“I’ve worked my entire life serving others.” Dr. Mackie stared at Hunter’s family photo. “I treat older veterans for free and I treat the elderly at a reduced rate. I thought I was doing the right thing by working hard and helping my community, but while I was helping others, my wife was more interested in getting with a twenty-five-year-old kid. I don’t understand why she’s fighting this divorce so hard—she’s the one who cheated. She’s the one who wants the divorce so she can be with her twenty-five-year-old boy-toy.” His face strained with pain. “And now I’ve got lawyers coming out of my ears. I’ve already had a meeting with my divorce lawyer this morning, and now I’m meeting with a criminal lawyer. I’m going to have to work until I’m a hundred and five to pay you guys off.”
Hunter nodded, unsure of how to respond. When he was at Law School, his advisor recommended Hunter take a course in improving his ‘bedside manner.’ Show more care, his advisor said. Let the client know you’re committed to the case. Don’t be cold and aloof. In his first years as a criminal defense lawyer, Hunter tried to show more emotion in his client meetings, but it felt uncomfortable and forced. As he became older, he left that side of things to others. He was a lawyer, he reasoned, not a psychologist.
“We’ve looked for any connection between the witnesses and Vandenberg and Wolfe Family Law Offices, but at this point, we haven’t found anything.” Hunter moved the focus back to the case. “The witnesses also don’t know each other and have never crossed paths. If the witnesses all knew each other, or they all had interactions with Vandenberg and Wolfe Family Law Offices, then yes, perhaps we would have a case to argue. But right now, we have two witnesses, one male and one female, claiming they saw you grab the defendant’s breasts, whisper in her ear, and then fondle her privates. And Miss Jennings appears to be a solid witness herself. She appears credible.”
“I didn’t do it.” Dr. Mackie sat down and put his head in his hands. “I didn’t touch her in that way. Why doesn’t anyone understand that? All the witnesses are lying through their teeth. The delivery guy said he looked into the room from outside, and the blinds were open, but if I’m with a client, I never leave my blinds open. Never. The courtyard looks into my office, so I just wouldn’t do that. In my five years treating patients in that room, I’ve never once had the blinds open.”
“If we can prove the blinds were closed, then we can discount his witness statement. We’ll look into it.” Hunter made a note on his pad. “Apart from the first witness, Ms. Perkins, were there any other new patients that day?”
“One more. Booked in twenty minutes after Miss Jennings. I’ve never had three new patients in one day before. Never.”
“I didn’t see the third new girl on the appointment list?”
“Her appointment was cancelled at the start of the day. She didn’t show up.”
“And the other patient’s name?”
“Becky Bennett.” Dr. Mackie said. “I’ll have my secretary forward her details to you.”
Hunter made notes on his legal pad. “We’ll look into it. See if she’s the link that connects all these new patients together. We’ll do our best to find something.”
Hunter paused for a moment. He hated taking on sexual assault cases, he hated the idea of pressuring the victim on the stand, but Dr. Mackie had presented a good argument when he asked Hunter to defend him. Something didn’t add up in the case. Over the last five months, after reviewing all the evidence, Hunter was sure Dr. Mackie was innocent. “If we had evidence that it was a set-up, then we could build a solid defense. Apart from your soon-to-be ex-wife, is there anyone out there who would want to see your doctor’s license revoked?”
“Christoph King.”
“Because he’s trying to buy the business?”
“Not just that. We’ve had some loud arguments, and he hates me. He’s the owner of the medical clinics which are popping up everywhere. GP Extra, the business calls themselves. He wanted to buy my clinic a year ago, and I refused. He put a lot of money on the table for me to sell, fifteen percent more than the value price, but I told him I wasn’t interested, because if he gets my clinic, then he gets a monopoly on the local area and can raise the prices through the roof. I have some elderly patients who won’t be able to afford it, and they’ll have to travel an hour for their regular care. That’s why I didn’t sell to him. He thinks being a doctor is all about money. That’s all these clinics are to the businessmen—money makers. They don’t care about the patients.”
Hunter picked up his pen, ready to write. “It might be the start of something to build upon. It could be something we use in court.”
“But be careful.” Dr. Mackie said. “I’ve had some blow ups with him. He’s not a nice guy, and he’s known to be merciless with anyone that dares to challenge him.”
Chapter 6
Even on the sunniest of days, the office of criminal psychiatrist Patrick Hunter had little natural light. The blinds were rarely opened, and along with the dark colors of the wooden walls and the leather couch, it created a cave-like atmosphere. The room smelled like a vintage furniture store—a combination of aged mahogany, used leather, and old books. This wasn’t a place to party, Patrick would say, it was a place to work, to focus, and meet with clients. The bookshelf on the left wall was packed with books on criminal psychiatry, from the floor to the ceiling, all except for the middle row. That row was reserved for his prized possession—a signed 1985 Chicago Bears football. Patrick loved his Bears. The toughest team, the grit, the determination, the defense. He didn’t care if they weren’t winning all the time, as long as they were playing with a tough defensive attitude.
He looked at his watch: 5:55pm. It was unlike his younger brother, Tex, to be late, and he was twenty-five minutes past their arranged time. When Tex hustled into the office, Patrick was sitting at his desk, feet up on the table, reading a well-worn and dog-eared copy of Catch-22 by Joseph Heller.
“What’s your excuse?” Patrick greeted his brother, not raising his eyes from the book.
“Traffic.” Hunter replied as he closed the door behind him. “I don’t know which cars to trust.”
Patrick squinted at the reference, unsure what it meant. He placed his book down, stood, walked to the back of the room, and removed two whiskey glasses from the cabinet. He poured a healthy amount in each and handed his brother one.
Hunter smiled, sat down, and then looked around the office. “How’s work?”
“Today, I had a potential serial killer sitting just where you are now.” Patrick said. “She was one of the few people to genuinely scare me.”
“She?”
“And only twenty-one. She’s been having re-occurring urges to kill many people. She’s never done anything wrong, never anything violent, but she’s having murderous delusions as the result of heightened anxiety.” Patrick sat down and kicked his feet back up on the desk again. “I feel sorry for kids these days. Their anxiety is heightened everywhere they turn. They’re constantly told the world is burning, political rivals have to be their enemies, and everyone else seems to have a perfect life, thanks to the wonders of social media. This generation of kids is going to have a meltdown in a few years, and it’s not going to be pretty.”
“Looks like you won’t be out of a job anytime soon.” Hunter said. “How’s my nephew?”
“Max is good.” Patrick smiled. “He’s worked his way up from being a cleaner on one of the tourist boats that cruise up the river, to a tour guide. And now he’s studying for his boat license. Thinks he’ll even be a captain one day soon. He’s got that good Hunter work ethic.”
“Maybe Natalie does as well.”
Patrick paused and stared at his whiskey. It never took his younger brother long to turn the conversation to their dysfunctional family. Patrick would rather bury those references, forget his father ever existed, leave the past for the history books, but his brother never let it go. After a while of staring at his glass, Patrick took a long sip of whiskey. “I know h
ow much this is your life goal, Tex, and it’s the only reason I’m helping you find her. I’m only doing this to help you, not that old criminal behind bars.”
“That old criminal is your father.”
“And a convicted serial killer.” Patrick took his feet off his desk and leaned forward. “You tell me what you have first and then I’ll let you know where I’m at with Natalie.”
“Our lead on the Cinco Casino appears to be correct. It was an underground casino in Wicker Park during the eighties. It was run by the mob, but South Americans reportedly came in and took it over in ‘88. Things got violent, a turf war, so the South Americans shut it down. And when I say it was violent, I mean, very violent. Twenty-five people went missing in the area over a fifteen-month period. People got scared, rumors of beheadings, and bodies being dumped in the Chicago river in slabs of concrete. That fifteen-month period of violence was the fifteen months before our father was arrested for murdering eight girls. It’s not a coincidence. There was talk that the gangs moved in when people started to refuse to pay their debts. People were being killed, knocked off for owing money.”
“Any official record of this?”
“Nothing in the police files.”
“And?” Patrick pressed.
“And this could be it. Don’t you see the connection? Our father is innocent, and he was set up by the South Americans. This is the lead we’ve waited thirty-five years for.”
“What are you suggesting? He was set-up because of his gambling debts?”
“Maybe our father owed money to the casino. Maybe they set him up to take the fall for the killings. We need to find Natalie and find out what she knows. We know she wants to help—that’s why she sent all the evidence back to Chicago.”
“But it’s been years since she sent anything.” Patrick sighed and stared into his whiskey again. He drew a long breath and then leaned back in his chair. “I spoke to Alfred yesterday.”
“Alfred? You’re not even going to call him ‘Dad?’”
“I haven’t called him ‘Dad’ in many years.” Patrick shrugged. “You can call him that if you like, but he stopped being my father a long time ago. He’s old, Tex. He’s aging very quickly, and the cancer is eating him away. He’s barely a shell of a man anymore.”
“Even more reason why we need the truth now.” Hunter held his eyes on his brother. “You haven’t been in to see him at Cook County Prison in more than half a decade. Why now? Why the trip to see him?”
“I wanted to see his reaction when I told him I’d found Natalie. And I watched him very carefully, Tex. That’s what I do. I read people’s reactions, and their responses, and the way they hold themselves. That’s my job and that’s what I study.”
“And?”
“And he was scared, Tex. I’d never seen him scared. Even when they convicted him, even when they denied his appeals, I never saw fear. Disappointment, yes, but never fear. When I mentioned Natalie’s name, he looked anxious. And when I told him we had found her, and we were going to talk to her, it was pure fear I saw in his eyes.” Patrick looked away. “And then the old man pleaded with me to leave it alone. He was begging me not to go and see her. He begged me to never mention her name again.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t answer another question from me. Told me to leave it all alone.”
“Why do you think he did that? As a psychiatrist, why do you think he was telling you that?”
“I don’t know.” Patrick drew a long breath. “But I know he doesn’t want us to question her.”
Hunter stood and walked over to the only family photo in Patrick’s office—a photo of Patrick with his arm around his son, Max. They looked happy—smiling, and carefree. Happiness wasn’t a word Hunter associated with family. “Natalie knows something about what happened to those murdered girls. She sent information that said she saw someone near the site where the girls were buried. Her voice wasn’t heard in court. If we can get her to talk, then we have a chance at proving his innocence.”
“Tex, there’s something else. I think you’ll need to sit down for this one.”
“What is it?”
Patrick moved to the filing cabinet on the left-hand side of the room. He picked out the first file and flung it onto the table towards Hunter. It landed facing him. Hunter walked to the table, opened the file, leaning forward as he read the first page of a transcript. “What is this?” he whispered.
“It’s our sister’s criminal record.” Patrick said without a hint of emotion. “Five charges laid against her, five trips to prison as a Mexican citizen. The reports show she applied for citizenship the second she landed as an eighteen-year-old, and then spent the next ten years in and out of some of Mexico’s worst prisons. These aren’t minor criminal charges against her. This is serious violent crime.”
“All these charges are more than twenty years old.” Hunter started to process the information. “Come on, Patrick. We were all angry after our father’s trial. I got into a lot of fights at school, and even you got into fights at college. You, the pacifist of the family, were getting into fights. It was hard not to be angry after what we went through.”
“I agree there would’ve been a lot of confusion for her, especially as she fled the country. The transition to another country would’ve only added to her bewilderment. New culture, new foods, not knowing the local customs. It would’ve been hard, but it was hard for all of us. We were all confused. We were all scared. We went from a peaceful and average life, to one full of hate and turmoil. And maybe that confusion manifested itself as violence. However, these charges are more than just little scuffles. These violent assaults are bad enough to land her in a Mexican prison, and I doubt these were the only times she was violent. These were just the times she was caught.”
Hunter sat down and read the reports again. “Her last trip to prison is more than fifteen years ago. That’s a lifetime ago. I’m sure she’s a different person now.”
“Can’t you see it, Tex? It’s right in front of you. Our father was protecting someone when they charged him with killing eight girls. You said it yourself. You said Alfred was innocent, and you were sure he was protecting someone else. Natalie was sending evidence back to Chicago because she knew the truth. She was trying to get her father out of prison because she knew he was innocent. She disappeared off the face of the planet, and nobody could find her.”
“What are you saying?” Hunter shook his head.
“Alfred has spent his life in prison for someone else’s crimes. After talking to him, I finally agree with you. There’s a possibility Alfred may be innocent. I can see that now. He’s told you so many times to leave this alone, and you know he’s holding something back from you. Why would he do that, Tex?”
Hunter didn’t respond as he stared at the files in front of him.
“Natalie has been to prison five times for violent assault. Five times. All five occasions were in Mexico City. Badly beating up people in bars, in homes, or on the street. Really badly. Two of the attacks are on men who are noted as being larger than her and she still managed to put them both in the hospital. She’s broken jaws, broken bones, and crushed a woman’s hand with a hammer. This is a woman full of rage, fury and anger. And perhaps, just perhaps…” Patrick stared at his brother.
“Don’t say it.” Hunter shook his head.
“You have to see it, Tex. It’s right in front of you.”
“Don’t say it, Patrick.”
“You have to acknowledge the evidence. It’s there. It’s all there on the page. Look at it. It’s the explanation we all missed. This is it.”
“No. It can’t be true.”
“Tex.” Patrick took a deep breath and walked around the table. He leaned on the table next to his younger brother. “There’s a chance that Natalie Hunter is the killer our father was trying to protect.”
Chapter 7
It took Hunter more than an hour to roll out of bed the next morning. Five aspirin, along with five
glasses of water, followed. Even after half a bottle of whiskey had disappeared the night before, Hunter found it hard to sleep. He needed to forget his feelings, forget the thunderous thoughts rolling around in his head, forget the theory that his sister could be a serial killer. He wanted to move away from the ideas his brother presented, but the theory fit.
And what if Patrick was right? As a criminal psychiatrist, could he be correct in his assessment of their sister? And where did that leave Hunter’s fight for justice? Where did it leave everything he’d fought so hard for?
Hunter had spent most of his adult life fighting for his father’s freedom. Fighting for the truth. He knew his father was innocent. He always knew it. His father had refused to plead guilty to the crimes, but also refused to answer questions about the events that took place over those days. In hindsight, Hunter remembered that he also refused to talk about Natalie. Was his father doing it to protect his daughter? And what if he was? Could Hunter expose his sister? He didn’t know the answer to the question, and there was only one avenue to the truth.
He had to speak to Natalie.
Despite his reluctance, Patrick agreed with the idea. They knew she was working in a café in the coastal Mexican town of Puerto Vallarta. The woman had spent her life away from Chicago, and Hunter doubted whether she’d be open about discussing the case with them over the phone. In fact, he was sure she’d disappear the second she heard they were looking for her. The brothers needed to travel to Mexico and surprise her. It was the only way.
After a slow morning, Hunter parked his car on the side of the road, took another aspirin and rubbed his temples, before he picked up his briefcase and exited the car. The grass was freshly cut next door, and the smell wafted down the street. Hunter took a moment to take it in before he sneezed.
Stacey Fulbright’s family home in Naperville hadn’t changed in the five years since he was last there. Nice suburb, nice lawn, nice trees. They had nice neighbors and a nice community. The local school was nice. The shopkeepers were nice. The police were nice. The roads were nice, the gardens were nice, the smells were nice. Everything around him was the same, safe, comfortable living. It was a formula sold to the masses as a suburban dream, but it was also Hunter’s idea of a nightmare. He needed the drama of the city. The energy created by millions of people crammed together. The rush. The fear. The heightened awareness. It fueled him. Perhaps one day, he reasoned, when it was time to slow down and smell the roses, the suburbs would appeal to him.
Saving Justice Page 4