Hunter drew a long, thoughtful breath. “Why do you do it, Robert? Why put yourself out there?”
“I’ve thought about that a lot over the past week.”
“And the answer?”
“To make a difference. But politics is about power. Influence. Respect. People respect me for what I represent, and I’ve fought for that my whole life. I enjoy that respect. My father never respected me—he was a different man to me, never said much, never cared for much other than his Jack Daniels—and he didn’t respect the fact that I had a voice. He used to tell me not to talk so much.”
“And here you are, forty-six years later, still fighting for that respect.” Hunter looked over his shoulder, watching a woman talking on her phone, staring at the disguised Sulzberger. “We should go. The media is not our friend at the moment. They won’t help you get reelected right now.”
“I want them to see me.” Sulzberger removed his hat and sunglasses, pulled off his cheap mustache, and placed all three on the small table.
“Robert, no.” Hunter looked again. A car screeched to a halt outside the window. “Not now. Not yet. The time isn’t right.”
“Let them come.”
A man exited the car, camera ready. Outside the coffee shop, he met the woman that had been sitting next to them earlier, and she pointed to the men.
“You’ll have your time, Robert, but it’s not yet. We can’t have your face on the front page again tomorrow. We don’t want this to be trial by media.”
“It’s the beginning of my reelection campaign.”
“Not now. Not here.”
The man lifted his camera to his eye, ready to take snaps through the window.
“If you want me to represent you, we have to move now,” Hunter said.
Click. The first whirl of the camera snapped.
Hunter stood, his back to the camera, blocking the shot of Sulzberger. “We have to move before they get the right shot for the front page.”
Sulzberger didn’t move.
“I promise that you’ll get your chance for publicity, but that time is not now.” Hunter leaned down closer. “You need to move.”
Sulzberger nodded, accepting Hunter’s hard stare, and began to move away from the cameras beginning to gather outside.
But not before he stopped, looked directly at the camera, and smiled.
Chapter 18
She swung left.
Then right.
Then left again.
She followed the movements on the YouTube clip on the laptop in front of her, learning how to defend herself against the possibilities.
Guns hadn’t always scared her, but the power of taking someone’s life with one simple pull of the trigger frightened her now. When she was young, life was hard, and guns meant control, they meant power to the defenseless, but her life had changed since those days.
For the last month, she’d been following the instructions of a former UFC fighting champion, learning how to throw a hook, an uppercut, and a straight kick, among many other moves.
She skipped around her dining room table, past all the empty boxes, past all the useless goods that she’d obtained over the years. She danced around the new couch, around the new dining room table, punching at the shadows.
She even made noises as she threw her fists.
Life was slowly creeping past her.
Slowly edging her forward to her death.
Time was escaping her grasp every day. Every day that she lay her head down in bed, she felt another day, another moment, slip through her fingers. With every day that came and went, she felt more tired, more rundown.
Life, for all its great opportunities, was eating her away.
Life had tied her down.
She’d had enough of being tired.
Enough of coming last.
It had to be her time to shine now.
She wasn’t concerned about regaining her youth. Those days were past her. What she wanted was to realize her greatness. She wanted to fulfill her potential.
She was told she could have it all. She was told that there were endless possibilities in her life. Possibilities that generations of women didn’t have before. She should take those possibilities and use them.
But possibilities bring pressure.
Pressure to live up to them. Pressure to use them. Pressure to choose the right path.
And if you didn’t choose the right path, then you had wasted the opportunities that others fought so hard for.
The pressure was killing her from the inside out.
And she wouldn’t have it anymore.
She couldn’t.
Something had to change.
And that change began now. She would no longer be confined. She would no longer be held back. She would remove all the obstacles.
He was the biggest obstacle. He was holding her back.
She knew where to find him.
She knew where he was going to be.
She had tracked his movements for so long now. He thought he could keep secrets, but she knew more than he ever would. He thought he could hide things from her, but he would never know the amount of time she had spent tracking him.
His lawyer was fighting to prove him innocent.
His lawyer was more than competent, and he would find a way out of this; she knew that. Their path may even lead to her. That was why she had to put a stop to this.
She wouldn’t let him get away with what he did.
She needed her revenge.
She placed her hand on the gun on the kitchen table.
The time for thinking had stopped.
Now, it was time for action.
Chapter 19
“Another day, another dollar.” Prosecutor Michelle Law groaned as she walked through the security checkpoint into the courthouse.
The guard, with his hand on his gun, only nodded his response.
People grumbled their way through the security line, walking in from the outside sunshine into the dimly lit building, hurrying to get to their next destination. There was a feeling of history in the building, beyond the architecture that had stood for many decades, beyond the cold stone that lined the walls. This was where so many residents of Chicago had their lives changed, for better or worse.
Michelle Law felt the weight of that history in every case she took on.
If she were so inclined, she could claim that she was in the depths of a midlife crisis. The question of ‘why?’ had constantly been in her head over the past year.
Why go to work and ride the elevator full of stinking people? Why does it make a difference? Why get dressed in the morning? Why even get out of bed? Why keep going?
That was the way her generation had been raised—always have a reason, always know the why behind your actions.
Her adopted father didn’t like living that way. He was a ‘no-questions, get-it-done’ sort of guy.
“Buckle up, shut up, and let’s get going,” he used to repeat to her every time they drove anywhere.
Raised by her adoptive parents after her young mother placed her for adoption, Law felt like she was being raised by a generation removed from everything relative to her. In high school, everyone else’s parents seemed liberal, progressive, like they wanted their children to be free.
Not her guardians.
They wanted her home at 5:30 p.m. to eat at 6 p.m. One hour of television followed, then chores, and then bed. That was the only life she knew.
Despite the strict upbringing by her guardians, a voice in her head told her that she was the daughter of a teen mum; someone who hadn’t followed the rules. She’d looked for her mother, time and time again, trying to find the answers of her genetic line. It was her truth. Who she really was.
To look her mother in the eyes, to be held in the arms of the woman who gave birth to her, would melt the coldness in her heart.
One moment, that was all she needed.
One hug. One kiss.
She tried to forget ab
out it, tried to move on from the reality, but her birth mother’s identity was a nagging truth in the back of her mind, always there, always only a scratch away from the surface.
She’d tried to do her best, live a good life, be a good person, but every year was getting harder. Every year, she felt closer to the cliff, stepping closer to the edge.
If she could just take a vacation, a week away from the grind, she could manage her feelings, but her job was too demanding, and sadly, she would have nobody to go with.
In the land of the free, she felt trapped by her career, her commitments, and her consumerism.
Defeated, she entered the small conference room, lined with dull oakwood walls and black furniture, with no windows to open, the darkness matching her feelings. The damp smell filled her nose, and she shivered as she thought about the germs in the room before looking through her bag for hand sanitizer.
After cleansing her hands with a small spray of disinfectant, she opened her laptop and smiled when she saw an email from her mentor, Cindy Mendel, one of the few people that had stood by her side as the years crumbled away, one of the few people who had ever shown her love.
They met twelve years earlier; Cindy was seeking her out to help for a case in prosecuting fraud by one of her staffers. Since that case, Cindy had taken Law under her wing, always there for her, always available with gentle advice, always backing her up when times were tough.
Cindy felt more like family to her than her adopted parents ever did. There was affection and care in Cindy’s voice, something warm and kind.
The email was nice, friendly, but it was the last line of the email that captured Law’s attention:
I hope the case conference goes the way you want today. Keep an eye on that defense lawyer. I’ve heard that he’s going to try and blame the wife, Kim Sulzberger.
A knock at the door took her focus away from the email.
“Good of you to finally join me, Tex,” Law quipped as Tex Hunter walked into the room. “I’m not wasting your time; I hope.”
“How about we stop wasting everyone’s time and drop these ridiculous charges.” He smiled.
“No can do, I’m afraid.” She looked to the door, but nobody else walked through. “Your client didn’t want to join us today?”
“You look disappointed that he’s not here?”
“I am. I expected him to come to this meeting, to his future. I would’ve liked to put the deal to him myself, and truthfully, I wanted to see the man. I want to know how he’s going, and I enjoy looking into criminals’ eyes before I send them away.”
“Then we have a problem because Robert Sulzberger is no criminal and you won’t be sending him away. He was set up.”
“Oh, this will be good.” She rolled her eyes as Hunter placed his briefcase on the table, unbuttoned his jacket, and sat down. “I’m guessing that you’re going after the wife? She’s going to be the person that you pin this on? If it is, bad luck. The police investigated her, and this office has investigated her, and we’re satisfied that she wasn’t involved. Her fingerprints aren’t even in the basement.”
“Don’t you find that unusual? No fingerprints in her own house? Perhaps that’s a little too unusual.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Her fingerprints were cleaned from the scene.”
“I really hope you’ve got more to present to me than just that.”
“We have evidence. And we have a suspect.”
“I sense that you are going to include a ‘but’ in your next sentence.”
“But we need more time to build this case. We have to piece the puzzle together first. We have all the pieces, but we have to move them into place.”
“I don’t believe you.” Law shook her head. “What I think is happening is that you’re trying to play us. You’re trying to fake that you have a suspect so that you can start to negotiate for a reduced sentence. You’re going to tell everyone that you’re after Kim Sulzberger, that she’s a real suspect. But no. That’s not going to work this time. Not with this case. This man is too high profile for us to give out a reduced charge of second-degree murder. It wouldn’t look good for us if we gave out a reduced sentence without seeing the evidence first. We would even be investigated if we gave out a reduced sentence and I, for one, am not going to risk my job for a lying politician.”
Hunter leaned back in his chair, waiting before he responded. “Finished your rant?”
“It wasn’t a rant.” She groaned. “Did he take the deal or not?”
“No.”
“Will he consider another deal in the future?”
“Yes, he will.”
“Good.” She typed on her laptop. “I’ll let my boss know, and we’ll discuss the length of another deal. You’re not going to get second-degree murder unless we see new evidence.” She stopped typing. “This meeting could’ve been done over the phone; you know? Or an email. We didn’t have to have a meeting in the case conference room.”
“I know.” Hunter smiled. “But I really wanted to do it in person. I wanted to see your face again.”
“All you’ve actually done is waste my time. I’m a busy woman, Tex. I have a lot of other places to be.”
“Are you any closer to identifying the victim?” He ignored her angst.
“Unfortunately not. We’re checking across the country for missing persons or any files on her, but some states take longer than others to confirm their databases. So far, we’ve got nothing.”
Hunter leaned forward, elbows resting on the dark wooden table. “There’s no evidence that the woman came to the basement with Robert, and there’s no evidence to say her presence was forced.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Perhaps she chose to be there, and perhaps she chose to be tied up.”
“Kinky. Not my thing, but that’s possible. And even if it were true, that still doesn’t take murder off the table.”
“Not for Robert…”
“You’re suggesting Kim was the kinky one? She was in a relationship with the woman?”
Hunter leaned backward, opening his palms, and shrugged his shoulders.
“What’ve you got?” she quizzed. “I really hope that you’re not withholding information from this trial.”
“We’re on the right path,” he stated, trying to make the prosecution question their current deal on the table. “We’ve got a lead that’ll prove he’s been set up and was not the killer.”
“I still don’t believe you. I still think you’re just trying to position your team for a reduced sentence. Unless you have evidence, then we’re not moving on twenty years. We can negotiate the privileges that he’ll receive in prison, but we have to stick to the minimum term on this one.”
“That’s your choice.” Hunter interlocked his fingers, stretched his arms, and groaned. “And your loss.”
She shook her head. “You should know that we’re under a lot of pressure on this one. The Mayor has taken a keen interest in this case.”
“That’s not surprising, given who Robert is. She’ll want to be prepared for any skeletons that come jumping out of his closet.”
“It’s more than that. She’s very keen—if you get what I’m saying. We can’t deal low, or there’ll be people out of work.” Law aggressively shut her laptop. “Next time, make sure you bring Robert along to the conference. I’ll take great pleasure in seeing him before I put him behind bars.” She stood. “And after that, I’m coming after you.”
“For me? What for?” Hunter held his hands out wide with a smile.
“For wasting my time. I’m sure I’ll find some legislation about that to pin you on.”
Chapter 20
“Mayor Quinn.” The handshake was firm. That was expected. With forearms that seemed like they had been chiseled out of stone, Mayor Nancy Quinn seemed like she’d spent her days practicing forearm exercises in the gym rather than governing her city. Dressed elegantly in a black skirt and white blouse, she stood
tall, even without the added stature of high heels. “Thank you for taking the time to see me on such short notice.”
“I understand why you’re here, Mr. Hunter, although I should say that most of your questions should be directed at the State’s Attorney’s Office. The prosecutor on this case is very competent, and she’ll happily answer all your questions.”
“Ah, Michelle Law. Nice lady. We went to law school together. I had a meeting with her yesterday, and your name was mentioned. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
“And you think there are questions that I could answer that would help your case?”
“I do.”
“Then please, sit down.” Mayor Quinn opened the door to her office, allowing him to enter her protected realm.
Although it was a large room with many personal touches, with two couches, a wide desk, and a bookshelf long enough to be considered a small library, it still felt like the space was rented, waiting for the next mayor to be voted in. Photos of her extended family sat behind her desk under the large window, pictures with two presidents hung on the wall to the left, and next to those, her many degrees were proudly framed. In the age of minimalism, her office seemed busy, almost chaotic, but everything was exactly where she wanted it.
“I want to let you know that I’m going to be fully cooperative with this case. I have nothing to hide, and I want you to know that I’ll help Robert within reason. As you know, I spent thirty years in the courtroom, so I’ll help where I can.”
Hunter sat down. Not elegantly, nor smoothly—more with the thud of a man who wanted answers. “I need to know how you saw Robert’s movements.”
“What can I say? I—”
“You can start with the truth. I don’t want the media spin. I’ve read that in the paper.”
She paused, not used to being challenged. In this office, in this city, she was at the top of the tree, and anyone who challenged her risked losing their grip on the branches.
Power and Justice Page 11