Saving Justice

by Peter O'Mahoney

  As they began to mingle, Esther moved around a pregnant woman.

  “Do you know who you should never argue with?” Esther whispered as she leaned close to Hunter. Hunter shook his head. “A pregnant woman.” Esther replied. “They have two brains and you only have one.”

  “Now is not the time for jokes.” Hunter grinned as he took two glasses of champagne from the waitress. He handed one to Esther. “Although, by the look on your face, I can tell you’re going to say another one.”

  “What do you call a cheap circumcision?” Esther’s smile was broad as she looked at him. “A rip-off.”

  Hunter shook his head, a smile stretched across his face, as he stepped away from her. They mingled amongst the well-dressed crowd of lawyers for the next hour, listening to well-worn stories of past courtroom battles. Most people knew Vandenberg and King, if only by association, but solid leads weren’t forthcoming. As the clock ticked closer to the hour, Hunter directly caught the eye of Michael Vandenberg.

  “You got Stacey Fulbright out on bond?” Vandenberg approached Hunter when he caught him looking in his direction. “That woman is a raving lunatic. I read about her case after I saw you. She probably did it to poor Joe Fielding just to prove that men aren’t the stronger sex. All those left-wing yuppies are the same. Everything’s ok as long as you agree with them. If not, they throw a tantrum and begin a riot.”

  “She’s messed up this time. She’s in too deep.” Fellow law partner Joanne Wolfe followed Vandenberg into the conversation. Together, they had built Vandenberg and Wolfe Family Law Offices from the ground up, making it one of the city’s powerhouse divorce firms with more than fifty lawyers working in their Downtown office. “It’s no surprise though. A young girl like that stepped into a dangerous world, and she couldn’t handle it. No surprise at all. When you’re out there representing divorced couples, emotions run at an all-time high. I’m surprised she made it this long without snapping. There’s so much emotional drama in a divorce case. That’s why you need thick-skinned people like me, not little girls like Stacey Fulbright. She played with fire, and she got burned.”

  If she was in a children’s movie, Joanne Wolfe would be cast as the witch. It wasn’t hard to imagine her on a broomstick, cackling as she spread disharmony to everyone. She had a long nose, weathered skin, and dry, thin hair, with a bad dye job. Some gray hairs were still visible. Her fingers were long, and she often pointed at people when she talked to them.

  “You both worked with Joe Fielding, didn’t you?” Hunter questioned.

  “At our firm, we all did. It’s sad, but he’s easily replaced,” Vandenberg stated without a hint of emotion. “Stacey Fulbright, the murderer. Who would’ve thought? I guess it’s always the ones you don’t expect. Just look at your father. Nobody thought a quiet accountant from the suburbs could murder eight girls. It was eight girls, wasn’t it? Or was it nine?”

  Vandenberg couldn’t hide his smile. He thrived on pushing people’s buttons. He loved to turn the emotional screws tight, pushing a person until they snapped.

  “I think it was eight. That’s what I remember from the media reports.” Wolfe replied when Hunter didn’t. “His legacy has followed you around like a bad smell, hasn’t it? A father’s son.”

  Again, Hunter didn’t respond. His focus was on trying to resist crushing the champagne glass in his hand. He was there for information, not a verbal duel with other lawyers.

  As partners in a high-valued divorce firm, Michael Vandenberg and Joanne Wolfe had money, power, connections, and an arrogance that outweighed everything else. High valued clients meant large payouts, and their firm attracted the best of them.

  “But I’m surprised you’re here, Tex.” Joanne Wolfe added as she sipped on her glass of champagne. “I’ve never known you to be supportive of these causes. I haven’t seen you at a political fundraiser for a long time.”

  “I vote for policies, not parties. Political parties shouldn’t be treated like football teams— you don’t choose one and support them for the rest of your life. Political parties are there to make our country strong—both parties have times where they get it right, and they both have times where they get it wrong. I vote for policy, not party.”

  “Passionate. I like that.” Wolfe said, but the joy didn’t reach her face. “But I don’t think it’s the real reason you’re here. I think you’re here to gather information about your case with Dr. Mackie. I’ll save you the trouble. He was getting divorced, and he saw an opportunity to exploit a young woman. He sexually assaulted her when his wife wouldn’t touch him. The problem was Dr. Mackie chose the wrong woman to try and exploit. Katherine Jennings is a fighter, and she’ll take the case all the way.”

  “And I’m sure your law firm will find a way to profit out of his predicament.”

  “We’re opportunists, Hunter. If we see a chance, we take it.” Vandenberg added. “And the opportunity has presented itself. Dr. Mackie can sell his business to Christoph King, and then we can split the proceeds as marital funds. I’m sure if Dr. Mackie chooses to sell, then we can settle the sexual assault case with the girl. He gets to keep his medical license, and everyone is happy. It’s that simple.”

  “Simple.” Wolfe smiled. “Just convince Mackie to sell the business.”

  “You’re always talking work, Joanne.” Christoph King quipped as he greeted Joanne Wolfe with a small hug, and a kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to see you. Thank you for coming.”

  She smiled uncomfortably, before turning to introduce King to Hunter.

  “You’re the man who’s defending that left-wing crazy airhead? That woman cost me a lot of money in my first divorce. Millions, in fact.” Christoph King was short and round, and his suit jacket struggled to reach around his waist. He had thin ginger colored hair, and his face was an unhealthy shade of red. Of German descent, his facial features were hard, and his green eyes never settled in one place for long. “I never liked Stacey Fulbright. Nasty left-wing piece of work.”

  “That doesn’t sound like an unbiased opinion.” Hunter stepped forward, his height dwarfing Christoph King.

  “Didn’t say it was.” King stepped back. “But I’m not here to argue. As long as you bought a ticket to be here, that’s all I care about. The money goes to good causes; you know? More Republicans on the City Council. That’s about the best cause a person can have. Chicago is so one sided that it’s unhealthy. Balance is needed. I’m not saying our goal is to make it a red state, but everything needs balance. Yin and Yang.”

  “How did you know Joe Fielding?”

  “What is this? A police interview? We’re out for a fun night, but there’s always one guy who’s all work and no play, isn’t there?” King laughed with fake charm. “I knew Joe. Our paths had crossed many times, and we go way back. And as much as I’d love to stay and chat about it, I have to take Mr. Vandenberg up to the podium so we can deliver our speeches.”

  “I’ll take any excuse to get away from talking about work,” Vandenberg joked.

  King laughed as he turned away, followed by a chuckling Vandenberg. People started to take their seats at the tables in preparation for the upcoming speeches.

  Esther looked across to Hunter from the other side of the room, and caught his eye. He nodded towards the main doors, indicating it was time to make an escape. As Esther stepped through the crowd, Hunter turned back to Wolfe. “And what are you doing here? Have your political opinions changed since last time I saw you?”

  “I’m just trying to keep my clients happy. We’ve all got to play the game. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know that can pay you the most. And this is my target audience—rich middle-aged men going through a mid-life crisis.” Wolfe finished her drink and began to walk towards the tables. After five steps, she stopped and turned back to Hunter. “Enjoy the night, Tex… and be careful on your drive home.”

  Chapter 5

  Tex Hunter leaned against the wall by the main window in his office, hands in his pockets,
staring at the jagged skyline. The view of Chicago’s Downtown buildings provided him an anchor, a sense of calmness in his chaotic world. Every week, he ensured he took a moment to turn around and look out the window, and remember how lucky he was. The view of Chicago from his office was one that most people only ever dreamed about. All it took was a moment, a grateful second, to reset.

  The midday sun streamed through the tall window, warming the room better than any heater ever could. At the right time of day, the room was bathed in sunlight. His hefty mahogany desk had two files laid out in the middle, a computer monitor to one side, and a laptop to the other. Two of his favorite pens rested next to the files, a notepad next to them. His office was spacious, enough room for a couch, a bookshelf, and an area to pace the floor over and over.

  “Your twelve o’clock, Dr. Mackie, is here.” Esther Wright popped her head in the door, distracting Hunter from his moment of calm.

  Hunter nodded his thanks to Esther and turned back to the file on the table. He opened the file, refreshed his memory, and ran his hand through his thick black hair. There was always more than one case, always more than one place to focus his attention.

  He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before. His mind had been rumbling with the thoughts of Stacey Fulbright’s murder charge, and the thought of her ten-year-old son, Noah, sitting through the agony of a felony trial. Noah Fulbright was the same age as Hunter when he watched his father dragged off to prison. Even at that age, even before he was a teenager, Hunter was certain his father was innocent. In the thirty-five years since the conviction for the murders of eight girls, Hunter’s opinion hadn’t changed. It had only grown stronger.

  “Mr. Hunter.” Dr. Mackie walked through the office door, closing it softly behind him. “Thank you for seeing me today.”

  “Dr. Mackie.” Hunter shook hands with his client. “Always a pleasure.”

  Dr. David Mackie’s grip was firm. He was well-groomed, mid-forties, and had the look of a man that could run a sub-three-hour marathon. His pressed white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, and his black slacks were creaseless. His light brown hair was receding, but his skin was glowing with good health.

  “I need this case over with, Mr. Hunter. People are starting to ask questions. Some of my patients have even gone to other clinics. Even though it’s all lies, this mud is starting to stick.” With graceful movements, he sat down on the chair opposite Hunter’s desk. “It shouldn’t be this easy to destroy someone’s reputation. All this girl has is her word, and she’s destroying everything I’ve spent my life building.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Hunter sat down in his leather office chair. “We’re getting closer to the trial date and the prosecution is beginning to present better deals. They’ve already spent a lot more time on this case than they would’ve liked. They want to be out there nailing violent offenders, not dealing with these smaller cases of assault. The closer the trial gets, the better the offer.”

  Dr. Mackie looked away. “You know how I feel about a deal.”

  “Hear me out.” Hunter turned a file towards Dr. Mackie. “They’ve put a suspended sentence of two years on the table. You’ll still be charged with Criminal Sexual Assault under Illinois Statute Chapter 720, Criminal Offenses 1.20. If you take the deal, your accuser, Miss Katherine Jennings, has also requested a charitable donation to a female crisis center.”

  “And my doctor’s license?”

  “That would be up to the medical board, but their history of forgiving sexual assault cases isn’t good. It’s likely that you would lose your license to practice medicine, at least for a period of time.”

  “So I’d be forced to retire? All because some girl made up a story to get some money? This is ridiculous. I’m forty-five, and I’ve dedicated my life to helping others. I don’t do this for the pay. I do this because I want to help people.” Dr. Mackie stood and began to walk around the room, unable to sit still. “You know where you can put that deal. In more than two decades as a doctor, there hasn’t been one other complaint. Not one. You really think at this age, with everything I have, I would risk it all to sexually assault a girl I’ve never met?”

  “This isn’t about what I think.”

  “It is to me. It’s about what you think, it’s about what my family thinks, what my patients think, and what the community thinks. This is about my reputation. This is twenty-five years of hard work gone. Just like that. Just because of one liar. It shouldn’t be like that, Mr. Hunter. That’s not how the justice system is supposed to work.”

  “We’re not done yet. We can still take this to trial and prove your innocence.”

  “And further destroy my reputation? Have my name in the media? I’ve spent twenty-five years helping people. I’ve built my reputation from nothing. I had nothing as a kid. I didn’t even know my parents, and I lived in foster homes for my entire childhood. But I still made it through medical school, where I worked hard, and I’ve worked hard every day since. All that work, gone in an instant.” Dr. Mackie scoffed as he stopped pacing the floor. He leaned his weight on the back of the chair. “I’m sure the witnesses all know each other. It’s too much of a coincidence. Did she refuse another polygraph test?”

  “She did.” Hunter nodded. “But she’s well within her rights to do that. She’s claimed the recounting of the day will only add to her trauma.”

  “If she just took a polygraph test, this would all be over. Can we force her to do it?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “The polygraph test would prove she’s lying.” The frustration was eating at him. Over the past five months, his hair had become grayer, the bags under his eyes larger, and the headaches were now a constant in his life. “I’ve gone over that day so many times. None of it makes sense. This girl comes into my clinic, says that she has a rash on her inner thigh, and then accuses me of touching her inappropriately. Says I fondled her breasts, and digitally raped her. I didn’t do it. I couldn’t have. I don’t have it in me to do that. You believe me, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t have taken the case otherwise.” Hunter said. “There are too many coincidences in the circumstances. The patient was a new client, the second witness was a new client, and the third witness was a delivery driver, who was also delivering products for the first time. They’re all new to your clinic. There’s no evidence, there’s no video footage, and there’s no other claims. It’s all too clean and all too rehearsed. I believe you, Dr. Mackie, but this is a court case. This is about what we can make the jury believe.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  “We have to prove your innocence in court. That’s the challenge. I have no doubt you’re telling the truth when you say you didn’t sexually assault the girl, but we have to prove that you’re being set up by the defendant and the witnesses.”

  “I can’t believe my wife would do this.” He mumbled. “I loved that woman, and now she wants to destroy me. She set me up. All for the mighty dollar.”

  “We can’t prove that yet.”

  He blinked back the tears in his eyes as he tilted his head back. He’d thought Sarah was the one to stand by his side forever. He didn’t worry about the ten-year age gap between them. Age was only a number to him. He dreamed of having a family. Four kids. Two boys, two girls. When Sarah found out she couldn’t have kids, she was devastated. It destroyed her, and in turn, tore their relationship apart. he did all he could to support her, but she pushed him away. Every time she looked at her husband, she saw her own failures. He did everything he could, offering to adopt instead, being her shoulder to cry on, always being there for her. But she couldn’t move past it.

  “My divorce lawyer said she set this up, but he’s not very good at explaining things to me. He starts talking on one subject and then changes to another and then another and then another, and never gets back to the original topic.”

  “Then I’ll explain it clearly for you.” Hunter
leaned forward. “Under Illinois divorce law, the medical clinic and the company you own are a ‘separate property’ or ‘non-marital property,’ because you started the company before the marriage began. Because she didn’t work in the company, or assist in any way, it means the company isn’t included in the divorce settlement. It belongs solely to you. The company, which includes ownership of the building and land, is worth more than $10 million. Your ex-wife can’t touch this company as part of the divorce settlement. However, if the business is sold during the marriage, then the money becomes ‘marital property,’ which means she has claim to the funds.”

  “Which is why her divorce lawyers are so desperate to force me to sell, isn’t it?”

  “If Vandenberg and Wolfe Family Law Offices make an extra $5 million in a divorce settlement, then their bonus fee structure rises to $250,000. It may sound like a lot to pay the lawyers, but they’re proving their worth.”

  “By setting me up.”

  “By pressuring you to sell the business. They could be opportunistic, and have seen the chance to force the sale when you were charged with sexual assault. We don’t have any evidence about who has set you up.”

  Dr. Mackie’s fists gripped together. The frustration was clear. He moved to Hunter’s bookshelf, looking at the photos on the middle shelf. There was a hand full of pictures, snapshots of Hunter on international vacations and at famous locations, but only one family photo—a photo of his convicted serial killer father, laughing as he hugged his three children. The photo was taken a year before his father was sent to prison.