Power and Justice

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “If you’ve read the papers, then you know how I feel and what actions I’ve taken to help the situation. There’s nothing more I can tell you.”

  “I know that you threatened Robert with removing your support for his endorsement if he didn’t support the development of your new stadium.”

  She shook her head, a frown on her face. “I hope you didn’t come here to make accusations. If you have, this is going to be a very short meeting.”

  “Who would’ve wanted to set up your fellow politician for murder?”

  “Set up? Oh, wow.” She laughed. When Hunter didn’t join in, she frowned again. “I hope you’re not serious. I know that he’s pleading not guilty, but I thought you were going to push for insanity.”

  “Who would have wanted him out of office?”

  “Everyone,” she replied flippantly. She crossed her arms and leaned against her desk, the same desk that had seen many mayors come, go, and even dance in between. “Even though he made his decision on the development to suit the city—”

  “To suit your decisions.”

  “Not my decisions. He chose to change his approach for the benefit of this city. That stadium development will benefit everyone, not only a select group of people. But…” She paused and looked away, towards the Bible sitting on her coffee table. “But his ability to change decisions like that showed that he couldn’t be trusted. How could you trust a man that was willing to change his vote only to stay in politics?”

  “Ha.” Hunter laughed, but this time, Mayor Quinn didn’t respond. “So you forced him into a corner, used him to get your vote, but all the while, you knew you were going to burn him?”

  “That’s politics.”

  “This is more than a game; it’s people’s lives.”

  “We can’t do everything by popular vote. As elected officials, we have to be bold enough to make the hard decisions. That’s our responsibility. That’s what the public has entrusted us to do.” She walked around her desk and sat down in her leather chair. “Whether we’re loved or hated for it, that’s what we have to do.”

  “The city didn’t need that stadium.” Hunter squinted. “But you did. Before you put forward the design of the stadium, you started to lose the polls, and your rivals were gathering pace. This wasn’t about benefiting the city; this was about you creating something so big that the popular vote would come back to you.”

  “Power is the greatest aphrodisiac.” She tapped her finger on the edge of her wide desk. “And they say that when a leader is pushed into a corner, they start a war. Something they can win. You create something that makes you look powerful.”

  “And the stadium was your war.”

  “I prefer to think of it as my legacy. My way of leaving my mark on the city.” She looked down at her hands. “But I didn’t anticipate the amount of backlash. I thought that there would be a few small groups who could be cast as the enemy, and we would easily overcome them. I didn’t anticipate the snowball effect that the veteran’s groups had. They were so vocal. So violent. You know that some of them even picketed outside my home for one week straight. They camped there.”

  “These are people that went to war. They’re trained to fight.”

  “There was so much hate, but I couldn’t turn back. People don’t like a quitter, nor do they like someone who goes back on their word—just ask Robert.”

  Hunter shook his head at how easy she found double crossing in politics. “Who hated Robert Sulzberger the most? Who had the most to gain from his downfall?”

  “So many people hated him. Half the room voted against the stadium, so take your pick. Anyone of them would have wanted him to go down, get his seat recast, and then challenge the vote. That’s what I see as happening here.”

  “You really think that someone in politics would have killed for that outcome?”

  “This is the most hated development of our time; it’s split the city in two. People feel very passionate about this; they either love it or hate it. Who knows what could have happened?”

  Hunter’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it. “Who would have wanted revenge the most?”

  “Cindy Mendel felt the most betrayed, as did Edmond White. They were both veterans, and they felt betrayed by his decision. The planned demolition of that community center was such a sticking point, even after we said we would give them a new place twice the size.”

  His phone buzzed again. “I’ve been trying to grab Edmond; he’s quite elusive.”

  “I don’t know what you’re looking for, Mr. Hunter. In my opinion, Robert has looked on edge for the past year. Like he was about to snap. Have a breakdown. Maybe he believes that he didn’t do it or maybe he had an episode and doesn’t remember what he did. My personal opinion, as a former lawyer, would be to play insanity as a defense.”

  “And my personal opinion is that the city didn’t need a new stadium.”

  “You do what you have to do to stay in power.”

  “A young woman died because you wanted to stay in power.”

  “How dare you!” She slammed her fist down onto the table. “A young woman died because Robert killed her! Nothing to do with me! Nothing.”

  For the third time, Hunter’s phone buzzed. This time, he removed his phone to check the message.

  It was Esther.

  ‘New evidence has come in. You’re going to want to see this as soon as possible.’

  “Saved by the bell, it appears.” He put the phone away and stood to leave.

  Mayor Quinn stared at him, long and hard.

  “Mr. Hunter,” she called as he began to walk towards the door. “People who walk too close to the edge risk falling off.” The Mayor stood behind her desk. “Or they risk being pushed.”

  Hunter stopped to look back at her. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m warning you to think long and hard before you make any of those accusations public. There are dangerous people out there…” Her eyes narrowed. “And in here.”

  Chapter 21

  With files spread out on the meeting room table in front of them, Hunter and his legal assistant, Esther Wright, stared at the papers, hoping that an answer would leap out at them. The entire glass table was covered with different pieces of evidence provided by the prosecution; photos of the crime scene, police reports, witness statements. The weight of evidence against Sulzberger was impressive.

  Behind them, the blinds had been pulled closed, shutting them off from the city late at night. When he first rented the office space, Hunter was sure that he would need a boardroom—which professional wouldn’t? —and he filled the space with slick office furniture, including a table large enough to seat eight people, a whiteboard and a projector. But over the years, he found himself using the room less and less, and now, it was only a shell, empty, except for the modern furnishings.

  “How could they have missed it?” Esther pulled her hair back into a ponytail, a sure sign she was getting serious.

  “They didn’t miss it. They just weren’t looking for it.” Hunter looked over the file that stated there were strands of hair found on Jane Doe’s clothing that weren’t hers. “Female hair. Brunette. Found on the sweater of Jane Doe. That’s all they’ve given us in this file.”

  Although this was the break he wanted, disappointment was etched on his face. After Hunter pressured the prosecution with a woman’s name, a review of the DNA evidence was conducted.

  “But now we can see if it matches Kim Sulzberger’s hair,” Esther said. “We have a lead.”

  “Kim doesn’t have a criminal record, which means there’s no match for us. We would have to take her hair and match it via a private DNA company. But even then, we can’t use it in court. The prosecution has no reason to believe that it’s Kim’s hair, so she would have to volunteer that sample, and I don’t think she’ll do that.”

  “But it has to confirm our suspicions. Kim was there. She knew this woman.” Esther threw her hands out and began to walk around the table. �
��This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

  “It’s not quite the silver bullet. We don’t even know if it’s Kim’s hair yet.”

  “Don’t be so negative. This is a step in the right direction.” Esther was pleading with her boss to see the significance of the new evidence.

  Although most of her work involved filing papers, organizing meetings, and emailing invoices, Esther thrived when asked to help in the depths of a case. It was this work, the thinking, the problem solving, that she loved. When Hunter asked for an “Irish Coffee”, a Grande Starbucks latte with a shot of Johnnie Walker Black Label, she knew it was thinking time.

  “Possession is what this whole case is built around, that’s what they’re pinning their hopes on, and when you look at it, there’s not much more evidence other than that the girl was in Robert’s house at the time she was found. There’s not even any evidence that she died there. There’s no video footage, and there’s none of his DNA on her clothes—there’s nothing else other than it’s his house.”

  “So it makes sense that it was Kim.” Esther pointed to the photo on the desk. It was a printout of Kim Sulzberger’s Facebook profile—smiling, earrings on, hair perfectly straightened. The picture was at least three years old, but it was how Kim wanted the world to see her.

  “Kim claims that she was out of town for two days on a solo hike.” Hunter rested his hands on the table. “And she doesn’t look like the hiking type.”

  “There’s no evidence of her trip?” Esther turned over a file, scanning her eyes over the information.

  “None.”

  “GPS on her phone?”

  “She left the phone at home—when questioned she told the police that she went on a digital detox, so that meant there’s no tracking and no photos from the phone. The last person to see her was her mother when Kim left her daughter with her for two days of babysitting.”

  “If she did set him up, then she’s very clever. I read about a case like this once— a guy was caught with a stolen car in his driveway. Nothing more than that.” Dressed in a stylish, knee-length, dark blue dress, with sleeves coming to her elbows, Esther had the presence of a CEO more than an assistant. “And it’s going to be hard to fight against. That case had a suspended sentence even though he pleaded his innocence to the very end. They had nothing more than it was in his driveway, but that was all they needed to convince the jury.”

  Hunter stared at the photos of the crime scene, hoping to see something out of place, something unusual.

  “It’s difficult.” Esther continued to walk around the table, tilting her head to stare at the photos of the crime scene. “I would assume that the missing girl is homeless or an escort.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Nobody has reported her missing yet. There’s no record of her on file, and if she was an escort, she’s young enough not to have had a run-in with the police yet.”

  “Perhaps.” He looked at her. “Where would you look?”

  “I’d start with the area around Wrigleyville. I’ve heard that a few Johns were set up from bars around there. It’s an area known for soliciting. If I walk around a few different bars with her photo, toss a few dollars to the ladies, I’m sure some of the girls will start to talk.”

  “We’ll try that. At this point, anything that moves the case forward is going to be beneficial.”

  “Not that identifying her will make much difference.”

  He turned to look at her, raising his eyebrows. “Meaning?”

  “The evidence clearly demonstrates that he was the only one home when this happened in his basement. He said it himself when questioned by the police. His wife was away, and a relative was babysitting his daughter. Unless we match that hair sample, he looks guilty. And if I were on the jury, I would find him guilty. We have to be able to connect the girl to Kim.”

  “Or someone else.” Hunter moved a file across the table, the photo of one of Robert’s adversaries clearly in view. “This person has no alibi, a motive, and the skills to make this attack. If we can match the DNA to her hair, then we can really go for her.”

  Esther stared at the file. “Her? Are you sure?”

  “She’s an option.”

  The two stared at the file on the table, the room filled with the fluorescent glow of ceiling lights, and the smell of Hunter’s “Irish coffee”.

  Esther shook her head. She stood with hands on hips, a frown on her face. “Is Sulzberger set on fighting this? Any hint that he might take a plea deal?”

  “He wants to fight it all the way. Actually, he wants me to prove that he’s innocent.”

  Esther chuckled. “Defending guilt is one thing; proving innocence is another.”

  “That’s what people believe that we do. They believe that we fight for the innocence of the client, and that’s what he wants. Robert wants me to push hard at it. If only the general public understood what we really do. We need to educate people out there.”

  “Ah.” Esther raised her finger in the air, feeling an opportunity to share her life observations. “Education is not the answer when ignorance is not the problem.”

  “If ignorance is not the problem, then what is?” Hunter smiled.

  “Belief.”

  “Belief? Please, Esther, enlighten me.”

  “You’re his only hope. You are all Robert’s got right now. His wife has abandoned him, his people have kicked him out of their organization, and the public wants blood. He has to believe that you can save him, or he’s got nothing left. You’re the only symbol of hope that he has left.”

  “So what do I do for him? Tell him that I’m looking for the guilty party?”

  “What you should actually do is find the guilty party on this one.”

  “Pardon?” Hunter turned his head with a smile.

  “Robert Sulzberger is a good man. He’s taken bullets for this country; for your freedom and mine. He’s done more good in this world than most people have.”

  “But then he threw it all away for voting against the people he wanted to support.” Hunter shook his head. “And he possibly killed an innocent girl because he lost control.”

  “Do you really think that?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

  “It doesn’t matter to your job, but you’re still a human. You still have personal opinions.”

  “Did you drink all my whiskey?” Hunter chuckled. “Or did that last vacation in the Florida sun affect how you think? No more vacations for you.”

  “At nights, I’ve been doing a lot of studying.” She grinned as well. “And I’ve just graduated with a degree in hindsight. I wish I knew ten years ago what I know now. But I can’t go back in time, so the best thing I can do is pass all of this amazing wisdom onto you.” She walked closer to her friend, her boss. “So, what do you believe? Innocent or guilty?”

  “Nobody is innocent. Great people do bad things, and bad people do great things. Nobody is innocent, and if they think they are, then they’re mistaken. Not you, not me, and not the religious zealot.”

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “Deliberately.”

  “Don’t be so emotionally detached. This is not one of those cases that you can just sail through. This isn’t an easy case. If you want to win this case, you have to be all-in. Emotions and all.”

  Hunter shook his head.

  “Tex, it’s personal opinion time.” Esther raised her eyebrows, pre-empting the answer. “It’s time to acknowledge your emotions.”

  He ran his fingers over his chin, avoiding eye contact with the woman ten years younger than him. Answering that question would throw down the emotional walls that he’d fought so hard to build.

  It had taken years to make those walls solid.

  “Tex?”

  Finally, he conceded.

  “Innocent.”

  Chapter 22

  Private Investigator Ray Jones wasn’t the sort of smooth, charming man one would expect to see in a k
araoke bar. He looked like he was more suited to a bikie bar where sweat was the overriding smell, and testosterone was the overriding hormone. But here, in the confines of the small bar with loudspeakers and flashing television sets with words bouncing across the bottom of music videos, he could let all out all his pent-up emotion in a single high-pitched squeal.

  The narrow bar looked like it had been ripped out of an old Irish pub, but the shelves behind it, filled with specialized Japanese whiskey, dispelled that assumption. There was a large screen on the main wall, with three couches around it, and to the left, the doors to four reserved karaoke booths for those who wanted to sing and party in private. Two other patrons sat at the bar—wannabe singers who had found their voice later in life. Ray Jones held the microphone in his hand and wiggled his hips, his large frame highlighted by the glow of red party lights, and the swirling disco ball.

  The Japanese hosts giggled behind the bar as Jones attempted to hit the extraordinary notes of Freddy Mercury, singing along to another Queen song, and Hunter couldn’t help but laugh.

  Once, it was rare for Hunter to smile.

  For years, he thought it was inappropriate for him to express any sort of joy. His father was a convicted serial killer, and eight families suffered the loss of their daughters. Out of respect of the deceased, he’d refused to allow joy to enter his life. In his young adult years, he avoided all places of fun, and even when he felt like it, he held that smile inside.

  Only recently, since the death of his mother, had he begun to realize the fragility of life.

  Ray Jones hadn’t cared about Hunter’s past. His father was a convicted killer also; however, when a dealer is shot in a drug bust gone wrong in East LA, the case doesn’t demand national coverage. Although their relationship was built around their employment in the legal system, their personal relationship had flourished over the last decade.

  “Out of all the martial arts, karaoke inflicts the most pain.” Hunter smiled as Jones came and sat on the stool next to him, his destruction of pop music completed.