier looked tired. Defeated. With every week that passed, Javier was losing weight and losing hope. He was swimming upstream in the rapids, fighting the bias that existed against him. Hunter asked him to hold on, to give them a chance in court to prove his innocence.

Hunter knew the pain of having to fight against the tide. He knew the pain of heartache. He knew the pain of losing. That feeling, that overbearing weight, was the strongest when he entered Cook County Prison.

Thirty-five minutes from Downtown Chicago, it was the third largest prison population in the country. Cook County Prison was set on almost a hundred acres of land, filled by an ever-growing number of inmates. Inside the tall concrete walls were the keys to every skill set a criminal could ever need to learn. How to steal, how to traffic drugs, how to be violent—all the skills were there. If it were a college, a number of inmates would qualify for a PhD in criminal activity.

Hunter entered the Cook County Prison in the same repetitive routine that he always did. He could almost do it blindfolded. He greeted the same staff that had been there for decades, he walked the same halls, leading to the same meeting room as usual. Hunter listed all his visits to his father as attorney-client visits, allowing them the isolation that other inmates weren’t allowed with their families. The privacy, away from judging ears, allowed them to talk freely.

Alfred Hunter was helped into the room by the guard, and his fragility was becoming more evident with each visit. Hunter stood and held him up by the arm, guiding him from the door to the metal chair. Alfred sat down, his orange jumpsuit loose on his body, and the guard uncuffed him. He was wheezing, sucking in deep breaths, despite not walking far.

“Tex.” Alfred waited until the guard had closed the door and then greeted his youngest son. “It’s great to see you.”

Hunter leaned down and hugged his father. His father was barely more than skin and bone.

“Can you see it?” Alfred asked.

“Can I see what?” Hunter squinted as he sat down on the metal chair opposite him.

“Death,” Alfred leaned forward. “Don’t worry, I see it too. I see it when I look in the mirror. It’s clear to me now. I can see death. I can see it coming.”

Hunter let the silence sit in the room for a long period of time before he responded. “What has the doctor said?”

“Who knows? I don’t listen to him anyway,” Alfred scoffed and then drew a sharp breath. He grinned a little. “I went to schedule an appointment to see the prison doctor yesterday and the woman at the desk said, ‘How about 10 on Monday?’ But I said, ‘No, I don’t need that many. One appointment is fine.’”

Hunter didn’t laugh.

“You know you can still smile, Tex. Peace, both inside and outside, begins with a smile,” Alfred said. “It’s ok. I know it’s coming. I’ve known for a while now. I’ll give you this advice before I go—all the great things in life are simple, and most can be captured with a single word: justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope, but most of all, love. That one single word means the most in the world.”

Hunter held his gaze on his father. When he was young, he adored the man—his father was so full of energy, full of smiles, full of hugs, but the conviction stole that man away. Once a hard-working family man, Alfred Hunter was the man every father dreamed of being—a stable provider, a loving husband, and a caring father. He’d throw the baseball in the yard with his children, shoot hoops on sunny Saturday afternoons, and come home early to help cook family dinners on weeknights. He’d teach his children to fish on their annual vacations to the Platte River Campground in Michigan, he’d teach them how to play the guitar and the piano, and he’d happily laugh at his own jokes.

The murders of eight teenage girls changed all of that in an instant.

“I’ve talked to Natalie,” Hunter said. “Patrick and I went and visited her in Mexico.”

“Not this again, Tex.” Alfred looked away. “Patrick told me what you both did, but I thought we’d talked about this? I don’t want Natalie to come back here. I don’t want her to come back to Chicago. Leave her alone and let me die in peace. It’s not worth it. Not now. It wasn’t worth chasing it then, and it’s not worth chasing it now. My decisions are my decisions.”

“She’s going to come to Chicago and tell me everything she knows.” Hunter was blunt.

Alfred Hunter’s mouth dropped open for a few moments, his face blank with shock. He’d tried so hard to keep her away from life in Chicago. He’d risked everything to protect her. Through those long sleepless prison nights, through those slow monotonous days, through the years that didn’t seem to matter, he’d thought about his only daughter. How was she doing? Was his sacrifice worth it? Alfred had kept the truth close to his chest, and he never intended on exposing it. He did what he had to do.

“Why would she do that?” Alfred whispered. “Why would Natalie agree to come back now?”

“Because I’ve agreed to defend the child of a friend of hers. He’s a twenty-one-year-old kid charged with murder in a small city near the Kentucky border. Natalie said that if I can get this kid out of prison, she’ll come back to Chicago and tell me the truth.”

“And will you win the case with the kid?”

“The kid could be innocent,” Hunter paused. “But it doesn’t mean we’ll win. I don’t like my chances, because I’ve got the entire city working against me. There’s a lot of anger in the city, decades of pain, and they’re looking for someone to blame.”

Alfred nodded, staring into nothingness. He scratched his cheek again, and a little splotch of blood appeared. “You won’t let this go, will you, Tex? Even after I’m gone, you won’t let this go, will you?”

“I need the truth.” Hunter’s tone was flat. “After everything this has put me through, I deserve the truth.”

“I understand. I really do. I can’t imagine how tough it was for you to live out there with the Hunter name. I never would’ve blamed you for leaving. In fact, I remember telling you a number of times to move to another country. I think I told you to move to Australia or England at one point.” Alfred smiled at the memory. “But you didn’t want to go.”

“That’s right.” Hunter grinned at one of the few happy memories he had with his father after the conviction. “From behind bars, you tried to buy a plane ticket to Australia for me, but nobody would take your money. They all refused to help you.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Australia would’ve been too hot.” Hunter leaned back in his chair. “And there are too many things there that can kill you. There’s snakes, spiders, sharks, crocodiles, and I hear even the sun can kill you down there. I’d rather take my chances on the streets of Chicago.”

Alfred smiled. “So, you’re determined to see this through?”

“I need to know what happened. You can end it all now by telling me what really happened,” Hunter said. “If you tell me the truth, here and now, then I can keep Natalie out of all of this. I’ll call her and tell her to stay in Mexico. But you need to tell me the truth.”

Alfred looked away, staring at the wall, the thoughts tracking through his head. “You know, Tex, I never said this to your face, but…” Alfred turned back. “I’m proud of you.”

The words caught Hunter off-guard. He clenched his jaw as he stared at the concrete walls of the room. He blinked a few times, trying to keep his emotions at bay.

“Tex, I’m proud of the way you stand up for what’s right, I’m proud of the fight you have, and I’m proud of your determined nature. You’re a fighter. You always have been. That…” Alfred tapped his chest. “That makes me very proud.”

The silence sat over the room for a long moment.

“Stop this.” Hunter stood and shook his head. “I don’t need to hear this from you. Not now. You could’ve told me those things years ago, but you never did. You let me fight the world by myself. You let me struggle out there against the world. No. You can keep the emotional speech for someone else.” Hunter moved to the other side of the room. “What I need from you now is the truth. After all these years, I need the truth. Did Natalie kill those girls and you took the fall?”

“The truth…” Alfred leaned back in his chair. He stared at the ceiling, trying to muster up the fight that he had left. “The truth is I was protecting someone.”

Hunter stepped forward and put his hands on the table. “Why?”

“I can’t tell you, Tex. I can’t tell you more than that. I promised myself long ago that I would never talk. And that’s all that’s kept me going some days. If I let go of the secret now… I would break the promise to myself. That secret is the only thing that kept me alive, and if I let it go now, it would’ve all been for nothing. I hope you can understand that. I have to keep that last remaining badge of honor. I hope you can understand my life was lived with purpose. If I tell you now, then I’ve betrayed myself and everything I’ve lived for. I can’t do that.”

“Will you ever tell me the truth?”

Alfred shook his head. “The people I had to deal with, the people who know what happened, they’re still alive. And they’re the sort of people who never forget. It’ll be generations before they forget.” Alfred blinked back a tear. “I said I’m proud of you, Tex, and I mean it. Thank you for coming. You’ve made an old man happy before he drifts off to another world.”

Chapter 17

A few light taps on the windowpane in Hunter’s office caught his attention. It had begun to rain again. There was a storm on the horizon. He knew it was coming. He could feel it in the air. The storms had been heavy. There’d been flooding all over the state. On the roads that lead to Longford, in the cities, and on the farms. There was no escaping it.

There were moments of destiny that took a lifetime to build. As Hunter watched the rain dance down the window, he could feel it coming. The wheels had been set in motion. As much as his father wanted to avoid it, as much as he refused to talk, the truth was coming.

Families were complex, he’d heard that saying often, but his was more complicated than most. Having a father convicted of being a serial killer complicated most things. Natalie had fled Chicago before their father’s trial, and Hunter didn’t hear from her again for thirty-five years. He’d spent years wondering why she left so suddenly. When Patrick tracked her down earlier that year, Hunter had no idea what their meeting would uncover. She didn’t return their calls, so they traveled to Puerto Vallarta, a Mexican tourist town on the Pacific Ocean. They found her waiting tables, and after the initial shock of seeing her brothers, she told them to leave. She was scared. When she called Hunter and asked him to defend Javier, her friend’s son, he accepted on the condition she would come back to Chicago and tell the truth. Now that the truth was closing in, Hunter wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear it.

“You look deep in thought.” Esther knocked on the open door frame as it approached 5pm on a Friday afternoon. “What are you thinking about?”

“The State of Illinois.” Hunter lied. He didn’t want to let Esther know how fearful he was of the truth. “And its election process.”

“Interesting.” Esther smiled as she waltzed into the office, and sat her tall frame into the chair opposite Hunter’s desk. She looked stunning. Her eyes were a rare shade of cobalt, her skin was lightly tanned, and her figure boasted healthy feminine curves. Her blonde hair had been growing longer, pulled back in a ponytail, with one loose strand at the front. Her smile was hypnotic, disarming even the hardest of souls. “Anything in particular about the Illinois’ election process?”

Hunter turned around to face his desk again. “Did you know that in the last election for governor, only sixteen out of 102 counties voted for the current governor? Does the vote really represent the whole state?”

“That’s not a lot.” Esther leaned forward. “But I’ll guess one of the counties was Cook County?”

“The governor won 55% of the vote in the state, so more than half the voters in Illinois voted for him, but is the whole state really being represented, or just a select, few densely populated counties?”

“I would say the majority of the population is represented.” Esther smiled. “But I must say it seems like the city of Longford is starting to grow on you. I’ve never heard you question Chicago’s place in Illinois before.”

“I wouldn’t say Longford is starting to grow on me. Most of the city still hates me, although I’m getting spat at less.” Hunter scoffed and then looked at his watch. “Shall we grab a drink to close out the week? I’ve got to meet Ray in an hour, we could have a quiet one before then?”

Esther agreed and soon they were out the door of the office, and into the closest bar. The Cocktail Glass was a bar off West Jackson located at the bottom of a large office building, tucked under fifty stories of nine-to-five workers. The bar had a service area for drinks to the right side and tables for dinner to the left. Hunter and Esther took their seats at a raised table, amongst the other workers catching a drink to celebrate the end of another work week. The slick décor was modern, as was the music in the background, and the service was impeccable.

In the bar, each with a drink in their hand, they laughed as they swapped the best, and worst, stories they’d heard over the past month. They spoke about the weather, they chatted about the news, and they laughed about the clientele coming into the bar. Esther talked about the latest social media crazes, and Hunter shook his head the entire time. He chatted about Longford, about Southern Illinois, and the long drive south. They discussed the storms. They talked about their close calls with tornadoes, the times they were trapped in floods, and the excitement of the best lightning shows they’d ever seen. They spoke about the month ahead. Over the hour, they spoke about everything, and nothing in particular, and it meant the world to both of them.

As Hunter finished his drink, he paused and looked at Esther. “You could come down to Longford and help me. The trial starts on Monday, and Carol has been amazing, but I could always do with the extra help.”

Esther offered half a smile and looked away from him. “You know how I feel about that, Tex. This isn’t about Javier; this is about the crusade that you won’t let rest. I can’t be a part of that. I’ve watched this obsession to save your father almost kill you numerous times, and I can’t… I don’t want to be a part of something that could kill you.”

Hunter nodded slightly. He started to say something more but the words caught in his throat.

“Knock, knock.” Ray Jones rested a hand on Hunter’s back. “Anyone home?”

“Hello Ray.” Esther smiled and picked up her empty glass. “You’ve always got impressive timing.”

Esther took the jacket off the back of the chair and put it on, unsure of what to say next to Tex. She offered him a gentle smile and rubbed her hand on his shoulder, before she turned and left in an uncomfortable silence.

Hunter gathered his thoughts, waiting until she’d left the bar, and then sighed. Jones sat down on the chair next to Hunter. “Tex, I’ve known you and Esther a long time, and I might not be the most romantic guy out there, but man, you’ve got to tell her how you feel. It’s even obvious to me, and that’s saying something.”

“I’m getting relationship advice from a guy that has a new girlfriend every month?” Hunter joked. “Let me guess, you’ve broken up with another one?”

“You’re right. I dated her for five weeks, but I had to break up with her because she was an obsessive magazine collector. She had so many of them.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I mean, she had a lot of issues.” Jones chuckled to himself as he picked up the menu from the bar. “But even I could feel the electricity between you two when I walked in here. Most people search their entire lives for that connection.” He rested one of his large hands on Hunter’s shoulder. “I’m saying this as a friend—don’t risk losing her. Tell her how you feel.”

Hunter nodded, and then distracted himself by ordering two pints of Goose Island pale ale and two plates of spicy wings. He moved towards the booth at the back of the bar, and Jones followed a few steps behind.

“Have you heard from Natalie?” Jones questioned as they settled into the booth. “Anything since you took on the case?”

“I’ve only heard from her once since the case started. She said Javier’s mother was very concerned about the case, but she couldn’t give me anything to build upon. I met Javier’s mother and father when they arrived a few weeks ago, and they’re lovely people. I asked them about Natalie, and they were full of praise for her. Said she lived a quiet life in Mexico, always helping others. They didn’t know that we’re siblings, and I didn’t raise it with them. She’d told them I was an old friend. They don’t know about our family history, and it seems Natalie has kept her stints in prison a secret as well. I guess it’d be a hard conversation to have with your friends.”

“Yeah, what do you say— ‘Hey, did you know I’ve been to prison five times, and once was for smashing a woman’s hand to pieces with a hammer?’ I can’t imagine her having that conversation.” Jones said as he sipped his beer. “And you’re sure you want Natalie to come back to Chicago?”

“I need to get her to talk,” Hunter said. “But she won’t talk to me about our father unless I get Javier out of prison, and I’m running out of time. The trial starts on Monday.”

“Well, I think I might have something to help you there.” Jones removed a file from his messenger bag and slid it across the table. “I’ve been digging deep, and I’ve got a lead. The only people who would talk to me were former residents of Longford, because I wasn’t welcome anywhere in that city. I drove down there, had a look around, and it wasn’t a nice experience. Every time I walked near a car, they locked the doors. There was no doubt about it—a six-foot-four black man walking through the city scared a lot of people.”

“I’m not surprised. People are naturally scared of things they aren’t used to. There are some good people in the city, Ray, and I’ve met them. The majority of the city is filled with good people with good hearts.”

“I’m surprised you’re defending the people of Longford. They all seem to hate you for defending Javier.”

“Even if they hate me, it’s still important to step back and look at the big picture. That’s where common sense is. It doesn’t lie in the details; it lies in the big picture.” Hunter opened the file. “What’s this?”

“There are two files there, but the first one isn’t good news,” Jones said. “I know it’s the last weekend before the trial, but this has just come up. I put the numbers together and it tells a clear story. Ninety-five percent of the people sent to prison in Longford over the last five years have been out-of-towners. People who grew up in Longford simply don’t get sent to prison. However, every out-of-towner taken to court in Longford for a misdemeanor is sent to prison. A one-hundred-percent conviction rate. Not even one ‘Not Guilty’ verdict over the last five years for out-of-towners. Not one.”

“This is good, Ray.” Hunter read over the statistics. “This is grounds for an appeal on the decision to keep the trial in Longford. Why is this not good news?”

“Because I’m not sure that’ll save Javier.”

“Why not?” Hunter looked up and squinted.

Jones turned another page. Hunter read the file. Then he read the information again. “That can’t be right.”

“It is,” Jones said. “Every Mexican inmate in that prison dies within five years of being convicted. If he’s sent to prison, it’s a death sentence.”

Hunter closed the first file. The statistics were good, they helped him formulate an appeal if they lost the case, but they also added pressure to the trial. Not only was Hunter facing the fact he could lose the case, but now he faced the prospect that it could cost a life as well.

“And the second file?” Hunter opened it and scanned over the information.

“I’ve finally found someone that’ll talk to you about the corruption in Longford,” Jones said. “I’ve contacted a lot of the residents who have left Longford, and Anna Michele Laurie is the only one who is willing to talk about corruption. Five years ago, Anna’s twenty-year-old son was jailed for five months for burglary. She maintained he was innocent, and as soon as he was released, they moved out of Longford. She’s willing to talk, and she might be the lead you’re after.”

Chapter 18

An hour southwest of Downtown Chicago, the city of Joliet was once famous for the toughest prison in the country, but since the closure of Joliet Prison more than a decade ago, it’d lost its moniker ‘Prison City,’ and rebranded itself as a fast-growing family-oriented area, a place for families to escape the rat race of Chicago. Home to Chicagoland Speedway, Joliet residents liked life behind the wheel—the residents were seemingly car enthusiasts themselves or lived next door to a car enthusiast, and they drove like it. After weaving through the traffic, a number of close calls to raise his heart rate, Hunter parked his BMW outside the Joliet West Diner.

He stepped in the doors, a beep announcing his arrival as the life of a busy diner whirled in front of him. Families were busy feeding children, couples talked over milkshakes, and the lone diners stared at their phones. One waitress was busy refilling coffee mugs, another was taking orders on her small pad, and a third was ringing up a bill. It was full of noise, life, and activity. The American diner served traditional foods focused on large breakfasts, large lunches, and large coffees, all of which were neatly displayed on a board above the counter or on laminated menus on the tables.

Hunter spotted the woman wearing a blue sweater, sitting at the far end of the diner, tucked into the darkest corner, away from the large windows. She was cradling her coffee, her eyes darting around the diner, checking out everyone that walked in the door.

“Ms. Laurie?” Hunter approached the woman. “My name is Tex Hunter.”

“Anna Michele Laurie.” She stood and offered her hand. She was a short woman in her late forties, thin with straight black hair. She smelled nice, but her perfume was struggling against the overpowering smell of bacon that filled the room. “It’s nice to have someone finally listen to what I’ve been saying for years.”

“I understand you’ve talked to my investigator, Ray Jones.” Hunter shook her hand and sat down. “He said you have some information about Longford for me.”

“Ray was nice. He really listened to what I had to say,” she looked at her almost empty coffee mug. “He told me what you’re doing for that kid in Longford charged with murder. I really wish my son had someone like you fighting in his corner when he was arrested.” There was sorrow in her voice. “I wouldn’t wish that experience on my worst enemy.”

“I’ve taken a case for a young man who claims he’s innocent.” Hunter turned to the waitress who approached their table. He ordered two coffees, one for himself and another for Anna, before turning back to the conversation. “But it’s turning out to be less about his innocence, and more of a battle against the people that run the city.”

“You’re either brave or stupid. A big-city lawyer in those parts won’t get much respect.” Anna shook her head. She cradled her hands around her coffee mug and leaned forward. “I moved to Longford with my teenage son because I landed a job in City Hall. We were living about forty-five minutes away, so I didn’t think moving into Longford would be a big change for us. I thought we’d be fine. I thought it’d be a positive move. We were from Southern Illinois, we knew what small cities were like, so I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“What happened?” Hunter inquired.

Anna waited as the waitress delivered their coffees and slipped the bill under the salt and pepper shakers on the table. Once the waitress left, Anna ran her eyes over the room again.

“I made the wrong people angry.” She lowered her voice. “They still scare me; you know? Those men put the fear of hell into me. I hated it. I still have to check over my shoulder every time I talk about that place. It was a nightmare. It really was. They charged my son with residential burglary. They claimed he broke into the house of Bob West and stole five hundred dollars in cash, but when it became clear they didn’t have enough evidence, they downgraded the charge to trespassing. It was a misdemeanor, instead of a felony, but I knew my son was innocent. And do you want to know how I knew? Because he was with me, at home, cooking a roast on a Sunday afternoon, when the burglary was supposed to have happened.”

“But they didn’t believe you?”

“Chief Richardson said I was a mother lying to cover up for her son. I went to court and even testified that my son was with me. They didn’t believe me. Not one person on the jury believed me. The prosecutor made me look like a fool, and they threw my son into prison for five months for something he didn’t do, just to get back at me. It was a complete sham. The whole thing.”

“How did you make them angry?”

“I rejected Chief Richardson.”

“Romantically?”

“Romance would be a stretch of the imagination. He wanted a fling, that was all he wanted. And I had zero, and I mean, zero, interest in that oaf of a man. Just because I was a single mother, he thought I would be desperate for him. He even offered to pay me. What a sleaze.”

“And he took it out on your son?”

“West and Richardson were in on it together. They were the source of most of the corruption in Longford. They claimed my son broke into West’s home and stole the cash from his bedroom. West was the only witness, of course, and when Chief Richardson came to our house, he ‘found the money.’” She used her fingers as quotation marks. “But it was my money that I’d been saving to buy a new car.”

Hunter sat back in the booth and shook his head in disbelief of the blatant dishonesty.

“Do you know what prison does to a young man?” She pressed her finger into the table, her anger growing. “It broke him. He was a good kid before that. He was a kind boy. But that five months.” She clenched her teeth and shook her head, fighting back the anger that threatened to burst out. “That five months changed him. I’ve spent the last five years trying to rebuild his confidence, trying to build him back into the man he should’ve been.”

“And you’re still fighting Richardson to clear your son’s name?”

“I gave up.” She sat back in the booth, her rage easing. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep fighting. I couldn’t keep struggling in that city. That’s why I was hesitant to call your investigator back. It’s been so long now, and my son is finally starting to rebuild his life. Finally, after all this time, we’re starting to move on. He’s got a home, he’s got a career, and a stable girlfriend. Talking about that time brings up a lot of pain that I tried to hide away.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to Hunter. “Even before all this happened with my son, I saw, with my own two eyes, Chief Richardson take money from a bar owner. The owner brought it up to him in the bar on a Saturday night. I was suspicious, so I did some research, and the bar owner had been charged with the domestic assault of his wife. The charges were dropped the day after the owner gave Richardson a big, thick, fat envelope.”

“Did you report it?”

“Not at the time. I was working for City Hall. If I made a report like that, I would’ve lost my job and I couldn’t risk that as a single mother. When I first started at the job, I was warned by another employee that dodgy things happen, and it was best if I turned a blind eye to the events. Anyone that reported anything got fired.”

“Will you come to the stand and testify about what you saw?”

“No chance.” Her voice was firm. “I’ve come too far, and sacrificed too much, to lose it all again. If the young man you’re defending is innocent, then I feel sorry for him, but I can’t go back to the city. You have to understand that.”

“I understand.” Hunter nodded. “Is there anything else you could tell me that would help our case?”

“Frank Powell is your soft point.”

“I know the name, but I haven’t met him yet.”

“He’s the Chief of the Fire Department. He’s powerful, but he’s also honorable. He’s tried to expose Richardson and West in the past, but failed. During my son’s trial, Powell came up to me and said he’d overheard West laughing about the ‘false’ charges against my son, but there was nothing he could prove. He’s a good man, noble, and he felt sorry for us. After my son was convicted, he delivered packages to him in prison and was a strong male voice of reason when my son was released.”

“Can he be trusted?”

“He has to deal with Richardson and West, because that’s part of his job, but he can be trusted 100%. He hates them and the way they run Longford. He told me those two corrupt pricks have tried to buy him off many, many times, but Frank is a man of integrity. He wouldn’t go near their dirty tactics.” Her fingers gripped her coffee mug. “If you get the chance, I need you to destroy those pricks. Richardson and West are as corrupt as they come, and I need you to destroy them for me and my son.”

Hunter tilted his head back, considering his options. “How do I reach Frank Powell without setting off alarm bells?”

“During fishing season, he fishes at Cedar Lake every Sunday. He’s a man of routine, and I’m sure you’ll find him there tomorrow morning.”

Chapter 19

The air was brisk, the shadows long, and the mist eerie. Cedar Lake was still, almost like glass, barely a ripple on the water, and a gentle steam rose from it. The sun began to sneak over the horizon, bathing the area in a soft orange glow, and dew sat on the grass and weeds that lined the edge of the lake. The fresh smells of a summer morning filled the air. It was the perfect escape for someone who had to deal with the traumatic scenes that were part of his position as Fire Chief, and Sunday mornings were the quietest, a place to be alone with nature and appreciate all it had to offer. Rocks lined the edges of the lake near Frank Powell’s fishing spot, followed by a small patch of grass, and rows of trees behind that.

As Hunter approached, almost two-hundred and fifty yards away on the trail that led around the edge of the lake, he saw Powell sitting on a fold-out chair, fishing rod in hand. His silhouette was clear. As Hunter came closer, he watched Powell reach for his tackle box next to him, take out a pistol, check it was loaded, and place it cautiously under his fold-out chair.

“Frank Powell?” Hunter called out as he moved within twenty-five yards. “There’s no need for the weapon.”

“You present a dangerous shadow.” Powell removed the gun from under his chair and waved it in the air. “You can never be too careful out here by yourself.”

Hunter raised his hands in surrender. “I needed to catch you before the trial of Javier Mitchell begins tomorrow. I wasn’t after a duel.”

Powell smiled. He unloaded the clip and placed the gun in the fishing box. Although he was over six-foot-tall, he appeared stocky, wider than the average man. His forearms were thick, as were his biceps, shoulders, and chest. Any pair of jeans would be tight on his thighs. His dark hair was thinning, his skin was heavily tanned, and he had a jawline square enough to be a football coach.

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Rumor has it that you have a secret spot.”

“And secret is the way I like it.” He looked out to the water. “Most people use a boat on this lake, but I don’t need it here. It’s deep off the bank. It’s not the best fishing spot, but it’s the best escape. Sitting here on a Sunday morning is the best way to spend time in nature and not be disturbed.”

“Your secret spot is safe with me.” Hunter placed his hand on his heart. “What are you fishing for?”

“Largemouth bass. Southern Illinois has some of the best in the world. It’s light, non-greasy, and so delicious. I usually cook it up for the family every Sunday. Gut the fish, add a bit of butter, wrap in foil and then smoke it. You can’t beat eating fish for dinner knowing you caught it that morning.” He turned back to Hunter. “Is this the way you lawyers do it in the city? Talk to people when they’ve gotten away from it all? Because that’s not how we do things in Southern Illinois. I guess you’re here to talk about a deal to get me on the witness stand.”

“No deals.” Hunter looked out to the lake. “But I needed to chat with a powerful man in a city with a checkered history.”

“Checkered history? If you’ve come to make accusations, then I’ll take the gun back out of the box. They’d have a hard time finding a buried body out here.”

“I haven’t come to accuse you of anything. I know what happens in this city. I know what—”

“You know nothing about Longford,” Powell said. “You spend five weeks there and you think you’ve got it all figured out? You ride into our city with your flashy car and your fancy degree from your fancy college, and you think you know us? You’ve got no idea about small city politics.”

“Then tell me about it.” Hunter sat down against a nearby rock, facing out to the lake. “I don’t know half the stories that Longford has to tell. I’ve come out here to learn about it.”

Powell scoffed and shook his head. “I’ll tell you this—Chicago drains the money from this state to fund its hedonistic lifestyle.”

“There’s an anti-Chicago sentiment in Longford. It seems the Southern part of the state hates the drain on finances by Chicago.” Hunter looked east, taking in the golden sunrise. “I can see why you like this place.”

Powell grunted. “Carol speaks very highly of you, Hunter. That’s the only reason you and I are still talking. Me—I don’t know about you. You’re a defense lawyer, which means you choose to defend criminals. I couldn’t do that, and I’m not sure I trust a man who does.”

Hunter didn’t answer. He sat still, staring out to the lake, watching as a light morning mist rose off the water. He turned as Powell’s rod bobbed at the end. “Got a nibble?”

“You really know how to spoil a perfect morning, don’t you?” Powell grunted and tugged on the rod. “If I tell you what I know, will you leave me alone out here?”

“That’s a deal.”

“Alright. Carol knows a lot about Longford and the people in it, but there’s a few secrets even she doesn’t know,” Powell tugged on his rod again. “Longford represents everything that’s great about our country. Helping each other, a strong sense of community, knowing your neighbors. That’s the stuff that really matters. The big cities have forgotten that. The killings, the crime, the violence, the corruption—we don’t have it out here. We protect each other.”

“Anna Michele Laurie wouldn’t see it that way.”

Powell turned to stare at Hunter. His mouth hung open for a few moments while he processed his thoughts. “I haven’t heard her name in a while, but I guess you’ve talked to her, and that’s why you’re talking to me.”

“She told me you’d be out here,” Hunter responded. “I spoke to her yesterday. And she told me what you overheard.”

He took a moment of silence, reflecting on his own failings. “It was terrible what happened to her and her son. Horrible.” Powell moved his rod when he saw an air-pocket float up in the lake. “The poor kid never deserved to end up in prison, but I couldn’t stop it.”

“And I don’t want it to happen to someone else. I don’t want it to keep happening in Longford. Richardson doesn’t get to choose who goes to prison and when.”

“Chief Richardson keeps the city safe, and sometimes you need to pay a high price for safety. Where would our city be without the hardline taken by Richardson? We’d be run by some leftist woke individual who’d let the city be overrun with drugs. Just look at the towns that surround us. They find dead addicts on the street every week. We don’t need that in Longford.”

“Jack Yale wouldn’t let that happen,” Hunter replied. “He’s a good cop, a good man, and an honorable person. And he’s a hardliner. He’s not going to let drugs take over the city.”

“Then let him sort it out. That’s his job, not mine.” Powell began to wind his line in. “What do you need from me, Hunter?”

“I need to know what you know. I go to court tomorrow when Javier’s trial starts.” Hunter stood. “If you want to help me, if you want to end Richardson’s run of corruption, you need to do it now. If you know something, I need to hear it today.”

Powell brought his line in with nothing on it. He stood and looked at the edge of the lake, staring at the water for a minute. When he was ready, he drew a long breath, and turned back to Hunter. “Then, Mr. Hunter, I’d better tell you a little secret that not many people know.”

Chapter 20

The first punch came from behind.

Javier didn’t expect it, he didn’t see it coming, and when the fist connected with his ribs, pain pulsated through his body. He crumbled to the ground, clutching his side, confused and disorientated.

He’d spent weeks in solitary confinement, and just when the guards thought he’d had enough, they invented another reason to lock him back in there. They were playing mental games with him, pushing him to his limit, testing him to see how much he could take. The sleepless hot nights were followed by long hot days, sweltering by himself in a concrete cell, it was taking its toll on his mental state. By the time they let him out of solitary after his third stint, he was unsure what was real and fake. Even talking to the other inmates seemed confusing after so much time by himself. It was a vast vacuum of life where the forgotten trudged through monotonous days.

Carlos and Al understood his confusion. They’d been in his situation before. The loneliness. The isolation. The confusion. When the boredom became unbearable, the mind tricked itself for entertainment. It was the exile and isolation that was the most punishing. Reality became one with dreams, and visions became one with the truth.

Carlos had experienced the same on his first trip to prison, but it didn’t mean he cared. He stood over the top of Javier, Al next to him. In the one-room library, just big enough to be an office space, they stood at the end of a row of books, looking down at Javier. Another Mexican stood at the door, keeping watch for any guards. There was only one way in or out of the library, and the guards rarely walked past.

“Your trial is tomorrow.” Carlos leaned down and whispered in Javier’s ear. “I need you to commit to us. Tell us that you’re with us.”

“Why?” Javier rubbed his ribs as he rolled over on the worn carpet. He was sure one was broken. “Why now?”

“Because if you get out, then we have a contact on the outside. We look after each other in Longford. Understand me?”

Javier groaned in pain, and Carlos looked up to Al. He gave Al a nod, and then Al’s solid boot connected again with Javier’s ribs. Javier screamed in agony.

“And if you aren’t with us, you’re against us,” Carlos continued. “You need to say it here; you need to say it now. You need to tell me you’re with us. Commit to our gang and tell me that you’ll be my contact if you get out.”

Javier rolled over on the floor, his face on the carpet. The gray carpet was stained brown, and the musty smell was overwhelming.

“I don’t know what to say.” Javier rolled over and looked up at the men towering over him. “I thought we were friends?”

“Ha.” Carlos laughed. “This is prison, not high school. This isn’t some pretty little television show where everyone has a happy ending. Nothing ends happily in here. This is where your worst nightmares come true.”

Javier didn’t answer.

“Give him a taste of what happens if he’s against us.” Carlos pointed to Javier’s ribs.

Another boot connected with Javier’s abdomen. The next kick, swung by Carlos, connected with Javier’s arm. By the fifth kick, coming from both sides, Javier was struggling to breathe.

“Now do you understand?” Carlos leaned down close to Javier. “This is your initiation into our gang. If you get out, I need a contact on the outside. That’s going to be you.”

Javier didn’t respond, keeping his hands close to his chest.

“You need to tell me now.”

Javier remained quiet.

“Are you deaf?” Carlos grabbed Javier by the hair, leaned in close to his ear. “I said you need to commit to our gang. If you’re not with us, you’re against us.”

“I’m innocent,” Javier whispered. “I didn’t kill Chad.”

“What?” Carlos laughed again. “You think it matters? You think I care whether you’re innocent or not? You’re stupider than you look.”

Carlos stood up, winding up for another kick.

“Wait.” Javier winced in pain. “Don’t do it.”

“Then commit.” Carlos pressed.

“If I get out, I’ll be your contact on the outside.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Easy.” Carlos clapped his hands together. “We stick together in here. And if you betray us on the outside, you die. The rules are simple.”

Javier knew it was true. He knew it was going to be the case. When in solitary confinement, he thought he could survive in prison. He thought he could make it through a sentence. But he was beginning to realize he was wrong. He wouldn’t survive a year behind bars.

He had a secret that he’d kept from his lawyer, and it was time to reveal it.

Chapter 21

“You didn’t tell me everything.” Hunter swung open the door to the meeting room next to the holding cells in the courthouse. “How do you expect me to win this trial when you haven’t told me the truth?”

Javier sat at the table in his suit, head down, hair over his face, ready for the trial to begin. He looked up to the lawyer with a confused look on his face. Javier’s new suit did little to brighten his appearance. His face was gaunt and pale, his eyes looked sunken into his head. After the beating, he struggled to move his right side, making it hard to find a comfortable way to sit.

After months of posturing, months of surviving the small city prison, the day had arrived, and Javier wasn’t sure what he could and couldn’t say. He wanted to tell the lawyer the truth. He wanted to tell Hunter everything he knew, but he also had to protect someone.

The evidence against him was solid—bloodied clothes, witnesses saw him at the park, and a motive—but the secret he kept could allow him to walk out of court in a heartbeat. Javier wanted to tell the truth to the lawyer, he wanted to expose what he knew, but he didn’t know how.

“I know,” Javier responded, his head down. “I was going to tell you the truth.”

“When? We’re about to walk into a courtroom full of people who hate you, and I’ve only just talked to a witness who says they saw you walk out of Chief Richardson’s house on Elliston Avenue on the day before the murder. Do you want to explain to me why, Javier?”

Javier shrugged and didn’t answer. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Javier. I need you to be honest with me. Why were you seen leaving Chief Richardson’s house the night before the murder? How deep do these secrets go?”

There was a knock at the door. It was the bailiff. He called out and told them it was time to prepare for court.

“Who saw me on Elliston Avenue?” Javier questioned.

“Someone walking past the house that night. They said they saw you exit Chief Richardson’s house at 10pm the night before the murder. Why haven’t you told me this? This could change everything. What are you hiding?”

“I… I don’t know why they would say that.” He looked away, blinking back the tears. The internal turmoil was tearing him apart. “I didn’t know anyone could see me.”

“Javier.” Hunter was firm. “We’re about to walk into a courtroom full of people who want to see you convicted and sent to prison for life. I need every chance I can get to win this case. Tell me why you were seen leaving his house.”

“I… I can’t.” He looked to the floor. “I… can’t tell you the truth.”

There was another knock at the door. “It’s time to go,” the bailiff called out. “The judge is ready, and Javier needs to be out there, now.”

Javier kept his stare on the floor in front of him. There was another knock. Louder this time.

Hunter stood, staring at Javier. “Javier, I need the truth.”

The bailiff opened the door. “I said let’s move. I’ve got to get you into court before the judge arrives. He doesn’t like being left waiting.”

Hunter kept his eyes on Javier for a moment, before he turned and walked out the door.

It wasn’t just the chance to win that was slipping through his fingers. He was losing the chance to find out the truth about his family.

Chapter 22

Hunter walked out of the meeting room and into the hallway that led to Courtroom One. Waiting by the door was Tanner, a smug look washed across his face when he saw Hunter.

“Finally decided to join us?” Tanner said. “Or is your client finally ready to confess to his sins?”

Hunter stopped next to the entrance. He nodded back towards the crowd gathered in the foyer. “I see most of Longford has come out to see you lose this case.”

“On the contrary. We like justice in Longford,” Tanner stated. “Everyone likes to see criminals put behind bars for crimes they committed. And as I told a news reporter this morning, this case is a celebration of justice and the whole city is invited for the show.”

Hunter pushed open the doors to the courtroom to be confronted by a sea of brown, and Tanner followed him through. Carol was waiting in the row behind the defense table, and on the opposite side of the room, two junior prosecutors were discussing tactics for the case.

They spent the morning in voir dire, the jury selection process, which proved to be a nightmare for Hunter. After half the pool was excluded due to their incomprehension of legal terms put before them, an additional quarter of the jury pool was dismissed due to their relationships with the deceased, witnesses, and Javier’s family. The remaining group didn’t look promising. Hunter used up his ten peremptory challenges, to strike a jury from the pool without cause, within the first fifteen members, as Judge Johnson refused 10 of the 15 ‘for cause’ challenges he presented to the court. The remaining twelve that survived the questions all denied they’d heard about the case and all denied they’d met Chad Townsend personally. The majority were middle-aged workers; some of them single, some with families. A female manager at a retail store. An accountant with five children. A chef, a farmer, and a school teacher. A Black mechanic, a retired Hungarian immigrant, and a former New Yorker who returned to Longford after his marriage broke down. Seven men, five women. Four alternatives were also chosen, people who would hear the evidence but take no part in the deliberations unless someone fell ill or was otherwise excused.

After the jury was selected, Hunter filed another motion to move venues based on the makeup of the jury pool, however, Judge Johnson took little time in refusing it. Even with the statistics that stated every out-of-towner who went to court in Longford was convicted over the last five years, Judge Johnson barely spent fifteen minutes considering the motion. It was further grounds for appeal, grounds for throwing the case out on review, but Hunter wasn’t sure Javier would last that long behind bars.

After the jury selection, the court took a brief recess. When the court doors opened, Hunter could hear the chattering noise from the foyer, full of people desperate to enter the courtroom and watch the show. Ten minutes later, the five rows of seats began to fill behind them. Hunter turned around and was met with glares from most of the crowd. A number of men stood by the back of the courtroom, most of them with their arms folded across their flannel shirts, and two bailiffs stood by the doors. In the row behind Hunter sat Carol, then Javier’s parents, who had arrived from Mexico, and Javier’s uncle and cousin next to them.

The crowd hushed when the door to the side of the room opened, and Javier was escorted to the defense table. His suit was too big. He kept his eyes down as he walked to the table, too embarrassed by his situation to even look at his parents. There was grumbling from the crowd. There wasn’t much like the first day of a murder trial. Hectic and feverish, the atmosphere was an intense buzz.

Hunter looked at the young man next to him. Not only was he the young man he was trying to save, but he was also the young man who held the key to the truth about the Hunter family’s past. Hunter wrote a note on his legal pad and slid it in front of Javier. It read, ‘I need the truth.’ Javier read the page and then shook his head. Hunter was not only working against the system, he was not only working against the city of Longford, but he was also working against a client who wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

When the bailiff called the room to order, the tension was thick and heavy. Judge Johnson walked into the courtroom, in no rush to begin the trial. Once he sat down, he looked over the files, groaned, coughed deeply, and then raised his eyes to look at the packed courtroom before him.

With a firm voice, Judge Johnson acknowledged the parties in the court and announced the procedure for the defendant. When instructed, the bailiff walked to the door in the front left corner of the room, opened it and directed the members of the jury to their seats. The twelve people to decide Javier’s fate walked in, and they all looked at Javier first. Two snarled, seemingly already marking him as guilty before they’d heard a word of the trial.

After Judge Johnson spoke to the jury about their responsibilities, explaining the charges were lodged under Illinois Criminal Code Chapter 720, Section 5/9-1, first degree murder, and what that meant, he took them through the purpose of the opening statement.

“The opening statement is not an argument, nor is it a testimony,” he said. “It’s merely a roadmap for the case, and a forecast of what the evidence will show. The lawyers will not set forth the inferences which they think should be ascended from the proof. The lawyers will simply tell you what the actual evidence will be.”

Judge Johnson looked down at Matthew Tanner, a warning with his glare. In a circumstantial case, the prosecution needs a way to tie all the pieces together, a way to convince the jury that the pieces make the whole puzzle, without directly saying it, and suggestions from the opening statement was the easiest way to do it.

Once Judge Johnson was satisfied the jurors understood his instructions, he invited prosecutor Matthew Tanner to begin his argument.

*****

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. My name is Matthew Tanner, and this is my colleague, Mrs. Tanya Hanson. We’re here to present the charge of murder in the first degree against the defendant, Mr. Javier Mitchell. In this opening statement, I’ll provide a roadmap of what the evidence presented during this trial will show, as nothing I say to you now can be considered evidence.

I want you to look at the great American Flag hanging behind Judge Johnson. I want you to think, and feel, what that flag represents. Really think about it. Really feel, deep inside you, what that flag means to you. Does it represent Sunday barbeques to you? Fourth of July celebrations? Does it represent freedom and opportunity? Does it represent family? Or does it represent justice?

To me, the flag represents justice, and that’s why we’re here—justice. Justice sees a person judged for their crimes. Justice sees a fair punishment. Justice sees a person convicted for their actions.

As a definition, justice is the idea that people are treated impartially, fairly, and properly. They are treated reasonably by the law, and it sees that the accused receives a morally right consequence merited by their actions. A moral consequence. I need you to remember that as we go through this trial.

You’re here, in this court, to decide whether there’s enough evidence to convict Mr. Mitchell of murder in the first degree, beyond a reasonable doubt.

Who is Mr. Mitchell? He was born in Mexico, and spent most of his formative years living in that country. He grew up under a different flag. Although he holds an American passport, and has been living in the U.S. for six months, I want you to ask yourself if he could truly understand what the flag represents in such a short time?

As prosecutors, we represent the State of Illinois. We work in the Marline County State’s Attorney’s Office, and our section is responsible for the prosecution of criminal cases throughout this county. We represent the commitment by the State’s Attorney’s Office to combat the devastating effects of crime in our communities. Murders, and violent crime, rarely happen in the city of Longford. It’s not often that I stand up here and try a murder case. And I, for one, would like to keep it like that.

Mr. Mitchell is accused of murdering Mr. Chad Townsend in cold blood at 11pm on the night of June 25th. His intention was always to murder Mr. Townsend, and we’ll show that during this trial. Mr. Mitchell arranged to meet Mr. Townsend at Norwich Park that night. What exactly happened there we may never know, but what we do know, is that there was an altercation, and Mr. Mitchell punched Mr. Townsend, sending him to the ground. Mr. Townsend hit his head on the ground and bled out.

Mr. Mitchell left the scene of the crime without even calling for help. He left Mr. Townsend on the ground to die.

This is a violent, callous, and heinous crime. All homicides are terrible circumstances, but this murder, this horrible crime, is particularly so. This homicide has caused pain, real pain, to the people of Longford. As such, this crime must have real consequences.

In our everyday lives, we rarely see the underbelly of crime that exists. We know it’s there, of course, but we don’t often see it first hand. I didn’t ever think I would see this type of crime happen to one of Longford’s favorite sons.

The Longford Police Department, led by Police Chief Phillip Richardson, investigated the case, and subsequently arrested Mr. Mitchell.

Over the coming days, we’ll present witnesses to you, and they’ll provide the evidence in this case. You’ll hear from Chief Richardson personally, as he’ll detail the investigation and arrest. He’ll explain why Mr. Mitchell was arrested and what he said when he was taken into custody. You’ll see the footage from Mr. Richardson’s body camera, and the footage from other officers’ body cameras during the arrest. You’ll see, with your own eyes, the moment when Mr. Mitchell was arrested at his uncle’s home.

You’ll hear from experts in the field of crime and justice. One of those experts will be forensic scientist Mr. Henry Elbert. He’ll explain that Mr. Mitchell’s blood was found on the shirt worn by Mr. Townsend at the time of death. He’ll explain that a sample of Mr. Mitchell’s blood was also found on Mr. Townsend’s shoe. And he’ll explain that Mr. Mitchell’s hair was found at the scene of the crime.

You’ll hear from witnesses who will place Mr. Mitchell at Norwich Park at 11pm on the night in question.

You’ll hear from witnesses who will explain that Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Townsend had an altercation earlier that night, and Mr. Mitchell threatened to ‘kill’ Mr. Townsend. Those witnesses will detail how determined Mr. Mitchell was to get revenge. You’ll hear from witnesses who heard Mr. Townsend say he would meet with Mr. Mitchell that night.

The defense will try and tell a story full of fiction. They’ll tell you there’s not enough evidence to convict this man, there’s not this legal reason, or that legal reason, but let me tell you this. We’re not here to judge who is the smartest lawyer. We’re not here to judge who knows the most lawyer tricks. We’re here to judge whether or not the defendant is guilty of murder.

But looking at you, the jurors, you appear to be an intelligent group of people who will not be influenced by this defense lawyer’s tricks. The defense team is very well equipped and experienced, so I must warn you not to fall for fanciful stories, big words, or confusing legal jargon.

Forget the games and listen to the facts. Listen to the evidence.

And if you do that, I can guarantee you will conclude that Mr. Mitchell is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.

This was an unforgivable crime, and it warrants a conviction.

At the end of this case, I’ll address you again and ask you to consider all the evidence we have presented and to conclude beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Javier Mitchell is guilty.

Thank you for your time.”

*****

During Tanner’s opening statement, juror number five stared at Javier for the entire time, not taking her eyes off him once. She shook her head with disgust whenever the word ‘murder’ was mentioned, and tried hard to disguise her repulsion at the description of the night. Juror ten was the same. Dressed in his best flannel shirt and blue jeans, he stared at Javier when Chad Townsend’s name was mentioned, almost like he wanted to jump from the jury box and deliver justice with his own hands.

Out of the twelve people who were to judge Javier’s guilt, Hunter identified five who appeared to be the most logical and unbiased. Those jurors would be his targets throughout the trial. He would focus his attention on them, making eye contact, directing small gestures at them. He needed one of them, at least one, to be a voice of reason in the jury deliberation room when the legal arguments were over.

Tanner finished his opening statement with a smile on his face, and with his back to the jury, he winked at Hunter as he walked past. He’d made his attack clear—both Hunter and Javier were out-of-towners who were determined to destroy the lives they knew. He’d made it personal.

After he was asked to open by Judge Johnson, Hunter took a moment, composed himself, and then stood, slowly moving to the lectern. He looked at the jury, studied their patient faces, and then began.

*****

“May it please the court. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Your Honor, my name is Tex Hunter. I’m a criminal defense attorney, and I’m here to represent the defendant, Mr. Javier Mitchell.

Mr. Tanner pointed to the flag behind the judge. That beautiful flag. I’ll tell you what it represents to me. It represents fairness. It represents integrity. But most of all, most importantly to me, is that it represents honor.

That’s what’s bestowed upon you in the jury box. That’s what you have to uphold. Fairness. Integrity. And honor. But it’s more than that. The colors of the flag mean something. The colors of the flag are symbolic as well; red symbolizes hardiness and valor, white symbolizes purity and innocence, and blue represents vigilance, perseverance, and most of all, justice.

Justice does not see an innocent man put away for someone else’s crime. Justice does not seek revenge. Justice does not mean that you convict a man because you feel he’s guilty.

The justice you’re here to seek, the true meaning of justice, is to be fair and unbiased in your judgment of the evidence. The facts. Not how you feel. Not what you think must’ve happened. But the facts. And when we arrive at the end of this case, the facts will be simple—there’s not enough evidence to convict Mr. Mitchell beyond a reasonable doubt.

I need you to remember that as we go through this trial. You’re not looking at how you feel; you’re not thinking about your intuition. Your job, your very important job, is to judge the facts. Nothing more, and nothing less. You cannot use the way the defendant looks, his racial background, the way he acts, or a general vibe to guide your decision. You cannot guess. The prosecution must prove Mr. Mitchell murdered Mr. Townsend. They can’t merely suggest it. They must prove it.

The prosecution’s case is a circumstantial one. That means the evidence relies on an inference to connect it to a conclusion. By contrast, direct evidence supports the truth of an assertion directly. There’s no direct evidence in this case. The prosecution’s case, and their so-called evidence, doesn’t even come close to the precious standard of reasonable doubt.

In making your decision at the end of this case, the only evidence you can consider is the evidence presented during this trial. You cannot use evidence that isn’t presented in this courtroom. You cannot use something you heard on the radio, or saw in the paper. You cannot use your friend’s opinion.

In making your decision, you must be unbiased. You must be impartial. And above all else, you must be fair.

That’s the system our great country is built upon. That flag, the great and beautiful flag, represents the opportunity and fairness that are at the core of our beliefs.

Don’t ruin what our forefathers have built.

Mr. Mitchell did not murder Mr. Townsend.

He didn’t meet with Mr. Townsend in Norwich Park that night. He didn’t hit Mr. Townsend in the park that night. He didn’t see Mr. Townsend in the park that night. During this case, we’ll present evidence that will show you that. Our experts will show you that the evidence presented by the prosecution is doubtful, at best. Our witnesses will tell you that Mr. Mitchell could not have killed Mr. Townsend.

At this moment, Mr. Mitchell is innocent. That’s our starting point and the prosecution must prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Mitchell committed this act. They must present evidence that convinces you beyond a reasonable doubt. They won’t be able to, of course, because there is simply not enough evidence to do so.

When this case is drawing to a close, I’ll stand before you again and point out the ways in which the prosecution has failed to present enough evidence. At that point, you’ll use your common sense to make a decision. Your decision must be not guilty.

Thank you for your service to our great justice system.”

Chapter 23

At five minutes past three, with the opening statements completed, Tanner was instructed by Judge Johnson to call his first witness. The adrenalized excitement of the opening statements had created unease in the crowd, and people were unable to sit still and contain their anger, pain, or grief. Even after a short recess, the seats in the courtroom remained full. Nobody wanted to give up their spot to watch the show of the year in Longford.

Matthew Tanner wasted no time in calling his first witness. He stood at the prosecution table and called Police Chief Phillip Richardson, the third. Richardson walked to the stand as a proud man—his solid chest was puffed out, his shoulders were pulled back, and his chin was held high. He wore a black suit with a thin tie, white shirt, and brown shoes. He smelled like Old Spice. He presented an image of importance and competence, and more importantly for the jurors, dressed in a suit, he was presented as a trustworthy man, as untrue as the impression was. He’d walked to the stand many times over the past thirty-five years in the force, he knew the drill, and he knew what worked. Richardson went through the gate to the witness stand and was sworn in as routine demanded.

Primacy and Recency Effects dictate that people are most likely to remember the first and last things they’re told. Presenting a strong first witness was essential to any prosecution case, and Richardson appeared as solid as they came. As Richardson swore his oath, Tanner scanned his laptop, reading over the lines and lines of notes, and then moved to the lectern near the jury to begin.

“Chief Richardson, thank you for coming to court today.” Tanner opened as he moved a piece of paper on the lectern. “Can you please tell the court your profession, and your connection to this case?”

“My name is Phillip Michael Richardson the third, and I’ve been proudly employed by the Longford Police Department for the past thirty-five years. I started there as a twenty-year-old. My oh my, how the years go by.” He smiled and looked to the jury. They responded to him with smiles. “Currently, I’m the Police Chief for the beautiful city of Longford, Illinois.” Richardson checked his tie was down the middle of his shirt. “And I was the lead detective on the investigation into Mr. Chad Townsend’s murder, and the subsequent arrest of Mr. Javier Mitchell.”

“Chief Richardson, have you previously been the lead investigator on murder cases?”

“I’ve lead the investigation a few times in my career. Perhaps as many as forty over the years I’ve been a police officer. I don’t like investigating murder cases, but it’s part of the job.”

“Why don’t you like dealing with murder cases?”

“Because murder cases mean I have to deal with murderers.” He looked at Javier. “And I especially don’t like dealing with dirty ones like—”

“Objection.” Hunter rose to his feet before Richardson could finish the sentence. “The witness is about to make a statement of accusation. This witness is a Police Chief and someone with considerable authority in Longford, and he cannot be allowed to make accusations like that.”

“Sustained,” Judge Johnson responded and turned to the witness. “Please keep to the facts, Phillip. You know better than that.”

Richardson checked his tie again, and then turned back to Tanner. “Sorry. What I meant to say was that I don’t like dealing with murder cases because it’s quite overwhelming. You have to delve into parts of the city that can be dangerous, and there’s a lot of grief from the families of the deceased.”

“Were you the first person to find Mr. Townsend’s bloodied body at the scene of the crime?”

“No.”

“Do you know who was?”

“That was Miss Jemma Watson. She was going for her early morning walk through Norwich Park when she found the horrible scene. She told us that she screamed for help and then made the call to 911.”

“When were you notified of the crime?”

“My cell phone rang at 5:05am on the morning of June 26th. Once the 911 dispatcher received the call, she sent out a notification, and the officer on duty notified me.”

“What time did you arrive at the scene?”

“Because my house is only five minutes away from Norwich Park, I was able to throw on some clothes and drive to the location by 5:15am.”

“Had the sun risen at that point?”

“It was still rising, but there was plenty of sunlight.”

“When you arrived at the scene in Norwich Park, what did you find?”

“I found Miss Watson near the edge of Norwich Park, and she appeared quite distressed. She pointed to the location of the body, where Mr. Harrison, the closest resident to the location, was performing CPR on the body. I ran across to see Mr. Harrison, and checked on the body, but it was clear at this point Chad Townsend was deceased. His lips were blue, his eyes vacant, and there was a lot of blood around his body.”

“Why do you think Mr. Harrison was performing CPR?”

“Mr. Harrison was in shock. He kept crying out Chad’s name after I told him he was deceased, and then he started sobbing. It was a distressing scene and not one I would wish for anyone to have to see.”

“Did anyone else arrive at the scene?”

“The paramedics and some of my police staff arrived next. We secured the area as the paramedics looked over the body. They declared Mr. Townsend deceased at the scene as we were taping off the area and looking for clues. I advised one of my officers to take photos of the body, and after that, I advised the paramedics to cover the body with a cloth before anyone else saw the distressing scene.”

“What did you do next?”

“As one of my detectives, Detective Jack Yale, was looking for clues in the surrounding park, and another officer was taking pictures of the area around the scene, I took statements from Miss Smith and Mr. Harrison.”

“Were they considered suspects?”

“At this point in the investigation, everyone was considered a suspect.”

“Are these the photos of the scene that you found?”

Tanner pointed to the court monitor as it came to life. The junior prosecutor used her laptop to scroll through the photos of Chad Townsend’s bloodied, lifeless body. A number of the jurors recoiled in horror at seeing pictures of a dead body lying on the ground. For the uninitiated, the scene was disturbing.

“They’re the photos from the scene, yes. Mr. Harrison advised us that when he ran to the scene from his home, he found Mr. Townsend face down on the concrete next to the bridge, and he rolled Mr. Townsend over to attempt CPR. That’s why the photos of the deceased show him on his back, and the medical examiner’s report states that he was lying on his stomach when he died. As you can see in some of those photos, there’s the imprint of the concrete on his left cheek.”

“As the investigating officer, where did you find traces of blood?”

“We found traces of blood on the ground, as you can see in the photos, blood on Mr. Townsend’s shirt—” Richardson paused and then continued. “We also found blood on his shoe.”

“After you surveyed the scene, what was the next step in your police investigation?”

For the next two hours and fifty-five minutes, Richardson detailed the crime scene and the steps of the investigation, from how he established Javier Mitchell as the main suspect, to how he arrested him. He described what he observed at the scene in detail, and how the other officers worked under his instruction. He identified the evidence gathered from the scene, including the bloodied shirt, and the blood-stained sneaker, introducing them to the court as evidence. Tanner introduced the photos taken by the police photographer, only showing two more of the dead body to the jury. Showing more pictures of the deceased, especially if it was a gruesome crime, could be regarded as prejudicial. Throughout it all, Richardson kept looking to the jury, telling small jokes, smiling, building a rapport with them. They warmed to Richardson, trusting every word he said, as if he was infallible.

After Tanner had stretched the testimony out as long as he could, Judge Johnson recessed for the end of the first day. Tanner had deliberately stretched the testimony out, pushing towards the end of the day, allowing the jury to leave without Hunter’s cross-examination.

Hunter would have to wait until the start of day two before he had the opportunity to change their minds.

Chapter 24

Hunter sat at the table, reviewing his files, preparing for his first cross-examination on the morning of day two. The air in the courtroom was thick with tension as the crowd filled in behind him. The seats filled quickly. Judge Johnson entered next, followed by the jury, filing in from the waiting room, where they would eventually deliberate, stepping into their seats in a focused manner. Richardson was an easy witness to attack, he was easy to tear apart, but convincing the jury of his untrustworthiness was something else. They’d trusted him on day one, and it would take a lot to override their first impression.

“Mr. Hunter?” Judge Johnson interrupted Hunter’s thoughts as he stared at the page of notes. “Would you actually like to question this witness and begin day two?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Hunter flicked open a second notepad. He scanned the first few lines on the pad. “Chief Richardson, how many times did you interview Mr. Mitchell before you arrested him?”

“Just once. That’s all we needed. We’re efficient and effective police officers in Longford.”

“And did Mr. Mitchell confess to the crime?”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” Hunter raised his eyebrows and then turned to the judge. “Your Honor, please direct the witness to answer the question.”

Judge Johnson groaned. “Please answer the question directly, Phillip.”

“What was the question?” Richardson responded.

“Did Mr. Mitchell confess to the murder?”

“No.”

“In fact, he denied it, didn’t he?”

“That’s what he said, but all criminals do that.”

“Objection,” Hunter said. “This is a blatant accusation by a person of authority in this city and clearly prejudicial against the defendant. Mr. Mitchell has never been convicted of any crime, and hence he cannot be referred to as a ‘criminal.’ Your Honor, please direct the witness to answer the questions, and not provide a running commentary on the case.”

“Sustained.” Judge Johnson groaned. “Phillip, please stick to answering the questions about Mr. Mitchell without any personal commentary.”

Richardson nodded his response.

“Did Mr. Mitchell deny the accusation you put to him?” Hunter continued.

“Yes.”

Hunter paused and looked to the defense table. The sneaker was still admitted as evidence, and he had to swing early and swing hard on the lack of the DNA identification of the third blood sample. “Was Mr. Townsend wearing sneakers that night?”

“He was.”

“During your police investigation, how many blood samples were found on the sneaker?”

“Three.”

“Did you identify all three samples?”

“We identified the first as—”

“Chief Richardson, I asked if you identified all three samples, not who they belonged to. So, I’ll ask you again, and please answer the question directly.” Hunter paused for effect. “Did your police department find a match for all three samples?”

“We found a match for two.”

“The answer is no?”

“The answer is yes, we found two matching samples.”

“But not the third?”

Richardson tilted his head back and looked at Judge Johnson. Johnson nodded.

“We didn’t match the third sample.”

“I’ll ask again, so you may answer the question directly. Yes, or no—did you match all three blood samples taken from the sneaker.”

“No.”

Hunter stopped. He tilted his head, catching the attention of the jury. He spoke firmly. “Did you consider anyone else as a suspect?”

“Didn’t have to. We had the evidence.”

“Did you have a witness to the crime?”

“We had witnesses who saw Mr. Mitchell near the park at the time of death.”

“But not a witness to the crime?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t have a confession?”

“Objection,” Tanner called out, breaking Hunter’s rhythm. “Asked and answered.”

“Sustained.” Judge Johnson was quick to answer. “Move on, Mr. Hunter.”

“With no confession and no witnesses, and a third sample of blood on Mr. Townsend’s sneaker, did you consider the third sample could belong to the person involved in the murder of Mr. Townsend?”

Richardson looked up to Judge Johnson. “I don’t understand the question.”

“It’s quite simple,” Hunter responded. “But let me rephrase it—even though you had another lead, you didn’t follow it. Why is that?”

“Because we arrested the right person.”

“Did you consider the third blood sample found on the sneaker could belong to the murderer?”

“No.”

“In all your police files, there’s not one mention of investigating the third sample of blood.” Hunter walked back to the defense table and held up a thick folder with the police documents. “Because you didn’t even follow the trail of blood for the third sample, did you?”

“We didn’t follow it because we didn’t need to.”

“Your investigation was incomplete.”

“It’s not incomplete. It’s—”

“That wasn’t a question,” Hunter interrupted. “But this is—did you know Mr. Mitchell on a personal level?”

“We’ve met before. I’ve met a lot of the people in this city. Whenever someone moves in, I like to make sure I know them.”

“And what did you tell him when you first met him?”

“I welcomed him to the community.” He chuckled. One of the jurors did the same.

“In those exact words?”

“To that effect.”

“Has Mr. Mitchell ever been to your house?”

“My house?” Richardson drew a long breath. “No, he’s never been to my house.”

Hunter exaggerated his confused response for the benefit of the jury. Richardson squinted.

“Have you had complaints against you as a police officer in the past?”

“My line of work is difficult. Some people think you overstep the line, and they complain.”

“Can you tell us how many active complaints you have against you?”

“Five.”

“And of those active complaints, are two by Mr. Mitchell?”

Richardson lifted his chin. “Yes.”

“And those complaints were lodged before you arrested him for murder?”

Richardson squirmed in his chair. “Yes.”

Hunter was getting under his skin, and Richardson was struggling to maintain the rage.

“Did the complaints lodged by Mr. Mitchell make you angry?”

“No. It’s part of the job.”

“Did it annoy you that Mr. Mitchell was popular amongst his friends?”

“No, I had no interest in the man’s popularity.”

“Did it annoy you that Mr. Mitchell was Mexican?”

“No.”

“Do you like Mexicans?”

“I have nothing against them.”

“Do you think that Mexicans are ‘scum’?”

“Objection.” Tanner stood. “This line of questioning is not relevant to this case. Mr. Hunter is performing a personal attack on the witness.”

“Sustained.” Judge Johnson was quick to respond.

“Your Honor,” Hunter argued. “I’m attempting to establish the racial bias this witness has against my client.”

“I said the objection was sustained, Mr. Hunter. Get to your point.”

Hunter composed himself. “Is it true you called Mr. Mitchell numerous racist slurs during the police interview?”

“I was trying to get a confession out of him.”

“So you thought it was fair game to call him racial slurs?”

“I do what I have to do to get the job done.” Richardson was becoming agitated. He squirmed in his seat.

“Including calling people racial slurs?”

“On this occasion, that’s what the situation called for.”

“How many Mexicans have you arrested in the last twelve months?”

“Objection. Relevance.”

“Move on, Mr. Hunter.” Judge Johnson groaned.

“Is it true,” Hunter continued. “That you take money for bribes?”

“Objection!” Tanner leaped to his feet. “The question implies an accusation!”

“Sustained.”

Hunter stared at Richardson. He moved a piece of paper on the lectern then drew a deep breath. “When you arrested Mr. Mitchell, did you read him his Miranda rights and then call him ‘scum’?”

“This is ridiculous. Of course I read his Miranda rights. I arrested the right person. Everyone in here will agree with me.” Richardson struggled to maintain his growing agitation. He turned to look at the jury. “I trust this jury will make the right decision because nothing will save them from judgment if they don’t.”

“Your Honor!” Hunter threw his hands up. “Objection! The witness has threatened the jury!”

Chapter 25

“A motion for a mistrial.” Judge Johnson looked at his watch, moved a file across his desk, and leaned back in his chair. “I need to get on with this trial, so you’d better have a great argument prepared for this conference. I know what you’re claiming, but I won’t be manipulated. Not by this piece of paper, not by the defendant, and not by any big city lawyer.”

Judge Johnson’s narrow chambers behind the courtroom were dim, shut off from the heat and humidity outside behind a pair of thick blinds. The chambers, the judge’s inner sanctum, had a distinguished manner. One wall was covered by a bookshelf, stacked with legal books, including the state law reports and precedents he may be forced to call upon. The other wall had a brown leather couch pushed up against it, and above it, Judge Johnson’s credentials and a photo with a past president.

In the fifty-five minutes since the threat against the jury, Judge Johnson had gathered all the relevant information, reviewed Hunter’s motion for a mistrial, and spent much time thinking.

“Your Honor, this case must be declared a mistrial,” Hunter began. “The jury could not possibly remain impartial after what happened out there. Their decisions will be influenced by the commotion and the threats by one of the most influential and authoritative people in this city. They cannot possibly be expected to make an unbiased decision in this trial. One of the most powerful people in this city made a direct threat to the jury. How can this trial continue?”

Judge Johnson grunted and turned to the seated lawyer. “Mr. Tanner? What’s your response?”

“There was no threat. It was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding? I hope you’re not serious,” Hunter responded. “That was a direct threat. We all heard it. Under Illinois Criminal Code 720 ILCS 5/32-4, it was a Class 4 felony. He cannot, and must not, be allowed to threaten the jury. You cannot allow this to continue.”

“What you heard is common language used in rural areas in the Midwest, Mr. Hunter,” Tanner said. “You’re the one that’s misunderstood. That’s why it’s important to have local understanding in these sorts of cases. The witness said, ‘nothing will save them from judgment,’ and it was in reference to the Bible, not a threat to the jury. We’re a religious city, and I’m sure that’s how it was interpreted by the jury members.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Judge Johnson responded. “I took the reference to be a nod to the Bible. Although you may not use that language in Chicago, we all use that sort of language here. Bible quotes are commonly used in this county.”

“The defendant cannot possibly receive a fair trial after this incident. The opinion of the jury is going to be clearly biased.” Hunter stood behind one of the chairs. “There’s no choice but to declare a mistrial.”

Judge Johnson sat back in his chair, swinging the chair away from the lawyers to face the wall. He’d made a lot of decisions in his chambers, life or death decisions, decisions that affected the lives of so many people. He clasped his hands in front of him, considering his options, thinking about his next steps. It was two long minutes before he turned back to the lawyers.

“I won’t be played by your fancy games, Mr. Hunter,” Judge Johnson said. “This is a court of law, not a place to play petty playground games.”

“If this case continues, then this is a reversible error. You’re denying Mr. Mitchell due process. A threat against the jury is a felony under the Illinois Criminal Code. And this wasn’t just a threat—it was a threat by a person of authority.”

“Don’t lecture me on the law.” Judge Johnson slammed his closed fist on the table. “I don’t accept the games you want to play. This court will stand above these petty moves. The witness is allowed to make biblical references. This trial is reasonable, fair and just, and the jury will determine there’s no undue influence in this case.”

“Your Honor, you cannot possibly be considering—”

“My decision is made. We’ll interview the jury members about their interpretation of the statement, and if I’m satisfied with their responses, then the trial shall proceed. Once back in the courtroom, we’ll put the dismissal of this motion on the court record, and you can make your objection to its refusal official.” Judge Johnson indicated to the door. “Now get out of my chambers and stop playing games.”

Chapter 26

Hunter’s hotel room felt smaller each night. Sleeping in the uncomfortable bed, complete with lumps and broken springs, he lay awake on the long, hot sleepless nights. The air-conditioner was intermittent, at best. On those long nights, tossing and turning, he wondered what life in the small city was like. Everyone knew everyone, everyone knew everyone’s business, and everyone heard every rumor. But more than that, more than the stories, was that everyone in Longford seemed to want to help each other. Apart from the corruption at the top, it was a city in poor finances, but rich in community. Living in such a way was foreign to Hunter.

The following morning, after Judge Johnson had questioned the jury and dismissed the motion for a mistrial, Hunter declined the chance to continue questioning Richardson.

When Tanner called the second witness, his trial tactic was becoming clear. He would present local eyewitnesses, people the jury could trust, before he brought in his expert witnesses. He knew the jury would respond better to locals testifying with emotion, than the cold hard facts presented by specialists. And once the jury was emotionally invested in the outcome, Tanner would present the experts, adding little pieces of the puzzle, building on the limited amount of evidence.

The first witness to point the finger directly at Javier Mitchell was the first of Chad’s friends who could testify about the altercation at the party.

Garry Holden was always going to lay the lies on thick. He was a personal friend of Chad Townsend, a member of the baseball team, and his family was closely connected to the Townsend family. At only twenty-one, he already looked weathered by years of heavy binge drinking, fitting in partying between hours helping his father on the beef farm on the outskirts of the city.

“Thank you for taking the time to talk with us today, Mr. Holden.” Tanner began, seated behind his desk, one leg crossed over the other. “Do you know Mr. Mitchell, the defendant in this case?”

“I’d met Javier a few times during his stay in Longford. I’d been to a few parties, and he’d been there as well. I can’t say we’re friends, but yeah, I knew him.”

“Did you ever see Mr. Mitchell behave violently?”

“A few times.” Holden was chewing gum as he spoke. Most judges wouldn’t stand for that level of disrespect in the courtroom, but Judge Johnson’s family also knew Holden’s family well. “He was always looking like he was about to start a fight.” He paused and brushed the tip of his nose. “Javier was one of the most violent people I’d ever met.”

“What sort of violence are you talking about, Mr. Holden? Verbally abusive or physically abusive?”

“Both. Javier Mitchell was always punching people and things. He had a level of evil in his soul that we hadn’t seen in the city before. I guess that’s what Mexico is like. That sort of—”

“Objection,” Hunter stated. “Prejudicial.”

“Sustained,” Judge Johnson replied. “Garry, stick to the facts. Don’t give us your personal opinion.”

Garry Holden leaned forward to the microphone. “I’ve seen him punch walls before.”

“Thank you,” Tanner replied. “During the time you’ve known Mr. Mitchell, did you see him use drugs in your presence?”

“Objection,” Hunter stated. “The defendant has never been charged with any drug crimes previously, and this information is merely hearsay. It’s of no relevance to this case and if included, could be seen as harmful to the fairness of this trial.”

“I argue it’s relevant, Your Honor. We’re asking the witness to describe his personal experiences, and the things he has personally witnessed. We’re not asking him to relay anything he has not seen.”

“I’ll allow it,” Judge Johnson responded. “However, Mr. Holden, you’re to only talk about your personal experiences.”

“Let me rephrase the question for the benefit of the court.” Tanner looked across to Hunter, smiled, and then continued. “During the time you’ve known Mr. Mitchell, did you take drugs in his presence?”

“I might’ve smoked a joint. And one time, when I was smoking a joint, Javier came over and asked me if he could have some.” There was a slight grin on his face, like he was about to drop Javier into the dirt. “I said no, but then he threatened to punch me, so I gave him the joint and watched him smoke it.”

Javier audibly sighed and shook his head. “Lies,” he whispered under his breath.

“On the night of June 25th, where were you?” Tanner continued.

“I finished work at the farm and then went into the city for a party at Dave Spiller’s house. I arrived with Chad and two other people. I was driving my pick-up truck and parked right out front.”

“What time did you arrive at the party?”

“Around 9pm.”

“And when you arrived, what happened?”

“We walked in and said hello to everyone. We were there to have a good time and enjoy ourselves, but as soon as we walked in, Javier stood up and was looking for a fight. Chad defended himself, and tapped Javier on the nose, but Javier became real violent and punched Chad hard. Chad fell over because he wasn’t expecting it, and then Javier jumped on him. He busted him up, and there was blood everywhere. I grabbed Javier and pulled him back. I told him to stop fighting. He stopped struggling, so I let go of him and helped pick Chad up. I don’t know what he would’ve done if—”

“Objection. Speculation.”

“Sustained.” Judge Johnson agreed. “Please, Garry, stick to the facts as you saw them.”

Holden nodded, and then Tanner continued. “Did Mr. Mitchell say anything to Mr. Townsend after the altercation?”

“Yeah. He said he was going to kill Chad if he didn’t leave the party.”

“He said those exact words?”

“Yeah. He said, ‘I’ll kill you if you don’t get out of here and leave us alone.’”

“How did his voice sound?”

“Objection to the use of the word ‘sound,’” Hunter interrupted. “It calls for characterization.”

“Sustained.”

“Your Honor,” Tanner responded. “Mr. Holden can testify to what he heard.”

“He can testify to the words he heard, but he’s not allowed to add his personal opinion to them.” Judge Johnson was firm.

“Very well.” Tanner turned a page in his file. “Mr. Holden, did you think the threat was real?”

“Objection to ‘think.’ It’s speculation.”

“Sustained.”

“Right.” Tanner looked at his notes. “Mr. Holden, were you, personally, scared when Javier attacked Mr. Townsend?”

“Yeah. Javier had a look in his eyes that made me scared.”

“What happened after the fight between Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Townsend?”

“After the fight, we left the party and Chad got in someone’s truck. I drove around the city for a while before I went home.”

“Did you think Mr. Mitchell was going to kill Mr. Townsend?”

“Objection,” Hunter called out. “Calls for speculation.”

“Sustained,” Judge Johnson responded. “You know better than that, Mr. Tanner.”

“Were you surprised when you heard Mr. Mitchell murdered Mr. Townsend?”

“Objection. The question assumes facts not in evidence.”

“Sustained.” Judge Johnson’s response was flat.

“Did you feel Mr. Mitchell could’ve murdered someone that night?”

“Objection.” Hunter stood. “Your Honor, what’s going on here? The question calls for a conclusion.”

“Sustained, again. Mr. Tanner, please choose your next question carefully. I don’t want to have to hold you in contempt. You know better than this.”

Tanner smirked as he looked across to Hunter. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was putting a local boy on the stand against the outsider. By forcing Hunter to object, by forcing Hunter to stop the local answering questions, the jury saw the city lawyer as a threat to their local customs. It was Tanner, the local, versus Hunter, the outsider.

“No further questions.” Tanner finished.

Hunter waited a few moments before he began. He opened a file, read the first few lines, and then stood and walked over to the lectern at the side of the room.

“Mr. Holden, was Mr. Mitchell ever violent towards you?”

“No.” His chest swelled. “I’m too big for a weasel like him.”

“And you said you saw him act violently many times?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Who else did he punch?”

“Pardon?”

“Can you please name who else he punched?”

Holden looked flustered. “I… I can’t remember their names.”

“You can’t remember their names, or did you make it up?”

“No. I can’t remember.”

“Mr. Holden, these are important details. Please tell the court, where, when, and who you saw Mr. Mitchell punch so we can verify this information with the said person.”

Holden’s mouth hung open for a moment. He looked to the prosecutor, but Tanner looked away. Holden didn’t want to drop anyone else in the mess and wasn’t good at thinking on his feet.

“Mr. Holden?” Hunter pressed. “Who else did you see Mr. Mitchell punch?”

“Look…” Holden was scrambling. “I might not have seen it with my own two eyes, but I heard about it.”

“Pardon?” Hunter raised his eyebrows. “Can you repeat that?”

“I heard Javier had punched other people. I didn’t see him do it.”

Hunter’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Mr. Holden, are you saying you deliberately lied to this court in your sworn testimony?”

“Look, I didn’t see it myself, but I’m sure it happened. I’m just trying to help. Everyone knows he killed—”

“Careful,” Judge Johnson interrupted. “You won’t finish that sentence, Mr. Holden.”

Hunter turned and looked at the prosecutor, the shock written across his face. Tanner kept his eyes focused on the table in front of him.

“Your Honor,” Hunter turned back to the Judge. “This witness has changed his statement in a matter of minutes. This is blatant perjury. How can we believe anything he has said today? I move to dismiss this witness and his entire testimony under Illinois Criminal Code 720 ILCS 5/32-2 which states, ‘A person commits perjury when, under oath or affirmation, in a proceeding or in any other matter where by law the oath or affirmation is required, he or she makes a false statement, material to the issue or point in question, knowing the statement is false.’”

Judge Johnson groaned. He had no other options. “Counsel? Any objections to the dismissal of this entire testimony?”

Tanner shook his head. “No objections.”

Before Holden could leave the stand, a man from the back of the crowd rose to his feet and announced, “My son ain’t no liar! Javier is the killer!”

“Shut your mouth!” Judge Johnson roared. His face was red. “Roger Holden, you will not shout out anything in my courtroom! Get out of this room. You hear me? You won’t be allowed back in this courtroom for this trial. Bailiffs remove him.”

As the senior Holden left the courtroom, with a bailiff by his side, Judge Johnson instructed the witness to leave the stand. He then turned to the jury, instructing them to disregard the interruption from the witness’s father, and to also disregard the entire testimony from Garry Holden and not to use his testimony in forming a decision on the guilt of Mr. Mitchell.

It was a small win for Hunter, and he wasn’t finished yet.

Chapter 27

The rest of the morning didn’t go much better for the prosecution. After the last witness testimony was thrown out, they requested a short recess, scrambling to find another credible witness to say much the same thing. There were witnesses to the altercation, but Tanner was concerned whether their testimonies would hold up under cross-examination. Garry Holden was the best of a bad lot, and he’d crumbled on the stand. Hunter had prepared to question all of the witnesses, and he was interested to see which one Tanner took a gamble on. Hunter expected Tanner to be skilled, he expected him to be knowledgeable, but Tanner was turning out to be a disorganized mess under pressure. Hunter reasoned he hadn’t been pressured to win by defense lawyers before. Most would’ve rolled over when faced with the powerful trio of Chief Richardson, Mayor West, and prosecutor Tanner. But Hunter wasn’t most people.

Despite pressing him over and over, Javier had yet to disclose to Hunter why he was seen leaving Chief Richardson’s house. Carol was busy in the courthouse behind the scenes, talking to people, listening, and following leads. Somebody had to know something, or know someone who did, especially in a city like Longford.

As Tanner stood to call his next witness, Carol reached forward and tapped Hunter on the shoulder. She indicated to the laptop sitting on the defense table.

“You’ve got an important email,” she whispered. “It looks like one of my leads delivered.”

Hunter opened the laptop and checked.

Mr. Hunter,

There’s something you should know. Javier Mitchell knows Maggie Richardson very well. Better than most.

A friend of Maggie’s.

Hunter turned to look at Carol. She raised her eyebrows. Hunter nodded. Carol stood and left the courtroom. She had a busy day of research ahead of her.

Tanner called the next prosecution witness, Todd Darcy, to the stand. It was an attempt to recover from the mess of that morning. Todd Darcy was a friend of Chad Townsend, and at nineteen, he was two years younger than the man he idolized. Darcy was a farmer, through and through. Hunter almost expected him to be walking to the stand with a piece of straw hanging out of his mouth. His hair was permanently creased into position from wearing a cap most days, his boots had been polished for the occasion, and his jeans had an ironed crease down the middle. He wore a white shirt that looked like it belonged to his father, and he’d tucked it neatly into his jeans, showing off his large belt buckle.

“Mr. Darcy,” Tanner began as the witness struggled to find a comfortable position in the stand. “Can you please describe where you were on the night of June 25th?”

“I was driving my pick-up around town with my friend, Tommy Windsor, when we got word there was a party on Baker St.” Darcy was fidgeting. “So, we went round there to check it out.”

“What happened when you arrived at the party?”

“We arrived at the same time Garry Holden arrived in his truck. Chad Townsend was in the passenger seat, and Harry Bills was behind him. They got out when they saw us arrive. The five of us all walked into the party together.”

“What happened when you walked in?”

“Listen, we weren’t quite invited to the party, so the other people there weren’t that welcoming to us. One person told us to leave, but we decided to stay. That’s when Javier confronted Chad.” Darcy pulled on his ear, scratched his face, and rubbed his nose. Public speaking wasn’t his strength and all the eyes of the court were on him. “There was an argument between Javier and Chad. Chad punched Javier first, but it was just a little tap. Nothing big. And then Javier said some stuff, and then punched Chad in the nose hard.”

“What did you hear Mr. Mitchell say to Mr. Townsend?”

He cleared his throat. “I heard Javier say, ‘I’m going to kill you.’”

“Those were Mr. Mitchell’s exact words.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What happened after Mr. Mitchell punched Mr. Townsend?”

“Javier punched Chad pretty hard, and Chad’s nose was bleeding pretty bad. Javier fell on Chad, trying to punch him again, but we grabbed him and dragged him off. While we had hold of his arms, he said he was going to kill Chad.”

“What happened next?”

“We left the party, and Chad decided to jump in my truck. We were driving around the city for a while because Chad was really angry. He asked me to drop him off at the end of Elliston Avenue around 10pm.”

“What was on Elliston Avenue?”

“That’s where Chad lived. He lived out the back of his parent’s place, so I used to drop him off at the end of the street, so he could sneak back into his room and not wake his parents.”

“Did you drop him off there?”

“I did, and then I asked if he was done for the night, but he said no, he had to meet someone at Norwich Park, which was about a five-minute walk away. If I’d know what was going to happen, I would’ve gone with him. I wouldn’t have let him go there alone.”

“Did he tell you who he was going to meet?”

“He said he was going to meet Javier at Norwich Park at 11pm. He said he was going to say sorry to Javier and try and smooth things over.”

“Did you talk to Mr. Townsend after that?”

“No, that’s the last time I saw him alive. I parked at the end of Elliston Avenue, and he stepped out of my truck, and that was it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy.” Tanner finished. “No further questions.”

Hunter waited a few moments before he began questioning Darcy. He was asserting his authority in the courtroom, showing his power, and he could see it agitated the witness. Darcy squirmed in his chair, anxious to get his public appearance over with.

“Mr. Darcy, were you drinking that night?”

“No.”

“Really?” Hunter raised his eyebrows. He walked back to his desk and picked up five A4-sized photographs. “Mr. Darcy, can you please explain what you’re holding in these pictures?”

Hunter handed the photos to the witness, who looked them over. The sweat started to build on his brow.

“Mr. Darcy, these are photos that you posted on your social media page that afternoon and that night. We can see from these five photos that there are five different beers in your hand on each occasion. One photo even shows you holding a can of beer while driving. We know they’re different beers because in one you’ve got a glass, the next is a can, the following photograph you’ve got a plastic cup. Would you like to reconsider your answer since you’re lying to this court?”

“Objection.” Tanner rose to his feet. “This is an accusation.”

“You’re treading a fine line, Mr. Hunter,” Judge Johnson stated. “But the witness may answer the question.”

“Look, I might’ve had a drink or two.”

“Five different drinks, Mr. Darcy. Five. And that’s just what is caught in these photos.”

“Alright. I had a lot to drink. So what? You can’t prove that it’s beer. Just because I’m not twenty-one doesn’t mean I shouldn’t drink. I can handle my alcohol. I’m fine with it.”

Hunter could hear a groan from the prosecutor’s table. He pressed on, challenging the young man’s ego. “Did these five drinks cause you to feel intoxicated?”

“I said I could handle my alcohol. I wasn’t drunk.”

“Ok.” Hunter walked to the lectern. “While at the party, did you hear every word Mr. Mitchell said to Mr. Townsend that night?”

“I did. I was standing right there. I heard every word between them.”

“At the party, did Mr. Mitchell ask Mr. Townsend to meet at Norwich Park?”

“No. He didn’t say anything like that.”

“After the altercation, you said you were driving around with Mr. Townsend, correct?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Can you explain how Mr. Mitchell communicated to Mr. Townsend that he would like to meet in Norwich Park at 11pm?”

“What do you mean?” He squinted in confusion.

“When you left the party, Mr. Mitchell hadn’t asked Mr. Townsend to meet in Norwich Park. You were driving with Mr. Townsend, and then you said Mr. Mitchell contacted your passenger to meet in Norwich Park. How did he do that?”

“I don’t know. He must’ve got a text message.”

“Really?” Hunter walked back to the defense table and picked up a piece of paper. “This is a copy of Mr. Townsend’s phone records. On this page is all the messages that came in and out from his phone on the night of June 25th. Can you please read this and tell me which message is from Mr. Mitchell?”

“Ah.” His face began to get red as he was handed the piece of paper. He read line after line, slowly, running his finger over the information and mouthing the names. “It’s none of these.”

“Then how did Mr. Mitchell ask Mr. Townsend to meet at Norwich Park?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Maybe after I dropped him off, that’s when he must’ve seen him on the street. Yeah, that makes sense. He must’ve seen Javier after I dropped him off.”

“Pardon?” Hunter said. “You told this court that Mr. Townsend asked to be dropped off at the end of Elliston Avenue so he could meet Mr. Mitchell in Norwich Park. Did that happen or not?”

“Yeah, that happened.” Darcy was becoming flustered. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“But how?” Hunter was exasperated. “How did Mr. Mitchell ask Mr. Townsend to meet him at the park while he was riding in your truck?”

“It must’ve been a text message.”

“We have Mr. Townsend’s phone records here.” Hunter waved the piece of paper in the air. “We can see what text messages came in and out, what phone calls there were, and what internet sites he accessed. None of the internet sites were messaging sites. None of the text messages asked to meet in Norwich Park. So, Mr. Darcy, tell me how.”

“I don’t know.” Darcy’s face was bright red, and the sweat marks under his armpits were becoming visible. “I don’t know how it happened.”

“Because it didn’t happen, did it?” Hunter’s voice rose. “That’s not what Mr. Townsend told you, is it?”

“Ah,” He looked like he was about to burst into tears. He wiped his brow again. “Yeah, ok. He didn’t say that. I dropped him off at home and he didn’t say it.” He swallowed. “But if I knew what that Mexican—”

“That’s enough.” Hunter’s voice was loud and firm.

The entire courtroom went silent. Darcy sat on the stand, frozen. Hunter returned to his table, breathing heavily, and flicked open a file. He turned back to Judge Johnson.

“Your Honor, this trial is becoming a farce. Your courtroom is becoming a joke. The defense moves to also dismiss this witness’s entire testimony. This witness has changed his statement numerous times in a matter of minutes. I move to dismiss this witness and his entire testimony under Illinois Criminal Code 720 ILCS 5/32-2. It’s clear the witness is deliberately committing perjury and is lying about what happened that night to prejudice the case against my client.”

“Prosecutor?” Judge Johnson was almost pleading with Tanner to come back with a decent response.

Tanner looked at the table, shook his head, then stood and conceded. “There are no objections from the prosecution.”

Judge Johnson grunted. “Then I have no choice but to grant the motion. Witness, you may step down, however, you’ll be charged with perjury. You cannot come into this courtroom and lie under oath,” Judge Johnson stated. “And counsel for the prosecution, let this be an official warning that you cannot place another lying witness on the stand. After I explain what this motion means to the jury, we’ll recess for lunch, and it may also give you a chance to organize your witness list, Mr. Tanner.”

Judge Johnson turned to the jury as Darcy stepped off the witness stand. Two of the members of the jury were shaking their heads, staring at Darcy, trying to process what was happening. Judge Johnson spoke at length to the jury about the testimony, asking them numerous questions about their interpretation of the ruling, and when satisfied, declared a recess for lunch.

“They’re all lying. How can they do that?” Javier leaned close to Hunter and asked as the crowd moved out. “How is that allowed?”

“It isn’t.” Hunter’s response was blunt. “But it gives us a chance to throw this whole mess out.”

As Javier was guided out by the bailiff for lunch, Hunter didn’t leave his desk. He sat in front of his laptop for the next hour, typing his next motion, desperate to have it prepared in time for Judge Johnson’s return. By the time Judge Johnson walked back into the room, before the jury was brought back in, Hunter had printed out the motion. He was ready to attack.

“The defense submits a motion for a mistrial.” Hunter handed a piece of paper to the bailiff, who passed it to the judge. “This outrageous and prejudicial behavior must not continue. There has been a continued and deliberate attempt by the prosecution to present false, misleading, and untruthful evidence at this trial. This cannot continue. The due process rights of the defendant have been violated by the prosecution. They’re deliberately and intentionally misleading the jury, using known perjured or false testimony, and presenting inaccurate evidence. There has been serious misconduct during these proceedings.”

“Your Honor, this is outrageous!” Tanner shouted. “The jury has not been unduly influenced. To permit the dismissal of an indictment, the denial of due process must be unequivocally clear. A mistrial should only be ordered where there’s an error of such gravity that it’s infected the fundamental fairness of the trial and continuation of the proceeding would defeat the ends of justice. The perjury committed by the witnesses has been discovered during the trial, strong steps have been taken to correct it, and the jury was clearly, directly, and unequivocally instructed to disregard the testimony.”

“Your Honor, the prosecution has clearly established they’ll continue to present false, misleading, and untruthful evidence in this trial,” Hunter argued. “You cannot allow this trial to continue.”

“I expected this from you, Mr. Hunter, and my ruling is that the motion is denied,” Judge Johnson responded. “A trial court’s decision to deny a motion for a mistrial is reviewed for abuse of discretion, and if I’ve erred in this judgment, then it’ll be reviewed at a later time.”

“Then the defense submits a motion for a directed verdict, under the Illinois Code of Criminal Procedure, 735 ILCS 5/2-1202.” Hunter handed another piece of paper to the bailiff, who passed it to the judge.

Tanner flicked through the pages of notes on his table, confused by the motion. His assistant typed into her laptop and then turned it to face Tanner. “Your Honor, the defense can’t do that,” Tanner argued. “That’s a post-trial motion. We haven’t even closed our case yet. The prosecution has not rested.”

“If the prosecution intends to continue to bring lying witnesses to the stand, I consider their case closed.”

“Mr. Hunter, enough of the games. I can see what you’re doing. With every declined motion, you’re setting yourself up for an appeal, but this is a post-trial motion, and the prosecution has not rested its case. The motion is denied.” Judge Johnson was firm. “But Mr. Tanner, I’ll warn you again—select your next witness very carefully or I’ll have no choice but to throw this case out.”

Chapter 28

Tanner called his next witnesses and spent the afternoon being careful about the questions he presented. He was close to the line where not even Judge Johnson could save him. Ignoring his original plan to bring in eyewitnesses first, he brought in expert after expert, relying on science to build his trust back with the jury. A forensic expert testified about the blood splatter patterns, followed by a crime scene expert who declared that the body had not been dragged to the location. They were good testimonies, solid, however, Hunter’s mind was elsewhere. By late afternoon, the courtroom doors opened, and Carol snuck back in, sitting behind Hunter and Javier at the front pew.

She’d spent the day calling in favors, calling associate after associate, trying to track down details about their current client. By the time Judge Johnson had called a recess for the end of day three, Carol had a copy of the material she needed. When she handed the new information to Hunter, she could sense the rage burning off him.

He turned to Javier; his jaw clenched tight. “We need to talk in the conference room.”

After Carol negotiated with the court staff, the bailiff allowed Javier and the defense team to have five minutes in the conference room before Javier was driven back to prison for the night. The atmosphere in the client conference room was tense. Next to the courtroom, with only one door, the room had a wooden table in the middle with three chairs surrounding it. Not much else could fit.

“I’m ready to tell the truth,” Javier said as Hunter walked in with Carol behind him. “It’s time.

“Go on.” Hunter sat down; his jaw clenched.

“I was having a relationship with Maggie Richardson.” Javier stared at the table, his hands cuffed and resting on his lap. There were scratches along the edge of the wooden table, imprints from nervous fingernails. “We were sleeping together. We tried to keep it quiet because we were scared of what her father, or Chad, would do if they found out.”

Hunter sighed and leaned back in the seat. He put his hands on his forehead. With the information Carol had gathered, he’d been expecting the confession. “Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”

“I didn’t want to bring her into it.” Javier paused for a moment. He fought back the tears. “We weren’t officially dating, but I wanted to make it official. So did she, but she was so worried about what Chad would do. Chad hated me already, and it would’ve made things harder for her. Chad still thought it was only a matter of time before he’d get back together with Maggie. He was harassing her so much. Text messages, calls, he’d been calling out her name from the street in front of her house. They lived five houses apart, so it was easy for Chad to see her coming and going. That’s why I was seen leaving the Richardson house. I was with Maggie.”

“So, you killed Chad for her?” Carol questioned.

Javier raised his eyes from the table. “I didn’t kill Chad and I don’t know who did.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Hunter straightened up and rubbed his brow. “This changes everything. This changes everything about this case, this trial, and our approach.”

“I didn’t want to drag her into this,” Javier whispered. “I needed to protect her. I didn’t want to bring Maggie into this mess. There weren’t many people who knew about us. Just a couple of Maggie’s close friends and my cousin. I didn’t think dating the police chief’s daughter would lead me here. I didn’t think this would happen.”

Hunter sighed. Not only was he being lied to by the witnesses, not only was he being lied to in court, but he was being lied to by his own client.

“Javier,” Hunter said. “You’ve got a lot of people against you. Chief Richardson, the prosecutor, the mayor, the judge, and right now, it appears you’ve got twelve jurors against you as well. This whole city needs to see someone go down for the murder of Chad Townsend, and that person happens to be you. Guilty or not, they want you behind bars. I need every bit of help I can get here.”

“Just because they hate me, doesn’t mean I should go down for something I didn’t do,” Javier said. “You can’t let this corruption racket throw whoever they want in prison, whenever they want to do it. If you don’t fight it, then they’ll continue to do it forever. Chief Richardson will continue to do this.”

“You’re trying to change the subject.” Hunter stared at him, judging Javier’s expression. “And the reason you’re doing it is because you’re still not telling me everything. You’re still holding out on something. What is it?”

Javier looked away.

“What is it, Javier?” Hunter leaned forward. “What else do you know?”

“Nothing,” Javier whispered. “That’s all I know. I have nothing else to say.”

The guard knocked on the door. “Time to go back to prison, Mexican.”

“What is it, Javier?” Hunter pressed. “What else are you hiding? I need to know.”

“Nothing,” Javier whispered and then stood up. He called out to the guard. “I’m ready to go.”

Chapter 29

The following days of the trial moved past in a blur of activity. Tanner was careful with his questions, careful where he directed the testimonies, and careful about who he brought to the stand. With the make-up of the jury, he was well in front, but with every lie a witness told, his advantage slid backward. He brought forward the medical examiner, then a paramedic, followed by another crime scene specialist, people willing to talk the talk and share their expertise. It was established that Chad Townsend died as a result of exsanguination, the loss of blood causing death, after falling onto the concrete next to the bridge in Norwich Park. The medical examiner admitted the strike to the face could’ve happened up to an hour before the fall, however, he said, it was unlikely.

When Tanner called a blood analysis expert to talk about the blood stains found on the shirt and the sneaker, Judge Johnson had to explain to the jury the situation with the contaminated evidence.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Judge Johnson began. “You’re about to hear the testimony of blood analysis expert, Mr. Henry Elbert, concerning evidence he claims to have identified. In considering this evidence for the trial, you must bear in mind that the defense had no opportunity to examine the blood sample found on the sneaker. This includes a third blood stain that was not identified. As such, I’m instructing you on a matter of law. When this case is over, and you’re deliberating on the evidence, you’re to consider not only Mr. Anderson’s testimony about the blood samples found on the sneaker, but also the fact that the prosecution has failed to make the sneaker available to the defense team for further analysis. It’s acceptable to see this failure of evidence as raising reasonable doubt about Mr. Mitchell’s guilt.”

The blood expert came to the stand and provided a sound scientific overview of his report, never straying once into opinion. Hunter objected where he could, and called to question the expertise of the witness, but there was little he could do to cast doubt on the evidence.

Expert after expert followed, and Tanner played his new strategy well—build a mountain of small facts delivered by trusted specialists, in an attempt to convince the jury they must convict Javier. By the end of day five, the prosecution had recovered from their earlier failures and were back on equal footing. As Judge Johnson called an end to the first week, Hunter was exhausted. He sat in his office in Longford, staring out the window at nothing in particular, watching as the sun dipped into the horizon, as the time ticked past 7:05pm on Friday night.

Mayor Bob West was due to hit the stand after the weekend, and Hunter had to be ready for more lies. He had further motions for a mistrial drafted, ready to be presented if Tanner gave him the opportunity. He’d read West’s statement over and over, prepared for everything that was coming. It was the old adage—a lawyer should never ask a question that he doesn’t already know the answer to—but he knew the witnesses in Longford changed their answers on the stand, seemingly with little effect on the case. West claimed to have seen Javier walking towards Norwich Park that night, but there were holes in his statement, and Hunter intended to exploit them.

“No plans tonight?” Carol stepped into the office, her purse in her hand.

“I plan to find a way to win a case,” Hunter said, still staring out the window as the sky began to turn a light orange. “I’ve got to review everything that’s left before the case gets back into court on Monday. Javier is still holding something back, and I have to find out what it is, and why he isn’t telling me.”

“What do you think it is?”

“He’s protecting Maggie Richardson. He knows something about her, but he’s not willing to bring it out in court. He’d rather sacrifice himself for her.” Hunter looked up. “Both Maggie and Chad live on Elliston Avenue, and Chad had no plans to meet anyone after he got out of the truck with Darcy. I think Chad went to the Richardson household after Darcy dropped him off and tried to call out to Maggie.”

“Do you think Maggie asked him to meet her by the bridge and then hit him? The coroner’s report suggested his death was from the fall, so perhaps Chad tried to grab Maggie, and she wouldn’t have it, and she struck him. It’s self-defense then. She hit him, he fell, and then she left.”

“It’s an option, but we need to talk to Maggie.”

“Easier said than done. She’s avoiding me like nothing else. I’ve messaged her, emailed her, tried to talk to her on the street—she won’t even say hello to me now.” Carol sat down on the chair in front of Hunter’s desk. She waited a moment and then looked at him. “I think it’s the most likely scenario. Javier knows what happened, and he’s protecting Maggie. So now you know the truth, and you know that Javier is choosing to go to prison, you could walk away.”

Hunter turned to face her. “You’re saying we have no chance?”

“I’m saying even though I think Javier is innocent, he won’t tell us everything, and Maggie won’t talk. They’re our two best options, and I think the closer we get to the result, the angrier people will become. Without Javier, they’ll direct that anger at you.” Carol drew a breath. “Maybe it’s time you forget about this and leave it all behind. You could walk up to the judge and say your position has been compromised. They won’t fight to keep you in the city. They’ll assign the case to someone else.”

“I can’t do that now.” Hunter shook his head. “I have a chance to crumble the corrupt house these liars have built. I have the chance to take them down, and expose their dishonesty and fraud, and prevent further corruption from happening. This is my chance.”

“I’m thinking about your safety. I’ve grown quite fond of you over the last few months, Tex, and I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she said. “And it doesn’t end with this case. These men have been running Longford for over a decade. Losing one case won’t stop them. Everyone in the city is against you, and you saw that this week. And even if you do well in court, the jury has already convicted him.”

“The jury. Not much of a jury.” Hunter scoffed. “The main witnesses in this case stood up there and lied, and there are no real repercussions for it. They’ve been fined a few hundred dollars and allowed to leave.”

“Judge Johnson is retiring at the end of the year. He doesn’t care if they review this case and find he acted improperly. There’re no repercussions for him either.”

“What about his reputation?”

“Out here? They’ll praise him for standing up against the system. Even if the case gets thrown out on appeal due to Judge Johnson’s actions, it doesn’t matter. It won’t be his fault. He’ll be seen as the local man trying to go after justice, and you’ll still be seen as the bad guy.”

“Javier is innocent.” Hunter turned back to look out the window at the view as the sun continued its slow descent into the horizon. A number of clouds had drifted across, catching the last rays of sun for the day, covering the area in an orange haze. “Elie Wiesel once said that ‘there may be times when we’re powerless to prevent injustice, but there must never be a time when we fail to protest.’ That’s my job, Carol. I have to protest against this injustice. This is my part in the system. The systemic fraud in this state has to end, and this is what I have to do. I cannot walk past and watch injustice occur.”

A silence hung over them until the office phone rang. Carol looked at the number on the small screen.

“It’s the prison.” She answered the call, placing the call on speakerphone. “Mr. Hunter’s office.”

“Carol, it’s Joe,” the man responded. “The Mexican kid has requested a meeting with that big-city lawyer.”

Carol looked at Hunter, and Hunter responded with a nod. She leaned closer to the speaker. “What does he need to meet with Mr. Hunter about?”

“I have no idea, but it sounds like he needs to talk about something. I don’t know why he didn’t do it in court, but he should’ve. He says he forgot to tell Mr. Hunter something. He says it’s important.”

Hunter wrote a time on a piece of paper.

“Mr. Hunter will be down there tomorrow at 1pm. Thank you, Joe. Have a good weekend,” Carol responded, and ended the call. She looked to Hunter and smiled. “That’s a good sign. Perhaps he’s come to his senses, and he’s ready to tell us everything he knows. No more lies.”

“I hope so.”

“This could be the end.” She stood. “But don’t push him too hard. The kid’s been through a lot. Go easy on him.”

Hunter nodded.

“And don’t drive yourself insane with work over the weekend. Javier still needs you on Monday morning.” She stepped towards the door. “If you need me, call me. Understand?”

“Thank you, Carol.”

She left Hunter in his office. It was another hour before Hunter stepped out of his office and stood at the edge of the parking lot, looking towards the buildings of Longford. Despite the sun disappearing behind the horizon, the air was still thick with humidity.

Life could’ve been so different.

He could’ve settled down and moved to a small city to defend small-time criminals. He could’ve married Esther, bought a vineyard, and left the city behind. He could’ve had a family of his own. He could’ve left it all behind.

But there was something inside him, a deep scar from his childhood, that made him determined to fight for justice. His criminal psychiatrist brother once explained that his obsession was a way to exercise control over his life, a way to express his own power, as any control and power he had was drastically taken away from him at age ten. Perhaps his brother was right, Hunter reasoned, but it still wouldn’t stop him. He needed the truth.

The closer he came to the end of the case, the more he could sense the threats. There were people involved who didn’t want to see Javier step out of prison, and people who would stop at nothing to see Javier stay behind bars. Hunter considered calling Esther, to download his worries, but he decided it was best not to stress her.

It was time to sleep, if he could.

Chapter 30

Javier Mitchell was left with few choices.

He tried his best to battle against the corruption. He tried to protect the person he loved. He tried his best to keep his secrets. But now, he had been left with two choices—life or death. He was always told that the American justice system was fair, he was told it would be an impartial trial, and he believed it. When he received his American passport as a fifteen-year-old, he was so excited. His father grew up in Chicago and had a brother living in Southern Illinois. Javier left Mexico as a twenty-one-year-old with high hopes of building a bright future full of joy, love, and happiness.

Even when faced with the threat of prison, he thought he could survive. He thought he could do his time, and then live out his days. He considered that he could keep to himself, he could study, and he would survive.

As he lined up to enter the prison yard in one of the dark, narrow hallways, one of the Aryan Brotherhood members moved next to him. He leaned forward and whispered. “You’re dead, Mexican.”

Javier didn’t respond.

“Did you hear me? I said you’re dead.”

Javier turned around. The man was short, covered in tattoos, and missing a few teeth. His breath smelled like he hadn’t brushed what few teeth he had in months. Javier turned back around to see Carlos and Al nearby. He looked at the man, and then nodded to his Mexican friends. Without them, he wouldn’t survive in this prison. He knew that now. His lawyer, the tall American from the city, had requested he be moved to a different prison, but the request had been denied numerous times.

Javier moved forward in the line. One of the guards avoided eye contact with him. That was a bad sign. He glanced over his shoulder. The man behind him was shuffling something under his shirt sleeve.

Carlos and Al were five places back in the line. Javier was vulnerable. He moved to the side slightly, keeping the man in his peripheral vision.

If he could get out, he would run. He would never come back to Longford, or Illinois. He would run as far as he could. Javier saw a sharpened piece of plastic drop down the man’s sleeve. Javier turned. The man smiled.

“Ryder Hall,” a guard called out. “Get out of the line and come over here.”

The man behind Javier stared at the guard, before he turned back to Javier. “You’re lucky that you’ve been saved this time, but I’m coming for you,” he whispered. “You won’t last the week.”

The guard nodded to Javier. His life had been saved. Hall dropped the sharpened plastic on the floor, and the man behind him stepped on it, concealing it from the guards. Hall moved towards the guard, who gave him orders to go back to his cell.

Javier realized how dangerous his life had become. Any day could be his last. He had few options left.

He knew more than he told the lawyer. He knew so much more.

As much as he didn’t want to, it was time to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Chapter 31

The sun was blaring again by midday on Saturday, an August heat that was drowning the air in humidity. Even behind his sunglasses, Hunter had to squint when he caught sight of the sun. He drove into the Marline County Prison, driving into the dirt parking lot, a few streams of dust whipped up by the gusts of wind. Once parked, Hunter left the engine running for a few moments, turning up the air-conditioning, feeling the cool air on his face before he stepped out of the car.

After he loosened his collar one more button, he turned off the engine and opened the door. It was like stepping into a steam room. He could feel a summer storm coming. On the horizon, perhaps fifty miles in the distance, the clouds had become dark and ominous, threatening the land beneath it.

Hunter wiped his brow and continued walking towards the prison. Inside the entrance foyer, the air-conditioning was blasting strong enough to provide a loud and constant hum in the room. The air inside the foyer was cold compared to the outdoors, but he had no doubt the rest of the prison was sweltering. The guard at the entrance smiled at Hunter. That was unusual. It wasn’t a welcoming smile, but more of a ‘you-don’t-know-what-you’re-stepping-into’ smile. Hunter was wary.

The guard checked his watch. “Just in time, Mr. Hunter.”

“In time for what?”

“Oh, nothing.” The guard laughed. “Here to see your client, Javier Mitchell?”

Hunter didn’t respond, staring at the man.

“I mean, you’re just in time for visiting hours.” The guard tried to explain but he laughed again. “We wouldn’t want you to miss an important meeting with your client.”

“It’s 1pm. Visiting hours don’t finish for another five hours.”

“Is that right?” The guard said. “Well, things can change quickly here. We make the rules, and we change them when we like. I’ll take a copy of your ID while you sign in.”

The guard pointed to the pen and paper on the desk. Hunter checked over his shoulder, before he handed the guard his identification and proceeded to sign in. The guard typed a few keys on the computer, smiled again, and then handed the identification back to Hunter.

“This way.” The guard led Hunter through the security checkpoint and down the hall. He was led deeper into the prison than he had been before, guided down a long hallway towards a meeting room.

“Just in here, Mr. Hunter.” The guard unlocked the door. It was a smaller room than usual. “We’ll bring your client to you.”

The room was tight and cramped, the light harsher than usual. It looked like a former cell. There was a wooden table in the middle, with two wooden chairs around the outside, but nothing else. The stench of body odor was still pungent inside the room.

“This is a former lockup room,” Hunter stated. “What about the usual room for clients and attorneys?”

“It’s this room today, Mr. Hunter.” The guard stood by the door. “The other rooms are occupied, so we had to make up this room for you. We knew you were coming down at one.”

Hunter leaned in and checked the room, and then stepped inside. He placed his briefcase on the table and sat down. The guard smiled and then locked the door behind him.

Fifteen minutes passed. Hunter was reading a file. It wasn’t unusual for guards to make defense lawyers wait. It was their way of demonstrating their authority. Hunter was on their land, their place, and anything but compliance would mean more waiting. Hunter expected to be waiting at least an hour before they brought in Javier. As Hunter was reviewing the file, he saw one of the guards walk past the door to check on him.

Five minutes after the guard walked past, a blaring alarm sounded. It was almost deafening in the small room, bouncing off the concrete walls. Hunter groaned. He should’ve seen it coming. He put in his earphones to deaden the sound, but it made little difference.

“This is a lockdown.” The voice announced over the speaker. “This is a whole-prison, real-world lockdown.”

The first guard appeared around the corner. Hunter stood. “Let me out.”

“Sorry, Mr. Hunter.” He shouted from outside the locked room. “This is a full prison lockdown. I can’t let you out. You’ll have to wait inside the room. It’s for your own protection.” The guard then smiled. “Apparently, someone’s been attacked, and it’s pretty bad. Rumor has it that it’s Javier, but I can’t confirm it yet.”

Hunter stared at the man. “How long?”

“For what?”

“How long is this going to last?”

The guard laughed and then checked his watch. “Gee, Mr. Hunter. Lockdowns are serious events. I imagine you’ll be in that room for hours until it’s safe to come out.”

Chapter 32

Tex Hunter raged through the busy country bar, pushing customers out of the way, searching for Chief Phillip Richardson. The bar was filled on Saturday night, all of the patrons seemingly getting ready to fight, dance, or make out. Most of the men were wearing their cleanest t-shirt and most of the women were wearing their smallest miniskirts. The floor was sticky, the music was loud, and the smells were a mix of beer, spirits, and tobacco. Hunter searched for his target and spotted him in a booth at the back of the room, near the pool table.

“You did this.” Hunter charged towards him.

Richardson slowly raised his eyes. “Mr. Hunter.” He looked at his watch. “It’s five o’clock on a Saturday. I didn’t expect to see you here. Have you come down to join us locals for a beer? Perhaps you’re willing to say you’ve finally given up and you’ve decided to go back to Chicago. I’d even buy you a drink if you said that.”

“You put Javier in the prison hospital.” Hunter leaned over the table. “You know he’s innocent.”

Richardson looked around the bar, all the eyes were on them. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you better be careful before you go around making wild accusations like that.” He looked towards the service area. “Go and have a beer. It’ll settle you down after those boys kept you locked up for a few hours.” He scoffed. “Maybe you got a taste of what your father’s been through.”

“You know Javier’s innocent, and you still had him attacked in prison. I’ve spent five hours in lockdown and have been told Javier was badly beaten. He’s in hospital.”

Richardson stood, trying to square up to Hunter, still holding his beer in his hand. “I’m not going to warn you again, Hunter. I said you’d better be careful before you make accusations like that. The best option you have is to go back to Chicago and forget you ever set foot in here.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t leave an innocent man to rot in prison.”

“Then things are only going to get worse for you. We need a conviction, and we’re going to make sure we get it. We need that Mexican behind bars.”

“A guard told Carol the request to keep me in the prison lockdown came from the police station.”

Richardson’s mouth hung open for a moment, and then he shrugged. “I’m sure it was a mistake, and I’m sure the guard won’t make an error like that again. And next time, I’ll make sure Carol is locked up there with you.”

Hunter knocked the beer out of Richardson’s hand, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him into the side of the booth. The men around Richardson stood.

“Don’t threaten Carol.”

“Now, now.” Richardson grinned and opened his hands wide. “You’re right. My mistake. I get it. I take back what I said about Carol. It was a step too far, even for me. I apologize.”

Hunter released his grip from around Richardson’s collar and stepped back.

“In this city, we recognize our mistakes. I shouldn’t have said that about Carol.” Richardson adjusted the collar of his shirt. “And you should recognize your mistakes, Hunter. Go home. Recognize you’ve made an error and you’re well out of your depth here. Get in your car and keep driving.”

“I’m going to take you down, and you’re going to land with an almighty thud.” Hunter stepped closer to Richardson, pressing his finger into his chest. “And I’m going to enjoy it.”

Hunter turned and faced the group of men standing around him. He looked back to Richardson, who shook his head at the men. They stepped aside, and Hunter began to walk out of the bar.

“Lawyer boy,” Richardson called out as Hunter walked towards the exit. “I’ll make sure your staff remain unharmed, but I can’t promise the same for your boy in prison. Wild things happen back there. Natural justice has a way of working itself out.”

Chapter 33

The anger that brewed inside Hunter hadn’t disappeared by the time the trial restarted on Monday morning. The law was his life, the courtroom was his world, and the need for justice kept him awake long into the night. He was a part of the system, a part of the process that ensured justice and liberty were given to all. The entire system depended on everyone doing their part—cops, prosecutors, judges, and defense lawyers. Every person in each role had to commit to a fair outcome, regardless of gender, skin color, or religion. Without each cog, without each part committing to fairness, the system fell apart.

Hunter walked into the courthouse meeting room, rage bubbling inside him. He sat down with Javier before the trial and discussed what happened in the prison over the weekend. Javier was ok, a few bruises, a few scratches, but nothing was broken. He spent a night in the prison hospital, had a number of x-rays, but then was given the all-clear. For the most part, his attackers left his face alone, but there was a long purple bruise that stretched from his shoulder up to his neck that would be visible to the jury, poking out from the collar of his suit.

“We can file a motion to delay the trial until your injuries heal. That bruise might prejudice the jury against you.”

“No.” Javier’s voice was desperate. “Please don’t do that. Please. I can’t be in prison any longer. I can’t go back there for another day. Please.”

With a mass of cloud cover outside, the lighting in the meeting room seemed dimmer than normal. The wood paneling seemed darker, the chairs seemed dirtier, but the despondent mood of the room hadn’t changed.

“What happened?” Hunter was gentle in his approach. “Anything you can tell me?”

“Some guys jumped me in the line to get into the yard.”

“Do you know who?”

Javier didn’t answer.

“Are you ok?”

“My Mexican brothers protected me. If it wasn’t for them, I’d be dead. No doubt about it. I owe them my life.” Javier tried to move his shoulder, but he grimaced. “I’m ready to tell you the truth.”

Hunter squinted and paused for a moment. “And what is the truth, Javier?”

“I didn’t kill the guy, but...” Javier paused and looked away.

Hunter looked at the clock. “We don’t have long before we have to be back in the courtroom. I need you to tell me the whole truth.”

“I was in love with Maggie Richardson, but it was complicated. She was the police chief’s daughter, and the jock’s ex-girlfriend. If her dad was home, we used to meet in the hut in Norwich Park. I should’ve stayed away from her, but I couldn’t. She had some sort of spell over me.” He stared at the table. “Chad kept harassing her. That night…” He looked up. There were tears in his eyes. “That night, after the fight, Maggie decided to go home. As soon as she turned on her bedroom light, Chad called out to her. She called me and said Chad was drunk and calling out to her from the street. I said I’d come over and deal with him, but she said I shouldn’t. Her dad was home, so she felt safe. She said she was going to go and tell Chad about us. Maggie and Chad shared their first kiss at the hut in Norwich Park, and that was where she was going to tell him they were never going to get back together.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“She said she was going to meet with him that night and tell him to stop harassing her. I texted her later to see what happened, and she sent back a message to say it was sorted. I called the next day, and it was only a quick conversation. She said something bad had happened. She didn’t tell me what, but the next thing I knew, I was getting arrested.”

“Did she say she killed him?”

“She said something bad had happened. She didn’t tell me any more than that.”

“Maggie has refused to talk to us.”

“I know,” Javier whispered. “But if I ask her to tell the truth, she’ll come forward.”

“And are you ready for us to ask her to testify?”

Javier nodded. “I don’t have a choice.”

Chapter 34

Hunter waited at the defense table, staring into nothingness, barely a thought rolling through his head. Javier was brought in and sat down. They didn’t exchange a word until the bailiff called the court to order to stand for Judge Johnson. When they stood, Javier whispered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hunter. I wanted to protect her.”

“I understand, Javier. I would’ve done the same for the people I love.” Hunter kept his voice low. “Carol is attempting to talk to Maggie today. If it was a scuffle between her and Chad, she should be able to get off on self-defense.”

“What happens now?”

“Bob West is coming to testify, and then the prosecution will most likely rest their case.” Hunter gazed up as Judge Johnson took his seat. The bailiff opened the door to allow the jury to enter. “And after that, it’s our turn. Right now, our best hope is that Maggie wants to testify. If she doesn’t, we don’t have much of a case.”

The crowd had begun to quieten down in the pews behind them. There was excitement in the air. The local radio station reported over the weekend that the prosecution was well in the lead in the case, and despite the evidence being circumstantial, the jury would have no choice but to convict Javier. The locals took the news report as gospel, and had spent the weekend celebrating.

Tanner stood and called his next witness. “The prosecution calls Mayor Bob West to the stand.”

The doors to the courtroom opened, and Mayor West entered from the corridor. He walked to the stand full of self-assurance. He was wearing his best blue suit, and his tie was done up perfectly in a Windsor knot. After he took his oath, Tanner began.

“Thank you for taking the time to talk with us today, Mr. West.” Tanner stood behind the lectern, leaning one arm on it. “Can you please tell us your occupation?”

As West began talking, interacting with the jury as he did, with a wink and a smile, a thought tracked through Hunter’s mind. West was the ultimate salesman, pitching his charming outlook to the jury. After five minutes of introducing himself, the jury was hanging on his every word. It was easy to see how he’d been married three times, but in equal measure, Hunter could also see how he’d been divorced as many times.

“And Mr. West,” Tanner continued. “Did you see Mr. Mitchell on the night of June 25th?”

“I did.”

“Can you please tell the court what you saw that night?”

“It was a little after 10:30pm, and I saw Mr. Mitchell walking towards Norwich Park. I went down for some fried chicken wings from Tabbies Fried Chicken, who makes the best wings in the state, and that’s when I saw Mr. Mitchell walking towards the park, on the west side of the park, on Butcher St.”

“Was he alone?”

“He was.”

“And did you make it to Tabbies to eat your wings?”

“I did.”

“And then what happened?”

“After I ate my wings, I was driving back, past the park, and that’s when I saw Mr. Mitchell again.”

“And where was Mr. Mitchell headed?”

“He was walking alongside the east side of the park.”

“Did you see him exit the park?”

“I did. As I was driving past him, I saw him exit the park. I think that’s when he was going to meet with Chad.”

“Objection,” Hunter called out. “Calls for a conclusion.”

“Sustained,” Judge Johnson replied immediately. “Stick to the facts as you know them, Bob.”

Tanner didn’t mind. It was easy to wipe a statement from a court transcript, but the same couldn’t be said for the jury. Statements made in court remained stuck in their subconscious, no matter how many times a judge dismissed them.

Tanner asked the Mayor numerous questions over the next hour, and all of it seemed damning. Hunter objected where he could, attempting to throw doubt on the testimony, but the jury trusted the Mayor and his no-nonsense answers.

“Thank you, Mr. Mayor. No further questions.”

Every prosecution case, circumstantial or not, has a key—either a witness or a piece of evidence that unlocks the door to the truth. Bob West’s eyewitness account of identifying Javier at Norwich Park that night was the key. His testimony was the last push and allowed the jury to see the whole picture that had been building over the past week and a half. Everything had been built up to this final testimony—a man of respectable authority in the city of Longford claimed to have seen Javier Mitchell at Norwich Park just before the time of death. West was the witness that cemented the facts, and he was taking great satisfaction in it. His testimony was straightforward, easily comprehended, and extremely valuable.

It was time for Hunter to slam the door shut.

“Thank you for taking the time to discuss the case, Mr. West.” Hunter moved to the lectern with a folder in front of him. He looked to the courtroom doors, hopeful Carol was about to re-enter. When she didn’t, Hunter continued. “Would you call yourself friends with Mr. Mitchell?”

“No.”

“Could you ever imagine yourself as being friends, or at least friendly, with Mr. Mitchell?”

“No.”

“Thank you for your honesty. Now can I ask you to be honest in your response to this next question?”

West squinted. “You can.”

“Have you had a drink of alcohol this morning?” Hunter was direct.

“I…” West looked around. “I might’ve had a shot of whiskey before I came in here to calm my nerves.”

“Just one shot?”

“Maybe…” West looked forward. “Maybe three shots.”

Hunter turned to the judge. “Move to strike this witness testimony on the basis he’s intoxicated, Your Honor.”

Judge Johnson raised his eyebrows. He’d never been asked that before in his court, although he was sure there’d been a lot of drunken witnesses in the stand over the years. “The witness looks fine to me, Mr. Hunter.”

“Your Honor, the witness has admitted to consuming a number of alcoholic beverages this morning. The drunken testimony must be struck from the record.”

“Don’t lecture me on the law, Mr. Hunter. Up there in the big city, you may not be able to handle your alcohol, but we make them tough out here. We can handle our drink.” Judge Johnson’s tone was flat, but the jury laughed. That wasn’t a good sign. “I can see with my own two eyes that Mr. West isn’t intoxicated.”

“Your Honor, I must protest.”

“You can protest all you want, Mr. Hunter. But I’ll tell you, it’s my opinion that matters. And in my opinion, the witness isn’t drunk. Motion to strike the witness is dismissed.”

Hunter paused, standing tall at the lectern, and then turned his page.

“Mr. Hunter?” Judge Johnson asked. “Are you going to continue, or should I excuse the witness?”

Hunter looked to the witness. “Mr. West, do you know Mr. Mitchell and his family?”

“I’m the Mayor of this town. I know a lot of people, so to answer your question, yes, I do.”

“Including Mr. Mitchell’s uncle, restaurant owner Jeffery Mitchell?”

“I do.”

Hunter paused for a moment, letting the information sink into the jury’s mind. Silence was a very effective way to ensure jurors were paying close attention. “Mr. West, why were you going to Tabbies at 10:30pm?”

“Because I was hungry.” West tapped his stomach, and the jury laughed again. “I get some late-night cravings.”

“Were you also drinking that night?”

“I’d had a few.”

“A few? How many drinks would you consider a few?”

“Five, maybe six drinks. But like the judge said, we can handle our liquor out here.” The jury laughed again. It was almost a comedy show to them.

“Was it dark that night?”

“Most nights are.” West smiled. He was on a roll.

“But that particular night, was it dark?”

“I don’t quite remember.”

“You don’t remember? Interesting,” Hunter responded. “Do you wear glasses, Mr. West?”

“For reading, yes. Not for anything else.”

“And were you wearing them that night?”

“I don’t often read when I’m driving,” West responded. Again, the jury laughed.

“The answer is no?”

“That’s right.”

“How fast were you traveling on your drive to Tabbies Fried Chicken shop?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Were you doing the speed limit?”

“I wasn’t going above it. I was probably driving at twenty-five miles an hour to the shop. I had to get there because they closed at 11pm.”

“In the section next to Norwich Park, are there streetlights on Butcher St?”

“No.”

“Mr. West, do you remember what you told me in our first meeting?”

“I told you to go home.”

“Do you remember telling me that your ‘eyesight is failing, but I can still see a rat when I cross one’?”

West smiled. “I remember telling you that. I remember calling you a rat.” West focused on the second part of the sentence, oblivious to Hunter’s attack.

“Those were your exact words to me?”

“More or less.”

“You told me that, ‘your eyesight is failing,’” Hunter waited a moment for the jury to catch up before he continued. “Traveling at twenty-five miles per hour, on a dark night, without your glasses, on a street that doesn’t have streetlights, you claim to have seen a person at a distance of over fifty yards away, clearly enough to be able to identify them?”

West sat back, straightening in his seat. “That’s what I said.”

“Mr. West,” Hunter turned around to look at the crowd. “Can you tell me who’s standing by the door of the courtroom?”

“Objection. Relevance,” Tanner responded, trying to buy West time to look at the door. Tanner’s incompetence had left the witness unprepared for questions about his eyesight, and he was scrambling to save face.

“Your Honor, the witness’s eyesight is essential to his claims he saw the defendant that night.”

“Overruled,” Judge Johnson responded. “You may answer the question, Bob.”

Hunter had asked Javier’s uncle to dress in brown and stand next to the door of the courtroom for the length of West’s testimony. Javier’s uncle complied, dressed in a dull brown jacket that almost matched the color of the walls. West sat forward in his chair, squinting as he tried to stare at the door. He could make out the figure, yet he couldn’t make out the face. “I don’t know that person.”

“Please step forward.” Hunter indicated to Javier’s uncle, Jeffery Mitchell. He walked to the gate at the front of the courtroom. “Do you recognize him now?”

“Ah,” West sat back. “It’s Jeffery Mitchell. He’s a restaurant owner on Main St.”

“The distance to the door isn’t even a third of the distance you claim to have identified Mr. Mitchell, and yet, even with the benefit of lighting, you can’t recognize someone you know.” Hunter’s voice rose. “Mr. West, do you still maintain that traveling at twenty-five miles per hour, on a dark night, without your glasses, on a street that doesn’t have streetlights, to have seen a person at a distance of over fifty yards away, well enough to be able to identify them?”

West held his mouth open for a few long moments, unsure how to answer. He considered his options. He knew one more lie could make the prosecution case fall apart completely. “I saw somebody.”

Hunter drew a long breath. It was already embarrassing enough for West, and as much as Hunter would’ve enjoyed smashing him further into the ground, he knew the time to strike was now. “Do you now need to change your testimony to say you didn’t see Mr. Mitchell?”

“I saw somebody. That’s what I know. It’s only now you’ve questioned it that I realize it could’ve been someone else.” West’s face started to turn red as he tried to save his testimony. “I could’ve been mistaken.”

“No further questions.”

“You may step down, Mr. West.” Judge Johnson was formal in his statement.

“Wait.” West was desperate. “I can—”

“Bob, I would step down and end this embarrassment, if I were you,” Judge Johnson said in a hushed tone.

West stepped out of the witness box; another prosecution witness caught in a lie. Hunter watched the jury as West walked out of the courtroom, but somehow, they seemed unfazed by his deceit.

Chapter 35

After the disaster of Bob West’s testimony, Tanner called another eyewitness to the stand. Maryann Blewit claimed she saw Javier walking two blocks from Norwich Park at 10pm that night, an hour before the time of death. It was entirely plausible; however, it was hardly condemning. Tanner was clutching at straws, a last desperate attempt to piece the case together. Hunter declined to cross-examine. After six days of evidence, Tanner had no more punches to pull, no more lying witnesses to take the stand. Calling any further eyewitnesses had become fraught with risk, and he decided to rest his case, built mostly on circumstantial evidence from experts. The motive and blood samples found on Chad Townsend’s shirt and sneakers remained the critical pieces of evidence, but it left so much room for reasonable doubt.

Hunter made another motion for a directed verdict at the end of the prosecution’s case—a request that the judge terminates the trial and declare there wasn’t enough evidence for a reasonable jury to convict his client. In most trials, motions for a directed verdict were routine, a matter of course for defense attorneys using every trick in the book. However, Hunter felt this was one of the strongest chances he had at the decision. Judge Johnson was quick to throw it out. The judge was becoming tired of the trial antics, sick of the games, and wanted the case pushed through to a jury decision as soon as possible.

“Mr. Hunter, are you ready to begin?” Judge Johnson asked.

Hunter looked over his shoulder. There was no sign of Carol. As he stood to request more time, his phone pinged on the defense table. He glanced at it. It was Carol. Hunter looked at his phone and his heart started pounding. She was five minutes away.

“We are, Your Honor.” Hunter stood. “However, first, the defense requests a sidebar.”

“Approach.” Judge Johnson waved them forward. Hunter had to stall. He took his time walking up to the bench where Tanner was already waiting.

“What is it, Mr. Hunter?”

Hunter looked back to the doors. No sign of Carol yet.

“The defense requests a recess of fifteen minutes to meet with our first witness.”

“The request is denied. You should’ve been prepared before now. This court doesn’t run on your schedule,” Judge Johnson responded. “Go back to your table and call your first witness.”

Hunter walked back to the table. He stared at the open files, reviewing his notes.

“Mr. Hunter?” Judge Johnson called out. “I’ve asked you to begin your case, and you haven’t called a witness. It’s beginning to look like you don’t have any witnesses to call. If you don’t call your first witness soon, I’ll assume you’re closing your case and we’ll move onto closing arguments.”

Hunter looked to the doors at the back of the room. They opened. Carol walked in. She nodded to him. Hunter decided to open with the big left hook. The opportunity was now. This was his chance.

With the case hanging in the balance, with Javier’s freedom on the line, Tex Hunter began the defense. He’d done all he could to raise doubt in the prosecution’s case, he’d done all he could to question the validity of their circumstantial evidence, and the case still hung in the balance. Calling his first witness was a risk, but so was most of the case. The name would rile the prosecution, they would object, but he was ready for that. Hunter turned to face the judge, knowing his witness had the chance to change the course of the trial. He drew a breath.

“The defense calls Miss Maggie Richardson to the stand.”

“What?” Tanner jumped to his feet. “Objection. Your Honor, she’s not listed on the defense witness list.”

The crowd murmured behind Hunter. Chief Richardson, sitting in the front row of the court, stood. He glared at Tanner, but his shock was as clear as his. Richardson stormed out the court doors. Carol followed. Javier looked up to Hunter, worry painted across his face.

“Your Honor, new information has come to light about the case from this witness, and the defense calls her to the stand.”

“Approach,” Judge Johnson called them forward. “Care to explain what’s going on?”

“Miss Richardson is Mr. Townsend’s ex-girlfriend, so we listed her as a prosecution witness,” Tanner began as he approached the bench. “But we didn’t call her to testify as we didn’t feel she had any information to add to the case.”

“Your Honor, we feel this witness has very valuable information and we would like to give her the opportunity to tell the truth.”

“Are you sure you want to call a prosecution witness as your first witness, Mr. Hunter?”

“That’s correct, Your Honor.”

“It’s your case, counselor. If she was a prosecution witness, then I presume you’ve seen her witness statement. I’ll allow it.”

The court doors were opened by the bailiff, and the crowd waited with bated breath. There was a collective silence as everyone looked to the doors. Carol walked back in first. She walked to the gates of the courtroom, and indicated Hunter to join her. Hunter looked up to Judge Johnson, and then approached Carol.

“Her father asked her to talk with him outside for a moment,” Carol whispered in Hunter’s ear. “I don’t think this is good.”

“She’s on the prosecution witness list. He knows we can force her to come to the stand.”

“Mr. Hunter?” Judge Johnson called out. “Is your witness ready?”

“We need her to testify,” Hunter whispered to Carol. “Can you get her to come back?”

“I’ll see what I can do, but I’ll make no promises,” Carol whispered. “It was hard enough to get her here in the first place.”

“What changed her mind?”

“I told her Javier needed her to tell the truth, and if she was going down for the murder, then you would defend her in a claim of self-defense,” Carol said. “If she gets that, then she walks away without a charge. So then I guess the question is, will you defend her?”

“I will.”

“Then give me five minutes,” Carol replied. “I’ll get her to come back in.”

“Mr. Hunter?” Judge Johnson’s voice was impatient. “Care to explain to the court what’s going on?”

“Your Honor, may we please give this witness five minutes? The witness is quite nervous to appear before the court.”

“Understandable, given the circumstances.” Judge Johnson groaned. “Alright. Five minutes, Mr. Hunter. That’s all you’ve got.”

The crowd murmured again as Carol rushed back out the courtroom doors and Hunter walked back to the defense table.

“What do you think she’s going to say?” Javier leaned across the defense table. “Do you know what she’ll say? Have you talked to her?”

“There’s a saying that a lawyer should never ask a question they don’t know the answer to,” Hunter responded. “Not knowing the answer is very dangerous in a court case.”

“And do you know what she’s going to say?”

“I have no idea what she’s going to say, Javier.” Hunter turned to him. “But we’re out of options. If she admits she left the house that night, then we can start to build a case based on doubt. We may even have the chance for a mistrial based on what she claims.”

The court doors opened again, and Chief Richardson walked in. He glared at Hunter and then sat down in the front row; his thick arms folded across his chest.

A few moments later, Carol walked in. Hunter waited for her to say something. She walked up to him, leaned forward over the bar, and whispered. “She’s ready to testify.”

Chapter 36

Maggie Richardson was timid as she walked to the stand. The tall young woman was well dressed in a black skirt and white shirt. Her blonde hair was pulled back, and she had no make-up on. Her hands shook a little while she took her oath, and a glaze of sweat sat on her forehead. Her eyes were red. All eyes in the courtroom were staring at her intensely. Carol handed Hunter a piece of paper with the notes she’d gathered on what to ask. Hunter read it, squinted, and then turned to Carol. She nodded.

Chief Richardson sat in the front row behind Tanner, arms folded across his chest, a scowl on his face. He nodded when Hunter turned to look at him. That worried Hunter. Hunter walked to the lectern, folder in hand, and read over Carol’s notes again. He drew a long breath.

“Miss Richardson, thank you for coming to testify today.” Hunter began. “I understand that coming to this courtroom today is hard for you. I’ll start by asking if you already provided a witness statement to the police about your knowledge of the events that occurred on June 25th?”

“I did, but I didn’t tell the whole truth. I hid some details.” She leaned forward into the microphone. “I’m sorry that I did that.”

“And are you willing to tell the truth today?”

“I am. I’m ready to tell everyone what really happened.”

The crowd grumbled behind Hunter.

“Order,” Judge Johnson scolded the crowd.

“Miss Richardson, were you previously in a relationship with Chad Townsend?”

“Yes. We dated for five years, but I broke up with him around five weeks before his death.”

“After you broke up with Mr. Townsend, did you begin a relationship with Mr. Mitchell?”

She paused and then leaned forward to the microphone. “Yes.”

The crowd gasped, as did members of the jury.

“Did you disclose this in your police statement?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because my father is Police Chief Phillip Richardson. He asked me not to say it. He… He told me what to say and what not to say in the police statement.” She drew a deep breath. “He didn’t like Javier and hated the idea that we could have mixed-race babies.”

The jury members were sitting on the edge of their seats, hanging on every word.

“Miss Richardson, how did your father react when you told him you were dating Mr. Mitchell?”

“Objection,” Tanner called out. “Relevance.”

Hunter turned to face Tanner and raised his eyebrows. It was a desperate attempt to disrupt the testimony.

“Overruled.” Judge Johnson groaned. “Please answer the question.”

“I didn’t tell him face to face. I was too frightened to tell him,” she responded. “I was scared that if he found out we were dating that he would hit me, and then go after Javier. My father has been so violent at home, and I was so terrified of him.”

“Did Mr. Townsend ever hit you?”

“Often. He used to hit me after he went out drinking,” she said with little emotion. The fact the jury didn’t react showed Hunter they’d expected that response. “But he never hit me as hard as my father hit me.”

Hunter paused for dramatic effect. He walked to the defense table, removed a file, and then walked back to the lectern, waiting a few moments before he continued. “Did your father say he was going to talk to Chad on the night of June 25th?”

“He was…” She looked at Carol and then Carol nodded. “Chad was causing a scene outside our home on Elliston Avenue around 10:30pm. My father said he was going to deal with Chad once and for all, but I told him not to. I told him I would do it. I walked outside and told Chad we should go to the bridge in Norwich Park, which was about five minutes walk away.”

The crowd murmured again before Judge Johnson slammed his gavel. “Quiet! Or you’ll all be held in contempt.”

Hunter waited for the crowd to hush before he turned back to Maggie. “Did your father leave home later that night?”

“No.”

Hunter turned and looked at Carol. She nodded towards the piece of paper she handed him earlier. He read it again. Carol indicated that he needed to turn the piece of paper over. He did that. Hunter’s mouth hung open and then he looked back to Carol. She nodded again.

“Mr. Hunter?” Judge Johnson pressed. “Do you care to continue questioning your first witness?”

Hunter turned around. “Yes.” He paused and walked back to the lectern. “Miss Richardson, what happened next?”

The tears began to well in her eyes. She drew another long breath. And then another. “I left home… I tried to talk with Chad, but he was very drunk. I thought we could walk to the bridge in Norwich Park, and that’s where I would tell him that I was dating Javier.”

“Why were you scared to tell Mr. Townsend this?” Hunter’s voice was soft.

“Because he thought we should be together forever. He thought I was being silly, and he kept saying we should get back together. I went to the bridge, and I was going to tell him to stop harassing me, because…” She drew another breath. “Because I was dating Javier now. He didn’t know that I loved Javier instead of him. Chad thought I took him there to make-out with him. He thought… he thought he owned me.”

Hunter was cautious. “What happened next?”

“He was drunk, and he told me I couldn’t date Javier. He said I was his and he would take what was his. He was… he was trying to rape me. He’d forced me to have sex with him so many times, that I… I just couldn’t do it again. I wasn’t his property.” Her nervousness turned to anger. “He said… he said I was his. I hated that.” She drew a sharp breath. “I hated it. When he grabbed me, again, I punched him. It was self-defense.”

The crowd gasped.

“Then what happened?” Hunter pressed.

“He was so drunk that he fell and hit his head. There was blood, a lot of it. I saw that, but I didn’t care anymore. I’d had enough.”

“When you left Norwich Park, was Mr. Townsend dead?”

“I don’t know. He was lying on the ground, and all I did was hit him once. One shove and he fell and hit his head on the concrete.” Maggie shook her head as the growing murmur in the crowd became louder. “I didn’t check on him, but I left him there for dead.”

Chapter 37

The crowd erupted after Hunter finished questioning Maggie Richardson. The locals were buzzing with gossip, and Judge Johnson did his best to call them back to order. He ordered the bailiffs to remove anyone who continued to talk, and after two people were removed, the crowd quietened down.

Hunter looked at Richardson and then to Tanner. He expected the prosecutor to request a recess, or even move to dismiss the case. But Tanner didn’t offer anything. Not even a sideways glance. Judge Johnson looked over the top of the bench at Tanner, expecting the same as Hunter.

“Counselor, would you like to request a recess?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tanner said. “We would like to have the opportunity to question the witness.”

Judge Johnson squinted, and Hunter turned to look at Tanner. Tanner didn’t react at all.

“Very well,” Judge Johnson said. “Go ahead.”

The crowd was silent behind them. They were hanging on every word. Hunter looked confused. Javier’s knee was bouncing under the table.

“Miss Richardson,” Tanner stood and walked around the front of his desk. “Do you care greatly about Mr. Mitchell?”

She leaned forward into the microphone. “I do.”

“You said you ‘love’ him. Is this true?”

“Yes. I do.”

“If he was in trouble, would you help him?”

“Of course I would.”

Tanner turned around and looked at Chief Richardson. Hunter looked as well. Richardson provided a nod of approval.

“Do you suffer from any mental health issues?”

“Objection. Relevance,” Hunter called out.

“Overruled. I need to see where this goes,” Judge Johnson responded.

Maggie looked at her father. He kept his glare on her.

“Miss Richardson?” Tanner pressed. “Do you, or have you in the past, suffered any mental health issues?”

“I’ve had issues in the past. My mother died when I was ten and that made my teenage years quite difficult to navigate. And I found it hard at home because my father was an overbearing beast who used to beat me.”

Tanner looked back at Chief Richardson, who nodded again. Tanner was reluctant in his next question. “Did you have to see a psychologist to deal with issues about lying?”

Maggie’s mouth hung open as she glared at her father.

“Miss Richardson?” Tanner pressed. “After your mother died, did you have consistent episodes of lying, which became so intense, you had to see a clinical psychologist to help with these issues?”

“I’m telling the truth now.”

“That’s not what I asked. I asked, have you had issues with lying in the past?”

“As a young teen, I had issues with lying, yes.” She folded her arms. “But I dealt with it. The lies were my way of processing what happened to my mother. I was trying to live in a fantasy world while trying to make sense of why my mother died.”

“And I asked if you had to see a psychologist as a result of these issues?”

“I did.”

“How many years did you see the psychologist?”

“Five.”

“Five years. Five years of lying. Five years of telling mistruths. Five years of making things up to suit yourself. Five years of—”

“Objection. Counselor is testifying,” Hunter called out.

“Sustained.”

Tanner grunted, unhappy his moment in the sun had been interrupted. He composed himself and moved to the lectern. “Miss Richardson, you said that Mr. Townsend used to hit you when you were dating. Are you lying about that as well?”

“No.”

“Are you the daughter of the Longford’s Police Chief?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever make an official police report to say Mr. Townsend hit you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want Chad to get in trouble.”

“Do you expect this court to believe that you, the daughter of Longford’s Police Chief, didn’t make a report about someone hitting you because you didn’t want your abuser to get in trouble?”

“That’s the truth.” She swallowed. “When abuse is the only love you’ve known; you seek it out.”

“So you’re saying that Mr. Mitchell must’ve hit you as well?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Javier showed me that love can be different. He showed me a gentle love, not one that was all about ownership.”

“When Mr. Mitchell hit you, was it harder than Mr. Townsend or softer?”

“He never hit me, and he was never violent towards me.”

“How many times was Mr. Mitchell forcefully physical to you?”

“Never.”

“How many times did he slap you?”

“Objection,” Hunter called out. “Asked and answered. The witness has stated the defendant was never violent towards her.”

“Sustained,” Judge Johnson responded. “Move on from this line of questioning, Mr. Tanner.”

Tanner poised himself, and looked over his notes before he continued questioning the witness. “Miss Richardson, you said you would help Mr. Mitchell if he was in trouble. Does that include lying in court?”

“What? No.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t lie for him in court.”

“You haven’t stepped forward to tell this story before now, have you?”

“No.”

“And this is the first time you’ve publicly made this statement?”

“Yes.”

“Do you find it convenient that you’ve stepped forward now? Mr. Mitchell is halfway through a trial, and you make up a story that would not only get Mr. Mitchell off the charges, but it would also get you off any charges, as your actions would most likely be deemed self-defense. Do you find that convenient?”

“This is the truth and I need to tell it to everyone.” She glared at her father. “This is what really happened that night. I was there.”

“Miss Richardson.” Tanner turned to look at Chief Richardson again. When he received another nod of approval, he turned back and continued. “I’ll ask you directly. Are you lying to protect Mr. Mitchell?”

Her mouth hung open for a moment, and then she turned to look at her father. “No, I’m telling the truth. Javier Mitchell didn’t kill Chad Townsend.”

“It’s all rather convenient, isn’t it? One last attempt to save the person you love.” Tanner nodded and looked at the jury. One jury member was shaking her head in disappointment at Maggie. “No further questions.”

“Your Honor, the defense would like to submit a motion for a mistrial.” Hunter stood.

“When filed, the motion will be dismissed.” Judge Johnson was quick in his response. “Do you have a redirect for your witness, Mr. Hunter?”

“Your Honor.” Hunter’s voice was firm. “This young woman has stated, under oath, that she was responsible for the death of Chad Townsend. It’s not up to the prosecution to make claims about the validity of her statement.”

“Don’t lecture me on the law, Mr. Hunter. There’s no rigid formula to determine a witness's competency.” Judge Johnson’s tone was strong. “It’ll be up to the police to investigate this claim. This courtroom isn’t the police station. On the basis of this testimony, if the police wish to investigate this case, then they can, and they’ll relay the information to the prosecution.”

“Given the circumstances, and who has made the claim, you cannot expect that to happen.”

“Are you suggesting our police force is somehow corrupt, Mr. Hunter? I would caution you before making an accusation of that level in this courtroom,” Judge Johnson responded. “We’re here, in this court, to assess the guilt of Mr. Mitchell. Anything other than that is outside the scope of this trial. It’s for the police to investigate and the prosecutor to follow up on those charges. We’re not the police. Now, do you have a redirect for your witness?”

“One question.” Hunter turned to look at Maggie Richardson in the witness stand. “Miss Richardson, do you love Mr. Mitchell enough to tell the truth?”

“Yes. The truth is I was there that night. That’s the honest truth.”

“No further questions.” Hunter sat down.

“Then the witness is excused.” Judge Johnson turned back to the lawyers. “We’ll recess for the rest of the day for the police to conduct initial investigations into this claim, and then, if the prosecution wishes to request more time, so be it. But if there’s no request from the prosecution, then we’ll proceed tomorrow with this trial to assess the guilt of Mr. Mitchell.”

Chapter 38

Hunter slammed the door of his hotel room, the door barely remaining on its hinges.

Anger was something he’d learned to manage years ago, the result of his childhood. Any hint of anger, any hint of rage, and he was accused of having his father’s genes. He’d learned to hide it, to force it down under his stoic exterior, but there were times when it was too much to resist. He needed to get Javier free. He needed to know what his sister knew. He needed to know the truth. He’d long felt his father was innocent, and that feeling of not knowing the truth, being lied to time and time again, left him feeling broken inside. He’d channeled those emotions into his work, determined to see every innocent person he defended set free.

He’d bought a bottle of Jack Daniels on the way back to the hotel, and he cracked the top off. He poured a drink. Then another.

The prosecution wasn’t going to drop the charges. They convinced themselves that Maggie Richardson was lying to protect her boyfriend. Chief Richardson would re-interview his daughter, and then dismiss her claims as lies. There was no evidence other than her word. No one could place her there, her DNA was not at the scene, nor was there any other evidence.

Hunter’s phone rang. It was 7:05pm.

“The case is going ahead.” Tanner opened the call. “Chief Richardson, along with one of his deputies, has reviewed the claims, re-interviewed Maggie Richardson, and decided there was no truth to her claims. On the basis of evidence, Mr. Mitchell is still charged with first-degree murder, and no lies by his girlfriend will get him out of it. Maggie wasn’t even able to tell us some of the things at the scene of the crime. The more she talked, the more it became obvious she was lying.”

“You’re really going through with this?” Hunter said. “You’re not moving to dismiss the case?”

“As far as we’re concerned, Javier Mitchell killed Chad Townsend. We’re not withdrawing the case just because his girlfriend stood up and said— ‘whoops, you know what, I killed him in self-defense.’ That’s not going to fly in this city. We know what really happened, and her lies don’t change anything we’re doing. We saw through the tricks.” Tanner’s tone was laced with arrogance. “It’s a little convenient, don’t you think? She presents a scenario where the only option is to claim self-defense, and then she and Mr. Mitchell walk away. No, we’re not falling for that.”

“I need to see the interview file.”

“It’s recorded. I’ll have my assistants email the file through to you.” Tanner was almost laughing. “I’ll see you in court tomorrow, bright and early.”

Hunter hung up the phone and threw his glass against the drywall, shattering it into pieces. The evidence was there, the truth was in front of them, but nobody wanted to listen. Their bias had led them to the wrong decision.

There was a knock at the door. Hunter clenched his fists. He was ready. Within seconds, he swung the door open, ready to fight. He was ready to throw down.

But then the breath caught in his throat. “Esther?”

Hunter stood frozen at the door. Esther folded her arms across her chest and looked up to Hunter. She nodded.

“What… What are you doing here?”

“A hello would’ve been nice.”

“Uh? Oh… yes. Of course. Right.” Hunter stumbled over his words. “Yes. Hello.”

“That sounded like a glass smashing. Are you ok?” she stood in the doorway, but he didn’t respond. “It’s good to see you, Tex.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Um… yes… I mean, it’s good to see you too.” The words fell out of his mouth. “It’s great to see you.”

“That’s better,” she said. “Is that whiskey I smell?”

Hunter drew a long breath and looked over his shoulder at the open bottle, already a third of it gone. “It’s been a hard day.”

“I know,” Esther said. “Carol called me.”

“Carol called you?”

“She called me because she thought today was going to be the win. Once she heard what Maggie had to say, she thought the case would be over by the afternoon. So, I jumped in the car, and I drove down here to celebrate with you, but then Carol called me back a few hours later. She told me all about it.”

Hunter’s anger broke. His shoulders dropped, he sighed, and he leaned his head against the door.

“Are you going to invite me in?” Esther asked.

He nodded and opened the door. She stepped into his hotel room.

“It’s not much,” Hunter said. “But it’s the best hotel in the city.”

“I know. I booked it, remember?”

“Of course you did,” Hunter said. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit surprised to see you here. I…” He paused and looked back at the broken glass. “It’s been a tough day.”

Esther paused as she looked at the cracked piece of drywall and glass beneath it. She walked to the cupboard, picked up two more glasses, and put them on the table. She poured two glasses of Jack Daniels, reached into the mini-bar fridge and removed a coke can, and then an ice-tray. She poured both drinks and handed one to Hunter. “I don’t have to drive.”

Hunter turned and looked at the bed in the hotel room, and then looked back at her.

“Don’t get jumpy, big guy. I’ve got a room five doors down.” She removed a key from her pocket.

“That’s not what I… I wasn’t…” He stumbled over his words. “I just…”

“It’s ok. You need to focus, Tex. You need to spend the night preparing to win this case.”

He nodded; his emotions clear to see. He sat down on the armchair, glass in hand. Esther pulled out the chair from his desk and went to sit down, but thought against it. She turned, walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek, long and slow, full of emotion.

Hunter sat like a deer in headlights, unsure what to say, unsure what to do.

Esther walked back to the office chair and rolled it closer to the bed, before kicking her feet up on the edge. “Tex, you and I need to talk when this case is finished.”

“We do.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a number of minutes, exchanging uncomfortable looks, unsure what to say, until Esther broke the silence.

“You know, last time I was in a hotel room, I asked the receptionist to call me in the morning for a wake-up call at 5am. So, the phone rings, I answer it, and the lady asks, ‘What are you doing with your life?’”

Hunter smiled and shook his head, struggling to hold his smile back. “That’s an old one.”

“Carol says you’re thinking of driving back to Chicago before the case is over.” She brought the conversation back to work. “I hope you’re not going to do that. Javier needs you to see this through to the end.”

Hunter’s head dropped, staring into his JD and coke. “I just… I can’t beat them, Esther. This isn’t justice like we know it. This isn’t the law like we know it. These men get to do whatever they want. You should’ve seen it—a witness told the court that her father beats her, and nobody batted an eyelid.”

“You can beat them, Tex. It’s always been you against the system.” Esther’s voice was calming. “You’ve always been amazing. Don’t give up the fight now. I know you, and I know you can’t back away from a fight.”

They finished their drinks in silence, and then Esther said goodnight, leaving Hunter’s hotel room to head to her own room five doors down. When he closed the door to his hotel room, he tapped his head against the wall.

She was right. He wasn’t ready to finish fighting yet.

Chapter 39

Tanner offered no deal. He didn’t even bother to return Hunter’s numerous phone calls to argue the issue further. Hunter called the police station, the prosecutor’s office, and anyone who could have any influence.

When he arrived at the courthouse steps the following morning, Tanner was waiting for him, briefcase in hand. Flanked by Carol on one side and the striking Esther Wright on the other, Hunter didn’t stop as he passed Tanner.

“Brought in the big guns?” Tanner called out as Hunter stepped past him. “I should really get up to Chicago one day soon.”

Hunter swung around to see Tanner staring at Esther’s long legs. Hunter stepped over to him, towering over his head. He grunted.

“My mistake.” Tanner raised his hands in surrender. “I meant no offense.”

Hunter turned around and proceeded through the security checkpoint. Tanner continued only a few steps behind.

“We chase killers all the way down here, and no little tricks from their girlfriends will change our minds,” Tanner called out as he stepped through the metal detector. “No one will believe the little stunt pulled by Maggie. Imagine that? Having your girlfriend try to cover for you? How weak. We weren’t fooled by her little stunt.”

Hunter didn’t respond, walking to the courtroom with renewed vigor. With Esther and Carol by his side, he had the dream team, a team strong enough, smart enough, and skillful enough to win the case.

For the next three days, Hunter called witness after witness, expert after expert, building a clear picture of what happened that night. He created doubt that Javier was anywhere near Norwich Park that night. He created doubt about what really killed Chad Townsend. And he created doubt around the blood, DNA, and hair samples found on Chad Townsend’s shirt.

A medical expert testified that a woman could’ve struck Chad Townsend, and being drunk, Townsend could’ve fallen, hit his head on the ground, and caused his own death. An eyewitness testified they didn’t hear Javier Mitchell threaten Chad Townsend when they had an altercation at the party. Another witness testified they saw Javier’s blood drip from his nose onto the shirt during their fight at the party.

The truth, the undeniable weight of evidence, was in the defense’s favor.

Tanner had few objections to raise. He was nervous as he sat at the table, in awe of a courtroom master working his magic. He fidgeted constantly, only stopping to bark instructions at his assistant. Hunter delivered blow after blow after blow to the evidence presented by the prosecution.

When Hunter rested the defense’s case on Friday at lunchtime, Tanner was dumbfounded. He had little response to the furious display of expertise in the courtroom.

Before calling for closing statements, Judge Johnson spoke to the jury about their civic duty and the legal definitions that had to guide their decisions, and when he was sure they were clear on their responsibilities, he called for the lawyers to begin their closing statements.

Tanner stood, walked to the lectern, and made one final plea for a guilty verdict.

*****

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, people of Longford, thank you for taking the time to listen to this case. This process has been long, at times boring, and arduous, however, you must not forget why you’re sitting in the jury box.

You’re sitting there because you need to make a determination on the guilt of that man, Mr. Javier Mitchell.

You need to listen to the facts, not the stories. You need to listen to the evidence, not the fanciful display of theater from the defense. You need to make your decision based on the proof.

We’ve heard the defense lawyer stand up here and jump around with great stories. Even I was impressed, almost mesmerized by his performance. But that’s not a reason to find someone not guilty. Having a good lawyer shouldn’t determine someone’s guilt.

You have to forget the show by the defense, you have to forget the theatrics, you have to forget the fiction, and make your decision on the facts.

The facts are that Chad Townsend died as a result of exsanguination at around 11pm on June 25th. He died on the cold concrete of Norwich Park, next to a stone bridge that spanned the narrow part of the lake. He died after he was struck in the face.

The facts are that Mr. Mitchell had a physical altercation with Mr. Townsend earlier that night. The facts are that Mr. Mitchell was heard saying that he wanted to kill Mr. Townsend. The facts are that Mr. Mitchell was a physically violent man that night.

The cold hard truth is that Mr. Mitchell’s blood was found on Mr. Townsend’s shirt, and his shoe. The cold hard truth is that Mr. Mitchell’s hair was found on Mr. Townsend’s shirt. The cold hard truth is that Mr. Mitchell murdered Mr. Townsend that night.

The application of the law is really simple—if you find beyond a reasonable doubt that Mr. Mitchell murdered Mr. Townsend, then you must return a guilty verdict.

It’s really simple—Mr. Mitchell is the only person who had the motive, the means, and the desire to murder Mr. Townsend.

This is a chance for the justice system to convict and punish a murderer. This is the chance for the justice system to stop this man from doing this again. This is a chance for you, the jury, to clean up the streets of Longford. This is a chance for you to protect our city. This is a chance for you to protect our neighbors from violence.

We don’t need this sort of violence in Longford. We don’t need this sort of behavior here. We’re a peaceful city, and let’s send a clear message that we want to keep it that way.

Don’t be tricked by the tall tales from the tall defense lawyer. The only reasonable conclusion you can make after this trial is guilty.

Thank you for your time.”

*****

Tanner walked back to his seat. He looked to the defense table, his face turned away from the jury, and winked. Hunter ignored Tanner’s bravado, making numerous notes across his closing statement, and then stood behind the lectern.

Tanner had appealed to the jury’s sense of duty in Longford—highlighting that Javier and Hunter weren’t locals. He appealed to the locals’ need to protect their city. Hunter had to do the opposite. He had to appeal to the fact that there wasn’t enough evidence to convict Javier Mitchell of murder. He had to convince twelve regular people that Javier was innocent.

*****

“Javier Mitchell is innocent. After the weeks that we’ve had together in this courtroom, that should be clear to you now.

There’s no evidence that Mr. Mitchell was there that night. There’s no evidence that Mr. Mitchell planned to meet Mr. Townsend in Norwich Park. And there’s no evidence that Mr. Mitchell caused Mr. Townsend’s death.

Let me repeat that for you so it’s really clear—there’s no evidence that Mr. Mitchell caused Mr. Townsend’s death. None. And because of that, because the prosecution presented no evidence, the state has failed in its attempt to convict Mr. Mitchell.

Mr. Tanner talked about facts, and I’m glad he did. Because what are the facts? The facts are that Mr. Mitchell’s blood landed on Mr. Townsend’s shirt earlier that night when there was an altercation between the two young men. The facts are that Mr. Mitchell’s blood landed on the sneaker earlier that night. We heard a witness testify to this.

The facts are that Mr. Mitchell had no way to organize a meeting with Mr. Townsend at Norwich Park. The facts are that nobody saw Mr. Mitchell near Norwich Park that night.

And what does that leave? It leaves nothing, no evidence, no facts, nor any proof, that Mr. Mitchell had a hand in Mr. Townsend’s death.

We’ve also heard there was a third blood stain on Mr. Townsend’s shoe that wasn’t investigated by the police, or the prosecution. We’ve heard the blood sample wasn’t matched. Who did the third sample of blood belong to? I’ll let you think about that.

We’ve even had a witness in this trial testify she was there that night and had an altercation with Mr. Townsend and caused his death.

This is your chance to uphold what our flag stands for. This is your chance to stand up for fairness, for justice, and for liberty. No innocent person should be convicted of a crime they didn’t commit.

Listen to the facts, listen to what the evidence is saying, because it all points to the innocence of Mr. Mitchell.

After hearing the facts of this case, you can only make one reasonable decision—Mr. Mitchell is not guilty.

Thank you for your service to the justice system.”

Chapter 40

“No decision yet?” Carol called out as she stepped out of her car. “It’s been two days.”

She stood at the end of her Ford sedan, looking out at the view of High Point Hill, the closest lookout over the town of Longford. The hill was barely more than a large mound, set up as a tourist attraction many decades earlier, overlooking the farmlands that surrounded it. The lone sign that sat at the edge of the gravel parking lot was weathered, damaged, and barely readable. There were two picnic benches at the high point of the hill, the long grass growing around them. To the west was the view of the city of Longford, and to the east, it was a clear view of Marline County Prison. Not the sort of place tourists would want to take time to look at.

The sun was high in the sky, but the summer bite had started to disappear from its intensity. There were storms in the distance, at least a hundred miles away, and flashes of lightning could occasionally be seen under the blanket of dark gray.

Tex Hunter and Esther Wright leaned against the front end of Hunter’s BMW, gazing out to the view, each with a to-go coffee cup in their hands.

“I’m glad you recommended this, Carol,” Hunter said as he pointed towards the view. “Either way, this case is coming to a close, and this is a nice way to look at the view of Longford. It’s nice to have a good memory about my time out here.”

“Your time with me isn’t a good memory?” Carol joked.

“The best.” Hunter grinned. “You’ve been invaluable.”

“Have you told her yet?” Carol pointed to Esther standing next to him.

“Told me what?” Esther asked.

“Ah, sort of,” Hunter responded to Carol. “But the case isn’t over yet.”

“For a man who controls the courtroom, you have a difficult time expressing emotions.” Carol sat on the picnic bench that was within a few feet of the car. “I guess that’s why you like the courtroom so much.”

“Just like my brother—always analyzing things.” Hunter looked out to the view again. “At least this heatwave has eased.”

“Which way do you think the case will fall?” Esther sipped her coffee. “The longer it goes on, the more nervous I get.”

“The length of time they’re deliberating means there’s doubt somewhere. We have at least one person in the jury room on our side. Someone is arguing for the truth,” Hunter said. “Right now, it’s a waiting game. All the evidence says he’s innocent, but someone must be judging him based on their feelings. The jury has already come back and asked the judge a lot of questions, but they’ve given no hints to the outcome.”

“What happens to Maggie if he’s not guilty?” Carol asked.

“It was self-defense,” Hunter said. “I can’t see Chief Richardson pursuing any criminal charges against his own daughter in that situation.”

They stood in silence for a while, gazing across the lands of Southern Illinois. Having a jury out was the closest thing a legal team experienced to suspended animation. Everything was put on hold. Even the easiest tasks—filing cases, reviewing notes, returning phone calls—were too much to focus on.

The days of the trial played over and over in Hunter’s mind—could he have said this instead of that, could he have objected here instead of there. He did everything he could to stay out of the office while a jury deliberated, unable to sit still for any extended period of time. As Hunter paced the office floor in the morning, Carol suggested he and Esther drive up to High Point Hill to look at the view, and she would join them later. Hunter didn’t take much convincing.

“I did have one question,” Carol said.

“Go on,” Hunter responded.

“When I first started this case, you said that if you got Javier out of prison, then someone would give you information about an old case. You never told me what the old case was.”

Hunter looked to Esther, and she nodded.

“It’s my father’s case,” Hunter responded. “My sister flew to Mexico before my father’s trial, and until earlier this year, I hadn’t seen or talked to her since. She changed her last name, changed her look, and changed everything about herself. After years of searching, I found her and flew to Mexico to talk to her, but she didn’t want to say a word to me. A few weeks later, she called me and said that if I got her friend’s son out of prison, then she would tell me something about that case that I never knew. That’s why I needed to get Javier out of prison.”

Carol gazed out to the horizon. The lightning was becoming more frequent. “And what do you think the information is?”

“She knows what really happened,” Hunter responded. “And all I know is she’ll only tell me if we save Javier.”

The wind blew in again. It was getting stronger.

Hunter’s cell buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and answered it. “Tex Hunter.”

Hunter listened for a moment and then ended the call.

“The jury has a decision,” he said. “Judge Johnson needs everyone back in court as soon as possible.”

Chapter 41

Hunter walked into the courtroom, followed by Esther and Carol. Tanner was already at the defense table. The seats were filling up, and when the bailiff saw Hunter, he stepped out to retrieve Javier from the nearby courthouse cells.

Chief Richardson, waiting in the front row of the court seats, stood and walked across to the area behind Hunter’s desk.

“Nice of you to join us,” Richardson said as he leaned on the bar and lowered his voice. “If the decision is Not Guilty, I suggest you, Javier, and your pretty assistant get in your car and drive away as fast as possible. I need you to keep driving and driving and never come back, because I don’t need to be handling another murder case in this city. There’s a lot of angry people in this city with a lot of guns. Get out of here before they use them.”

The side door to the courtroom opened, and Javier was escorted to the defense table. Richardson stared at him before he went back to his seat, sitting down with a heavy thud. Behind the defense table sat Javier’s supporters—his mother and father, his uncle, his cousin, and his friends. Javier’s mother looked like she was about to faint.

“Is this it?” Javier sat down at the table. He was sweating and unable to sit still. “This is the decision?”

“That’s right.”

Javier bit his lip. It was clear he’d been crying. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure, Javier,” Hunter said. “We had a strong case, but it doesn’t mean anything to a juror who wants you convicted. If we lose, we’ll win on appeal, especially if Maggie testifies again. There were so many grounds to reverse this decision if it turns out to be a guilty verdict.”

“Mr. Hunter.” Javier looked to his lawyer. “I don’t think I’ll make it long enough in prison to see an appeal.”

The door to Judge Johnson’s chambers opened and the bailiff stepped out first, announcing the arrival of Judge Johnson. Hunter’s breathing shortened.

Upon instruction, the bailiff brought the jury in. They were uneasy, averting eye contact with Javier as they entered. One bumped into a chair and almost fell.

At Judge Johnson’s direction, Hunter and Javier stood.

Judge Johnson turned to the jury. “Jury Foreman, have you reached your verdict in the case against Mr. Javier Mitchell?”

“We have, Your Honor.” Juror ten stood tall and strong. “We’ve reached a verdict.”

The jury foreman handed a piece of paper to the bailiff, who in turn, handed it to Judge Johnson.

Judge Johnson took a few moments to read the verdict, and then passed the sheet of paper back to the foreman. The foreman stood up straight and tall, looking proud of the collective decision.

“In the charges of murder in the first degree, how do you find the defendant, Mr. Javier Mitchell?”

The moment they’d been waiting for. The moment they’d worked towards.

“We, the jury, in the charges of first-degree murder, find the defendant, Mr. Javier Mitchell...”

Hunter took a long breath and looked back to the jury.

“Guilty.”

The courtroom erupted with cheers.

The shock on Hunter’s face said it all. He looked at the judge, whose blank face remained expressionless. Hunter looked to Tanner, who was smiling and shaking the hands of the Townsend family behind him.

He turned back to Esther and Carol. Carol shook her head and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

Javier’s mother had collapsed to the floor. His father was crying.

Hunter turned to Javier, who had slumped down into his chair, a blank expression across his face. Hunter rested his hand on Javier’s shoulder. “We’ll win on appeal.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hunter. For everything,” Javier whispered. “But I won’t be alive that long.”

Chapter 42

Javier had to wait hours in the courthouse cells, alone and devastated. From inside the cell, he could hear the celebrating. The guards and bailiffs were cheering, drinking, and singing. In their eyes, they had Chad’s killer, and Maggie was just trying to cover for her lover. The jury didn’t believe a single word she said. Javier wasn’t sure he did either. But it made sense—she tried to break it off with Chad that night and he got angry. He was drunk and hit his head on the ground. Javier hated that he involved Maggie in the trial, he hated that she had to confess, but he was left with little choice. In the end, it didn’t matter anyway.

There was another person in one of the other cells, but they were also quiet. The man called out once, but Javier was too broken to respond.

He wasn’t sure what time it was when he was woken up by the drunk guard. The guard slapped his face as he was sleeping on the bench in the cell, and told him it was time to board the bus back to the prison. It was dark and he was weary. He asked the guard if he could stay until morning, at least until the guard was sober enough to drive, but the guard didn’t listen. He said it was time to start his long sentence behind bars. From the cell next to his, the other prisoner was being hauled onto the bus by an equally drunk guard.

The prison bus wasn’t much. It was a small bus, with a locked chain gate at the front. Javier looked at the lock as he was escorted onto the bus. It was rusted and he was sure he could break it with his foot. There were two guards for the two prisoners—the driver and the man carrying a shotgun. The driver smelled of alcohol, heavily. His face was red, and his eyes were tinged yellow. Javier wasn’t sure which guard was drunker, but they were happy drunks, at least.

The moment the metal cage locked at the front of the bus; Javier could see his future disappear. It was likely to be twenty-five years in the slammer. Twenty-five years behind cold metal bars. Twenty-five years to survive. He’d be forty-five by the time he got out, if he made it that far. That was the reality he faced. That was his future. His best years lost for a crime he didn’t commit.

“They’re so drunk, they didn’t even handcuff us,” the other prisoner whispered, showing his free hands. Javier recognized the inmate. He was one of the men that beat the Black prisoners in the yard. “We’ll be lucky to make it back to prison. It doesn’t worry me, though. I just got convicted again. I’ll be here for life. We might crash and die on the way back, but least then our sentences would be over.”

That didn’t worry Javier. He would’ve preferred it that way anyway.

The bus started to move. They rolled out from below the courthouse into the dark night. A storm had rolled in. There were cracks of lightning in the distance, highlighting the sky with flashes of yellow.

“Hey,” the other prisoner called out as the bus pulled out onto the street. He was standing on the seat. “You’re going the wrong way.”

The guard with the shotgun stood and banged the butt of the gun against the cage. “Shut up, back there.”

The other prisoner sat back down and looked over to Javier. “I reckon they don’t want to drive past the police station. They’d be mostly drunk as well, but there’s that one goody-goody cop who wouldn’t be. Jack Yale, that’s his name. Goody-goody cop. He arrested me last time. I reckon these guys don’t want to get pulled over for drunk driving a prison bus. They’d lose their jobs if they were caught.”

Javier looked out the window. They were heading to the edge of the city, past the mechanic shop owned by the Townsend family. Once on the country road, the moonlight lit the beef farms around them, as the heavy rain continued.

There was a wind swirling, swaying the trees, dancing in the night. The rain echoed throughout the bus, hitting hard on the metal roof, a rhythm of life, drowning out Javier’s thoughts. A sheet of rain blew through with the wind. Javier smiled. He loved summer rain. He loved the showers that pelted down from the clouds. He loved the refreshing smell of the warm August night.

The bus began to swerve on the wet road.

Javier looked up, distracted from the window. The driver was slumped forward. The back end of the bus began to slip.

“Hey!” The other guard shouted as he leaned across to grab the steering wheel. “Hey! Wake up!”

The bus was swaying. Javier grabbed the seat in front of him, holding on tight.

The tires of the bus slipped. The weight of the vehicle began to move sideways. The back end of the bus skidded down the road. The driver woke up, desperate to save the vehicle.

The bus hit a ditch at the side of the country road, and Javier was flung in the air. His world moved in slow motion, heightened by the sense of awareness. Then came the impact.

It was deafening. Crunching. The bus had flipped. Smashed onto its side. The sound of breaking glass and collapsing metal was thunderous. Javier was thrown to the front of the bus, his shoulder crashing into the gate. The metal gate swung open.

The windows were gone. The roof smashed sideways. The front door was missing.

Javier leaped to his feet, fueled by a rush of adrenaline. He looked around the wreck. He could see blood. A lot of it. When his vision focused, he could see the other prisoner was already in the front of the bus, shotgun in hand. He was pointing it at the guards.

The guards were alive, but only just. They were bleeding, scarcely conscious. The bus was on its side, leaning in the ditch as the rain poured in.

“Wait!” Javier called out as the other prisoner picked up the gun. “Don’t shoot them!”

“What are you talking about, man?” The other prisoner shouted back over the heavy rain. “This is our chance! This is a God-given gift to us. He works in mysterious ways, but I ain’t about to argue with him!”

“Our chance for what?” Javier stood, trying hard to recover his balance.

“To escape.” The man pointed over his shoulder. The door was swinging open. “If we don’t shoot them, then we’re all screwed. You’re either with me, or against me. I won’t hesitate to shoot you as well.”

Javier looked around and then back down to the bus driver and guard. The other prisoner aimed the weapon at the guard.

“No!” Javier stepped forward as the wind howled through. “You can’t do that!”

“I’m going away for life, man, and this is my chance! If you let them out, then I won’t see my freedom ever again.”

“No!” Javier said. “I won’t help them out, if you don’t shoot them. I’ll let you run away with the gun!”

The prisoner hesitated, before he reached forward and grabbed the radios from the guards’ shoulders and their mobile phones from their pockets. The guards struggled to stay conscious. The other prisoner turned and jumped out of the bus. Javier looked back at the guards.

Then he looked out of the bus.

This was his chance.

Chapter 43

The lights were swirling around the country road, creating a mess of red and blue beams. Hunter slowed his car and pulled over to the side of the road. Five cars and five trucks filled the country road ahead, all pulled alongside each other. The rain had eased to a drizzle. Hunter leaped out of his car, running towards the gathering. He could see Jack Yale ahead, talking on a radio.

The whole Police Department of Longford had assembled. They all had their guns ready. This was a manhunt, not a rescue mission.

“Shoot on sight!” Chief Richardson yelled to the group of ten men gathered in front of him. “These are dangerous felons. We’ve got two murderers on the run, and I don’t want to hear that they’ve murdered someone else! Don’t hesitate to shoot!”

Richardson dismissed the ten men, and they all raced towards their cars, weapons drawn. As Richardson went to his police car, Hunter grabbed his arm.

“You can’t shoot on sight.” Hunter’s teeth gritted. “Javier’s innocent. The appeal will show that.”

“Get your hand off me,” Richardson growled. “He’s a fugitive. He had the choice to stay or to run, and he chose to run. He’s dangerous. You’ve had your chance to deal with this. Now it’s time for the real men to step up.”

“He’s innocent.”

“Get out of here, lawyer. I don’t have time for your games.” Richardson turned, not engaging with Hunter any further. Richardson put one foot in his car, before he turned to Jack Yale, standing nearby. “Have you got reinforcements?”

“They’re on their way,” Yale responded.

“Good. Search everywhere. They couldn’t have gotten far in this weather.” Richardson slammed the door of his police car and squealed his tires, blaring his sirens as he raced away. Two other cars followed. Their lights were shining on the fields surrounding them as they raced down the country road.

Hunter turned to Jack Yale. “What happened?”

“I can’t help you tonight.” Yale looked at Hunter. “Javier shouldn’t have run. That’s a big problem because he’s a fugitive now.”

“What happened? I need to know.”

“The bus driver lost control. Barry slipped on the wet road.” Yale avoided eye contact. “And then he crashed into the ditch, and the windows were smashed out. The two prisoners ran.”

“What were they even doing out here? This is miles from the prison.”

“It’s the back way if…” Yale shook his head and leaned closer to Hunter. “If you want to avoid the center of the city.”

“They were drunk, weren’t they?”

Yale nodded. “All I know is that there was an accident, and now, we’ve got two fugitives on the run, and one of them is armed with a rifle.”

“You need to capture them alive.”

“If they give me that chance, I will, but I’m worried about Richardson.” Yale looked away. “If no one else is around, he’ll blast Javier’s head off the second he gets the chance. He’s already talked about being the one to take the shot at Javier.”

“You need to stop him from doing that.”

“I’ll try.” Yale agreed. “I’ll follow Richardson, and I’ll have my body-cam on. If he does anything out of the ordinary, then I’ll catch it on camera. But I’ve got to keep my distance. Richardson won’t like me following him while he’s trying to catch a killer. It’d be my job on the line if he sees me keeping tabs on him.”

Yale turned and entered his police car, racing off after Richardson.

Hunter returned to his car and thought for a moment. He knew exactly where Javier was going.

Chapter 44

Hunter sped down the road, heading towards the edge of Longford, focused on his destination.

A number of pick-up trucks raced past him in the other direction towards the crash site. The whole city was swinging into action to find the missing fugitives, and soon, there’d be a lot of angry men with hunting skills trying to find Javier. Hunter didn’t have long to find him.

His phone rang, and he put the call on speakerphone.

“Have you heard?” It was Carol.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” He looked at his watch. The time had ticked past 1am. “I’ve just been to the crash site. Javier and another prisoner ran after the bus crashed. The guards are ok, but a bit beaten up after the accident. Richardson has put out shoot-on-sight orders for both fugitives.”

“Maggie would’ve heard,” Carol said. “The whole city would’ve heard by now. News like this travels fast. They’re bringing in other departments to track down the prisoners who escaped,” Carol said. “Where are you headed?”

“Everyone is looking for Javier, thinking that he’s probably trying to run over state lines, but I’ve headed the other direction. If we find Maggie, we find Javier. And if we find him first, we might be able to keep him alive.”

“That’s good thinking,” Carol replied. “I’ll keep you updated. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know first.”

“Thank you, Carol.”

Hunter raced his BMW through the streets, speeding towards Richardson’s home near the edge of the city. At the end of Elliston Avenue, Hunter slowed his car and parked behind a large oak tree, just out of view of Norwich park. He switched off his headlights and reached across to the glove box, removing his handgun. He checked to make sure it was loaded, before he started towards Norwich Park. Two more cars raced past in the night, speeding to get to the crash site of the prison bus.

As he walked to the edge of Norwich Park, through the darkness, he saw a shadow move over the bridge where Chad Townsend died. The shadow was moving towards the hut where Javier and Maggie had shared their first kiss.

Hunter approached the hut with caution, his gun ready.

The hut door was left ajar. Hunter reached for it and drew a long breath. With a slight pull, he opened the door. It creaked.

Gun first, he stepped forward into the darkness of the hut. He couldn’t see anyone, but there was movement in the shadows.

A person stepped out. And the man was holding a rifle, pointed directly at Hunter.

Chapter 45

“You.” Richardson stepped into the light at the end of the hut. He shone a flashlight at Hunter. “Where’s Javier?”

“I don’t know. I’m here to find him,” Hunter replied. “I thought you went to the fields to look for him running towards state lines.”

“I did.” Richardson started shining the flashlight around the hut, before he moved back towards the door. He pushed past Hunter and stepped out into the park. “But then I was thinking—where would he run? Javier would know that he couldn’t outrun us. He would know that the Longford Police Department would catch up to him. He knows how good we are. So, where would he go? He’d go for help.”

“In a hut?” Hunter followed Richardson towards the bridge in Norwich Park.

“You think I don’t know who he met in here?” Richardson scoffed as he shined the flashlight around the park, looking for any movement.

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, lawyer. I know he told you the truth. I know he told you everything about me, Maggie, and this place.” Richardson shined the flashlight back into Hunter’s face. “Where is he? That’s the last time I’ll ask you.”

“I don’t know.” Hunter was firm. “I’m here looking for him to make sure you don’t shoot him first.”

The rain had started to fall again, drowning out any other sounds. The thick clouds above them blocked out any moonlight, and the shadows were pitch black in the park. They were careful where they stepped.

There was movement to the left of them. In the bushes. Richardson reacted by pointing his flashlight and rifle in that direction. Hunter moved closer to Richardson.

“Come out, Javier!” Richardson shouted. “It’s over. There’s no time to run!”

There was no response.

“Come out!” Richardson continued. “Or I’ll start shooting into the bushes! You’re a fugitive and I’ve got you! I know you’re there.”

“Wait!” It was a female voice. She stepped out from behind a bush, her face towards the light. Twenty yards away. “Don’t shoot, Dad. It’s just me here.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Richardson lowered the rifle. “I know you used to come here to meet that Mexican scum. I know you used to meet him here in the park.”

“He’s not scum.”

“And I know he’s over there in the bushes with you. Where else would he run to?” Richardson shouted. “Of course, the scum would run back here.” Richardson raised his weapon again. “Come out, Javier. It’s time to face the music!”

There was movement behind Maggie. Javier stepped out from the shadows and stood next to Maggie. Richardson raised his rifle. Hunter was poised to dive at him.

“No, Dad.” Maggie stepped in front of her boyfriend. “I won’t let you do this.”

“Get out of the way, Maggie.” He grunted. “I need to shoot that fugitive.”

She didn’t move. Richardson steadied, aiming at the pair of them.

“Not like this,” Hunter said. “You don’t have to shoot him.”

“It does have to be like this. I know that my daughter, my own daughter, used to meet her Mexican boyfriend here. Now someone has to pay for Chad’s murder, and it’s going to be Javier.”

“Don’t you dare blame Javier!” Maggie shouted. “I was here, Dad! I followed you here. I know what you did to Chad!”

Richardson paused for a moment as he looked at his daughter. He lowered his gun slightly.

“That’s right, Dad,” she continued. “I was here. I saw it all.”

“You stupid girl.” He shook his head. “You knew the truth, but you still got up in the courtroom and lied? Why would you do that?”

“I knew there was no way you were going to take the fall. Nobody would’ve believed that you killed Chad. I would’ve been laughed out of court. But me? Yeah. The jury could’ve believed that. They could’ve believed that I pushed my abusive ex-boyfriend and he fell.” She gritted her teeth. “I followed you here that night. I saw it all.”

“I didn’t touch him.”

“Don’t lie to me! I saw you! After you talked to Chad, he left our place, but you followed him into the park. I followed you and I saw it happen. I saw you grab him from behind and then beat him. I saw you hit him again and again, and then you stomped on his head when he hit the ground. I saw you do it. You’re a murderer!” Maggie spat out. “And you blamed it on Javier!”

“Chad was alive when I left,” Richardson mumbled.

“He was not!” Maggie shouted. “I checked on him five minutes after you left—he was already dead! I was so scared that I locked myself in my room for days.”

“You silly girl,” Richardson grunted. “You should’ve stayed out of it.”

“I saw you beat Chad to death and you showed no remorse at all!” She shouted over the rain. “You’re pure evil!”

“I do what I have to.” Richardson raised his weapon.

“Don’t shoot,” Hunter’s voice was firm. “We’re witnesses to this.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Richardson grunted. “No court is going to reopen the case of a dead fugitive. Not even you could get a court to consider this case.”

“I won’t let you kill Javier.” Maggie stood in front of him. The rain became heavier. “You won’t shoot me!”

“Really? I’m a good shot, sweetheart, and I need to kill him now.” Richardson aimed his weapon. “I’m not about to let that fugitive go.”

“Richardson.” Hunter’s voice was firm. “Don’t do it.”

He looked at Hunter and smiled.

And then a shot rang out through the air.

Chapter 46

Hunter looked at Maggie. She was still standing. He looked at Javier. He was standing behind her. There was no blood. He looked back at Richardson, the shock spread across his face as the blood started to creep from the inside of his right shoulder.

Hunter turned around.

It was Jack Yale, walking towards them with his handgun drawn.

“What?” Richardson whispered as he became woozy. He fell to the ground, one knee supporting him for a few moments. “What did you do?”

“I saved you from killing an innocent man.” Yale came to Richardson’s side, gun still drawn, and nodded at the weapon in Richardson’s hand. “I did my job as a police officer.”

Richardson dropped his rifle and steadied himself, leaning his weight on his knee. He was determined to keep fighting, determined to stay upright.

“You can’t prove anything,” Richardson mumbled as he held his shoulder. “It’s your word against mine.”

“And ours,” Hunter said. “You have four witnesses here.”

“You think that matters in my city?” Richardson was breathless. “I own this city.”

“I think this will help.” Yale tapped his body-cam. “You told me I had to have it on at all times. I was sure that you were tracking me, but now it’s worked against you.”

“I never trusted you,” Richardson whispered, looking at Yale, confusion on his face. “You’re too noble.”

Richardson fell with a thud. Yale holstered his weapon and then put his hand over the wound in Richardson’s shoulder. “Put pressure on here. I need to call a bus.”

Maggie Richardson reacted before Hunter did. She ran forward, placing her hand on her father’s gunshot wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. With some final strength, Richardson reached up and held his daughter’s hand. Yale ordered the bus, informing them he’d shot Richardson.

“Hold on,” Maggie whispered. “Help is on its way.”

It wasn’t long before Richardson blacked out.

Within fifteen minutes, the area was covered in red and blue lights, swirling through the darkness. Richardson had been taken away by the paramedics, clinging to life. Maggie chose to ride in the back of the ambulance with him.

The scene became crowded as the rain became heavier. Javier had been cuffed by Yale and placed in the back of his police car. He was still a fugitive. Yale checked with his deputies and was about to drive Javier back to the prison when he passed Hunter standing by the hut.

“News has come through that the second prisoner has been injured in a shootout,” Yale said. “He’s alive, but he’ll have a long stretch in hospital.”

“And Javier?”

Yale looked back to the police car. “I have to take him back to prison. He’s still a fugitive.”

“But you heard what Richardson said,” Hunter stated. “He admitted he killed Chad. He admitted he was here.”

“And he’ll deny it, at first.” Yale tapped his chest. “But my body camera was turned on. Everything Richardson admitted to is on camera. With his daughter’s testimony, we can use that to charge him with murder.”

“This is over then?” Hunter asked as he looked at Javier sitting in the backseat of the car, head down. “This is all done?”

“Not yet.” Yale looked up at Hunter. “I need a favor from you first.”

Chapter 47

Mayor West walked into the office of Tex Hunter in Longford, Illinois. The afternoon sun was blaring in through the windows, threatening another heatwave. Hunter hadn’t had more than a few hours sleep in the past two days, and coffee was the only thing fueling him.

“How can I help you, Mayor West?” Hunter waited behind his desk, sipping on a coffee. “I’ll tell you straight, so there’s no confusion—I’m not taking any more business in the city of Longford, including yours.”

“It’s sad what happened to Richardson last night,” West said. “I wanted you to know I’m glad you came out just fine.”

“How can I help you?” Hunter was blunt.

“I was impressed with what you did in Javier’s trial. You’re quite the force in the courtroom,” West said. “What a talented guy. I think we were all afraid of you when you came into the city. We hadn’t seen the likes of you before.”

“Thank you.” Hunter leaned back in the chair. “But it doesn’t answer my question.”

West walked forward and sat down at the desk. He wiped his brow.

“It was a bad thing that happened last night.”

“Not for Javier.”

“No, not for Javier.” West agreed. “But bad for Chief Richardson. The word is that he admitted to killing Chad on Yale’s body camera.”

“Word travels fast in small cities.”

“They said you were there as well. I’m glad Richardson wasn’t too badly hurt.” West looked over his shoulder. “It’s just that, well, you see, I’m in quite the predicament.”

“How so?”

“I received a call from Jack Yale this morning. Apparently, Richardson was scared by his brush with death and he’s willing to turn on his old partners to get a reduced sentence for Chad’s murder.” He looked over his shoulder again, and then lowered his voice. “And that means trouble for me.”

“As you’re not my client, and I have no intention of taking you on, I must warn you that this conversation isn’t covered by client-attorney privilege. Anything you say here can be repeated in court.” Hunter was firm. “In this conversation, I’m not acting as your lawyer. Are we clear on that?”

“Ok. Sure. Talk to me as a friend.”

“I need you to say it.”

“Still all high and mighty, eh? That’s what they said about you—even when nobody is watching, you still play things by the book.” West waggled his finger in the air. “And they were right.”

Hunter didn’t respond.

“Sure.” West wiped his brow again. “I understand we aren’t covered by privilege.”

“Good,” Hunter said. “What have you been charged with?”

“Nothing yet, but if Richardson talks, then I’m screwed. Totally screwed. He knows everything about me. All the business approvals come through my office, and well, let’s just say that some people have their approvals fast-tracked and others have their applications declined based on how much money I see.” He sighed. “And Richardson has forced me to set up some people over the years.”

“Anna Michele Laurie’s son?”

West looked up at Hunter, surprised he knew the name. “That was a bad one, but Richardson made me do it. He wanted to get back at her for rejecting him.” West sighed. “Richardson’s worse than me. He’s taken bribes from everyone. The criminals, the good guys, it doesn’t matter. If he needs to make some extra cash, he makes up accusations, arrests people, and then gets a nice little payoff to drop the false charges.”

“And there’s evidence of this?”

“There’s a book he keeps. It has all the dates and history of his payoffs. He keeps it in his office, under lock and key. That book has my name in it, and I’m worried about what it says. You’ve got to lodge a motion with the court to keep my name out of this, or whatever it is you do,” West said. “I need your skills to make sure I’m not implicated, and I’m willing to pay your rates.”

“I told you the second you walked in here I wasn’t going to defend you, and I told you that I wasn’t acting in my role as an attorney. I have no interest in ever defending you. Nothing that was said here was covered by the attorney-client privilege.” Hunter stood. “But what I didn’t tell you was this conversation is being recorded.”

“What?” The Mayor squinted. “Why?”

Hunter looked at the front door as it opened and Jack Yale walked in.

“I set you up, Mr. West.” Yale approached West with two uniform officers following him. “Right from the first phone call this morning. It was a gamble, but I thought once you heard that Richardson was rolling over on his associates, you’d come running straight here to Mr. Hunter.”

West looked back to Hunter, eyebrows raised.

“Richardson was never going to roll over,” Hunter said. “Yale called you in the hope that you would panic and call me. And now it’s over for you. The corruption racket you’ve run for decades has finally crumbled.”

“And thanks for the information about the book. We didn’t know that,” Yale said. “It’s over. Your run of causing pain all over this city has ended. All your connections, all the people you used, won’t help you on this one. You’re done. It’s over.”

“You can’t do that. You can’t do this to me. Everything that was said here was privileged information,” West continued. “You can’t use any of this. I’ll fight it in court.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Yale said. “But I’m sure the book will help. And your confession here is enough to start an investigation.”

“But it was privileged! You can’t use it! I know my rights.”

“We’ll let a judge decide on that one,” Yale said. “But I dare say that Judge Johnson isn’t going to help you out after you lied in court last time.”

“No.” West was breathless, confusion washed over his face. “It wasn’t me. It was all Richardson.”

“There’s plenty of time for talking.” Yale nodded to the two uniformed police officers. “Bob West, you’re under arrest for fraud on a governmental entity.”

Chapter 48

Javier Mitchell walked across the bridge in Norwich Park, stopping for a moment at the temporary shrine to Chad Townsend. He drew a deep breath, looking at the smiling photo of Chad that sat at the back of the flowers. Some of the flowers were weeks old, others had been laid there that morning. It was hard for the city to forget. Chief Richardson’s arrest and confession had been the talk of the town for the past two weeks, leading local conversations and most local radio discussions. His crime left a feeling of confusion throughout the streets, especially for the people who’d spent a lifetime praising Richardson’s hardline stance on crime and justice. There were people that still defended Richardson, and claimed he had to be innocent, but the facts were drowning out their voices. Jack Yale had stepped into the temporary role of Police Chief while Richardson’s charges were processed, and his first statement to the public promised to end the decades of corruption that occurred behind closed doors.

At first, Richardson had seemed determined to fight the murder charges, but when offered a deal to serve his time in a comfortable privately-run prison in a neighboring county for an early guilty plea, Richardson conceded the truth. He would have to spend at least five years behind bars before his first parole hearing, but his time was going to be filled by card games, tennis, and reading in the library. Hardly fair and just, Javier thought when he heard the news, but at least the ordeal was over. After Richardson signed the guilty plea, it took another week to process Javier’s release from the Marline County Prison. It was the longest week of his life. He was on edge the entire time, checking over his shoulder constantly, cautious of every movement, and scared to be left alone with the other prisoners.

“Are you ready to go?” Maggie Richardson called, standing next to the hut nearby. She waited by the door, blonde hair hanging over her shoulders, a smile across her face. She walked closer to him and pointed back to the city. “Are you sure you’re ready to say goodbye to Longford?”

“Strangely enough, I think I’ll miss it.” Javier leaned on the bridge railing and took in the view of the lake. The ducks were happily swimming, moving freely in the calm waters. “I think I’ll miss this city.”

“Are you serious?” Maggie laughed. “Don’t change your mind on me now. Everything is ready to go.”

Javier stepped off the bridge, and they embraced, sharing a gentle kiss. They walked hand in hand back to the Elliston Avenue address where Maggie now lived alone.

“What happens to the house?” Javier looked up to the large two-story home. “Now your Dad is in prison, who’s going to take care of it?”

“I don’t care. I have no interest in it. My father is going to be in prison for at least five years, and by the time he comes out, I hope it’s been taken over by rodents.” Maggie stopped at the front fence. “I went and saw him yesterday.”

“How was he?”

“Grumpy, and not even one little bit remorseful.” She folded her arms across her chest. “He didn’t care that he killed Chad. It didn’t even phase him in the slightest. He said Chad deserved it after what he said about me, but I don’t feel responsible for it. No person should die because they said something nasty about someone else. Sticks and stones, right?”

Javier put his arm around her, pulling her into his chest.

“He beat me for years and he thinks Chad was the bad one? I remember one night, when I was fifteen, he came home drunk and demanded I make him a coffee at 1am. I did it, but he said there was too much cream in it. He beat me so bad after that.”

“He’s locked up,” Javier reassured her, holding her tight. “He can’t hurt you now.”

“I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t step forward earlier. I should’ve stood up to him. I should’ve—”

“No, he was violent and you were terrified of him. You don’t need to apologize. I chose to keep your name out of it, remember?”

“I have some good memories of him,” she whispered. “Before Mom died, I remember him as a good man. He played with me on weekends, and he came to all my school plays, but I guess he never recovered from her death.” She paused for a few long moments and then looked up to her bedroom window. “I was so scared the night Chad died. I was so scared of my father. After seeing my father murder Chad, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t call the cops. I couldn’t tell you what I saw. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was afraid if I told the truth, he’d do the same to me. I hid in my room, and when I heard you were arrested, I went to tell Jack Yale the truth, but my father stopped me before I could tell him. He said he wiped everything I’d said. That’s when I knew I had no chance against him.” A tear dropped down her cheek. “You were lucky the lawyer fought for you. I can’t imagine how many times my father has done this to people he wanted out of Longford.”

“The lawyer was a good man. I was lucky he came down from Chicago.” Javier nodded. “He was willing to fight to the end.”

“Did he get what he needed from your mother’s friend?”

“I don’t know.” Javier shrugged. “I hope he finds the truth he’s looking for. He deserves it.”

After Richardson’s arrest, Hunter worked hard on Javier’s release. He was there, waiting in the dirt parking lot, when Javier stepped out of prison. Hunter offered his hand to shake, but Javier ignored it and embraced Hunter in a hug, before he wept gently. The hard exterior that Javier had built in prison had broken.

The connections he’d made with the other Mexicans in prison only had reach within Marline County, and Javier wasn’t going to stay anywhere near there. He was driving as far from Marline County as he could. Carlos and Al were both looking at long stretches and would’ve long forgotten Javier’s name by the time they were released, if they made it that far.

“Did you say bye to your Uncle and cousin?” Maggie asked. “Is everything ready to go?”

“I said goodbye to them this morning, and everything is packed and ready for us to pick up,” Javier said. “My uncle gave me some money because he feels guilty about what happened. I told him I didn’t need it, but he insisted I take it. He said I deserved a vacation after the stint in prison. That gives us a small financial buffer to travel for a little while.” Javier pointed to Maggie’s van, parked at the side of the house. “So, are you sure this beast will get us all the way to California?”

“It sure will.” She smiled and dangled the keys in the air. “It’s time to leave this city behind and drive west.”

Chapter 49

Tex Hunter sat in his Chicago office, leaning back on his chair, staring out the window. On the other side of the large Oak desk, Esther Wright sat opposite him, waiting in silence. Hunter tapped his finger on the edge of the desk, nervously impatient. The call was late. He was starting to doubt whether the call would come in at all. He’d risked it all to defend Javier, he’d risked it all for the chance to expose the truth.

He sipped on a glass of Koval single barrel bourbon whiskey. Distilled in Chicago, the clean drop had become one of his favorites over the past five years. It was light, driven by oak flavors, complete with a sweet aftertaste. Hunter liked his straight. Esther had two cubes of ice in hers. They sat in silence, staring at their drinks, wondering when the phone would ring. Esther clinked her ice cubes side to side in the glass, the only noise in the room.

The silence seemed to last forever.

At fifteen minutes past 5pm, five days after he successfully walked Javier Mitchell out of prison, Hunter’s cell phone rang. He placed it on the table.

Esther looked at him and then nodded. Hunter drew a breath. He answered the call and turned it on speaker.

“Hello, Tex.” It was Natalie, calling from Mexico, holding up her end of the deal. “Thank you for helping Javier. You’ll never know how much it meant to his mother. She was sure he was innocent, and it was breaking her heart she couldn’t help him.”

“His parents didn’t know that you’re my sister.” Hunter leaned forward, closer to the phone. “They thought we were old friends, and I owed you a favor from many years ago.”

Natalie didn’t respond immediately. She waited and then drew a long breath. “The only person who knows the truth about my family is my husband. I told him after we’d been married for five years, and he was shocked. Not even my kids know, and I’ve never told anyone else. How could I? People don’t respond well to the fact that you’re the child of a convicted serial killer.”

“I know.” Hunter’s response was blunt.

“Of course, you do,” she replied. “I can’t imagine how hard it was for you growing up. I thought about you a lot over the years. I hoped you were doing well, and you were. You were doing great for yourself, a very successful lawyer. Patrick as well. I just couldn’t ever contact you. That part of my life had to stay buried.”

“Because you murdered your friends?” Hunter’s tone was flat.

“Is that what you think happened?”

“You were violent in your early years in Mexico. Patrick and I found your police records. Five arrests for violent assault and five stints in prison. We found out all about your past.”

Natalie was silent for a long time. After twenty-five long seconds of silence, Hunter doubted whether she was still on the line.

“Our father is innocent,” she finally responded. “He’s done all this time in prison to protect me, but it’s not what you think.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

“The truth is…” She paused. “The truth is I need to talk to our father first.”

“We had a deal, Natalie. I save your friend’s son, and you tell me the truth.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft. “I’m going to drive to Chicago.”

“I can pay for your flight.”

“No. I’m not going to fly into Chicago. It’s too dangerous. I’ll cross the border and drive up. It’ll be safer that way.”

“When?”

“Next week. I’ve taken some time off work in the café, and I’ll start driving on Monday. I’ll call you when I’m in Chicago.” She drew a breath. “Let Patrick know. I’ll see you in a week and a half.”

She ended the call. Hunter stared at the phone.

“Are you ok?” Esther’s voice was gentle. “Do you think she’ll come here?”

“I don’t know.” Hunter continued staring at the phone. “If she doesn’t, then this is over. Without her, I’m at a dead end.”

“We’re at a dead end.”

Hunter looked up.

“I’m going to help you do this,” Esther said. “I know in the past I’ve said that I want nothing to do with this, but I’m ready to help. I’m ready to help you find out the truth about what happened to those murdered girls.”

“Thank you,” Hunter whispered. “In the hotel room, you said we needed to talk. We should—”

“Not yet.” She paused and then smiled. “When this is over, we can talk.”

THE END

Author’s Note:

Thank you for reading Natural Justice. I hope you enjoyed the twists and turns of this plot. I loved writing about a small city. Although Longford is a fictional city, it has many of the real-life dramas that can occur when a few people have too much power. Writing mostly about Chicago over the last few years, I also enjoyed writing about the heatwaves that dance across Southern Illinois. It was a welcome change from the cold of Chicago (although I do love writing about the cold as well!).

Ever since I wrote the first Tex Hunter novel, I’ve been looking forward to writing the next story—Freedom and Justice. Although each Tex Hunter novel is a standalone story, it’s all been building up to this reveal. It’s the story where the saga of Alfred Hunter’s life is resolved and the truth is exposed.

There have been hints dotted throughout the first six books, and in the next one, the truth will finally be revealed. There’s still another plot twist or two, and maybe three, coming.

Freedom and Justice will also see something happen between Tex and Esther, although what that is remains to be seen…

Much Love,

Peter

Freedom and Justice is available for pre-order now!

The trial of the decade has arrived.

After thirty-five years in prison, convicted serial killer Alfred Hunter has the chance to clear his name. His son, criminal defense attorney Tex Hunter, has fought hard to prove his father’s innocence, but powerful people have been against them. The criminal underworld, corrupt politicians, and the Chicago Police Department all need to keep the truth from coming out. When a piece of hidden evidence is unveiled, Hunter has the chance to demand a retrial.

For his whole life, Tex Hunter has battled to free his father from prison, but to reveal the truth, to finally uncover what happened, he must take the greatest risk of all…

Coming December 2021!

Also by Peter O’Mahoney

*****

In the Tex Hunter Series:

Power and Justice

Faith and Justice

Corrupt Justice

Deadly Justice

Saving Justice

Coming soon:

Freedom and Justice: Tex Hunter Book 7

*****

In the Jack Valentine Series:

Gates of Power

The Hostage

The Shooter

The Thief

*****

In the Bill Harvey Legal Thriller Series:

Redeeming Justice

Fire and Justice

Will of Justice

A Time for Justice

Truth and Justice

*****