by Laura Snider
Katie nodded and scribbled a few more notes.
“We had to pay it back before my aunt and uncle caught on. So, I was telling criminals I would not arrest them if they were able to pay me instead of paying the courts. I mean, they’d committed the crimes, so I was just circumventing the system a little.”
Another justification, Katie thought.
“How did Ashley come into this?”
“I wanted to kill her in the beginning, but Elizabeth thought it would be more poetic for her to go to prison for life. So we framed her.”
“Who made the call claiming to be Erica Elsberry?” It couldn’t have been Elizabeth. Katie would have recognized her voice.
“Elizabeth’s assistant. Violet. She was such a scared little rabbit. I’m surprised she didn’t lose her nerve and come to you already. I guess she liked her job more than I thought.”
That was why Violet had the second cell phone. One was her true cell phone, the other a burner phone. She had used it to make that call. She must have kept it in case her boss needed her to make any other anonymous calls.
Katie flipped through her notes, her mind filling in all the gaps in her investigation. It was all there. The whole story. She had all the pieces, but she hadn’t figured out how to fit them together. That was how investigations were sometimes. The big picture was confusing until a defendant confessed and laid it all out.
Katie’s phone buzzed against the table, catching her attention. It was Tom. She grabbed the phone and shot to her feet.
“I have to take this,” she said, turning her back and striding to the door. “Hello?” she said, her heart beating wildly. She stepped out into the hallway. “How is she?”
45
Katie
December 18th – 9:00 a.m.
Judge Ahrenson entered the courtroom with all the usual fanfare. Everyone rose from their seats and sat at his command. Once again, the courtroom was as packed as a Catholic church at Easter. Standing room only.
The usual somber mood characteristic of courtrooms was nonexistent. In its place, the air was electric with excitement. An almost festive atmosphere. Katie, Tom, and George sat directly behind Ashley and Jacob.
Ashley looked over her shoulder. Faint bruising still encircled one of her eyes, but it was yellowish in color, signaling it was in its final stage of healing. Her eyes lit up, and a brilliant smile spread across her lips as she waved.
Katie waved back. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, but they were the good kind.
Judge Ahrenson cleared his throat, and the courtroom fell into a charged silence. “We are convened today in Brine County, case numbers FECR012991 and FECR012975, State of Iowa versus Ashley Montgomery. Are the parties ready to proceed?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Jacob said.
The judge’s gaze traveled to the prosecution table. Behind it sat a small, middle-aged man with thick glasses and a perfectly tailored charcoal-gray suit. “Yes, Your Honor,” the assistant attorney general said.
“There are two motions pending before the court. The first is the defendant’s writ for habeas corpus. The other is the State’s motion to dismiss.” Judge Ahrenson looked at the assistant attorney general over the brim of his glasses. “It’s probably most expedient to address the State’s motion first. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” the assistant attorney general said.
“Okay,” Judge Ahrenson said. “Proceed.”
The man stood. “Thank you, Your Honor. On behalf of the State of Iowa, I am moving to dismiss both charges against the defendant, Ms. Ashley Montgomery.” He turned to look at Ashley. “I also would like to extend my sincerest apologies to Ms. Montgomery on behalf of the State of Iowa. She has been accused, incarcerated, and assaulted. All by those claiming to have acted on behalf of the State. For that, I think I speak for everyone in this courtroom when I say we are very sorry. I know that doesn’t come close to correcting the wrongs that have been done to you, but I hope you believe me when I say that I am doing everything within my power to hold those guilty parties accountable.”
Tears spilled from Ashley’s eyes, trickling down her face and dripping from her chin. “Thank you,” she said.
Judge Ahrenson turned to Ashley. A rare smile spread across his lips. “The State’s motion to dismiss is granted. All charges brought against Ms. Montgomery are hereby dismissed; bond is exonerated. She shall be released from custody immediately.” He stopped talking and looked around the room, searching. His cool gaze settled on Kylie Monroe, the only jailer present at the hearing. “I meant now. Get those handcuffs off her.”
Kylie nodded. She approached Ashley and produced a key. Ashley held her arms out. Kylie unlocked the handcuffs, and they fell clattering to the floor. The crowd erupted in cheers. Ashley looked around, stunned, but Katie wasn’t surprised by the reactions. The mood toward Ashley had started to change when Channel 8 aired John Jackie’s first assault on Ashley, but that support solidified when they saw the second video. The one where Jackie tried to strangle her.
Judge Ahrenson allowed the celebration for a minute or two, then began motioning for people to calm down and take their seats. When the room was once again silent, Judge Ahrenson turned to Jacob.
“I assume the State’s request takes care of your motion?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Jacob said. His answer was clear and concise. He looked comfortable in the courtroom. He wasn’t shifting his weight or mopping copious amounts of sweat from his forehead.
“All right.” Judge Ahrenson banged his gavel. “This court is in recess. Good luck, Ms. Montgomery. I expect to see you soon. But this time, I want you sitting in that seat.” He nodded to Jacob.
Ashley’s smile engulfed her entire face. She was free.
Katie, George, and Tom followed Ashley out of the courtroom. Nobody else followed. Not even the news cameras. Katie assumed they would catch up with them later, but they wanted to remain in position for the next hearing on the docket. It was an arraignment for two codefendants. State of Iowa versus John Jackie and Elizabeth Clement.
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UNDETERMINED DEATH
AN ASHLEY MONTGOMERY LEGAL THRILLER
Public defender Ashley Montgomery's latest case will push her to the limit.
When teenager Rachel Smithson is charged with murdering her newborn baby in a hotel room, Ashley is appointed to represent her. Determined to prove her client innocent, Ashley delves into the secret life and relationships of the quiet teen. And turns up more questions than answers.
Meanwhile, Ashley's longtime friend, and sometimes rival, police officer Katie Mickey investigates the alleged murder with the aim of ensuring Rachel's conviction. Despite working against each other, the two women begin to share the same awful suspicions, and the tragic case takes an even darker turn when rumors surface that the father of Rachel’s baby is an adult in her life.
Then Ashley falls victim to a personal attack, and she and Mickey find themselves racing to unmask a different, far more dangerous offender.
Readers will stay up late into the night untangling the web of deception and betrayal in Undetermined Death.
Click here to purchase UNDETERMINED DEATH now
Turn the page to read a sample —>
UNDETERMINED DEATH: Prologue
Rachel
100 days before trial
Alone. It was such a strange word to her. When broken down it was one letter, “a” followed by the word “lone.” Its meaning, without others, was somewhat of a dream to her. It made her think of The Lone Ranger. A man and his horse out there on the wide range, surrounded by miles and miles of land.
But that was not how she was alone. Her alone came from within. A malfunction in her brain—in her life—that separated her from everyone around her. It detached her even from herself. She didn’t choose it. She didn’t even like it, but it was the only way to survive in her world. And that was all she was doing. Surviving.
That was how she found herself in a motel room in the tiny town of Brine, Iowa. Alone. Scared yet determined. She’d made a plan, and it was already in motion. There was no way out. She reminded herself that she was prepared. She had a bag full of supplies. One bottle of vodka. One pair of scissors. One bag of snacks and one bottle of Ibuprofen.
So, this is it, she thought. Who was she kidding? She was not prepared. There was no point in lying to herself anymore.
Her eyes traveled around the room, sparsely furnished but containing the basic necessities. A bed with two end tables, each holding a single dusty lamp. A decade-old television atop an ancient dresser. Weatherworn drapes that clung to a paint-chipped curtain rod.
The room was shabby, she had to admit, but she didn’t begrudge it for its condition. For she knew its true beauty lay in the freedom that came within. She knew better than anyone that beautiful surroundings could never replace the independence that this room provided, even if only for a couple hours. She set her bag of supplies on the bed and pulled the curtains closed, blocking the small fingers of light cast out by the setting sun.
The bathroom was tiny, but it contained all that she needed. A sink, toilet, and bathtub, which would become vital in a matter of hours. Or would it be minutes? She had no idea how long it would take. She flipped off the light and returned to the bedroom, sliding the top dresser drawer open. It made a scraping noise, wood on wood, and moved slowly, jerkily. Inside the drawer, she found the TV remote and a copy of the Holy Bible. She grabbed the former and left the latter. She had no need for a Bible. Her soul was not worth saving.
She lay on the bed and clicked the remote’s power button. It was the first time she had complete power over a remote. Her father, Isaac, was the only one permitted that kind of control. The TV screen sprang to life. Voices permeated the room as three talking heads filled the screen. A news anchor and two guests, bickering like cats from rival territories. She changed the channel, flipping from one station to the next until she found something worth watching. Cartoon Network. An episode of Scooby-Doo was on, and she settled in to watch the show.
Rachel watched the group of teenage crime solvers. Velma, the supposed dumpy one, always caught her attention. The girls at school had always preferred Daphne. Not that any of those girls would talk to Rachel. But she was an expert at hiding in the shadows. Becoming invisible. Listening. That was how she overheard many conversations over the years. Most teenage girl conversations were garbage. Nonsensical discussions about boys and teachers. But sometimes the girls spoke of her.
None of it was kind. She probably shouldn’t have bothered to listen, but part of her wanted to know how they felt about her. In that way, she could belong to those cliques of girls, even if it was only through insults. So she listened as they called her a freak. A whore. A waste of good genetics. She listened when they said that she was sleeping with the school counselor, Mr. Frank. She listened as they claimed her frequent absences were because she worked the streets at night.
Rachel hated them. Not for their words, but because she envied them. She coveted their plainness. Their normality. She’d give up her beauty any day. Trade her face with another’s. Any one of them would do. Jessica, whose skin was almost entirely consumed by freckles. Michelle, whose deep acne scars marred the lower half of her face like craters on the moon. Emily, whose underbite had all the boys calling her “bulldog.”
Rachel would trade faces with any of them—all of them—in a heartbeat. Take that which they loathed and give them what they desired. Beauty. But she’d give them the option that nobody gave her. She’d warn them first. She’d say, be careful what you wish for. For Rachel’s beauty was the source of her problems. Without it, she wouldn’t be in her current predicament.
She shook her head, dispelling thoughts of school, and refocused on the television. In this episode of Scooby-Doo, the Gang was trying to solve the mystery of the Creeper. The villain was a green, goblin-like creature with a hunched back and a very unfortunate haircut. Rachel liked how the bad guys in Scooby-Doo committed their crimes by pretending to be ghosts and ghouls that scared people away. It was unrealistic, and that was precisely why it was so refreshing. For Rachel knew true villains; they were not so kind as to scare others away first. True villains kept their victims close, held onto them, and never let them go.
A sharp pain, almost like a pulse, drew her attention away from the television. She wrapped her arms around her rounded belly and moaned. These are the early contractions? she wondered. How will I get through active labor?
Rachel shoved herself into a sitting position and grabbed her bag from the end of the bed, unzipping it in one fluid motion. Several towels tumbled out along with a large bottle of Hawkeye vodka that belonged to her father. She stole it from his liquor stash. He would notice its absence—he noticed anything out of place—but Rachel didn’t plan to return home.
Another contraction rocked her body. She curled into a ball, moaning, until it passed. Then she unscrewed the top of the bottle and took a large swig of vodka. She coughed and almost spat out the vile-tasting liquid, but she forced herself to swallow. The liquor burned its way down her throat, warming her from within.
Can I do this? Rachel wondered.
She shook her head, forcing the thought from her mind. It wasn’t a question of can. She must. Her plan was foolproof. She’d had nine months to prepare, and she knew what to do. She would give birth, then she would leave. It was a good scheme. One that would work in most circumstances. Except, like everything else in Rachel’s life, it didn’t quite work out as she had planned.
UNDETERMINED DEATH: Chapter 1
Ashley Montgomery
76 days before trial
The girl did not look like a killer. She was tiny, insubstantial, sitting there across from Ashley in her jail jumpsuit. Her clothing was a faded green with no design or wording except Brine County Jail printed in heavy black block lettering across the back. The outfit was meant to dehumanize. To show ownership. To say that this girl was something less than human. A criminal. A piece of property owned by the county. It disgusted Ashley.
Shackles wound their way around the girl’s feet. A chain ran between her legs and up her waist, connecting her leg restraints to the manacles twisted around her wrists. That’s not necessary, Ashley thought. The restraints created a barrier between Ashley and her client. Differentiating them. When, in truth, they had quite a lot in common.
The girl kept her head down, her hands folded neatly in her lap, shoulders rounded. Her fingers were long and elegant, but her nails were bitten to the quick. A disgusting habit that didn’t appear to be new judging by the size of her nailbeds.
“Rachel,” Ashley said softly.
Rachel lifted her head but did not meet Ashley’s gaze. She stared at different portions of Ashley’s face—her forehead, chin, and cheeks—dusty brown eyes darting around in quick, awkward shifts but never making eye contact. Rachel’s eyes were haggard and worn, like they belonged to a woman five times her age.
“Rachel,” Ashley repeated.
“Yeah.”
Rachel focused on Ashley’s forehead so intensely that Ashley had the urge to cover it with her hand. It made her feel uncomfortable, self-conscious
, reminding her of the way kids used to call her “forehead” when she was a teenager.
“How are you?”
Rachel blinked several times, surprised by the question. Like she didn’t know how to answer. It was a dumb inquiry, Ashley supposed. Rachel was in jail, charged with murdering her newborn baby. She was probably feeling pretty shitty. How else was there to feel?
“Who are you?”
“My name is Ashley Montgomery. I’m your attorney. I’ve been appointed to represent you.”
The girl’s expression did not change. Her facial features remained still as a statue. Eerily calm. Those high cheekbones protruding as though chiseled out of stone.
“I’m your public defender.”
“Oh,” Rachel said.
Ashley was one of only two defense attorneys local to the small town of Brine, Iowa. All other attorneys came from Des Moines or Carroll. The latter was also a small town, but not Brine small. It was large enough to have two Subway sandwich shops. Brine had one, but it closed years earlier. There weren’t enough sandwich eaters in a town of only six thousand people.
“I’m here to help you.”
The girl shook her head, slowly and deliberately. A denial made in slow motion. “Nobody can help me.”