Saving Justice

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “I don’t expect you to understand, Tex, but I need to do what’s best for Noah and Zoe. If I have to sacrifice myself, then that’s what I need to do. I have to do what’s best for them. I know Carl would never hurt them, I know that. He loves them so much and he’s such an amazing father. But…” She looked at her hands. They were shaking again. Anxiety had become an ever-present feeling that she couldn’t escape from. “But I also know that Carl will fight for them. He’ll torture me to get to the kids. This is a no-win situation for me.”

  “We don’t know that he’s set you up yet.”

  “I need to take the deal, Tex. I have to do it for my kids.”

  Hunter leaned back in his chair. He looked at the ceiling. “Michelle Law came to us at five o’clock on a Saturday evening with a deal. That’s very unusual, Stacey. It means she’s desperate for you to sign this deal before we find out what they know.”

  “I don’t care anymore, Tex. I can do a year. It’s not that long. Michelle Law wants someone to pay for Fielding’s death, and she’s not going to stop until I’m convicted. A year isn’t bad. I can keep my head down, stay out of trouble, and then, in twelve months, everything is forgotten.”

  Hunter took a number of deep breaths before he leaned forward. “Give me a few days to look into it.”

  “Don’t you get it, Tex? I don’t care about that. I don’t care about the case. I don’t care about any of this anymore. I have to protect my children. And this is what’s best for them.”

  “Give me a few days, Stacey. Please. The prosecution has said the deal is on the table until Thursday morning, and that’ll be long enough for me to investigate the case. Let me see if I find some information about what they know. You’re a lawyer, Stacey. You know how this works.”

  She didn’t answer. She was hunched forward, leaning her elbows on her knees, hair drooping over her face.

  “Five days, Stacey. Worst case scenario is that the same deal is still on the table, and you sign it, and do the time. But the best-case scenario is that we can find the information to get these charges thrown out.”

  She stood, looking around the office, unable to control her shaking hands. “You have five days, Tex. If you haven’t got anything by then, I’ll sign that deal.”

  Chapter 29

  Stacey Fulbright huddled under her heavy blanket, her head resting on the arm of the couch, watching the mind-numbing television. It was another reality show. It was too fake and rehearsed to be funny. Even their moments of emotional drama seemed scripted. Another empty bottle of wine sat near her. This time, she hadn’t even bothered with the glass. It was how she had spent the last five weeks—nervous, anxious, drunk, and over-thinking everything.

  Never one to consume much alcohol, Stacey had avoided being drunk for most of her adult life. But as the pressure of the court case was starting to build, as the fear started to set in, she couldn’t avoid it. It was an escape, a way to disappear from the rumble of thoughts that steamrolled through her head. She found that she preferred blacking out drunk on the couch to lying in bed, tossing and turning, and thinking about the case for hours on end.

  The lavender flowers in the middle of the dining room table had died weeks ago, and she hadn’t mustered up the strength to replace them. She used to love the smell of lavender. It was fresh and calming. For most of her marriage to Carl, the smell radiated through the house. Now, her home smelled of alcohol, sweat, and nerves. It stunk of loneliness.

  After mustering all her energy, she opened her phone and scrolled through the happy photos of her children, her husband, and of her past life. They all looked so happy, so joyous. It seemed so long ago. A lifetime. As she scrolled through the photos, she imagined her children in Florida, having a vacation with their father, squealing as they went on the biggest theme park rides.

  Carl had always had a dark streak. She knew that. He was a good man, a man who worked hard and provided for his family, but he could snap in an instant, with no warning at all. The fact she didn’t see the divorce coming scared her. This was her world and her work—she thought she’d heard all about the signs of a failing marriage. The amount of times she’d spoken to women about their divorces was countless. They all told her the signs to look out for. It was the little things, they said. The moments where love should be.

  On reflection, she had noticed the signals, but she hadn’t done anything about them. She didn’t think her problems were that big and she ignored them, hoping they would go away.

  She was sure she could do a year in prison. After that, she could rebuild a life without Carl. They could split the custody of the children, and she would avoid Carl altogether. But if he killed Joe Fielding, then could he do it to her as well?

  As a woman dedicated to defending abused wives, she thought she’d heard the worst of the stories. The black eyes. The broken bones. The fear of death. She could sympathize with her clients, and she thought she understood their pain. It was only once she was experiencing that fear for herself that she truly understood how fearful an existence it was.

  So many women had come into her office abused and broken. She’d heard the same story over and over—the husbands who beat them were drug addicts, alcoholics, or had anger-management issues. Those men were easy to spot. They almost wore their ability to abuse others like a badge of honor. It was the quiet abusers that scared her the most. The ones that would bottle up their rage and only let it explode when alone. Carl had that potential. She saw him snap a number of times, but it was always behind closed doors.

  Carl was a good planner. Smart. Organized. Cunning. He’d could’ve lured Fielding to the parking lot. He could’ve used her letter opener and then planted it next to the body. He could’ve been planning the whole thing for months. But as much as she thought he did it, she still had her doubts. Carl had a good heart. He was once full of compassion. Full of love. He attended church occasionally, and felt bad if he had to kill an insect. He had a gentle touch. A nice soul.

  The ringing of her cell phone shocked her from her half-asleep, half-drunken state.

  It was a blocked number. Thinking of the possibilities about her children, she answered it.

  “Hello?” Her voice was soft and cautious.

  “Take the deal.” The man’s voice on the end of the phone was firm.

  “What deal?” She whispered.

  “Take the deal or your family will suffer.”

  The caller ended the conversation.

  She shook as she stared at the phone. Her heart rate increased. Her breathing quickened. She recognized the voice but it wasn’t her husband’s. It was rougher. Deeper.

  Staring at the phone shaking in her hands, she knew what she had to do.

  She now had only one option.

  She had to do what was best for her children. If she took the deal, her children would grow up as the children of a convicted felon. Of a prisoner. She didn’t want that for Noah or Zoe. She couldn’t imagine the pain they would suffer as children of a felon. Their reputations would be forever tainted. As children of a killer, their life paths would be altered dramatically.

  That left her with only one option. There was only one thing left to do.

  She had to say goodbye to her life.

  Chapter 30

  The prosecution used the following Monday morning of Dr. Mackie’s trial to refresh the juror’s memory of the week prior. Rollins called a number of expert witnesses, all adding little drops of information to the available pool of knowledge and reinforcing the facts that were stated the week before.

  Hunter had spent the night fueled by coffee, trying to find the information that the prosecution had on Stacey Fulbright’s case. He came up with nothing. No new witnesses, no new angles, and no possible leads. He wasn’t sure what new information the prosecution had found. He was running out of time with Stacey’s case, and she was going to sign on the dotted line for a crime she didn’t commit. He understood her decision, he understood why she needed to protect her children, but
he didn’t like it. John C. Clarke was continuing to work the case, and would call Hunter the second he heard anything.

  Before walking into court that morning, Hunter spent fifteen minutes in the front seat of his car, redirecting his focus back to Dr. Mackie. There was always more than one case, and always more than one place for his attention to go. He had to be switched on for the courtroom. One opportunity might be all the case presented, and Hunter needed to grab even the smallest chance. He had to push back his thoughts about Stacey Fulbright and her family, as well as his sister Natalie and his father’s case.

  As more expert witnesses in Dr. Mackie’s case testified, Hunter objected where he could, he threw shade at the witnesses, questioned their credentials, but overall, the case still was stacked against them. When the prosecution called their fifth expert witness for the day, Dr. Mackie’s nerves were beginning to show. His leg jiggled under the table again, his eyes dashed all around the courtroom, and he rubbed his fingers over each other in a repeated pattern. Hunter asked him to control the nerves, but he also knew it was hard. Everything Dr. Mackie had worked for, everything he spent his life building, was on the line. There was doubt, but not enough to win the case.

  Hunter had pressured Detective Regina Heart to talk to Heather Monroe and Becky Bennett. They were the real hope. They were the ones that could turn the case around, but they had to be convinced to testify. If Heather Monroe testified, she would break her non-disclosure agreement and possibly risk losing her home. The risks were high, but if she told the truth and told the court that Joe Fielding asked her to make up extra charges against Dr. Lighten, the case was over.

  After the procession of expert witnesses, Judge Reed called an end to the day’s proceedings. The jury had filed out, looking bored, and starting to look like they wished the case would end. Dr. Mackie waited at the defense table until the prosecution had also left the room. “That wasn’t a good day, was it? We’re about to lose, aren’t we?”

  “They all can’t be spectacular days. It’s about winning the war, not the little battles. We can give the prosecution a win or two because we’ve got to focus on the big picture. Tomorrow will be better.”

  In a daze, Dr. Mackie walked out of the courtroom without saying another word.

  After he had exited, Hunter sighed and slumped into his chair. The truth was so close, but he was struggling to prove it in the courtroom. He knew Dr. Mackie had been set up, he could sense it in his bones, but he couldn’t prove it in the courtroom. Hunter rubbed his temples, sighed again, packed his briefcase and left the courtroom. When he stepped into the marbled halls of the George L. Leighton courthouse, his phone rang.

  It was John C. Clarke. It was his fifth missed call from Clarke in the last hour.

  He went to answer the call, but he noticed Carl Fulbright waiting in the hallway. Carl looked tired, his eyes were red, and his skin was dry, but his fists were clenched.

  “You.” Carl pointed at Hunter. “Tex Hunter.”

  “Carl?” Hunter squinted. “What’s wrong?”

  “She killed herself.”

  “Who?”

  “Who? Who! Stacey! My wife!” Carl yelled. “Stacey killed herself!”

  People around them stopped and stared. The bailiffs raised their eyebrows. They stepped closer.

  “What?” Hunter whispered. “What are you talking about?”

  “Stacey’s dead.” Carl glared at Hunter. “She killed herself on Sunday afternoon. Her mother found the note.”

  “No. How?”

  “Jumped off a bridge into the river! It’s all your fault, Hunter. It was you. You were supposed to save her. You were supposed to protect her. You let her die!”

  “No. No. No.” With eyes wide open, Hunter shook his head. His legs started to give way. He sat on a nearby chair. “This can’t be right. Not Stacey. Not now. We were so close.”

  “It’s in her suicide note.” Carl leaned his fist into the wall, standing above Hunter. “They found her car at the bridge. I’m… There’s a note.”

  “Why? Why now?”

  “The note said the court case was too much. It said she wanted to take the deal but she couldn’t hold on any longer. This is your fault, Hunter.” The rage grew in Carl again. His teeth ground together. He pointed his finger in Hunter’s face. “This is all your fault! You should’ve looked after her!”

  “Me? Really, Carl?!” Hunter stood, looming over Carl. “The last time I talked to her, she was devastated that you’d been talking to Vandenberg and Wolfe Family Law Offices.”

  “What?” Carl’s mouth hung open. “What are you saying?! My wife is dead, and you’re accusing me! I was in Florida! I was with my kids. I didn’t even find the note! Her mother found the note and called me. This is your fault!” Carl snarled; his fists tight. “Wait… How did you know about my meeting with Vandenberg and Wolfe?”

  “Stacey found an invoice from them, addressed to you. The letter came to the house, Carl.”

  “No…” His voice trailed off. “No, no, no.”

  “Are you saying you didn’t meet with them?”

  “No, I mean, yes, I did meet with them, but that was five months ago. We were on rocky ground, but I wasn’t going to get a divorce. After talking to the lawyers, I was determined to see us through. And after this murder charge… I was going to stand by her. Why would they send the invoice now?” He turned around, unsure of where to go next. “No! That invoice would’ve tipped her over the edge. No!”

  He clenched his fist, and he punched the wall. The bailiffs started to walk closer.

  Carl looked at Hunter. Hunter nodded and rested his hand on Carl’s shoulder. Carl resisted for a moment, before he fell into Hunter’s chest, and began to sob.

  Chapter 31

  The following days of the prosecution’s evidence in Dr. Mackie’s trial came and went in a blur. Despite an abundance of caffeine, Hunter struggled to focus on the case at hand. Expert witness after expert witness came to the stand to discuss their knowledge of sexual assaults. One expert witness, a feminist lecturer, accused all doctors of having the potential to be sexual predators. There was a commotion after the testimony, and Judge Reed told the jury to ignore every word of her statement after Hunter objected and filed another motion, but even with the drama, even with the loud commotion, Hunter’s mind was elsewhere.

  The police concluded that Stacey Fulbright had climbed up and then jumped off the Chicago Skyway Bridge. They hadn’t found the body yet, but that wasn’t unusual. It was a spot known for people wanting to end their lives. There were helpline numbers on the bridge, the police said. Another driver had seen Stacey walking along the edge of the structure. Another saw her climbing the metal frame. The police sent someone to the bridge to investigate the report, but she’d already gone. Heavy rains had recently washed through, and her body could be miles away.

  She’d written a suicide note, left her car at the entrance to the bridge, and sent a goodbye message to her mother. Her purse was left in the car. Hunter retraced the steps of the case a thousand times—what could he have done differently? What more could he have said? Would Stacey still be alive if he agreed that she should take the deal? How could he have helped her?

  In his state of distraction, Dr. Mackie’s sexual assault case was beginning to tip in favor of the prosecution. A guilty verdict was looking likely. Under pressure, Dr. Mackie had started to consider a deal. They still had the offer on the table as Rollins knew the case wasn’t open and shut. Even with the witnesses, there was an air of doubt still in the courtroom, but was it enough to convince twelve members of the jury? Hunter wanted to advise Dr. Mackie against a deal, but the last week had left a sour taste in his mouth.

  Hunter’s advice to continue the trial until a decision was based on logic—they still had the chance to win the sexual assault case. The jury didn’t look convinced, and their minds could change in the jury room. All it took was one loud voice in the deliberation room, one strong opinion, and the case could end wi
th a hung jury. It wasn’t a win, but it was the best they could hope for. Hunter doubted whether the prosecution would try the case again without new evidence.

  At Hunter’s request, Judge Reed adjourned the trial for the weekend on Friday at midday. Rollins didn’t object when Hunter explained he wanted to attend Stacey Fulbright’s memorial.

  After the morning in court, Hunter returned to his building, overwhelmed by his thoughts. He walked into his office, greeted Esther, and then removed his dry-cleaned suit from its bag. He closed the office door and changed his suit.

  Hunter struggled to hold back his emotions. He hated the feeling of grief. In that moment, he was taken back to those days as a ten-year-old. The feeling in the pit of his stomach reminded him of the instant the jury members said his father was guilty. The moment the jury foreman stood in front of the full courtroom and said those words. The foreman’s voice was strong, loud, and angry. It was the moment Hunter lost his father forever.

  Hunter could feel that sensation again. It was a poison, an acid leaking through his stomach and infecting every inch of his being. His arms were weak. His legs could barely stand. He could taste the grief again.

  He remembered the confusion he felt as a ten-year-old. People behind him cheered at the verdict. They hugged. They yelled. They high-fived. His brother, next to him, said nothing. His mother sat down on the bench and began to cry. His father didn’t turn around. He didn’t look at them. He stood at the defense table, head down, hands together in front of him, as the judge confirmed the decision.

  The lawyers next to his father didn’t care. They almost seemed happy. They had no intention of saving Alfred Hunter. They wanted to see the man the media dubbed as the ‘Chicago Hunter’ locked away in prison for life. In their minds, he was a serial killer taken off the streets.

  The bailiffs took his father away. Still, he didn’t turn around. The courtroom cleared, as did the noise of celebration. Patrick helped their mother out of the courtroom, leaving Hunter in the front row of the courtroom alone. He stared at the empty jury box. He didn’t understand how they could’ve said he was guilty. How did they come to that decision? The feeling of illness rushed through every part of his body. He wanted to be sick. He wanted to curl into a ball and make the pain stop. He had failed. He had let his father go to prison. As a ten-year-old, he thought he could’ve stopped it. He thought his testimony would’ve proved how great his father was. He thought if the lawyers had allowed him to speak, he could’ve convinced the jury of his father’s innocence. He could’ve explained to them that his father couldn’t have been a serial killer. He spent twenty minutes sitting alone in the court before the bailiff yelled at him, called him scum, and told him to leave. At that moment, Hunter vowed never to feel like that again.