REDEEMING

JUSTICE

PETER O’MAHONEY

Redeeming Justice: A Legal Thriller

Peter O’Mahoney

Copyright © 2017

Published by Roam Free Publishing

2rd edition.

This book was originally published as the short story Criminal Truth. It has now been re-written and re-edited as the novel Redeeming Justice.

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.

Also by Peter O’Mahoney

Also in the Bill Harvey Legal Thriller Series:

Will of Justice

In the Tom Whiskey Private Investigator Series:

Whiskey Justice

The Max Harrison Series with Patrick Graham:

Criminal Justice

Defending the Innocent

The Paid Juror

Burning Justice

The Girl on the Road

REDEEMING JUSTICE

PETER O’MAHONEY

When you live so close to the edge, you have to be prepared to fall over it.

CHAPTER 1

The black sedan stops one block shy of its destination, the narrow streets packed with patrol cars, the flashing lights blinding eyes. Ten patrol cars, at least.

Bill Harvey jolts out of his car, slamming the door behind him, jogging hurriedly through the warm September air. Despite the warmth, Bill doesn’t ditch his coat. It’s his safety blanket, and right now, he needs all the comfort he can get.

Closer. He reaches the yellow tape around the perimeter, stepping under the tape with confidence, but a fresh-faced police officer holds out his hands to stop him progressing any further.

“Detective Pitt wants me here,” he states firmly.

The officer stares up at him for a moment and then nods at his colleague to check with the lead detective at the scene. The officer is quick to return and let him through.

Closer now. The tears are already building in his eyes, the sweat gathering under his thick coat, the nerves starting to grow in his stomach.

He knows this place well. Even without the directions of the countless police, he knows his way through the building. With this many officers, it feels more like a terrorist attack than a crime scene.

“Bill.” One of the officers grabs his arm. It’s Detective Ramos. They have never liked each other. “I’m sorry.”

Without acknowledging Ramos, Bill continues to the main room.

“Bill. Wait.” Detective Matthew Pitt steps forward to stop him going any further. “That’s as far as you can go. We’re still processing this crime scene, and we can’t let you in there.”

“Tell me you have a lead.”

“We have a lead.”

“Who?”

“Bill.” Pitt places his hand on Bill’s shoulder, directing him away from the living room of the regal styled house. “Mary is in the other room. She needs you to comfort her. She needs to be taken away from here, and she asked for you. She wanted you to be one of the first to know. And I think she liked the idea of having a lawyer here. You can make her feel safe.”

“Is she a suspect?”

“Mary? No, of course not. She has an alibi, and I couldn’t imagine her doing something like that. You should go to her.”

“I need information first.”

“Of course, your mind is always working.” Pitt rubs his brow and looks away. The LAPD Forensic Science Division members push past them, ready to analyze the frantic crime scene. “He was a good man. He had the respect of everyone in the department. Not many judges have been as well-liked as he was.”

“Tell me what happened, Pitt.” Bill’s voice is still firm.

Pitt draws a long breath, stepping closer to Bill, keeping his voice low amongst the activity. “I know he was your mentor. I know that you and Hardgrave were very close. We—”

“Tell me what happened,” Bill repeats, his teeth grinding together.

“Earlier today, Hardgrave was shot in his living room at close range. One bullet between the eyes. Mary found his body lying in his new orange armchair – just delivered this morning. Blood is all over it. Killed instantly. He wouldn’t have felt any pain, Bill.”

“Time of death?”

“It looks like he’s been dead for eight to ten hours.”

“Cameras?”

“They’ve all been switched off. The shooter knew what they were doing.”

“Witnesses?”

“None.”

Wailing comes from the other room. It’s the desperate cry of a woman who has lost her companion, friend, and husband. Bill turns to go to Judge Andrew Hardgrave’s second wife, Mary, and take her out of the crime scene.

“Bill.” Pitt reaches across and grabs his arm. “There’s something you should know.”

“Go on.” Bill’s words are cold, as is his emotions.

“I saw you talking to Carlos López this afternoon. He has connections here. We have a lead, and it leads in his direction.”

“López? How?”

“Hardgrave’s estranged daughter, Michelle Hardgrave, is the girlfriend of Juan Lewis. That’s where we’re looking. Lewis, of course, is closely connected to Carlos López and Roberto Miles. All three of them were seen together on many occasions. And rumor around the department is that Hardgrave tipped off the police this morning when your client’s place was raided. This is off the record, but Lewis was supposed to be in there today with a briefcase full of drugs. Except Lewis wasn’t in the apartment… and so your client has to take the fall for the drugs.”

Carlos López, a reformed criminal, called Bill Harvey’s office after he was arrested for felony drug possession. Facing four years in prison, he was desperate for the help of L.A.’s most respected lawyer.

“Not López. He walked away from the game a long time ago. He did his time and came out a changed man. López has spent the last nine years working in drug rehab centers. He’s not a killer. He’s out of that game.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Pitt shrugs. “But he’s connected here somehow. Lewis, Miles, and López were all big players once. These are dangerous men, Bill. Very dangerous. Be careful.”

“I can look after myself.”

“Of course you can. Just tread carefully. Lewis and Miles are still two of the heavy players on the East L.A. drug scene. I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into. These people are very well-connected, and their connections run very high up.”

“Are you saying that this murder was drug-related?”

“No.” Pitt stops talking as another detective walks past. Once the hall is clear, he begins again. “But judges don’t just get shot. This isn’t a robbery, and it isn’t even close to an accident. This is a targeted hit. Whatever Judge Hardgrave was involved in—”

“He wasn’t involved in anything.”

“Of course.” Pitt looks to the ground. “Mary is shaken up, Bill. She needs someone to take her away from here. She asked for you.”

“You’d better chase down this killer quickly.” Bill’s words are cold again. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

CHAPTER 2

The tone of L.A. traffic is more frantic than usual.

On the drive to his office, Bill Harvey is verbally abused twice on the roads – once by a fervently swearing mother with two young children in the back of her car, and the second time by an old lady who couldn’t see where she was going.

He had never heard such foul language come from the mouth of a woman with pink rollers in her hair.

Neither close incident was Bill’s fault, but his drive included middle fingers, horns, and enough swear words to make the Pope faint. Not that it was anything unusual for L.A. traffic.

Some mornings, after hearing a particularly bad traffic report, he skips his morning coffee in favor of a heart jump-start on the aggressive roads. Coffee doesn’t even come close to waking him up as much as the abusive L.A. drivers.

“Good afternoon, Kate. Any news?” Bill steps into his office to be greeted by his secretary.

The spacious office in Downtown Los Angeles reminds him how far he has come. From the days when he first came to the city from his small farming town to working as a hypnotherapist in what was formerly known as South Central L.A. with daily threats of death, to now owning his piece of this great city. The sun streams in behind his secretary, through the large glass windows that lead to his office and the separate meeting room. An office that crime and justice have paid for, at least in one way or another.

“No news yet, Bill, I’m afraid.” Kate smirks in response. “Have you got anything to report?”

“Only that you look amazing today.”

Kate Spencer brushes a loose strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. Despite her beauty, compliments haven’t always come her way. Her now ex-husband did everything he could to drag her confidence down. After being called ugly on a weekly basis by the man she once loved, her self-esteem was shattered, and it has taken a long time to slowly rebuild the love for herself. Looking in the bathroom mirror is still a painful process.

“I’ll have you know that I’m a lot more than just my looks. I should be judged on my talents, not just my appearance. I’m a very useful employee, and I would like to think that I’m here for more than just a pretty face.” Her stern eyes look up to her boss. “I should be respected for my work, not my looks.”

“Yes, Kate. I know that you’re an intelligent, smart, feisty, and witty woman, who is very capable of doing this job… but you also look mighty fine today.”

Even when he has to deal with society’s lowest level of scum – the murderers, thieves, and psychos of L.A. – Kate’s genuine smile lightens his day.

And without her skills, he would be a disorganized mess.

“Thanks, boss. You too.” Her shoulders shrug a little as she accepts the compliment. “How was the funeral for Judge Hardgrave?”

“Horrible.” Bill slumps into the chair opposite his secretary’s desk, the one usually reserved for clients. Despite working in this office for the past four years, it’s the first time he has sat in the chair.

“You didn’t stay for the wake?”

“I hate those things. I hate the idea of being forced to talk to so many grieving people that you have never met before. There are hugs, and tears, and way too many emotions. I would much rather be here working.”

“Emotions aren’t your strong point,” Kate mumbles under her breath. “Have they arrested anyone for the murder yet?”

“Not yet,” he responds quietly, eyes looking towards the floor.

Reflecting on the loss of his mentor, associate, and friend, Bill Harvey stares into nothingness. Judge Andrew Hardgrave was the first judge he stood in front of after he graduated as a lawyer. In his first case, Bill Harvey was a nervous, fumbling mess – the opposite of what he is today.

But Hardgrave saw some of himself in the young lawyer and offered to mentor him in the legal process. That relationship grew into a genuine bond between two strong males, and their monthly dinners became the centerpiece of stability in their busy lives.

Memories that Bill wishes to cherish forever.

The funeral hit him hard. The smell, the air of discomfort, and the constant sobbing almost broke through the strong wall around his heart. His distant father helped him build that wall: “Caring for something will make you weak, boy,” his father used to repeat at the dinner table over and over. His father’s funeral was a low point in his life, and he has hated them ever since.

But he’s reaching a time where he’s attending more funerals than weddings, listening to more sad tears than happy ones. This was the fourth funeral he attended this year, with not one wedding to balance it out. He would much rather be watching two people enter into a legal agreement to make each other unhappy for the rest of their lives than listen to the painful cries of a devastated widow.

Nothing is as soul-destroying as listening to a widow cry.

“They must have a lead, don’t they?”

“Not even close. They’re scared. The cops are scared. The detectives are scared. The whole department is scared of these guys. The leads that they have to this shooting are very well connected people, and the detectives know that they have to step lightly in this case, or they’ll be shot themselves.”

“But that’s their job.”

“They’re still just people doing a job. They have families they want to go home to at the end of the day. Their own children to protect. I don’t blame them for stepping lightly.” Bill has the greatest respect for what the men and women dressed in blue do for their city’s safety, even if they hate him.

“Do you think the connections go all the way up?”

“Maybe, but personally, I think Hardgrave was the top of the tree.”

“Are you saying that he was on the take? He was a dishonest judge?”

“Not a chance. He was too straight for that. I think he was being used, and when he was no longer of use, someone killed him.”

Kate gazes at the man she has adored for so long. There is an aching, a vulnerability, in his eyes that she hasn’t seen before. She wants to hug him, to tell him everything will be alright, because she knows that underneath that tough-guy exterior, he’s hurting.

But she can’t do that.

The great Bill Harvey wouldn’t dare show any weakness in public. He reserves those moments for when he’s alone in his house, with a bottle of whiskey down before he’ll let any tears flow.

Nobody else is allowed to see that.

“I’m sure that they’ll get the job done, Bill,” Kate says, trying to soothe him. “The police won’t let this case go cold. It’s too big a case; it’s in the paper every day. They can’t let a judge’s killer get away with it. They’ll get him. I’m sure they will.”

“I wouldn’t be so confident.” Bill stands and begins to make his way to his inner office. He pauses, looking back to his faithful supporter. “But we will help them find the killer. We’ll do what they can’t, go where they won’t, and then we’ll hand them the evidence to make an arrest.”

“Where would we even begin?”

“At the start.” His voice is firm. “And our first lead arrives in twenty minutes.”

CHAPTER 3

“Your four o’clock, Carlos López, has arrived,” Kate says, buzzing through on Bill’s phone system.

“Send him through.”

Carlos López is slow to move. He rubs his shoulder, an old injury, before sluggishly making his way through the glass door that leads into the office of his criminal defense attorney. Dressed in jeans and a shirt that has absorbed a lot of California induced sweat over the years, he doesn’t even manage a smile to greet his defender.

He’s lived life hard, but he’s lived it well.

As a former hypnotherapist, Bill spent years reading people and their reactions, and he can see that Carlos is a man with a hard past. His face has more than expected wrinkles for a man whose age has passed forty-five, but he’s almost devoid of any smile lines – the effect of a life lived in serious business.

“Carlos López. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Bill. I hope this meeting is going to give me some good news. I could do with some good news today.”

“I’m afraid not, Carlos. Just more questions.” Bill walks around to the head of his desk, picks up a pen, and leans against the wall, intently watching his client’s reaction. “What do you know about Judge Andrew Hardgrave?”

Carlos López’s face squeezes with a look of confusion as he sits down in a comfortable armchair. “The murdered judge?”

Bill doesn’t offer a response.

“I never met him.”

Still, Bill waits. Silence can be a great weapon in pressuring a person to answer.

“Look, I never met the judge directly, but I’ve known his daughter for a while,” Carlos concedes. “I’ve heard his name thrown around a bit over the years. Judge Hardgrave’s daughter, Michelle, has been dating my cousin for years. They have a really on-off relationship, but I think they’re back together again.”

“Juan Lewis?”

“That’s him. She’s been dating Juan for a long time, but from what Juan told me, she wasn’t close to her father. She hardly talked to him, although Juan liked to encourage them to chat. He liked being connected to high-powered people.” Carlos pauses, squinting at Bill. “But I don’t understand what this has to do with my case?”

“Did Lewis ever mention Judge Hardgrave?”

“I don’t know where you’re going with this?”

“Answer the question.” Bill Harvey is firm with his client. A man with a hardened past like Carlos López doesn’t react well to nice; he reacts well to firmness.

“Like I said, I’ve heard his name mentioned a few times.” Carlos waits for Bill to respond, but he doesn’t. “Lewis would talk to Hardgrave, and Hardgrave would word him up on a few things that have been happening around the city. It was a give and take relationship between the two of them.”

“Are you saying that Judge Hardgrave was dirty?”

“No. Not even close. Hardgrave would just answer a few questions for Lewis, like who would be the best cop to talk to about getting information. Or if any targeted investigations were going his way. Nothing serious, and nothing that could get Hardgrave into trouble. Just a helping hand here and there.”

Bill doesn’t like his mentor’s name being dragged through the mud, but for the sake of information, he keeps his emotions in check. “And what would Hardgrave get out of giving Lewis information?”

“Seeing his daughter, Michelle.” Carlos rubs his shoulder again, rolling his arm backward. “If Hardgrave helped Lewis, then Lewis would make sure that Michelle came to the meeting. From what Juan told me, the judge adored Michelle, but Michelle hated him. This was the only way he could see her. She would never just go by herself.”

“That makes sense. Hardgrave wanted nothing more than his daughter’s forgiveness. He spent the last ten years of his life trying to redeem himself for all the mistakes of his past, and nothing mattered more than his daughter. Her forgiveness never came.” Bill sits down behind his desk, his hands flat on the table. “Your name was mentioned in connection with Juan Lewis, and Lewis was mentioned in connection with the Hardgrave murder.”

“Just because he’s my cousin doesn’t mean that I’m connected to everything in his life.”

“But you’re close with him?”

“He’s family, yes. We speak on a weekly basis.”

“And you would cover for him, if needed?”

Carlos doesn’t answer the question straight away. Instead, he looks away, moving a pen holder slightly on Bill Harvey’s desk, dispersing his nervous energy. It’s a sure sign that he’s avoiding an honest answer.

“Maybe.” He coughs loudly, a deep cough caused by many years of smoking more than a packet a day.

The honest answers have stopped, and Bill realizes he isn’t going to get any more information out of the Mexican-born Californian just now. Slowly, he leans back in his chair, eyes staring at Carlos with a sense of authority.

Carlos avoids the eye contact, squirming to find a comfortable position. When it’s clear who is in charge of the room, Bill turns his attention to the current file.

“Carlos, I’m going to be honest with you about your case – because that’s the way I prefer to work. I don’t like to string a client along.” He opens a folder in front of him. “I have reviewed the file on your drug possession charges, and things don’t look good for you. The prosecution seems determined to send you to prison for this one.”

“What? The drugs weren’t mine. They weren’t mine.” The fear begins to build in Carlos. Prison isn’t where he wants to spend the next four years. “I had never seen that briefcase before. Never. It wasn’t mine. How can I be charged for something that I had nothing to do with?”

The terror of the orange jumpsuit is real.

“Carlos, I have talked to the right people and conducted the preliminary investigations. There isn’t a lot for me to go on in this case. Now, I could sit here and sell you hope. I could sit here and fill you with confidence about the future – telling you all about the freedom that you’ll enjoy – but I’m not going to do that. I’m not giving you a false feeling about this case. Instead, I’m going to give you the truth. And the truth is that you’re in trouble.”

“But I’m innocent. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Get innocent people off charges? Isn’t that why we have a legal system?” Carlos leans forward on the desk, desperate for his voice to be heard.

“Carlos, the police raided your apartment and found a briefcase full of heroin. That heroin has a street value of $50,000, and you haven’t offered a valid explanation for how the drugs came to be in your apartment. That isn’t a good start, but it gets worse from there.”

“I have offered an explanation. They planted it! The police planted the drugs. Man! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“That’s not good enough, Carlos. That explanation isn’t going to get you off these charges.”

“They weren’t mine! That should be the only explanation that you should need.”

“There is a lot of evidence in your drug charges case and not a lot of explanation. That’s not a good start. The police need probable cause to press charges, and in court, we need to eliminate any reasonable doubt, so that gives us a head start when a case goes to court. The problem here is that no matter how large our head start is, we don’t look like winning this case. We need a lot of things to go right for us before we even consider taking this to court.”

“Then why would I pay you? Your services aren’t cheap, my friend.”

“You pay me because I’ll get you the best outcome for this case, that I can tell you with confidence. However, the best outcome may be to do a deal with the prosecution. We have to consider that option. And that deal may still involve going to prison for a period of time.”

Carlos stares at Bill intently – this meeting certainly isn’t going the way he expected. He has been through the system twice before, and it’s not a journey he has enjoyed.

Ten years ago, he faced the legal system for the first time. He was nabbed on the street carrying a small amount of drugs and spent a year behind bars. But that year changed him; he reformed. He found God, he got clean, and he transformed his life on the inside.

He was the perfect example of what prison could, and should, do.

But he ran into trouble with the law again four years later when he was arrested on a reckless driving charge. In desperate need of help, he looked up a lawyer online. He typed ‘Good lawyer in L.A. – cheap’ into Google, and Bill Harvey’s name was the first to appear. Bill had a smaller office then, just him working out of a tight, dark, messy office space in Downtown. He didn’t even have Kate back in those days. But Bill Harvey was a tireless worker, and the more cases he took on, the greater his reputation grew.

And the bigger is reputation grew, the bigger is office became.

He took Carlos’ reckless driving case and proved that there was no willful or wanton disregard for safety on Carlos’ behalf. He was merely driving fast because his mother had just been admitted to hospital after a fall. Unfortunately for Carlos, he crashed the car on the trip and made the rest of the journey in the back of an ambulance. At least he got to lie next to his mother as they worked on his broken leg.

“I can’t do this.” Carlos grips his chair tightly. “I can’t take on this stress.”

“We’ll do the best we can, Carlos. We’ll—”

“I need a cigarette.” Carlos abruptly stands and walks straight out the office door, fumbling for the smokes in his pocket. The pressure has hit him hard. Life as he knows it is about to be taken away, again.

After Carlos has stormed past her desk, Kate pops her head into Bill’s office. “Is he coming back?”

“He’ll be back in a moment. He’s just gone out for a smoke.”

Kate gently shuts the door. “Did you get anything from him? In relation to the Hardgrave case?”

“He didn’t say anything directly, but I got the information I needed. The people he associates himself with are killers, cold-blooded killers. Any investigations into this case are going to push into risky territory. If we’re going to do this, if we’re going to find this killer, we have to be ready for that. This is going to get heavy, Kate.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

CHAPTER 4

“To give ourselves the best chance of winning, I’m going to ask you to explain everything to me.” Bill leans back in his chair, tapping his pen on the edge of the desk.

“Like what?”

Carlos stinks of smoke as he sits back down. He quit smoking a year ago, but the stress of this case has turned him back to the need for nicotine. In the ten minutes that he stood outside the building, he smoked six cigarettes, one straight after the other.

It’s done nothing to calm his nerves.

“I need to know all the information from that night, and you cannot hold anything back from me. In the conversations between you and I, we’re covered by attorney-client privilege. As you have been through the legal system before, I’m sure you’re aware of it; however, I’ll go over it again to make sure you understand. The privilege allows us to have full and frank discussions about the case without the threat of myself, the attorney, being compelled to testify against you. This honest transfer of information will enable me to give you candid advice and effective representation. However, the privilege doesn’t cover us if the discussions are used to further crime. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good. Then we’ll start with the facts. Your apartment was raided on September 12, and the police found $50,000 worth of heroin inside a briefcase in your apartment. There were no residents present at the time of the raid, so it’s assumed that the briefcase belonged to you. If the drugs weren’t yours, can you tell me who they belonged to?”

“No.” Carlos shakes his head.

“Then can you explain how the briefcase came to be in your apartment?”

“No, I don’t have an explanation for that. But I’ll tell you that it wasn’t mine. I didn’t put it there, and I had never seen that briefcase before in my life. It didn’t belong to me, and I was surprised by the police raid, and even more surprised when they arrested me.”

“Who else came into your apartment within the previous twenty-four hours?”

“Just myself and…” Carlos pauses before he answers the next question.

“Who?” Bill presses.

“My cousin.”

“Juan Lewis?”

“Yes. My cousin and I were the only people in that apartment within the previous twenty-four hours. That was nothing unusual. Lewis has been to my apartment many times over the years.” Carlos coughs loudly again; the years of smoking his greatest regret.

Bill pauses, drumming his fingers on the table. “First things first – we need an explanation of how that briefcase came to be in your apartment.”

Carlos’ voice rises as he presents his argument: “The police put it there. The guys that raided the place. They put it there. They had to. There is no other explanation.”

Bill has heard that statement many, many times before. It’s normal for a defendant to claim that he was set up, as they have seen it a hundred times on television, but in reality, it’s very rarely the case. He closes his eyes for a long moment and shakes his head slowly.

“Even if that was true and the police planted those drugs, that won’t help us in court. Nobody would believe it, and even if we had evidence to say that this was the truth, the prosecution would never let us win. If that sort of case looked like it was going to get through, we would have every level of government in the United States playing heavy on us. Nope. Sorry, Carlos. That isn’t a defense we can use.”

“They did it though. These guys are the real criminals. They planted it.”

“Even if they did, we can’t use it.” He pauses as a question runs through his mind. “But why would they do it to you? Why would they choose to set you up?”

“They were after Lewis.”

“Go on.”

“Juan and I used to be business associates. But I did my time for the crime. I went to prison, and it changed me. I committed a lot of crime before I went to prison, but after, I’m a changed man. I’ve been out nine years now, and I’ve never committed another crime. I’m out of that game. I know a lot of people come out of prison worse off, but not me. I’ve been out of the game a long time now, almost a decade.”

Bill usually wouldn’t believe a speech like that – he has heard that talk before – but there are two things about Carlos that convinces Bill he’s telling the truth.

Firstly, his eyes. Carlos’ eyes speak the truth.

Secondly, Carlos has spent the last nine years volunteering at the drug rehabilitation center in East L.A. His work there has been tireless, and he has done it all without a cent of pay. He has poured his life savings into supporting The East Rehabilitation Center and even has a room named in his honor. Bill visited the center as part of the previous case, and all the staff raved about the work that Carlos does. He has changed lives for the better.

It’s clear to Bill that Carlos is a reformed man, working hard to make up for the mistakes of his past.

“I know that you spend your time volunteering with drug addicts, trying to get them back on the right path—”

“I love it. It’s my calling. It’s what I was meant to do with my life. I’ve done a lot of evil in the past, but this is my redemption for all my past evils. I was meant to help these people out and make their lives better. When I was trafficking drugs, I caused a lot of pain to a lot of people. I didn’t know that then, but I can see that now. Back then, it was all about the money to me. I wanted more of it. All of it. I couldn’t get enough money, but that led to me getting caught and being sent to prison.”

“You carry a lot of guilt for dealing drugs?”

“Absolutely. I watched a friend’s son wither away from addiction just before I went to prison. That changed me. Watching someone’s child die because of something you deliver is heart-wrenching. My decisions destroyed many, many lives. I might not have pulled the trigger, but I killed people. I’ll never forgive myself for putting drugs on the street, but the best I can do is work hard so that other people don’t have to watch their children go through the same thing.”

“That’s a touching story, Carlos. I might get you to talk about that story in more detail if we decide to put you on the stand. Would there be people at the rehabilitation center that would testify to your good character?”

“Of course. We’re a family there.”

In horribly messy handwriting, Bill scribbles notes on his pad. He used to worry that the client might be able to see what he’s writing, but he has since realized that it takes a non-trained eye many minutes to decipher what he has written. “So you think the police were after Juan Lewis?”

“Lewis made the mistake of making the wrong people angry. He thinks he’s invincible sometimes, but he annoyed some of his high-powered connections. So they wanted to grab him for a crime and put him away for a very long time. That’s what the police were going for. They didn’t want me; they wanted Lewis.”

“What I don’t understand, if that was the case, is why they would have planted the drugs in your apartment? Why not plant the drugs in Lewis’ apartment?”

“Because his world is tightly controlled. He has hidden video cameras everywhere. They know that. If they tried to plant drugs at his home, he would have been able to prove that they did it. So they planted it at my apartment, which he owns, when they expected that he would have been there. They thought we were in the apartment, that’s why they did it.”

“So you’re saying that they raided your apartment on the notion that Lewis was present?” Bill raises his pen in the air to make a point. “But he wasn’t there. I doubt the police would make a mistake like that, especially if they were trying to set him up.”

“We were supposed to be in there. They saw us enter the apartment, but they didn’t see us leave. We left by the laundry window to the parking lot next door.” Carlos leans forward to make his point. “You see. They thought we were in the apartment.”

“Why would you leave via the laundry window?”

Carlos hesitates. “Because.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what we decided to do.”

“Sounds very implausible.”

“It’s the truth.”

Dropping his pen, Bill doesn’t press any further. His client believes what he’s saying is true, but has no evidence to prove it. He may have convinced himself of the reasons for the raid, but a personal belief isn’t enough to win a case.

Whether the drugs belonged to Lewis, or Carlos, or the cops, isn’t Bill’s concern. His concern is only how he can do his job; how he can win the case.

He stands, turns to his large window, and looks at the streets below. He loves this view of his city. He loves feeling like he’s in the middle of the action in America’s second largest city.

“Tell me, Carlos, why keep your connections to Juan Lewis? He’s known to still be a big-time dealer in your part of L.A. You’re obviously passionate about drug rehabilitation, but your cousin is the one causing people to become addicted. If you know he’s causing pain still, why keep that close bond?”

Carlos shrugs, looking away at the wall. “Lewis and I are family. We’ve known each other our whole lives. We came across the border together as kids from Mexico and everything we did, we did it together. We’re a team. Always have been. We’re family, and although our lives have now taken different paths, we’re still brothers at heart.”

“Until you got caught.”

“If Lewis could have gone to prison for me, he would have. You can’t end a bond like that overnight. Lewis and I still talk most days of the week – and most days I tell him to get out of the game. But he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he wasn’t ‘Juan Lewis – The Boss’. He’s stuck in that life. And that’s ok. I turn a blind eye to that for my family.” Looking around Bill’s spacious office, he’s surprised by the size and width of it. “Did you read all these books?”

“At one point or another, yes, I’ve read all these books. On one wall, they’re all law books, on the other wall is psychology books. They’re not light fiction.”

“You like reading about psychology?”

“Human behavior fascinates me. I love watching a person react to hard questions. It tells so much than words.”

Carlos squirms with the uncomfortable notion. The first half of his life was built on lies. It was a life of drug dealing and surviving. Truth only got in the way of his success.

“They weren’t mine. That’s the honest truth,” Carlos states again, trying to convince his lawyer of his truth. “How can I even be charged when the drugs weren’t in my possession? They haven’t proved that I was with those drugs, have they? I wasn’t carrying them at the time. Isn’t that what you can say?”

Most criminals deny their guilt.

Even the ones who have been caught on camera deny their guilt until they realize there is no use fighting. Half of Bill’s job as a defense attorney is to get innocent clients off, and the other half of his job is to get the best deal for the ones that have no chance of getting off.

Right now, he’s positioning for the best deal.

“You’re lucky they’re only charging you with possession. With this amount of drugs, they could have charged with the intent to distribute; however, I imagine they don’t have enough evidence to push that forward. They’re taking you for possession because that’s their strongest chance.”

“I’m supposed to feel lucky?” Carlos grimaces. “I didn’t even have the drugs on me. How can they charge me with possession when they weren’t in my possession?”

“Drug charges can fall into many different groupings when they reach the court. Actual possession is precisely what it sounds like: the actual possession of narcotics, involving hard evidence which is found by law enforcement officers on the person. In that sort of case, the question is less whether the defendant may be found innocent or guilty, and more whether the officers had sufficient probable cause to justify conducting a search. The concept of constructive possession is less straightforward, and that’s what we’re looking at here. It doesn’t involve the presence of tangible physical evidence on the person. Instead, constructive possession involves two key components which can be used to point to the possession of narcotics: the defendant must have knowledge of the drug’s physical whereabouts, and the defendant must have the ability to exercise authority and control over the drugs in question. That’s what they’re saying with your case.”

“That’s stupid. The law is stupid.”

“That’s your opinion, and maybe the jury feels the same, but the prosecution is sure on this one. They have the briefcase in your apartment and are arguing you had knowledge of the case and you could exercise control of the drugs. They’re going to bring you down unless we broker a deal with them.”

Carlos wipes the thin layer of sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. “What’s the deal?”

“The police want you to testify that the case belonged to Lewis. They have made that very clear. Like you said, they’re not after you. They were tracking Lewis that morning, and when they saw he entered your apartment, they raided the place. Our problem arises because they didn’t see you or Lewis leave the apartment. You didn’t walk out the front or back door. When they went through the front door of your apartment, they thought that they’d pinned the case on your friend. And when they found that neither you or Lewis were there, and there was no further evidence that the case belonged to Lewis, they were left with no option but to charge you with the crime. But that gives rise to another question. Where did you go?”

“We went to the diner that we always frequent; El Mejor. We were there from ten in the morning until late in the afternoon. We drank coffee, ate tacos, talked about life. That’s what we did all day. Nothing unusual.”

“Interesting.” Bill turns from the window and quickly scrawls more notes on his pad. “If you give up Lewis as the owner of the briefcase, then we can get you a very good deal. We might even be able to get you off completely. But you have to testify against your cousin and state that the briefcase belonged to him.”

“Like I said, that’s not going to happen. Lewis and I are tight. He’s my family from Mexico. We would never do that to each other. I couldn’t sleep at night if I did that to my family.”

“That’s the only deal on the table. They’ll put the squeeze on you until you give up who the drugs belonged to. They’re not after you, Carlos. They couldn’t care less about you. All they want is the person who is dealing the heroin on the streets. They want to bring the whole house down. They want you to turn over on Lewis.”

“You know that I can’t do that.”

“And there’s no chance you’re going to plead guilty?”

“None. I’m innocent. The drugs weren’t mine. I’m not going to prison for a crime I didn’t commit.” Carlos is firm. “I’m not pleading guilty. Never. I didn’t do anything wrong. Your job is to get me off the charges. That’s why I’m paying you the big bucks.”

Bill draws a large breath, filling his lungs with the cool, air-conditioned air. Sometimes, his job would be a lot easier if everyone just told the truth.

But if everyone just told the truth, he wouldn’t have a job at all.

Watching Carlos closely, he leans on his hefty oak wood desk and lets the silence sit in the room. The way a man reacts under the cloak of silence says a lot.

Carlos looks comfortable.

In fact, he seems too comfortable. He’s either very confident of his innocence, or he’s overly confident in the judicial system.

Either is dangerous.

“We can take this to court, but I wouldn’t recommend it. The odds are very much against us. Firstly, we need to explain to the court how $50,000 worth of drugs ended up in your apartment. Do you have any reasonable explanation that might convince a jury?”

“The postman dropped them off?”

“No.” Bill shakes his head, in no mood for jokes. “Does anyone else share the apartment with you?”

“No.”

“Any regular visitors?”

Carlos shakes his head. “None that I would blame the crime on.”

“We will have to fight for lack of intent or lack of knowledge for the possession. I could explain that you picked up the suitcase by accident. Have you done any recent travel by plane or bus?”

“I flew to New York last month.”

“Too long ago. No jury will believe that you picked up a suitcase by mistake and then took a month to open it. No, that won’t work. But… how about a taxi ride?”

“Yeah, sure. I take taxi rides all the time.”

“Right. That might be our best option. You picked up a briefcase out of the boot of a taxi and, clearly, you picked up the wrong one. How long before the arrest did you catch a cab?”

“I think it would have been the night before.”

“Perfect. We will have to check the surveillance footage around your apartment building and make sure that the prosecution can’t disapprove our theory with the footage. Otherwise, we might have the smallest of chances.”

“That’s getting better, Bill. I knew you would be worth the money.”

“Now, they’ll bring up your connection to Juan Lewis in court. He’s the man they’re actually after, and as your alibi for the time of the raid, I have no doubt that they’ll subpoena him and get him on the stand under oath.”

“He’ll say whatever he needs to say.”

“I’m going to need to talk to him.” Bill’s statement is firm. “The prosecution is going to subpoena your cousin to the stand as a witness, and we need to make sure that he’s ready for their questions. They’re going to go after him, and his responses are going to be very important for our case.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Carlos stares at him for a while, waiting for a response. “But if you have to talk to him, be careful. My cousin has a mean temper; he snaps very quickly. Even talking to him is dangerous.”

“Carlos.” Bill grins, closing the folder in front of him. “That’s just how I like it.”

CHAPTER 5

“New tattoo?”

Lifting the sleeve of his black T-shirt, Private Investigator Jack Grayson reveals the new tattoo on his left shoulder. “Got it last week. It’s always been my life motto – it says ‘No regrets’.”

“I really hope that in twenty years’ time, when the tattoo removal person is using a laser to burn that off, that they see the irony of that tattoo.”

“Ha!” Jack slaps his hand down on the table, laughing heartily. “I was going to get a tattoo that said ‘No Fear’ across my back, but the thought of it hurting scared me too much.”

This time, it’s Bill’s turn to laugh loudly. “The tattoo I love the best is one that says ‘Trust No One’ because you’d better have put that on there yourself.”

Jack laughs loudly again, and the two men laughing in the small café captures all the other customers’ attention. Jack Grayson is used to the attention. When he walks into a room, most heads turn.

“I was at a restaurant last night, and the waitress screamed, ‘Anyone know CPR?’ I yelled out, ‘Yeah, I know the whole alphabet,’ and everyone laughed… well, except that one guy.”

“That’s a good joke.” Bill laughs again. “But is that a touch of gray hair I see?” Bill tilts his head to look at the first few strands of aging hair on Jack’s head. “You need to dye that hair, or somebody might start taking you seriously.”

“Don’t even start, Bill.” Jack runs his hand over his temple, brushing over his short black hair. “I saw a few strands the other day, but I have never used hair dye in my life. I wouldn’t even know how to use it.”

“It’s pretty simple. Just go to the drug store, buy a packet of hair dye, and follow the instructions on the box.”

“I’m not good at following instructions. You know that.”

“That’s true. You should go and see a professional. Don’t do it yourself. I would hate to see you walk in here next week with half your face dyed a different color.”

“I need to protect this face. It’s all I’ve got. You’ve got your smarts and your money, all I have is this pretty little smile.” Jack grins as he tries to find a comfortable position on the wooden chair.

The café chair isn’t big enough for him. Most chairs aren’t. As a six foot four, broad, and muscular man, Jack Grayson fills most things out.

Including his T-shirt.

But then, if he didn’t buy his T-shirts two sizes too small, they wouldn’t be as tight around his rippling biceps.

“You’ve had your fair run with women.” Bill makes the obvious understatement. “Give the rest of the male population a chance for once.”

The twenty-something waitress places two coffees in front of them, never quite taking her eye off Jack Grayson. In most situations, Bill is used to getting female attention, but when Jack is in the room, he doesn’t stand a chance. Confidently, Jack winks at the girl and watches her walk away with a spring in her step.

“Ok, Bill, what have you got for me?” He swirls the coffee in his mug.

“As you probably know, Judge Andrew Hardgrave was murdered a month ago.”

“I read that in the news. He was your mentor, wasn’t he?”

“He was. A great man. We met ten years ago when I was a baby face lawyer, and he took me under his wing. I didn’t have much of an idea of what I was doing, but he showed me the ropes. I think he saw a lot of himself in me, and he could see that I wanted to make a difference. We met so many times, and I learned so much from him. Plus, we got along really well on a personal level. We were good friends. We had the same sense of humor.”

“None?”

Bill smiles. “What’s the difference between a snowman and a snowwoman?”

“What?” Jack starts to laugh.

“Snowballs.”

“Ha!” Jack laughs hard, slapping his hand back on the flimsy wooden table. If he hits it too much harder, it’ll crumble under the weight of his large hands.

“That was Hardgrave’s favorite joke. He told it to me every year after he came back from his annual ski trip in Canada. He always had tears in his eyes when he tried to tell that joke.”

“It’s a good one.” Jack calms down, still chuckling slightly.

“We used to have dinner once a month, and Mary would cook the greatest turkey in the world. Oh, that was good turkey. I’ve never had better. Mary was his second wife; his first wife died of cancer over a decade ago. Hardgrave had mentioned to me that he did a lot of things in his past that he wasn’t proud of, but he was determined to redeem himself. He tried hard to make a difference in the world.”

“And no one has been arrested for his murder yet?”

“Not yet.”

“What have the police got?”

“A connection to my client, Carlos López.”

“Really? And you’re still defending him?”

“I have to keep him close. He’s a reformed drug addict that spends all his time volunteering at a drug rehab center, but who knows what happened. The closer I am to López, the closer I am to the Hardgrave case. I won’t let Hardgrave’s case go cold. I won’t let my friend’s killer walk free.”

“What’s in the López case?”

“Drug possession charges. He was found with a briefcase full of heroin in his apartment when the cops raided his apartment.”

“Why were the cops raiding the place?”

“The apartment that Carlos lives in is owned by his cousin, Juan Lewis, and—”

“The drug dealer?”

“You know him?”

“Of course I do. Everyone around East L.A. knows him. His reputation is about as big as they come in those parts. He’s rich, he’s mean, and he loves women.”

“Along with Hardgrave’s daughter, apparently. Lewis and Michelle Hardgrave were an item for many years. That’s how Hardgrave is connected to Lewis.”

“Why were there drugs in López’s house if he’s clean?”

“He claims that the cops planted the drugs. He claims that the police were trying to set up Lewis, and take him down. Lewis and López were supposed to be in the apartment at the time of the raid, but they’d slipped out the laundry window an hour earlier.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’m working on figuring that out.”

“And if the police did plant the drugs, why plant it at López’s place? Why not Lewis’ house?”

“Lewis spends a lot of time at the apartment, and the cops thought it was one of his drug houses. It wasn’t.”

“Well, they stuffed that up.” Jack groans. “And so, you want me to sniff around Carlos’ business? Get the inside word to see if he’s still involved in the drug trade?”

“No. I don’t think the briefcase full of drugs belonged to him. I’m going to have a hard time proving that in court, but I think he’s telling the truth when he says that he had never seen that briefcase before. What I want from you is to have a sniff around Juan Lewis and Roberto Miles. See how deep their connections to Hardgrave go. See what the word is on them.”

“You want me to be looking around for the case with Judge Hardgrave? Not working the López case?”

“There isn’t a lot we can do with the López case. It’s fairly black and white. We’ll only be able to get him off on a technicality, or if he makes a deal with the prosecution to sell out Lewis or Miles.”

“He won’t do that. Lewis and Roberto Miles are both dangerous men, and you would have to be crazy to try and cross them. I don’t think for a second that anyone is going to cross Lewis or Miles. Nobody would be that stupid. You would rather do time in prison than cross them.”

“Then the answer is yes – I want you to look into the Hardgrave case. See what you can uncover.”

Jack Grayson nods slowly, taking the instructions from his main employer. As a private investigator, he can rely on Bill Harvey’s office to hand across the most interesting cases.

Last week, he spent his time tracking a portly office worker because the wife thought he was cheating on her. He wasn’t. Instead, he was spending his time with his friends at an underground poker game. Jack understood that need for male bonding, and after the wife paid him the fee, he told her that she needs to loosen her grip on her husband’s balls. Most people listen when Jack Grayson gives instructions.

“Have you got time to look into the case?” Bill asks.

“For you, I’ll make time.”

“So nothing else on then?”

“Not a thing. Work is drying up. Most people do their investigations online these days. They find out more in an hour online then a week’s worth of tailing someone. They can find out who the person they’re surveying is talking to, what they’re looking at, what they’re downloading, just from a few clicks at the computer. Without your work, my job is just about obsolete; just jealous housewives and duped employers left after that.”

“Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll always need you.”

“And this is so much more exciting than trailing workers’ compensation claims.”

“Good.” Bill hands a folder to Jack. “But this is going to get heavy. These guys are dangerous, so I need you to remember what your tattoo says, ‘No Fear’. That’s how I want you to go into this one.”

“But I didn’t get that tattoo. I choose the other one that said ‘No Regrets’.”

“Really? I don’t think that was the right choice.” The smile on Bill’s face grows. “You should’ve chosen the other one. I bet you’ll regret that decision one day.”

CHAPTER 6

The smell of Mexican spices and overcooked meat fill the air.

Bill Harvey catches a waft of the cooking, and his stomach instantly rumbles. He loves that smell. It reminds him of a time when he first moved into a small apartment in Downtown L.A., and his neighbors cooked all afternoon, and then fought all night. When he was missing his hometown, the nightly routine comforted him.

Walking into the El Mejor diner where Lewis and Carlos are known to frequent, Bill Harvey places his bowler hat on the bench, cautiously sitting on a sticky and squeaky stool.

It’s strange where people feel the most comfortable. Despite the ability to afford even the most high-end restaurants in town, Juan Lewis spends most of his time at a diner where all the meals are under ten dollars. It’s cramped, the tables aren’t cleaned properly, and there are ten-year-old coffee cup stains on the counter. The radio is humming in the background; the chatter of the locals is constant.

But this is more than just another diner serving Mexican food.

This a community. A place where people feel safe to be themselves.

That should never be underrated.

“What’ll it be?” The woman behind the counter has a clear Mexican accent and a cheeky grin. Her round cheeks glow, her eyes smiling at her new customer.

“This is a nice diner.” He looks around. “I quite like the feeling in here.”

“It’s a Mexican diner, sweetheart. If you want hotdogs and bacon, go around the corner to a place called Dogs and Hots. You’ll only find good Mexican food here.”

“Let’s start with coffee before we make this a date.”

“Smooth, and handsome.” She grins. “I like you. You’ve already added a little bit of sunshine to my day.”

She pours the drip coffee into a mostly white mug without taking her eyes off his.

“Tell me…” He reads the nametag on the lady’s large chest. “Louise, what do you know about Carlos López?”

“Carlos? Why are you asking about Carlos?”

“I understand he comes here a lot.”

“That might be correct, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“Do you spend a lot of time here, Louise?”

“Work is my life, mister. I spend all my time here. This is where people respect me, and I feel comfortable. Out those doors, I’m just another overweight Mexican woman. In here, I’m the woman everyone wants to talk to. I’m the center of a community in here. This is where I’m somebody.”

“You’ve worked here for a long time?”

“Years and years. This is all I know. I wouldn’t know how to spend my time out of work. And I don’t like spending time in my own head. Too many crazy thoughts up there. I’m always being told to take holidays, but I’m not going to leave this place. It defines who I am.”

“If you spend a lot of time here, then you would know Carlos López.”

“But like I said, mister, you haven’t answered my question.”

Bill draws a long sip of his lukewarm coffee, avoiding the temptation to spit it back out. He drums his fingers gently on the counter, looks around to check that nobody is listening to their conversation, and then looks Louise straight in the eyes. “I’m his attorney, and he’s in some trouble.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” She smiles. “If you’re a friend of Carlos, then you’re a friend of ours. Yeah, we all know Carlos. Known him for years. He comes in here a few times every week. Usually orders the beef taco. He’s a good man. A very good man. He’s done a lot – helped people with drug problems. He works down at the rehab center, and he helped my cousin kick the drugs. Carlos is a very good man. Almost a saint.”

“Is he ever involved in trouble?”

“Carlos?” She ponders. “No, Carlos isn’t trouble. Never.”

“But?”

“But the people he spends time with are trouble.”

“Like who?”

Louise leans forward on the counter, squeezing her breasts together. It catches Bill’s eye, and she feels happy about that.

“You didn’t hear this from me.” Her voice is low. “Juan Lewis. Roberto Miles. Now both those men are trouble. Lewis especially. He looks mighty fine, dresses really well, but he’s trouble. Always has been. He has a great range of the best suits, but the only way he can afford them is to break the law. He’s the brains behind a lot of the crime that happens around here – money laundering, drugs, illegal gambling… but you didn’t hear any of this information from me.”

“Of course not, Louise.”

He looks into the eyes of the woman and sees a lost soul. Her shoulders are tight, her eyes have a tinge of yellow from too much vodka every night, and her hands shake a little as she holds the coffee server. She’s searching for something, but she’s looking for it externally, blaming others for her pain, when the source of all her hurt is inside her.

“Do you have a husband, Louise?” Bill asks, trying to charm his way to get what he wants.

“No, sir.”

“I find that surprising.” He smiles. “You have very beautiful eyes.”

“Mister, flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Then tell me how often you see Lewis and Carlos in here together.”

“Every week. They’re always here talking about something. Talking, talking, talking. I don’t listen to their conversations, but they come every week. They know all of the people around these parts.”

“How about on September 12? Were they here that day?”

“How would I know? That was a month ago, and I’m not a superwoman. I don’t have a super memory. Mister, I struggle to remember what color bra I put on in the mornings.”

“You certainly present yourself as a superwoman, Louise. I’m sure a lot of people here actually believe that you are.” Bill grins with charm.

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“Yes, they can. But if you can’t remember that day, then maybe there is surveillance footage of that time?”

“You’re smooth, Mister Attorney.” She grins. “Let me check with the boss.”

The voluptuous waitress disappears out the back of the diner, and Bill overhears a loud shouting argument between Louise and her boss. She returns with a calm smile on her face.

“My boss is more than happy for you to have a look at the footage… if, of course, you leave a large tip for the service.”

Smoothly, Bill places a hundred-dollar bill next to his cold coffee.

“That should cover it.” She smiles again. “Follow me this way.”

The office at the back of the diner is exactly what he expected – small, confined, piles of old paperwork about to topple over. Kate Spencer would have a heart attack if she had to work in this office. The smell of cigarette smoke fills the air, drowning out the smell of Mexican spices cooking only a few feet away.

The mustached older man sitting behind a cramped desk doesn’t greet Bill as he enters. He doesn’t even stop staring at the computer in front of him.

“September 12?” the man questions.

“Yes.”

“Here it is.” The man turns the computer screen to face Bill without a hint of emotion.

Bill studies the footage, scrolling through it at a reasonable pace, but not fast enough to miss anything important. The tape starts at ten in the morning and finishes at ten at night. With the advantage of technology, he’s able to scroll through the twelve hours of footage in under a few minutes.

“This is the whole day?” Bill asks when the video finishes.

“Yes.”

“I need a copy of this.” Bill places another hundred on the table in front of the stern man.

The boss nods and then shouts loudly, “Give me a USB, Louise.”

Louise reappears – having gotten used to her boss’ bellows from the back room. She finds a USB drive in the drawers, and the man places the drive in the computer, punches his keyboard aggressively, and then removes it to hand to Bill.

“Has anyone else asked about the footage from that day?”

“No.” The old man shakes his head.

“Can you delete the file from your computer? The whole week has to go missing.”

The man gestures to the hundred-dollar bill sitting on the table.

“Of course.” Bill removes another hundred from his wallet. Sometimes, information can cost a lot.

After squinting at the screen, and running the mouse over a number of files, the man responds, “It’s done. That whole week is deleted. You have the only copy.”

“Good.” Placing the USB in his jacket pocket, Bill offers Louise a nod, then walks tall out of the diner, leaving his nauseating coffee behind. It’s not often he spends three hundred dollars in a small diner, but he hopes this information will be more fulfilling than a large burrito.

As soon as he steps onto the sidewalk, he calls his secretary. “Kate, I need Carlos in my office. Now.”

CHAPTER 7

Carlos fidgets with his hands, rubbing his thumbs together while waiting for the arrival of his lawyer. He has a lot to hide, and he knew that the lawyer would uncover secrets from his past.

He just isn’t sure which one.

“You weren’t telling me the truth, Carlos.” Bill is blunt as he storms into the office. “And I don’t like lies. They annoy me. I’m your lawyer, Carlos. Your lifeline to freedom. You really don’t want to annoy me.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about?” His answer his honest, but only because he has too many lies to hold back.

“Tell me where you were when they raided your apartment on September 12.”

With an aggressive overtone, Bill’s briefcase slaps down onto the office table, and he huffs into a chair, leaning forward, resting his thick arms on the desk.

“I was at the El Mejor diner. I was having lunch with Juan Lewis when they raided my apartment. We had the beef taco and a few coffees. That’s what I told the police when they arrested me, and that’s what I’m telling you.”

“How about you tell me the truth instead.”

“What do you mean?”

“If this is going to work then you and I are going to have to be honest with one another. I have seen the security footage of the diner for that day and neither you, nor Lewis, were in the diner at the time, or at any time during that day. Where were you?”

“The diner has security footage?” Carlos is surprised. “That place has nothing worth protecting. Why would they have security footage?”

“Lucky for us, nobody else, including the prosecution, has checked if the diner has security footage. They seem to think that it’s not important where you were at the time of the raid. They haven’t checked your alibi. They’re only concerned with the fact that they found the drugs in your apartment.”

“If they don’t think it’s important, then why do you think it’s important?”

“The truth is important to me, Carlos. To proceed with a case, I need to have a full picture of what happened. I need to know every single little piece of that picture, and your whereabouts is a very important part of that. This case is already against us; the last thing we need in court is a surprise. I need to cover all the bases and have answers to everything that’s coming our way. No more surprises.”

“Look, I can’t remember where I was at the time.”

“Is it best that I speak to Lewis about this?”

Carlos pauses and looks to make sure the door is shut behind him. “We’re still covered by the attorney-client agreement, aren’t we?”

Bill nods slowly, not taking his eyes off Carlos.

“Ok. Sure. Look, Lewis came to me and said that he needed an alibi for the day. I agreed that I would be his alibi for the day. He came to the apartment, and we both slipped out the side exit.”

“Then where were you for the day?”

“I was driving around.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t be seen anywhere. I had to make sure that I wasn’t seen in person on any surveillance footage. So, I drove to the State Forest in a friend’s car, and just drove the roads for most of the day. I left my car near the apartment.”

“And Lewis?”

“I don’t know where he was. I dropped him off, and I picked him up four hours later. He went off to conduct a ‘business transaction’ and called me after lunch – told me that the time had passed and we could back go to my apartment. Problem was, when we came back, the police were crawling all over my apartment. Suddenly, he was as much my alibi as I was his.”

“Why did he need an alibi?”

“I didn’t ask. I never do.”

“This is a common occurrence?” Despite spending the last ten years within smelling distance of criminal activity, the world of drug runs and organized crime still surprises Bill.

“I’ve done it before, but it’s not common. He usually walks into my apartment, we have a coffee, and then we sneak out via the laundry window. Usually, we say that we were at my apartment all day. It’s never been tested before. But this time, we couldn’t say that we were at the apartment because it was filled with cops.”

“Why didn’t you stay at the apartment? Why did you have to leave?”

“I was the driver. We always use a friend’s car that has dark tinted windows. I had to drop Lewis off and pick him up.”

“Where did you drop him off?”

“I dropped him off at a Taco Bell in Downtown, and picked him up there four hours later.”

“Four hours is a long time to spend at Taco Bell. So tell me where he really went.”

“I never know why he needs an alibi, and I never ask. I don’t want to know. All I’m doing is helping out my cousin, which is my family duty. We look after each other. He helps me out with cash, and I help him out as long as I’m not doing anything criminal.”

“With cash?”

Carlos shrugs, uncomfortable with the notion. “I don’t have a paying job. All my time is spent at the rehab center. Lewis… he supports me when I need it. I have savings that I invested, but for day-to-day things, he helps me out.”

“What about your lawyer? Is he paying for that too?”

“No.” Carlos coughs loudly. “My savings are paying your wage.”

Bill pauses, letting the tension in the room dissipate. He opens his briefcase, removes his notes, and reviews them before he continues. “What do you think Lewis was doing during the time you dropped him off?”

“I don’t think about it. All I was doing was helping a family member.”

“So when did you make the decision to say that you were at the diner?”

“When we drove back to my apartment. We could see all the cop cars out front. We couldn’t say that we were in the apartment; we had to use another destination. That’s why we choose the diner. We’re always there, and nobody would remember which day was which. We didn’t think they would have security footage.”

Bill scribbles more notes, trying to piece together the picture of September 12. He has no doubt that Carlos is telling the truth, but he’s no closer to winning the case that threatens the freedom of a reformed drug addict.

“It must hurt you, Carlos. You spend your time working in drug rehabilitation, helping people recover, and your cousin is the person putting people in there. He’s the one that’s dealing drugs, and you have to clean up his mess. That must hurt you on some level.”

“Personal choice causes addiction. Loneliness. Emptiness. Being hollow causes addiction. Not Lewis. Just because the drugs are there doesn’t mean that someone has to take it. You don’t blame the shopkeepers for alcoholism, just like you don’t blame the drug dealers for the addiction. It’s a personal decision.”

“And yet, you have enormous guilt around your involvement in the drug trade.”

Carlos fumbles his hand through his pocket, reaching for more cigarettes. “I guess I try to justify what Lewis does. I know the truth, but if the police can’t stop him, how am I supposed to? I love the man, but he deals in death.”

Bill flicks open a paper file, his eyes searching through the notes. He much prefers his handwritten notes over the computer any day. Better for his eyes.

“Lewis’ rap sheet is clean. He has never been charged with any criminal offense and has never even been taken in by the police. He’s either very good, very smart, or very lucky.”

“He’s all three. His father was a dealer and taught him everything he knew. He has always been well-connected, even before he met Hardgrave.”

“Where does he get the drugs?”

Carlos pauses, thinking about how much information he can divulge. “I…”

“I want the whole truth, Carlos.”

He nods. “The drugs are produced in a small lab in Mexico, smuggled over the border, and then run through the streets. Lewis and Roberto Miles run the operations, and they’re worth millions. Millions. They don’t get their hands dirty though. They’re at the top of the tree, and they avoid dealing with anyone they don’t know.”

“And you? What’s your involvement in it? Where do you fit into the Lewis business puzzle?”

“I used to run the labs in Mexico. I would fly down once every two weeks to make sure everything was working fine. It was just a job to me, although I was well paid by Lewis. I saved enough money to get out of the game. Now, Lewis and I are just family, rather than business associates. I keep telling him to get out of the game while he’s ahead, but he likes the money. He has dreams of becoming big. Real big. I keep telling him that the bigger he gets, the bigger the target he builds on his back, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He thinks he’s invincible.”

“It appears he still is,” Bill says as he starts to write notes on his pad. “How deep was your involvement in the drug dealing?”

“I managed the labs that produced the gear.” Carlos nods. “I never stood on a street corner and dealt drugs. No. I had nothing to do with that side of things. I was only responsible for making sure the gear was good, and that the people in Mexico were playing nicely.”

“But you knew that the labs were producing drugs?”

“Of course.”

“Tell me how Lewis has made all his high-profile connections.”

“He was always just one of those people that knew people. Local people though. But it all started to get big when he began dating Judge Hardgrave’s daughter, Michelle. He hassled the judge a lot. He got a lot of information from the judge, just through extortion. I think he was using Michelle, in the end, to keep close to the judge. And because of Judge Hardgrave, he met with numerous high-ranking police officers and politicians.”

“Did he love her, or was he just using her?”

“He loved her. Deeply. She’s a troubled woman, with a long addiction to drugs, and she was estranged from her father for many years. Lewis reconnected them after they hadn’t talked for a long time. And Michelle, being a drug addict, would do anything for Lewis. So, he started setting up regular meetings between the two of them. A father’s love for his daughter can make a man do very strange things. I think the judge was just happy to have a chance with his daughter again and he would do anything to keep that connection. Of course, Judge Hardgrave was a wealthy man, and that meant that Michelle was going to inherit a lot of money.”

“So Lewis would have profited from Hardgrave’s death?”

“Through Michelle, yes.”

The pen hovers over the pad, stuck as the thoughts race through Bill’s head. “Carlos, I need you to think hard about your options here. The further we get into this case, the more Lewis seems to be involved. The more Lewis gets involved, the more this case is going to escalate. You’ve given the police a sworn statement of your whereabouts at the time of the raid, so we can’t change that. But it’s going to be a sticking point for the prosecution. I’m going to have to think long and hard about our options. But in the meantime, I need you to stay away from Lewis. Understood?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” Bill closes the file in front of him. “We’re done for now, but I don’t want any more lies.”

“Yes, sir.” Carlos bows his head like a schoolboy after getting in trouble, and then leaves the room. “When will I hear from you again?”

“Within the week. Kate will call you and set up a time to meet. But remember, stay away from Lewis.”

After Carlos has closed the door behind him, Bill paces the floor in his office, reflecting on the two cases before him. Hardgrave had mentioned his daughter and her addiction. He blamed himself for it, and it seemed, rightly so.

On a rare night when Judge Hardgrave had consumed too much fine whiskey, he opened up about his troubled past.

He had been beaten weekly by his drunken father as a child, and he carried that pain into his first marriage. Despite the joy of having a loving wife, a beautiful daughter and a great career, he would come home drunk most nights of the week and beat his wife, often in full view of a young Michelle.

After years of torment, Hardgrave’s first wife died a lonely death after a short battle with cancer.

At the time of her mother’s death, Michelle was a troubled sixteen-year-old, and she left the family home, wrongly blaming her father for her mother’s death. She found comfort in the highs that drugs provided. That’s when her path crossed with Juan Lewis. She knew if she were close to him, she wouldn’t have to buy drugs. She could provide him the comfort that he needed, and he would give her the highs that she desperately craved.

The remorse that Andrew Hardgrave suffered was clear. He acknowledged that it was all his fault and that he had ruined Michelle’s young life. When at his worst, he turned to AA for help. He went to rehab and came out wanting to redeem himself.

It took years, but he started to turn his life around.

He volunteered at schools, he donated a lot of his wealth to the disadvantaged, and he mentored people to do positive things in the world. When Andrew Hardgrave and Bill Harvey first met, they felt like kindred spirits. They wanted to make a difference. They wanted to leave the world a better one than the one they were born into.

The Harvey family was no stranger to drug addiction, either. Bill’s younger brother, Jonathon, went missing twenty years ago, after becoming addicted to heroin. It was a painful journey. Jonathon stole from his family, lashed out at his parents, and constantly swore at everyone. His descent into addiction almost tore the family apart.

When Jonathon lashed out and hit his mother, Bill took matters into his own hands. He beat Jonathon, brutally, and told him never to return.

That was twenty years ago, and nobody has seen him since.

It’s still Bill’s greatest heartache.

He understands the pain that Hardgrave felt when watching his daughter wither away – he has the same pain with his brother.

He searched for his lost brother for many years, but never found a trace of him. He thought he had a lead in Florida, but that turned out to be a dead end. Now, all he hopes is that his brother is well, and has won the battle against addiction.

Ever since that night many years ago, it tears Bill up that he pushed his brother away. If he could see his brother one more time, just for a moment, he would say everything that was left unsaid and ask for forgiveness.

Things that Andrew Hardgrave will never hear from his daughter.

CHAPTER 8

Roberto Miles walks out of his Montebello house just past seven.

He looks like the wealthy man he is. Rolex watch. Ralph Lauren shirt. Armani slacks. Ferragamo shoes. He walks with his head held high, full of confidence and bravo. He doesn’t go far.

His black Audi is parked on the sidewalk near his house. Perfectly matching his outfit.

Despite the obvious trimmings of excess wealth, Roberto Miles is a man with a long criminal record. Whereas Juan Lewis escaped the clutches of the law, Roberto knew police officers by their first name. If the police printed his rap sheet, they would need to change the paper roll on the printer halfway through.

Bill Harvey doesn’t have much to go on. Nobody on the streets talks about these men. Those that know who Roberto Miles and Juan Lewis, also know what they can do. Their digital footprint is as non-existent as the word on the street. They aren’t interested in splashing themselves in the pages of social media. They have no need to tell everyone how rich they are – everyone already knows that.

There is no easy method for gathering information on Miles or Lewis. Finding information about them involves old-fashioned investigative work. The hard yards.

Bill follows the Audi as it drives for an hour, staying two to three cars behind, trying to go unnoticed.

The Audi parks on Rodeo Drive, double-parked outside one of the new bars, the sort of place where old rich men buy drinks for beautiful young women.

Bill Harvey finds a spot further down the street to park his sedan and makes his way back to the bar. He has no idea what he’s going to find. More than likely, Miles is just meeting someone for a drink and looking to have his ego boosted by an attractive, young, gold-digging, woman. Still, it’s worth a shot to see the sort of circles that Miles floats in.

The bar is packed, the crowd mingling freely with each other, making it hard to spot Miles and who he’s meeting.

Bill pulls out his phone for two reasons. One, if he needs to duck his head to avoid detection, he can look down at his phone quickly, and two, the camera on the smartphone makes it easier to snap a quick picture.

He looks through the crowd from just inside the door, and can’t see Miles on the first pass.

Looking back down at his phone, he pretends to read an email, pretending to wait for a friend as he leans against one of the walls. Nothing unusual.

When he gazes up from his phone, he catches sight of the tall Mexican seated at the opposite end of the bar.

He’s talking to someone. Quietly. Tactfully.

This isn’t a loud conversation that he wants people to hear.

This is discreet and deliberate.

Nobody from his East L.A. drug operation would find themselves here. This is a secret meeting in public. Bill moves between two other businessmen, trying to get a better vantage point to view who Miles is talking to.

He moves to his left to get a better angle, to get a clear view of the person.

Moving smoothly, he shoots a glance at the end of the bar.

What?

He looks again.

Bill’s heart kicks into overdrive. He can’t believe what he has just seen.

Maybe it’s the dim lighting. Maybe he’s mistaken.

He looks again, holding the stare.

Dim lighting, crowded or not, he hasn’t made a mistake.

Roberto Miles is quietly swapping information with a detective.

A detective Bill knows very well.

CHAPTER 9

“Pitt,” Bill mumbles under his breath.

He works his way through the crowd, past the throng of people desperate to get noticed. He steps out into the bright sunshine, shocking his vision, taking a few moments for his eyes to adapt.

The question buzzes through his head.

What was Pitt doing? That wasn’t a formal meeting. Not a police interview.

It was a quiet discussion with a possible suspect in the unsolved Judge Hardgrave murder case. Is Pitt an inside man for Miles, screwing the force? Screwing justice?

Surely not. Not his friend. Bill knows how to read people and nobody can play him that well. If Pitt were dirty, he would know. Wouldn’t he?

The doubt grows easily in his mind. What has he missed? What has he not seen?

Bill walks to his car in a fog of thoughts, sits in the driver’s seat, and draws a long deep breath.

Is this why Hardgrave’s killer hasn’t been charged?

Is there a dirty cop protecting them all?

This is the biggest murder case of the year, and the LAPD hasn’t even made an arrest. They haven’t even presented a suspect to the public.

Something in the murder case isn’t right. Something is wrong.

Bill has known Pitt for many years. Their friendship is strong, and their trust is stronger.

But Pitt has just bought a new house. Larger. Newer. A nicer suburb. “My share investments came good,” he said. He has just returned from a luxury cruise through parts of Europe. “I sold some shares,” he said.

And maybe that was true.

Or maybe he was taking payments from somewhere else.

Despite Bill’s great respect for the men and women in blue, most of the force hates Bill Harvey. That’s understandable. His job is to make their arrests look invalid, their evidence look shoddy, or their paperwork look incomplete. While they risk their lives to protect justice on a small wage, he argues in a courtroom for a nice pay packet. He understands their resentment.

But Pitt is different.

He has a bond with Pitt; one that goes beyond their jobs.

He had first met Pitt when he graduated as a lawyer – a chance meeting in a L.A. bar. Pitt was fascinated by Bill’s previous job as a hypnotherapist, and their bond was instant. They joked, they laughed, and they drank. The perfect male companions.

Even as their careers progressed, they joined each other every week for a Tuesday after-work drink.

But maybe it wasn’t a coincidence.

Maybe Pitt has played him from the start. Maybe Pitt had heard of Bill’s skills and sought to exploit them. There have certainly been occasions where Bill has shared more than what is needed.

But the exchange generally goes both ways.

Pitt shares information that Bill requires. Nothing unlawful, just a gentle nudge in the right direction. It’s a good professional partnership, as much as it’s an escape from their jobs.

And it’s more than that.

It’s a genuine bond. A real connection. Two men trying to do their best, for themselves and their community.

But now Bill Harvey has to test that bond, and find out how close Pitt is playing to the line.

CHAPTER 10

The evening sun sneaks through a small gap in the blinds, trying to poke its way in to wake up the hardy souls who were drinking since the place opened.

Bill Harvey stares into his whiskey, the thoughts of the case making his mind travel to places it hasn’t in a long time.

The deeper he digs into the case, the deeper he digs into his own past. He doesn’t like that. Not one bit.

But as he does with all his strong emotions, he’s trying to drink them away until they disappear.

It’s only once the soft touch of Kate’s hand touches his shoulder that he’s brought back to reality.

“Kate?” he asks in slight surprise. “How did you know I was here?”

“You had that look in your eyes when you left the office. The last time I saw that look, you stumbled back into the office six hours later stinking of whiskey.”

He remembers that moment. He had been told that one of his former clients had committed suicide – too ashamed that they had been tarnished with the guilty brush. He had told his client, Jessica Tate Wilson, to take a deal, even though she was protesting her innocence. The deal involved a fine for minor theft, but no criminal record. He thought the deal was the best option. If the case had gone to court, Jessica would have been charged. There was evidence that she stole from Walmart, but she claimed it was all a mistake. She took the deal, but her very religious family found out. They didn’t want to be associated with a criminal. They abandoned her.

He felt responsible for the woman’s fate. He felt it was his fault that her life fell apart. When he returned to the office, he was drunk, vulnerable, and alone.

That was almost the moment when he almost told Kate how he felt about her.

Almost.

“What’s up, big guy?” Kate playfully punches him in the arm, like a little sister teasing her tough brother.

“Jonathon.” Bill stares into his glass. The name came out of his mouth before he had the chance to think about what he was saying.

“Your brother?” Her voice inflects surprise.

This isn’t the first time that he has mentioned his brother to Kate, but she hasn’t heard his name in a long time. Jonathon has played on Bill’s mind his whole life, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

It’s the train of thought that doesn’t have a station to stop at.

Bill Harvey knows how to fix most things, but there is one thing he can’t fix, one thing that’s beyond his capability: his family.

That’s the reason he isn’t driven to have one of his own; all he knows is the pain from his late childhood. His late wife had talked about having children in the future, but he had balked at the conversations.

When she was first diagnosed with cancer five years ago, he felt guilty for not giving her the family she wanted. A year later, he was burying the only family he ever felt really comfortable with.

Although his early childhood in a small farming community in California was pleasant, the years since have brought him nothing but heartache. His brother, Jonathon, younger by eight years, became addicted to drugs in his late teens. It was a rollercoaster ride, and not a fun one. His entire family was devastated as they watched the high school quarterback slowly fall into a world of pain and anguish.

It tore them apart.

They tried everything. Everything.

Counselors. Friends. Psychologists. Locking him in his room. Moving towns. Nothing stopped Jonathon’s need for heroin. Nothing stopped his need for another high.

It hit his father the hardest. It was his greatest failing as a man.

His distant father, who Bill adored, decided one morning to eat a bullet for breakfast, and his dear mother never recovered. That was when Bill first became fond of the taste of whiskey. That’s when he really needed to keep those emotions compressed.

“Michelle Hardgrave, the judge’s daughter, was estranged from her father for many years. She was battling a drug addiction. That triggered memories of Jonathon for me.” Bill swirls the whiskey in his glass, the ice clinking on the sides. “And the further I go into this case, the more I think about him. The more I find out about these people, the more these questions continue to bubble away in my mind. I hate it, Kate. I hate it. This is my head, and I should be able to control the thoughts in there. But with Jonathon, I can’t. I can’t switch it off.”

“And so you thought you would suppress those thoughts with whiskey?”

“That usually works.”

“It’s not healthy, Bill. You have to face your emotions. You have to acknowledge what they are and face them head-on. Otherwise, they’ll just keep coming back, worse and worse each time. It’s time for you to face these feelings. If you don’t want to talk to me about it, then I know a really good psychologist that you can talk to. He’ll help you process these demons.”

Bill shrugs his shoulders. Like a stone wall, he refuses to get drawn into an emotional conversation.

“We all have our past. Even Judge Hardgrave made a lot of mistakes.”

“Don’t change the subject, Bill,” Kate replies. “This is about you, not Hardgrave.”

He shakes his head, whispering quietly to his glass. “I’m not ready.”

In silence, they sit at the bar, the thoughts racing through each of their heads.

When many minutes of hush have passed, Kate redirects the conversation back to work, back to the place where Bill feels most comfortable.

“Hardgrave didn’t seem like the type of person that would be estranged from his daughter,” Kate adds. “He seemed like such a nice guy. He was always so lovely to me when he came into the office. Very charming and sweet for an old man.”

“That’s the Hardgrave we knew, but it’s not the same man of the past. He spent the last ten years of his life working for redemption, and he genuinely wanted to do better in the world. He wanted to make a difference. But he was another man once.”

“How so?”

“He used to beat his first wife. Regularly.” Bill sighs at the secret. “Michelle saw that and left him after her mother died of cancer. Hardgrave and his daughter didn’t speak for another five years.”

“Oh.” Kate points at the beer tap when the bartender raises his eyebrows at her. “I wouldn’t have known that, Bill. I wouldn’t have been able to see that. He seemed like such a calm soul, but I guess you never know what happens behind closed doors.”

“He meditated a lot in his later years. That’s why he seemed so calm. I guess his first wife would have loved to have seen him meditating years ago. People change, Kate. Times change. Hardgrave certainly changed. But Michelle never saw the change in her father. She only remembered the mean, violent, abusive man that he once was. She only remembers the man that would come home drunk and abuse his wife and child.”

“And that’s fair. You can’t just swipe a slate clean when it has been severely stained. Some stains are so deep, so ingrained, that no amount of scrubbing can get rid of them. Michelle’s formative years were spent with a violent man; she couldn’t forget that. I understand that. I guess some people can’t find redemption in others, no matter how hard they try.”

Bill wants to argue with Kate, but he knows she’s probably right. She always is. Instead of arguing, he stares into the glass, tilting it until the large block of ice moves from the side.

The bartender places a pint of pale ale in front of Kate, and she smiles joyfully. She slurps the head of the beer, like a kid with a thick shake from Wendy’s.

“Remind me not to invite you to the pub again.” Bill chuckles as she licks her foam mustache away with her tongue.

“Want to hear a joke, Bill?”

“Is it really bad?”

“I’ll just tell the joke, and you can make up your own mind,” Kate says, and then slurps down half of her beer. Just when Bill thinks she’s about to take a breath, she keeps going.

He has no doubt that she would have been a legend at any college she went to – if she had decided to go. She would have had posters of her mythical beer drinking ability on the walls of a UCLA sorority.

Once the beer was placed in front of her, Kate’s demeanor had changed like a chameleon. Now, she doesn’t have to pretend to be classy or intelligent. She can just focus on drinking beer.

Her brothers all drink like it’s going out of fashion, and she was the same when she was a teenager. She loved the taste of beer. But when she got older, she learned that classy girls weren’t supposed to drink beer like the boys. Classy girls are supposed to sip cocktails, delicately giggling when a boy looks their way. But when she’s at a bar with a beer in her hand, the old Kate comes out from hiding. The one that grew up with four older brothers.

“What does the sign on an out of business brothel say?”

“Go on.” Bill begins to smile.

“Beat it. We’re closed.”

“Ha!”

“You like that one, uh?” Kate laughs. “Well, what’s the difference between a pregnant woman and a light bulb?”

“What?”

“You can unscrew a light bulb.”

“Kate.” Bill laughs. “You completely change when you have a beer in your hand.” He grins, his troubles seemingly forgotten under the spell of Kate’s bright white smile.

“You know…” She looks at the pint glass, already empty in her hand. “Every loaf of bread is a tragic story of grains that could have been beer, but didn’t make it.”

“Are you sure that you weren’t a dirty old drunk man in a past life?”

“Probably the past three lives.” She slaps the glass back on the table, holding back a small little burp. She waves to the bartender to bring her another pint, and Bill grins, staring at his slowly consumed liquor.

“So, now that the mood has been lightened, tell me.” She pauses for another small burp. “What is the connection between the Mexican drug dealers and Judge Hardgrave?”

“Michelle. Juan Lewis is Michelle’s boyfriend. They have been dating for years. From what I can gather, it’s not a healthy relationship, and one based on drug use. Lewis used Michelle to make connections with Hardgrave, and then he used Hardgrave to get information about other people he could use. He’s a drug dealer that has escaped charges for a very long time. He knows how to use people.”

“He sounds like a very cunning man,” Kate adds. “And all this talk of drugs has you thinking about your brother?”

Sighing, Bill looks at the other end of the bar, eager to avoid eye contact with the woman who knows him the best. “Yes.”

“Where do you think he is now?”

“Jonathon? I don’t know. I just hope that he’s doing well for himself. That’s all I want to hear. I don’t need a hug from him, I don’t need his forgiveness, I just need to hear that he’s doing fine. That’s all I want to know. I just want to know that my little bro is doing well.”

“With that Harvey blood, I’m sure he is.”

“Maybe.” Bill shrugs. “And maybe not. But enough about lost souls, Kate. Let’s solve this case quickly, so I don’t have to confront anymore of these emotions.”

His grin covers the fact that what he’s saying is true.

He would much rather be in the thick of the action, knee-deep in investigation and adrenaline, than having the time to listen to the thoughts in his own head.

“What do you need me to do, Bill?” Kate smirks, happy that she had dug Bill out of the hole before he spent the rest of the night sitting on the same bar stool. Another beer is placed in front of Kate, and her eyes light up again.

“There’s not a lot you can—” Bill grimaces as Kate gulps down half the pint in one motion. “There’s not a lot you can do at the moment.”

“Come on, Bill.” She swipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “There must be something I can help with. Let me help you. I really want to.”

He draws a long breath. “If you really want, you can look into Michelle Hardgrave. Do a little bit of digging around, but don’t get close to her. I imagine that she’s dangerous, so don’t confront her at all. Just ask around, search the Internet, that sort of thing. I want to find out how she spends her days, who she’s close to, where her income comes from, how she supports herself. That sort of thing.”

“I’m on it, boss.”

“But be careful, ok? Don’t get too close to the fire.”

“Yes, boss,” she replies with a cheeky grin. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to meet with the prosecution, and then I’m going to find out more about these drug dealers. They’re the key to the López case, and possibly the Hardgrave case. I have to get close enough to them to find out what they know, and who they know.”

“You promise you will be careful as well, Bill.” The joy escapes Kate’s face. Her serious side has returned to tell off the man that she cares about. “They’ve killed before, and they won’t hesitate to do it again. These men are dangerous drug dealers. Very dangerous. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Bill smiles again, his heart rate increasing. “Yes, boss.”

CHAPTER 11

Bill Harvey’s shoulders tighten, the grip on his briefcase strengthens, the muscles in his face stiffen. The walk through the corridors leading to the prosecution’s office always raises his heart rate.

The anticipation of not knowing what’s coming builds the exhilaration. He loves the pressure that comes with the first meeting – the meeting that can make or break a case.

He doesn’t have to meet face-to-face with the prosecuting attorney, but he never misses this opportunity. He’s looking for that one small crack in their armor, that one brief moment where they hesitate to answer a question, that one quick glance to the left to cover a lie. So many times this meeting has allowed him to follow a line of investigation that he hadn’t previously considered; a small thought that grew to change a case.

Conversely, the prosecution might sense Bill’s apprehension to answer a question, and it will allow them to pounce. He has to play this game well.

The risks are high – but so are the rewards.

Much the same way that Bill lives his life.

“Mr. Bill Harvey, it’s been a while,” the prosecutor stands at the door, welcoming him into her clean, open office.

“Miss Shannon Chettle. It’s always a pleasure.”

After attending law school together, Bill Harvey and Shannon Chettle have confronted each other in the courtroom numerous times over the past ten years. A feisty spirit with an energetic attitude, she has the ability to turn the case on its head with one well-placed statement.

Her use of the English language leaves many in awe. Despite being Chicago born, she spent her teenage years boarding at an exclusive school in London; the slight English accent is still noticeable, and a little seductive.

“When was the last time I was up against you?” Chettle walks to the head of her table, taking small steps in her tight, pencil skirt, and opens the file on her laptop while Bill takes a seat in front of her desk.

“Shannon, I think the last time you were up against me was late on Friday night after we settled on a case earlier that day…”

“Oh yes…” Chettle’s mind drifts back to the last time she saw Bill. She twirls her hand through her long dark hair as she remembers the passionate night three years ago. It was a moment of release; a moment of sexual tension and passion so fiery that it exploded into a mind-blowing night. “You look as formidable and as attractive as the last time I saw you, Bill. Age has been kind to you.”

“And you’re still as pretty.” He smiles. “But that isn’t what we’re here to talk about.”

“Ah, yes…” Chettle scrolls through what’s on the computer screen. “The remarkable case of the innocent drug dealer. A briefcase full of drugs was found in his apartment, next to his bed, no less. A street value of $50,000, I hear. Of course, the drugs weren’t his, were they, Bill?”

“That’s what he claims.”

“And what do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Shannon. It only matters what the twelve people in the jury box think based on the evidence. That’s what we do. You must know that by now.”

“But you must have an opinion, Bill? You, the great Bill Harvey, must have an opinion on whether or not your client is guilty.”

“I have an opinion.”

“And please, feel free to share your opinion with me.”

“My opinion is that you look beautiful.”

“About the case.” Chettle grins and pushes a strand of brunette hair behind her ear.

“The case.” Bill sits back in his chair, crosses one leg over the other, and looks around the perfectly maintained office. Only a perfectionist could keep an office this organized. “I think that the evidence is weak. I think that the whole case is weak. I think you’re making a mistake by putting this man on trial. A big mistake. And it isn’t going to look very good for your office when you lose. You should just admit defeat and walk away now. Drop the charges and be done with it. Let an innocent man walk free.”

“And why would we even bother with a fragile case, Bill? The courts are too busy, and the prisons are overcrowded, you know. We only go after the ones we need to.” Chettle makes eye contact. Her deep blue eyes are mesmerizing, and Bill struggles to maintain focus.

“We both know why you’re pressing ahead with this case. You’re not after my client, you couldn’t care less about him. Despite the fact that my client is an upstanding citizen, who dedicates his time to helping those recovering from drug addiction, you want to persecute him for someone else’s crime. This is a man that does good in the world, and you’re willing to sacrifice his future to capture someone else. That’s not justice.”

“I’m afraid that I’m not completely sure what you’re talking about.” Chettle plays the game.

“You’re after Juan Lewis. You want to pressure Carlos until he cracks, and then put him on the stand against Lewis. I can see that the cops even thought that Lewis was in the apartment when the raid occurred. My client is just an innocent bystander, and you’re going after the wrong man. Let him walk away and help others. Let him help people recover from their drug addiction. Focus your attention on the real criminals. Like you said, you don’t have time to chase this case.”

“You must have read a different police report to the one I read because I didn’t see that piece of information in there anywhere. Could you please point that out to me?”

“It’s about reading between the lines. Of course the police wouldn’t admit to a mistake like that. But that’s who they wanted. They wanted Lewis. My client is an innocent bystander. An innocent man.”

“Your client has a history of drug convictions. He’s not as innocent as you claim he is.”

“Carlos did the time for those crimes, and that was ten years ago. He’s out of the game and clean now. He’s an innocent man, and he has been for years. He helps people; he doesn’t destroy them. He’s dedicated his life to helping others recover from the scourge of drugs.”

“Innocent men don’t get caught with a briefcase full of drugs in their apartment.”

“And innocent cops don’t put briefcases in people’s apartments.”

“Good luck proving that in court, Bill.”

When Chettle saw Bill Harvey’s name on the defendant’s notes, she was delighted. Her months were becoming a boring slog of case after case, charge after charge, late night after late night. To confront a man with Bill Harvey’s reputation in the courtroom invigorated her desire. It recharged her enthusiasm for law. Today, for their first meeting, she wore her best suit, one that she only bought a week before, and added an extra spray of her best perfume.

It’s having the desired effect on her opponent. She can tell it in his eyes.

“You have a bigger office than the last time I saw you,” Bill states, looking around at the newly renovated space. “I see that you even have your name on the door.”

“My career is on the up. I work hard, and I’m getting the rewards for that. The people here respect me, and I’m well-known through the department. That’s what happens when you work hard.”

“That must be nice,” he quips. “Tell me about one of the officers, Detective Matthew Pitt.”

“Pitt? He wasn’t the lead detective on this case.”

“No, but he was present at the time of the raid. According to the police report, four detectives and four officers made the raid. Pitt was one of the detectives. Tell me about him.”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking?”

“Do you trust him?”

“Of course.” Chettle’s brows come together in confusion. “He’s an outstanding officer and a good man. He’s never had a problem. He’s one of the good ones.”

“Do you think he has any links to the case?”

“Other than the raid? No.” Chettle shakes her head. Even if she did, she wouldn’t give that information away now, and Bill knows that. He’s testing the waters, checking to see if she flinches under the questions about the integrity of one of the detectives.

She doesn’t.

“Nothing that Internal Affairs would know about?”

“No, Bill. Nothing.”

What he has done is planted the seed of doubt in the prosecutor’s mind. With the added pressure, she might make a small mistake.

And that’s all he needs.

Bill uncrosses his leg and leans his elbows on the large mahogany table. The table has been polished within an inch of its life; so pristine that he can see his reflection in it.

“How about we just drop this case now and save ourselves some time? If you want Lewis, then go after him. Go after the big fish. Don’t play this game of cat and mouse. Don’t put an innocent man behind bars for the sake of one of his cousins. That’s not what we got into law for. We got into law to uphold justice – and this isn’t justice.”

“This is about justice. Justice for the people on the street. The ones that have had their lives destroyed because of the drugs that are available to them. This is about cleaning up those streets for the children of the future. Carlos López is a drug dealer. He will do time. That’s justice. And you know the deals that are on the table. Your client either provides information and testifies against Lewis, or we charge him.”

“How much information do you need to strike a deal?”

“We need enough information to stop Lewis and his operations. It has to be enough so that we can charge Lewis with a crime that will do prison time. If the drugs belonged to Lewis, then we need your client to state that.”

“You want him to testify in court?”

“That’s right. Without a testimony from Mr. López that the drugs weren’t his and belonged to Juan Lewis, then we cannot let him walk away. That’s the only deal that’s on the table. Nothing else.”

“Doesn’t sound fair.”

“Don’t try and convince yourself that your client is innocent. I can guarantee you that he’s not. He’s not an innocent man. The only reason he spends time volunteering with drug addicts is because he feels guilty for all the pain and suffering he has caused in the past. His hand in the drug game hurt people. He hurt families. Destroyed them. He has a history of crime and has spent time behind bars. People don’t change, Bill.”

“People do change.” Bill’s fist clenches. “Carlos has done his time for the crimes he committed, and it changed him. It changed his perspective. He’s a good man now. And I won’t let a good man go to prison for a crime that he hasn’t committed.”

“Don’t believe the lies. Deep down, Carlos is still a drug dealer. He’s still a criminal. It’s in his blood.”

“No.” Bill puts his hand heavily on the table, bringing a slight look of surprise from Chettle. “People do change. People redeem themselves. Carlos has done that. He did wrong in his past and now spends his time making it right. He has changed. He has redeemed himself. And he shouldn’t go to prison for something that he didn’t do.”

Chettle leans back slightly, surprised to see such raw emotion from a man that’s usually so measured. “You obviously feel very strongly about this.”

“People can redeem themselves, Shannon.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “But if Carlos isn’t going to give us what we want, then we’re going to court.”

“I will defend the innocent.” Standing, Bill places his index finger down firmly on the table. “I will make sure that an innocent man doesn’t go to prison.”

Chettle grins, bites her bottom lip, and whispers, “I really do like it when you’re angry, Bill.”

In a huff, he turns and leaves the office, disappointed that he let out such a display of raw emotion.

He needs to get his emotions in check during the trial, or Chettle will use it against him. The problem is, these deep-seated emotions aren’t something that whiskey can fix.

But he’s still going to try.

CHAPTER 12

Slightly hungover, Bill Harvey arrives at the Huntington Park coffee shop thirty minutes before his scheduled meeting.

He sits in a quiet corner, calming his thumping head with two Advil and two large coffees, before turning his thoughts to his meeting.

The coffee shop is generic in its décor, but edgy in its artwork. A black and white life drawing of a naked woman – clearly the barista – hangs on one wall, and a black and white photo of a half-naked man, dressed in a skirt, hangs on the other wall. Edgy, but not quite offensive.

The coffee barely tickles Bill’s taste buds, but the warming liquid eases his throat. With his head down, trawling through emails on his phone, he’s caught off guard by the arrival of Juan Lewis.

“Bill Harvey.”

The man that approaches is flamboyant in his walk, his clothes perfectly tailored, and he’s immaculacy groomed. His suit is navy blue, his shirt checkered pink, his tie bright orange. The style of his love heart necklace perfectly matches the three rings on his fingers.

Full of color, flair, and style.

Not what Bill expected for a known drug dealer in East L.A.

They shake hands solidly; Bill’s large, strong hand dominating Lewis’. He’s sure that Lewis isn’t dominated very often, but Bill has to mark his territory. He has to show Lewis that he’s the alpha male in this pack, ready to fight for the rights of his client. A strong handshake, a solid stare, and the odd grunt usually position Bill as the head of the pack.

“How did you recognize me?” Bill questions.

“I’ve seen you in the papers.”

His last case received a respectable write-up in all the papers. And a good write-up usually means more business – but considering crime isn’t going out of fashion in L.A. any time soon, he isn’t too concerned about chasing media attention.

“That, and you’re the only non-Mexican male around these parts.”

Ten years ago, Bill wouldn’t have agreed to meet Lewis in Huntington Park for fear that he would be shot stepping out of his car, but the suburb has improved, and the community has worked hard to create a safer environment for their children.

With a sideways glance out the window, he sees a striking, restored 1960 red Chevy Impala. To drive that car around East L.A., his reputation must precede him.

“A 1960 Impala. It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Lewis states proudly, looking out at the car that he has just spent the last hour polishing. He sits at the table with confidence, waving at the barista to make him a coffee. “The car was my father’s before he passed. Now, I take great pride in the beautiful machine.”

Bill takes a moment longer to stare at the work of art sitting on the side of the road.

“How is it that I can I help you, Mr. Harvey?” Lewis slowly and confidently leans back in his chair, legs spread wide and arms relaxed.

“As you’re aware, I’m defending Carlos López in the case of the drug—”

“They planted it.” Lewis shakes his hands at him. “Carlos has been out of the game for a while now, and I would know if he was back in it. They weren’t his drugs. I, of all people, would know if Carlos was dealing, but I can guarantee you that he wasn’t. That man has no place dealing anymore. He’s turned over a new leaf, a new life. He’s out of the game. Even if he asked me, I wouldn’t let him deal drugs again. He even spends most of his time at the drug rehab center, so there is no way that the drugs were his. The cops planted it.”

“Whether or not the drugs belonged to Carlos isn’t the problem. It’s whether or not we can prove in a court of law that the drugs weren’t his.”

Lewis laughs brashly, loud enough for the people at the counter to turn their heads. “That’s the way with all you law types. Not worried about the facts, just what happens in accordance with the law. Hardgrave was the same. Always concerned with the letter of the law.”

“Judge Hardgrave?” The surprise is spread across Bill’s face.

“We were good friends, Hardgrave and I. I hear that you knew him too, but I didn’t see you at his funeral. He was a nice fellow. Old; but nice. A bit arrogant, but he had good connections.”

“What was your relationship like with Hardgrave?”

“He helped me out when I needed it. And in turn, I made sure that he had contact with his long-lost daughter, Michelle. Everyone was a winner out of that relationship. It’s amazing what an old man will do to try and erase past sins. You see, he treated Michelle like dirt while they were growing up. He never saw her, he beat her and her mother, he was a drunk; at least that’s what Michelle has told me. But he wanted a second chance with her. He thought he deserved a second chance. And he was willing to do a lot to make sure that he got it.”

“He would have hated you.”

Lewis moves his hands to the table and grips the edge until his knuckles turn white. “He liked me. And he loved his daughter.”

It’s clear that this man has anger management issues.

If anybody pushes the right buttons, Lewis won’t be able to hold back. His combination of arrogance, success, and testosterone has made him a melting pot of anger.

Not what Bill needs right now.

“Hardgrave loved his daughter.” Bill lowers his tone of voice, trying to bring a sense of calm to the situation. “He would have done anything for her.”

“He did like me.” Lewis scoffs, defending his reputation. “He really liked my ties. I guess we could relate to each other on our color choice. He loved a well-fitted bright suit, as do I. I remember last time we met, he said that my tie, this orange one that I’m wearing now actually, almost blended in exactly with his new armchair. He asked me to stand against it to check if the color matched, and sure enough, it did. We bonded over our love of color.”

“It certainly is a bright colored tie.”

“It’s my favorite. I have six ties the exact same as this one. Once I find something I really like, I try really hard to hold onto it. I even let Hardgrave borrow one of my ties once.”

“Sounds like a charming little relationship.”

“It certainly was with his daughter,” Lewis quips.

Bill doesn’t answer; instead, he continues to stare at Lewis, watching how the man reacts under the silence. He sits comfortably, waiting for Bill to continue. He’s confident. Perhaps too confident. “Tell me about Detective Pitt.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. If you want information, you can ask me nicely for it.”

This is his turf. His place. And he’s not going to easily spill the beans for a demanding lawyer.

Playing the game, Bill offers his open hands as a symbol of innocence. “My apologies. For the sake of Carlos’ freedom, can you please tell me what you know about Detective Pitt?”

“I know him.” Lewis adjusts his tie, so it points straight down the middle of his shirt. “Don’t like him though.”

“Is he on the take?”

Lewis squashes his face a little, looking to the right and thinking hard. “Not that I know of. He could be, but I haven’t heard it. Roberto knows him better than I do.”

“Roberto Miles?”

“That’s right. He and Pitt have had a few run-ins over the years. Pitt has arrested him a few times, but that was years ago. If someone arrested me, I would make sure that they paid the price for it, but not Roberto. Roberto seems to like talking to the Smurfs.”

The waitress’ hand shakes as she places a coffee in front of Lewis, but he doesn’t even acknowledge her existence.

“Where were you and Carlos on the day that his house was raided?”

“At the diner. El Mejor. We go there a lot, and we were having lunch, just the same as we have done many, many times before. Eating tacos and talking about the world. It was just another day for Carlos and I. We’re family. He’s my cousin. We were just family talking about old times.”

“No, you weren’t.”

The strong males lock eyes on each other, trying to assess who is the more dominant.

“Did Carlos say that we weren’t at the diner? I told him to stick by that no matter what. I’m helping out my friend by saying that we were together.” Lewis shakes his head. “I would be surprised if Carlos said that we weren’t at the diner. That would surprise me a lot.”

“No, Carlos is sticking by the story that the two of you were at the El Mejor diner. It’s the surveillance footage of the diner that proves that you weren’t there. There is no use bringing your lies to this table. I’m after the truth. That’s the only thing that’s going to help keep Carlos out of prison. The truth, Lewis.”

“Surveillance footage? The diner has video cameras now?”

“Yes. And neither of you were there on September 12.”

“Look.” Lewis rolls his fingers around the top of his mug of coffee. “Maybe we said the wrong diner. Maybe we were at another diner. Yeah, that’s it. We were at another diner down the road. We felt like something different that day. It was another diner.”

“One without video surveillance, I hope.”

He nods.

“The prosecution will ask you to testify that you were with Carlos that day.”

“I won’t go to court. Places like that are dangerous for men like me.”

“They’ll subpoena you to appear before the court. They want you on the stand, no matter what. And even if you change the story about your whereabouts on that day, they’ll find another way to put you on the stand. You’re their target, Lewis. They want you up there to be questioned under oath. They’ll unload on the questions, and you better bring your best game to the stand, because they’ll pounce on even the slightest mistake.”

“I don’t make mistakes.”

“They’ll pressure you until you crack. These people are the best in the game, and you’re stepping into their ball court. They’ll play you. My job is to make sure that my client isn’t worse off because of your testimony.”

“If they put me on the stand, then you can be guaranteed that I’ll say anything that’s in my best interest. Man, I’ll even blame you for the drugs if it’s in my best interests. I’ll say anything. I’ll be happy to lie in court.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“I don’t care about your rules. I don’t play your game. I make my living out here, in some of the most dangerous parts of the country. I’m not scared of an oath in court.”

“Then Carlos’ testimony and yours better align. If not, then you’re sending your cousin directly to prison. If you make a mistake up there, then it’ll be Carlos that pays the price. So where were you really on that day?”

“We were at a diner.”

“I want the truth.”

“You’re not getting the truth. Not today, not ever. You will get whatever I decide to give you. And right now, I say that Carlos and I were in a diner together. You can choose which one. I don’t care. You tell Carlos I said that, and I’m sure that he’ll agree with me.”

Bill leans forward on the table. “Let’s get this straight, Lewis. I’m trying to keep your cousin out of prison. Don’t let him go back there because of your pride. Help me out.”

Lewis draws a long breath. Nothing means more to him than family, his mother taught him that.

“I don’t like you.” He pauses and then exhales. “But Carlos is family. Tell me what you need, and I’ll make it happen.”

“I need you to come into my office and go through your testimony. If your testimony fails, then Carlos will go to prison. That’s why I need you.”

“I’m not going into your office,” Lewis states with disdain, but then he nods, feeling defeated that he has no other choice to help his cousin. “But send me a copy of your questions. I’ll send you my answers, and you can tell me what else I need to say.”

Lewis scribbles an email address on a napkin and tosses it in front of Bill. He’s not used to being defeated. Like a spoiled child, he always gets his way.

“Let’s work together to keep Carlos out of prison.” Bill throws a few banknotes on the table and stands to leave.

Without taking his eyes off his coffee mug, Lewis makes sure he has the last word. “If you sell me out, I’ll make sure that you pay the price. And it’ll be a big price to pay.”

CHAPTER 13

The phone vibrates in Bill’s pocket as climbs into his car.

He expected as much. The purpose of the meeting with Juan Lewis was two-fold. One; to test the waters with a star witness, and two; to smoke out if he was being followed.

It worked.

“Hello, Detective Pitt.”

“That’s quite formal for an old friend,” Pitt states. “Are you free for lunch?”

Bill grins to himself, making sure his smile isn’t big enough for his tail to see. “Yes, Pitt, I am.”

Twenty minutes later, Bill is sitting in a café just outside of USC. He sips at the burnt coffee, and orders a serve of bacon and eggs, both of which he’s sure will be burnt as well.

When Pitt arrives, he orders the same before taking a seat opposite Bill in the skinny booth. The vinyl seat sticks to his trousers as he struggles to squirm across. From Bill’s lack of a greeting, he can tell that something is wrong.

Preemptively, Pitt strikes first.

“Why did you need to meet with Lewis?”

“You tell me. You seem to know my movements quite well.”

“I’m a cop. A detective,” Pitt growls out. “And Juan Lewis is a criminal. That’s why I was tailing him. That’s my job to catch criminals. And as a cop, I need to know why you met with Lewis.”

“I’m a lawyer,” Bill retorts. “And it’s my job to know things before the cops do.”

His joke breaks the tension. Pitt exhales a small laugh, leaning back in his chair as the waitress brings both their plates of overcooked scrambled eggs and burnt bacon to the table.

As the waitress walks away, Pitt comments, “Looks like they didn’t burn it as much as last time.”

Bill shrugs. He much prefers his eggs overcooked, and his bacon extra crispy. He likes the extra crunch.

“What did Lewis say?” Pitt wafts down a fork full of scrambled eggs.

“Not a lot. I was touching base with a witness in my case.” Bill moves his bacon to the edge of the plate with his knife. “What did Roberto Miles say?”

Pitt stops as he goes to spoon another mouthful of eggs into his mouth. “Who?”

“Roberto Miles. It seems the two of you have a good relationship.”

“Is that what Lewis said? Of course, he did. He would say that. He’s just trying to cover his own butt, that’s all. Misdirection. He’s trying to make you think that Miles is the informer.”

“Or you are.”

Pitt puts his fork down. “Bill, you know me. You’ve known me for years. We’re more than just colleagues trying to get justice. We’re friends. You and me. You know I’m on the straight and narrow.”

Whoever killed Hardgrave has no problem with knocking people off for self-preservation. Bill needs to step carefully around Pitt or spend his days looking over his shoulder.

Taking out a criminal defense attorney would be child’s play compared to killing a sitting judge.

“Of course.” Bill smiles, breaking the tension once more. “But it’s always good to test the waters. Test your reaction.”

“Ha! Still playing hypnotherapist, eh? You can’t get that stuff out of your system. I’m sure that’s why you’re so good at what you do, Bill.”

In his previous employment, Bill spent his time convincing people to break this addiction or that addiction. In hindsight, he understands that he was drawn to the profession because of his drug-addicted brother, and found that helping others recover from their addiction felt like he was helping his brother.

And Pitt is right; sometimes old habits are hard to break.

Bill has spent his years as a lawyer not looking for mistakes in the words of the law but looking for answers in the way a person’s eyes move, the way a person’s head shakes when they answer a question, or the way a person’s body betrays what they’re saying.

And that has won him a lot of cases.

“How’s the Hardgrave case?”

“Not a lot of progress to report, I’m afraid. The killer was clean, left no evidence, and nobody is talking. Nobody saw anything, Bill. But that’s not uncommon in these parts. People don’t like to talk to us or be seen talking to us. We expected that.”

“Don’t spin me that media line, Pitt. Save that for the press conferences. You must have something on somebody somewhere.”

“I’m afraid not. I really wish I wasn’t telling you the truth, Bill, but we have nothing. We’ve got six detectives working on this, and we have nothing.”

“You’re still the lead?”

“Of course. But these guys – they aren’t pulling up the right information. They’re missing something. A piece of the puzzle. But we’ll find a suitable suspect and charge them. If nothing else, just to get the media off our back.”

After only a few mouthfuls, Bill pushes his plate slightly away, not comfortable in the company anymore. He leaves a few banknotes on the table before choosing his next words very carefully.

“Something is wrong with this group,” he says. “Someone is protecting them.”

Pitt pauses and looks straight up at Bill. “If that’s the case, you have to be careful who you talk to.”

“I always am, Pitt.”

But this time, he isn’t so sure.

CHAPTER 14

“These are dangerous men, Bill.”

Jack Grayson climbs inside Bill’s sedan, providing a brief update after days of investigative work. His long limbs fill the front seat, squashing his knees against the dash, despite the leather seat being as far back as it can be.

Bill Harvey spent extra on the latest model Mercedes-Benz S-class sedan for comfort, knowing he conducts a lot of meetings here, and that Jack needs legroom. He’s the same. His knees often hurt after long car journeys.

Parked next to Santa Monica beach, they conduct their meeting in the comfort of the air-conditioning, but with the benefits of the iconic Californian view. Despite the half-hour drive from his office, there was no use living in L.A. if you weren’t going to take advantage of its many assets.

“How dangerous?”

“I followed Roberto Miles yesterday afternoon – tailed him from when he left the house and saw him drive to an old estate. Three men went into a warehouse, and only two come out. That’s how dangerous.”

“Who was the third?”

“A low-level drug dealer who wasn’t paying his debts. He won’t be missed.”

Bill draws a long breath, looking out to the beach in front of them. Once, he dreamed of coming to L.A. and surfing each morning, working by day, and partying by night.

Traffic squashed that dream.

Reaching around to the back seat, he lifts a box of doughnuts off the leather interior, offering Jack one first.

“Doughnuts?” Jack laughs. “Are you serious? Have you turned into a stereotypical stakeout cop now?”

“No.” Bill laughs with him. “I just had a craving for doughnuts this morning.”

“I have never known you to eat doughnuts, Bill. Usually, it’s only carrot sticks and apples in your car, and you use whiskey as your only vice. Drowning out your emotions in fatty food is something new.”

“You know, maybe I should look for another vice. Maybe it’s not all that healthy drowning my emotions in glasses of whiskey.”

A moment of silence drifts over them…

And then they both burst out laughing.

“Go on, give me one then.” Jack laughs heartily. “I bet these are doughnuts baked in whiskey glaze!”

“I wish.” Bill laughs with him.

They sit chuckling to themselves, biting into a plain glazed doughnut each. They have never felt more like cops on a stakeout than now.

“What else have you got?”

“He’s connected. Really well-connected.” Jack licks his fingers. “You know, we should eat doughnuts more often. That was delicious.”

“It’s not whiskey, but it’s not bad.” Bill does the same. Index finger, middle finger. Right hand. Left hand. “But tell me more about Miles.”

“He must be very well-linked because he seems to be a step ahead of everyone. After he walked out of the warehouse, the cops arrived only a few minutes later. He knew the cops were coming, and he knew when to bail out of there. Only someone who is well-connected would know that.”

“How many cops came to the warehouse?”

“I didn’t stick around to find out, Bill. I heard the sirens coming and then got out of there myself. It wouldn’t have looked too good if I was caught there.”

“Understandable. Any idea who he’s connected to?” Bill asks the question, although he already knows the answer.

“Word on the street is that some detectives in the department want to make a bit of extra money on the side. Send their kids to a good college. You can’t do that on a straight cop’s wage.”

“No names?”

“Not yet.” Jack looks out the window as a girl in a bikini rolls past on rollerblades. “But I’ll tell you something, Bill. People are scared of these guys. These men take people out who get in their way. A lot of people, even my best informants, were reluctant to talk about Lewis or Miles. I didn’t get a lot of information, but what I do know is that these men have killed before and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.”

“I’m starting to get that impression.”

“And if you think you’re going to pin the Carlos drug case on Lewis, then you better be prepared to be attacked. If anyone goes sniffing in their dirt, they usually end up missing. I was careful to cover my tracks, but they know you’re defending Carlos. Word is, Miles is on high alert at the moment. A big drug run is coming up from Mexico shortly, and he’s nervous about all the attention Carlos is getting.”

“Was Hardgrave’s name mentioned by anybody?”

“No. All I know is that they’re connected to somebody.”

“I heard that Hardgrave pointed Lewis in the direction of the cops who could be bought by a few dollars. I think that’s where they got their start.”

“So Hardgrave was dirty?”

“No.” Bill eyes off another doughnut. “He was desperate to see his daughter, and what he gave away seemed to be common knowledge anyway. I understand the desperation to see his daughter.”

“Do you know who they’re connected to on the inside?”

“I tailed Miles two days ago, and saw him talking to Pitt.”

“Matthew Pitt?”

“That’s right. They were talking quietly in a bar on Rodeo Drive. It was busy enough not to get seen together, but not quiet enough to raise suspicion. It was the perfect cover for an off-the-books chat.”

“So he’s dirty?”

“I don’t know. I’m digging around to try and find that out.”

“Be very careful where you dig. These men have no issue with violence.”

“That’s never stopped me before, Jack. Justice shouldn’t run away from danger.”

“But this is next level, Bill. I know you love danger, but this is different. This is like going on a theme park ride and not buckling up. You might get more of a rush, but you might also end up flying into the crowd below. Be careful.”

Bill looks out to the view again, studying the distant horizon. If this was to be one of his last days, then he wants this to be one of his final memories – sitting in a car, with his great friend, staring at the vast blue ocean.

A moment of real emotion that he doesn’t want drowned out by whiskey.

“I’m serious, Bill. Maybe you should leave the Hardgrave murder to the cops, and just focus on your case. That case is taking you close enough to these guys. If they get wind that you’re looking into the Hardgrave murder as well, then they’ll come after you. Hard.”

“Hardgrave was a good man, and he deserves justice. I can’t trust the cops to bring justice to the murderer.”

“Just… be careful.” There is a level of fear in Jack’s voice that Bill hasn’t heard before.

And that alarms him.

A lot.

CHAPTER 15

Kate attacks her keyboard with intense vigor, punching in notes while they’re fresh in her head. Her investigation skills aren’t as polished as her boss’, but she thrives on the challenge. Being involved in the cases, being part of the action, makes her heart pump. It lets her know that she’s alive.

She barely stops punching the keyboard as Bill strides back into his office.

“That must have been a long chat with Lewis?” she says, not taking her eyes off the computer screen in front of her.

“It wasn’t just coffee with Lewis; I stopped for a bite of lunch, and then a few doughnuts before I came back here. We don’t have any meetings this afternoon, do we?”

“Nothing on the schedule, boss,” she says, still not taking her eyes away from her work. “How was lunch?”

“Interesting,” Bill responds, standing in front of her desk. “I had lunch with a detective working the Hardgrave murder.”

“Oh yes.” Kate stops typing and looks up at Bill, fluttering her eyelids. “Anything that you wish to share?”

Average grades at school meant Kate never thought she would work in a job that she loves.

Not that she wasn’t smart, she was just too busy boosting her self-esteem by chasing boys. After graduation, she expected that she would spend her life working in a beige call center, staring at a computer screen, keying personal details into a computer program, allowing the walls of boredom to slowly close in on her. When her first husband swept her off her feet with roses, flash cars, and flash restaurants, she thought she had been saved from a life of monotony.

Unfortunately, it was all a show. The man had a few dollars of inheritance, which he blew very quickly, and had never worked a day in his life. He still hasn’t.

The money caused her to overlook a lot of things, but when the show dried out, she was left with a deadbeat that would spend his days playing the computer, drinking, and smoking. She struggled for years to recapture those fleeting few moments of young love before she kicked him out.

But he did deliver the gift of her beautiful son, and for that, she’s thankful, even if she has to support him by herself now.

When she attempted to reenter the workforce as a fraught single mother, she never imagined that she would land a job that she loves. She never imagined that she would ever have that.

“They don’t have a public lead for the Hardgrave murder and the pressure is mounting.” Bill picks up the postal mail on the edge of Kate’s desk, scanning through the sent addresses to determine their possible content. “And the media are getting desperate. They want a lead. They want something in this story. This story is selling papers, and people are hungry for an answer. It’s not a good look for the police department when they have a judge murdered in his own home, and they have no one to give to the public. The people want a suspect, and they haven’t fronted one yet. The pressure is only building, and they’ll continue to get front-page news every day this isn’t solved.”

“So they have nothing? Not a thing?”

“They have everything they need. I’m just not sure they’re doing what they need to do.” He slowly opens a plain, white envelope with no return address. “They’re currently looking at a few drug connections, both of whom are also connected to our client.”

“Lewis and Miles?”

“That’s right. And it’s obvious that they’re tailing Lewis because as soon as I finished my coffee with him, they called me and offered to buy me lunch. That certainly wasn’t a coincidence.”

He opens the envelope and looks inside.

One photo, nothing more.

No letter. No note.

“Could you help them out with any information?”

“No. Lewis didn’t give me a lot to go on. But I would bet that he has lied so many times that he wouldn’t even know what the truth is anymore. He wouldn’t even know how to tell the truth. What we do know is Lewis was dating Hardgrave’s daughter. Lewis has an alibi for the time of Hardgrave’s death, which coincidently is also the time my client’s apartment was being raided.”

“And Carlos is the alibi?”

“That’s right. But I don’t think they were really together at the time. They’re both sticking to the story that they were at a diner having lunch, but it clearly isn’t true.”

“Did you tell the detectives that?”

Slowly, Bill removes the photo from the envelope.

“I would never jeopardize my client’s case. If it comes out in court that they weren’t together, then that’s another thing. Let’s hope that the prosecution doesn’t push that line of questioning too far because it wouldn’t look good for Carlos if he’s caught lying with Lewis. They might as well call him guilty now if that happens.”

“But you think one of them is involved in the Hardgrave murder?”

“I’m not sure…” Bill’s focus has turned to the letter.

He removes the photo and stares at it –  a color 6x4 inch photo of their office front door.

Clear. Bright.

Recent.

Slowly, he turns around and looks at the door. “When did this letter arrive?”

“Just this morning,” Kate responds. “The letter came in with all the others. What is it?”

“A photo.”

“Of?”

“Our office front door.”

“And that’s it? No other letter inside?”

He looks back inside the envelope. “Nothing.”

“No return address?” Kate questions.

He stares at the front door. “Kate, you need to be very careful over the coming days. If you’re in the office alone, I want you to lock the front door. Make our clients buzz in. Don’t work late. Don’t be here after dark. If you don’t feel comfortable at any time, call me. Do you understand?”

“What’s going on?”

“Do you understand me, Kate?” Bill is firm.

“I understand.” She nods apprehensively. “Do you think that photo is about this case?”

“Actually, Kate, it’ll be better if you take a few days off. Don’t come into the office at all.”

“No,” she argues. “I want to come in. I want to help with these cases.”

“No.” He shakes his head while the thoughts race through it.

“I promise I’ll be careful, Bill. I won’t leave late. I’ll lock the office door. I promise.”

He looks at her, his eyes thinning as he stares down at the person who knows him the best. “Only if you keep safe. Only work during daylight hours. I’m not risking you for this case.”

CHAPTER 16

After checking the adjoining parking lot for any sign of activity, Bill returns to his office, flicking through paperwork; ticking boxes, signing his name where appropriate.

The photo is a clear threat.

He has dug too far into the world of the drug dealers, and now they know about Kate. He can’t risk her. His heart won’t take it.

When it was only his neck on the line, he was comfortable. If his time has come, then he could go on happily doing what he loves. But when the threat comes against one of the only few people he really cares about, the case changes.

“Bill?” Kate enters his office softly, a file against her chest. “I’ve been thinking about that photo.”

“Go on.”

“Maybe I dug a little too deep with Michelle—”

“No. Kate, this isn’t about you. This isn’t about what you’ve done. We’re dealing with some very evil people, and they don’t play nicely. It’s nothing to do with you, and everything to do with them. Don’t blame yourself for this.”

“Thanks, Bill.” Kate gently sits down on a chair in the spacious, well-lit office. “We know why Lewis would want Hardgrave dead—”

“Why?” Bill steers his attention away from the paperwork.

“Because he’s dating her daughter, and he’s a big-name drug dealer. That lines up for me. Every judge in this country is concerned about his or her reputation and having a daughter that’s addicted to drugs is one thing… but having a daughter addicted to drugs and dating a drug baron, that’s another thing altogether. I bet that Judge Hardgrave was pushing to have Lewis locked up, and Lewis wouldn’t have liked that at all.”

“Hardly a motive that would convict a man of murder.”

“But it’s a start. And look, I’m the secretary, you’re the lawyer, if I come up with the theories, you can prove them.” Kate smiles cheekily. “That’s how teams work.”

“We’re a good team,” Bill agrees.

“I’ll tell you something about Carlos,” Kate states in a matter-of-fact fashion. “He looks off.”

“Off?”

“Yeah, like something isn’t right in his head. He looks like he could easily kill someone. He just has that look in his eyes, Bill. That creepy, faraway look. I have seen it before, and I know that working in this office, I’ll see it again. He looks off.”

“He might have been in the past, Kate,” Bill says, again in agreement. “He was heavily involved in the drug trade. That was his life, and I’m sure that he has seen death before. But he changed. He went to prison, and he changed. He has been doing good recently, Kate. He has been helping drug addicts reform, and he’s doing it all without a dollar of payment. That’s not the behavior of a killer. That’s a man who has recognized he has sinned and is trying to right the wrongs of his past. He’s after redemption for that pain he caused.”

“Maybe he’s just doing the good deeds because of his guilt over all the bad things he has done.”

“Maybe. Regardless of the reason that he’s doing it, he’s still doing good. He’s still making a change in the world. And I truly think he wants to do good in this world and leave his mark. I think he wants to be remembered for making the world a better place, not for being a part of the drug trade. He’s leaving his legacy.”

“You’ve been wrong before.” Kate smiles, knowing that Bill hates that line.

“Once,” he states firmly. “And you’ve never let me forget it. What have you found out about Michelle?”

Kate flicks open the file in her hands, reviewing the notes. “I did everything quietly, like you said. First, I did lots of online research, and I found her social media accounts, with lots of photos. She has an account with all the big social media sites, and makes a lot of comments on some blog posts.”

“And?”

“Most of her photos on social media are of her alone – a lot of selfies. On her Facebook account, she posts lots of tough quotes, like this one: I don’t need anybody. The strongest look after themselves. Or this one: Sometimes, it’s better off to be alone. Then nobody can hurt you. There were lots of quotes like this posted on her accounts.”

“Sounds like somebody that has been hurt in the past.”

“So, then I asked around a few dirty bars in East L.A. that she had checked into on social media, and a few people knew her. I was told that she was a thief, a violent person, and a mean woman. She’s not a nice girl, Bill. Nobody had anything nice to say about her. Not a pretty picture at all. If she were a painting, she would be ‘The Scream’ – that’s how bad I think she is.”

“That’s what happens when you spend a decade addicted to drugs. She’s got a long record as well. Lots of pickups for drugs, and petty theft. Lots of minor charges, some stints behind bars, but nothing major. Did you see her in person?”

“Only once. It was just a coincidence, and I didn’t mean to see her, but I was in Walmart, and this skinny woman pushed past everyone in the line, swearing loudly, and yelling that she needs a smoke. Nobody argued with her. I think everyone was scared of her. She even threatened to punch the attendant if she didn’t hurry up.”

“Not a pretty picture at all.”

Kate picks up the L.A. Times on Bill’s desk and opens it to the social section. “I read this on the way in this morning. Her father got a good write-up in this article about social change. Apparently, before he died, he started a movement called ‘Cake with Friend’. It was to combat loneliness in the older generation. They must have thought he was very special because there is even a color photo of him. Here, he’s reading calmly in his living room. I want to look that calm when I’m seventy years old.”

She hands the paper across to Bill, and he rustles through the paper. “That’s a nice photo of Hardgrave. He looks very comfortable in his old age. Calm. Relaxed. Happy.”

“Crazy living room though,” Kate comments on the picture.

“He was always known for being very eccentric. I remember five years ago, he bought a brand-new Aston Martin that was gray in color. Everyone was surprised that he would buy such a plain looking car. One week later, he comes back with the car, and he has had it spray painted bright yellow. The yellowest car I have ever seen. It looked like a long banana.”

Kate smiles at the thought. “But who has a purple armchair in their living room? That’s not eccentric – that’s just bad taste.”

“Purple armchair?”

“That’s right. Look at the color of his armchair in the picture. It’s purple. That’s crazy. It says in the article that he was known for his choice of bright colors all through his house.”

“But the chair is purple in the living room…”

“So?”

“Hardgrave was shot on an orange armchair. The blood splatter made it look like a Jackson Pollock painting. Kate, get me the timeframe of the delivery of the new armchair to Hardgrave’s house.”

“Why? What does that mean?”

Bill doesn’t respond.

Instead, he leans back in his chair, a grin on his face.

CHAPTER 17

The sweat starts to dampen his armpits. His fists are clenched tightly. His jaw is grinding. This is the moment he loves. This is the moment he lives for.

The courtroom is alive with energy, anticipation, and apprehension.

Bill Harvey draws a deep breath, glancing over to the prosecution table led by Miss Shannon Chettle. She’s busily tidying her desk, disbursing her nerves, distracting herself from the anxieties. She moves a pen holder to the right, the laptop slightly to the left, the files on her desk rearranged in order. When she catches Bill grinning at her, she almost stabs him with her death stare.

He understands her nerves. Not many jobs have this much public attention. One small slip of the tongue and you find yourself leading the news bulletins. One wrong sentence and all of a sudden, your name is mud.

That’s pressure.

“Two minutes,” the court clerk calls out, alerting them to the fact that the spectacle is about to begin.

This is it.

His moment.

He has the fate of Carlos López resting in his hands, and if he plays his cards well, then the destiny of his client will have changed forever.

“All rise for the honorable Judge Windsor.”

The tall, strong and dominant figure of Judge Windsor slowly enters the room. He moves with strength, authority, and self-control. He’s respected in the legal community as a hard, but fair, man.

Just the way Bill likes it.

After Judge Windsor has said his piece, he welcomes the jury to the courtroom. Uneasily, they walk to their seats, a few bumping legs along the way. They know that at this point, the eyes of the court are on them. For anyone not used to public performance, that burden can almost melt them into a puddle.

The jurors appear to be a good group – a solid bunch of working-class citizens. Just what Bill wanted. He made sure that there were no millionaires, no Hollywood wannabes, and no Beverly Hills snobs in that box. He wanted twelve people that could relate to his client and understand the struggles of a man living in East L.A. He used every objection he had and ended with the people he wanted.

Surprisingly, the prosecution didn’t dismiss the two Mexicans that came to the table for jury selection. Bill was sure that Chettle would use her objections to knock those two out.

But she didn’t.

And for the life of him, Bill still can’t understand why.

With the way the Mexican jurors are assessing Carlos, he can tell that they have already identified with his client. If one of them refuses to find Carlos guilty based on their similar upbringings, then he has already won the case. If one person holds true in that jury room, for whatever reason, then the case is a mistrial. The prosecution has the option of bringing another case against him, but unless they have new evidence, that’s unlikely. All he needs is that one person on the jury, and he already knows his targets.

Carlos López sits next to Bill as a well-dressed, respectable member of the community. A man whose face shows that he has done his time, but who now knows the value of helping others. That’s what Bill will play for. There is no logical reason why a man who spends his spare time helping others overcome drug addiction would still be dealing drugs.

Bill only has to create reasonable doubt for Carlos to walk away, and based on the lack of substantial evidence, he’s sure that he can do that. Words are his weapon, and he’s ready with the heavy artillery.

His main threat is the way that Chettle will spin the case. She’ll go big on the evidence, and thick on the facts. They’ll be repeated time and time and time again in this case.

The true facts of the case are indisputable. A briefcase full of drugs was found in the apartment belonging to Carlos López. That is fact.

But there was no one home when the LAPD raid happened – and that leaves enough room for Bill Harvey to create reasonable doubt who the briefcase belongs to.

With two days scheduled for the prosecution case and one day for the defense case, the courts are expecting a quick turnaround. They have other cases to get to, bigger, more high-profile than just another drug possession charge.

The prosecution is clearly disappointed that Carlos didn’t take the deal to roll over on Lewis. After the failed raid, that was the angle that they were playing for. But when Carlos refused to turn over on his family, they had to press ahead with the charges, or they would be shown to be powerless.

All the hollow threats they made trying to convince Carlos to roll over on his cousin will be remembered by the criminal community for a long time. No one will be threatened by the prosecution that can’t convict a drug dealer.

After Judge Windsor says his piece, Chettle is ready to lay all her cards out on the table. This is the moment Bill has been waiting for – what does she have up her sleeve? How will she approach the weak case that she can’t afford to lose?

Chettle opens her statement sitting behind her desk, but when she gets into her speech, she stands and slowly moves around the table.

Bill likes the way she moves. Her hips have a gentle swing to them.

“On September 12 of this year, the Los Angeles Police Department raided the apartment of Carlos Maxwell López. They made this raid based on intelligence gathered from a source close to Mr. López. After they entered the apartment, they found $50,000 worth of heroin in a briefcase, located in Mr. López’s bedroom, next to his bed.

$50,000 worth of heroin.

Those are the facts. Plain and simple.

Plain and simple.

I will repeat them for you – $50,000 worth of heroin in Mr. López’s bedroom, next to his bed.

That is fact.

There is no doubt about that.

Over the coming days, you will be presented with those facts as the core of this case. That’s the reason we’re here today. That’s why you’re sitting in this courtroom.

The average person does not have $50,000 worth of heroin lying around their apartment. No. This is no accident. This is not a chance encounter. It’s not some strange coincidence.

Carlos López owned those drugs.

$50,000 worth of heroin.

It’s enough to destroy lives, and it’s enough to destroy families.

We need these drugs off the streets. And we need men like Carlos López off the streets as well.

Now, the defense might argue about the reason the briefcase was in his apartment. They might even say that he didn’t own the briefcase, but that’s not going to work this week. Not here. Not in a place where we make judgments on the facts.

It won’t work because I trust you.

I trust that you will make a decision based on the facts of this case.

And the facts are plain and simple.

There is no arguing of the facts.

In Carlos López’s apartment, where he lives alone, a briefcase full of heroin was found. Those are the facts, ladies and gentlemen.

The facts.

Cold, hard facts.

Nobody else lives with Mr. López. Nobody else was in his apartment when it was raided. Those are facts.

The facts.

The drugs were in his possession.

In law, we have a term called ‘constructive possession of illegal narcotics’. Constructive possession is when drugs clearly belong to a person; however, the person wasn’t carrying the drugs at the time. For a court to determine constructive possession, it’s very simple. There must be two key elements: one; the defendant must have knowledge of the location of the drugs, and two; the defendant must have the ability to exercise authority and control of the drugs.

It’s very simple.

Carlos López had knowledge of the drugs whereabouts – they were in his apartment. In his bedroom. Next to his bed. Undoubtedly, he knew they were there. Undoubtedly, they were his.

Carlos López had the ability to exercise control of these drugs. Nobody else did. Nobody else has a key to his apartment. Carlos López has stated that in a sworn police statement. He’s the only person that is able to exercise control of his apartment and its contents. Among those contents was the briefcase full of drugs.

I will repeat, the drugs were in his possession.

It is that simple.

My name is Shannon Chettle, and with my team, I will present an astonishing amount of evidence that will leave you with no choice but to convict Mr. López. You will have no choice because he’s guilty.

He owned the briefcase full of drugs. They were in his possession.

Without the intervention of the hardworking police officers, those drugs would have ended up on the streets. Without the intervention of the police raid, those drugs would have made it out to the hands of the people of Los Angeles. Out onto the street where they would attack vulnerable people. Attacking the defenseless people of this city.

Causing chaos on the streets.

Causing violence, crime, and pain to our great city.

That’s what drugs do.

And to take those drugs off the streets is a win for our city. A win for all of us.

But, I must say, it’s only half the battle.

We must also stop the suppliers. We must stop people like Carlos López bringing more drugs onto the streets. If we don’t stop him today, then I can guarantee you, he’ll do it again. He’ll find more drugs. More briefcases.

That’s how the cycle works.

This week, you have an opportunity to make our city safer. Cleaner. You have the chance to save lives.

Over the coming days, we will present witnesses to you who will explain this case in more detail. LAPD Detectives will explain why they chose to raid Carlos López’s apartment on September 12. Police officers will detail how the raid unfolded. Forensic experts will explain what they found in the apartment. We will hear from witnesses that will testify of Carlos López’s whereabouts on that day.

You will be presented with a lot of information over the coming days, but you must focus on one thing – the facts.

That’s what you have to focus on in this case.

The facts.

Don’t be swayed by the entertaining show that the defense will present. Don’t focus on what might have been. Don’t think about possibilities.

Focus on the facts. That is your job. That is why you’re here.

And if you look at the facts, if you look only at the evidence, then it will lead you to only one possible conclusion.

Only one.

The briefcase full of drugs could only be deemed to be in possession of Carlos López.

He must be found Guilty of this crime.

Your job on the jury is clear – you will listen to the evidence and make a determination on that evidence. Once you have seen the evidence, your decision will be easy.

At the end of this case, I will not stand before you and give you an answer. I already know the answer based on the evidence.

But it’s not for me to decide.

No.

It’s for you to make a decision based on all the evidence presented to you.

That’s all I ask you to do.

It will be clear. Your only possible answer will be to find Carlos López guilty of the charges of felony drug possession.

Listen to the evidence. And make your decision based on the facts.

Thank you very much for serving your duty to this great city.”

Bill Harvey glances at Chettle as she walks back to her table. He appreciates her great performance. He almost feels that he should stand and clap as she sits down.

After only one speech, Chettle already has the jury in her soft hands. They already want to believe her every word. Her voice was so soft and sensual that it could melt even the harshest person.

In contrast, Bill’s opening statement is easy on the personality and focuses on the technicalities of the law.

He knows that his client’s personality won’t win this case. He knows that he cannot win based on his client’s appearance. The only hope he has for the case is to present the facts, and then create reasonable doubt in the mind of at least one juror.

The reasonable doubt of one person.

That’s all he needs.

“May it please the court, Miss Chettle, members of the jury, on September 12 a briefcase full of drugs was found in an apartment in East L.A. That is the fact as represented by a police report. We are not here to dispute that.

As the prosecution has informed you, your job as a member of this jury is to reach a verdict based on the evidence.

Not assumptions – but the evidence.

Now let me explain the difference for you:

Evidence is defined as the available body of facts indicating whether a belief is true or valid. That is evidence.

An assumption is defined as a thing that is accepted without proof.

Without proof.

So, let’s be clear – there is no direct evidence, none, that states the briefcase containing drugs belongs to Mr. Carlos López. None. There are no fingerprints on the briefcase, no DNA, no video footage of Mr. López with the briefcase. There is no evidence of Mr. López carrying the briefcase, and there is no evidence to state that he was even near the briefcase at any time.

No evidence.

In this court of law, you cannot convict a man based on assumptions. You simply cannot do that. You need to make a decision based on the facts. The evidence.

And reasonable doubt exists within that collection of evidence.

What is reasonable doubt?

It’s doubt that still exists upon reason and common sense, after careful and impartial consideration of all the evidence.

You will find that you still have that reasonable doubt at the end of this case. Even after all the pieces of evidence are presented in this case, you will have reasonable doubt based purely on common sense.

I am criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey and, along with my team, I represent Mr. Carlos López. I am here to explain to you the undeniable fact that right now Carlos López is presumed innocent.

Right now, Carlos López is presumed innocent.

That’s the way our system works.

Time and time again in this case, you’re going to hear about the presumption of innocence. That means that right now, there is no guilt. Carlos López starts this court case with a blank page. The presumption of innocence means that suspicion, bias, prejudgment, and assumptions have no place in your thoughts.

That is your responsibility to control.

And it’s a big responsibility.

My team and I are here to help you understand the many reasonable doubts that lurk in the assumptions brought before you by the prosecution. And they’re just that – assumptions, not evidence.

Together, we’re going on a journey. On that journey, I will tell you where the police, and the department’s laboratory and apparent ‘experts’, have ignored obvious evidence, used false science, performed untidy fieldwork, and rushed to a very wrong and early judgment.

This trial will be an interesting journey, but it’s one that we will take together.

I will help you on this journey, and I will present evidence to you, beginning with my cross-examination of the prosecution’s evidence. I will show you where the reasonable doubt lies. We will work as a team to show the prosecution that they have made a mistake.

And that’s ok.

People make mistakes, even police officers.

That is why we have a justice system. That is why police themselves don’t decide the guilt or sentencing of the people they arrest.

We will present witnesses who will testify about Carlos López’s long history of volunteering. They’ll testify that Carlos López spends his time helping others overcome drug addictions. That’s right. This man is against drugs. Against drugs. He dedicates his life to helping people recover from drug addictions; he doesn’t put them there. He even has a room in The East Rehabilitation Center named after him. That’s how much he cares about helping people.

He wants to save people from addiction, not encourage it.

We are, as a team, you and I, here to uphold justice.

I will help you, and together, we will find Carlos López ‘Not Guilty’ based on the reasonable doubt that lies within the prosecution’s assumptions.

Judge Windsor will remind you throughout our journey not to make up your minds until the journey is done, because it may be in the last moment of the trial that you discover the reasonable doubt in the final piece of evidence.

And when our journey comes to a close, I will stand before you and ask you for a verdict of Not Guilty.

Because there is no evidence to reasonably convict Carlos López of any crime.

You will have reasonable doubt at the end of this case. And you cannot convict a man based on assumptions.

Thank you for your time, and thank you for listening. I wish you well.”

A solid start by Bill Harvey; one that he hopes is good enough.

CHAPTER 18

For LAPD Detective Roger Townsend, there is no gray in life. Everything is black and white. Including his clothes.

He’s not interested in the law as it’s written by the politicians; his rule of law is governed by his moral compass, formed during a hard childhood with a very religious family. He is as uncompromising in his police work as he is rigid in his Christian faith. It took him many years to gain a seat in the front pew of the church, and he’ll never let it go. He stands there every Sunday morning with his devout family, singing heartily at every hymn, brashly reciting every prayer; taking his faith very seriously.

As the lead detective in the raid on the drug bust, Townsend comes to the stand as the prosecution’s first witness.

Bill Harvey and Roger Townsend have clashed over a drug case before, and Bill was certain that the evidence was planted at the scene of the crime.

Some criminals are impossible to catch even though everyone knows they’re guilty. The people on the street know it, the cops know it, even the shopkeepers know it. But they have to be caught in the act. In their last case, Townsend planted the evidence in the car of a suspect, one small bag of cocaine, just to take a criminal off the street. They struck a favorable deal for the client, mostly because the prosecution didn’t want the evidence tested in a court of law.

And Bill is comfortable with that process. Just because the police can’t catch someone doesn’t mean they’re not guilty.

After the ink was dry on the deal, Townsend took Bill aside. “If a heroin deal happens and there are no police there to witness it, is it still a crime?” he grumbled. “Of course it is. A crime is a crime regardless of the evidence gathered. A criminal is a criminal regardless of when, or how, they’re caught.”

Although he didn’t want to, Bill had to agree. That statement made perfect sense outside the walls of the courthouse.

But inside the courthouse is a different scenario.

Inside these walls, evidence matters, not a moral compass.

The issue for Bill is that the police weren’t even after his client when they conducted the raid. They didn’t want to arrest Carlos. They didn’t want to put him behind bars. They want to sacrifice an innocent man in the hope that it puts pressure on the kingpin.

That’s not acceptable.

As Juan Lewis had no previous criminal convictions, the LAPD Gang and Narcotic Division Detectives weren’t able to gather enough evidence to be approved for a warrant to search his premises. However, Carlos López, with his previous conviction, became their easy target. They expected Lewis to be in the apartment when they conducted the raid. When they found that he wasn’t there, they had to put the squeeze on Carlos until he gave up Lewis.

But Lewis and López are family, and Carlos isn’t going to sell his cousin out, especially not to the police.

The defense attorney believes that Carlos is speaking the truth when he says that the drugs weren’t his. Every time Bill asked the question, there was no hesitation, no attempt to disguise the truth. Carlos was firm and open.

The truth, however, isn’t a part of his job.

His job is to defend his clients against the process of the judicial system. It’s not up to him to make a determination of their guilt.

Luckily, most people don’t listen to the truth anyway, jurors included. They hear what they want to hear. They see what they want to see. They search out stories that prove what is already in their subconscious.

That’s where Bill Harvey excels. He plants a seed, a well-placed word, a perfect sentence, and lets that moment nurture into a fully grown thought. He doesn’t tell people where they need to search for their truth; he merely gives them the tools to see his point of view.

Detective Townsend sits on the witness stand wearing an old black and white suit, perhaps the same suit he wore to his wedding twenty years ago. His smile is smug, his arrogance strong, and his patience thin. He has no time for courtroom games; he would much rather be punching people on the street.

Despite his great respect for the people that serve his community, Bill has little respect for Townsend as a person. He understands that Townsend risks his life every week for the safety of the public and, for that, he’s indebted; however, that doesn’t make his personality likable.

If Townsend weren’t a detective, Bill would have knocked his teeth out a long time ago.

“Please state your name and occupation for the purposes of the court.”

“Detective Roger Denis Townsend. I have been a proud member of the LAPD for thirty years. I have seen a lot in that time.”

“I bet you have,” Chettle states almost flippantly. Her personal dislike for Townsend is also clear. His old-school behavior, mostly bordering on sexual harassment, doesn’t sit well with this feminist. “Did you apply for a search warrant for the apartment belonging Juan Lewis, but rented by Carlos López?”

“That’s correct.”

“Is this the search warrant?” Chettle presents the warrant to the court.

“It is.”

“Is there anything wrong with this warrant? Anything unlawful?”

“No, there isn’t. It’s a valid and lawful search warrant.”

“Thank you, detective,” she continues. “Please explain to the court what happened after you received the warrant to search Carlos López’s apartment on September 12.”

“After the warrant was granted to enter Carlos López’s apartment, we scoped the premises for two hours. I was positioned across the street with Detective Bloom in our sedan, while another two detectives watched the back door of the apartment complex to ensure that nobody used that as an exit.” Detective Townsend’s voice is rough and harsh.

“And did anybody enter the apartment during that time?”

“Yes. We saw Carlos López and Juan Lewis enter the apartment building at approximately 10:14 am.”

“Can you please explain to the court who Juan Lewis is?”

“He’s the owner of the apartment that Carlos López was renting. He’s also a cousin of Carlos López.”

“Were either of them carrying anything?”

Townsend leans back in the stand, straightens his shoulders, and flattens the tie down the middle of his shirt. “We saw Carlos López carrying a black briefcase.”

That’s a lie.

With his small grooming movements, Townsend is dispersing the nervous energy of his falsehood. To a casual observer, this small error might be overlooked as a normal movement. But Bill Harvey isn’t a casual observer.

“Did you see either of them leave the apartment building?”

“No. We had detectives positioned at the back door of the building, and they didn’t see them leave the building.”

“And you believed that Carlos López and Juan Lewis were in the apartment at the time of the raid?” Chettle continues.

“We did.”

Carlos starts to squirm in his chair, almost looking like he wants to explode and yell “Lies!” to the jury. He leans forward, twitching his leg nervously under the table. Bill taps his pen to a handwritten note on his legal pad, catching Carlos’ eye.

Stay calm.

“How long was the time between when you saw Mr. Lewis and Mr. López enter the apartment, with Mr. López carrying the briefcase, and when you decided to enter the apartment with the search warrant?”

“Around thirty minutes.”

“And why was there a delay?”

“We had to wait for the uniform police officers to arrive to assist with the search. We were watching the apartment, so we were confident that Lewis and López were still in the apartment at the time we conducted the raid.”

“But they weren’t, were they?”

“No, they weren’t.”

“If you had detectives at the back door to the apartment building, and you were watching the front of the building, where were they?”

“We later found a third exit to the building – an old, barely used window in the laundry on the east side of the building. This window led to the parking lot next door. Lewis and López must have left the building via this exit.”

“Why would they have done that?”

“I imagine that this was an attempt to avoid—”

“Objection,” Bill states, not looking up from his notepad. “Not factual.”

“Sustained,” Judge Windsor replies. “Please stick to the facts as you know them, Detective Townsend.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Townsend nods like a little schoolboy after he has been told off by the headmaster. “In my professional opinion, I would suggest…” He pauses and waits for the objection, but when none is forthcoming, he continues, “I would suggest that they were trying to avoid detection; otherwise, they would have left via one of the main exits.”

“Please, detective, take us through what happened after you made the decision to enter the apartment building.”

“Once the uniform backup arrived, another four officers, we made the decision to enter the apartment building. As is normal procedure, we went to the apartment door, apartment 214 on the second floor, identified ourselves, waited for an answer, and when we didn’t receive an answer, we entered the apartment, again identifying ourselves as LAPD police officers.”

“Did anybody answer the call once you identified yourselves?”

“No.”

“And did you use force to enter the apartment?”

“Yes, we did. When there was no answer, we breached the door using a battering ram. That’s normal procedure for a raid.”

“And once you entered the apartment that belonged to Juan Lewis, and was rented by Carlos López, what did you find?”

“Nothing unusual to start off with. We called out for anybody. Nobody responded. We cleared the premises to ensure that nobody was present, and that’s when we began the search.”

“Were you surprised to find nobody on the premises?”

“Yes, we were.”

Chettle pauses for a few long moments, letting that fact sink into the minds of the jurors.

“Is this a layout of the premises?” Chettle presents a diagram to the court.

“It is.”

“And are these the photos of the rooms that you took before you began the search?”

“They are.” Townsend leans to the left in his chair. “As a team, we searched the kitchen first, and then we each entered one of the other rooms to search on our own. I entered the main bedroom, and that’s where I found the briefcase.”

“Did you open the briefcase?”

“Yes. We believed there were drugs present on the property, and we knew we were going to have to open many products to find them. I thought the briefcase seemed like an obvious way to carry concealed drugs and that’s why I opened it. I placed the briefcase on the bed and popped open the locks. Inside, I found numerous plastic bags of white powder. This whiter powder later proved to be heroin, and the street value of the heroin was deemed to be worth $50,000.”

“And this is the briefcase that you found?” Chettle introduces the briefcase as evidence, presenting it to the jury and the court.

It’s cheap, black, and uncomplicated. The sort of briefcase a detective would buy from Walmart.

“That’s the briefcase, yes.”

“Is it normal for drugs to be transported via this type of briefcase?”

“It’s not unusual, but drugs can be transported in anything. Bags, cars, clothes, the postal service – you can find them stored anywhere. And that means we have to look everywhere. I could spend a whole day telling you about the strange places we have found drugs. So, no, the briefcase certainly wasn’t an unusual place to find drugs.”

“When did Carlos López return to the apartment?”

“He returned to the apartment just before 3:00 pm in the afternoon.”

“And when he returned, what did you do?”

“We arrested Carlos López for the possession of drugs.”

“Did you read him his Miranda rights after you made the arrest?”

“That’s correct.”

“Thank you, detective. No further questions.”

“Defense, your witness,” Judge Windsor calls firmly.

Testing Townsend’s patience, Bill takes time to review his notes. It’s a deliberate ploy; he’s asserting a sense of authority in the courtroom. This is his place, and now Townsend can play by his rules.

“Thank you for your time, Detective Townsend,” he begins after four long minutes of silence. “Did you take video evidence of the raid?”

“That’s correct.”

“And is this the video?” Bill introduces the video to the court, pointing at the television screen at the side of the room.

“Yes, it appears so.”

For the next six minutes, the court watches the beginning of the raid. Townsend calls out for any persons present, breaks through the door, ensures there are no other people in the apartment, and then he begins to conduct the search, leaving the small camera device resting on the kitchen bench.

“It’s normal procedure to video a drug raid?” Bill asks as he pauses the recording.

“Where we have the resources to do it, we conduct raids using video recording.”

“Why did you remove the video recording device from your shoulder and leave it on the kitchen bench?”

“When the premises have been secured, it’s normal procedure to leave the recording device in a place that covers the greatest area for recording. In this case, it was the kitchen bench. You could see the hallway, part of the kitchen, and the living room.”

“And is this you in the video?” The video pauses on a quick moment of Townsend walking down the hallway of the apartment.

“It’s a bit blurry, but yes, it appears to be me.”

“And are you carrying a large gym bag as you walk down the hallway – before you enter the bedroom?”

“Ah.” Townsend didn’t expect that question. He thought he kept that bag out of view of the camera. “Yes. In that bag is the equipment that I needed to conduct the search.”

“Such as?”

“Things needed to check the apartment. Fingerprint dusting tools, torch, screwdrivers… that sort of thing. You never know when you need it. It’s our ‘goody’ bag. Every raid has one, but sometimes they’re left in the car and collected once the premises have been secured. I decided to take it with me because I made an assessment that the raid wouldn’t be dangerous. I considered the circumstances, and that was the conclusion I came to.”

“It seems rather a large bag for that.”

“I’m not sure what you’re saying?”

“Is that bag large enough to fit a briefcase in it?”

“Objection!” Chettle calls out. “What the defense is suggesting here has no evidence.”

“Do you have any evidence that may support making that claim, Mr. Harvey?” Judge Windsor leans forward and asks.

“No, Your Honor.”

“Then the objection is sustained. Strike that question from the record. Move on, Mr. Harvey.”

Chettle marks it down as a win for her, but the damage is already done. The jurors are already questioning whether the bag was large enough to have held the briefcase. The seed has been planted.

“And you entered the apartment with this bag? Is it usual procedure to enter an apartment with that bag at the time of a raid?”

“No.” Townsend pauses for a few moments. “It’s not usual procedure, but it’s what I needed for that day. I decided to bring that bag with us on this raid.”

“And this is the usual procedure, is it?”

“No, but it’s not unusual. And I have already answered that question.”

“Hmm…” Bill runs his fingers over his jawline, pausing again, not because he needs the time to think, but because he wants to provide the jury a few moments to process the information. “Was anyone else in the bedroom when you found the briefcase?”

“No, not when I found the briefcase.”

“Just you and this ‘goody’ bag?”

Townsend hesitates before answering. “Yes.”

“Is it usual procedure to search a room by yourself?”

“Sometimes we do it, and it’s not against the law. The facts of this case are that we had a tip-off that there were drugs in the apartment and we had a warrant to search the apartment. When I searched the main bedroom, I found a suspicious briefcase, and when I opened the briefcase, I found that it was full of drugs. Those are the facts.”

“And, of course, you left the video camera in the kitchen, so there is no video of you in the bedroom before you opened the briefcase?”

“No. In the time before video recording, it was quite normal procedure to search a room without someone recording everything.” His sarcasm is clear.

“You found the drugs when you were in the room by yourself, with the bag?”

“Yes.” Townsend glares hard at the defense table.

“Nobody else saw the briefcase before you opened it?”

“That’s correct.”

“Just you?”

“Objection,” Chettle calls out. “The witness has clearly answered this question already.”

“Withdrawn.” Bill looks back down at his notes. “And tell me, who made the tip-off that there were drugs in the apartment?”

“It was an anonymous tip-off. It came through on our tip-off line.”

“And is it usual procedure to raid every house given in a tip-off via a telephone line?”

“No, but this tip-off gave quite detailed information of the drugs, the whereabouts, and given the criminal history of the resident, we made a decision to follow up on the tip-off. It proved correct.”

“Did the tip-off provide details of who owned the drugs?”

“No, it didn’t. It stated that the drugs would be at that location during that time. That’s all we knew.”

“Detective Townsend, did you make the arrest of Carlos López?”

“Yes.” He rolls his eyes.

“Did you read him his Miranda rights when you arrested him?”

“Yes.”

“And did he say anything when you arrested him?”

“He did.”

“And what did he say?”

“He was innocent.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes.”

“And what was that?”

Townsend pauses and sighs, adjusting his tie again. “He said that it was a setup. He said that the briefcase didn’t belong to him.”

“And who did he claim the bag belonged to?”

Townsend stares at Bill and draws a long breath. “He claimed that the police planted the bag.”

“Did he? Why would he say that?”

“A lot of criminals say that. It’s their first reaction. They claim they have been set up and they don’t own the goods. It’s not true though.”

A lot of people that Townsend arrests make the statement.

“But Carlos López stated he didn’t own the drugs, and it was a setup?”

“Yes.”

“And he stated that the police planted the bag?”

“That’s what he stated.”

“That’s very interesting, Detective Townsend.” Bill writes notes on his pad, prompting two of the jurors to do the same. “No further questions.”

CHAPTER 19

Like a fashion show of tedious detectives for the courtroom, Chettle parades the other cops that were present during the raid for the rest of the afternoon. She asks the same questions, time and time again, solidifying the facts in the jurors’ minds.

By the time Judge Windsor has called an end to day one of the trial, most of the jurors feel like they were present at the time of the raid. They know more about the raid then they do their own children.

After the jurors file out of the courtroom, Chettle lets her guard down and smiles. She’s winning. She knows that. And what a win it would be – to take on the formidable Bill Harvey and walk away with success in court. She’ll be celebrated in the District Attorney’s office like a hunter returning with a winter’s kill. Her win will show them all that he’s beatable.

But she knows that she shouldn’t be celebrating yet. This is Bill Harvey, after all.

Glancing across at his desk, she notices that he isn’t packing up. He isn’t making notes. He isn’t even talking to his client.

Bill Harvey is sitting stoically, pen in hand, staring into nothing.

“Given up, Bill?” Chettle remarks.

The question snaps him out of his thoughts.

“No.” He smiles. “Quite the contrary. I’m working hard.”

“I’m not sure your client would agree.” She gestures towards a nervous Carlos López talking to his supporters in the courtroom seats behind them. “It certainly doesn’t look like you’re working hard.”

“Not all work is on a piece of paper, Shannon. Not all work can be defined as a new document.”

“Most of it can,” she retorts as she places another heavy file in her bag.

“Once, a writer used to sit at his desk every day and stare out the window. His wife would walk past every morning and say the same thing, ‘Not working today?’ And he would always reply, ‘I am. I’m doing the most important work there is.’”

Chettle shakes her head, slightly confused. “And what was the most important work there is?”

“Thinking.” Bill smiles. “Nothing is more important than taking some time out to think.”

“You’re lucky you have the time to do that. I don’t have the capacity to take some time out to think. I’ve got too much to do. I have to think on my feet.”

“And that’s why you’ll lose this case.”

Chettle stops.

His confidence strikes fear in her heart. Only moments earlier, she felt like she was going to be popping open the champagne bottles soon, but now, suddenly, she feels like she’s being beaten.

She doesn’t say another word to Bill; instead, she snaps at her team to pack up quickly and hurriedly follow her out the door.

“Bill, how’d we do?” Carlos questions once the prosecution team has exited the court. His supporters aren’t far behind them, but he has stayed to talk about the next steps with the head of his defense. “Tell me we did well. I felt like we did well. I thought you did well out there, and I can tell that Mexican juror isn’t going to say I’m guilty. There’s something in his eyes that says that he has my back. The man that was sitting on the back left of the jury box is a proud Mexican. I can sense these things.”

“We’re doing fine.” Bill is cold in his answer as he tidies his desk.

“Fine? What does that mean? Are we in front? Do you think that they think I’m innocent yet?” Carlos tugs on Bill’s arm. “I need more information than just ‘fine’. I need to know that in two days’ time, I’m going to be found innocent.”

Bill turns slowly and looks at Carlos. “Carlos, I don’t think that today is going to matter much.”

“I don’t understand, Bill. You’re going to have to spell it out for me.” His voice is frantic. “All this courtroom stuff is over my head. It’s all about the law, not about whether I’m actually innocent. You people are more concerned with the way something is written on a piece of paper than whether or not that briefcase was mine.”

“When we return to the courtroom tomorrow, we’re going to make a play,” Bill states slowly. “That play is going to change the entire course of this trial. If it works, nobody will remember what happened today.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then I hope you’re right about your Mexican friend sitting in the jury box.”

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence, Bill.” Carlos looks at the table in front of him. “I don’t want to go back to prison. That’s not where I belong.”

“Carlos—”

“You don’t understand, Bill. I help people out here. It’s my life’s purpose. I can make a difference in many people’s lives. Out here, I’m somebody’s angel. They look to me to save them. In prison, I’m just another drug dealer, and I don’t know if I can make it through prison this time. I only just made it out with my life last time.”

Bill nods. “Then let’s hope our play works.”

“What are you going to do?”

“You should focus on getting some rest.” Bill sighs. “I’ve got work to do to prepare for tomorrow.”

Bill looks down at his notes and studies them for a while before closing his briefcase. Carlos doesn’t leave. He can’t. He needs more information.

“Where are you going?” The fear in Carlos’ eyes is clear.

“I’m going to have to talk with Mr. Roberto Miles.”

“Miles? No. You can’t do that. That’s too dangerous. You shouldn’t talk to him. Lewis didn’t appreciate your chat, and Miles will like it even less. Leave him alone; he’s got nothing to do with this case.”

“We need him in court.”

“What for?”

“For the play that I’m talking about.”

“I really don’t understand. Why would you need Miles? He has nothing to do with this case.”

“Lewis is due on the stand tomorrow, Carlos. The prosecution has subpoenaed him to testify that the two of you were together at the time of the raid. I think that’s what they want. They want him on the stand to send him a message that they’re after him and they’re getting closer by the minute. They want him making statements under oath. That’s going to be our opportunity to blow this case wide open.”

“So why do you need Miles?”

“Because they’re all connected.”

“He’s dangerous Bill. He’s not the man you want to cross. He’s not the type of man you want to make mad.”

“Nor am I, Carlos.”

CHAPTER 20

“Mr. Roberto Miles.” Bill Harvey holds out his weathered hand as a welcome greeting.

Roberto Miles stares down at the hand, slowly raising his eyes to meet Bill’s. “And who are you?”

“I’m criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey. I’m representing Carlos López in the current drug trial.”

“The drugs weren’t his. The cops planted it.”

“I’ve heard that.”

Roberto Miles stands eye to eye with Bill Harvey, two tall men standing on the steps of a pleasant house in Montebello, ten miles east of Downtown L.A. If it weren’t for the two Bentleys, the Dodge Challenger, and the Chevy Impala parked on the lawn, this house could be mistaken for a picture of suburban middle-class bliss.

That, and the strong smell of marijuana pouring out the front door.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be writing reports about why the police planted drugs at my friend’s apartment? Isn’t that what you lawyers do? Or are they paying you off as well?”

“My job isn’t to write reports about the police on the take. My job is to investigate. And my investigations have led me here.”

Roberto Miles stands on his front step thinking; thinking so hard that Bill can almost see the thoughts cluck through his head. Dressed in a short sleeve black shirt, with the buttons done all the way to the top, Roberto doesn’t look like he’s going to the opera. With the smell of marijuana almost soaked into his clothes, it’s clear how Roberto was planning to spend the rest of his evening.

A mix of 1960s American and classic Mexican styling, the large two-story house sits on top of a hill, at the end of a dead-end street; the perfect place to watch for any approaching cars. The garden was once a flowering maze of shrubs and bushes, but without the diligent care of the previous owners, the greenery has struggled to survive under the blaze of the Californian sun.

The current owners have been much too busy growing other plants.

“Are you a cop?”

“No. Like I said, I’m a lawyer, and I’m Carlos’ lawyer. I’m on his side. I’m trying to get him off the drug possession charges, but to do that, I need your help. I need to talk to you about his case.”

“You’re on his side?” he confirms.

“Yes.”

Slowly, the thoughts continue to thump through his head, but eventually, he smiles. “Why didn’t you say so? Any brother of Carlos is a brother of mine!”

Roberto places his arm around Bill’s shoulders, leading him into the dark house. Despite the sun just setting on the horizon, the blinds are drawn closed, and from the damp smell, it seems like the inside of this house hasn’t seen a touch of daylight in months.

He’s guided into the living room, where two men are fixated on the flickering television in front of them, computer game controls being punched in their hands.

“No!” screams one man. He stands up from the sofa, throwing the controller down in disgust. “I was duped, man. That should’ve been a foul! I should’ve been going to the free throw line. You cheated, man!”

The other man on the couch giggles like a little schoolboy, under the effects of smoking too much greenery.

“What’s he doing here?” a shrouded man in the corner of the room, sitting by himself in an old armchair, calls out.

“This is Bill, a friend of Carlos.” Miles pats his hand solidly on Bill’s back. “You know him?”

“Yeah, I know him, and I don’t trust him.”

Miles’ hand reaches for his right hip, where he’s carrying a weapon under his shirt.

Bill holds up his hands in surrender. “Juan Lewis, it’s good to see you again. I’m just here trying to get information to help Carlos get off these charges. Nothing sinister. I’m here trying to help Carlos. That’s all.”

Two of Miles’ well-built friends step in from the next room as soon as they hear raised voices.

“Are we good?” Miles asks Lewis, his hand still on his right hip.

“Whatever.” Lewis shrugs. “Let him in. The guy’s harmless.”

“He doesn’t look harmless,” Miles comments, looking Bill up and down. “He looks like he can handle himself. So, are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.” Lewis stands up and walks confidently across the room. He’s still well-dressed, flashy, and moves with a grace that isn’t usually associated with a drug house. He heads to the table on the opposite side of the room where he picks up a joint and takes one, long, deep puff.

Miles waves to the two heavies, and they exit the room slowly, keeping their eyes locked on Bill.

This isn’t a friendly house.

The two younger men who were playing the computer basketball game turn off the television, and scamper out of the room. They know their place, and it isn’t in the middle of a discussion between the two heavyweights of the East L.A. drug trade. With his head held high and his shoulders drawn back, Lewis strolls back across the room to lounge into the armchair, his long legs crossing over each other. Miles sits near him in another armchair, gesturing for Bill to take a seat on the couch.

The couch has seen more drugs than a police evidence department, and he wonders if he’ll get high just from sitting on it. Carefully, he sits on the couch as the two powerful men stare at him, intently.

They don’t trust him. Even though he’s trying to help their friend, they don’t have confidence in him.

Miles opens, staring directly at Bill. “What do you want?”

“I want Carlos to get off these drug charges.”

“It’s all a setup,” Miles adds quickly. “All of it. Carlos hasn’t touched drugs for years. He even tells us to get out of the game. Doesn’t he, Juan?” Lewis doesn’t respond. “I know it wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been. He’s a good man.”

“If he has been out of the game, why are they after him?” Bill directs the question at Miles.

“You know why,” Lewis snaps.

“You’re due to appear tomorrow for the prosecution, yes?” Bill calmly asks an agitated Lewis. If it weren’t for the puff of marijuana, he would hate to see how tense he would be right now.

“I’ll be there in court. I don’t have a choice. They said they would lock me up if I weren’t in court tomorrow. So, yeah, I’ll be there, but I won’t like it.”

“Once the prosecution has finished questioning you, I’ll be asked if I wish to cross-examine you. This will be my opportunity to ask some questions that may help establish that Carlos is innocent. After we met last time, I sent you a list of questions. You never responded with your answers.”

“I know the questions.” Lewis uncrosses his legs, leaning forward on his knees. “And I know what I’m going to say. I don’t need your help.”

“Tell me what you want from me.” Miles leans forward as well. “Why are you here?”

The tension in the room is palpable.

Bill takes a moment to respond, looking at Lewis, and then back to Miles.

He had planned to question Miles alone, but with Lewis present, he can’t ask the questions he wants.

He has to change his plan.

And he has to change it quickly.

“I was hoping that Lewis would be here. Not you, Roberto.”

Miles’ eyebrows rise to ask a question, looking across at Lewis.

“How did you know I was here?” Lewis grills him.

“I’m a lawyer. I investigate. That’s what I do. That’s what I do really well. And that’s why I’m here.”

“Are you saying that you were following me?” As a man who has lived his life as a criminal, Lewis never trusts a tail.

The last time he had a tail, the person went missing for five years. And the police only found his bones because developers began building on the site of an old empty car yard. ‘Mauled to death by dogs,’ the Los Angeles Coroner reported.

They weren’t wrong.

“I wasn’t following you, Lewis. I only assumed that you would be here.”

Lewis doesn’t believe him.

His cold stare is only matched by Bill’s unflinching focus. To break here, to show one moment of nerves, would be suicide in this house.

He would go missing as well, and this time, Lewis would make sure that nobody would ever find the body.

“For Carlos’ sake, I need to go over the questions that I sent you, so there are no surprises in the courtroom. This is for the freedom of your cousin. This isn’t about you, and this isn’t about me. This is about Carlos. This is about your family.”

Lewis maintains the stare, waiting for a moment of unease from the attorney.

When it doesn’t come, he exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair, and he looks across at Miles. Miles offers a small nod.

“Ask your questions.” It’s not a request; it’s a demand.

“The prosecution is going to ask very direct questions about your relationship with Carlos, and whether you have anything to do with supplying drugs. They’re not going to sugarcoat any of the questions, so I need you to appear calm and honest in the face of their accusations.”

“Of course.”

Thinking on his feet is a skill that Bill Harvey has always possessed. He has to. His choice of words has saved his life many times over.

“These questions will act as a warning shot for them. They’re warning you that they’re onto you and your operations. They want you to know that they’re looking at your drug dealings and they’re not far away from catching you. They’ll use this opportunity to pressure you on the stand to try and get you to slip up. Don’t be surprised if they ask you very straight questions, one after the other. They’re trying to catch you out.”

Lewis laughs out loud. “They’re a very long way from catching me. I know what questions they’re going to ask and my answers are already prepared. I’m ready for what they’ll throw at me tomorrow. I have a lot of very powerful friends, and they’ll always make sure that I’m one step ahead of the law.”

The statement catches Bill off guard. He’s too confident. Too poised.

Something isn’t right.

“And if these powerful friends don’t help you out?”

“Then they’ll find out just how nasty I can be.” Lewis grits his teeth. “It’s like I told my friend Carlos that morning when I was meeting with him in his apartment – if he just does what I ask, then nothing bad will come of it.”

“Tell me why you needed Carlos to be an alibi before the raid had even happened?”

“I’m not telling you anything about that.”

Lewis glances at Miles, and Miles drops his head.

“You just said that you were in the apartment that morning telling Carlos that you two were together all day, but that was before the raid. Either you knew about the raid, or you needed an alibi for something else. If you weren’t at the diner meeting with Carlos, where were you?”

Lewis stares at Bill intently. “I was taking care of business.”

“Such as?”

“Does it matter?”

“It may tomorrow when you’re on the stand in court under oath.”

“I don’t care about your oath. Those words mean nothing to me. Nothing. I’ll be on that stand, and I’ll lie through my teeth. I’ve done that before, and I’ll do it again. Your lawyer talk doesn’t mean anything to me. I’ll say whatever is in my best interest. And right now, my best interest is to say I was with Carlos that day.”

“I hope you stick to the same story. The prosecution will pounce on you if your story changes at any point during the testimony. If they even get a sniff that something is wrong or misplaced, then they’ll attack you. If you give them the chance, then it’ll be very dangerous for you and Carlos in the courtroom. I’ll give you one word of advice for free, Lewis – make sure your apartment is clean tomorrow because if you slip up in the slightest, they’ll raid your apartment. If you give them the slightest opportunity, they’ll exploit it. They want you behind bars.”

Miles squints as he stares at Bill. “I hope you aren’t thinking of doing anything stupid.”

“I’m not a stupid man. My life has been spent dealing with criminals. I know what you can do.”

A cold silence drifts over the room.

“I have a lot of friends. A lot of powerful friends. They wouldn’t like it if anything happened to me. They wouldn’t like it if I went behind bars.” Lewis leans forward again.

The pressure is building.

And Bill doesn’t want to be there when it detonates.

Miles leans his body slightly forward as well, defending his friend. “I think you’re about to find out how friendly we can be.”

It’s time to leave.

Cautiously, Bill stands and slowly walks to the exit. No sudden movements, but no hesitation.

“Tomorrow is going to be an interesting day, gentlemen. Be prepared.”

CHAPTER 21

The walk from Bill’s car to the bar is a short one.

And that’s just the way Bill likes it.

He felt the pull for a glass of whiskey strongly after his chat with Lewis and Miles. Despite his flair, Lewis has an air of psychotic danger surrounding him. He has reportedly ordered the hit on as many as twenty people around his neighborhood, and he doesn’t regret it for one moment. He is as ruthless as he is stylish.

That makes Bill uneasy.

The more a criminal evades the police, the more invincible they become.

The more crime they commit and don’t get charged for, the closer they come to losing control.

He’s afraid that Lewis has already walked to the edge and lost control. The power has gone to his head, and he feels invincible. He feels he can get away with anything. He might be the king in his world, but he’s stepping out into a different ballgame. He holds no power in court, and if he isn’t careful, the prosecution is going to tear him apart.

One wrong word from Lewis can destroy any chance Bill has of getting Carlos off the charges.

Despite his past, Carlos López is a good man. Bill knows that. He wants to help him. He wants Carlos back on the street so he can help drug addicts recover.

And he’s willing to sacrifice Lewis’ freedom to make sure that happens.

The chill of the cool night air hits Bill as he steps out of the car.

After Bill steps onto the sidewalk, he tosses a couple of dollars into the hat of a homeless man sitting nearby because he always feels that if things fell apart, that could easily be him. A few dollars don’t mean much to Bill, but it means the world to the homeless man.

When you live life so close to the edge, you have to be prepared to fall over it.

Bill turns his collar to the cold and damp, turning to lock his car door.

The moment that he turns, he feels a large hand rest on his shoulder. Instinctively, he swings around.

He only has time to see a fist coming towards his face.

Smash.

The fist connects heavily with Bill’s cheekbone, throwing him back against his car.

His arms fly out sideways, trying to keep him upright, but he quickly lands on his behind, dazed by the surprise impact.

That wasn’t a lucky punch.

This person knows exactly what they’re doing.

As Bill’s head lifts off the pavement, two men grab him under the shoulders and drag his body into the closest alley.

The fog clears.

The adrenalin kicks in.

Bill attempts to spring to his feet.

He wrestles free with his strength.

Smash.

His world is dark.

Another fist connects with the back of his head. He didn’t see that one.

Smash.

Another fist.

He sprawls onto the pavement.

Crunch.

A boot.

The force connects with his ribs, and he curls over in pain. When another boot comes towards him, his arm instinctively grabs it.

Gripping the ankle tightly, he throws the man to the ground, leaping to his feet at the same time.

Having spent most of his childhood at a boxing gym, he knows how to throw a decent punch. When the second thug gets close to him, he swings, and he swings hard.

They say in boxing that if you hit a man clean on the chin, he won’t feel it until tomorrow.

As Bill’s heavy fist connects with the jaw of one of the thugs, he feels the satisfaction of a jaw breaking under his force.

But that satisfaction doesn’t last long.

Another fist hits him in the ribs.

And another fist hits him in the back of the head.

Two more quick fists into his body and Bill has landed heavily on the pavement.

A quick succession of boots.

He doesn’t stand a chance.

He tries to catch a glimpse of the attackers, but he’s blinded by the barrage.

The taste of blood begins to fill his mouth.

His vision begins to blur.

Another hit.

Another one.

His head is spinning.

His arms flail in a feeble attempt at defense. A heavy kick to his ribs robs his lungs of any existing breath.

His resistance doesn’t last long.

Boot after boot lands on his body.

His efforts turn to protecting himself.

When his resistance is finished, the boots stop flying.

Instinctively, Bill grasps his wallet and holds it against his chest.

“Don’t go digging in the wrong business,” the voice snarls at him, inches from his ear. “You’ll find that people don’t like you sniffing around in the wrong places. We’ll be back if you don’t stop digging. And it won’t just be you we’ll go hunting.”

Of course.

These men didn’t want his wallet.

CHAPTER 22

The quiet darkness of the parking lot causes Kate Spencer to shudder.

She doesn’t trust the night. She never has.

When she was a small six-year-old girl, she watched as her mother and father were mugged and beaten under the darkness of a still night. She was overcome with fear as her father tried to fight back, struggling desperately to protect his family, but there were too many of them. She watched in terror as her father was kicked on the ground over and over again.

After months in hospital, he was able to walk again, but his gait was never the same.

Nor was his personality.

Tonight, she can feel those same chills in the air. The small hairs on her arm stand on end.

She can sense the danger.

She knows it’s there.

Despite her boss’ desperate plea for her not to work late, she ignored his request. She loves her work – wanting to complete it before she went home to her empty house. Her son is with his deadbeat father for the next two days, and she can’t bear the thought of sitting home alone. Isolated in her family home.

Empty nesters claim they’re the only ones that know the grief of losing their children to adulthood, but for divorcees, that pain is just as real. Their family, their hopes and dreams, the people they have invested so much in, are suddenly gone, spending time somewhere else; laughing, crying, and growing.

It took Kate a long time to deal with that pain.

Every time her eight-year-old son left to go to her deadbeat ex-husband’s apartment, she cried a pool of tears. Her son was growing without her. Without her love. He was experiencing a life that she had no part of.

She didn’t miss her ex-husband for one minute, not for one second, but she missed her son every waking minute that he wasn’t there. There was an emptiness in her heart; an ache that she couldn’t cure. Over time, she has learned to ignore that pain, distracting herself with work.

Despite the years that have passed since her divorce, going home to an empty house is still filled with dread for the single mother.

Now, she regrets the decision to work late. She should have listened to her boss.

The nerves are already pumping through her veins; she can feel her own heartbeat against the walls of her chest. She can see every movement in her peripheral vision, seeing even the slightest break in the shadows.

Gripping her purse tightly in one hand, her keys in the other, she steps towards her car, parked on the other side of the lot, a mere fifty yards away.

Her knuckles turn white with the force of her grip.

She steps into the dark.

There is movement in the shadows.

She knows it.

She can see it.

But now, the distance between her car and the office door is the same. Twenty-five yards each way.

Each door is locked.

Neither is an easy access.

She’s stuck.

Vulnerable.

Helpless.

In a panic, she begins to run towards her car.

Heart rate pounding.

Muscles clenched.

Vision on her destination.

But then…

Whack.

She’s hit from behind.

Sprawling, she falls to the asphalt.

Clutching her purse, she turns to see her attacker.

The shadow is wearing a balaclava.

Their face is covered.

And then…

Whack.

A fist hits her in the face.

And then another.

Right above the eye.

She loosens her grip on the bag. They can take it.

It’s not worth her life.

But they don’t touch her bag.

They don’t want it.

“Take it,” Kate pleads. “Take it.”

They ignore her pleads.

And then…

Whack.

Another fist.

Kate begins sobbing, her tears mixed with blood, and the attacker stops.

They raise their fist, but this time, the hooded person turns and walks away.

They didn’t take her bag.

That wasn’t their target.

CHAPTER 23

“Bill?” There is a desperate plea in Kate’s voice.

“Kate. Kate! What’s wrong?”

“Someone… someone… they attacked me.”

“What? Who? Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

“I’m… ok.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m in the car, outside the police station on sixth. I don’t want to step out, Bill. How do I know it’s safe out there? I don’t trust the night.” Her tears start flowing again.

After her attacker left her bloodied on the pavement, Kate focused on getting into her car, locking the doors, starting the engine, and racing to the nearest police station. It was only once she arrived that she let her guard down. It was only once she felt safe that she let the tears come.

“Kate, wait there. Keep the doors locked, and the engine running. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t get out of the car.”

With a swollen face, and still spitting blood, Bill frantically races to the station.

When he arrives, he sees her car, engine running, lights on, exhaust fumes slowly escaping into the chill of the night air.

Carefully, he approaches her driver’s side window.

She’s gripping the steering wheel tightly, staring straight ahead.

The look of dried blood on the face sends anger pulsing through his body.

He let her down. He should have protected her, but he let her down.

Gently, he taps on the driver’s side window.

Kate turns her head, taking a few seconds to process who is standing by her car. When she finally realizes it’s Bill, she leaps out, embracing him in a tight hug.

He holds tight, tighter than he has ever held her before.

This is the woman he cares for more than anything, and he let her safety be threatened. He can’t forgive himself for that. After the lactic acid starts to build in his muscles during his tight grip, he slowly releases her.

“Are you sure you’re ok? Should we get you to the hospital?”

“I’m not hurt.” She wipes the wetness from her eyes, sniffing back more tears.

“What happened?”

“In the parking lot, after work, someone jumped me between the office and the car.”

“At my office?” Another wave of guilt washes over Bill. That’s his office. The place he should ensure is safe. “What were you doing there so late?”

“I was looking for the delivery date of the new armchair, like you asked. I got it, Bill. The armchair was delivered the morning Judge Hardgrave was shot.”

He put the woman he cares for in danger. “That doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re ok. What matters is that you’re fine.”

“They didn’t want my purse, Bill. I told them to take it, but they didn’t want it. Why didn’t they take my purse?”

Anger continues to cover Bill’s thoughts.

This wasn’t a random attack. This wasn’t a coincidence.

This was a targeted assault.

For both him and Kate.

“Did you get a look at them?”

“No, not really. It all happened so fast, and they were wearing a balaclava. They didn’t want to be seen.”

“Anything? Did you see anything about them? Anything at all.”

“The only thing I saw was that they were wearing a blue and green love heart necklace. It was tight around their neck, but the shine of the love heart caught my eye. That’s all I saw.”

Bill hugs Kate tightly again.

He has seen the necklace before.

He knows who it belongs to.

As they melt into their hug, Bill can start to feel it.

He doesn’t want to, but he can feel the emotion building inside him.

His father was the same. He didn’t want emotions in his life. He only wanted to do his job, provide for his family, and watch the football on Sunday with a beer in hand. He didn’t want to be drawn into the weakness of emotions. He didn’t want to be suckered into feeling something.

That was the only way Bill learned to deal with emotions. It was all he knew as he grew up. His only male role model avoided showing his feelings at all costs.

“Caring for something will make you weak, boy,” his father told him over and over. When Bill was only six years old, he still hugged his pink teddy every night. He loved that teddy, a present from his late grandmother. His father tore it away from him on the night of his sixth birthday and told him that it was time to grow up. The thing he loved the most was torn away by the person he respected the most.

A brick wall has been around Bill’s heart ever since.

For him, caring is a flaw.

But now, as he grips this woman tight, he can’t resist it. That brick wall can’t hold back the flood of emotion any longer.

He should have protected Kate.

He should have been there for her.

And it hurts him more than anything that he put her in danger.

“What happened to you?” Kate asks as she looks up at Bill’s face.

“I just walked into the wrong area at the wrong time,” he lies. “Come on, Kate. Let’s get to the station and make a report.”

She rests against his chest as they walk to the station doors, but Bill’s thoughts are somewhere else.

He’s thinking about the owner of the necklace.

CHAPTER 24

“What happened to you?” Detective Matthew Pitt looks at his old friend in surprise.

Bill Harvey is standing on his doorstep, dried blood on his lip, a cut above his swollen eye. He’s holding his side tightly with his left hand, leaning on his favored other side. His broken ribs hurt, but there is nothing that the hospital can do about it.

And he hasn’t got that time to waste.

Bill’s response is firm. “I just had a quiet chat with the wrong people.”

“Come in, man.” Pitt opens the door.

Bill limps in, short of breath.

“Bev, get the first aid kit,” Pitt calls out to his wife.

Pitt’s wife rushes down the stairs of her house with the first aid kit in hand. “Oh, Bill.” She sighs. “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”

“It finds me, Bev.” Bill smiles with a split front lip. “I don’t go looking for it; it just comes and tracks me down.”

She smiles, takes Bill into the kitchen, and spends the next ten minutes cleaning up Bill’s cuts, making small talk along the way.

“But clearly.” She sighs as she finishes cleaning his cuts. “You didn’t come here for my nursing skills. I know that I have a delicate touch, but a handsome man like you can get that anywhere. I’ll let you two boys chat. But Bill, promise me one thing?”

“What’s that, Bev?”

“Stay out of trouble, or next time, it’ll be me giving you a cut lip.” She places her hand on his face in a caring manner before leaving the room.

“I’d listen to her,” Pitt jokes. “I tell you, if I make that woman angry, there are some nights I sleep with one eye open.”

“I heard that,” Bev calls out from down the hall.

Once Bev is out of earshot, Bill stares at Pitt, who is resting against the kitchen bench.

“I wasn’t the only one targeted.”

“Who else?”

“Kate.”

“No.” Pitt’s shock is real. “Is she hurt?”

“She’s a little shaken up, but she’s going to be ok. She’s at my place, now. Safe.” After the evening that Bill has endured, he’s in no mood for further small talk. “You need to tell me the truth, and you need to tell it to me now.”

“About what?” Pitt squints his eyes.

“About you and Miles.”

Pitt opens his mouth in surprise. He shouldn’t be. The lawyer standing in front of him is known for his investigative skills just as much as he’s known for tearing a person apart on the stand.

Bill holds Pitt’s stare, and Pitt acknowledges it with a few small nods. Slowly, he turns to the kitchen door and closes it gently. Walking back to the bench, he sits down on the stool opposite his friend.

“Start talking.”

“Roberto Miles…” Pitt sighs. “He’s a big player in the drug scene in East L.A. – Juan Lewis’ partner in the scene. We’ve been after him for years, trying to land something big on him. But all we ever get is something small, a charge that’s just big enough to keep him off the streets for a little while. After he does time in prison, he’s straight back out on the streets, helping Lewis in the drug import trade. But then, he ran into big trouble with the law, and with me.”

“And?”

“And he struck a deal with us. He was going to give us Lewis, and we would ignore the charges. Lewis is the main player out there. He’s the brains behind the operations, and without him, the whole thing would fall apart. So, although we could get Miles, it wouldn’t have stopped the drug operations. We wanted to get Lewis.”

“Miles will just step into the position once Lewis is gone.”

Pitt nods. “We thought about that. That’s why we have an old case that we can convict Miles on as well. He doesn’t know that. Nobody does. We’re going to nail Lewis, and then we’re going to nail Miles. Roberto Miles isn’t the smartest guy going around. You could tell him that the sun is computer programmed by Bill Gates and he would believe you. The plan is that he’ll give us Lewis, and then we nail him a week later on the old charge.”

“Except you haven’t nailed Lewis to anything. He’s as free as a bird.”

“You’re right. We haven’t got anything yet. Miles is wired a lot of the time, but we haven’t got anything. Nothing.”

“He’s playing you. I have word that a large run of drugs is coming in soon.”

“Possibly.”

“What’s the old case you have with Miles?”

“I can’t say, Bill. I can’t let you know that. Just know that it’s big.”

Bill nods slowly, processing the information. “Matthew, I need a favor.”

“Of course. I thought that was the reason you might be here. But as much as you’re a friend, it depends on what the favor is. These are treacherous times.”

“I need you in court tomorrow.”

“What for?”

“I have a hunch, and I’m going to make a play.”

Pitt laughs. “Your hunches have gotten me into trouble before, Bill. A lot of trouble. I’m not sure what to make of that request.”

“They may have gotten you into trouble, but we’ve always gotten the crim. Don’t tell me that you’ve changed your story, and now you don’t want the criminal? I thought all the police wanted was the guilty person – you worry about the details later.”

“Very true.” Pitt sighs and pulls out a cold beer from the fridge to pass to Bill. “This should help your lip.”

“I need someone in court that I can trust. I’ve got a big-time drug dealer coming to the stand, and under cross-examination, I plan to get him to drop himself into admitting a crime. I need someone in the courtroom that isn’t connected to his syndicate of high-powered contacts.”

“Juan Lewis is on the stand tomorrow?”

Bill nods slowly.

“Be careful, Bill… although, I can imagine that’s probably why you have a cut lip right now, so you don’t need me to tell you how dangerous he can be.” Pitt takes a long drink of his beer. “He’s got friends in high places. Very high places. He can get away with a lot of stuff. If you’re going to take him down, you have to take him down hard. Don’t do this for a little play. Even if you pin that 50,000 dollars’ worth of heroin on him, it won’t keep him off the streets for long. If he walks away, he can have you hit the second you walk out on the street, and they can brush it under the carpet. With the level of protection that he has, you have to be very, very sure of what you’re doing. It has to be a play that’s going to take him off the streets forever.”

“It appears that he’s quite a dangerous person.” Bill gestures to his cuts and bruises. “But that shouldn’t stop men like you and I. We have to be better than that, Pitt. We have to be above the fear that they want to instill in us. This is when courage counts.”

“That’s a lovely speech,” Pitt replies. “But I’m not some fresh officer off the street. I know what pain is. And so do you. You’ve seen it before. You’ve seen the worst of it. We have people to protect now. I can’t risk my family for this – because that’s what will happen. They’ll come after my family.”

“Don’t get scared on me now.”

“Even what you and I have seen in the past isn’t going to compare to what Lewis can do. His connection to Judge Hardgrave opened a lot of doors, and when a man like Lewis sees an open door, he jumps right through it. We know that he has anger issues – he’ll snap if you push him.”

“That’s why I need you.”

“Bill, because you’re my friend, I’ll be there. But we have to be clear with each other. This needs to be a really big play to take Lewis. Really big. If you’re going to take him, make it count.”

“I’m going to make a play so big that his protection isn’t going to want to go near him. Everyone will disown him. The people that protect him aren’t going to want to be a part of anything that he has ever touched. They’ll distance themselves from him very, very quickly.”

“If you don’t get this right, he’ll come down even heavier than last time. On both you and Kate. You’re risking your lives here. And Kate’s got a son to think about. Don’t think that they won’t go after Kate’s son.”

“I know what’s at risk.” He looks Pitt up and down, judging his old clothes. “And wear a nice suit, you might be on television tomorrow.”

“Is this play foolproof?”

“No. It’s risky. Very risky.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

CHAPTER 25

The second morning of the trial hums along smoothly. Chettle does her best to present her circumstantial evidence, and Bill does his best to dispute it. Like an unhappy married couple, they go to and fro for hours, arguing at any chance they have.

Standard procedure for a morning in court. Nothing special.

But all that’s about to change as Chettle calls Juan Lewis to the stand. She even shudders when she calls his name. She knows how important this testimony is.

For the prosecution, it’s about pressure. They want to build the pressure on the large drug supplier. They want him to know that they’re coming after him. He’s their target.

As he walks with confidence through the courtroom, the case is balanced in the prosecution’s favor.

His suit is bright enough to force people to look twice, his hair slick to the back and left, and his accessories are glittering in the lights. It almost seems appropriate for Lewis to moonwalk to the witness stand.

As he walks past the defense table, one accessory catches Bill Harvey’s eye – a blue and green love heart necklace hanging around his neck, resting between the open collar of his shirt.

Bill’s leg twitches nervously under the defense table. He knows it’s time. Time to make a play to win this case, but more importantly, to ensure Kate is kept safe.

He can’t risk her life again.

His heart won’t take it.

Lewis is sworn in, and Chettle opens with her questions. “Mr. Juan Lewis, how long have you know Mr. Carlos López?”

“Many, many years.” He winks at the prosecutor. “And may I just say that you look mighty fine today, lady.”

“Mr. Lewis,” Judge Windsor’s voice echoes around the courtroom. “I will remind you that this is a courtroom, not a bar where you pick up women. Please save your sleazy comments for another place and respectfully answer the question that has been asked of you.”

Lewis grins, full of self-assurance. “Certainly, judge.”

“Are you related to Mr. López?”

“I am. He’s my cousin.”

“Would you say that you and Mr. López are close?”

“Yes, we are. We have lunch or coffee every week.”

“Every week?” Chettle questions from behind her desk, reading from the notes in front of her. “How long have you been doing that for?”

“Most of our adult lives, on and off.”

“So you know a lot about Mr. López’s life?”

“I do.”

This is too rehearsed. Too clean. There is no thinking time between the questions and answers, and that can only mean that Chettle has spent time preparing Lewis for this testimony.

That is trouble.

Gripping his pen tightly, Bill prepares for a new twist in the tale.

“On the day of September 12, the day of the raid on his apartment, where were you?”

“I was with Carlos López all day.”

“Can you please explain to the court what happened on the day that the raid occurred at Mr. López’s apartment?”

“I met with Carlos at his apartment in the morning, and we went to have lunch at one of our favorite diners, El Mejor. We stayed there for many hours, as we often do, and talked about life, and love, and the future. After lunch, we stopped at a shop, and then we left to return to his apartment. When we returned in his car, he parked in the lot next door to his apartment building, I said goodbye to him, and he entered the apartment building alone. He later informed me that it was then that he was arrested.”

Bill feels the tension rise in the room. Lewis is going to make a play of his own.

“At any point during that day, did you see Carlos with this briefcase?” Chettle points to the case on the evidence table.

No.

Suddenly, it all falls into place for him.

They’ve been played – by Lewis, and by the prosecution.

Lewis looks at the defense table and draws a deep breath.

“I did.”

Carlos’ mouth drops open.

This wasn’t part of their plan.

This wasn’t part of their game.

Carlos clearly didn’t expect his cousin to set him up.

Despite the suddenness of the accusation, Chettle doesn’t look the least bit surprised. She knew this was coming. She organized this.

“And please explain to the court when you saw Carlos with the briefcase?” she continues.

“When I met Carlos at his apartment that morning, he had the briefcase in his hand. He seemed nervous about it, almost like he didn’t want me to know about it. When I suggested that we go out for lunch, he made sure he put the briefcase in a secure place in his bedroom. I wanted to ask him what was in the briefcase because he seemed so nervous about it, but I figured it was actually none of my business. He left it in his bedroom while we went out for lunch.”

Lewis is living up to his word of only saying the things in his best interest.

“Have you ever seen Carlos López take drugs?”

“In the past, yes.”

“And does that bother you? Does it bother you that he has taken drugs before?”

“He made mistakes in his past, and that’s fine with me. His crimes didn’t affect me directly because I don’t like drugs.” He tries hard to hide his devilish grin, but he can’t, no matter how much he wants to. “However, I’m a forgiving man. I have looked past those dealings because my cousin Carlos has a good heart. He has a strong heart. And I honestly thought that he was done with the game. I thought that he was through with it. But we all know that dealing large quantities of drugs like that is a way to make a lot of money fast. I guess he needed the money and saw this as the quickest way to get it.”

“It doesn’t bother you that you spend a lot of time with a drug user?”

“Like I said, I have forgiven him for his sins. I wouldn’t have any friends left if I didn’t forgive people. We all make mistakes, lady.”

Bill can see the prosecution’s play clearly.

They have struck a deal with Lewis.

When Carlos didn’t roll over on his friend, Lewis became their main focus. They have tailed him, harassed him, and questioned him. Lewis must have given them something to strike this deal.

The problem with making a deal with a man like Juan Lewis is that he’s never going to pull back in the drug trade. This deal will only fuel his ego.

He’ll go bigger.

Faster.

Walking away from this courtroom will only increase his confidence.

“And have you ever been involved in the drug trade?”

“No.”

“Mr. Lewis, can you please advise if you ever saw Mr. López dealing drugs?”

“No, I didn’t. I never saw Carlos deal or sell drugs, but I’m very well aware that he spent time in prison for drug crimes.”

“Objection,” Bill calls out. “Past convictions—”

“Withdrawn,” Chettle responds quickly, but the damage is already done. “Thank you, Mr. Lewis. No further questions.”

As he stares at the paper in front of him, the sweat builds on Bill’s brow.

Not only is he fighting for the safety of Kate Spencer, and fighting a now almost impossible case, but he’s also fighting a lying drug dealer.

Not the way Bill Harvey had expected the day to go.

He thinks about this morning when he saw Kate at the office, a bandage on her chin, black eye still visible. His eyes then turn to Carlos, a man with a troubled past, but who is clearly innocent of the charges.

Justice or safety? Does he go after Lewis and risk Kate? Or does he let Carlos go to prison, and keep Kate safe?

Justice or safety?

A question he cannot fathom to answer.

CHAPTER 26

After the shock of Juan Lewis’ accusation, Judge Windsor calls for a short recess, a chance for the defense to think about how they can possibly put their case back together.

As soon as Bill steps out of the courtroom, Carlos grabs Bill’s arm, firmly.

They stand in the hallway of the courthouse, each of them confused about what has just happened. They didn’t see it coming. The hallway is empty, except for the people racing through to another case, and they feel a moment of relief from the intensity of the courtroom.

“What just happened?” Carlos asks, shaking his head.

“It appears that your cousin, Juan Lewis, has just pinned the case on you. He didn’t want to go down for the crime, so he’s heaping all the blame on you. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect that he would do that. He must have struck a good deal with the prosecution.”

“Why would he have struck a deal with the prosecution? Why would they have let him do that?”

“He must be going to sell someone out…” Bill reasons as he talks the situation through. “It must be Miles. That’s the only thing that he could offer them that’s big enough to get them to turn over. He’ll get immunity from the charges. But Pitt has already struck a deal with Roberto Miles.”

“And the prosecution has struck a deal with Lewis?”

“Lewis and Miles are double-crossing each other.” Bill runs his hand through his hair. “They’re both trying to sell each other out to take over the business. They’ve both turned on each other.”

“That’s trouble, Bill. Lewis is bad, but Miles, he would beat up his own mother if it got him another cookie. He’s relentlessly violent. When he finds out that Lewis has turned on him for a deal, he’ll be unstoppable.”

“Your trouble right now is that your cousin, someone you thought you could trust, has just sold you out. That must have been part of the deal as well.”

“But why would he do that? We’re like brothers, and he knows that the briefcase wasn’t mine. He lied in there.”

The pain in his eyes is clear. Nothing is more important to him than family, and he never thought his own family could do that to him.

“The prosecution must have found something on Lewis. They must have got him into a room and squeezed him tight. He must have felt the pressure. That’s what they wanted to happen. They wanted to squeeze him tightly. He must have struck a deal to turn over on Miles, and they want you to go down for this crime. Your relationship means very little to him right now. His freedom means so much more.”

“That wasn’t my briefcase. He knows that. He’s lying about that briefcase.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t yours. I believe you, Carlos. One hundred percent. But it’s not up to me; it’s up to the jury to make that decision. And right now, they’re all thinking that you owned that briefcase. Even the jurors that were sitting on the fence before now look convinced after that little play from Lewis. A witness has stated that they saw you with the briefcase. That’s the hook, line, and sinker for these jurors.”

Tears well in Carlos’ eyes as he huffs out all the pain and leans against the hallway wall. He loosens his tie, and the back of his head taps against the wall as he tries to understand what has just happened.

His cousin has sold him out. He’s about to go back to prison.

With a hefty sigh, his head drops towards the floor. “If I leave now, I can make a run for the border.”

“It’s not over yet, Carlos.”

“What are you talking about?” Carlos’ eyes squint together. “It’s over. Didn’t you hear what he said in there?”

“I have one play left.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need to get under his skin. I need to make Lewis angry. He has an anger management problem, and I need to exploit that.” Bill leans close to Carlos. “Lewis is about to send you to prison, so I need you to tell me something that’ll get under his skin. Is there anything that can make Lewis furious? Anything that can get under his skin?”

“Maybe.”

“Come on, Carlos. Tell me.”

“Michelle Hardgrave.”

“What about Michelle?”

“This last year they have had a very on again, off again relationship. They’re together at the moment, but not so much this year. They hate each other, and then five minutes later, they love each other. It’s been a volatile year for them. If you mention her, bring her into this, it might make Lewis angry.”

“How long have they been back together?”

“Probably a week before my arrest.” Carlos rubs his brow. “He would do anything for her. Anything. He doesn’t want to lose Michelle. If you threaten her, then it’ll push his buttons. If you make a threat against her, he’ll get really angry. He won’t be able to hold himself back.”

“That may be enough to get under his skin,” Bill responds, thinking about his next steps.

“I’m done, aren’t I? There’s no coming back from here, is there? Lewis has made sure that I’m going down for this crime. I can tell.” Carlos’ eyes show a lot of pain. “I can’t go back to prison, Bill. You can’t let that happen to me. I’m innocent. I can’t go to prison because I’m innocent. That’s the way this system is supposed to work.”

“I wouldn’t give up just yet.”

“There’s nothing left, Bill. Nothing. There is nothing more that we can do. I should go now. Tonight. Make a run for the border. I could cross without anyone knowing. Run the tunnels. On the other side, I have family. Real family, not like Lewis. They’ll look after me. Help me set up my life down there. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be better than prison. I can’t do that again.”

Bill places his consoling hand on Carlos’ shoulder. “Carlos, I have one play left. I’m going to question Lewis next, and it’s going to get hot in there.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then nowhere is going to be safe for either of us.”

CHAPTER 27

After the jurors are ushered back into the courtroom, Bill Harvey has the chance to question drug baron, Juan Lewis.

Lewis rests on the witness stand, waiting for the questions, looking supremely poised. His hands lay peacefully in his lap, his legs spread wide apart, and his shoulders are at ease. He feels like he’s winning this game. Invincible. Untouchable.

When prosecutor Shannon Chettle called him and offered him a deal five days ago, he jumped at the chance. She had evidence that connected him to a smaller drug deal, but if he sold out his partner, Roberto Miles, and his cousin, Carlos López, she would be willing to discuss a deal.

She gave him immunity from the new charges in exchange for evidence against Miles, and testimony against López. For Chettle, it wasn’t personal. She didn’t care who went to prison; she just wanted the drugs off the streets. She saw the impending arrest of Miles and the charge against López as victories.

She knew about Detective Pitt’s offer to Miles about the setup of Lewis, but that had been two months in the making. Here, she had two wins in quick succession. Big wins. Wins big enough to put her name in the paper.

What she didn’t know was that Lewis is the worst of the lot.

And she had only fueled his ego.

After he’s called to begin questioning, Bill Harvey contemplates the case at the desk, thinking over the last chance that lay before him.

“Mr. Lewis,” he begins questioning from behind his desk. “Can you please confirm where you were on September 12?”

Lewis stares at Bill with a rising smile. “Like I have stated previously, I was with Carlos López all day. Are your ears painted on?”

“My ears function fine, Mr. Lewis. But you weren’t at the El Mejor diner with Carlos López that day, were you?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Really? I have evidence to say that you weren’t there. So, I’ll ask you again, where were you?”

Lewis doesn’t answer; instead, his eyes stare straight at Bill.

“Mr. Lewis, please answer the question,” Judge Windsor prompts Lewis to answer.

“There is no evidence of that because it’s not true. It can’t be true because we were together all day. All day. Carlos and I. Isn’t that right, Carlos?” Lewis stares at his cousin.

“The defense would like to introduce new evidence to the court – the security footage of the El Mejor diner for September 12.”

The body language of Lewis changes. He leans forward, crossing his arms, subconsciously protecting himself from the attack.

“Look,” Lewis argues before the footage is presented. “Maybe we got the diner wrong. Carlos and I frequent a lot of diners around town, and maybe we got our diners mixed up. Maybe we weren’t at the El Mejor diner that day. Maybe we made a mistake about which diner we were at on that day.”

“So, despite your sworn testimony that you were at the El Mejor diner, you’re now changing that? Which diner were you at that day, Mr. Lewis?” Bill asks, staring straight at Lewis.

“Maybe we were there. Maybe we weren’t. I’m not sure. I don’t keep a diary of every daily event, so I have nothing to check. All I know is that we were at a diner that day. Sometimes, people can get confused.”

“Or maybe you’re a liar?”

“No.” Lewis is starting to become very agitated with Bill’s line of questioning. “I know for sure that we were together. That’s the truth.”

“Were you with your girlfriend that day, Mr. Lewis?” Bill enquires loudly.

“On that day, I didn’t have a girlfriend,” Lewis states as his jaw clenches.

“Really?” Bill fakes his surprise. “I thought you were dating Michelle Hardgrave? Daughter of Judge Andrew Hardgrave?”

Lewis’ nostrils flare. “I am.”

“But not on that day?”

“No.”

“Objection,” Chettle calls out. “This information isn’t relevant to the case.”

“Your Honor,” Bill explains. “I’m merely trying to establish where this witness was during the day in question.”

“Overruled,” Judge Windsor states. “Continue the questioning, but get to the point quickly, Mr. Harvey.”

As Bill reviews his notes, Lewis grips the arm of his chair tightly, breathing heavily through his nostrils. He was warned by Chettle that the defense would try and make him angry, so he took pre-emptive action – he quickly smoked two joints before he entered the courthouse.

But even that isn’t helping him right now.

Bill Harvey has certainly pushed the right button.

Bill pauses for a few long moments, creating an uncomfortable silence, and then continues, “If you weren’t with Michelle Hardgrave on that day, can you tell us the last time you saw her?”

“Objection,” Chettle calls out again. “I fail to see how this is relevant.”

“Overruled. Get to the point, Mr. Harvey,” Judge Windsor repeats.

“She dumped you, didn’t she? Her father finally got her clean, off the drugs, and when she was clean, she dumped you. That must have hurt, Mr. Lewis.”

“Objection. The defense—”

“Withdrawn,” Bill states, standing up to begin wandering the floor of the courtroom. He can see the fire in Lewis’ eyes.

Ready to snap.

Just where Bill wants him.

“Mr. Lewis, Carlos López didn’t have the briefcase on that day, did he?”

“Yes, he did.”

“But you never saw him with it, did you?”

“Yes, I did.”

He closes the gap between Lewis and himself.

“Have you ever dealt drugs, Mr. Lewis?” Bill catches a glimpse of a confused look on Chettle’s face. She has no idea what he’s playing at.

“No.”

“Have you ever taken drugs?”

Lewis’ voice rises as he becomes increasingly frustrated. “No.”

“Have you ever been tempted to take drugs?”

“C’mon man. Let it rest,” Lewis fires back. “I don’t have to answer this!”

Usually, Bill would expect an objection to this line of questioning to the witness, but Chettle doesn’t look like she’s going to object any time soon. She feels like the line of questioning is working in her favor.

Judge Windsor looks to the prosecution, almost pleading with her to object, but when she doesn’t, he states, “Please answer the questions asked of you, Mr. Lewis.”

“No,” Lewis snaps. “I have never been tempted to take drugs!”

“Have you ever watched anyone take drugs?”

“What is this?” Lewis replies angrily.

“Please answer the questions,” Judge Windsor states again.

“No!”

“Did Michelle take drugs?”

“No!”

“Objection. Not relevant.”

“Did you give her drugs, Lewis?!”

“No!”

“Your Honor. Objection!”

“You gave her drugs, didn’t you?!”

“No!”

“Mr. Harvey!” Judge Windsor booms.

“She only loved you for the drugs, Lewis!”

“Objection! Not relevant to this case! There is no established connection between Michelle Hardgrave and this case!”

“Sustained!”

“She didn’t love you, Lewis! She loved the drugs!”

“The objection is sustained, Mr. Harvey! You will stop that line of questioning immediately!”

“Withdrawn, Your Honor.”

“Stick to the current case, Mr. Harvey!” Judge Windsor’s eyes thin as he stares at the defense attorney.

Bill moves back to his table to review his notes. “That’s a nice tie, Mr. Lewis.”

“It is.” He adjusts his tie in the middle of his shirt.

“You like your ties, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“You like to have a little bit of flair, a little bit of color, don’t you?”

“It’s my style. It makes me who I am. Just because I wear nice ties doesn’t mean I’m a criminal.” The tone of Lewis’ voice is understandably frustrated.

“You were wearing that tie last time I saw you, and you mentioned that Judge Hardgrave also liked that tie.”

“He loved it. He had an armchair that was exactly the same color. I sat in his orange armchair and this tie blended right in.”

“Blended into a purple armchair?”

“No, man. Orange.”

“Orange?”

“That’s what I said.” The arrogance and anger flow off his words. “Are you stupid?”

“Are you certain it was orange?”

“Yes.” Lewis squints his eyebrows in confusion.

“When was the last time you saw Judge Hardgrave?”

“Objection,” Chettle calls out. “I fail to see how this is relevant to the case.”

“Mr. Harvey?” Judge Windsor asks.

“I assure you, Your Honor, that this is very relevant to the dates concerned in the current case.”

“Overruled, but you’re at the limit. Don’t push me, Mr. Harvey.” Judge Windsor nods, letting the questioning continue to satisfy his curiosity. “Please answer the question, Mr. Lewis.”

“Three days before his death.”

Bill’s voice rises. “And when was the last time you were in his living room?”

“The same time.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“In his living room?! He made that comment about liking your tie?” Bill’s hand slams down on the defense table.

“Yes!”

“Because that bright orange armchair wasn’t delivered until the day of his death, which also happens to be September 12 when you were not with my client in the El Mejor diner! So, I will ask you again.” Bill’s voice rises higher in aggression. “Mr. Lewis, where were you on September 12?!”

“I said—”

“Mr. Lewis! I put it to you that you were not with my client on September 12, but you were with Judge Hardgrave at that time!”

“I—”

“Mr. Lewis! The only way you could have known the color of the armchair was orange, like your tie, was if you were there that day!”

“I—”

“Mr. Lewis! You’re under oath!”

“I…” Lewis stammers.

“Mr. Lewis! You were with Judge Hardgrave! Not Carlos!”

“No.”

“Mr. Lewis! You are under oath!”

“So what?!”

“Mr. Lewis! You were with Judge Hardgrave that day!”

“Whatever! So what if I was with Hardgrave on that day! That doesn’t prove anything!”

“You shot him.”

“No!”

“Mr. Lewis! You shot Judge Hardgrave and planned to use Carlos López as your alibi!”

“No!”

“Except your plan didn’t realize that Carlos’ apartment was being raided that morning for your drugs!”

“Not my drugs!” Lewis begins to falter under the shock of the accusation.

“Mr. Lewis! You shot Judge Hardgrave because he wasn’t going to give you any more money! He wanted nothing more to do with you!”

“I-”

“He hated you!” Bill snarls. “And his daughter hated you! She dumped you! She hated you, Lewis!”

“No.”

“She hated you!”

“No!”

“You shot her father in cold blood!”

“No!”

“You shot him!”

“So what?! I shot the prick!” Lewis finally snaps.

Bill has pushed the right buttons.

“Yeah, I shot him. I shot him up close. Real close. I saw the blood splatter everywhere. I hated that guy. He deserved it.”

The courtroom erupts into a commotion.

The noise is overwhelming.

“Order! Order!”

When Lewis realizes that his anger has gotten the better of him, he sinks back into the chair, his mouth wide open.

He couldn’t control his anger.

And it has just cost him his freedom.

“You killed Judge Andrew Hardgrave on the same day that you claim to have seen my client with the briefcase.”

“I…” Lewis holds his words. “I didn’t say that.”

“You did. You just said it. You’re on record saying that, Juan Lewis. This is a court of law, and every statement is recorded.”

“Your Honor.” Chettle is frantic. “The prosecution calls for an adjournment.”

Judge Windsor looks to the detectives standing at the back of the room, ready to arrest Juan Lewis for the murder of Judge Andrew Hardgrave. “In light of this testimony, I think that’s a very wise decision.”

“Lewis, you killed my friend. You will go to prison for a very long time.” Bill snarls.

“Mr. Harvey,” Judge Windsor booms. “We’re done questioning now. In light of this new statement, the court has to recess.”

“But I’m not done questioning yet.” Bill looks up to the Judge.

“For now, you are. The court is adjourned!”

Detective Matthew Pitt, dressed in his finest suit, walks from the back of the courtroom to the witness stand. He reads Juan Lewis his Miranda rights for the arrest of the murder of Judge Andrew Hardgrave.

“Do you have anything to say, Juan Lewis?” Pitt places handcuffs on the witness.

“I was alone,” Juan Lewis calls out loud enough for the entire courtroom to hear.

The random statement catches Bill by surprise.

He stares at Lewis, but he avoids eye contact.

“I was alone,” he repeats loudly.

Then the reality hits Bill Harvey.

It hits him like a truck.

This isn’t over yet.

Juan Lewis didn’t murder Judge Andrew Hardgrave.

And a dangerous killer is still free.

CHAPTER 28

With frantic energy, Bill Harvey races from the courthouse. Aggressively, he pushes past the media throng that has assembled and jumps straight into the nearest cab.

Desperately, he calls his office repeatedly.

“Pick up, Kate. Pick up.”

She doesn’t.

When the cab arrives at his office door, Bill Harvey almost falls out of the cab, anxious to get to the office before anyone else.

“Kate!” he yells, racing through the door. “Kate!”

As she sits at her desk, innocently about to grab a bite to eat, she looks at the desperate man in front of her.

“What is it, Bill? What’s wrong?”

“It wasn’t a man that hit you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was a woman.”

“Who?”

Bill pulls the phone out of his pocket. “The most dangerous person in this mess is still out there. She’s free. This isn’t over yet, Kate. I have to find your attacker before she does it again. As soon as she hears about Lewis going to prison, she’ll want revenge. And she’s coming after you.”

“Who? Who am I avoiding Bill?” She’s panicked. “I thought I was avoiding Lewis. What about the necklace? Didn’t you say that the necklace belonged to Lewis?”

Bill Harvey’s eyes thin with acknowledgment of the truth. “It’s not Lewis.”

“But the necklace?”

“That necklace is a lover’s necklace. You take one, and your lover takes the other.”

“But Lewis would have—”

“Lewis isn’t the murderer, either.”

“Then who is?”

Bill turns to the door and locks it.

“Michelle Hardgrave.”

CHAPTER 29

“Jack,” Bill yells into his phone. “I need to find Michelle Hardgrave. Now.”

“Good luck with that one, buddy.”

“Why?”

“She has no fixed address, and nobody is going to tell you where to find her. You’ll have no luck locating her.”

“You must know something. Anything.”

“If I knew anything, Bill, I would tell you, but I don’t. Your best bet would be to look at one of Lewis’ homes. Maybe she’s there. What’s the rush?”

Without answering the question, Bill hangs up the phone and turns to Kate. “I want you to go straight away and get Connor. Go to your mother’s house. Don’t stop for anything. Once you’re at your mother’s house, don’t go out. Lock the doors, and keep Connor inside. This woman is dangerous, Kate, and she’s coming after you.”

“But Bill—”

“No, Kate. This isn’t the time to argue.”

As he talks, the phone buzzes in his pocket.

An unknown number.

If this is a telemarketer, Bill will tear them apart on the phone.

“Bill Harvey,” he answers.

“Bill Harvey, this is Michelle Hardgrave.”

“Michelle Hardgrave?” His eyes squint as he looks at Kate. “How can I help you?”

“I have a job for you. I need you to sign a document. Meet me at the Vincent Thomas bridge in thirty minutes. Bring a pen.”

CHAPTER 30

The bridge is only twenty-five minutes away by cab, and Bill wastes no time organizing a ride. This isn’t a time for a new Uber driver; this is a time for a life-long cabbie that knows the L.A. streets like the back of his hand. He throws a fifty at the cabbie and tells him to drive faster than he has ever driven before.

The back seat of the cab is dirty, smelly, and rotten, but that makes no difference now. His only focus is his destination.

Gripping the door tight, he stares out the window, trying to understand why Michelle Hardgrave would want to meet him at Vincent Thomas bridge.

It isn’t the place to assault someone. It isn’t the place to commit murder. If Michelle wanted to do that, she would have asked him to meet in a more secluded area, perhaps a warehouse. This is no quiet area.

But it also isn’t the place to conduct a public-style execution. Not enough people to witness the event. If she wanted that, she would have done it at the courthouse steps.

He feels safe but wary.

“Stop!” he yells to the cabbie as they approach the bridge. He jumps out of the car, tossing a few more notes into the front seat.

Standing at the end of the bridge, looking towards the swollen river below, is the lone figure of Michelle Hardgrave.

Her hair blows gently in the breeze, and for the first time, he sees the resemblance to her father. The same broad shoulders. The same lean legs.

Holding a piece of paper tightly, she stares out to the river. Cautiously, Bill approaches her.

“Michelle Hardgrave.”

Slowly, she turns from the river, looking at the man approaching. Her mini-skirt is old and dirty, her denim jacket the same.

“He isn’t a good man.” There is a reflection in her voice; the voice of a woman well-educated, but with the edge of someone who has lived their life on the streets.

“Your father did a lot of great things in this world, Michelle. He helped a lot of people.”

She looks back to the river. Her hair is brittle from dehydration, her skin looks the same. Her body looks like the water has been slowly sucked from it. She was a beautiful girl once, a girl with the world at her feet. Now, she looks ten years older than she is, some teeth missing, her eyes almost glowing yellow.

Only her blue and green love heart necklace looks well looked after.

“I was talking about Juan.”

“I can’t speak for Juan Lewis. I don’t know him.”

“He’s going to prison, isn’t he?”

“For a very long time, Michelle.”

Turning to face Bill, she looks contemplative, pensive – the same look that her father often had.

“He was a very horrible man as well.” Michelle scratches the part of her arm where needle tracks have broken the skin.

“Lewis?”

“No.” She shakes her head, avoiding eye contact. “This time I’m talking about my father. Andrew. He was a very horrible person. He got what was coming to him. He used to beat my mother and I. Constantly. Every second night he would drink too much, and he would beat her first, and when I was old enough to try and stop him, he would beat me second. I went to school so many times with bruises and black eyes, but nobody said anything. Why would nobody say anything? Why wouldn’t somebody help me?”

“I don’t know, Michelle.”

“He tried to hide it. He tried to cover it up. I bet he never told anyone of how bad he really was. Under all that public goodwill, he was a despicable man at home.”

“He told me.” Bill steps closer to Michelle, wary of her instability. “He regretted what he did to you and your mother more than anything. It ate him up inside. He worked so hard to make up for those mistakes.”

“Mistakes? It was more than that. It was more than just a mistake. His behavior ruined my life. Ruined it. That’s more than just a mistake. That’s the behavior of an evil man.”

“He knew he did wrong. He talked to me about it, Michelle. He was so sorry for what he did. He regretted it every day of his life. He hated himself for doing that to you, and all he wanted in those final years was for you to be happy.”

The emotions of the beaten teenage girl, the emotions that she has never let go of, come flooding back, filling her with rage, hatred, and fear. She doesn’t have the energy to fight it anymore, she doesn’t have to power to be strong and hold it back. The tears well in eyes as she grips the fence in front of them.

For so long, she avoided the emotions. She tried to mask them with constant hits of heroin, but all that did was sink her further into a pit of self-loathing.

“I never forgave him.” She sighs, shaking her head and sniffing away the tears. “Never. I never wanted to forgive him either. That hatred was a part of me. I couldn’t let that go; it was a part of my identity. Instead of hating myself, I could hate him. I could use all that energy to hate him. He was still evil in my eyes.”

She scratches the other arm, desperate to avoid looking Bill in the eye.

“People can redeem themselves, Michelle. Your father spent the last ten years of his life trying to redeem himself. He tried to help so many people, me included, so he could leave a better mark on this world. He wanted to leave this world a good man, not an evil one.”

“No matter how much good he did in this world, he damaged mine beyond repair. I have spent my entire adult life addicted to one thing or another, trying to escape the pain of a father who didn’t love me. He didn’t love me. Why couldn’t he love me?” Bill doesn’t answer. “I tried to forget it, but I couldn’t. It destroyed me. He used to beat me all the time. How could someone do that?”

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he moves closer, wary of her nervousness. “Why did you call me out here, Michelle?”

“I needed a lawyer. Isn’t that what you do?”

“Yes, but what for?”

Michelle starts to unroll the piece of paper in her hand. “It’s my will. I need a lawyer to sign it, and I knew that my father was close to you. I figured you would help me because you knew my father. That’s why I needed you to come here.”

“Why here? Why not my office?”

“This is the last place Mom walked before she went into hospital. She never left hospital after that. This was the last place she walked free before she died of cancer.” She wipes another tear away. “She loved bridges. She loved this place. She loved the breeze in her hair and the sun on her shoulders. She felt free here. This was her place of peace. Her place to escape him.” She draws a long breath. “She was the only person to ever love me.”

“Your father loved you,” Bill adds. “He loved you more than anything.”

“He did?” Her voice is desperate. “But he was horrible to me. How could you beat someone that you love?”

Bill can’t answer that question. He doesn’t understand it either. “He regretted his past so much, Michelle. He hated what he did to you and your mother. He used to talk to me about you. He would bring out photos of you, and there was love in his eyes, a smile on his face. His favorite photo was you dressed up as lion for your elementary school play. You looked so cute.”

“He still had that photo?”

“Next to his bed.”

That brings a smile to Michelle’s face. “I remember that day. I was so nervous before the play, and Dad gave me a great big hug and said everything would be fine. That was one of the only times I really felt his love.”

“All he wanted was your forgiveness and your health. He wanted you to be happy.”

“I know that… now.” She pauses again; looking out to the flow of water in front of them. “I finally realize that. The court case made me realize that. All this time I hated him, and he loved me. And now…” She goes to say the words that she has never been able to say. The words catch in her throat.

Bill waits, providing her all the time she needs.

“I… I forgive him.”

A strong ray of sunshine pokes through the gray clouds, a sign from the heavens above.

“I forgive him.” A lone tear slowly rolls down her cheek. “It seems so strange to say that. After all those years of hate, after all that anger, I forgive him. That forgiveness only came to me today. I finally picked up the paper and read his obituary. I had it with me for months, but I couldn’t bring myself to read it. Today, I read about all the good he had done in the world. All the lives he has changed. All the people he has helped. And I realized that I’m just being one selfish little girl. It’s time for me to forgive him. I have been holding onto that hate for so long, and now I almost feel free.”

“Almost?”

She rubs her arm and looks away again. “Almost. There are other things that have trapped me these days.”

“Heroin?”

She nods, ashamed. “But this, this hatred, it consumed me. And… now, finally, it’s gone. It’s gone.”

“Forgiveness can set you free.”

“Do you know what it’s like to be hurt by someone that you love so much?”

“I do.”

“And did you forgive them?”

“I did.” He looks to the water, leaning on the handrail. “My brother, Jonathon, became addicted to drugs in his late teens. Heroin. It tore our family apart. He stole from us, abused us, and even hit my dear old mother. Gave her a black eye. After that, I beat him into the ground and told him to leave the house and never return. He did that. That was twenty years ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Do you think he’s still addicted to drugs?”

“I hope not. I forgave him for everything that he did a long, long time ago. I only want the best for him now.”

Michelle looks to Bill and whispers, “I just wanted him to love me. I wanted…” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“What’s in the will, Michelle?” As always, Bill stops the emotive conversation from digging too far into past hurts.

Michelle looks at the paper in her hands. “After my father’s death, I inherited ten million dollars. That was what the old man left me. Ten million dollars. I guess it was his way of saying sorry. I downloaded this standard will form from a website, and filled in the blanks. It says I need a lawyer to witness it, so that’s why I need you to sign it. I need to make sure that the money goes to the right place after I die.”

She shoves the piece of paper into Bill’s hands.

Carefully, in the gently blowing breeze, he opens the piece of paper and reads it.

“You’re donating the money to The East Rehabilitation Center? The one that Carlos works at? And to the other drug rehab center down the road?”

“That’s right. Five million dollars each.”

“No one else?”

“No. It’s my time for redemption.” She scratches her arm again. “It’s my time to let go of the past, and make sure that money goes where it’s needed.”

He stares at her, hard and cold.

“Was it the money that made you pull the trigger?”

Her head turns suddenly towards him, surprised by the question. “Sign the paper.” She gestures towards the will. “And then I’ll answer any questions you have.”

He reads every word on the page carefully, adding his signature where required, and leans the paper on his lap as he signs.

“I need you to sign here.” He leaves an ‘x’ on the page.

Quickly, she scribbles her name on the page and hands the paper back to him. “I want you to keep it on file for when my time comes.”

He nods and folds the piece of paper in half.

“Was it the money, Michelle? Is that why you shot your father?”

“No.” She shakes her head, brushing her hair back from her face. “For Juan, it was about the money. He knew that I would have gotten a lot of money from my father’s death. He knew how much that old man was worth.”

“Then why did you shoot him?”

“Revenge. Freedom. A chance to leave an old life behind.” She looks back to the water flowing gently under the bridge. The sun glistens off the little waves in the water, creating a sense of peace in her. “When I looked him in the eyes and pulled the trigger, I thought that I would have felt some sort of satisfaction. I had dreamt about it for years. So many years. Freedom from my abuser. I wanted so much to shoot him. Every time Juan made me go to his house and meet him, I just wanted to shoot him. I imagined that over and over. I wanted to watch him suffer so badly.”

“But?”

“But I felt nothing. I didn’t feel anything. It wasn’t the freedom that I craved. It was nothing. He didn’t argue, he didn’t even fight back. I had the gun to his head, and he just sat there, almost a smile on his face, and he said that he loves me. That’s when I shot him. I expected that moment would bring me freedom, but I felt nothing.”

“Where are you going to find that freedom, Michelle?”

“At the end of that road.” She nods to the other side of the bridge, but her reference confuses Bill. “Hold onto that will, Bill Harvey. Drug addicts like me don’t generally live that long.”

“If you find freedom, you may surprise yourself and live for a very long time.”

“I know where my freedom is.” She begins to walk away from Bill, across the bridge. Despite the lack of pedestrian access, she walks along the side, out of the way of the cars.

Bill watches her for a while, her steps small, her head held high, and her shoulders back. From this angle, he would never guess she was a drug addict.

Her walk looks free.

Loose.

Happy, almost.

But as she walks across the bridge, she stops halfway. Awkwardly, she climbs upwards, up the tall metal structure.

The reality of the situation becomes clear.

“Michelle! No!”

Frantically, he runs towards her, across the bridge.

By the time he makes it to her, she’s halfway up the towering bridge, too far for him to reach.

“Michelle! No! Michelle!”

“This is my freedom,” she calls back down to him. “This is my chance to be free from all the pain. This is what I have wanted for so long. I want to be free.”

“No, Michelle! There is another way! Let me help you. Please! Come down!”

She smiles as she looks down at him. “You can’t help me, but hold onto that will. It will help so many people. That’s my redemption.”

“No!”

Slowly, Michelle Hardgrave steps her right foot forward…

With the sorrow of a girl who will never escape her addiction, she falls towards the water.

Arms wide, hair flowing, smile on her face.

Finally, she is free.

EPILOGUE

Feet on his large table, whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other, Bill Harvey leans back in his office chair, unsure if he’s happy with the outcome of his latest case.

“Could you be any more of a stereotype?” Kate laughs as she stands in the doorway to his office.

“Just enjoying life’s finer things, Kate.” He takes a puff of his cigar. “We’re very lucky people, you and I. Despite everything that life has thrown at us, our lives are very good. We live happy, meaningful lives that help make a difference in the world.”

“Cigars always make you philosophical.” Kate grins again, her slight figure leaning on the doorframe. With her arms folded, and her hair flowing free, she looks a picture of good health and good will.

He so desperately wants this moment to be at his house, her standing in the bedroom door, after a long day of work, husband and wife smiling at each other.

“Kate—”

“Can I ask you something, Bill?” She steps into the room and quietly shuts the door behind her.

“Go on.” He draws another puff of his cigar. “But remember you’re talking to ‘Philosophical Bill’.”

“Of course.” She smiles and sits down. “Did Michelle Hardgrave kill her father? After her death, Juan Lewis is claiming that it wasn’t him that pulled the trigger. He’s blaming Michelle for pulling the trigger. Is he just trying to get off the charges, or is there truth in what he’s saying?”

“Who knows?” Bill lies. “But if Michelle did kill her father, then she wouldn’t have been entitled to the inheritance. It would be the fortitude ruling, and because she received the inheritance as a result of her crime, she wouldn’t have received a cent. Her will would be invalid.”

“Where would the money have gone then?”

“Back to the estate. Then who knows where the money would have gone? There would have been legal battles for years over that money. But this way, with Juan Lewis charged with Judge Hardgrave’s death, her inheritance goes to people it can help. I don’t think anyone is going to argue over that.”

“So just because the money has gone to good use, we should just forget about it?”

“Juan Lewis is a criminal. No doubt about it. He has been his whole life, and he was in the room when Judge Hardgrave died. It doesn’t matter now who pulled the trigger. Lewis deserves his time behind bars. And Lewis has already sold Miles out, which means both Lewis and Miles are behind bars right now. That’s a win in my books.”

The sound of the front office door opening catches their attention.

“Carlos is here.” Kate stands, and begins to exit his office.

“Send him in.” Bill smiles genuinely. “And Kate?”

“Yes, Bill?”

Their eyes connect.

His heart skips a beat.

Her breath catches in her throat.

“I—”

“My favorite people!” Carlos interrupts their moment.

Bill breaks the eye contact with his secretary and looks to his table. “Hello, Carlos.”

Walking into the office with the confidence of a man that has faced prison and walked away, Carlos López has a spring in his step that Bill hasn’t seen before.

Bill Harvey looks back to the door, but the slim figure of Kate Spencer has already disappeared.

“So what happens now?” Carlos smiles as he talks.

“You walk away a free man and live the rest of your life.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Wow. I didn’t think this was actually going to be an outcome. As we were going through that trial, I thought that I was definitely going to jump back over the border and go back to Mexico and live my life. I thought there was no doubt about it. I was done for sure. But somehow, you turned it around. The star hypnotherapist turned lawyer. You worked your magic, Mr. Harvey.”

“No magic involved.” Bill throws his hands up in the air. “Just a bit of luck.”

“It was more than luck.”

“I couldn’t have guessed that he was going to take the blame for the drugs. I didn’t see that coming, especially after he sold you out on the stand.”

Once Juan Lewis realized he was going to spend the rest of his life behind bars charged with the murder of Judge Hardgrave, he took the blame for the briefcase full of drugs.

It was his way of taking the fall for his cousin.

“He didn’t want to sell me out,” Carlos states. “They forced him too. The prosecution made him sell out Miles and blame the drug charges on me, or they would have thrown him in prison. He told me that they raided another house of his and found another briefcase. He struck a deal to escape those charges, but he didn’t expect to be taking on the blame for the murder.”

“You’re lucky that he did take the blame for the drugs.”

Carlos smiles. “My family.”

“He didn’t sound much like family when he tried to blame you while he was on the stand.”

“We all make mistakes. And most people make an effort to correct them. He made a mistake, and then he made the effort to correct it. I forgive him for that.” Carlos shrugs. “And in my line of work, most of the people that walk through our doors have made mistakes. They’re all drug takers that have seen the worst life has to give. You have to be able to forgive the people that make an effort to do better in life.”

“You’re a good man, Carlos.”

“I try.” Carlos shrugs. “Are you worried about Lewis and Miles coming after you?”

“The problem with guys like Lewis and Miles is that their ‘friends’ always disappear quickly when they’re thrown in prison. Nobody wants to be associated with a criminal – especially not one that’s convicted of murdering a judge. I wouldn’t be worried about Lewis’ high-powered friends. They’re as fickle as they come. They’ll have forgotten about him already. But his people on the street, they’re another thing.”

Carlos laughs. “Don’t be worried about those guys. Someone else has already stepped in to take Lewis’ spot. Someone else is already covering the operations. He’s already a forgotten man on the street too. Nobody on the street cares about him anymore.”

“That’s good to hear.” Bill takes a sip of his whiskey.

“So that’s it? Are we all done?”

“Not quite. You’ve been charged with contempt of court for lying about your whereabouts on the day of the raid, but due to your good work with the community, they’re only giving you a small fine. That notice will come in the mail, and I suggest that you pay the fine and forget about it. And considering you almost helped a man get away with murder, I think you’ve gotten off very lucky.”

“I’m sorry, Bill. If I knew what he was going to do that day, I never would have agreed to cover for him and be his false alibi. I had no idea that he was going to shoot the judge. I wouldn’t have let him go if I knew that was what he was going to do. He must have been angry that Michelle didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. And if Michelle got off the drugs, Lewis had no power over the judge. I guess all the power just got to his head. He thought he was untouchable.”

“The killer is no longer on the streets now, that’s what matters. Judge Hardgrave can now rest in peace. His daughter forgave him in the end, and in her will, she asked to be buried next to him.”

“And the money that she donated will go a long way. The rehab center survived on very little for so long, but even with the money, we’ll keep the same philosophy at the center. We’ll make sure that her donation will make a difference in people’s lives.”

“That’s wonderful, Carlos. It truly is. I hope that you make a difference in people’s lives. I hope that you get these people off the drugs.”

Carlos reaches into his jacket pocket. “I don’t have a lot of possessions, but as a symbol of my gratitude, I want to give you this photo of the people that you’ve helped. These are the people that have just graduated from our drug rehabilitation process. You’ve helped these people, Bill. This is my way of saying thanks from the people that you’ve saved. These are the people that get another chance because you kept me out of prison. This wasn’t about me. The win was for them.”

Despite feeling uncomfortable about receiving a photo of recovered drug addicts, Bill takes the photo from Carlos’ hands.

“Look at those people, Bill. Look at them. Those are the men and women that you’ve helped. Those are the lives that you’ve rescued.” Carlos stands from the chair. “Those are the people that are really thanking you.”

“Wait.”

“What is it?”

Bill draws a long, deep breath. “All these people in this photo – they’re all recovered drug addicts?”

“That’s right. These are the people that have graduated in the last group; the recovery group. All of these people have been clean for at least one year.”

Bill stares at the picture, long and hard, his head spinning.

“What is it, Bill?” Carlos leans forward as Bill stares at the picture.

“That man in the top left corner.”

“Yes? Do you know him?”

A smile drifts across Bill’s face. “Yes, Carlos, I do.”

“An old friend?”

“That man is more than a friend.” Bill Harvey’s eyes fill with tears. “Carlos, that man is my brother.”

END

Also in the Bill Harvey Legal Thriller Series:

Will of Justice

In the Tom Whiskey Private Investigator Series:

Whiskey Justice

The Max Harrison Series with Patrick Graham:

Criminal Justice

Defending the Innocent

The Paid Juror

Burning Justice

The Girl on the Road

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue