Deadly Justice: A Legal Thriller (Tex Hunter Book 4)

by Peter O'Mahoney

“And when did the police contact you?”

  “They contacted me that afternoon once they found evidence I was in the club. I’d left before the raid. When the police contacted me, I told them the truth.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Kokkinos.” Spencer finished. “No further questions.”

  Hunter waited a few moments before he began questioning Kokkinos. He was asserting his power in the courtroom, and could see it agitated the witness. Kokkinos squirmed in his chair, anxious to get the court appearance over with.

  “Mr. Kokkinos, did you believe the delivery was coming that afternoon?”

  “Of course. I had no reason to doubt what Mr. Cowan told me.”

  “Were you aware these drugs were going to be part of a raid?”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Really?” Hunter raised his eyebrows. “Can you please tell us what you were doing meeting with Detective Holmes in the days before the sting?”

  “I…” Kokkinos shook his head. “How would you know that?”

  “Please answer the question, Mr. Kokkinos.” Hunter said. “Can you please tell the court what you were doing meeting with Detective Holmes in the days before the sting?”

  “We were…” He looked around the courtroom. “He’s someone who visits my club sometimes. I know him as a customer, it was nothing more than that. I like to make a point of meeting my customers. Keep things personal, you know? That’s good business practice.”

  “Days before a drug sting on your rival club owner, you met with a lead detective from the drug task force, and you expect the court to believe it was a meeting with old friends?”

  “Objection.” Spencer interjected. “Asked and answered.”

  “Withdrawn.” Hunter’s response was quick. “Mr. Kokkinos, is the witness statement you provided to the police about your actions in the club full and complete?”

  “It is. I talked to Rick for around twenty-five minutes that day and then left after he took the bag.”

  “Did you do anything other than talk to Mr. Cowan while in the club?”

  “I walked in, had a quick look around, talked to Mr. Cowan, and then left.”

  “Did you leave anything behind when you went into the club?”

  “No.”

  “And is this you on the footage that monitors the entrance?”

  Hunter introduced the evidence to the court. He turned to the court monitors, and hit play. It was footage of the entrance to the Five-Star. Ray Jones had lucked out with the commercial property across the street—a software development start-up. They had footage of their entrance, and in the top corner of the footage, the entrance to the Five-Star could be seen. Kokkinos looked to the prosecution, and then to John Warden sitting in the back row of the courtroom. They hadn’t prepared him for the footage.

  “Mr. Kokkinos?” Hunter paused the footage using his laptop, and zoomed in on the top corner. The picture was high quality and clear. “Can you please answer the question—is it you entering the club?”

  “I guess so. It appears to be.”

  “And is that you with a black duffle bag?”

  “I suppose.”

  “You can tell by the way the bag is sitting that it looks quite full and heavy. Can you please tell the court what was in the bag?”

  “Bits and pieces.”

  “Such as?”

  “I took some things into the club.”

  “Interesting. Do you think the bag could hold ten pounds, or say five kilograms, of goods?”

  “I suppose so.”

  Hunter ran the footage again and skipped to twenty-five minutes later. “And is this you leaving the club almost half-an-hour later?”

  Kokkinos stared at the footage. He nodded.

  “Please answer the question verbally, Mr. Kokkinos.”

  “That’s me.”

  Hunter hit pause on the footage at the moment Kokkinos had stepped outside the doors. The duffle bag was creased together, clearly empty. “The bag does not look as full as it was when you entered, Mr. Kokkinos. Can you please tell the court what you left behind in the club?”

  Kokkinos moved back in his chair. His mouth hung open for a few moments while the excuses ran through his head.

  “Some drinks.”

  “Some drinks?”

  “That’s what I said. I left five bottles of expensive whiskey in the club. A present for Mr. Cowan. I forgot about them before, but now that you’ve run the footage I remember. It was a few months ago, and my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “You can imagine my surprise at that answer, Mr. Kokkinos, as you’ve not mentioned it in your witness statement to the police. And only moments ago, you stated your witness statement, five pages of testimony, was full and complete. And now you would like the court to believe you forgot this vital piece of information?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Mr. Kokkinos, when did you carry five kilograms of cocaine into the club?”

  “Objection!” Spencer rose to his feet. “Accusation!”

  “You’re treading a fine line, Mr. Hunter.” Judge Marshall stated.

  Hunter turned to the jury. Two of the members were squinting, staring at Kokkinos, trying to process the new evidence. “I withdraw the question. And for now, I have nothing further for this witness, however we reserve the right to call him as a defense witness.”

  The courtroom doors opened, and Esther Wright snuck back into the room.

  She had spent the last hour calling in favors, calling associate after associate, trying to track down details about their current client. By the time Judge Marshall had called a recess for lunch, Esther had a copy of the material she needed.

  When she handed the new information to Hunter, she could sense the rage burning off him.

  Chapter 25

  “You have an insurance policy on your freedom?” Hunter slapped a file on the table in front of Cowan. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  The client conference room was tight. One wooden table sat in the middle with four chairs surrounding it, and not much else could fit. There was nothing to lighten the mood—no windows, no artwork, no paintings, not even a plant. The halls of the court house hummed outside the closed door, people rushing past to ensure justice was—or wasn’t—served. Currently, Hunter wasn’t sure what side he was on.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cowan sniffed as he sat at the table, directly under the dim light. “This is news to me.”

  Hunter turned the pieces of paper towards Cowan and slid them across the table.

  “Where did you get this from?” Cowan squinted.

  “That’s why you’ve been cooking the books, isn’t it? That’s why you faked a huge increase in the earnings for your business. That’s why you’ve changed the accounting to look like you’re taking in a million a year.”

  Cowan looked at the photocopied pages. “I have no idea how you got your hands on this. This is a privacy issue.”

  “We’re a team with connections. If we want something, we find it. Why didn’t you tell me about the policy?”

  “Listen,” Cowan paused for a few moments, and a look of defeat spread across his face. “It’s Key Person Insurance. That’s common for businesses like mine and the policy isn’t on me personally. The policy is registered to the company and the company is insured against any CEO losing the capacity to work. It’s a loss of earnings policy. Without the ability to have a management specialist, with years of specific company knowledge, the business is susceptible to losses. That’s normal practice in medium sized companies.”

  “So you set yourself up?”

  “That’s what you think this is? I didn’t do that. Why would I take that risk with five kilograms of cocaine? Key Person Insurance is common. I know the risks in my business, and so does the insurance company. It’s not unusual to insure against the loss of a CEO due to extenuating circumstances. I wouldn’t be paid the money personally; it would go to the business.”

  “The business you o
wn.”

  “That’s the game. There are dangers to running a strip club in Chicago. If I can’t work, as CEO, if I can’t continue my role, then the insurance company pays the business. I then fold the business down, and receive a pay-out as the owner. This policy isn’t unusual. It’s a gamble for the insurance firm, but that’s what they do. They underwrite risk. I explained my risks when I first took out the policy years ago. They drafted it, and I pay a premium for the privilege of a specialized contract.”

  “You think you can play me? You think that’s what you can do? I’ve read the policy, and it’s not a standard insurance contract. Section 25.5 is where the reading becomes interesting—Insured for loss of earnings if the CEO of the Five-Star Gentlemen’s Club is unable to work; including incapacity, critical illness, or, and this is the specialized wording you’ve requested, a prison term for less than five years. It’s conditional to section 25.5.1, which is a non-violence clause—no assault, no homicide, and no sexual charges. Insured for the loss of income of up to a million dollars a year. If you take five years in prison, that’s a five-million-dollar payout from the insurance company. That’s quite the motive to strike a deal.”

  “I don’t remember the specifics of the policy.”

  “And the next section states, and this is where it’s particularly relevant, the business must provide an adequate legal defense for the Key Personnel.”

  “Again, I don’t remember the exact wording.”

  “Your first kid lawyer wasn’t any good. The insurance company would’ve argued he didn’t provide an adequate defense, and they would’ve refused to pay out. If the kid made a mistake, then they were off the hook.”

  Cowan scoffed, shook his head, and then smiled. “But no one could’ve disputed your expertise, Tex.”

  Hunter slapped the table. Not only was he being lied to by the witnesses, not only was he being lied to in court, but he was being lied to by his own client.

  Cowan drew a breath, leaned his elbows on the table and lowered his voice. “That policy is null and void if I’m given more than five years. I don’t get a cent from the insurance company if they put me away for fifteen. You think I’d do that to myself? It’s too much of a risk. I want you to talk to the prosecutor, that Samuel Spencer, and tell him I’d be willing to make a two-million-dollar donation to the bank account of his choice. He gives me five years in a nice prison, not a day over, and I take the insurance payout. Then I transfer him some of it. Everyone walks away happy.”

  “You think you can buy your way out of this?”

  “It’s worked in the past.”

  “I’m not going near your dirty bribes.” Hunter shook his head. “You’ve got a lot of corrupt people against you. Along with everything the jury has already heard, Schultz is going to testify on Monday, and it’s going to sting. They’re all in this together. Schultz is pulling the strings, Holmes is ready to dance on your grave, Kokkinos is calling in all his favors. You’ve made powerful enemies and you’ve achieved the impossible—bringing everyone together to battle a common enemy.”

  “That doesn’t mean I should go down for something I didn’t do.” Cowan replied. “Just because they’re all in this corrupt game together, doesn’t mean I should pay for this. You can’t let this corruption racket throw whoever they want in prison, whenever they want to do it.”

  Hunter hated, deeply hated, that Rick Cowan was right.

  Chapter 26

  Tex Hunter rode the elevator down from his office to the first floor. Jerry Schultz was due to hit the stand after the weekend, and Hunter had done everything he could to prepare for the forthcoming lies. He’d read the witness statement many times, memorizing it line by line, and had different directions of questioning primed. He’d prepared for the prosecution’s list of potential questions, and where he expected to object and break the prosecution’s rhythm. He suspected they were going to build the eye-witness account of the days before the delivery, and detail the information that led to the tip-off. Schultz was a strong witness, but it was what he did behind the scenes that worried Hunter the most.

  Hunter stepped out of the elevator and into the spacious foyer of his office building. He nodded to the security guard at the front desk, who was trying to charm a woman in the reception area, and proceeded towards the revolving door. In his briefcase were the notes for the coming days in court, and he would spend until at least midnight reviewing them. After many long days, he felt it was better to do that at his apartment, with a glass of whiskey in hand, than to spend another long night at his desk.

  The closer he came to the end of the case, the more he could sense the threats. There were people involved that didn’t want to see them win, and people who would stop at nothing to see Cowan behind bars. In the early hours of that morning, during another sleepless night, Hunter considered firing his assistant, Esther. She would be safer if she worked for another law firm. She would be safer if she worked for another company. She was smart, methodical, clever, and perceptive, and he was sure she could find another job with a wage equal to what he paid her.

  But he also couldn’t afford to lose her skills.

  She was so much more than an assistant. She was an ally in his work, an investigator, an ideas person, and an organizer. Nobody could replace her.

  Not in his office, and not in his life.

  Hunter stepped out onto the street to check if he could see Esther with the takeaway cups of coffee he requested, and when he couldn’t, he sat on the sidewalk next to the homeless veteran begging for money. The man had a sign written on a piece of cardboard that said, ‘This is a private sign. Please do not read. Penalty - $1.’

  Hunter laughed as he sat down on the sidewalk, apologized for reading the private sign, and asked the man about his day. The man was surprised at first, wary, until he saw Hunter was no threat. The two men, one dressed in a fitted Italian suit and the other dressed in clothes that hadn’t been washed in days, joked about the cold weather, talked about the people that walked past, and laughed at the traffic. Hunter knew the man, if only in passing, as they’d conversed briefly many times over the past year. Burt Grayson, the man said his name was. At least, that’s what he remembered it to be. He hadn’t introduced himself to anyone in a long time.

  An Albert Einstein quote bounced around Hunter’s mind— ‘The world is a dangerous place, not because of the evil, but because of the people that look on and do nothing.’

  The man on the street needed acknowledgement and respect as much as he did money and food.

  As Hunter sat on the sidewalk, he looked across the street and saw a young African-American woman in a hooded sweatshirt staring at them. She had sunglasses on, but Hunter had no doubt she was looking straight at him. It could’ve been the fact that a man in a suit was sitting next to a homeless man, but Hunter felt it was something more.

  When Hunter’s phone pinged with a message from Esther, he placed a fifty next to the man, patted him on the shoulder, and wished him a good weekend. The man smiled broadly, not for the money, but overjoyed to feel recognized and valued, a part of the world again. Hunter stood, staring at the girl across the road, before he brushed off his backside, and walked towards Esther. She was half a block down with two takeaway cups in her hands.

  “I can’t believe you’re going home this early on a Friday night.” She looked at her watch as he approached. “This is about the earliest I’ve ever seen you leave the office.”

  “The work is in here.” Hunter tapped his briefcase. “I’ve got to review the Key Person Insurance policy and everything connected to it. On paper, Cowan started increasing the amount of money the Five-Star made about a year ago, and I have to find out if that’s connected to the case. He claims it isn’t, but I don’t trust a word that man says.”

  The sidewalk was quiet, as was customary along that section of West Jackson on a Friday evening. A block away, the street bustled with bars, restaurants, and clubs. Cars rolled down the road, waiting in constant traffic, but
the sidewalk was almost empty.

  Hunter looked over his shoulder again. The girl had followed him further down the street. She had moved closer. Hunter turned back to Esther, and then noticed the truck in the distance. It was banged up. Probably stolen. In a part of the city where old cars weren’t common, the truck stood out.

  Hunter sensed it. Something was wrong.

  He stepped to the other side of Esther, between her and the truck. He looked back to the girl watching them. With her head down, she was walking closer.

  “Are you sure the insurance claim is linked to the case? Cowan wouldn’t do that, would he?”

  “From first glance, it looks like too much of a risk. A day over five years in prison and the claim is null and void. And he’d know there was no way he’d get five years in prison for the amount of cocaine he had in the club. He’s not dumb enough to set himself up.”

  The window of the truck rolled down. The road was clear.

  Hunter kept his eyes on it.

  The truck engine roared to life.

  “But it explains why he was so determined to deal for a sentence under five years.” Esther sipped her coffee. “He was smart to add that clause. I guess it’s like a model insuring her legs, or a guitarist insuring his fingers.”

  “It’s not unusual to have specialized policies, but the insurance company took a big risk with this policy, given Cowan’s past.”

  The truck sped out of its parking spot.

  Hunter looked back to the girl, a few yards away, and then back to the truck.

  A handgun became visible out the driver’s side window.

  “Move!” Hunter pushed Esther to the ground, covering her body with his. “Get down!”

  A shot fired.

  The noise echoed through the air.

  It was followed by five more shots in quick succession.

  The truck sped down the street, using part of the sidewalk to get away.

  Hunter checked Esther, then himself.

  No blood.

  No injuries.

  If the shooter wanted, they could’ve hit them. He and Esther were sitting ducks.