FIRE AND

JUSTICE

PETER O’MAHONEY

Fire and Justice: A Legal Thriller

Peter O’Mahoney

Copyright © 2018

Published by Roam Free Publishing

2rd edition.

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

Also by Peter O’Mahoney

In the Bill Harvey Legal Thriller Series:

Will of Justice

Redeeming 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

FIRE AND JUSTICE

PETER O’MAHONEY

This story is dedicated to all the wonderful and interesting people that provide the fuel for this work of fiction.

CHAPTER 1

Harry Jones was well aware that his days were numbered.

A serial killer had been picking off homeless men in Downtown Los Angeles at an alarming rate over the past twelve months. But despite the cold-blooded killings, despite the bodies piling up, there was no media outrage. There was no prime-time TV report. There was barely a police response.

The death of these men, Harry’s friends, hardly rated a mention.

They were Los Angeles’ forgotten people; the dirt and scum that didn’t matter.

A death here or there meant that the streets were cleaner. Safer.

But amongst the homeless community, the rumors spread.

It’s Batman, they said. A gang, maybe. A former army general that had a hunger for blood. The stories grew and grew. As a former cop, a detective, Harry Jones knew that what this meant.

It meant trouble.

He couldn’t go back to the department and ask for help after what he did. After what the alcohol did to him. They would march him straight back out the doors, or worse yet, lock him up.

Harry had tried to get sober. He had tried rehab. He had tried to start again.

The men and women at the Wells Community Center for Mental Health tried to help him, but he couldn’t accept what he did. Alcohol was the only thing that numbed the pain of his mistakes.

He rested in his usual spot, down a dark alley in a forgotten corner of Skid Row.

He tried to sleep, or hopefully just pass out from the cheap vodka.

As he laid against the dirty wall, away from the dirty puddle between the overfilled trash cans, he felt the first boot.

A quick kick to the stomach.

It woke him up. Startled him.

Dazed, he looked up at the shadow.

It kicked him again.

He mumbled and then climbed to his feet.

The shadow didn’t run. It wasn’t scared. It only waited for Harry to defend himself.

Harry Jones did just that. He swung at the shadow, but it easily dodged his attack.

Suddenly, he was on his back again, his feet swept out from underneath him.

That’s when he felt the hands around his neck. Squeezing. Holding tight.

He tried to struggle, but the shadow was too strong.

Or he was too drunk.

Before long, his resistance stopped.

He no longer fought. He no longer struggled. He knew he deserved this. This was his punishment.

As the final few breaths escaped his throat, he accepted his fate.

He was no longer Harry Jones.

He could finally let his past go.

Now, he was to be known as victim number seven.

CHAPTER 2

“Another one dead.” The beautiful Penny Pearson slaps a copy of the L.A. Times on her boss’ desk. “Page twenty-three. Small article – probably all the scum deserved.”

“Don’t be so flippant. That’s somebody’s life you’re talking about.” Criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey responds firmly, fist clenched around his pen. “Does the person have a name?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. A life is a life.”

“It’s just another homeless guy. That makes it seven now in the past twelve months. These people are homeless because nobody cares about them. If anyone cared about them, they’d have a house to stay in, they’d have people to look after them. These men are scum. This killer is doing the city a favor. This killer is cleaning up the streets and saving the city from itself.”

“Not true.”

“Why do you care? Why do you need me to keep you updated on this? Why do you care about these nameless people?”

Bill drops his pen on the desk and stares at his new temporary assistant.

He didn’t expect this attitude. He didn’t expect this fire from her. He knew her past was harrowing, he knew her life was full of pain, but he didn’t expect this level of hatred, and he certainly didn’t expect her to express it on a daily basis.

Penny Pearson’s exterior is stunning – flowing blonde hair, perfect skin, athletic body. When she was a model in her mid-teens, she was an advertiser’s dream. She left school at fifteen, appeared on a number of ads for Nike, and then tried to make it big on the catwalk. But modeling is a tough gig, and Penny doesn’t play nicely with others. Now, at the mere age of twenty, her modeling career is over and she has little to show for it.

“Any of these men could have been my brother.” Bill flips open the newspaper. “He went missing many years ago, two decades in fact, and he could be one of the nameless men that are being killed. I cared about my brother, even though he went missing. He’s my family, and he will always hold a place in my heart. These men are something to somebody. These people, these lives, matter. They matter to me, and they matter to this city.”

The mere mention of his brother makes his heart sink.

The depths of despair, despite the twenty years that have passed, still haunts him today.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I really have to try to keep my mouth closed,” Penny responds, looking down. “But you did ask to be kept updated on that case, and tell you if anything else comes up.”

Penny slumps into the chair opposite the large desk in the private office, slouching like a misinformed teenager.

Being a temporary assistant has its pluses and minuses. One; she doesn’t have to hold her tongue. She doesn’t have to think about the long-term consequences of her uncontrolled attitudes. Two; she doesn’t have to worry about being fired, because if she is, there’s another temp position just around the corner. However, the job offers no stability, no health benefits, and no career path. Not exactly the dream profession.

When Kate Spencer, Bill’s faithful assistant, insisted that she needed a holiday, Bill had to bring in someone to fill her role. Luckily, his bookkeeper’s niece was available. However, despite Penny’s efficiency and enthusiasm in the office, he’s starting to regret that decision. He doesn’t want to spend the next two weeks arguing against her idealistic twenty-something attitudes.

His bookkeeper, Nicole Cowan, has been running his books for the last ten years – ever since he started practicing as a criminal defense attorney. With an office just around the corner from his building, he initially hired her services out of convenience of location, but over the years, they have formed a bond closer to friendship than associates.

She has been faithful to his cause, and when he mentioned that he needed a new temp assistant, she threw her niece’s name into the ring. He accepted the proposal, but Penny is a girl that comes with a warning. Nicole, as the sole guardian of Penny after Penny’s family passed away, has raised her niece since Penny was eight years old.

Penny Pearson certainly has all the credentials that he requires for an assistant – fiery, intelligent, street-smart, and witty. She’s studying part-time for a college degree majoring in psychology, and she has a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. She’s not a woman that anyone should mess with, but her feminine appearance has sex appeal, and more importantly, she knows how to use it.

Under the watchful eye of Kate Spencer for the next week, she is being shown the office procedures, the systems, and hopefully, some more tact.

“Come on,” Bill states, trying to avoid another argument with Penny. “Let me take you to dinner. I’ll call your Aunt, and see if she wants to join us.”

“I just don’t understand why you want to be updated on these deaths.” Penny shrugs. “I don’t understand why you want to help people you’ve never met.”

“Like I said, any of these men could be my brother. If I help them, I feel like I’m helping him.”

“But you can’t do anything about it. You can’t stop this killer. That’s not your job.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Penny. We have the resources to solve these cases. We have the ability. And right now, I have the time.” He begins to walk towards the door. “And if the LAPD isn’t going to solve these murders, then I will.”

CHAPTER 3

“Got a dollar?”

In a dark area just off 6th St, Downtown Los Angeles, a rough hand rests against criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey’s chest.

This isn’t a friendly hand.

Walking home on the streets of Los Angeles after a late night at a restaurant, Bill is stopped by a filthy, homeless drunk. The man’s clothes are in tatters, he has the odor of a lifelong alcoholic, and his mouth is missing more than a few teeth.

Being a tall, broad man, Bill Harvey has never hesitated walking down a dark alley in L.A. late at night. Despite the danger in Downtown, despite the craziness of its people, he knows the right places to avoid and when to avoid them. He’s not usually the target of weak, vulnerable people.

But the man in front of him stands as tall and as broad as he is.

“I need a dollar.” The man’s voice rises. “Just give me a dollar. That’s all I want, man. Nothing more. You look rich, I’m sure you can spare a dollar.”

Bill pauses, feeling the tension in the moment quickly escalate. The night air is fresh, and the street is bathed in darkness.

It’s brave for this man to be here. There are currently homeless people being strangled all over the city. All drunks. All strangled. It should be front-page news, there should be hysteria, but nobody misses these men. They are society’s forgotten people, left out in the dark, slogging through another day without love.

“Give me your wallet.” The voice has changed to a snarl. “Give me the money or I’ll stab you. I don’t want to, but I need a dollar, man. Just give me a dollar.”

The man growls aggressively, drawing a small knife from his coat pocket.

Bill’s heart pounds at the sight of the knife.

It is sharp, clean.

The man in front of Bill has nothing more to lose.

The pure desperation in the man’s eyes is clear.

He is willing to plunge the knife deep into Bill’s torso for the sake of a dollar. One dollar. That’s what his life has come to. That’s where his life is at.

“Give me the money.” The growl is harsh. Edgy.

Bill Harvey was walking home after an evening with Penny, her boyfriend, Caleb Wood, and her aunt, Nicole Cowan. He was buzzing from the high of spending the evening with one of the most beautiful and animated women he has ever met. Effortlessly, Penny dazzles everyone with her stunning smile and fluttering eyelids.

But that buzz is gone now, replaced with fear.

“You’ve got five seconds to pull that wallet out,” the man growls out again, closing the distance between them.

The hand of the homeless man is steady – the situation holds no fear for him. There is no shaking, no nerves. He’s willing to risk it all for a mere dollar.

As Bill’s hand goes to his coat pocket, the man licks his lips. He desperately wants the money.

He needs it.

But as Bill looks at the man’s face, he notices something else.

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

“I’ve got a knife, man! How could you say that?”

“Because, Gerard,” Bill states calmly. “We’re old friends.”

CHAPTER 4

Gerard West was once one of Los Angeles’s most prominent prosecutors. He stood in the courtroom proudly, displaying his smarts, delivering victory after victory. He talked to the media with confidence and loved to splash his name on the front page of the paper. No publicity stunt was beyond him.

When you win case after case, the DA’s department gives you a lot of leniencies.

But it was the first case that he lost that led to Gerard’s high-profile downfall.

She was a girl, just a small two-year-old girl, laying in a dumpster at the back of a Downtown hotel. The case captured the public’s attention, and social media was alight with any news of the case. How could an angelic girl become so lost in the system that she didn’t even have a name for some weeks after she was found?

Her picture in the newspapers was perfect – a beautiful smile, soft skin, glowing innocent eyes.

The mother was a deceased drug-addict, and the father unknown. For her short life, she was passed from family to family, and home to home, but nobody took responsibility for her.

The system failed a little angel.

When they charged a possible killer, Reece Knowles, the media ran with the story. He was the perfect fit – a convicted rapist, a loner, a homeless drunk. There was outrage on the streets, calling for his immediate death. After his arrest, other prisoners attacked him on a daily basis. Guards attacked him. The hatred for the man was overwhelming.

But despite the weight of evidence, despite the support of all of the people in L.A., Gerard West couldn’t land the conviction for the DA’s department.

The jury had no choice but to find Reece Knowles Not Guilty of the murder charges.

The media storm that followed would have broken even the strongest of men. The media outlets placed the lack of justice on Gerard’s shoulders – even going as far to blame him for dishonoring the beautiful deceased angel. The Facebook haters, the keyboard warriors, all blamed Gerard for the lack of justice.

He had struggled with bouts of depression his whole life, but this tipped him over the edge.

He self-medicated on alcohol, trying to escape his deep, horrible pain. How could he not find justice for the poor girl? How could he let the case slip? How could he let that killer back out onto the streets?

Alcohol became his only escape from the darkness of depression and the hatred of his community.

His wife left him. His kids disowned him.

And then his job let him go.

They couldn’t have a desperate alcoholic walking into court every day.

When he lost his job, his life’s work, his world finally imploded.

Gerard lost everything.

Everything.

“It’s good to see you, my friend,” Bill Harvey states calmly, looking at the man with a knife.

The man looks at Bill like he’s being misled. He doesn’t recognize the man in front of him. After years of living day-to-day on hard alcohol, his memory is shot to pieces. He would barely recognize his own face in a mirror.

Bill rests one of his large hands on Gerard’s shoulder, a caring touch and a sign of his friendship. “Put the knife away. And let’s get a coffee.”

Bill’s gentle touch pacifies the man, and he slowly puts the knife in his pocket.

Without another word spoken, Bill leads Gerard to the nearest diner, and they sit down in a small booth.

“Two coffees please.”

“I don’t recognize you, but you know my name. How do we know each other?” the man questions, sitting opposite Bill, leaning his arms on the stained table.

“We were friends for years. I’m a lawyer, like you were once. I was there when you fell apart, and I tried to help you piece it all back together.”

A moment of realization dawns on Gerard’s face. “Oh… Bill… Bill Harvey?”

He nods. “It’s been a while, Gerard.”

“That seems like a different lifetime. A different world.” He shakes his head as the memories start to come back, his shoulders finally relaxing. “I don’t… I tried to wipe most of that life away. I’d forgotten about the past, all that pain. Days are just about surviving now.” Gerard draws a deep, long breath, leaning back in the uncomfortable vinyl chair. “They were hard times, man. I wouldn’t wish that pain on my worst enemy. They broke me, Bill. They broke me. They were the worst times of my life.”

“And things are better now, are they?”

Gerard shrugs. “At least people don’t know me these days. They don’t know who I am anymore. I’m just another bum on the street to most people now.” He looks out the window to nothingness. “I was abused every day. Every day. People yelled at me when I was walking down the street. They said some horrible things – things that cut me to my core. I had to move house because of the abuse. And the face of that little girl haunted me. Still does. I still see her face everywhere. It sent me into a downward spiral, and I couldn’t stop it. The black dog of depression, it had me. It controlled me. It tore everything away from me.”

“I remember. I took you out a few times for lunch and tried to support you. You were broken, but you could see the way out then.”

“I almost got out of it, you know? I almost escaped the depression; I was so close to getting back on my feet then. The guys at the Wells Community Center were so good – and I was almost there…” Gerard pauses, and his painful eyes look deep into the coffee that is placed in front of him. His face is full of confusion and loss. “But then the ex-wife started dating another man, and he was trying to be a father to my children, and it all fell apart again. Depression attacked me, and I couldn’t stop it. It consumed me. It beat me.”

“When was the last time you saw your kids?”

“Years ago.” He shakes his head, trying to dismiss the question. “They’d be adults now.”

Bill Harvey knows the pain of watching someone slip away to nothing.

When he was twenty-three, he watched his teenage brother, Jonathon Harvey, succumb to heroin addiction. At fifteen, Jonathon took a quick hit at a party, and he had a great night. He thought nothing of it. He thought he was in control. And at first, he was. It was only casual use, every Friday and Saturday night, but it quickly became everything to him. It quickly became all he could think about. The star high school quarterback became a shell of a man. He lost control, and he couldn’t stop his need for another high.

For years, the Harvey family tried everything to help him, but nothing worked.

Not the psychologists, not the counselors, not moving cities. Nothing worked.

Twenty years ago, the last day they saw each other, Jonathon hit their dear mother, giving her a black eye. He needed more money for another hit, and she refused. After years of addiction, he lashed out.

In a rage, Bill beat his younger brother into the ground and told him never to return to the family. Jonathon left, and they never heard another word from him.

That remains Bill’s greatest heartache.

To treat his pain, he turned to helping others, and he felt by assisting those in need, he was helping his brother. And by looking after Gerard, feeding him a coffee, he hopes that someone, somewhere, had done the same for Jonathon.

“What was the last case you worked on, Bill?”

“Ah, I just saw a sparkle in your eyes then. You asked about my case, and there was a sparkle.” Bill waves his finger in the air. “I guess we never lose it, do we? Even after all these years, the desire is still there. These cases are in our blood. This is what we do.”

“It’s who we are.” Gerard tries to smile. His face scrunches at the corners, almost breaking his skin. It has been years since he tried to do that.

“It’s a case of an innocent man.” Bill laughs.

“They all are!” Gerard smiles easier this time, and his eyes sparkle again. “At least, that’s what they tell you. I have to know, as a defense attorney, do you always believe them?”

“Of course not.” Bill chuckles. “But it’s clear who the evil ones are. I never have any doubt about the evil ones.”

“Apparently, there’s an evil person out there running loose on the streets of Los Angeles. Somebody’s knocking off all the drunks around Downtown. That’s the rumor on the street. They say it’s six in the past twelve months. Could be more. It’s got people scared.”

“That’s what I have heard, although you wouldn’t read much in the paper. Not much news coverage about that.”

“That’s because people don’t care. Dead drunks don’t sell papers.”

“The cops don’t have any evidence that the deaths are connected. It could all be a coincidence. It could all just be rumors and chance. We don’t know that it’s a serial killer.”

“Six homeless men? All strangled? That’s not a coincidence. They’re just not looking hard enough.” Gerard muses out loud. “Must have been more to it.”

“I should get my team to look into it. See if there is anything we can piece together and present to the cops.”

“Speaking of your team, how’s your bookkeeper? What was her name? She was one hot woman.”

“Nicole Cowan. Never married. She went through a mid-life crisis last year – she shaved her head and got three tattoos. I don’t know many bookkeepers that look like they could be part of a biker gang.” Bill smiles. “But you always had a thing for her, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely. Sexy woman with a fiery streak. Just my type.”

“I’ve just hired her niece to fill in for my secretary over the next month. A young girl named Penny Pearson. She’s early twenties, beautiful, fun – perfect for my office. She’s not serious like her aunt, but there are similarities. I just had dinner with her and the boyfriend, Caleb. Big guy. Strong. Former Marine who doesn’t smile much.”

“Bad boy type, eh? Women love that.” Gerard winks as if he considers himself a bad boy. “Got a photo of them?”

Bill pulls out his phone and presents a snapshot of the dinner. Penny, with her boundless enthusiasm, had insisted on a group photo, and despite Bill’s reluctance, she took one of the group and sent it to everyone. “That’s Penny at the front, next to Caleb. Nicole is—”

“I know that guy.”

“Who?”

“That guy at the front. Caleb. He pushed me over just a few hours ago. I went to ask for a dollar, and he just pushed me down in front of everyone on the street, and then he just kept walking. I asked nicely and he retaliated with violence.”

Bill sits back in his chair, putting his phone away. “He’s a former Marine. Seemed like a nice enough guy – you probably just caught him at a bad time.”

“I’m not worried about it.” Gerard waves his hand. “Happens to me all the time. I don’t like it, but it’s just a part of life. People don’t treat us with much respect out here. They think that we don’t have feelings, and don’t feel rejected. But we feel rejection more than most. We have nothing, so people think we’re nothing.”

Bill doesn’t respond; his heart is broken by how society treats these people like dirt.

These men and women need help, not hatred.

They need a hand, not a fist.

Over the next hour, the two men chat about a distant past, about how their lives took such dramatically different routes. All the while, Bill knows his life could be Gerard’s in a heartbeat. He knows that when you live so close to the edge, you’re only one step away from falling over it.

After an hour, Bill gives Gerard the number of a charity organization, a place to stay for the night.

“Hey Bill,” Gerard states as they begin to walk in different directions outside the diner. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“This coffee. I think you saved my life.”

CHAPTER 5

“Good morning, Bill.” Penny smiles as she places three files on the desk. “Did you really read all these books? Or are they just for show? You know, to impress people?”

Bill Harvey’s office is large and spacious, the walls surrounding him full of legal books on one wall, and psychology books on the other. It’s an imposing office, one full of importance. But it’s also a place where he can disappear amongst the written word, deep in his own thoughts, lost in a world of vast knowledge.

“I’ve read them all.”

“Was it fun?”

Bill smiles, ready to dish out important life advice to his younger employee. “Life isn’t all about fun, Penny. Sometimes you have to work hard to achieve the right results. Sometimes, there are more important goals than fun. Justice is one of those things. I’d sacrifice it all for justice. Fun doesn’t even come into the equation.”

“My life hasn’t been fun.” The sadness in her eyes is real, deep, emotive.

Bill opens his hands. “I’m sorry, Penny. That’s not what I meant. I was making a reference to hard work.”

She shrugs her shoulders, dismissing the apology. “I guess so. The thing is, being a temp worker, you sort of just fly in and out. You never really get a chance to make a difference. Any hard work that you do is forgotten about in a week’s time, and somebody else takes the credit for it. There is no real chance that you can change anything; nothing that you do really makes a difference to anyone.”

“Maybe you should consider a more permanent job?”

“I would, but there aren’t many out there. I don’t have a lot of talents, and after what happened… Well, I don’t really want to carry that baggage into a real job. I probably wouldn’t last very long at a real job anyway. If I opened my mouth, I’d be sacked within a week.”

“You shouldn’t let your past define who you are, Penny. The past is the past.”

“It does define me though. That sort of thing is hard to forget, and once most people find out who I am, well, it defines me to them as well. I guess being a temp means that I never have to reveal everything, which is comforting. No one has to know the truth.”

Despite her healthy glow, there is an aching in Penny’s eyes, an emptiness in her heart.

“Penny—”

“Bill.” Kate Spencer, his friend and assistant, bursts into the office door, frantic.

“Kate? I was just having a quiet discussion with Penny and—”

“Bill, this is important. You have to hear this. Now.”

He looks at his longtime friend with thinning eyes. She looks worried, almost as pale as a ghost. Very unlike the usually cool, calm and collected assistant he knows.

“Excuse us, Penny.”

Penny offers a brief smile and exits the office quietly, allowing Kate time to walk over to Bill’s desk. She doesn’t sit down; she has too much energy to stop.

“What is it, Kate? The look on your face concerns me.”

She stares at her boss for a few long moments, not sure of how to relay the information.

“It’s your brother,” she finally whispers.

“My brother?” His mouth drops open. “Jonathon?”

“They’ve found him, Bill.” Kate looks up at the man she has adored for so long.

“Found him? Where? Is he alive?”

“He’s ok, but he’s asking for you.” Kate’s expression is emotionless. “He’s in prison, and he’s been charged with murder.”

CHAPTER 6

He has dreamt about this moment for too long, longer than he cares to imagine.

He wanted this. He needed this. It is the closure that he so desperately requires. A part of his past that he has never been able to reconcile.

His brother.

Jonathon Fredrick Harvey.

His little brother.

Full of nerves, anticipation, and quite possibly love, Bill Harvey walks through the Metropolitan Detention Center, anxious to lay eyes on the man he hasn’t seen in twenty years.

Bumping past so many people going in the other direction, he doesn’t even have time for apologies. Not even time to look twice.

He wants to get into that meeting room. He has to.

He has daydreamed about this moment many times over, again and again. All the possible scenarios. He thought that he might have gotten a call, or a letter even, to say that his brother had passed, and he would forever be laying flowers on his brother’s grave. Or he would meet him as a well-dressed man on the street, walking towards his job as an investor. He wouldn’t even say hello. Just a nod, an acknowledgment of a past life. Or perhaps he would walk into church one day to find Jonathon preaching to the masses, having found God and transformed his life.

Not once did he dream the meeting would be like this.

Not here.

Though entirely probable, this scenario never crossed his mind. Even though it was the most likely scenario, he just didn’t want it to be true.

Kate Spencer tries to keep up with her boss as he paces through security, past the line of people, to the front desk. Desperate. Eager. Impatient.

Kate is there for as much emotional support as she is clerical support. When her boss stated that he would meet his brother alone, she didn’t argue. Instead, she just turned and followed him. He didn’t send her back.

There would have been no use.

Kate knows the powerful man better than anyone – having been by his side for the last four years, riding the waves of ups and downs, the emotional highs and the distressing lows. She has picked him up when he lets the emotional wall crumble; when he lets the feelings from his past catch up to him. She has been there as he recovered from the death of his first wife, grew his law firm, his reputation, and his wealth.

Now, there is no more avoiding the forgotten family, the past he tried to forget.

Almost at the door now.

Bill wants to hug Jonathon, hold him, tell him he’s sorry. Sorry for everything.

Past the registrar.

He wants to say that everything is ok. He forgives him. He has forgotten about the past. It’s done. Forgotten.

Closer.

Almost to the door.

Approaching the meeting room, Kate takes her chance.

“Bill.” She grabs the bottom of his sleeve.

Cautiously, he turns.

She hasn’t seen that look in his eyes before. The wall that is always there, the solid brick wall that surrounds his heart, has been bulldozed by the arrival of his long-lost brother.

His eyes are desperate.

Lost.

“Bill,” she continues with a tender touch. “This might not be everything you want it to be. You have to be prepared that he might not be the person you remember or the person that you want him to be. It’s been twenty years since you last saw your brother. He will have changed.”

“Of course he’s changed. It’s been two decades. We’ve all changed.”

“What I mean is that he might not be the person that you remember. He will have…” She looks to the floor. “He will have lived his life. Changed a lot. Seen things that you and I haven’t seen. He isn’t the same person that you remember. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“I know that, Kate,” he snaps. “I know he’s changed. I have no idea about the man on the other side of that door. No idea. I don’t know his favorite foods, I don’t know his friends, I don’t know his intelligence. I don’t know what he smells like, or what he looks like. I don’t even know if he still goes by the name Jonathon.” Bill’s fist clenches as it presses into the wall by the door. “But what I do know is that man is my brother. My blood. My family.”

Kate nods, wanting nothing more than to protect her vulnerable hero. “Just… just be careful in there, Bill. Don’t get too carried away.”

He looks at her, not around her, not past her, but at her.

Directly at her.

He leans in, planting a small, soft kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Kate.”

Shocked at his rare show of emotion, she doesn’t respond.

She can’t.

With a deep breath, Bill Harvey leans in and holds the door handle.

This is it.

Their moment.

His moment.

The moment he sees his long-lost brother.

The door creaks open.

He steps in.

“Jonathon.”

CHAPTER 7

One word.

That’s all he could manage.

After more than twenty years apart, two decades of not even a sound, after years of rehearsing what he would say, that’s all that came out of his mouth. That’s all that he could state.

Jonathon Fredrick Harvey stands before his brother, the person that he’s missed the most, and can’t speak at all.

During all the lost years, he has felt alone, adrift in the vast sea of addiction.

Swimming against the tide.

Struggling to keep afloat by himself.

He thought he was a lone soul, and the world was his to fight.

He didn’t have a family; they didn’t exist anymore. In his darkest hours, he abused them until they had enough.

They kicked him out.

Told him never to return.

It was his fault, and he knew it. He hurt the people that he loved the most. He hurt the people that were trying to help him, the people that wanted the best for him. He could see their pain, he could feel it.

But he could do nothing to stop it. Addiction had him. It overtook everything that he did. He knew that the best place for him was away from his family, no matter how much that hurt.

And for a Harvey man, pride is everything.

He couldn’t go back.

He couldn’t return to the people that he held dear. He knew that. He had pushed a long way past the boundaries and crossed paths he shouldn’t have crossed.

He was isolated as he fought the endless addictions.

Alone.

For twenty years, he struggled. Fought. Wrestled. For twenty years, he did it all alone. For twenty years, he was all by himself.

But in the end, when he had no other option, all it took was one phone call.

All it took was to pick up the phone and dial the publicly listed number of his brother’s office.

“I…” The words don’t come out.

He draws a deep breath, neither of the men ready to move.

Despite the advantage of youth, Jonathon Harvey looks the elder of the two men. His face is tanned and weathered, his short hair grayer, his body weak. Tall and thin, he looks malnourished.

Twenty years of fighting a drug addiction can do that to a man.

“All fine in here?” The officer at the door breaks the silence, ready to shut the door behind Bill.

The cold voice of the man brings Bill back to reality, back to what he knows better than anything else in the world – work.

He walks into the room and places his briefcase on the table, his face now expressionless.

Cautiously, Kate steps in behind him. “We’re good,” she replies to the officer. “Thank you. You can shut the door now.”

“I’m sorry, Bill,” Jonathon pleads with the man that he once adored.

The words echo around the cold room, bouncing off the walls, allowing Bill time to process them.

“We’re…” Bill’s eyes stay down, focused on the table. He can’t look at his brother. “We don’t have time for that now.” He closes his eyes, holding back salty tears, keeping the emotions at bay.

“Bill—”

“Dammit, Jonathon!” he snaps. “I’m trying to help you here! We don’t have time for that!”

The shock is clear.

Kate reaches her arm across to touch her boss, but he pulls his arm away without looking at her. He can’t.

One look at her and his wall of emotion will collapse under a flood of tears.

“Jonathon, you’ve been charged with the first-degree murder of…” For the first time since he walked in the doors of the Metropolitan Detention Center, Bill opens the file that he picked up on the way in.

He reads the name again.

And again.

“The first-degree murder of Gerard West.”

CHAPTER 8

Bill Harvey has had enough emotion for one day.

Just when he thought the walls around his heart would collapse, just when he thought emotions would break through, the walls have been reinforced.

The brick barricade around his heart is back.

More solid than ever.

“I didn’t kill anyone, Bill. You have to believe me. I had nothing to do with this. I wouldn’t call you otherwise.” Jonathon is begging his brother. “I don’t even know why they have locked me up. Nobody is telling me anything about this case. I have no idea what is going on.”

“Did you know him?”

“Did I know him?! I have no idea what they are talking about! I’ve never seen the guy! I have no idea what is happening!” Jonathon is desperate to convince his brother that he is innocent.

Usually, Bill Harvey is thoroughly prepared. Before he steps into a case, he reads the police report over and over, knowing the details backward. He knows where the problems exist, and he knows where the opportunities lay. Research is one of the keys to his success.

But this time, he isn’t prepared. He wasn’t ready.

And it is the first time he has been caught out.

“I knew him.” Bill’s eyes are still focused on the table. “I knew Gerard West.”

The room goes icy, silent.

“Oh, Bill.” The shock on Jonathon’s face is clear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

The silence sits in the room for one long minute, nobody quite sure what to do next. Despite all the terror he has seen, despite all the horrors, nothing Bill has ever experienced before has prepared him for this.

He can’t react. He doesn’t know how.

He sits emotionless across from his brother. Cold. Lost.

With control, Kate grabs the file from in front of her boss. “Jonathon, I’m going to assume that you don’t have the one million dollars to post bail for a first-degree murder charge?”

Jonathon shakes his head slightly, mouth still open, eyes focused on his brother.

“Then what is going to happen is that you’re going to remain in custody. We will apply for bail on your own recognizance, but it will most likely be rejected. From reading this report…” Her eyes scan fast over the page. “It was a violent murder, so the chances of bail are probably next to none anyway. That means that you’ll be spending time in prison until this is done, one way or another. But from your file, this doesn’t appear to be your first trip to prison.”

“It’s not,” Jonathon concedes, still looking at his emotionally distant brother.

“Then get a good night’s sleep, stay out of trouble, and we’ll be back tomorrow for the arraignment hearing.”

“Is that it?”

“At this point in time, yes.” Kate is firm, almost as cold as her boss. “Bill will return when he has some more information, possibly this afternoon, or tomorrow before the arraignment. We’ll keep you updated, but for now, that is it.”

She lightly grabs her dazed boss’ arm, and he looks up at her, understanding it is time to leave.

“Bill.” Jonathon stands, softly calling out to his brother. “It’s good to see you again.”

Bill slowly drops his head, nodding. When he lifts his head, he has a reflective smile.

“You too, brother.”

CHAPTER 9

The car ride back to the office is one of complete silence.

Not that there aren’t words to be spoken. There are many. But neither Bill nor Kate can bring themselves to start the conversation.

Penny Pearson, holding up the fort at the office, waiting patiently for the return of her boss, looks up as they walk in silently through the office door. Without a word, without a gesture, Bill walks into his separate office, closes the door behind him, and reaches for the bottle of whiskey on his shelf.

“Should I even ask how it went?” Penny quietly says to Kate as she sits down behind her desk.

Kate sighs. “It went well from a client point of view. We met the client, we discussed the case, we took him through what is going to happen next…”

“But from a family point of view?”

“Bill barely even acknowledged that Jonathon was his brother. He was so nervous when he walked into that room, and then, bang! As soon as he stepped through the doors, the walls went back up. He didn’t even greet him with a handshake.”

“Really? Should I go in and see him now? See if I can help?”

“No.” Kate opens the police report on Jonathon’s arrest. “I’ll give him ten minutes to finish the glass of whiskey that I’m sure he has just poured for himself, and then I’ll pop my head in. It’s best to give him a few moments to process the information. He’s a quick thinker when it comes to work, but the opposite when it comes to emotions – it can take him days to process them.”

“Like most men,” Penny quips. “So, his brother has been charged with murder?”

“That’s right.” Kate sighs again. “Not only had Bill not seen his brother for twenty years, but he also didn’t know whose murder Jonathon was charged with. It wasn’t until we got into the room that Bill opened the file about the arrest and saw the name of the deceased – Gerard West.”

“The drunk that Bill knew? The one that he was talking about yesterday?”

“That’s right, the very one that he had a coffee with only two nights ago. Once Bill read that name on the police report, he couldn’t even open his mouth anymore. He was stunned. There was way too much emotion for him.”

“I’m sure the homeless drunk had it coming to him.” Penny runs a nail file over her nails. “His brother should be able to walk away from the murder, I say. He’s done the world a service getting rid of that drunk.”

“Penny!” Kate snaps in surprise. “I thought we talked about this. No more of that. That sort of opinion doesn’t belong in this office. You have to leave that sort of opinion at the door. Especially now.”

“But it’s true.” Like all good opinionated twenty-year-olds, Penny doesn’t know when to stop. “If there were no drunks in the world, the world would be a much better place. We’d be able to walk down the streets without fear, less people would be homeless, there would be less assaults, less domestic violence, the list goes on and on. Drunks are the cause of so much pain in the world. The world would be so much better without them.”

“Look at the big picture, Penny. Maybe drunks aren’t the problem. Maybe alcohol is the problem. Don’t just blame vulnerable people for the situation they’re in. The problem is so much bigger than that. It’s so much more than just a personal choice.”

“The people are the problem,” she argues back. “If it weren’t alcohol, then it would just be another drug. These people just take whatever is available to them. These people are the problem. Get rid of them all. All of them.”

If she were anyone else, Kate would walk her out the door right now and tell her never to come back. Opinions like that don’t belong in this office. They have no place in an office dedicated to justice.

But Penny has an excuse for her loathing, a very good one, and Kate is willing to provide her some leniency for her past.

“You really have to keep those opinions to yourself. You can’t work in this office with those sorts of opinions. If you keep it up, I’m going to have to fire you. I don’t want that, and Bill doesn’t want that, but we won’t have a choice if you continue to act like that. You need to keep your mouth shut.”

Penny nods, knowing that she has overstepped the mark again. “I’ll try, but some things just trigger my emotions. Sometimes, I can’t control what comes out of my mouth. I just get angry about it all and then I can’t stop. It’s just… I’ll keep trying.”

“I understand all that, but if you want to stay here, if you want to be employed here, you have to leave those opinions at the door. You can’t bring those opinions into this office, especially not now while Bill is going through all this. His tolerance for that sort of attitude will be next to none.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Kate shakes her head gently, staring at the girl who has been through so much. She knows Penny’s opinions come from a place of pain, from a well of agony and loss.

But it’s the intensity that shocks Kate.

Penny’s words are laced with hurt, pain, and pure venom.

And maybe, just maybe, hatred.

CHAPTER 10

Knocking gently, Kate Spencer opens the office door without receiving a response. Lightly, she steps into the room, cautious about approaching the man she cares so much for.

Sitting in his large chair, Bill Harvey doesn’t take his eyes off the view out the window. His eyes are locked into place, not staring at anything in particular, rather off into nothingness.

This is his view, his own part of Downtown L.A., and it soothes his nerves to be a part of it.

“Are you coping ok?” Kate asks as she sits down opposite him.

“Of course,” he lies, taking his eyes off the view. It’s his automatic response to that question; he wouldn’t ever dare answer it any other way.

“I didn’t know about Gerard West. If I knew, I wouldn’t have let you walk into that room. I’m sorry, Bill. And I’m sorry that you had to find out like that. I should have read the file first; I should have been prepared. It was a terrible way to find out. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Kate.” His chair swivels back around to the head of the desk, and he places his empty whiskey glass on the edge. “I thought Gerard had a chance. I thought he had hit rock bottom, and with the right people around him, I thought he had a chance to rebuild his life. I thought he could have put it all back together and gone on to better things, whatever that may have looked like for him. He looked like he was ready to do that. He was ready to build his life again. I saw that in his eyes.”

“There’s nothing else you could have done. You should be proud of yourself, Bill. You gave him a little bit of light before the end.”

Feeling reflective after the morning drenched in emotion, he leans forward, head down, opening up more than he has in a long time. “I always felt like that could be me. I always felt like if one more thing went wrong, one more moment of disaster, that could have been me on the street. I could have been Gerard. And if I was faced with the same things that Gerard faced, if I went through that level of hatred, then I don’t think I would have handled it any better than Gerard. In fact, I probably would have been worse. I would have been worse than him.”

“You’ve seen a lot in your life. You’ve lived through a lot of pain, and you’ve seen a lot of death. More than most, Bill. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Everyone has their limits. Everyone has a breaking point.”

“I could be one of those men, Kate.” His fist clenches as it rests on the table. “I could be sleeping on the streets each night, trying to dull all that pain with alcohol. Trying to forget about the world and sleeping rough. Living day-to-day. Drowning out the world full of emotions. I could be one of those men.”

“I would help you if you were. I would be there beside you. You will always have my support.”

He tight fist releases and he runs his hand along the edge of the desk, keeping his eyes away from Kate. “Thank you, Kate. That means the world to me.”

A small wave of pleasure washes through Kate, happy that she has hit him with a touch of feeling. Finally, she feels like she is getting through to him.

She has watched him at his best and comforted him at his worst, but she knows that this situation is going to hit him the hardest.

“I’ll cancel my flights. I can’t leave you here like this while I’m on holidays. I—”

“No, Kate. You need that holiday. You haven’t taken one in two years. I can’t have you here. I won’t have it. And your son would never forgive me. He’s been looking forward to that trip for a year. Eight-year-olds aren’t that forgiving when you cancel a Disney World trip.”

“Bill, I have to be here for you. I can’t have you collapsing without me. This is—”

“No.” Bill is firm.

She stares at him for a long moment. She has learned that a one-word answer from her boss means business.

There is no arguing when he’s so blunt.

“Bill—” she pushes.

“No.”

Again, just the one-word answer.

Firm. Direct. Decisive.

“Then let me cancel one week. I’ll cancel the second week. We were just going to be driving the coast road down to Miami and back to Tampa anyway. We’re hitting all the theme parks in Orlando during the first week. Connor didn’t really want to do the drive. All he is looking forward to is the theme parks. I’ll be gone for only one week. You can’t argue with that.”

Bill raises his eyes from the table to meet hers.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Kate—” he tries to protest.

“Bill, there has never been a harder time in this office and I’m leaving you with an inexperienced, highly emotional assistant. I can’t do that for two weeks. She might blow up during that time. One week. That’s all I’ll take off. You can’t say no to that.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “If you must, but that has to be your choice.”

“It’s my choice.” She checks that the door is closed before leaning forward. “Do you think you’ll be fine with Penny for one week? I can sack her and see if I can get someone else? It would be hard with this sort of short notice, but we could try.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. She just has to learn that she has to keep her emotions in check. And in case you haven’t noticed, my patience isn’t the best. She’ll know when she has overstepped the mark.”

“You’re right there.” Kate laughs. “She should be fine. Just don’t mention her past.”

Bill nods in agreement. “She had it hard. You and I could never imagine what that must have been like. We could never know. We should go easy on her.”

“Her past doesn’t excuse some of her opinions though. She should learn to keep that sort of thing to herself, even if that is what she is thinking. She has to learn to hold her tongue. I will talk to her again and give her one final warning. If she does it again, she has to go.”

“You’re right, but I understand her anger. She has every right to be angry.”

“Other than the outbursts, she’s a great girl. She works hard, and she’s picked up most of the processes already. She’s the sort of person that if you show her a process once, then she’ll remember it for next time. I’ll ask her to keep her opinions in check, and if she does that, then she should be a great help while I’m gone.”

“No one will ever replace you, Kate.”

“Well.” She shrugs with a grin. “I am pretty special.”

With a smile, he walks over to his small bar, hidden at the end of the bookshelf, and nods to the whiskey, offering Kate one. She shakes her head, but he refills his drink regardless.

Once the drink is poured, his mind turns back to what he knows best.

“Someone is killing those men, Kate. A serial killer in L.A., preying on the defenseless. Gerard is the seventh homeless man found killed in that area in the last twelve months. These men seem to be wandering out of Skid Row and into the hands of a killer.”

“You don’t know that it’s a serial killer. I’m sure that homeless people die all the time. There is nothing that connects the murders yet, other than the location and the way they were killed. I’m sure the police department has looked into the chances of it being a serial killer. And they haven’t said anything, so I’m sure that it’s all just a giant coincidence.”

“Perhaps. But we do know that someone killed Gerard. My friend Gerard West. My friend that was once close to me,” Bill responds firmly. “And that person may be my brother.”

The breath catches in Kate’s throat. She hadn’t thought of the possibility that Jonathon may be guilty. “You don’t know that. He also might be innocent.”

“What if he isn’t? What if he’s the serial killer? What if he’s the one that is knocking off homeless guys? If I get him off, what happens when he just goes out and kills again? That’s on me. That becomes my responsibility. And what if I fall apart, and then see him on the street?” He sits back down. “That could be me, Kate. That could be me on the street. I can’t let that killer walk free. Not in this case. Not after what happened to Gerard.”

“You don’t know anything about this case. You haven’t even looked at the evidence. People get wrongly arrested all the time, you know that. You’ve seen it. Give your brother a chance. Read all the evidence, talk to him, and then make up your own mind. Trust your instincts, Bill. They’re not often wrong.”

He looks away, blinking back the tears that threaten to fill his eyes.

The worlds of family and work have come smashing together. He wanted so badly to see his brother again, but he didn’t expect this. He didn’t expect to want to walk away the second he saw him again.

Gently, quietly, he responds, “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“He’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars if you don’t help him. No doubt about it. He’ll get some hopeless court assigned lawyer who isn’t even interested in helping him. Is that what you want, without ever finding out the truth?” Kate pleads with him. “If you ever wanted to help your brother, the time is now. Give him a chance.”

Avoiding eye contact, Bill doesn’t respond.

He knows she’s right.

She usually is.

“You have to go back there and talk to him. Without you, they’ll tear him apart. He’ll go to prison for the rest of his life. Without you, he hasn’t got a chance. Is that what you want?”

“I’m too emotionally involved. I’m not the right person for this case. I’m—”

“Yes, you are the right person for this case. You’ve wanted this for a long time. You’ve wanted your chance to talk to your brother again, and you weren’t sure whether that dream would ever come true. All that guilt that you felt, all that pain, won’t go away unless you confront it. You have to go back there and talk to him.”

Bill takes a long sip of the whiskey, the liquor warming his chest, raising his body temperature.

“Maybe you’re right,” he concedes.

“Of course, I’m right,” Kate responds. “So when are you going back?”

“Not yet.” Bill looks reflectively at the glass of whiskey. “But soon.”

CHAPTER 11

Still under the slight buzz of whiskey, Bill Harvey walks back through the Metropolitan Detention Center, this time at a slower pace, and without Kate chasing him.

With the benefit of time, he has had the chance to research the case, in particular, his brother’s history. Going under the name Jonathon Fredrick, he was arrested twice in Florida for drug offenses and once in New York for assault.

Not a good start.

Over the years, Bill looked for any trace of Jonathon, the odd Google search, a look through the pages of deceased persons, a search through the name databases here and there. Jonathon Harvey never returned any results, and now he understands why.

It appeared that his brother had flipped from state to state, even country to country, never settling in one place for a long time. Arizona, Texas, Montana, Utah, Mexico, Panama – it appears that he was quite fond of traveling, or at least, escaping.

With a deep breath, Bill’s hand rests on the door to the meeting room where he stood only hours ago.

Slowly, he clicks the door open.

“Bill?” Waiting patiently behind the desk, Jonathon stands to greet his older brother for the second time today.

“For this morning, I just want to say—”

“No.” His voice is gruff. “I won’t hear that.”

“I know this is hard, but I have something to say, and you have to listen to it.”

Bill closes his eyes, knowing that if he avoids it now, he’s only going to have to face the conversation further down the track.

This is not something he can keep avoiding.

“Go on.” Cautiously, he places his briefcase on the small desk and sits down on the cold metal chair, keeping his eyes focused on the table.

“I’m sorry.”

Bill waits for something more, but nothing else comes. “Is that it?”

“I’m sorry about so many things. I’m sorry about what I did, I’m sorry how I treated you and the family, I’m sorry that I didn’t call you earlier, and I’m sorry that we had to meet like this. So yes, ‘I’m sorry’ just about covers it all.”

Bill didn’t expect that.

He expected a great long speech about past sins, about life, love, and mistakes.

But Jonathon is also a Harvey man, and thus he was taught that emotions are to be avoided at all costs.

“For what it’s worth.” Bill draws a deep breath. “I’m sorry as well.”

A moment of eye contact, of a life passed by.

“Let’s get into it then.” Jonathon claps his hands. “Let’s start the work. I didn’t do it, so let’s solve this thing and get me out of here.”

The smile broadens on Bill’s face.

There is no doubt that this man is his brother.

“You’ve been charged with the first-degree murder of Gerard West.” Bill removes the police file from his briefcase. “First things first, did you know this man, Gerard West?” Bill slides a photo of Gerard West across the table.

“Never seen his face before yesterday.” Jonathon shakes his head. “Never talked to him.”

“The police report states that on October 22, at just after 11:00 pm, you strangled the deceased in an alley off Boyd St in Skid Row. You spend a lot of time in Skid Row?”

“I have an apartment in Skid Row. It’s not great, and it’s not a good area, but it’s all I can afford at the moment. Not too many people are willing to employ an ex-con, and the rent there is cheap. If you avoid the right streets, then it’s not too bad.”

Understanding, Bill nods. “He was wearing your jacket with your DNA all over it. There is also video footage of you around the area at the time of death. They also have witnesses that place you at the scene of the crime.”

“That doesn’t mean I did it.”

“No, but it certainly makes you a prime suspect,” Bill retorts. “What were you doing at 11:00 pm on Tuesday?”

“Nothing.”

“You must have been doing something.”

“Alright.” Jonathon rubs his hand over his face, ashamed of his checkered past. “I was walking around that night. I felt like I needed another hit, but—”

“A hit of what?”

Jonathon looks away from his brother, desperate to avoid eye contact. “Heroin.” He sighs. “But I’ve been clean fourteen months now, Bill. It’s been great. Amazing. But every now and again, I get an urge. The urge to have another hit. It overwhelms me, like I can do nothing else until I get it. My bones ache, my body sweats, and my mind is all fuzzy. It’s hell, man. The urges are getting less and less, but I still get them. The best way for me to deal with it is to go somewhere and get away from it all. I have to get out of that tiny little apartment that I live in or the desire just gets stronger and stronger. So I was walking the streets.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“A man named David Whaler.”

“David Whaler? Tall guy, black hair?”

“Yeah. That’s him. He’s an ex-addict like me. I called him because I needed the support. That’s what support groups are for. When you feel like you can’t handle it anymore, you call someone. David has always been good to me.” Jonathon runs his hand through his brown hair. “We were walking around for a while, just wandering, and then we had a coffee at the diner, and after that, I felt alright, so we hugged and then said our goodbyes.”

“This guy?” Bill brings up a Facebook photo on his phone of the man he spent months defending.

“That’s him.” Jonathon nods. “How do you know him?”

“I defended him against a similar murder charge twelve months ago. David was innocent, and we got him off because we were able to establish an alibi at the time of death. We found security footage of him at a bar at the time of death which proved that he wasn’t responsible.”

“I don’t know anything about that, but I can tell you this – he’s a good man, with a good heart. A solid person. He’s one of the seniors in the recovery support group. And he’s always been there for me when I have needed a hug.”

“Is that something the support group taught you?”

“What’s that?”

“Hugging.”

Jonathon scoffs, remembering who he is dealing with. “Hugging is amazing, Bill. I know our family was never huggers, but it makes you feel connected to someone. There’s something about the touch, the bond, that people share when they hug. It means something, but I guess by the tone of that question, you hug people about as much as our father did… which is never.”

“I guess so.” Bill looks at his hands. They are the same as his fathers. Every time he looks at them, he sees his hardworking father. “What happened after you had a nice little hug and said goodbye?”

“I walked home.”

“Which way?”

“Past the alley on Boyd St. I had walked about ten minutes, then I realized that I had left my jacket at the diner, so I went back for it, but someone had already taken it. Happens a lot around there. If you leave something on the ground for a couple seconds, it’s gone. So I wasn’t surprised that my jacket had disappeared. When I got back to the diner, I asked at the counter, and they said they saw some guy come in and take it. I guess it was Gerard West.”

“Would you kill for that jacket?”

“No,” he snaps. “I didn’t kill him, Bill. I’ve never killed anyone. I wouldn’t be able to that; it’s just not in me to kill someone. That’s too far, even for me. I’ve seen death before, but I could never be a part of it.”

The defense lawyer is wary of his younger brother.

Despite the bond between them, despite the shared blood, this is a man that he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if Jonathon is a habitual liar, he doesn’t know if he has faced this situation in the past, he doesn’t even know if Jonathon is capable of telling the truth.

Usually, Bill would rely on his skills to determine if someone is lying. When he first moved to Los Angeles, he spent ten years working as a hypnotherapist, helping people overcome one addiction or another. His ability to read people, even the slightest movement of the eyes, meant that he was successful at everything he touched. From the movements of the body, he would know if somebody was lying, if they were hiding their past, or if they were avoiding their future. As a criminal attorney, those skills have helped him more times than he cares to count.

But this time, he has a problem – emotions are clouding his judgment.

And he doesn’t like that one bit.

“Do you know where David went after he left you?”

“No.” Jonathon shakes his head. “Why so many questions, Bill? All this is in the police report. I have already told this police all this information. I sat in that interview for hours and went through all this. It’s all in the report.”

“What I need is to build a full picture of the crime. I need to know every little detail of what happened. I need to know the weather, the way the wind blew, the history of every person involved, the clothes the person wore, the graffiti on the wall of the alley – everything. Because it’s in the small details that we will find our solution. The police have looked at the big details and concluded that you committed the murder. If we only look at the big details, we will come to the same conclusion, and you will spend the rest of your life behind bars. Your possible innocence lies in the small details; in something that everyone else has missed. That’s why I’m asking all the questions.”

“Alright.” Jonathon sighs. “I understand. It’s just… I’ve answered a lot of questions lately. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

“I would like you to take me through what happened again, in your own words.”

“Again?” Jonathon doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, but the days locked up in prison, just when his life was getting back on track, has brought him to the end of his nerves.

His patience is well past its use-by date.

“Jonathon, we have a murdered body in an alley. If you didn’t do it, somebody else did. As you have no alibi, finding that person may be the best way to prove your innocence. That’s where we will start, because if we take the case as it is now to the courtroom, there’s a very strong chance that the jury will see it the same way the police see it. We can fight for your innocence, and we may win, but we may not. Or we can prove that someone else did it, and not have to fight at all.”

“You really think I’m innocent?”

“Are you?” Bill stares at the man with searching eyes.

“Yes.” Jonathon doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t break eye contact.

He is either as skilled as his brother in manipulation, or he’s being truthful.

Bill hasn’t decided which one yet.

“Good. Then take me through what happened for the rest of that night.”

“After we—”

“Who?”

“But we’ve been through this?” Jonathon pleads.

Bill doesn’t respond, instead staring coldly at Jonathon, waiting for him to continue.

“Ok, if you think it will help.” Jonathon sighs. “After we, David and I, said goodbye, I went back to the diner, asked for my jacket and was told that it was already taken. Then, disappointed that I had lost the jacket, I walked home to my apartment, watched some late-night television, and then went to bed. That’s it. That’s all there is to it. That’s my entire night in a nutshell.”

Bill draws a long breath. “So what we have is two witnesses saying that they saw you, from across the street in the dark, enter the alley about thirty minutes before the time of death. We have your jacket on the deceased, and we have footage of you in the area. You’re big enough, and strong enough, to strangle a man to death. At the moment, it’s all adding up that you’re guilty.”

“Like I said, the dead guy probably took my jacket after I left it at the diner,” Jonathon argues. “I went past the alley as I was walking. Innocently. Completely innocently. Walking is not a crime. It’s not an offense to walk past an alley. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Would you have noticed if Gerard was at the diner when you went back to retrieve your jacket?”

“Probably not.”

“I’ll check the security footage for the diner.”

“There’s no use. It doesn’t work. I asked after I went back for my jacket, and they said it didn’t work. Places like that can’t afford security. Places in Skid Row don’t have much security apart from the metal bars on the windows.”

“Is there anything else that you remember about that night that may be able to help us?”

Jonathon shrugs. “No. Not really.”

“Not really or no?”

“No.”

Bill scribbles notes on his pad, not sure where to go next. Once he has worked out every possible avenue in his head, he continues.

“I see that you’ve had some run-ins with the law over the years.”

“I’m not proud of my past, but it happened. There is no denying that I did some really bad things and generally, I was a really bad person. Really bad. And once you’re labeled a con, nobody wants to employ you. You’ve got to survive somehow, and a lot of the time the only option I had left was steal something. You’ve got to find money somehow.”

“To fund your drug habit?”

Jonathon pauses, mouth open. “I said I was sorry, Bill. I know my addiction was horrible for everyone. I know that I hurt our family. I know that I tore our family apart. I know that I really hurt…” He gulps. “I know that I really hurt Mom and Dad. I know that. That was my fault. I take full responsibility for that. It’s part of my recovery to take full responsibility for my actions. I’m sorry that it happened, but there’s nothing I can do to change it now.”

“Thank you for taking responsibility.”

Jonathon pauses for a few long moments before thinning his eyes. “Do you want me behind bars? Is that what you want? To punish me for what I did? Your chance at revenge?”

“No.” Bill is firm. “I forgave you a long time ago, Jonathon. I’m here to help you.”

“I really regret what I did to our family, but I’m at peace with it. It was my fault, and I made all the mistakes. But I’ve found God now, and I have asked Him for forgiveness. I’ve asked Him to forgive my past, and if you can’t, that’s ok. I’m at peace with myself, and with the Lord.”

“You weren’t at their funerals.” The bold statement comes out of Bill’s mouth without rhyme or reason. Without thought.

The sudden turn in conversation catches Jonathon off guard.

“I…” he stammers, his eyes directed down at the table. “I didn’t think I would have been welcomed at Mom or Dad’s funeral. When I got clean, one of the first things that I did was go and visit their graves. I said sorry to them. I prayed for them. I never meant to put them through that. It was my fault, and one of my greatest regrets. I’m sorry.”

The cold silence sits over the room as the brothers make eye contact.

“How’s Ella?” Jonathon breaks the hush.

Bill looks down at his notepad, knowing how much pain their youngest sibling, Ella, has been through. She experienced the full ride of emotions – mostly settling in the darkness of depression for her early twenties. After the death of their parents, Ella became lost in her own world, unable to deal with being alone. It took her years to recover, and Bill is unsure of how she will take the news that their long-lost brother wants back in their lives.

“She’s not as forgiving as me. She wanted to forget about you, and that time in her life tore her apart. She went on the full ride of emotions, and she blamed herself for a lot of what happened. None of it was her fault, but that was the easiest way for her to deal with it.”

“Is she well now?”

“Most of the time, yes. She has her ups and downs, but most of the time she is good.”

Jonathon nods.

Again, the silence sits over them, almost smothering them. The wave of emotion threatens to drown them, but as robust men, they resist.

After many minutes of awkward silence, Bill draws another long breath, drums his fingers on the table, and stands to leave. “We’ll sort this out, Jonathon. One way or another, we’ll sort this out.”

CHAPTER 12

“Detective.”

“Bill.”

“Always a pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

The blunt greeting between Detective Matthew Pitt and criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey is matched by the usual equally curt handshake.

However, this time, ever tentatively, Bill draws in for a half-hug, while still holding Pitt’s handshake, but Pitt draws back, surprised by the change in greeting. Awkwardly, Pitt realizes what his friend has done, and draws him back into the uncomfortable hug. They pat each other on the back solidly, showing off their machoism.

“That’s…” Pitt is confused. “That’s a different greeting.”

“I have been informed that hugging is good for you,” Bill responds, eyes down, embarrassed about the moment.

“You need a woman, Bill,” Matthew retorts. “A new wife. It’s time to move on and fill that void in your life. You’re never going to fill that void with hugs from me. You need a woman to stop you from getting lonely.”

“I’ve just been told that hugging is good for you. I’m not lonely.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be here when you are lonely!” Matthew laughs.

“It’s not that. It’s—”

“What about your new assistant?”

“Penny?” Bill laughs. “No. Too young. She’s only in her twenties. And she’s been through a lot, but despite everything she’s been through, she still seems like a good person.”

“What about your bookkeeper then? Nicole? She’s a bit younger than you, but not too young. She’s hot, she’s smart, she’s hardworking, and she’s single. You match on one of those things.”

Bill laughs. “Not Nicole. She’s not my type. Women with shaved heads and tattoos don’t do it for me.”

“You have a type? It must be a very rare type because I haven’t seen you with a woman in years.”

“I like…” Bill runs his hand through his hair. “Actually, I don’t know what I like. But I do know that Nicole isn’t my type. She’s too physically strong for me. She’d probably tear me apart in a fight. That doesn’t do much for a man’s ego. She does Muay Thai, a form of kickboxing, and she’s a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. If we ever got into an argument, I’m sure she would tear me to pieces. She would grab my balls and twist them sideways.”

“Wow. It does sound like she would tear you apart!”

“Not my type.” He shakes his head. “That’s all I know.”

Bill looks around the old parking lot, two levels up, where they have parked well away from the three other cars on their level. Early in the evening, they have done their best to disappear into the shadows.

When Bill calls for information, Pitt does his best to keep it a secret. Saying the wrong thing can land him in a lot of trouble with his superiors.

But their relationship is much more than serving a purpose; it’s a relationship based on mutual respect, on friendship.

With all the time that Bill spends around hardened criminals, he can go beyond their friendship and provide Pitt with snippets of information that may lead to solving a crime. He doesn’t mind providing leads that don’t include any of his clients – he figures justice is justice, no matter how the police land their hands on the information.

And having his finger on the pulse of the Los Angeles Police Department means that Pitt can provide quiet leads on certain cases.

“So why have you called me here, Bill? It’s hot, it’s late, and I have better things to be doing.”

“Like drinking beer and watching replays of the 1984 Superbowl?”

“You know I love that game, Bill. I could watch that game all day on repeat. And if you ever want to see a perfect game from a running back, watch that one. Marcus Allen was amazing that day. Amazing. His third quarter was immaculate. There was one play—”

“I’ve heard this story before.” Bill smiles. “Way too many times.”

“You’re always welcome to come to my place and watch the game again.”

“Thanks for the offer, but your personal commentary, which is always about the next play in the game, isn’t my type.” Bill laughs. “But I’m not here to chat about that game. I’m here for the case with Jonathon Harvey. There has to be something more to it. There’s not enough evidence for the DA to be pushing so hard on this one. Rumor is that they’re not even going to offer a deal. So what can you tell me?”

Pitt doesn’t respond. He looks to the ground, desperate not to answer the question.

“I know there is something else going on, Pitt. That’s clear. The prosecution is pushing so hard on this, more than they should be for a case of a murdered homeless drunk. There is something else at play. I need to know what it is so I’m not blindsided in court.”

“He’s your estranged brother, isn’t he?”

“He is.”

“How are you coping?”

“I want information, not emotional support. If I needed something to soothe my feelings, I would buy a good bottle of whiskey.”

“If you need to talk to someone about all this, I can listen. Or better yet, my wife would love to help you. Bev would listen. This is more than just another case for you. This is family. You can’t just ignore the fact that he’s your brother. If you need to talk to someone, then there are people that can help you.”

Bill doesn’t respond to the offer of compassion, instead staring straight at his friend.

“I know the case,” Pitt concedes. “But it’s bigger than you think.”

Bill leans against his car, his chest huffing up and down. “How so? What’s he caught up in?”

“It’s not just one murder that they have him on the books for. Until yesterday it was seven unsolved cases, but it’s now eight. They’re trying to link him to the others, but they have nothing on him yet. It could be even more deaths, but that’s all they’ve got at the moment. Behind the scenes, this case is very big, and it’s generating a lot of excitement. The evidence is compiling quickly, and it’s going to be front-page news in the next few days.”

Bill shakes his head. “You’re saying that Jonathon’s a serial killer that’s popping off the homeless guys?”

“The very one.”

Bill runs his hand through his hair, exhaling loudly. “No. I don’t see it. I really don’t.”

“But he’s your brother. You’d miss—”

“I haven’t seen him in twenty years. This isn’t a close family connection that we’re talking about. This is me defending just another client. Nothing more. My judgment isn’t clouded.”

“But he’s still your blood.” Pitt opens his hands, gesturing that it shouldn’t be overlooked. “He’s still connected to you. There’s still a bond between the two of you, Bill. You can’t just overlook that fact. Family is family.”

“In reality, I barely think he committed this murder. The man wouldn’t have it in him. He’s not cunning enough to pull that off. At worst, this is a mugging gone wrong. Gerard tried to mug Jonathon, and he defended himself.”

“Or the other way round. Your brother isn’t a rich guy, he doesn’t have a job, and he lives in Skid Row. So maybe it was Jonathon that tried to mug Gerard.”

“Maybe.” Bill shrugs, open to all possibilities. “From the police report, I see that Gerard West’s wallet is still missing. Has that been located yet?”

“Not yet.” Pitt rests his elbow against the car. “Is that what Jonathon’s saying? That this is a mugging gone wrong.”

“No.” Bill leans his head backward, resting against the car. It’s the first time that Pitt has ever seen Bill’s shoulders slump. “That’s what I’m saying. I’m just looking at all the possible options for defending him. We have to look at every opportunity to beat this.”

“Of course. You think he’s innocent and you want to beat the system.”

“It’s not about beating the system; it’s about doing the right thing.” Bill slides his hands into his pockets, leaning forward slightly. “Any other evidence about the other murders? Is there anything that ties them together?”

“The case is building. And it’s building quickly. They’ve got the best of the best on this one. It’s going to be high-profile in a matter of days. They’ve got something that connects all the murders together, but they need to confirm the evidence first. Rumor is that they’re very close.”

“How close?”

“At this moment, it’s all hearsay. It’s all theories. Nothing in concrete yet.”

“DNA?”

“None.”

“Witnesses?”

“None of those either.”

“So what connects him to the other murders?”

“Who was killed and the way they were killed.” Pitt looks over his shoulder, making sure no one else is around. “Word is that the seven other deaths were all killed the same way as the eighth one last night – strangled. All homeless men. All the same. So it’s now eight within a year. There might even be more. This is a serial killer knocking of Californian residents. If they can pin it on your brother, they will.”

“No,” Bill says softly, unconvincingly.

“This is going to be big news when this comes out in a few days. Massive. It’s going to blow any other story off the front page. Even if some actor marries another celebrity on the first date, it won’t knock this story off the front page. This is a serial killer, and it will capture the nation’s attention. When this gets to trial, the whole country will be tuning in. He’ll be judged as guilty by the nation the second that they front the media.”

Bill shakes his head. “I just don’t see it. He’s innocent. He has to be. He doesn’t have the look of a serial killer or killer at all.”

“No, he has the look of your brother, and that’s why you’re missing the clues.”

Bill grunts, looking down at the ground. He doesn’t want Pitt to be right, but he has nothing to argue with.

For all he knows, the LAPD is spot on the money.

“He has all the right characteristics, Bill – he lives alone, had a violent youth, lived on the streets for many years, and has been a heavy drug user for most of his life. He’s strong and could easily strangle a drunk with his bare hands. He fits the profile perfectly.”

“I just don’t see it,” Bill whispers.

“They’re all homeless drunks. This is more than just a coincidence. This is reality. This isn’t just media spin. He could be guilty.”

“He can’t be.”

“This case has the potential to blow up beyond your expectations, so you’d better be ready for it. They just need to prove that one piece of evidence that links them all together and then… boom! The case is enormous. The media will eat up the fact that he’s your brother, and you’ll be hounded from pillar to post. If they find something, anything, then this will put him on the front page, and your face right next to his. Be careful with this case, Bill, it has the potential to destroy your career.”

Bill grimaces at the thought. “So they’ve got a serial killer on the loose, and they want to pin it on one guy just because two people saw him walk into an alley late at night?”

“Your brother fits the profile that they built of the killer. The department has been working this case for six months, keeping everything very quiet, and when your boy popped into the picture, they figured they had their man. He ticks all the boxes that they need. The profiling team has already judged him as guilty, now they just need enough evidence to take it to court.”

“That’s ridiculous. There must be a thousand people who fit the profile of the killer. Just because they have him in the same area as the murder, they think he’s a serial killer? That’s ridiculous, Pitt. What has your department come to?”

“You know the type.” Pitt laughs. “They are all up there in their nice suits with their college degrees discussing criminals over a warm cup of coffee. Nothing replaces a cop’s instinct, nothing, but that doesn’t sit well with the people who make the decisions. They want all these reports and profiles and statistics. It’s about numbers, and what it says in a book. It’s not about real police work anymore. Nobody wants to get their hands dirty. They want to theorize that it’s this type of person or that type of person. It’s academic now.”

“Well, that’s you out of the game then.” Bill grins.

“And you’d be the best cop around.” Pitt laughs.

Bill laughs awkwardly, looking back at the ground.

He’s used to trouble.

He’s used to problems.

But he’s not used to the emotional turmoil stemming from life-long difficulties.

“What do you think about this one?” He looks at Pitt, desperate for verification of his opinion.

“Honestly, I haven’t had much to do with this case… but with what I have seen so far, I would say Jonathon’s innocent. At least, I don’t think he’s a serial killer. If he did this murder, then it was an accident, and not related to the other murders. That’s my profile report – based on years of walking these streets and understanding real people.”

“You can’t replace that.” Bill tries to smile, but the pain is making it hard. “Looks like this is going to be some sort of fight then. Thanks for your help, Pitt.”

“Bill.” Pitt stops Bill from getting into his car. “There’s something else you should know.”

“Yes?”

“The eighth body showed up this morning and was killed the same way. They also think it’s your client.”

“But Jonathon’s incarcerated at the moment? He couldn’t have done it.”

“The person was killed two weeks ago. Dumped in the water near Skid Row, and was just found by a jogger this morning. It has all the hallmarks of the same killer. It’s all going to happen soon. You don’t have much time before this blows up.”

Bill opens his car door. “Thanks, Pitt.”

“And Bill.”

Bill has one foot in the door, waiting for Pitt’s response. “What is it?”

“The eighth victim was Harry Jones.”

“What?” Bill’s hand rubs his forehead. “No. Not Harry.” The shock sets in for Bill. “What was he doing near Skid Row?”

“We don’t know that yet, Bill. We don’t know a lot yet. We haven’t even found Harry’s ex-wife yet, so keep that news in confidence for now. It’s a bit of a shock for us all. We all knew Harry. It was sad when it all fell apart for him, and what he did to that girl was terrible, but for it to end like this… It’s very sad. He was a good cop before he fell apart. I know he didn’t end his time with the force well, but after what he saw, that’s understandable. There’ll be a lot of sad guys in the department. A lot of guys out for justice.”

“Strangled?”

“Yeah. Harry was a strong guy, and it looks like he fought his attacker.”

Bill stares off into the distance, remembering the sparkle of life that he saw in Harry Jones the last time they met.

“Bill, I know you saw Harry a few months ago. You mentioned it when we had a beer last month. And you saw Gerard two days before his death…”

“Wait.” Bill stands up straight, stepping out of his car. “No. You’re not asking me that question.”

“I have to, Bill. It wouldn’t be justice for Harry if I didn’t.”

The anger disappears from Bill’s face. “Go on.”

“Did you have anything to do with Harry’s death?”

“No.” Bill’s answer is short, blunt, and firm. The eye contact is unflinching.

“When you last saw him a few months ago, did Harry say anything to you? Anything that could have given us a clue?”

Bill shakes his head in disbelief. “We talked about cleaning up his life. He wanted to get back on his feet. He wanted to stop drinking and… he wanted to try again. I gave him a number to contact. Someone to help him. He said the same things as Gerard was saying. The very same. Are you sure it was Harry?”

“I’m afraid so. When they start to piece his life back together, they’re going to want to come and have a chat with you, if you were with him a few months before. But I can keep that quiet if you need.”

“No, no. Thanks but no. I have nothing to hide. We just talked, that’s all. You can tell them that you know we saw each other.”

“I’m sorry, Bill.” Pitt rests his weathered hand on Bill’s shoulder in a sign of condolence. “If we find anything else, I will let you know.”

Bill shakes his head in disbelief.

Not his friend Harry Jones.

Not after Gerard West.

He can’t let this killer walk free.

CHAPTER 13

“Not Harry Jones,” Bill whispers into the glass, almost wanting the whiskey to reply. “Why Harry?”

He draws a long breath, his eyes locked on the glass.

Luckily, the dive bar doesn’t let any pesky light in through the small windows. It’s dark enough to let the hardy customers disappear from the day outside.

Exactly what Bill needs right now.

He’s seen enough death in his lifetime.

Too many times.

Despite the countless times he has dealt with death, it still makes Bill Harvey’s heart ache. It first ached deeply when he lost his father to suicide, his mother to a heart attack not long after. When he lost his first wife to cancer, he didn’t have much love left for death.

But when it comes knocking at Bill’s door, he’ll be ready – ready to punch death in the nose and tell it to keep walking.

His father’s suicide hurt the most. That was when he was still a vulnerable young adult, in his late twenties, still with his heart open to the world. He spoke at the funeral, speaking of a man that inspired him, shaped him, and ultimately, hurt him.

His father ate a bullet for breakfast, after years of fighting to get his youngest son clean, off the drugs. Bill’s brother had his first hit of heroin at fifteen and became addicted within months. Within a year, he went from being the first-choice quarterback for his high school team to the junkie that didn’t attend school. His father, along with the rest of the family, tried everything to save Jonathon.

Psychologists. Counselors. Social Workers. Rehab. Moving towns. Everything they knew, they tried.

Nothing worked.

The more they tried, the more Jonathon pushed them away.

Not being able to help the ones he loved, not being able to save his family, was his father’s greatest failing as a man.

It tore him apart.

He felt like a failure.

Exactly one year after Jonathon disappeared, a year after searching for his son, his father gave up.

He ended the journey with a bullet.

“A pint of your finest pale ale.”

Bill recognizes the voice coming from the end of the bar. Slowly lifting his head, he looks across the room. Kate Spencer is sitting with a smile on her face, gazing at him.

She takes her pint and walks over to sit next to her boss, her friend.

“How do you always find me when I try to disappear, Kate?”

“Call it a sixth sense. I knew you’d be here, and I knew you’d need the company.”

He knows she’s right, but he doesn’t want to agree.

He likes the idea of sitting alone for many hours, glass after glass, bottle after bottle, drowning his sorrows until they are forgotten.

Kate won’t let that happen.

She’s seen it too many times before.

She slurps her beer, in love with the amber liquid. With four older, macho brothers, her love for beer was developed in her mid-teens. She spent many years in love with beer, fueling her party lifestyle. It wasn’t until she came to L.A. as a twenty-year-old that she learned that classy girls aren’t supposed to love beer. Classy girls are supposed to sip cocktails and giggle at the alpha male’s jokes.

She tried her best to fit in, but it just wasn’t her.

Whenever she finds herself in a dive bar, she can’t resist the call of a great ale.

“Harry Jones’ body was found yesterday. Murdered a week ago. His body was dumped in the river.”

“A friend?”

“An old friend. A school friend. He was a former cop. Worked closely with Pitt. A good man. A really good man. But…”

“Let me guess, he was a homeless drunk in the end? Lived in Skid Row?”

Bill nods. “He was a great cop until he walked into a family murder-suicide scene late one night. It hit him hard. Those are the sort of things no person should see. So, he turned to alcohol. It became his only escape. He couldn’t see it until it was too late, but he lost control. He couldn’t walk away from the demon drink, and it just got worse and worse. That was until one day he snapped after drinking all morning and beat a female African American police officer into the ground. Almost killed her. Put her in hospital. He said that she was trying to steal something from him, but it was caught on camera, and the footage went to all the papers. They had no choice but to fire him. It was a sad ending to his career, but he did the wrong thing. He knew that. He did the wrong thing.”

“I remember that story,” Kate says. “Four or five years ago, right?”

“That’s it. The thing is, I saw him a month ago – he said a lot of the same things that Gerard told me. Wanted to clean himself up, wanted to start again. We were good friends in high school, and I was happy to help him. Took him out for a coffee and gave him some numbers of people that might have been able to help him. He said he felt dead on the inside, and I tried to help him. He said that he was better off dead anyway because he felt like he was. He knew he shouldn’t have beat that woman, but he couldn’t stop it. He was the walking dead. Alcoholism did that to him. It turns the living into the dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Kate whispers. “Do they think it’s connected to your brother?”

“The cops think so. The timeline fits. The body only showed up yesterday, but they think he was murdered a few days before they arrested Jonathon. Matches all the criteria for the serial killer.”

“But?”

“But his body wasn’t left in the alley like the others. He was taken somewhere and dumped in the river. There were still bruises around his neck, and he still died due to strangulation. But then, he was dragged somewhere else to cover the tracks. It wasn’t the same as the others.”

“So the killer is getting better? Covering their tracks now?”

“It could be. Maybe they’re scared that they’re starting to get some attention from the cops. It’s the eighth drunk homeless man to be found dead on the streets in the past twelve months. If these men were celebrities, it’d already be front-page news. It’d be the biggest story of the year. Instead, they’re society’s forgotten people. The ones that tried to live, tried to put a life back together but fell apart. The murders barely even register in the police department, let alone the media.”

“You know, drunks aren’t all good people,” Kate replies. “Just look at what happened to Penny’s mother.”

“I know what happened to Penny’s mother. Nicole told me about it years ago, long before I met Penny. Nicole was devastated by it. I can’t imagine what it would have been like for Penny. But Nicole is a resilient woman, and she has raised Penny to be a generally upstanding citizen, and despite everything that she’s been through, she still seems like a nice person.”

“She’s been through a lot. You’re right, despite all that, she still seems nice… except when she’s talking about drunks. She has real fire in her voice when she’s talking about drunks.”

“Nice girl, except when she talking about drunks,” Bill agrees.

A moment of thought hits them both.

Bill looks across to Kate and she looks back at him.

“She fits the profile?” Kate murmurs, still trying to understand if it’s a possibility.

“She’s not a killer.” Bill shakes his head. “She doesn’t have that off feeling about her.”

“And your brother? Do you think he’s a killer?”

“I don’t know,” he concedes. “Every time I’ve seen him, I’ve been overcome with… emotion. I can’t see anything. I miss all those little signals because I’m focusing inward and not outward.”

Kate looks back to her beer, the pale amber liquid calling out to her. After she finishes the beverage, she asks, “Will he have a funeral?”

“Harry? No. I don’t think so. He was a cop a long time ago. He has always had a problem with alcohol, but he was a good cop. They tried to sweep his issues under the carpet and ignore the fact that he always had a flask at his desk, and they tried to ignore the fact that he stunk of vodka in the mornings. But it got too much. He pushed it too far, and they had no choice. They had to let him go. After the incident, they couldn’t have him coming back into the office. It was the wrong thing to do, not to mention a public relations disaster. But without the force, without his job, he had nothing. Nothing else. He wasn’t married, didn’t have kids. He just sunk further into oblivion until he was living on the streets.”

“Was he a good man in the end? Even after falling apart?”

“I don’t know.” Bill tilts the whiskey glass until the large cube of ice clinks on the side. “I just know he was a good man once. But alcohol addiction does funny things to people. It’s a curse. I don’t know who he was in the end.” Bill turns and looks at her. “You shouldn’t be here anyway. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your holiday? Doesn’t your flight leave tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow night.” Kate smiles. “There’s not much left to pack, and we’re only going for a week. The flight doesn’t leave until five, so I have all day to get ready. Connor is at his father’s place tonight, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being home alone all night. I was actually quite happy to find you here.”

“Harry Jones was long dead before he was murdered. Alcohol did that to him.” Bill raises his glass, and Kate follows his lead. “This moment is in honor of Harry Jones.”

The two work colleagues sit at the bar, quietly considering a long silence.

“Death is so final,” Kate states, breaking the silence.

“Final? No. Death is only final if you think the story is about you. The story isn’t about just one person. The story is about everyone. Everything. Death is only the end of one small chapter. One tiny piece of the book.”

Kate stares at him. “Everyone fears death.”

“Why do we fear death but celebrate life? They’re part of the same process.”

“Because death is change. It’s a vast unknown. It’s normal to fear the unknown. If I start a new job, I would fear that. If I had to move cities, I’d fear that too. People naturally fear change. And death is the greatest change there is. It’s the great unknown change.”

“Then what if we knew what death was? What if we knew what would happen after we pass?”

“I guess death wouldn’t be feared as much. Change would still be feared, but maybe not as much.”

“We know what happens physically. We turn to ash. We turn to dust. Physically, we become part of this world again. Physically, we don’t leave this earth. That we do know.”

“That’s not the whole story, Bill. We don’t know what happens to us, what happens to our soul, our personalities. Do they just disappear? Vanished from history?”

He doesn’t answer.

Staring into his glass, shoulders slumped forward, he contemplates life, death, and everything in-between.

Kate leans forward. “It’s change and the unknown we fear. Not death. The living fear change.”

“And maybe the dead are the same. Maybe the dead fear living.”

CHAPTER 14

“It’s late.”

“It is.”

“And you’ve been drinking.”

“I have.”

“And I haven’t seen you in over a year.”

“I’m sorry. Life gets in the way.”

The woman standing in the front door of the large suburban house sighs. “Have you married that assistant of yours yet?”

“Not yet.”

Ella Joan Townsend stares at the man who was banging on her door just before midnight. She hasn’t heard from him in a year.

No phone calls. No texts. No contact.

Not that it was unusual.

She had pushed her oldest brother away after their family unit fell apart.

When she was younger, he had helped her through the rollercoaster ride of depression, mental illness, and loneliness. He had held her hand as they walked into the mental health center, cradling her at the lowest hour. He had been there for her as she rebuilt her life.

But Ella felt ashamed of what she had done.

She felt weak, embarrassed.

When life put her back on her feet, she disappeared almost as quickly as their brother, Jonathon, only keeping in contact via the odd text or email. It broke Bill’s heart, but he understood the need for space.

He understood the need to start again, to forget about the past.

When she made contact with him again two years ago, Bill was filled with pride. Life appeared fine. She had married a nice accountant, had a stable job in banking and lived in a newly built house in a peaceful street. Freshly mowed yard, all the mod-cons, friendly neighbors.

Everything middle-class dreams are made of.

“How’s your husband, Stephen?”

“He’s still not happy with you after you broke his nose.”

“Any more…”

“Indiscretions? No. He hasn’t cheated on me again, if that’s what you’re getting at. He’s a good man. I love him, and he loves me. He made one mistake, and that’s ok. We’ve moved on from that.”

Ella stares at her brother, the one that protected her for so long, the one that still wants to defend her.

“I figured I wasn’t welcome to come to dinner for a while.” Bill smirks.

As much as she still wants to be angry at Bill, she can’t be.

A smile slowly drifts across her face, letting down the emotional wall.

She jumps at him with a hug, gripping him tightly, years of forgotten emotion gone. Her legs wrap around her big brother, happy to be lifted off the ground, free from her past.

“Come in,” she says as he releases her from the hug. “I’ll make you a drink; you need coffee by the smell of whiskey on your breath.”

Filled with pride and joy, Bill follows her into the house.

“Stephen, Bill’s here.”

Stephen Townsend stands at the kitchen bench with a shocked look on his face as Bill walks into the house. He rubs the side of his nose, still sore at times after it was broken a year ago. It took numerous trips to the surgeon to straighten it back out.

“I’m going to bed,” Stephen states as tries to avoid Bill’s gaze.

Watching him closely, Bill doesn’t take his eyes off the man that broke his sister’s heart. Although she found a way to forgive him, Bill never went on that journey.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Bill.” Ella smiles as she turns on the coffee machine. “He’s a good man, and I love him. Go easy on the poor guy.”

When his sister came to him crying, having found out about Stephen’s drunken one-night stand with a colleague, Bill took action into his own hands.

Literally.

Stephen never stood a chance. The lean office worker opened the front door to be met by Bill’s angry fist. Ella convinced Stephen not to press charges, but only on the condition that Bill didn’t come by for a while.

“It’s good to see you again.” Ella starts to pour two cups of coffee from her latest modern appliance. It whirls, it whizzes, it bangs. But in the end it does the same job that other machines have done for one hundred years – it produces black coffee. “It’s always good to see my family.”

“Well, your family is growing.”

Ella stops pouring the coffee. “Who did you get pregnant? I’m going to be an aunty? Oh my gosh, Bill! Bill! That’s—”

“No, no, no.” Bill holds out his hands before Ella embraces him in another hug. “Nobody’s pregnant.”

“You’re getting married?”

“No.” Bill draws a long breath and thins his eyes.

“What is it?”

He looks down at the table. “Jonathon’s back.”

“Jonathon? Our brother Jonathon?”

“Yes, Ella. Our brother Jonathon.”

Everything stops.

Ella’s world stops spinning.

Her breath catches in her throat. She doesn’t know where to look. She doesn’t know what to grab. She doesn’t know what to do next.

“When?”

“Two days ago. He called me.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked for my help.”

“Help? He needs money? Or he’s in prison?”

“Prison. He needed a lawyer.”

Her head drops. If he was alive, this is what she expected.

A junkie locked up to save him from himself.

“He’s clean. Has been for over twelve months. He looks well.”

Her head shoots back up, looking to see if Bill is telling the truth. “Really?”

“Twelve months. No drugs. He even looks healthy. There’s white in his eyes. The last time he had white in his eyes was when he was fifteen.”

“Then what’s he been arrested for?”

“First-degree murder. A homeless man was found wearing Jonathon’s jacket, strangled to death in an alley.”

“Is he guilty?”

“I don’t know.” Bill shrugs. “It’s hard to tell. The evidence isn’t strong, and he says he’s innocent, but that means nothing. I don’t know whether he did it or not.”

“Come on, Bill. You always know if they’re guilty. You know if they’re lying, or if they’re spinning falsehoods. You know that. You’re the great Bill Harvey, the person that can spot a lie from a mile away. You must know if he’s guilty or innocent. In your heart, you must know it.”

“Usually.” Bill looks at the coffee mug, still only half poured. “Most of the time, I can see it straight away. A flick of the eyes, a brush of the hair. The body tells me more than words ever do. But with Jonathon, I can’t tell. I can’t see it. I don’t know if he’s innocent… or guilty. I just… I can’t tell. I can’t see any of the signs. He’s my brother, and he acts the same as I do. I can’t tell what he’s doing.”

Ella draws a long breath and finishes pouring the coffee, then passes a mug across to her brother. “Evidence?”

“Not a lot.”

“Any other suspects?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I’m not sure yet. There could be. I’m still trying to work it out.”

“Well, you need to work it out quickly. Who else do you have as a suspect?”

“A young girl that hates drunks.”

“Doesn’t sound likely. Does she have a boyfriend?”

“Yes. And he’s a former Marine.”

“Well, maybe the boyfriend wanted to protect her. A drunk guy grabs at her skirt, and he lashes out, killing the guy.”

“Maybe.” Bill shrugs. “Maybe not. Who knows?”

“What?” Ella laughs. “What are you talking about? I have never heard you talk like that. You always know the answer. There’s never any doubt. You’re Bill Harvey. My brother. The man that can tell a lie a mile away. Don’t tell me you have lost your edge in your old age.”

“Old age? I’m not that old, thank you very much.”

“You’re going gray.” She giggles.

“Hey.” Bill laughs. “It’s distinguished. It makes me look more intelligent.”

“You should dye your hair then. You wouldn’t want to deceive people.”

He laughs again, not because of the joke, but because he’s happy. This is his sister, his little angel. The one that always has a place in his heart.

“So he looks well?”

“Healthy.”

She smiles. For all their faults, for all their mistakes, these are the people that have a place in her heart.

The siblings chat long into the night, remembering the good times, reminiscing about their distant childhoods, and avoiding any reference to the pain of their adult lives.

When the night is long, Bill delivers the statement that he came to make.

“You should come down and see him.”

“Me? Jonathon? No…” She shakes her head. “I’m not ready yet. I’m not ready.”

“Ella, I’ve never pushed it, but… I still don’t know what happened between the two of you in the end. What happened? Why didn’t you ever want to talk to him again?”

Ella stares into her empty mug, a cold distance suddenly created between the siblings. “I… I can’t talk to you about it.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“I…” she repeats. “I’m sorry, Bill. I’m just not ready to talk about what happened. Not yet.”

CHAPTER 15

Reginald C. Cooper was once respected.

Admired.

Sought after.

He was once a motivational speaker, throwing his words out to the masses, entertaining them with such a vast array of vocabulary. People traveled from far and wide to listen to him shout at them, motivate them to do such great things with their lives.

He yelled. He screamed. He got through to his audience.

He helped so many people change their lives for the better. Hundreds.

He made the world a better place.

More loving. More caring.

But that mattered for little in the eyes of addiction.

For the person that he needed to get through to, the person he needed to inspire the most, was resistant to calls for greatness. Despite his wealth of knowledge, his motivation to see greatness in others, he couldn’t help himself.

After a motivational performance, the dizzying highs of respect and power left him flat and empty. Life was on the road, his family was thousands of miles away, and the hotel rooms were lonely, desolate places.

Alcohol was the only thing that helped him avoid those feelings.

He convinced himself that he deserved it. He deserved the time to relax. He had sacrificed so much to help others, he deserved to treat himself with a drink.

Suddenly, he was drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels a night, and he couldn’t think about anything else. His days began to revolve around the time that he could start drinking.

At first, it didn’t affect his motivational performances.

He was fit, otherwise healthy, and still motivated to see others succeed. Despite his addiction, he still functioned at a very high level.

But that all came crashing down when, with no willpower left after a bottle of whiskey, he slept with his twenty-year-old assistant. She accused him of sexual assault, exposed their night to his wife, and made his drinking habits visible to the media.

He lost all respect.

How could someone help others when they can’t help themselves?

He lost his wife. His job. His future.

He had nothing left.

That only pushed him further into the depths of addiction.

That was the only way he could forget his mistakes.

Tonight, he has tried his best to forget. He turns to the nearest trashcan, one that is bound to have traces of food. As he scurries through a trashcan for food scraps, he notices a shadow at the end of the street.

5’10.

Broad.

Moving in the shadows.

Once, he was strong. He was powerful. He wouldn’t be scared of any shadows.

But time has not been kind to him. His once solid arms are now weak, his once washboard abs are a slab of fat.

The shadow moves closer.

The alley around them is quiet.

Dark. Out of the way.

The perfect place to not be seen.

That was Reginald’s intention, as is his attacker’s.

Closer.

Reginald takes his attention away from the trash, and towards the shadow. With an empty bottle of cheap wine gripped in one hand, he looks down the alley with blurred vision.

“Hello?”

No answer.

“Anybody there?”

Still no answer.

He staggers forward, looking for company. “Hello?”

Something moves in the shadows.

He turns.

But not quick enough.

Whack.

Reginald C. Cooper falls backward, arms wide, sprawling out on the ground. His vision is blurred. The shadow moves closer.

The arms swings…

But instinct kicks in. He moves, rolling to his right. With the force and power that he once had, he springs to his feet, moving into position, ready to fight.

“Come on, then. I don’t have anything for you to take, but I’ll fight for it.”

He’s unsteady on his feet but ready.

Ready to fight.

Ready to throw down the moves.

But a leg swiftly moves under his knees, too quick to allow time to react.

He falls.

Defenseless on the ground.

The shadow moves quickly, lunging on top of him, hands around his neck.

Breath is suddenly taken from Reginald’s throat.

He can’t draw in.

He struggles.

Fights.

But the shadow is strong.

The grip is tight.

It’s tighter.

Firmer.

Oxygen is disappearing.

In one last desperate attempt, Reginald swings his heavy arm…

But it misses.

The attacker holds strong.

The breath is quickly gone.

He has no fight left.

Nothing.

His time has come.

CHAPTER 16

The turn into Maple Avenue is sharp, sharper than usual.

There’s yellow tape all around the corner, cop cars outside of that. Six patrol cars, at least. A lot, it seems, for the area around there.

“What happened here?” Nicole Cowan asks the other three occupants of the car.

With them working in the same area of Los Angeles, it made sense to carpool on the way to their jobs.

Traffic isn’t as bad when you have people to share it with… unless those people are your family.

“Another drunk. Killed last night. Done the world some good to get rid of him.”

“Penny!” Valerie Wood snaps. “I’m still in the car!”

“It’s no use, Mom. She doesn’t have an off switch. She just does what she does.” Caleb Wood tries to calm his mother in the back seat. He runs his left hand over his freshly trimmed short brown hair, his right hand gripping the steering wheel tightly. At just over thirty-years-old, he found his first gray hair last week, and promptly cut his hair very short.

Nicole Cowan turns around from the front seat and raises her eyebrows at Penny Pearson, the young woman that she has raised to be strong, loving, and very, very opinionated. But those opinions have come from her, and she is happy with that.

“Please, Penny, keep those sorts of opinions to yourself when I’m in the car,” Valerie says. “You only have to hold your tongue for twenty minutes a day. Surely, even you can do that.”

Valerie Wood was so happy when her son started dating the very beautiful, seemingly caring, Penny Pearson. She thought her macho, heavily muscled, robust son had finally met someone that could keep up with his energy, someone that could steal his heart.

She was so happy with the ideal that Penny appeared to be. She dreamed of the couple’s future together – the marriage, the house, and most importantly, the future grandchildren. Little sweet kids running around, singing, playing, laughing.

That was until the dark side come out.

Late one night, they had just passed a group of drunk men after a pleasant dinner, and one of them wolf whistled at Penny.

Valerie thought they would have to deal with her 5’10 former Marine son, but it was Penny who verbally tore them to shreds. She had never heard such vulgar language, especially coming from the mouth of an angel. Every second word started with F.

Even as the Manager of the Wells Community Center for Mental Health, she had heard a lot of swearing, but nothing came close to the nastiness and anger in Penny’s words.

It took her a while to understand that hatred, but when Nicole explained that she had raised Penny from eight-years-old, after the horrible incident that happened to her sister, Penny’s mother, she understood that rage.

Nobody could go through what they went through and not be angry.

Valerie just hoped that her son wouldn’t be influenced by such vile opinions.

“I’ve just Googled it,” Penny continues. “The LA Times reports that it was another homeless drunk found dead yesterday. Cops aren’t saying much, but it appears the person was strangled.”

“Not another one. There’s something more to all of this. There have been so many deaths around here in the last twelve months. More than usual. A lot more than usual.” Valerie sighs. “It’s so sad that someone is killing these men.”

“It’s not—” Penny stops mid-sentence as Valerie glares at her. Her death stare almost cuts her in two.

“They must be all connected,” Valerie continues. “Something is happening around here. I just hope the police are able to piece it all together before someone else dies.”

“There’s nothing in the article about it being a serial killer,” Penny says as she scrolls through the online report.

“The cops aren’t saying anything, but people on the streets are starting to talk. There are some people out there that are scared. It’s eight or nine deaths of homeless men around this neighborhood in the past year. People are getting scared, and the rumors are getting out of control.”

“Maybe it will scare them enough for them to get clean,” Nicole mumbles from the front seat.

“I think they’re just stumbling out of Wells Community Center drunk, falling into a rope, and choking themselves. No murderers involved. It’s all an innocent accident.”

“That’s it, Caleb.” Valerie rolls her eyes. “Nothing gets past you.”

He laughs. “Hey, I’m just trying to help here. The cops obviously haven’t done anything.”

“And let’s hope they don’t,” Nicole whispers under her breath, not loud enough to earn the wrath of Valerie.

“I don’t know why you still work out here, Mom? You could work anywhere, you don’t have to work out here. It’s too dangerous. You know how bad it’s getting. You know how dangerous this place is.”

“This is where people need my help the most, Caleb. Some people in this city may have forgotten that this part of society exists, but not me. I won’t abandon them, no matter how dangerous it becomes.”

“Just know that I’ve always got you back, Mom,” Caleb says defensively. “If you ever need me, just call. If you ever feel threatened, I’ll sort these people out.”

Caleb pulls his truck to the side of the curb outside the Wells Community Center for Mental Health, allowing his mother to exit the back seat.

“Bye, Mom.” He waves, and she blows him a kiss. “Six o’clock fine for pick up?”

“That’s good,” she replies. “I’ll let you know if it’s any different. I think there might be another busy day, so I’ll let you know with a text.”

As Caleb drives away, Penny giggles. “I thought she was going to strangle me.”

“Just be careful with her, babe,” Caleb replies. “You know that she lives her life to help those people. She has for a year. That’s her life passion; working with drunks. That’s what she wants to do.”

“I don’t know why. They’re all scum.”

“My father was an alcoholic, you know that. She doesn’t want people to follow that same path. Her life’s work is to rescue families from the pain that my father put us through, and the best way she can do that is to help people beat their addictions. It’s honorable work.”

“She should hate them,” Nicole throws into the conversation. “After what your father did to you and her, she should hate them. I know I would.”

“I guess people just see the world differently.”

Caleb leans across the dash and turns up the radio, so the country music song is blaring, knowing that he won’t be able to get his point of view across.

These are two very opinionated women, and he could never win an argument against either of them.

Or a fight.

CHAPTER 17

Leaning back in his office chair, Bill Harvey considers his thoughts for a long time.

After spending a restless night thinking about Gerard, stressing about Jonathon, and contemplating Harry Jones’ life, he went to his office early, looking for a distraction from the pain of losing another person he once knew.

Gerard West and Harry Jones were lost souls who needed guidance.

Their lives shouldn’t have ended yet.

They needed a chance, someone to give them hope, someone to give them support. A helping hand.

Instead, they had someone take it all away.

If Bill’s brother is a serial killer at work, then he could never forgive himself for letting Jonathon back out onto the streets with the chance to taste blood again. As a defense lawyer, he is bound to do his best for Jonathon, but the feeling of justice holds a stronger pull.

Murderers shouldn’t be allowed to walk the streets – no matter how little evidence is available.

The lost souls of the world need justice just as much as the rich.

And Bill Harvey intends to deliver it.

“Good morning, Penny,” Bill calls to his assistant as she walks in the door.

“You’re here early, boss.” She pops her head into the office. “As it’s my first day without Kate, I thought that I would come in an hour early and tidy up some paperwork for you, get a head start, but here you are, already working. Do you ever sleep?”

“Don’t call me boss. It makes me sound old.”

“Ok bo—I mean sir.”

“Come in and sit down for a moment, Penny.” Bill opens his hand, gesturing towards the seat on the other side of the desk. “I want to know more about you.”

Cautiously, she walks into the room, her gentle hair flowing over her shoulders. “Ok…”

“Tell me something about yourself, Penny.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Tell me something about you.” Bill deliberately leaves the request open, without suggestion, to give Penny the opportunity to reveal herself. As he is sitting in a position of power in the relationship, her answer will reveal what she thinks he will be impressed by

“Um…” She takes time to think. “I guess there are a lot of things about me that you wouldn’t know, like how I love martial arts. I’m a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu.”

“Does your handsome boyfriend Caleb do that as well?”

“He’s one of the trainers – he’s the guy that got me back into it. I met him just over a year ago, and he said that I should come along to the classes. I used to do Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu with Aunt Nicole, but I hadn’t done it for years. After we went on a couple of dates, Caleb dragged me along, and I fell in love with it again. And him.” She giggles.

“And what does he do for a living now that he is no longer in the Marines?”

“He’s studying to be a geologist. Goes to UCLA, in his third year. He’s a bit older than me, almost thirty-two, so he’s a mature age student. But he’s working as a security guard at a nightclub near Pershing Square. It’s a rough area, and he doesn’t really enjoy it, but he gets paid well to do it.”

“So he would see a lot of drunks in his job?”

“He would.”

“And what does he think of those drunks? The ones he has to work with.”

“He hates them. Drives him wild. It all gets him really angry. I’ll be glad when he gives this job away and finds another one.”

“Are you wild, Penny?”

“I think we’re all just a little bit wild.” She smiles. “We all push the boundaries of what is acceptable, don’t we? Sometimes, things in my life can get a little wild. I have been known to lose control every now and again.”

“What about partying? Do you do a lot of that?”

“Not really. I used to go to parties a bit, but not anymore.” Penny frowns. “Life used to be all roses, peaches, and parties – but I’ve grown out of that now.”

“But you don’t drink at all?”

“No way. I’ve never wanted to touch a drop in my life. Not after what happened.” She looks away with a moment of sadness. “I just… I just couldn’t do that to myself after having seen what happens when people drink. I hate the stuff. I think I’d vomit if a drop of alcohol touched my mouth. It’s just… what happened…”

“It’s alright, Penny. You don’t need to talk about what happened. I know your past. You don’t need to go into it.”

She nods. “I have never wanted to even try a drink. I don’t mind when people have a couple of drinks and get happy at a party, but it’s the heavy drunks that really get on my nerves. You know the ones. The addicts. The ones that can’t stop even when they want to. I hate those people.”

“If you want to work on this case, you’re going to have to leave those ideas behind, Penny. I can’t have you bringing those ideas to this table.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I need better than that.”

“Yes, sir,” she responds.

Bill taps his fingers on his desk, thinking over the possibilities. He hates coincidences, but some are just too big to ignore.

He has always kept his enemies close. Pushed them. Forced them to make a mistake.

“Penny, I need you to find any cases that have been tried and convicted within L.A. in the last two years and have been death by strangling. I need that done before you do anything else.”

“Why’s that?”

“You don’t need to know why, Penny. You just need to get the job done.”

“But this stuff gets me excited,” Penny states with youthful enthusiasm. “Nicole said I should get really involved in the details of the case, just to get some real experience in this field of work. I really like to be involved in these cases and know what is going on. It’s like a real-life drama.”

“This is a real-life drama, Penny,” Bill corrects her. “People’s lives and futures are at stake. That’s why we try to keep a distance from the cases. We don’t want our personal attachments to a case to cloud our judgments. If we start to think about the people in these cases, then we might miss the smallest detail. And all we need is the smallest detail to blow a case apart.”

“I’m not used to something so exciting. Being a temporary worker, I’ve been sent everywhere. And I usually work in boring offices doing boring work with boring people. You know the type – the ones who say that they are ‘crazy’ because they wear a Daffy Duck tie to work. That’s not crazy. Take your clothes off and dance on the lunchroom table, then I’ll call you crazy.”

“Are you crazy, Penny?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “Maybe just a little.”

CHAPTER 18

Within two hours, Penny returns to Bill’s door. “Boss, this is what I’ve found.”

“That was quick, Penny.” Bill raises his eyebrows as he looks up from the file in front of him. “And stop calling me boss. This is not a sitcom from the 1980s.”

“Sorry, sir.” She smirks. “I knew where to look for the information on these cases. I suppose I got lucky. And there weren’t too many people charged with strangling deaths in the last two years in the L.A. area.”

“So what have we got?”

“We’ve got a man murdered by strangulation twelve months ago. A person named Lachlan Shaw was charged with the murder. He got seven years and is doing time in Twin Towers Correctional. He always maintained his innocence though. Throughout the whole trial, he declared he didn’t do it. Very vocal about his innocence, but the jury found him guilty. He was going to appeal but then withdrew his application. The write-up in the media says that it took the jury three days to reach a verdict and the evidence wasn’t convincing. A borderline decision.”

“Who were the prosecutor and the defense attorneys?”

“The prosecutor was Shannon Chettle, and the defense attorney was, um…” She flicks over a piece of paper. “Mr. Timothy Greene and—”

“Ahhh…”

“What’s wrong with Mr. Greene?”

“He had a nervous breakdown only six months ago and hasn’t returned to work. One of his previous cases is getting retried because he failed his duty of defending the client. That happens in our line of work. You’re either one hundred percent in – or things get questioned. That can put a lot of pressure on a man, and when things aren’t right, some people crumble under that pressure. It means that Mr. Shaw might not have received the best possible defense.”

“What about you? Ever crumbled under pressure?”

“Me? No. Not yet anyway. I’m sure we’re all just one bad month away from falling apart, but luckily that hasn’t happened to me yet.” Bill pauses. “Tell me more about Mr. Shaw. Who did he murder?”

“A homeless teen who had been walking in Skid Row that night. Apparently, they had no connection to each other, but Mr. Shaw was charged when video footage placed him near the scene of the crime. I used to know a Lachlan Shaw, briefly. The name rings a bell, I think.”

“Anything else?”

“There was a witness who placed him at the scene, and Mr. Shaw was also drunk at the time. He said he couldn’t remember most of the night but might have had a run-in with the teenager on the walk home. The deceased also had Mr. Shaw’s wallet on him, so the prosecution stated that the teen tried to mug him and Mr. Shaw got angry and strangled the teen.”

“But why kill a man who tried to mug you, and not take your wallet back?”

“Sounds questionable, doesn’t it?”

“Certainly does.” Bill closes the folder on his desk. “And it sounds very similar to Jonathon’s case too. Find out more information about Mr. Shaw and call the prison to set up an appointment for me this afternoon. Looks like I am going to have a chat with Mr. Shaw.”

CHAPTER 19

Entering the Twin Towers Correctional Facility is like entering a morgue.

The long-term inmates almost seem dead. There is an air of regret, sadness, and emptiness in their eyes. Despite being one of the largest prisons in the world, Twin Towers is known for its rough-housing, abuse, and gang warfare.

Not a pleasant experience for anyone.

The musky smell in the interview room itches the inside of Bill Harvey’s nose. It is a smell he knows well, but not one that he will ever get used to. Although he thinks that the metal chairs with worn cushions are uncomfortable, he knows that it is the most comfort some of the inmates have seen in a very long time.

The table in front of him is as cold as the small room, and the scratches along the edge present evidence of a dangerous past.

“Mr. Shaw.” Bill stands and greets the forty-year-old man that walks into the room. “My name is Bill Harvey, Criminal Defense Attorney. I need your help.”

He looks at Lachlan Shaw – a man full of purpose and confidence. He walks into the room with a straight back, his face holds a grin, his eyes alive. Perfectly groomed. Slick hair. Strong. Assured. Poised.

Not what Bill expected at all.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harvey.” His voice is strong as they shake hands.

“How are you doing in here, Mr. Shaw?” Bill states as they sit down.

Lachlan draws a long deep breath, and a smile drifts across his face. “I’m doing better than I ever have in my life. I have never felt more alive than I do now.”

“Prison has done that to you?”

“Not prison, but the Lord. In here, I’ve had time to find my path to the Lord. He is my savior and my hero. The Lord is great. I am grateful for my experience here because I have found my purpose in life. The world is a dangerous place, and life has lots of twists and turns, but the Lord will look after me. I will follow the path he has laid down for me.”

Bill almost laughs out loud. Lachlan Shaw could not be more of a stereotypical preacher-type.

“Have you found the Lord, Mr. Harvey?” Lachlan leans forward on the table.

“I didn’t realize he was lost.”

“Ah, a bit of a joker, I see.”

“You know, I once prayed to the Lord to bring me a bike when I was seven years old. I prayed and prayed, but nothing happened.”

“The Lord doesn’t work that way, Mr. Harvey.”

“I realized that after a while. So then I just stole a bike, and prayed for forgiveness.” Bill smiles.

“Ha.” Lachlan laughs genuinely and leans back in his chair. “I like your joke. Would you like to hear my best joke, Mr. Harvey?”

“Go on.” Bill nods, glad that the rapport is building between them.

“Mother superior says to two twenty-one-year-old nuns that they have to paint their bedroom without getting any paint on their new clothes. The first nun suggests to the other, ‘Hey, let's take all our clothes off, fold them up, and lock the door.’ So they do this and begin painting their bedroom. Soon there is a knock at the door. ‘Who is it?’ they ask. ‘Blind man!’ The nuns look at each other, and the first nun says, ‘He's blind, so he can't see. What could it hurt?’ They open the door and let him in. The blind man walks in and says, ‘Hey, nice tits. Where do you want me to hang the blinds?’

Bill slaps the table, laughing hard. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“That’s the tamest joke I have heard in prison. Things get dirty in here.” Lachlan smiles. “But enough jokes, how can I help you, Mr. Harvey?”

“It’s about your case,” Bill replies, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “I’ve read over your file, and despite the conviction, you’re still maintaining your innocence. You’re—”

“I’m not maintaining my innocence. I am innocent. There’s a difference. A real big difference. Some people in here say they are innocent one day, and then admit their guilt the next. That’s not me.” Lachlan’s voice rises with aggression, and he shows signs of vigor. “I am innocent of that crime; I didn’t kill anybody.”

“Of course.” Bill opens his notepad, pen ready. “What can you tell me about the night that the man died?”

“Whoa, Mr. Harvey. Settle down. First, you need to tell me what you’re doing here.” Lachlan waves his finger in the air. “I don’t know you or what you do. I don’t even know why you’re here. You’ve had me pulled from my Bible reading to talk with you, but I know nothing about you. And they taught us at school not to speak to strangers.”

Bill smiles at the inmate’s attempt at another joke. At least he has kept his sense of humor. “I’m investigating a very similar murder to yours, Mr. Shaw, and I believe that my client is innocent. There are a lot of similarities with your case, and if you’re innocent like you say you are, then there is a chance that we might be dealing with the same killer. If you can help me, then there is a chance that I can help you.”

Lachlan stares at Bill, processing the information.

Hope is a dangerous feeling.

Lachlan had given up on any piece of optimism; now he is just waiting for his time to pass until his sentence is completed. His thoughts turn to the day of his release – when he can begin to rebuild his life.

He has pinned all his dreams to the day of his parole – the day when he can walk out a free man again. He can make new friends, find a new job, preach to the people and follow the path that the good Lord has set for him.

That is his future. Locked in.

So this announcement of hope gives him a feeling of unease.

He wasn’t prepared for that today.

“I’m not sure I want to hear that.” He shakes his head.

“I understand that hope is a very delicate concept in prison. I’m not here trying to sell you anything, Mr. Shaw. I’m being honest with you. Even if I prove that my client is innocent and we suspect that the same person might be involved in your case, there is no guarantee that there will be any evidence that can support the claim. Time has passed since your case, and any new evidence is likely to be weak. The chance of you getting out of here early is still very slim. But I don’t want two innocent men to go to prison for someone else’s sins. And I’m sure you wouldn’t wish this experience on your worst enemy.”

Lachlan nods slowly. “If this is the path the Lord wants me to take, then I will help you.”

“What are—”

Lachlan holds up his hands as a stop sign.

He closes his eyes and looks inwardly to himself, calming his mind with a number of long, slow breaths.

After a few moments, he opens his eyes again. “The Good Lord says that I should help you. This is my path.”

“Go on.” Bill leans forward in his chair. “Tell me about the night in question.”

“We were drinking heavily that night, like we did most Friday nights. I was out celebrating the end of the week with the other people from the office I was working at. It was just one of those offices where everyone liked to party. A lot of people there were temporary workers, and that meant that a lot of people felt pretty free about what they were doing. We were a ‘party office’ – that’s what we were known for. And it was the same bar every Friday night.”

“Interesting. How many temp workers were there in the agency you were working for at the time?”

“Hundreds. I wouldn’t know them all. I’m sure there is a list of the workers somewhere.”

“And the company name?”

“Harrison & Wilder. It was a large stock market firm. Lots of accounting types and bankers. They needed administrative support, which is why they hired a lot of temporary workers. They treated us very poorly, and that’s why none of the staff lasted very long. The turnover rate of the staff was a huge problem for them, but they weren’t willing to change any of their behaviors.”

“Temp workers…” Bill’s thoughts process fast.

“So I partied hard that night. Extra hard. Then I was with this girl – I don’t even know her name, and I don’t even remember if she was from the firm, a temp worker, or just a random at the bar. I was too drunk to remember. But I do remember telling her all about my drinking. I used to be proud that I could drink ten beers every night and still show up to work the next day. I used to wear that level of drinking like a badge of honor. Of course, it means nothing now. So, I was too drunk – the girl rejected me, and I was a bit angry. After that, I don’t remember much. I remember I was angry, but that’s about it. It was like a massive blank spot in my mind. I have spent so much time in here trying to figure out what happened, but what I do know is that I couldn’t have done it. I couldn’t kill a man. I wouldn’t have been able to do it. And I certainly couldn’t strangle a person.”

“Why not?”

“I’m just not that person. I couldn’t kill anyone. I’m a vegetarian because I don’t like killing animals. I just wouldn’t have been able to do it to a real person. I wouldn’t have been able to do that. That I am sure of.”

“Did the police follow up with the girl?”

“The police didn’t do anything. Not a thing. They had some witness place me at the scene – I was drunk and angry, and apparently, that was enough to convict me of the murder. I mean, they didn’t even have DNA evidence of me at the scene. How could they do that?” Lachlan shakes his head, dismayed that the legal system failed him. “I tried so hard to fight it. I tried so hard to appeal the conviction, but I got nowhere. Nowhere.”

“And you can’t remember anything else about the girl?”

“She was young and pretty. Blonde. And I remember she said that she had to go because someone was about to pick her up from the bar. But we had a real connection. Despite the drinks, we had something real. I know that she felt it too. She gave me her phone number on a piece of paper, but when I looked for it the next morning, I couldn’t find it. She was the last girl I saw before coming in here, so naturally, I think about her a lot.”

“A witness mentioned that there was a woman with you when they saw you near the man that was murdered?”

“That’s what they said. But I couldn’t remember a thing. Not a thing. I’ve tried so hard, but I have nothing.” Lachlan’s voice is full of desperation. “I have meditated, done hypnotherapy, tried all sorts of formulas to try and remember what happened. But I have nothing. It’s just a massive black spot in my mind. Nothing.”

“Tell me more about the people you were drinking with.” Bill scribbles notes on his pad.

“They were just the usual bunch of party people. Temp workers, people in their early twenties, and old guys who were holding on. You know the type. Life is all roses, peaches, and parties at some workplaces and—”

“What did you just say?”

“Temp workers.” Lachlan looks at him with a questioning look. “That means temporary workers. They’re—”

“No, no. After that. Something about life is all roses?”

“Life is all roses, peaches, and parties. That’s a saying that we used to have among the temp workers. It meant that now was the time to party, no regrets. We were unhinged and carefree. We had to make the most of our time. But I didn’t know it would lead me to prison.”

Bill pauses and looks off into the distance for a few moments, the thoughts processing fast in his mind again.

“I did some bad things in my time, Mr. Harvey.” Lachlan stands from behind the table and begins to walk the room like he is delivering a sermon. “I beat people up, I stole things, I burnt cars. I was a terrible person. Terrible. I got what I deserved. I didn’t kill that man, but I deserved to be in prison.”

“Is that why you withdrew your last appeal?”

“That’s right. When I found the Lord, I realized that this was my path. This is what was supposed to happen in my life. This was my punishment for being so evil in the past. And now, I am thankful for my experience here. Although I didn’t kill the man, I’m sure that the Good Lord lay this path for me for a reason. It was the path I was supposed to take. I am serving time for my many sins. It is in here that I have found the Lord. I have found peace in here. You should too.”

“I should what?” Bill raises his eyebrows, not listening to the man any longer, his thoughts somewhere else.

“Find peace, my brother. You should—”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Shaw. You have been a great help.” Bill stands, nods and leaves the interview room, in no mood to listen to him preach.

He has no time for a sermon.

He has a killer to catch.

CHAPTER 20

As he steps out the front doors of the prison, the city air hits him.

Bill hadn’t realized how stale the air was in prison, filling his lungs with moldiness. He loves the smell of his city in the middle of the day. Eucalyptus, jasmine, and pine all mixed together.

It smells like freedom.

His moment of contemplation is interrupted by his mobile, buzzing loudly in his pocket.

“What have you got for me, Penny?” he questions as soon as he answers.

“Hi, Bill. I’ve done some more digging on the Internet and found something else. I’m not sure if it will help, but I thought I’d let you know anyway. I find all this stuff really exciting. It feels like I’m on a real-life murder show, solving a mystery. This is so exhilarating.” Penny’s voice is full of glee.

“Just remember that someone actually died. Don’t get too excited.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies softly. “So, I did some searching online, just Googling names and following tracks, that sort of thing. After about half an hour, I found some information about the murdered Gerard West on Facebook. There hasn’t been an update for a few years, but his profile was still public. Some old photos of his family, his old job, and his old life – wearing a suit, looking really fit, and shaking hands with lots of politicians. But it’s really clear that he was an alcoholic because there are a lot of photos of him in bars and parties, and each one he has a drink in his hand. A year ago, the abuse started on his Facebook profile. That’s when he didn’t win the case for the little girl. So many people said such horrible things about him. His profile is just filled with hateful things. Those messages seemed to stop after about a year.”

“It was trial by public opinion. It was chaos for him then, there was no escaping it.”

“I don’t understand why he didn’t make his profile private?”

“He probably logged off one day, and never opened it again. Those hateful messages can strike deep, Penny. That’s the problem with the Internet – keyboard trolls making horrible statements that they would never say to your face. Everyone has a voice now, even those filled with hate.” Bill sighs. “Has there been any updates on his profile since those messages?”

“He hasn’t logged an update since then, but he was tagged in a few photos at a center for those with mental illnesses.”

“Are you sure it’s him in the photos at the mental health center?”

“Absolutely. Hopefully, we’ll get some information from the center about him. But I’m not sure the information will help much though – they’ll probably just tell you that he was evil.”

“Why do you say that?”

“All alcoholics are evil. That’s just who they are. They’re all the same.”

“We’ve talked about this, Penny.” Bill is firm. “You need to keep your personal opinions in check. This job is not a soapbox for personal views. This is a professional environment, and I expect your personal opinions to be left at the door. If you continue like that, I will have to fire you.”

“Alcoholics are a mark on society that should be stepped on,” Penny mumbles.

Bill pauses for a moment to consider the aggression in Penny’s voice. Her voice is seductive enough to talk on a sex line but aggressive enough to commentate fight night.

“How many offices have you worked at?”

“A few too many. I usually spend a week or two doing admin and then move on to the next position.” She pauses for a moment. “Would you like to know the name of the mental health center?”

“Go on.”

“He spent time at the Wells Community Center for Mental Health. I’ve been there – my boyfriend’s mother works there, and we drop her off each morning on the way to work. Caleb hates the place, but she loves it. It’s her life’s work. She manages the center and dedicates her life to helping others. She’s a good person.”

“Wells? I know the place. They keep reports about their clients—”

“Already onto that. I’ve got a copy here. I called my boyfriend’s mother, and she couldn’t have been happier to help. She sent it straight through.”

“And what do the reports say?”

“They say that Gerard went into the center after the subsequent breakdown of his marriage. The report says that it tore him apart – possibly suffering from Clinical Depression and anxiety issues. The reports then go on to state that he started using alcohol to self-medicate. Eventually, they referred him to Alcoholics Anonymous because his issues were too much. The center had to let him go. But they should have charged him and locked him away for good.”

“Poor guy,” Bill remarks.

“Deserved what he got,” Penny mumbles.

“Penny, don’t judge people when you don’t know their situations,” Bill states firmly. “This was a good man in a horrible situation. When a child is lost, no matter the age, it can tear down even the toughest souls. I couldn’t imagine the mental anguish that it must have caused the man. And when a marriage breaks down – when a heart is torn to pieces – it is very hard to reestablish a life. The people that a person once relied on, for so much support, turn their backs when they’re needed the most, and the world around the person crumbles. The situations that Gerard faced must have crushed him, causing a lot of mental issues. Not many people could walk through those experiences untouched.”

“Why are you so attached to him, Bill? He was a drunk. He had his chance in life and didn’t take it. Just because life dealt him some bad cards, doesn’t give him the right to throw it away. And drinking alcohol is doing just that. He had a chance, and he threw it away. He doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”

Bill doesn’t respond to Penny’s statement.  He doesn’t feel the need to justify his feelings to her.

“You said that your boyfriend’s mother works there. What’s her name?”

“Valerie Wood. She said she would be happy to help in any way that she can. She’s always trying to help someone.”

“Do you know her well?”

“Well enough. We ride together to work each morning. She thinks… Well, she thinks the same as you do. She doesn’t really appreciate my opinions.”

“Good. I’m going to go down there and discuss the case with her. Call her and make an appointment for later this afternoon.”

“I’m onto it, boss,” Penny responds. “When I saw Nicole this morning, she mentioned that I might be needed at the trial – to take notes and run any urgent tasks for you. I was quite excited by that. Will you need me at the trial?”

“No, Penny. It’s not going to get that far.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m going to catch the killer before then.”

CHAPTER 21

The busy café is buzzing with the hipster coffee crowd. The drinks are served in recycled jars, the food is so organic that it is almost still alive, and the barista’s beard is so big it doubles as a sweater. The busy crowd is hip, trendy, and young.

The older figures of Bill Harvey and Nicole Cowan stick out like grandparents at a music festival.

“I don’t know why you insist on coming to places like this,” Nicole comments. “Every time we have coffee, you take me to a new place, but in the end, it’s still just coffee.”

“Places like this are different. I really like different. It’s good to be able to see the world from another point of view. If we went to the same diner every week, for our whole lives, we would only see the same things, every week, for the rest of our lives. I need more than that. I like being on the cutting edge, pushing limits, thinking differently. I need new experiences, excitement, ideas. Going to new places keeps me going.”

“That’s why we’re different, Bill. I could easily go to the same place for the rest of my life. I don’t need new experiences. I just need to work towards what I love.” Nicole readjusts her shirt in an effort to look good for the man sitting across from her. Despite her shaved head and the tattoos covering her left arm, she still dresses like a regular bookkeeper during the week – white shirt, black pencil skirt, lackluster shoes. “So what’s this about? Why the need to see me so quickly?”

“It’s about Penny.”

“Ah,” Nicole responds knowingly.

“By that reaction, I guess you know what I’m going to say.”

“I think so.” She sighs. “She can’t keep her mouth shut, can she?”

Bill nods his response.

“Sometimes, she’s really good. Sometimes, she doesn’t say a word. Other times, well, she isn’t. She hasn’t really learned to keep her mouth shut yet. She’s a bit loose with her opinions, and she doesn’t mind vocalizing them.”

“Those sorts of opinions don’t belong in my office. I understand the fire in her stomach, but my office is a professional environment, and I can’t have that sort of behavior in my line of work. It’s inappropriate. If she doesn’t settle down, I’ll have no choice but to let her go.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Nicole grimaces. “She’s getting better. She really is. Penny isn’t as bad as she used to be, and I guess, I compare her to the times when she was really bad. But she’s always had this problem. Her opinions are loud and crazy. She’s been fired so many times for running her mouth off at inappropriate times.”

“I’ve warned her to settle down, but I thought it might be good if you do the same. I need her to keep those opinions in check, or I can’t have her in the office. I don’t want to fire her, but she is giving me no choice.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Nicole nods.

She feels guilty.

She pushed Bill to take on Penny for the temporary position, and although she warned him about Penny’s past, maybe she didn’t warn him enough.

When Penny Pearson came into her care as an eight-year-old, she was a cute blonde girl who had been through a lot. Penny’s mother was meek, a person that accepted her fate without argument.

Nicole, however, was the opposite. She was different. Stronger. More determined. She hated seeing her little sister give up on things without a fight, and so she set about toughening up Penny.

She would not let her niece suffer the same fate.

Nicole encouraged her to express her opinions, to never take a backward step. She led by example, and Penny soon took it all in.

And when Penny hit her teenage years, she really found her own voice. Hormones and attitude; an explosive mix. But nothing had made Nicole prouder. She had taken a quiet girl and transformed her into a wildcat.

Penny yelled when needed, fought when required, and roared when she felt like it.

Except Penny never learned how to control those emotions. She didn’t have an off switch.

It soon became apparent that this would become a problem. After being expelled from two high schools, Nicole started to take her to therapy sessions where she learned to talk about her feelings, instead of screaming them away.

It worked, for the most part.

As she grew older, Penny controlled her violent outbursts thanks to the skills she learned in counseling; however, the remnants of Nicole’s teaching are still clear.

Penny just doesn’t know when to close her mouth.

“Are the legal studies going well?”

“They are.” Nicole smiles. Bill Harvey is the only man that has ever paid her any real interest. She’s much too strong for most men.

“It’s very honorable, the path you’re taking. Helping those that can’t afford it.”

“I just want to do my bit for the world.” Nicole grins. “We’re studying self-defense at the moment.”

After twenty years as a bookkeeper, trawling through spreadsheets and receipts, Nicole had her mid-life crisis; she bought a motorbike, shaved her head after a lifetime of long hair, had her left arm inked, and started studying law.

Motivated to enter the legal fraternity after volunteering at a domestic violence shelter, Nicole Cowan wanted to help those who found themselves in situations where the law is hard for them. Law had always interested her. The twists and turns of a case had kept her glued to the pages of her books for many long hours into the night.

“Self-defense is an interesting concept. You’re allowed to use force to defend yourself if you feel in danger.” Bill sips at his warm coffee. “I’ve defended a few people charged with assault when, in reality, they were acting in self-defense. It’s complex, but that defense is vital to the structure of our society.”

“It’s got me thinking though. If you encourage someone to attack you, is it still self-defense if you injure them? If you’re making them react, can you still claim self-defense?”

“If they use force, then you are allowed to return the same.” He smiles as he talks about the complexities of legal studies. It reminds him of his days when he was fresh into law, and the concepts were still new and fascinating.

“Interesting.” She smiles at him, twirling her dark brunette hair with one finger.

Sitting with a posture perfected after years of martial arts training, she never takes a backward step, and most men are intimidated by that. Most men run a mile when they realize just how tough she is.

But not Bill Harvey.

That’s why she adores this man. He isn’t intimidated by her martial arts competition wins, her steely stare, or her broad shoulders and muscular arms.

She likes that.

A lot.

After they go to and fro for the next ten minutes about the intricacy of lawful self-defense, Bill places his empty coffee cup on the table. “So what are we going to do with Penny?”

“Just give her another chance. I’ll talk to her again, and tell her that she really needs to behave in that professional environment. She really, really loves working for you, so that should be motivation enough.”

Bill looks around the room, thinking over his options. “I’ll give her a second chance, but she needs to hold her tongue. If she doesn’t, she’s out.”

“She’ll listen to me.” Nicole grins. “She always does.”

CHAPTER 22

As Bill Harvey walks into the Wells Community Center for Mental Health, the first thing that strikes him is the subdued mood.

This is a center that Bill knows well, but he’s still surprised by the feeling in the foyer.

The center is more reminiscent of a drab school building than a place to care for those with mental illnesses. Plain red brick on the outside; bare white walls on the inside. The carpet is dull gray, the walls devoid of any posters, color or pictures.

Almost sterile.

“Bill Harvey?! Well, I’ll be!” The lady behind the front desk is large, loud, and full of love. Running out from behind the desk, she embraces him in a hug, pulling him close and squeezing him against her sizable bosoms. “It’s been a long time.”

“Life has gotten in the way.” Bill smiles as she slowly releases him, keeping her hands on his arms. “It’s good to set foot back in here. I have a lot of good memories from volunteering here.”

Up until five years ago, Bill spent an hour each week talking to people, helping them, and guiding them to recovery. He would sit with the mental health patients, listen to their story and let them know that they weren’t alone in the world. A listening ear, a touch on the shoulder, a kind word when needed.

After watching his sister battle depression and loneliness for many years, he learned that it was time, an ear, and human contact that many people needed to help ease their pain. He wasn’t a psychologist, but that’s not what they needed from him. They needed to feel connected to the world.

He could draw out a great story from within even the quietest person. Although he would never claim that he helped cure them of any illness, he knew that the time he gave to them eased their pain.

It was his way of giving back to the community after they had helped his isolated sister recover from her issues.

And listening to their stories helped him deal with a lot of the emotions he was struggling with at the time. When his wife first became ill with cancer, he struggled to keep his emotions in check. He drank too much, avoided his wife, and spent too many hours in the office. But coming here, listening to the pain of those worse off than him, helped him gain perspective. It developed a sense of gratitude for where he was in life.

That perspective, that sense of gratitude, put him back on the right path.

But life got in the way.

After his wife passed away, he couldn’t bring himself back. Although he still sends a monthly check to the center, he knows that the center needs hands to help, as much as they need the money.

“You look lovely, Maria. You haven’t aged a day since I last saw you.” Bill smiles his charming smile.

“Oh, Bill. You always knew how to make a person feel good about themselves.”

As the head counselor at the center, Maria Bale has seen pain, sadness, and depression on a daily basis for the past ten years. Approaching sixty-five years old, she knows this is her way to leave a legacy, a way to make the world a better place. When a man with a smile like Bill Harvey’s walks into her room, she couldn’t be happier. It is such a contrast from her day job.

“How’s the center going these days?”

“We’re going well these days. Obviously, mental health has gotten more coverage in the media, and that means more acceptance for our patients. And because of that, we also receive more funding – both from the government and from private donors. Things have been going along well. Being accepted means a lot to some people.”

“Acceptance is the key.” He looks around the foyer and sees it has barely changed since he was last here – same dull red counter at the end, same worn beige carpet, same light still busted in the corner of the room.

“Once people accept that mental illness is as much a disease as a physical injury, then there will be a lot more knowledge in the community. Knowledge is powerful. People struggling with these things need our time, not judgment.”

“Well said.”

“You know, we have a new meditation course starting soon, and we are always looking for more people to help out?”

“Ah, Maria.” Bill smiles. “Always looking to draw people in. I’m sorry, but I don’t have the time at the moment. I’m busy and—”

“Of course.” She waves his excuse away. “You don’t need to make up excuses for me. I know how much time and hard work you have put into this place. You shouldn’t feel guilty for not being here. And thank you for the monthly check donations that you still send. Those amounts mean the world to us.”

“It’s my pleasure. After what this place did for my sister, bringing her back from the brink of depression, it means the world to me. The fact that someone is there when people need it, the fact that you are here, Maria, changes lives. Nothing is more valuable than that.”

Maria smiles proudly. “So how can I help you, Bill?”

“I have an appointment to talk with Valerie Wood, the center manager.”

“Of course.” Maria smiles. “Follow me. Her office is over here.”

He follows Maria as she moves past the counter and into the tight hallway, big enough for barely two people to pass each other. Maria gently knocks on one of the office doors. Popping her head into the room, she whispers, “Bill Harvey is here to see you.”

The reply is loud. “Send him through.”

Maria opens the door wide enough for him to enter. “Good to see you, Bill. You look great.”

“Thanks, Maria, you too.” Confidently, he walks into the small office, just large enough to fit a small desk, four chairs, a bookshelf, and a narrow bench for the coffee dripper.

“I’m sorry that the office is so small.” Valerie Wood stands, offering her handshake as a warm welcome.

“Money is better spent on other things than office space.” Bill warmly shakes her hand.

“Very true. Please, sit down.” Valerie Wood is used to meeting high-powered, confident men. In the first twenty years of her working life, she was the one smashing glass ceilings. She fought harder than the men, argued louder, worked longer hours. That was the only way she could get in front.

She climbed the ladders, making her way to CEO of a large marketing firm. She was proud, but it wasn’t her calling in life. Even with the accomplishments, she felt unfilled.

And despite her success in the corporate world, her life wasn’t easy. Her husband lost his left arm in a work accident, and he spent his days unemployed, living off the compensation. When her husband first hit her, she didn’t worry too much. He was drunk, and she excused the behavior. The second time, it was harder.

Then, he was drinking every day, trying to escape the boredom of not being productive. And every time he drank, he beat her. Their young son witnessed it all, and it formed him into the man he is today.

Despite the pain, Valerie stood by her husband, determined to help him out of his addiction. Two years ago, her husband passed away after years of struggling with alcohol addiction. That’s when she took the time to reassess her life, and think about the path she was taking.

After quitting her job as a high-powered executive, she took a position managing the Wells Community Center for Mental Health at the edge of Skid Row – her way of using her management skills to help others in need. Her way of helping others escape the pain that she experienced.

“I hear that you used to volunteer here as well?” She opens the conversation. “When I said that you were coming, Maria was very happy. You obviously left quite an impression on her.”

“I used to help here many years ago.” Bill shrugs. “It must have been a long time before you started.”

“Well, thank you, regardless of how long it was that you did it. I’ve been here for just over a year and a half now. I used to have a position with a large management consulting firm, but I have found my calling here. This is the place I was always supposed to work. I feel like I’m making a difference, and it just feels comfortable here. It feels right working here, making a difference.” She smiles. “So, Mr. Harvey, how is that we can help you?”

“I’m after information. We’re investigating the death of a man that once attended here.”

“Ah, yes. Penny called earlier today and told me all about it. She had mentioned that she was doing temp work for you.”

“She’s an interesting girl, that Penny.”

“She’s been through a lot.” Valerie shrugs. “She dating my son, Caleb.”

“Caleb is your son?” Bill starts to piece the puzzle together.

“Have you met Caleb?”

“I have. We had a work dinner recently, and Penny brought Caleb along. Big guy, tattoos, former Marine?”

“That’s him. He’s my only child, and I’m very proud of him. I just hope that some of that goodness rubs off on some of Penny’s attitudes and not the other way around.” Valerie closes the file in front of her, then opens another one.

“I sent a copy of our file on Gerard West to Penny this morning. I figured we weren’t breaching privacy if you’re a lawyer, and investigating his death. Did you receive it?”

“We did. Thank you very much for that. But I always find that reports miss something. A piece of paper never tells the full story. That’s why I am here. I was wondering if you could tell me in person what you remember about Gerard?”

“I don’t remember a lot about Gerard because we see so many people in here, but I’ll tell you what I know.” Valerie turns to the small bench in the back corner of the room and pours two cups of instant coffee, handing Bill one. “I do remember feeling sorry for him. He had been through so much, and obviously, there was a lot of publicity about his downfall. He was trying to recover when he came in here. He was a very handsome man, and when he was feeling good, he was so charismatic and charming. He could light up a room – a lot like you. He was a good guy and lost his way in the throes of mental health issues. Never really had a chance when the illness took over.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it just took control of him. I’ve seen worst cases, but he was a sad one. I sit in on a lot of the sessions – just to get a feel for what is happening around the center. Gerard was one of the first cases I saw; he came in just after I started here. He showed me pictures of him as a youth, and his eyes looked so alive. He looked full of health and vigor, but the man that stood in this center was crushed. He looked like he was ready to give up. And nothing breaks my heart more when I see that look – the look of someone who has struggled enough and doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore. He was defeated.”

“So he turned to alcohol?”

“I guess so. That was after he left the treatment sessions here. He just stopped coming, like so many of them do. There’s not a lot we can do in that situation – a person has to want to change before we can help them. We can show them the ropes, but they have to want to climb the wall. We can’t force them to come in here to the session with the counselors. That has to be their decision.”

“Did he have any enemies here? Anyone that would really hate him?”

“We don’t judge people that come in here, Mr. Harvey.”

“I don’t mean the staff,” he replies. “Anyone else? Anyone from his group sessions or people that were about at the time?”

“Once people found out who he was, a lot didn’t like him – because of the past media coverage. They still blamed him for the lack of justice for the little girl. It was such a big story in the media; it was hard to miss. I must admit, at the time, even I was outraged. Of course, I didn’t judge him when he started coming here. We’ve all made mistakes in the past. But once he turned to alcohol to self-medicate, he was just another drunk. He wasn’t Gerard West the failed lawyer anymore; he was Gerard the lonely drunk. I think he was really comfortable like that, just being another drunk, and that’s why he couldn’t move on from it. And a lot of people don’t like drunks, just because they’re drunks. But they forget to see the story behind what has happened. I don’t blame them, but it is important to remember that there are reasons why a person falls apart.”

“No clues as to why he might have been murdered?”

“Sorry, that’s all I know.” Valerie shakes her head, wrapping her hand around her coffee mug. “But I must admit, when I saw a picture of the man accused of the murder, I didn’t think he did it. Gerard was a big guy with wide shoulders, and the accused didn’t look strong enough to take on Gerard. But that’s what the justice system is for, right?”

Bill looks to the ground. “Maybe. Anything else that can help me?”

“The report says that we checked in on him a month before his death. One of the caseworkers found an address for him, and they went around to see him. They wrote that he seemed to be on the mend. He had just started at a temporary employment agency for office workers. But you know what it’s like – some of these men have the weight of the world on their shoulders. I guess he couldn’t stay on the wagon and must have fallen back into the throes of alcoholism.”

“Alcohol and temp workers,” Bill muses out loud. “That seems to be a recurring issue in my investigation.”

“That’s all I know.” Valerie shrugs. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“Does Caleb come in here often?”

“Caleb? My son?” Valerie’s eyes squint at the man sitting across from her.

Bill nods slowly, waiting for her to continue.

“You don’t think he’s caught up in this, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Bill responds calmly. “What do I know is that someone is killing drunks around here, and this center seems to connect them all together.”

“This center? No.” Valerie shakes her head. “Not this place. We’re not connected to anything. And certainly not Caleb. He’s a good kid. He drops me off most mornings before work and picks me up sometimes, but that’s it. He doesn’t have anything else to do with this place, and he barely sets foot in here. He’s not involved, I guarantee that.”

The mother’s love to protect her son is strong.

Bill retreats. “I’m sorry. Of course, he wouldn’t be involved. I just need to look at all the options here before more people die.”

Valerie draws a breath, offended by the suggestion that her son is a killer. “That’s all we know about Gerard.” She draws the conversation away from her son. “You’ll find everything you need in the report that I sent through to Penny.”

“Thank you for your help, Valerie.”

He sips the last of his coffee and stands to leave, inching one step closer to finding the killer.

CHAPTER 23

Jack Grayson yells wildly at the large television screen hanging at the end of the bar. “Come on!”

So much aggression. Such a release of testosterone.

His beloved Lakers have won another game, and the crowd erupts at the buzzer as if they have had some influence on the outcome. Men and women high-five each other, others hug, some punch the air. Beer flows freely – drunk at an extraordinarily fast pace. This is a time to celebrate, but Bill Harvey is not of that mindset.

“It was a good win.” Jack comes back to the booth at the back of the bar where Bill is waiting, both hands around his cool glass. “What a game. We weren’t expected to win that. So electrifying.”

Bill’s reply is flippant. “Sure was. What a win.” Sports are not his thing.

“Some people love sports.” Jack leans in, defending his love for men throwing a ball in a hoop. “Sport makes us feel alive. It gives us a buzz of adrenaline. You should get into it, Bill. You’d love it.”

“And some people love killing homeless drunks. That’s what gets their adrenaline going, and that’s where my attention is now.”

“That’s the problem with having a friend who’s a lawyer – I could never win an argument against you.” Jack throws his hands up in the air, surrendering to the conversation. “I don’t even know why I try.”

As a private investigator, the demand for Jack’s skills is slowing down. The more information people put online about their lives, the less people need a foot soldier to do the hard yards. Now, someone in Frankfurt, Germany can find out as much about a person living in Lewistown, Montana as their next-door neighbor would know.

It’s all there on the Internet.

All of it.

Recording every step of life, every new job, every movement.

While Jack has skills in investigating online, it bores him. The real excitement, the real buzz, comes from working the streets, talking to locals, tailing people. As a six foot four, tattooed, muscular male, he gets his kicks working hard, and scaring people when required.

And he only gets that work from Bill Harvey’s office.

“Have you got time to investigate some people for me?” Bill asks his friend.

Despite the employer-employee relationship, the two strong men have a deep connection, a solid bond. They have each other’s back, and share laughs over a quiet drink at least once a week. They’re friends more than colleagues.

“I’ve always got time for you, Bill.” Jack smiles, having just spent the day on his computer, investigating a person for insurance fraud. He found photos of the man with a ‘sore back so bad that it meant he could hardly walk’ helping a friend move house, lifting a couching, and then a fridge. Those pictures were forwarded to the man’s former employer to deal with, and Jack received a nice little sum of money for only a few hours work at his desk.

“This investigation has to be done carefully, and without contact with my office. Everything needs to come to me directly. I don’t want any emails or texts about this. You call me, and we talk face-to-face. Do you understand?”

“Of course.” Jack nods, a little confused. “Can I ask why?”

“My new temp, Penny Pearson, has connections to this. I don’t want her to know what we’re doing, and I don’t want her to think that we’re looking into her.”

“Your temp assistant? The one that is working for you while Kate is on holiday?”

“That’s right.”

“What did she do? Steal some cash from the expenses?”

“No. It might be a lot worse than that.”

“You’ll have to spell it out for me. I’m not across all this stuff. You know that intelligence isn’t my strength.”

Bill looks around the bar, checking for any prying ears. There are none; they’re all too busy cheering for men they have never met. “The homeless people that are turning up dead in Los Angeles. All the murders might be connected.”

“A serial killer?”

“That’s right.”

“And you think Penny might be the killer?”

“I don’t know. But all roads are leading to her, or someone closely connected to her. I need to know more about them before I charge ahead with any accusations. And I need to know it very quickly.”

“And this is about your brother’s case? The one where he is charged with strangling a homeless man?”

“It is.”

Jack pulls out his phone, ready to type in the details. “Fire away. What’s her name?”

“Penelope Jane Pearson.”

Typing quickly into his smartphone, he brings up Penny’s details. “Twenty years old, blonde, temp worker, currently working for you, former model, has worked at a lot of places… takes a lot of photos on the beach… looks like she lives with her aunt, Nicole…”

“You got all that in a matter of seconds?”

“That’s right.” Jack grins broadly, his newly whitened teeth shining brightly. “It’s amazing what is publicly available to people. You’d be surprised.”

“I already am.”

He punches in more links on his phone. “But the really juicy stuff I can’t access yet. She has most of her social media accounts set to private, which means I have to be a friend of hers to access the details. I can see some photos, but not all of them.”

“She’s not going to accept a friend request from you.”

“She doesn’t need to,” Jack explains. “What I’m going to do is called ‘catfishing’.”

“Catfishing?” Bill shakes his head. “You’ll have to explain it. This is a whole new world for me.”

“Catfishing is when you create a fake profile online to appear familiar and comfortable with the target. I’ll create a profile similar to hers – I’ll create a profile of a young woman, fun with social pictures, and I’ll note that I used to work in a place that she worked. I’ll put up pictures that I’ve downloaded from somewhere else, something with lots of other people, and then I’ll send off friend requests to all her friends first. I’m bound to get a bite or two. Once we have two or three mutual friends, then I’ll send her a friend request.”

“Sounds intensive.”

“I can get it down in two to five hours, depending on how often she and her friends use the particular websites. While that’s happening, I’ll do some legwork and try to find out everything about her past. I’ll get the report to you once I have her friend request. Shouldn’t be more than five hours.”

Bill shakes his head, stunned by the new world that is constantly growing around him.

“Don’t be so anti-technology.” Jack laughs at the confused look on his friend’s face. “Technology is great, and so is social media. It connects people all over the world and lets people interact with others that they may otherwise have never had the chance to. Only yesterday, I got a message from a cousin in Italy that I’d never met. That’s a positive thing.”

“Maybe.” Bill takes a long drink of his beer.

“It’s just a cycle. A generation ago, old people like you were complaining about the Internet. Two generations before that, they were complaining about the effects of television. Before that, they were complaining about cars. And probably before that, people were complaining about industrialization. Complaining about change is nothing new; it’s what all the people who can’t accept it do.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s good for you. Doesn’t mean I have to accept the change.”

“You won’t accept it because you’re a dinosaur. You’ll be extinct before you know it, just like the other dinosaurs.”

“If a meteor hits, then we’ll all be extinct. And all that will be left will be the remnants of the Internet, pieces of social media detailing the lives of irrelevant people. Future societies will investigate those details like they do the pyramids of Giza. That’s what future species on Earth will be looking at – a self-absorbed culture taking photos of themselves every fifteen minutes. What a legacy.”

“But people like Penny Pearson will be revered. They’ll be so much information about her that they’ll have college classes on her life. They’ll try to establish what life was like today, and she’ll be at the forefront of the studies. And people like you, people that don’t have an online presence, you won’t exist at all. You won’t even be a blip in her class.”

“And that’s just what I want,” Bill replies. “My legacy won’t be that I just existed, it will be that I made a change. My legacy won’t be that I smiled at a camera, it’ll be that I helped people lead better lives.”

Jack laughs heartily. “You’re an old-fashioned man working in a new world. You should have been born one hundred years earlier. Lucky you have me to help you keep up-to-date.”

A group of flashy Lakers supporters cheers loudly as they walk past the booth, interrupting the conversation with their loud chorus chants. The closer they get to the door, the louder they sing. Jack Grayson hums the chant with them, desperate to join in on the celebrating, but remembering that he has to remain focused on the work.

Once they have passed, Jack leans forward again. “Anything else you want me to look into for this case?”

“There’s one more name I want you to investigate. Again, it’s got to be quiet. Really quiet.”

“Of course. What’s the name?”

He draws a long breath, looking at his friend intensely.

“Valerie Wood.”

CHAPTER 24

“Were they all drunks?”

Bill Harvey approaches Detective Matthew Pitt directly, questioning the investigation of the other deaths.

“Ah…” Pitt thinks for a few moments. “Homeless – yes, men – yes… and drunks, yes. I think so.”

“So what we have is a killer who loves strangling men and hates drunks?”

“Apparently. You think it’s a vendetta against drunk people? That seems a bit of a stretch, Bill. Nobody hates drunk people that much.”

Bill slowly leans back on the park bench, next to Pitt, letting out a huff while the world continues to buzz around them. They watch as children run freely through the park, people with rollerblades zip past, young mothers talk loudly about their exciting days.

He finds it strange how the world just continues to keep going around, moving with undeviating regularity, seemingly unaware of the frenzied violence, death, and hatred that simmers just beneath the surface.

People wander about their everyday lives without a care, ignoring the human hatred that drenches the atmosphere, trying to believe that the world is filled with goodwill and love.

As a criminal defense attorney, he’s aware that isn’t true.

The pain, the terror, and the horror are swept aside just far enough away not to have to think about.

Forgotten. Ignored.

But it’s always there.

Always threatening to explode.

Bill Harvey knows that very well. He has seen more than his fair share.

“Who hates drunk people enough to go around killing them?” Pitt shakes his head. “This isn’t the days of prohibition. The general population has moved on in the world. And you would have to kill a lot of people if you wanted to rid the world of drunks. That would be an impossible task. Doesn’t add up for me. More like a serial killer picking easy targets. They’re seizing opportunities to waste these people. Maybe someone with the taste of blood. They do it once, and then they can’t get enough. Like my pal, Martin. He went skydiving for the first time on his fiftieth birthday, and a year later, he’s doing it every weekend. He can’t get enough. He’s addicted to it.”

Bill shakes his head at the comparison. “These deaths don’t seem premeditated, but they also don’t seem to be random occurrences. I think the killer snaps when they see certain situations.” Bill leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The killer holds a deep hatred for certain people, and that hatred is exposed in the right, or perhaps wrong, situations. And the more they get away with murder, the more they’ll thirst for it.”

“Well, there would certainly be plenty of fuel for that fire around here. Drunks are half our population.” Pitt laughs. “The killer must think this city is a field of opportunity.”

“What exactly does the police profile say for this serial killer? What is it about my brother that matches your profile so well?”

“I haven’t seen the full profile report, just bits and pieces. But it’s all the stuff you’d expect for a serial killer who spends his spare time choking homeless drunks to death. Firstly, they have to be strong enough to wrestle a drunk and get the rope around their neck—”

“Maybe it’s not strength. Maybe it’s skill,” Bill suggests.

“Like a karate skill? Maybe.” Pitt shrugs. “Secondly, it’s most likely that the person is a loner. They live alone and spend a lot of their time alone. Not likely to be married, possibly in a relationship, but not living with the person. Thirdly, they’ve experienced some sort of trauma in their life that affects the way they interact with the world. This is apparently a very important factor. Although it doesn’t have to be a big moment; smaller moments in childhood might also have massive impacts.”

“Like a drunk parent or relative?”

“Possibly. You just never know with these things. People are affected based on different factors, including age, ethnicity, cultural factors, and emotional development. One kid might be unaffected by a bad situation, and another might be torn apart by it. It depends on the kid and where they are at in life. But what the profilers think is that there is some sort of trauma in the person’s life.”

Bill draws a long sigh.

The more he can piece together the evidence, the more he doesn’t like the direction it is heading.

“And I think there might be another death linked to this case,” Bill adds. “There was a murder twelve months ago, a strangulation of a drunk, and a man was charged, and convicted, for it. Currently serving seven years. I went to speak to him in Twin Towers Correctional Facility, and he’s still maintaining his innocence. The situation seems very similar to what happened to Jonathon, and it might be the same killer.”

“Hmm…” Pitt grumbles. “You know we don’t like it when you guys in suits prove us wrong. Especially when we land a conviction.”

“I’m only interested in justice, Pitt. You can take your pride elsewhere.”

“Alright, alright. Settle down. So, what are you thinking? Everything the department has still points to your brother. To us, he’s the serial killer. He’s our guy. They’re going to go big on this one. Mostly, this story has kept out of the papers, but once they link it all together, it’s going to be front-page news. The opportunity for the DA’s office will be massive. If they can land the conviction, they’ll look like a superhero. And your brother will be the most hated man in America.”

“I need more time.”

“You don’t have it. I can’t pull a string that big, Bill. They’re going to pin this on your brother, and then they are going to wheel him out to the press – front and center. His picture is going to be one of the most viewed photos in the city. They already have him for one murder, and they think that it’s an unlosable case. Even if they don’t charge him with the other murders, they’ll tell the media that the serial killer is behind bars. This will be the DA’s greatest triumph.”

“And if he’s not the killer?”

“That doesn’t matter.” Pitt scoffs. “They’re pinning this on him whether you like it or not. It will be trial by media. He’ll be going to prison, and that’ll make the DA look amazing. He’s taken a serial killer off the streets. It’s all politics, Bill. And unfortunately, your brother is at the center of it all.”

“And if the real killer commits another murder again?”

“They’ll say it’s a copycat. This is as much about image for the DA as it is justice. That’s the game they play.” Pitt studies the pained look on his friend’s face. He hasn’t seen Bill Harvey this stressed in a long time, not since the death of his first wife. “I’m sorry, Bill. If I could help you, I would. I would give you time, but I can’t. You don’t have time on this one. As soon as they wheel him out, the whole of California is going to think he’s guilty. One of the victims of the serial killer was a veteran, and you can bet that they’ll spin that line to the public. He’ll be public enemy number one for killing a down-on-his-luck war veteran. You’ll be very hard-pressed to find a jury that won’t convict him on that alone.”

“I know.” Bill runs his fingers through his hair. “I just need more proof before I can make a move.”

“Proof? That must be a strange subject for you.” Pitt smiles. “You spend so much time trying to disprove evidence, that it must feel strange to try and find real evidence.”

Bill turns his head and glares at Pitt.

“Sorry.” Pitt pats his friend on the shoulder. “I couldn’t resist the jab. Tell me, where have your investigations led so far? Who are you going to capture for this one?”

“I’m not going to arrest them. But I do need to know that they’re the right person before I take a shot at them. I’ll get the cards to fall your way, and then you can do the rest. You can put the handcuffs on them.”

“We already have the cards falling our way. If the case plays out as it is now, then your brother is going to prison. And if he goes to prison, then we have taken the killer off the streets. That’s justice – done and dusted. He might be your brother, but that doesn’t make him immune to justice.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“We don’t think like that, Bill. We let the courts decide if we are right and wrong. That’s why your job is important.” Pitt’s voice is laced with sarcasm. “You’re not telling me something though. You have another piece of information that you are not sharing with me. I can tell it in your eyes.”

“The information that I have wouldn’t help you anyway. It is mostly a hunch, but I’m going to follow it and see where it goes.”

“Who is it?”

“I’m going to play that card close to my chest at the moment, just in case I’m wrong. I would hate to throw this person under the bus if I’m mistaken.”

“Bill, let me in on this one. What we are talking about is the calculated and cunning murders of eight people, maybe more. We’re not just talking about a schoolyard bully; this is dangerous. People have died at this person’s hands. They’re strong and full of hate. I wouldn’t want you to be the next body that they find.”

“You know I love a thrill. It keeps me alive.” Bill stands and shakes his friend’s hand solidly. “I’ll update you once I have some concrete evidence. You can put the handcuffs on them.”

“Tread lightly, Bill. And know that I’ve got your back if you need it.”

CHAPTER 25

“One scoop of vanilla, and go heavy on the sprinkles.”

Jack Grayson stares at Bill, mouth agape. “Really?”

“You’d better make that two.”

The teenage girl at the ice cream store turns and quickly whips up two ice creams, wraps a paper towel around the cones, and hands them across to the two tall men.

“When in Rome.” Bill laughs as he licks the outside of the cone.

Reluctantly, Jack Grayson takes the second ice cream. “I feel like I’m twelve years old.”

“Exactly.” Bill takes another lick. “How good is this ice cream?”

With a confused squint, Jack licks the outside. “Actually, you’re right. This is good.”

The two solid men – one dressed in a shirt, tie, and trousers, and the other in jeans and a black T-shirt, walk through the Santa Monica Pier area, lazily wandering past tourists, locals, and loud-shouting vendors.

“I haven’t had an ice cream cone in… Man, it must be ten years.” Jack laughs. “But I’ve been missing out. This is so good.”

As they wander down the pier, they chat like old friends, creating small-talk to avoid the realities of life. The Californian view magically stretches to the horizon, the sky skimming along the top of the water, the heat hazing the edges.

As he crunches into his brittle cone, Jack states, “You’re not going to like what I have to tell you.”

“Wait.” Bill holds out his hand as a stop sign, also crunching into his cone. “I can’t talk about murder while eating an ice cream cone.”

Jack stops and watches Bill eat the rest of his cone, licking each finger as he goes, trying to taste every final bit of flavor.

When he finishes, he draws a deep breath, trying to recapture the fleeting feeling of youth.

“Finished?”

“I think so.” Bill grins.

“So, you’re not going to like what I found today.”

“I thought not.” Bill’s smile disappears.

Reality hurts.

“Penny’s parents—”

“I know about her parents. It’s horrible. We don’t need to discuss that. Not after an ice cream.”

Jack nods. “After the incident, her aunt, Nicole, your bookkeeper, raised her as her own. Nicole Cowan had no kids of her own, and Penny moved into her apartment. She tried to keep everything normal for Penny, but that was hard after what happened. At school, Penny got into a lot of trouble. Violence – abused teachers, beat the janitor for bumping into her, attacked other students. Her list of troubles there is long, but most people seemed to have excused it because of what happened to her family. She received good grades, but her file is littered with incidents.”

“And since school?”

“Since she left school, she’s been in trouble with the law twice, again both times for violence; although she wasn’t charged for either incident. It was self-defense for the first case: beat a pervert into the ground – put him in hospital for two weeks. I don’t think that guy will grab a random girl’s bottom again.” He laughs. “And the second case never progressed past her arrest. Charges were dropped by the victim without an explanation. The report says that she attacked a builder for laughing at her after she tripped over.”

“He was probably too embarrassed to press charges – beaten up by a pretty, blonde girl. He would never live that down on a building site.” Bill rubs his fingers along his forehead. “I ran a police check before I employed her, but without a charge, neither of those incidents showed up.”

“Nicole also took her to Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu lessons, and there are a lot of photos of her online at different tournaments. From the photos, it appears she has a black belt, just like her aunt. I guess Nicole thought it was important for Penny to defend herself after what happened.”

“Having a black belt doesn’t make her guilty. We could be barking up the wrong tree here.” Bill sighs. “How about Harrison & Wilder?”

“She was employed at Harrison & Wilder between March and June last year.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear.” Bill clenches his fist. “That’s the same time that Lachlan Shaw was there.”

“Who?”

“A man that could be wrongly convicted of murdering a homeless drunk twelve months ago. Also a strangling.”

“Does it fit the profile for the other murders?”

“Perfectly. There was no direct evidence that Lachlan Shaw was guilty, but they went to court with a weak case, and the jury found him guilty. He’s currently doing seven years in Twin Towers, but still stating that he’s innocent.”

“Do you think it’s related?”

“I do.” Bill nods slowly.

“Penny’s boyfriend is interesting as well. Caleb Wood is a former Marine with a history of violence. Tough guy, from what I can tell. Proudly posts on his Twitter account that he killed people at war, and would do it again for his country. He talks about defending the people he loves. Defending people’s freedoms. Very vocal about defending American rights.”

Bill looks off into the distance. “I really didn’t want this to be true, Jack. I really wanted you to come here and say, ‘Sorry. Dead end.’ But it’s not even close to that. Everything that you’ve said just builds the case against her.”

“What doesn’t add up for me is the fact that she has taken a job with your firm. Why take a job there if she knew that you would be defending your brother?”

“I wasn’t defending my brother when she started.”

“That makes sense,” Jack replies. “Are you convinced that it’s her?”

“Not even close.” He sighs. “What are your thoughts?”

“What we do know is that she’s dangerous. From the photos I have seen of her, she looks strong enough, and she has the skills to make it happen. The pieces of the puzzle are all starting to fall into place. Someone out there is a serial killer, and Penny Pearson has all the right attributes to be that person.”

“I was afraid that you’d say that.” Bill pauses and looks at another ice cream stand. His momentary moment of escapism has already been dulled into the past. “And Valerie Wood?”

“Not a lot of information out there. Former high-flying executive, worked hard, long hours, and got promoted a lot. Seemed to have led quite a stable, normal life, except for the fact that her first husband was a drunk. She works at the Wells Community Center for Mental Health, and on her online profile she writes that she was inspired to help others after she suffered domestic violence at the hands of her drunken husband.”

“Her husband passed away almost two years ago. Do you know how he died?”

“I did a bit of digging on his name, and I found out that he was living on workers’ compensation after losing an arm at work. He was driving a forklift, had an accident, and lost the whole arm. Looks like he lived a tough life. Ended it all a year and a half ago. He hung himself in the family home. Died of strangulation due to the rope tightening around his neck.”

“Interesting,” Bill responds. “Very, very interesting.”

CHAPTER 26

“How’s the weather in Orlando?”

“Amazing. Just perfect. We spent yesterday at the Universal Studio theme parks, and today at one of the many, many Disney theme parks out here. Connor loves it. He was absolutely buzzing after the Thunder Mountain roller coaster. The joy on his face brought tears to my eyes, Bill. It was truly magical. When I’m old, gray, and I can’t remember much, that is the moment I want to remember. The smile on his face was… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

Bill smiles broadly. Sitting in his office in the middle of busy Downtown L.A., he imagines Kate on the other side of the country with her eight-year-old son, full of laughter, full of life, full of smiles.

“So you’re moving to Orlando then?” he jokes.

“Honestly, Bill, you could do a different theme park on every weekend of the year and not get bored there. There are just so many! I don’t even know what to do next. We could do SeaWorld or a water park or a nature tour, or even go out to NASA on the Florida coast. This place is mind-blowing. It’s a city built around a playground.”

It is the first time, as a mother, she has felt truly free in years. Without the child-support arguments from her deadbeat ex-husband, without the stress of trying to provide the best for her son, without the pressure of being a full-time working mother, she can be free.

She can smile generously, laugh easily, and finally, be the mother she always wanted to be.

“Why did Mickey Mouse go into outer space?” Bill grins.

“Why?” Kate giggles at the joke.

“Because he wanted to find Pluto.”

“Oh, Bill. That is such a bad joke.” She laughs.

“You’ve got a better Disney joke?”

“Of course I do,” Kate replies. “What did Daisy Duck say when she bought a tube of lipstick?”

“What?” Bill starts to laugh already.

“Just put it on my bill.”

“Ha! That’s as bad as my joke!” He chuckles. “It’s good to see that Florida sunshine hasn’t dampened your sense of humor.”

“Never.” She pauses for a few moments, sighs, and comes back to reality, back to the truth on the other side of the country. “And how are you coping? I’ve been thinking about you.”

“I’m good.”

“Bill.”

“I’m good, Kate. Really, I am. Everything is going well.”

“And your brother?”

“The case is—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, but it turns out, Jonathon is a Harvey man after all. His eyes are on the prize. He wants to focus on the case as much as I do. He doesn’t want to touch all that emotional stuff yet.”

“You two will have to talk about it all one day, you know. There will be an opportunity, no matter how this case turns out, for you and him to really sort some things out. And you can’t fight it, or hide from it, forever. You’ll have to face those demons,” Kate lectures him. “How did your sister take the news?”

“She was surprised. Really shocked, but she said she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet. There is still a lot of water under that bridge.”

“Do you have any idea what happened between them?”

“None. All I know is that it must have been bad. Jonathon must have done something.” Bill leans back in his chair.

“We all make mistakes,” Kate comments. “How’s Penny holding up?”

“Obviously she’s not doing as good a job as you.”

“Of course!” Kate laughs again. The joy is still running through her veins after the four roller coasters earlier today. She just can’t help but laugh. “But is she doing fine?”

“Well…” Bill holds back his words.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know…” He struggles to ask the question around her guilt because he is unconvinced of the answer.

“You don’t have to talk about it now, but I will tell you something,” Kate states. “You have always been blinded by breasts, Bill. A pretty young girl walks in, and you’re under her spell. Whatever you think she did, whether it was not filing something right or stealing from petty cash, she probably has done it, but you’re just trying to convince yourself otherwise because she’s pretty. My advice – don’t be blinded by the breasts.”

“You could be right.”

“I’m always right, Bill,” Kate states firmly.

“In this case, I really hope you aren’t.”

CHAPTER 27

Walking through the Downtown streets near the Wells Community Center for Mental Health, Bill is repeatedly approached by drunken men, asking for a dollar to keep them floating above the impending death that is approaching. None are threatening, and he doesn’t feel for a moment that he is in any real danger.

Not one moment of fear.

But he can sense it on the street.

There is an air of unease amongst the homeless – the rumors have spread like wildfire. Someone is knocking them off – attempting to clean up Skid Row. Not a vigilante saving the city, but a cold-blooded killer pleasing themselves.

Cautiously, Bill Harvey walks down the alley where Gerard West’s body was found.

He studies the tight space, inspecting the piles of trash, looking at the disused cardboard boxes used as homes, searching for any clue. The walls are tagged with names that are unreadable, bullet holes filling some of the spaces.

It’s uneven, dirty, reeking of filth.

As he cautiously walks further into the alley, he watches for any movements in the fading light, any reason to stop.

When he sees all is calm, his head drops as he realizes that this was Gerard’s life – once a highflyer living well, but in the end, he lived in the dirt, disregarded and forgotten about. His world had closed in around him, and this was all he had.

The alley is dark, late at night, and Bill walks past a man lying under a blanket, sleeping against the wall.

At least, he looks like he is sleeping; he could be passed out from the alcohol.

He continues further down the alley, wandering past the back door of a restaurant, stained with urine, covered in graffiti. He walks past the mural of a local artist, a surprisingly good piece of art if it wasn’t graffitied on the walls of a back alley.

Stopping, he leans against the wall, sad that this is where his friend finished.

Sad that this where it all ended; a ghost of his past life.

The back of his head taps against the wall. He has to find justice for Gerard, and if that means putting his brother away, then so be it.

He has to stop this killer.

Crack.

There is a noise, movement at the other end of the alley.

Near the entrance.

Near the streetlight.

From the obscurity of the darkness, he watches a silhouetted figure walk down the alley, sticking close to the walls.

5’10. Broad. Confident.

Not a homeless person. Not someone looking for a place to sleep for the night.

But then the shadow stops.

It studies something in the alley, assessing the situation.

With one swift movement, the shadow kicks at something, and then jumps back, poised to defend itself.

The movement is swift.

Trained.

And then it does it again.

Leaping back, its pose is ready for defense.

Nothing comes at it.

This time, the shadow moves closer to the position on the ground.

Slowly.

Bill tries to reposition himself to see what the shadow is moving towards.

The shadow leans down.

Ready.

He moves closer. Still cloaked in darkness.

“Wait,” he whispers to himself. “The sleeping man.”

The sleeping man slowly climbs to his feet. He says something. Something inaudible. He moves to the shadow.

In one swift movement, the shadow slams the drunk back to the ground.

“Hey!”

Bill moves.

The shadow jumps up. Runs.

Fast.

No hesitation. No stopping.

The shadow flees.

Much too fast for the aging legs of Bill Harvey.

With effort, Bill runs to the end of the alley, looking for any movement on the quiet street.

Nothing.

Frantically, he runs up and down, looking for a place where the shadow could have escaped to.

Nothing.

No sign of any movement.

Not a thing.

In a panic, he runs back to the alley, down to the sleeping man, who is now rubbing his neck.

He runs to his side. “Who was that?”

The response is incoherent, a mess of jumbled words. The smell of tequila on his breath is overpowering.

“What did you see?!”

Again, the response is a mess.

This man was not sleeping.

He was drunk.

And he was a target of the serial killer.

CHAPTER 28

“Why am I here?”

“Don’t ask ‘why’ for everything, Penny. Sometimes you have to do what is asked of you without question, especially in this job.”

“But I would like to know.” She shrugs.

Bill stops his rush through the Metropolitan Detention Center, turning to look down at his assistant. “I would like you to take notes of our conversation. That’s why you’re here this morning. To do a job. That’s why I pay you.”

She looks confused about the request. “You want me to write down all of the conversation?”

“Not all of it.” Bill shakes his head and continues through the security checkpoint. The security scans his body, his briefcase, and his shoes. “Just the important parts of the conversation. You can take notes, and then type it up later this afternoon.”

“How do I know which parts of the conversation are important?” she asks as the security guard smiles nicely at her.

Bill has never received a smile from these guys.

“You’ll know.”

“Ok, boss,” she says as she tries to hide a yawn.

“Tired, Penny? Late night?”

“Sorry.” She stretches an arm across her chest. “Yeah. It was. Hopefully, the coffee will kick in soon, and I’ll be wide awake.”

His eyes linger on Penny as she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and he leads the way to the meeting room. The guard standing next to Bill also lets his eyes linger on Penny, but for an entirely different reason.

When they reach the meeting room, she waits next to the door, holding her notepad to her chest. Smoothly, she brings out her mobile phone, holds it at arm’s length away from her, smiles, and snaps a picture.

“Really?” Bill raises his eyebrows.

“This is the first time I’ve been inside a prison. I want to remember it. I’m going to post in on my Facebook page, and I’ll look back at it in a few years and remember this moment.”

“We’re the sum of our experiences, Penny. We are not the sum of our Facebook feed.”

Penny stops, staring at the Luddite next to her. “But they’re photos. They’re memories. This is important.”

“Photos are an indulgence, a distraction from what matters.”

“And what matters?”

“The present. The here and now. Photos are only a distraction to convince yourself that you were once happy. They’re not reality.”

“Don’t you have a photo album that you like to look at? One with pictures of your first wife perhaps?”

Bill stops, not answering the personal question.

Those are times that he has tried to move past, grow beyond. His love for his first wife was deep, lifelong, and when she passed after a short cancer battle, he spent the next month drinking, crying and looking at their wedding album.

The pictures are still stained with whiskey and tears.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up. You ok?” Penny asks.

He still doesn’t answer; instead, he reaches for the door handle. With his hand on the cold metal, he draws a deep breath, closes his eyes, and re-centers himself.

No more soppy emotions now.

He’s had enough of that.

Right now, he needs to be on top of his game. Right now, is his chance to take this case to another level.

He isn’t trying to draw information from his brother, that’s not why he’s here.

He’s trying to set-up a killer.

One misplaced word.

One flinch.

That’s all he needs.

Something to confirm his suspicions.

CHAPTER 29

“Bill. I’m so glad to see you.” Jonathon Harvey is standing as they walk into the room, worry spread across his face.

“Jonathon. I hope you’re well.”

Their greeting is easier this time – a solid handshake and a nod, like two men without a past, focused on results in the future.

Just the way the Harvey men prefer it.

“Any progress on the investigation?”

“As a matter of fact Jonathon, yes, we have made some progress. But it might not be what you want to hear.”

His eyes light up with a sense of hope. “Please, tell me. Tell me you have the real murderer. That’s what I need to hear today. It’s been a very hard morning in here. I know what prisons are like, but this has been hell. I couldn’t do seven years in here. Not here. There are so many gangs. Everyone is associated with someone. This place would ruin me. I wouldn’t make it through.”

Bill places his briefcase on the table in the middle of the room and offers his hand out for Jonathon to sit down as well. Once Jonathon is seated, Bill continues, “This is Penny, my temporary assistant. She is going to take notes of our conversation today. I need you to be very honest with me today, Jonathon. I need you be very truthful.”

Jonathon nods. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” Bill opens his notepad. “We’re going to take you through the process first. We will have to enter a plea shortly, possibly later today, and after that, the trial will be scheduled, likely to be within two months. This is a good timeframe; however, the time we have to catch the real killer is starting to run thin, so I’m going to be quite heavy-handed with these questions today. It’s very important that you answer these questions truthfully and to the best of your knowledge.” His words are firm, and the wall around his emotions is holding tough.

“Do you think we’ll have to go to trial?” Jonathon’s brow creases as he leans forward on the meeting table. “Two months in here? I don’t know, Bill. I don’t know if I can make it. This place is hell.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Bill drums his fingers on the table. “Now, the next set of questions might not seem relevant to you right now, but trust me, they are. They’re very relevant to this case. We’re closing the net on the real killer, and I need to ask these questions of you. Take your time to answer them.”

Jonathon nods apprehensively. “Ok.”

“What have you got against alcoholics?”

“Alcoholics?”

“Yes, Jonathon. Drunk people.”

“Me? Nothing?” Jonathon looks confused. “Why would I have anything against them? I have been through the worst life has to give; I’m in no position to judge anyone. If someone is struggling with addiction, I want to help them, not judge them. I know what they’re going through; I’ve been through it myself. They need help, not judgment. I have nothing against alcoholics. Why would you even say that? I don’t see how that is relevant.”

“You would have seen a lot of drunk people in the past, Jonathon. A lot of people that you have interacted with would have been addicts of one type or another.”

“I guess so.” Jonathon winces at the memories. “I’m not a hater anymore, Bill. Before I got clean, sure, I was full of hate and anger. I used to get into bar fights all the time. I’d be trying to get clean, and I’d hang out in bars, looking for a way to distract myself. I’ve been in lots of bar fights. But that’s a different life. I don’t live that life anymore. Not now. I haven’t lived that life for over eighteen months. I’m full of love and life now. It’s a different world.”

“So you have nothing against alcoholics?”

“No,” he pleads. “I don’t see how that affects my case. I don’t see how that has anything to do with what happened to the dead guy. I don’t get it.”

“When you were a teenager, you were charged with vandalism of a liquor store. You smashed the front window and numerous bottles of liquor inside the store. You didn’t steal anything, you just smashed things.”

“That was just mindless vandalism, Bill. It had nothing to do with the actual store. It wasn’t a targeted attack. I have nothing against liquor. That was just some boys going wild, and the store was the closest thing to us at the time. And just because I was an addict doesn’t mean I hate alcoholics.”

“So you hate alcoholics?”

“No.” He looks at his brother confused. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t kill one. That’s going too far, even for me.”

“We’re not talking about just one drunk. We’re talking about many.”

“Many? What are you on about, Bill? What’s going on? I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“Your case has a lot in connection with a number of other unsolved crimes. It appears that the person who killed Gerard West might be guilty of multiple murders. The details of this crime match another seven crimes, possibly eight, or even more. There might be a serial killer at work on the streets of Los Angeles and Gerard West appears to be one of the victims.”

“What? I came in here thinking that this was a chance to move the case forward, but instead, I’m being accused of multiple murders?!” Jonathon stands abruptly, the chair tipping backward, falling loudly on the floor. “I don’t understand. I thought you were on my side. I thought that we were supposed to be working towards a solution, not digging a deeper hole for me. I haven’t killed anyone. I’m not a killer, and certainly I’m not a serial killer. You have to believe me, Bill. You have to believe me.”

“What we have is a possible connection between your case and a number of other murder cases. The net is closing on the serial killer. All the deaths are very similar, and all the evidence points to one person in this room.”

Uncomfortable silence sits over the room like a wet blanket.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bill studies Penny for her reaction.

He needs to see her squirm.

Sit uncomfortably.

Wipe her face as a subconscious attempt to hide from the statements.

But she gives him nothing.

Not a flinch.

Not a moment of nervousness.

Not one clue.

Nothing.

She is either a very talented liar, or she is truly clueless about what he’s saying.

“I don’t understand.” Jonathon shakes his head. “Are you saying that I’m going to be charged with other murders? Is that what’s going to happen? I’m going to be charged as a serial killer?”

The confusion on Jonathon’s face is clear.

“Soon. The prosecution is looking for evidence to link the guilty party to the other cases. They’re working very hard on this case. And they are very close to finding that link.”

Still no reaction from Penny.

Nothing.

Not one movement.

“What!” Jonathon snaps, slamming his fist down on the table. “I have a lawyer, my brother, that is accusing me of worse crimes than what the police are accusing me of! I thought you were on my side. I thought we were a team. Now I have to wonder whether you will throw me under the bus during the trial.”

“We’re on the same side, but there’s no hiding from this fact. We have to be prepared for what’s coming.”

“Is this about our past? Because I’m sorry, Bill. I really am. I did the wrong things. I destroyed lives. I know that, but I can’t change that now. I’m sorry! If this is about what I did—”

Bill closes his eyes and holds out his hand, his palm facing his brother. “It has nothing to do with our past. It has everything to do with the present.”

“Are you sure? Because if this is some underhanded way to get back at me for what I did to our family, then I’ll just get a new lawyer. If you’re not on my side, then I don’t want you here. I’ll get someone new.”

“I’m on your side,” Bill reassures him. “But I’m not going to sugarcoat this. I’m not going to lie to you about the case. The prosecution is putting together a file on a serial killer that has been operating on the streets of L.A. for twelve months, and they’re close to solving it. Really close. The rumor is that they want you to take the fall for all of it. I believe you’re innocent, but that doesn’t mean anything. They want someone to take the fall for this. And at the moment, you’re that guy. They’re going to present you to the media as a serial killer, and the second they do that, we’ve lost the case.”

“Why?” Jonathon pleads desperately. “Why me? What have I done?”

“You fit their profile.” Bill looks to Penny. “You’ve had a rough childhood, have a history of violence, no close family connections, and you’ve had incidents in your past that could have caused great mental distress. That’s the profile they’re looking for.”

Still nothing from Penny.

Not a thing.

She continues to write notes on the pad, oblivious to the accusations.

“I don’t understand.” Jonathon paces the room, his hand rubbing his brow frantically. “How long do I have before they lay the charges?”

“One day, possibly two.”

“What?” Jonathon looks like he wants to curl up into a ball, sit in a corner, and escape the world. Life has been hard for him, and it’s not getting any easier. “Why me? I didn’t do anything. You have to believe me, Bill. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill this guy, and I haven’t killed anyone else!”

“Do you know any of these people?” Bill removes a piece of paper from his briefcase and slides it across to Jonathon.

“No.” Jonathon studies the photo and shakes his head. “Who are they?”

“The murdered people; the ones with unsolved cases. There’s a decorated war veteran in that list of photos. He fell apart with Post-traumatic stress disorder, and ended up on the street, before becoming one of the victims. That’s not going to make you very popular with the public or in here.”

“I don’t know any of them.” The tears are starting to well in Jonathon’s eyes. He’s powerless. Without control over his future.

“Do you have an alibi for these dates?” Bill removes another piece of paper from his briefcase and places it on the table.

“How would I know?” Jonathon studies the paper. “Some of these dates are twelve months ago! I’m not a teenage girl; I don’t write in a diary every night! How would I know where I was on those nights!”

“Settle down. We’re trying to help you.”

Jonathon paces the room again, his fists clenched, unsure of what to do with his arms. His emotions are flowing from wanting to fight to needing to flee every few seconds. It’s a roller coaster and not one that he’s enjoying.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually says, sitting back down. “It’s just… I didn’t expect this. I didn’t want this. I thought my life was getting back on track. I kicked the drugs. I’ve been clean for so long, I’ve worked so hard to stay clean, and now, this. This. I can’t handle it. I want a hit of heroin. That’s all I want right now.”

“You won’t find it here.”

“Sorry,” he replies. “I don’t really want the hit; it’s just all this stress. They’ll kill me in here if they think I’m a serial killer that’s killed a war vet. Yesterday, someone in the cell next to me was stabbed by the gangs in here. Seven times. All in the chest. If these gangs think I killed that vet, they’ll tear me apart. I’ll just be bait for them. You can’t let them charge me with those murders, Bill. You just can’t let it happen.”

“I can’t stop it, Jonathon. They’re going in hard.”

“But I’ll die if they charge me. I won’t last a week in here. I’ll be hunted and then stabbed to death. Even if I go into solitary, they’ll still find a way. They’ve got their own version of justice in here, and there isn’t a judge to deliver the verdict. Bill, if they charge me with those murders, I’m dead. And I don’t want to die in prison. I don’t want to die here.”

“Then we have a fight on our hands.” Bill places his notepad back inside his briefcase, then closes it firmly. His attempt at testing Penny’s resolve has not provided the results he needed.

Instead, it’s only added more pressure to his case.

More urgency.

Now, he’s not only defending his brother, but he’s also saving his life.

“Please, Bill.” Jonathon leans forward, the hopelessness in his eyes clear. “Don’t let me go down for this. Don’t let them hang me for this one. I didn’t kill anyone. You’ve got to believe me, Bill. Look in my eyes, you’ve got to believe me.”

Bill looks at his younger brother, desperate to be saved again.

“I’m close, Jonathon. We’ll solve this. We’ll get the real killer.”

But even Bill is not convinced.

And time is running out.

CHAPTER 30

Bill Harvey always wears one of his best suits to court.

It’s the day when he can change the future of the person sitting next to him.

If he makes one wrong step, one wrong word, the prosecution will pounce and punish them with all they have. If he makes one wrong turn, it can send a person away for years, destroying their hopes and dreams.

He loves that pressure.

He thrives on it.

Sitting opposite Bill Harvey is prosecutor William Clarke, a man with one of the city’s most powerful voices. In his spare time, he provides voice-overs for motivational videos on the Internet and talks at schools about the path to success. The power of his voice alone can win a case.

When they first met, Bill was compelled to view one of the videos, and, surprisingly, he quite enjoyed it. It was a polished piece of work – great editing, strong voices, moving music. The rise and fall of emotion in the speech was powerful, gripping, and quite possibly, life-changing.

But amongst all the melodrama, amongst all the sentiment, there was one line in the motivational video that stood out for Bill: You can make mistakes, but never let a mistake define who you are.

As a criminal defense attorney, that line was particularly moving for him.

He had seen both sides of the story in the past – he had defended a teenage drug-dealer who went on to become the CEO of a charity organization, but also defended a petty thief who threw his life away and fell into a world of addiction, unable to accept his mistake.

Never let a mistake define who you are.

The words have rung through his head time and time again.

Jonathon Harvey is walked into the small courtroom, a guard on each side. He is desperate not to let his mistakes define who he is.

Wearing an ill-fitting prison uniform, he looks like a man that is sorry for his mistakes, sorry for his past.

For the arraignment hearing, Jonathon sits near Bill, awaiting his fate. He’s as pale as a ghost, as lost as a nomad, without control over what happens next.

Judge Andrew Bayes sits at the head of the court, having spent the last forty years dedicated to law. His small frame and Harry Potter-esqe glasses don’t portray his strength. He knows the law backward and isn’t afraid to pull up anyone on even the slightest mistake.

With a disinterested but firm voice, Judge Bayes reads the charges against Jonathon Fredrick Harvey.

“For the murder in the first degree of Gerard West, how do you plead?”

Jonathon’s answer is quick and confident. “Not Guilty.”

Bill waits for the judge to continue reading the next seven murder charges, but nothing comes.

“The prosecution moves to deny bail,” William Clarke announces. “The defendant doesn’t have ties to this community, he’s a clear flight risk, and this was a particularly violent crime. The defendant would not only be a clear risk to the community if he was allowed to walk out of this courtroom, but he would also be at risk of fleeing the country, having traveled extensively to South America in the last ten years.”

“Defense?”

“We don’t agree. My client deserves the right to post bail. He’s pleading innocent of these charges, and it’s his right to have bail assessed.”

Judge Bayes considers his thoughts for a while, reading the page of charges with pursed lips. “Bail is set at three million dollars.”

The gavel slams.

Arraignment completed.

Bill looks across to his brother, whose eyes look at the ground, accepting his fate behind bars. He won’t be able to post bail. He wouldn’t be able to post bail at three hundred dollars, let alone three million.

When he looks up, Bill offers a reassuring nod. The request for bail denial was not unexpected, and nor was the high price of his release.

Slowly, he packs up his briefcase as his younger sibling is transferred out of the courtroom. He remembers that gait, the way he walks. He watched it for years. During high school, Jonathon Harvey was an exciting quarterback prospect. Even at fourteen, there were college scouts at almost every one of his games. They all wanted a piece of this guy – he was hardworking, he came from good stock, and his vision on the field was outstanding.

But that sort of pressure does something to a man that is still developing. People either crumble or succeed under that pressure.

Jonathon crumbled worse than most.

“What’s it like defending your brother?” William Clarke asks as they begin to exit the courtroom, shoulder to shoulder as more attorneys push past, ready to do their bit for the justice system.

Bill’s reply is blank. “Fun. What’s it like being the worst dressed man in L.A.?”

“Ha!” Clarke laughs loudly. “You don’t like my tie?”

“It’s not the tie; it’s the whole outfit. It looks like you walked into Gordon Gekko’s wardrobe and pulled out the pieces he didn’t want.”

“Haha!” Clarke laughs again. “I can always trust you to make things personal. But I suppose it’s hard not to be personal when you’re defending your little bro. Don’t you worry that you’ll be blinded by the emotions?”

“No. Aren’t you worried that you are chasing the wrong person for this murder?”

“This murder, no. Others, maybe.” He shrugs, and the two men stop just outside the courtroom doors, standing eye to eye.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what that means. Your finger is on the pulse of this city. You know what’s coming.”

“Enlighten me.”

“There’s a serial killer out there, Bill. Killing homeless drunks near Skid Row. We don’t want that person back out on the streets, we don’t want more people killed. But I assume you know that already. And I’ll assume that you know where the department is looking to find this serial killer.”

“You shouldn’t assume things, William.”

“True. What’s the old saying again?” He clicks his fingers. “‘Don’t assume. It makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’. ’”

“Clever. Although it wouldn’t be that hard to make you look like an ass.”

“Ha!” Clarke laughs loudly again. “I just hope that you haven’t missed something. I hope that you know what’s happening here. Your brother is a pathological liar; most drug addicts are. They spend their lives lying to their families, to their friends, and to themselves. Your brother is a liar. He has spent his whole life as a liar, and he’s refined those skills. He’s very skilled at deceiving people. I just hope that you haven’t fallen for those fabrications of the truth. I know that you’re good at reading people, but I think you’re blinded here, Bill.”

“He’s not a drug addict. He’s clean. Has been for over a year.” Bill defends his brother, moving closer into Clarke’s personal space. “And he’s not a liar.”

“I would have thought you, out of everyone, would be able to see his lies, but I guess you’ve missed it because he’s your brother. You’re not looking at it subjectively, Bill. You’re too involved. Too close this case to see the truth. You’re missing all the facts.”

“I know that he didn’t do this. He’s my brother. I know that he’s innocent.”

“And that’s your problem. He’s your brother; he’s not just another client. You’re missing all the facts. You’re missing the truth.”

“He’s not a killer.”

“We’ll catch this serial killer.” Clarke leans in close enough to whisper, “We have enough evidence to pin it all on him. If you’re going to stand by him, I really hope you’re ready for the next wave of accusations. It’s coming, Bill. The storm is coming, and it’s going to be colossal.”

“I haven’t seen the weather report.”

“The storm is due to hit in twenty-four hours. It’s rolling in, and it’s rolling in fast.”

CHAPTER 31

Impatient, Bill Harvey jogs to meet Jack Grayson’s car as he arrives outside the courthouse steps.

“Ease up, Usain Bolt. What’s the rush?” Jack asks as he steps out onto the sidewalk.

Bill looks over his shoulder, checking for anyone that could listen. “We have to make a move. Now.”

“On who?”

“Penny Pearson.”

“Your assistant? No, she’s not strong enough, Bill. She couldn’t have done it. She doesn’t have it in her. You’re looking at the wrong person.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Jack. This is too close. There is too much that connects her to the case. She fits the profile, she’s got the ability, and she’s got a mean streak. We have to move now.”

“Hold up.” Jack stops his friend from going any further. “You sound like a cop. You sound like everyone else. That’s not the Bill Harvey I know. That’s not the voice of a man who solves the impossible. This isn’t you, Bill. All this emotional stress has taken a toll on you. It’s broken you, man. You have to take a step back.”

Bill looks away in a desperate attempt to avoid the truth, running his hand through his hair. “It has to be her. She’s too close to it all.”

“What’s the rush? Why does it have to be now?”

“Clarke is going to pin the other murders on Jonathon within twenty-four hours, and if we don’t get him off now, then it’ll be trial by media. The media will eat up a story of a former addict that’s a serial killer, a druggie that killed a war vet with PTSD. He’ll be the front page of every paper in the country. If Clarke runs this story, it’ll be so big that we won’t be able to find a jury that hasn’t been influenced by the media. We have to move now, or he’s done. We have twenty-four hours to catch this killer.”

“I just don’t see it, Bill.” Jack’s brow tightens. “Are you sure it’s Penny?”

“It has to be. There is no other choice.”

“The boyfriend?”

Bill shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Don’t tell me maybe, Bill. If we’re going to do this, we have to be sure. You have to be sure. That’s what you do. You figure things out. You solve the impossible. You need to clear your head, step back from this, and consider the answer. Take a breath, and think about it before you make a move. You may only get one shot at this.”

“I don’t have time for that. We have to move now.”

“It’s a mistake. You’re moving too quickly. You’re missing all the signs.”

“What else can I do?!” Bill snaps.

“Hey, man, ease up. I’m trying to help you here. I’m trying to get your brother off. Because in the end, that’s what this is all about. You’re missing the point – you don’t care about justice at the moment; you only want to get your brother off. You just want to keep him out of prison, and hey, I get that. I really do. You haven’t seen the guy in twenty years, and now it’s your responsibility to save him. I get it. But you’re missing the point.”

“No. This is about justice. It’s about justice for Gerard West. Putting away an innocent man isn’t justice. Catching a serial killer is.”

“But do you really think it’s her? Deep down, do you think it’s her?”

Bill doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

“Alright.” Jack concedes defeat. “What do you need me for?”

“In three hours, I’ll meet you at my office. For the next three hours, I’m going to consider the best way to make a move.”

“What are you going to do when I’m there?”

“I’m going to get a confession out of a cold-blooded killer.”

CHAPTER 32

He can feel it.

The tension rises as Bill Harvey steps into his office.

His shoulders are tight, the grip on his briefcase is firm, and his brows are creased.

This is it.

His chance.

No matter good he is as a lawyer, no matter how talented, he can’t beat the drenching effect of the media. Guilty or not, his brother will be roasted alive by the news outlets if it’s released that he’s a serial killer. The outrage will snowball into a frenzy of anger. There will be no stopping it.

The move has to be now.

This is his last hope to save his brother.

There are too many connections to Penny Pearson for it to be a coincidence. Everything that he has uncovered points to her guilt – her hatred for drunks, her skills at combat, her violent outbursts.

Even her profile fits the killer perfectly.

Traumatic event in childhood, lives alone, has the skills to kill someone.

Everything points to her.

Logically, it has to be the answer.

But he just doesn’t feel it.

He cannot see the cold-blooded murderer in her eyes. She isn’t a killer.

Having spent his life around hardened criminals, around the worst offenders in L.A., he knows the intense feeling of standing opposite an unstable person.

There is an aura around them – a feeling that they can break at any time. A sense that they can give in to their evilness.

A sense that they can snap.

Penny Pearson doesn’t have that.

She’s a young, excitable woman who wants to explore the world.

There is no feeling of evil around her.

But perhaps, for once, he’s wrong.

“Hello, Bill.” Penny smiles nicely as he steps into the greater office.

He doesn’t respond.

Instead, he walks into his private office, closes the door behind him, places his briefcase down, and opens the top drawer of his desk.

There it is.

Something that he hoped he would never have to use.

But in case he has completely misjudged his assistant, he takes his Smith & Wesson from its locked container and carefully loads the gun.

Having spent a lot of time at a shooting range letting off steam, he knows how to handle his piece. He knows he can aim, he knows he can shoot, but he doesn’t know if he can kill.

When the moment of adversity confronts him, he’ll have one split second to make a decision.

He’s hoping that he doesn’t have to make that decision today.

Once loaded, he carefully places the gun on top of a stack of files in the top drawer, leaving it slightly open. The gun rests heavy on the files, and Bill stares at it for a number of minutes.

How could he use that weapon on a girl like Penny?

Even if the situation called for it, he doubts he could pull a gun on her.

Even with all the fire that rages inside her, he just doesn’t feel like she’s guilty.

Despite all the evidence pointing her way, he doesn’t feel like she is capable of multiple murders.

Which leads him to his next dilemma – does he present the evidence to the trial in an attempt to get his client off the charges, even if it leads to Penny?

Could he present her name to Detective Pitt, even if he feels she is blameless?

If throwing Penny’s name into the guilty ring gets his brother off the charges, should he do it?

His brother or an innocent girl?

Staring at the gun in his top drawer, he shakes his head.

He cannot throw a possibly innocent person in prison for the sake of another innocent person.

Two wrongs don’t make a right.

After ten years knee-deep in law, Bill has developed a feeling for those who are hiding something. He knows when someone is running scared.

They have fear.

Fear of the justice system, fear of getting caught, fear of the future.

Neither his brother nor Penny Pearson has that feeling.

He cannot fathom that either of them is guilty.

“How’d it go today?” Penny enthusiastically pops her head around Bill’s door, startling him.

He hurries to shut the top drawer, hiding the weapon.

Bill doesn’t answer Penny’s question. Instead, he walks to his bookshelf and opens his whiskey bottle, pouring himself a small glass.

He hesitates for a moment and then pours a second glass.

“Please, Penny, sit down,” he says, turning to face Penny and offering her a glass.

“Oh, no, Bill. I don’t drink. I couldn’t possibly after what happened to my parents.” She waves him away as she sits down on one of the chairs at his desk.

Bill stares at her for a few moments. “You’re the same as your aunt, Nicole, aren’t you? Never touched a drop?”

“Aunt Nicole gave up drinking after what happened to my mother. It was all too much for her. She hates drinking now. Every time we drive past a bar, she shudders. It’s strange to watch. She hates alcohol, but she hates drunks more.”

“That sounds intense.”

“It is. She is a very intense woman. Sometimes I worry about her. Sometimes it feels like she loses touch with reality. It was hard for all of us. Losing her sister, my mother, tore her heart out. I dealt with it in my own way, but I’ve talked about it. I’ve seen people for it. Lots of psychologists. For years I’ve seen people about it. For Aunt Nicole, she went the other way. She shut up shop and has never said a word about that day. She hates alcohol. She has even been lobbying the government to restrict alcohol laws. That has almost become her life goal. You can ask her about it yourself. She should be here any minute to pick me up for lunch.”

Bill freezes.

The penny drops.

“Hello, Bill,” the voice comes from his door. “Hope you’re well. Penny, Caleb’s waiting in the car, so we better get going.”

Bill doesn’t respond, slowly looking up to stare at Nicole Cowan, his bookkeeper, silhouetted in his office door. Dressed in a skirt and business shirt, she looks broad. Tough.

5’10.

Strong.

Slim.

A fighter. A black belt.

A loner.

Past trauma that hasn’t been dealt with.

In the dark, and with trousers on, she could easily be mistaken for a male.

“I was just telling Bill about how much you hate drunks. He was very interested. He—”

“Was he?” Nicole turns to look at the defense attorney. “Tell me, how’s the case coming along? Any progress with this serial killer?”

“Yes, Nicole.” He stares at her. “I’ve just solved it.”

CHAPTER 33

“Penny, can you go and wait in the car?” Nicole says slowly, not taking her eyes off Bill. “I need to have a private chat with Bill for a few moments.”

Bill stares at Nicole without saying a word as Penny picks up her bag and walks out the door. “Bye, Bill. I’ll see you later this afternoon.”

He nods goodbye, moving his right hand towards the top drawer of his desk.

Silence blankets the room after Penny walks out of the office. They listen for the front door to click shut before they begin talking.

“So…” Nicole breaks the tension. “Anything you want to talk to me about? The weather? Life? Death?”

“No.”

“Are we really going to play this game, Bill?”

“I like games, Nicole.”

Nicole smiles. “I can’t let you leave this room, Bill.”

“That’s not your choice.” His voice is firm.

“I can’t let you destroy what I have.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me. You don’t get that choice. I can tell that you’ve figured it out. And to be honest, I’m a little disappointed.”

“Disappointed?”

“I would’ve thought that you would have figured it out before now.” Nicole stares at him. “I would have thought that all the investigations led to me. I understand that the police couldn’t figure it out – but I thought that you, the great defense lawyer, would have seen it right away.”

“Seen what?”

“I remember when we first met; you mistook me for a criminal, one of your clients. I was so offended. How could someone see me as a criminal? How could someone see me as the defendant? I’m just a boring bookkeeper, not a criminal.”

“Are you?”

Nicole smirks. “You should always trust your instincts. You said that to me. I remember around five years ago – you and I were at lunch. I had a sandwich, and you had a hotdog, and the sandwich was terrible. Horrible. A disgusting sandwich. I asked what made you decide to have the hotdog, and you said it was your instinct. You just felt the decision. You were joking at the time, but that sentence has stuck with me. You should always trust your instincts.”

“Did you do it?”

She laughs awkwardly. “Even when all the evidence states that it was me, even when I’m standing in front of you saying all this, you still don’t want to believe it. I wonder why that is? Is it because I’m too pretty to be a serial killer? Or maybe too smart?”

“Serial killer?”

“You don’t think that Gerard was my first, do you?”

Everything around Bill has stopped.

His world has stopped spinning.

“I saved him.” She is confident.

“How? How could you have saved him?”

“I saved him from himself. Gerard was a danger to himself and the rest of the world. The world is safer without Gerard in it. I save people, Bill. It’s what I do. I’m making the world a better place, a safer place. I should be getting awards for my work, people should be praising me as a hero. I make sure that people are safe in their own city.”

“So you’re just going to kill every drunk in the world?”

“No. Only the ones I can. It’s like recycling. You put the empty can in the recycling bin, but you don’t spend your time volunteering at recycling plants. You just do your bit to make the world a better place. That’s what I am doing. I’m doing my bit to make the world a better place. I’m saving people. I’m doing my bit for the people of this planet. Everything is so much safer now.”

“You murder people that need help. That’s not saving the world; that’s making it a worse place. These people needed your help.”

“They’re beyond help!” Nicole snaps.

“Nobody is beyond help.”

“Oh, please.” She shakes her head. “Think about poor Penny. The poor girl. What she went through. No wonder she is full of anger. No wonder she is full of fire.”

“This isn’t about Penny.”

“No. It’s about my sister, Anne, and everyone just like her. All those poor innocent people.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to kill people.”

“Poor Penny watched her alcoholic father kill my sister in a drunken rage. Then she watched him shoot himself in the throat. Do you know how evil that is? She was just eight years old! Eight. She was just a girl. An innocent girl. And she had to witness that. Her own father, who used to beat my sister on a regular basis, shot her own mother. And then shot himself. In their living room! While she was standing there!”

“That doesn’t excuse what you’ve done.”

“I spent my entire childhood watching my alcoholic father destroy my life, and then I watched another drunk destroy my sister. I couldn’t bear it anymore. When I saw Penny crying at the funeral of her mother, I vowed to myself I would do everything possible to stop this from happening to someone else. I can’t stop them all, but I can make a small difference. I make the world a better place.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“No. I’m a savior.” The anger in Nicole’s voice is clear. “My father was a drunk. I had years of abuse at the hands of that drunk. That’s why my sister found her husband so attractive. It’s what she knew. It’s what she grew up with. When a drunk tried to mug me in an alley late at night, twelve months ago, I reacted on instinct and hit him. He fell to the ground, but all I could smell was his breath. It washed all over me, and all I could think about was my father and my sister. There was a rope next to me, and I tied it around his throat, then held it tight. It was a release for me. Years of pain were released in that moment. As the drunk stopped breathing, I felt amazing. No amount of therapy had gotten close to that feeling. And oh my, it felt good. It felt so good.”

“It felt good?”

“Oh, it felt so good, Bill. It felt better than good – it felt wonderful. Amazing. I’ll never forget that moment. It was a release of all the bad energy that had been stored up inside me. Years and years of anguish disappeared in that moment. The longer I held that rope, the better it felt. I felt like I was taking his energy. Oh, that was delightful. I had never felt like that before. It felt right.”

“How many more?”

“There have been a few,” she replies flippantly.

“A few? You can’t even remember the exact number?”

“I don’t keep a tally of the people I save from themselves. I just do my bit for the world.”

“You’re not saving them. You’re killing innocent people.”

“They’re not innocent, Bill!” she bites back. “Don’t you understand?! I only kill the ones who are a threat to the future. They’re the ones that deserve it. They’re drunks. They’re a threat to society. They’re the reason why the world is in trouble. Who knows how many lives I have saved? I’m a hero. A hero!”

“You go looking for them, don’t you? You go looking for these people.” Bill’s thoughts begin to catch up with what is happening.

His right hand moves onto the handle of his desk drawer.

“Sometimes, but mostly they come looking for me. Almost as if God brings them to me. Like Gerard. That evil drunk came to me. He came looking for me. He put his hands on me. That evil drunk dared to touch me. He got what he deserved.”

“He wasn’t evil.”

She laughs again. “They’re all evil, Bill. All of them.”

The thoughts run through his head.

The night in the alley.

The hints.

The conversations.

“You’re going claim self-defense, aren’t you? You’re going to say that this is all self-defense.”

“Very clever, Bill.” She patronizes him. “I’m glad you figured it out. I only go for the ones that try to touch me first. They’re drunk, and I’m allowed to defend myself against their attack. Even you told me that. I’m a poor innocent woman, Bill. And if I suspect they’re likely to use force, then I can return the same. That will always stand up in a court of law. I’m a savior. A hero.”

“You’re not a savior. You’re nothing more than a psychotic criminal.”

“Oh, Bill.” She frowns. “Everything I do is self-defense. Can’t you see that?”

“How can you choke someone in self-defense?”

“They attack me. Like you said, I’m allowed to defend myself with force when threatened. If one of these cases ever gets to court, I’ll get off on self-defense. It’s all planned. But my theory hasn’t been tested yet.”

“What you do is premeditated. You premeditate what is going to happen. You have even premeditated your defense to the police. That’s not self-defense. That’s murder in the first degree! Your defense cannot stand up in a court of law. The justice system will see that you spend your remaining years behind bars.”

She smiles at him. “Wouldn’t that be interesting? Wouldn’t that be the court case of a lifetime? I’d be going for self-defense against a drunk as the defendant, and the prosecution would be going for first-degree murder. Oh, that would be good! I’m getting tingles just thinking about it.”

“On that day, I would happily be a prosecutor. I would take you for first-degree murder and let the jury decide. Your days as a murderer are over, Nicole. This ends today.”

“It never ends. This is a fight that must keep going. This is my life’s work. Penny is starting to understand now. I hope that I build enough hatred within her that, one day, she will take my job. She will join me on the tour to rid the world of alcoholics. We will save the world together.”

“She’ll never buy into your plan. She’s too smart.”

“It’s already begun. I’ve been teaching her about self-defense and how if you murder someone in an act of self-defense, then you can’t be charged. I’m teaching her how to put herself in situations where drunks will be attracted to her. They will come to us, Bill. They will come to us.”

“That’s not self-defense. With a level of certainty, you know what will happen if you draw the drunks to you. You put yourself in situations where you know you will be required to use lethal force. That is a premeditated event, and that is murder in the first degree.”

“I didn’t premeditate Gerard West’s murder.” Nicole moves across the room, her right hand in her handbag, her left hand reaching out to lean on a chair. “I saw him on the street, begging for money, and I stopped to talk to him. He told me that he gets drunk every night. He told me everything. He told me that when he gets drunk, he likes to harass pretty women. It was only a matter of time before he became a rapist. And I proved that. I led him down that alley, and he tried to rape me. He tried to pull my skirt down. I had to defend myself against his hands. And your brother just happened to be there. Jonathon was just a guy in the wrong place, but he was the perfect foil for me.”

“That’s murder.”

“If Gerard West didn’t attack me, he would still be alive.” She moves closer to Bill, leaning one hand on the desk between them. “Those are the cold, hard facts. The facts. It might be hard for you to accept, but I was acting in self-defense. If he didn’t touch me, he would still be alive.”

“Premeditated is an action with deliberate purpose or previous consideration. You led Gerard down that alley for a purpose. Your deliberate purpose for walking down that alley was to use lethal force. You premeditated that attack.”

“I never plan to kill anyone. Those stupid, evil drunks come to me.”

“What you do is against the law. You are manipulating people into situations where their actions allow you to defend yourself using lethal force.”

“I’m not manipulating anyone! I’m only living. That’s not illegal, but it’s my right as a free American. My movements in my own city should not be determined by threats. I’m a free woman. I will not have my actions determined by violent drunken men. Simply being prepared for an event doesn’t mean I premeditated it.”

“You have premeditated the actions!” Bill leans forward, hand still on the drawer’s handle.

“You’re forgetting that self-defense is not a crime!” Nicole argues. “And the legal term ‘premeditate’ cannot be used in a situation where there is no crime. Self-defense is not an offense! I don’t know those men! Can’t you see that?! I know nothing of them before I am forced to defend myself. Nothing I do is premeditated. I merely react on instinct when they attack me. And they always attack me first.”

“I’m not saying that you are committing premeditated self-defense! I’m saying that you are committing premeditated murder. It’s murder in the first degree. And legally or not, what you’re doing is morally wrong!”

“It is not wrong!” she shouts. “What I’m doing is right! I’m saving the world! I’m making it a better place.”

He lowers his tone. “You’re a psychopath.”

“I am not!” she snaps. “I am creating a better world for us all to live in. I’m creating a world where we don’t have to be scared of drunks. We don’t have to worry about when they will snap or what they will do next. I want to create a world where people are free to live without fear of drunken men.”

“This stops today,” Bill states firmly.

“How?” Nicole chuckles. “How can you stop me?”

He moves to his bookshelf, away from the top drawer of his desk, towards his mobile phone.

“Don’t touch that phone,” she states coldly.

“I’m making a call, Nicole.” Picking up the phone, he unlocks the screen.

“Are you?” Nicole smoothly pulls out a Glock handgun from her handbag.

It takes him a moment to register the movement.

“I’m making a call,” Bill states confidently, staring at the gun.

“I don’t think you will.”

Studying the weapon, he sees that it sits steady in her hand.

Firm.

Unflinching.

He’s made the wrong decision. He’s too far away from his desk now.

Nicole has a dark look in her eyes, an evil stare, one that leaves Bill with no doubt that she will pull the trigger.

And he doesn’t want to be victim number nine.

CHAPTER 34

“I’m not a drunk. I’m not part of your bigger plan.”

Nicole Cowan stares at Bill, then looks across to the numerous whiskey bottles that sit on the edge of his bookshelf.

“Maybe, maybe not.” She shrugs. “But I’m not going to court either. Although I’ve planned for self-defense, I’m not going to take the risk. Prison is not the life I want. I’m not going to be locked away for the rest of my days. I’m a champion of the people, a savior. I deserve better than that. So I’m afraid, you won’t be making a phone call.”

“If you shoot me, that’s not something that you can just cover up. If you shoot me here, the whole city will be looking for you. You will be fugitive number one. You can’t hide from that sort of crime. There is no possibility that you can make this look like self-defense.”

“I have a backup plan.”

“A backup plan?”

“When you have done what I have done, you need to think about the future. You need to plan for every possible scenario. Ever since that first murder, ever since I first took that drunk’s life, I’ve had a backup plan. I just need to get to the border. Once I’m over the border, I have a house, savings, and life ready to go. Nobody can touch me over there.”

“Mexico?”

She nods, the gun still holding firm. “If I think I need to run, I can be there in under a day and then disappear for good. I’ve got another life waiting for me. And who knows, it might be easier to kill the drunks in Mexico.”

“Then why haven’t you pulled the trigger already? Why are we still standing here talking?”

“Come with me. I have always liked you, Bill. A lot. You’re a real man in a world of beta males. You’re strong, dominant and sexy. I like that a lot.” Nicole licks her lips. “And it would be a real pity to have to kill you. I would much rather that you came with me on this heroic journey. Let’s save the world together. That’s all you have to do. Let’s save the world together.”

“You’re a murderer, Nicole. You’re a cold-blooded murderer.”

She sighs, looking away for a brief moment. “I must say I’m disappointed. I always thought we would make a great team. You and me. Together. Making the world a better place. I must admit that I have dreamt about it.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

She shakes her head. “I’m a good person. I’m saving people. Nobody else is cleaning up the streets. Nobody else is doing the right thing.”

“Gerard was a good person,” Bill states solidly, buying time as he takes a step towards his desk. “He didn’t deserve to die. He needed help.”

“He was beyond help. They all are. They’ve had their chances in life. Life was given to Gerard on a platter. He had every chance. His life was gold-plated, and he threw it away for the sake of a drink. He deserved to die. He had his chances in life.”

“I saw hope in his eyes, Nicole. I saw a future.” Another step towards the desk. “All he needed was help. Life had dealt him major blows, and all he needed was a chance. He needed someone to offer a hand to help him. Someone needed to give him a hand.”

“Major blows? Do you really want to talk to me about major blows? How about seeing your mother being beaten every week at the hands of a drunken father? How about seeing the same thing happen to your little sister? How about seeing your sister die at the hands of a drunk? Where was their help? Whose hands were there for them?”

“I’m sorry that there was nobody to help them, Nicole. I really am.” Closer to the desk. “But Gerard didn’t beat his wife. He didn’t hurt anyone. He—”

“Didn’t hurt anyone?! He had the potential to hurt everyone. That’s what drunks do. They hurt everyone in their wake.”

“No, they don’t.” Bill’s at the corner of his desk, still too far away to lunge for the top drawer. Another step. “They’re people who have turned to alcohol because of the stresses in their lives. They’re escaping their pain through alcohol. They need help, not punishment. They need help for their underlying mental issues. They need help to be able to deal with the pain.”

“But I saw it, Bill. I saw the future in his eyes. I saw the pain that he was going to give to the rest of the world. That man was evil. Evil. He was going to spread that evil to the rest of the world.”

“What do you see in my eyes?”

Nicole walks slowly towards Bill, around the chairs to the edge of his desk, gun still hovering around her hip height, pointed upwards towards his torso.

He steps backward.

Closer to the drawer.

She seductively bites her bottom lip, staring at the man opposite her.

His heart feels like it’s pounding on the walls of his chest, his skin tingling with anticipation.

He moves another step backward. Almost there.

She stops in front of Bill, only a few inches away, gun between them.

In a moment of tense seduction, in a moment of heightened reality, she heaves her knee into Bill’s groin.

He buckles.

Falling to the floor, he is bent over in the intense pain of being smashed unexpectedly.

“Oh, Bill, I hoped for so much more than this for us.”

Smash.

She cracks the handle of the gun against the back of Bill’s head, and he struggles to keep his eyes open. The pain covers his entire skull, pulsating through his head.

Smash.

Again.

This time she connects with the edge of his jaw.

His head falls to the floor, tasting blood in his mouth.

“I’m sorry I have to do this. I really am. I like spending time with your over-sexualized, strong character. You’re a man. In every sense of the word, you’re a man. I like that. I like that a lot.”

“You don’t have to do it,” Bill utters as blood drips from his mouth.

The cold, harsh barrel of the gun presses against the back of his head.

He takes a slow breath, thinking it may be his last.

This is the finish.

The end of the road.

This is his day.

The day it ends…

CHAPTER 35

“No!”

“Penny?” Nicole turns to the door. “Caleb? I told you to wait in the car!”

“What’s happening here?” Caleb, the strong former Marine, steps in front of Penny Pearson, standing at the door in shock.

“Nothing is happening. Go back to the car.”

“What? What are you doing to Bill?”

Penny looks at the gun resting on the back of Bill’s skull, poised, ready to fire.

“Put the gun down, Nicole.” Caleb is firm. His muscles clench. It reminds him of a forgotten war. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“What would you know!” Nicole snaps. “What would you know!”

“I know that this isn’t the right answer.” His voice is measured. Controlled.

“Why did you have to ruin this, Penny,” Nicole whines. “Why? Why couldn’t you have waited in the car like I told you.”

“Because we found Gerard West’s wallet in your car. It was under the front seat. What was it doing there?”

Nicole shrugs, unable to answer.

“What was it doing there?” Penny pleads.

She doesn’t want the truth to be real. Even with the gun, even with the evidence, she doesn’t want to believe.

“That’s none of your business, Penny. Now go. Both of you. Leave.”

“Not without that gun.” Caleb is firmer.

“Always the hero, eh? You, the big tough man. The hero.” Nicole moves the cold piece from the back of Bill’s skull, lifting it towards Caleb.

Now is the time.

Slam.

Bill takes his chance, crashing his shoulder into Nicole’s hip, driving her into the bookshelf. The impact is heavy, but the gun is firmly in her hand.

Quickly she points it down towards her attacker.

“No!”

Caleb charges.

Bill’s hands move for the gun.

Caleb dives.

Nicole moves.

Bang.

CHAPTER 36

The loud echoing of a gunshot rings in Bill’s ears.

It’s all he can hear.

Pain blurs his eyes, but it’s the ringing that has his attention.

He doesn’t feel the impact of a bullet.

He doesn’t feel the pain of a gunshot wound.

Slowly, he begins to move his body.

Nothing.

No entry wound.

No blood other than what he can taste in his mouth.

Slowly, his eyes look up, scanning the room.

Nicole lies next to him, her head tilted to the side.

Her eyes are vacant.

Empty.

Soulless.

Her face doesn’t move. Doesn’t twitch.

Gradually, Bill’s eyes begin to drift down her body, scanning her clothes.

The fabric of her shirt absorbs a fast flow of red, quickly drenching it. The gun sits next to her hand, lying on its side, still pointing towards Bill.

The smell of a gunshot overpowers his senses, and it starts to bring Bill’s mind back to reality.

Nicole is dead.

An act of self-defense killed her.

Her lifeless body is slumped on the floor of his office.

Blood starts to drip onto his carpet.

He starts to get his breath back, and then his head turns sharply at a noise over his desk.

She pulled the trigger.

She shot the gun.

But with the impact of Caleb attacking them, he had moved Nicole’s hand in time, pointing it towards her chest.

One split second, one moment of life, was it all it took to take one.

“Are you ok?” Despite the terror, Caleb’s voice is calm.

He has seen this trouble before.

“I’m…” Bill rubs his head. “I’m fine.”

“Penny?” Caleb moves towards his girlfriend. “Penny?”

She doesn’t respond.

Her face is white.

Her eyes are wide.

Shock has taken her.

Caleb places his caring arm around her, holding her tight. “It’s ok. It’s ok. I’m here.”

He turns her away from the scene of blood and death.

“I…” Penny begins to shake.

“Shhh, it’s ok. It’s ok.”

“I… I found Gerard West’s wallet in her car,” Penny stammers, her eyes still wide open. “I found it in her car… It was under the front seat…”

“It’s ok.” Caleb comforts her.

“There was blood on it. I thought… It just all made sense. I just… I just… I mean… I didn’t…”

“It’s ok. Everything is ok,” Caleb whispers. “Everything is going to be ok.”

CHAPTER 37

Four weeks later

“So what’s next for Penny Pearson?” Bill asks as Penny sits opposite him in his office.

“Life just keeps going on, I suppose.”

“Did you talk to the services? The phone numbers the police provided?”

“I did.” Penny nods. “I know that I haven’t had an easy run. I know that. But I’ve learned to get through these things by talking to the right people. There are always people willing to help. I have spoken with a lot of professionals, and they’ve all been amazing.”

“Help is always there if you ask for it.”

“That’s so true. But you have to be brave enough to ask for it. People don’t understand what you are going through just by looking at you. And we all have our demons to deal with at some point in life – all it takes is the bravery to ask for help. Life has taught me that. And people have helped me through some very hard times, and I want to be there to help others when they need it.”

Penny’s sweet, innocent exterior hides the pain that life has thrown at her. She has seen more agony than most, but her pretty appearance covers it all, washes it all under a cloak of beauty.

After Nicole’s death, Detective Pitt was able to link all the murders back to her DNA.

She left small traces of evidence at each scene; however, there was no way to connect them previously. Once Nicole was proven to be the murderer, the case against Jonathon Harvey was withdrawn.

And Lachlan Shaw, once convicted of murder, is to be released in the coming days. He sent Bill a handwritten letter, thanking him for his assistance. He wrote that upon his release he ‘will spend the rest of his life preaching the good word of the Lord to the people.’ He was not bitter about his wrongful conviction, rather he was thankful that life had given him the opportunity to discover his authentic purpose.

“They’ve done a good job cleaning up the office,” Penny comments, looking around the room for any sign of blood or death. “You wouldn’t even know what happened here. You can’t even tell.” She sighs. “But I guess that’s like most things in life – from the exterior, you can’t tell what pain has happened behind the scenes. We give it a clean, a wash, and then keep going, never forgetting, but moving on from the past. It’s all hidden under the façade.”

Sitting in Bill’s office for the first time since the shooting, Penny seems remarkably calm about the situation.

Bill looks across to the area of his office where Nicole’s body lay only four weeks ago. There is not a trace of the moment that Nicole Cowan lost her life.

“They’re very skilled at cleaning crime scenes.” He looks back to Penny. “Are you sure that you are ok?”

Penny nods again. “She killed a lot of people, Bill. I always knew she was a little loose in the head, but she killed people just because they were alcoholics. She killed them. I started to blame myself, but the psychologist helped me understand that it had nothing to do with me. It was her choice. It was nothing to do with me.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that, Penny.”

“I’ve got a lot to deal with yet, but I’m coping. It feels strange losing someone you love, but it is for best that she is no longer here. She was evil but nice to me. That’s very confusing. Very confusing. It’s going to be a long hard road dealing with this, but I think I can do it.”

“You’ve seen more bereavement in your life than most.”

“And I hope not to see that sort of death again. I have seen too much. It will affect me for a long time, but I’ll cope.” Penny shrugs. “What happens to your brother?”

“He’s been released. He’ll try and rebuild his life, and I’m going to be there to help him do that. My sister… she hasn’t been as forgiving, but she’ll come around one day. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, at least, this case has brought you two back together. That’s a positive, right?”

“It is.” Bill nods. “Life is a strange journey, but we have to be ready for the adventure.”

She shrugs. Life has a dealt her a lot of pain, a lot of suffering, but with the help of others, she has worked through it, accepted it, and kept going.

“I’ve decided to help out Caleb’s mother and volunteer at the Wells Community Center for Mental Health for a while. Valerie has been really great to me, and after all this, I’ve started to understand that people need help, not persecution. We all have different struggles, and people have always been there for me. I want to return that love. I’m going to volunteer to help them.” She runs her hand through her hair. “I was the only family Nicole had left, so she left me everything in the will, but I feel bad about that. I’ve received the proceeds of a serial killer. So I’ve donated most of it to the center. I’ll sell Nicole’s apartment, and that should keep me out of trouble for a few years.”

“You still want to help people after all that? At your core, you’re a good person, Penny. Despite all that you’ve been through, you’re a good person.”

“No, Bill. I’m not a good person despite what I have been through. I’m a good person because of what I’ve been through.”

CHAPTER 38

The early morning sun sparkles off the grass in the spacious park.

Bill Harvey, dressed in a fitted Italian suit, sits on a swing, gently rocking back and forth. It’s a place where he spent most of his childhood, just across the road, playing with his younger brother and sister.

“Need a push?” Ella asks with a smile as she walks up behind him.

“Not today,” Bill replies, the childhood memories almost overwhelming him.

“We had a lot of good times here,” Ella sits on the swing next to him, brushing the hair from her face. “It almost feels like a different lifetime. I feel like I was a different person here.”

He hasn’t been back to the small farming community, three hours from L.A., for more than a decade. He thought this would be a pleasant trip, a chance to reconnect, and he didn’t expect to be overwhelmed by the feelings of melancholy.

“Do you remember our old next door neighbors?” Ella gently rocks on the swing.

“Thomas and Mary? The quiet couple?”

“That’s them.” She smiles. “Very strict religious people. They never liked us. We were too wild for them.”

“I remember that you used to sit outside their front fence and play the saxophone very loud, just to make them angry.”

“I was only twelve at the time.” She laughs at the memory. “And they would come out and tell me off, but I’d just keep playing. I’d say I was on public property and they couldn’t stop me.”

“You rebel,” Bill laughs.

“I wonder if they’re still there? Maybe we could say hello.”

“Did you bring your saxophone?”

She smiles, leaning her head into the chain on the swing. “We did have a good childhood, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Bill nods. “Before it all fell apart; things were quite perfect.”

They sit on the swings early on a Sunday morning, the fresh gentle breeze filling their lungs.

“Thanks for organizing this out here.” Ella pulls her hair back over her ears. “I think it’s perfect.”

They hear the car before they see it.

The old Ford clunks to the side of the park, a long trail of smoke following it.

As the front door creaks open, out steps another Harvey man, dressed in a suit, although not as fine as his older brother’s. This suit has seen many owners, and has now made its way into the hands of a former drug addict who is determined to make amends in his life.

Jonathon Harvey draws a long breath, nerves filling his whole body. He holds the large bouquet of flowers, the best he could afford, and begins to walk towards the swings.

With tears building on each step, he tries to calm himself with deep breaths.

Ella Townsend, the youngest sibling, stands from the swing and begins to walk towards her long-lost brother.

“Ella,” he says as she walks closer. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I-”

Before he can continue, she leaps and embraces him in a tight hug, squashing the flowers between them. The hug lasts a long time with tears flowing freely, turning Jonathon into a sobbing mess.

Eventually, Ella pulls away from the hug, staring up at her brother, the one she hasn’t seen for two decades. The tears roll down her cheeks, but her smile is honest.

“I got you these,” Jonathon grins as he looks down at the squashed bouquet between them.

“Thanks,” Ella wipes her tears away with the back of her hand. “Thanks, bro.”

As the elder statesman, Bill Harvey stands back, proud that his siblings have found each other again.

Jonathon looks to him, providing him a gentle nod.

And with that simple gesture, decades of pain and anguish melt into the past.

A quiet, new beginning for a broken, lost family.

THE END

Also by Peter O’Mahoney

In the Bill Harvey Legal Thriller Series:

Will of Justice

Redeeming 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

FIRE AND

PETER O’MAHONEY

FIRE AND JUSTICE

PETER O’MAHONEY

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

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

THE END