Jesus. Leary let out a breath and shook his head, smiling. “I won’t stay too long.”
“Oh, I know,” Resta said as he guided Leary into his house. “You got a busy schedule not being a cop.”
The house was neater than Leary had imagined, but he wondered if the cleanliness was a recent development. Resta himself looked less disheveled than the last time he’d seen him. Maybe his brother’s delayed justice had finally started a healing process that would help the man get on with his life. Leary hoped that was the case.
“You want a beer?”
“Sure.”
Resta waved Leary toward a small TV room, then lumbered into the kitchen. Leary took a seat on a threadbare couch. He heard the sound of a refrigerator door opening and closing, then the sound of caps popping off of bottles. Resta emerged with a Coors Lite in each hand. He passed one to Leary and dropped into a rocking chair facing the couch.
Leary took a drink. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you. Terry would, if he was here. I was wrong about you, Leary. You did good.”
Leary had to force a smile. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the praise—he definitely did—but it only served to make him more melancholy about no longer being a cop. Finding bad guys, taking them down—that’s what he was good at. That’s what he’d been born to do. The dull, day-to-day tedium of Acacia was all too sharp a contrast.
“I’m just glad I could finally help. I wish it hadn’t taken so long.”
Resta took a long pull of his beer, then wiped his mouth with his arm. His face turned thoughtful. “I was talking to some of the guys who used to work for us at the shop. After … you know … everything that happened and I sold the business, we kind of drifted apart. But seeing the guys again, it was like old times.”
“That’s how it is with good friends,” Leary said.
“We got to talking, and one thing led to another, and someone said we ought to try starting up the business again. No one took the idea seriously at first, but we were drinking and talking and you know how it is.”
“You should do it,” Leary said. “If that’s what you want to do, you should find a way to make it happen.”
Resta smiled knowingly and tilted the neck of his beer bottle at Leary, like a pointing finger. “You should, too. Detective.”
They sat in silence for a moment, each man drinking from his bottle. Leary knew that Chance Resta was right. Leary was a detective. An investigator. A cop. He had been fooling himself to think he could be anything else. He needed to find a way back in.
He needed to find a way to make it happen.
Jessie found Warren in his office. He had a mug in his hand, but the small mountain of used tea bags was gone and the aroma coming from the steaming cup was unmistakably coffee. Apparently, he’d ditched the herbal tea regimen. He was also smiling for a change.
As she stepped into the room, he tilted back in his office chair and grinned up at her. “I would say, ‘Good job,’ but that seems inadequate. Sometimes it’s really hard to be your boss, Jessie.”
“‘Good job’ is fine.” She smiled. “And thank you.” She sat down in one of his visitor chairs.
“Rivera’s approval rating is up. Way up.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“I admit, “ Warren said, “I thought you were going to lose this one. But somehow, you not only secured a guilty plea for what looked like an open-and-shut self-defense shooting, you also brought down a multimillion-dollar criminal conspiracy. I want you to pick my next lottery numbers. You have some luck.”
“Or, you know, good skills and instincts.”
“Those too. You can expect a visit from Rivera. He’s thrilled.”
“Maybe I’ll get a raise.”
Warren made a face. “Probably just a sincere thank you. But hey, that’s more than you’d get from most politicians.”
“He knows I still need to prosecute the cases against Goyle and the rest of them, right? It’s not over yet.”
Warren waved a hand. “It may as well be. You did it, Jessie. You exposed Brooke Raines as a fraud and a killer, and you caught the bad guys who were lurking behind the scenes. In all seriousness, you should be very proud of yourself. Let me treat you to lunch. We’ll celebrate.”
“I’d like that,” Jessie said, “but I already have important lunch plans.”
Warren arched an eyebrow. “Important, huh? I’m intrigued.”
“Carrie Keeley and Nina Long. To me, they’re the most important people in the case.”
“Ah.”
“There is something you could do for me, though.”
“No better time to ask than right now.”
Jessie leaned forward. “That’s what I figured.” And she told him what she had in mind.
Carrie Keeley and her mother met Jessie at Marathon Grill in Center City, a casual, brightly lit restaurant. The women took turns embracing her, then led her to a secluded table in the corner. Sunlight streamed through the windows. As they took their seats, Jessie noticed that the mother and daughter both had tears in their eyes, and realized with surprise that she did, too.
“I knew you could do it,” Carrie said. “I knew, right from the minute I met you at that law school thing, that my father’s killers weren’t going to get away with it.”
“I appreciate the faith you had in me,” Jessie said, meaning it. “But you deserve a lot of the credit, too. If you hadn’t fought so hard for your father, I wouldn’t have second-guessed the police department’s work. Brooke Raines would be a free woman right now, and Luther Goyle would be closing a ten-million-dollar deal. You’re as responsible for stopping them as I am.”
“I don’t know about that,” Carrie said, “but thanks. Hey, I want to show you something.” She reached into her bag and brought out an old-fashioned photo album. She opened its faux-leather cover and turned the book to face Jessie. “These are pictures from when I was a kid. I’m going to pick some of the best ones of our family. Now that my dad’s body is being released from the morgue, we’re going to have a memorial service. I want to … I don’t know. Show the good part of him. The part of him I’ll always remember.”
The photographs gave no hint of the violence that had eventually broken up the family. As Jessie gently turned the pages, she saw image after image of Corbin Keeley smiling with his wife and daughter. In one photo, Keeley pushed a very young Carrie on a swing at a playground. In another, he and Nina stood proudly behind their daughter as she blew out the candles on a birthday cake. The good part of him. “These are beautiful.”
“Your father loved you very much,” Nina said. “Whatever other faults he had, that fact will never change.”
“I know.” Carrie wiped her eyes.
Jessie looked at both women and felt her own tears give way to a warm smile. “I’m really glad I had the chance to meet both of you,” she said. “There’s a lot about my job that’s sad, or scary, or just plain frustrating. But helping people like you helps remind me why I do it.” There wasn’t much else to say, so Jessie picked up her menu and scanned the lunch options. “So many choices,” she said, “and it all looks good.”
Jessie went home early that day—she figured she’d earned it—and found Mark Leary waiting outside the door to her building. He held a bouquet of red roses in one hand and a folder in the other. “You did it,” he said. “Congratulations.”
“We did it.” She took the roses and inhaled their aroma. “Thank you. These are wonderful.” She kissed him, careful to avoid the cuts and bruises on his face. Her gaze went to the folder in his other hand. “What’s that?”
“Oh, just something I wanted to run by you. An idea I had. It’s my resume actually.”
“Your resume? That’s a coincidence.”
“It is?”
She opened her bag, reached inside, and withdrew her own folder. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, too. This is an application for an investigator position at the DA’s office.”
/> He looked stunned. “I was afraid you might be against the idea. You know, the two of us working together. Mixing our private and professional lives.”
She felt herself smile. “I think we might as well admit we’re way past that point, Leary.”
“Do you think I have a chance of getting the job?”
“I’d say you might even have an unfair advantage.”
He beamed at her, and his happiness filled her with joy. “How about we celebrate a little?”
“I can think of some ways to do that,” he said.
Jessie tilted her face upward and closed her eyes. A second later she felt Leary’s lips on hers. His hands held her hips and pulled her tight against his body.
She was aware that they were standing outside on a wintry afternoon, but she barely felt the cold air or the wind that whistled past their faces. All she felt was the warmth of Leary’s mouth and the strength of his hands. She got her key out, opened the door to the building, and pushed him inside.
THE END
Thank you for reading Fatal Defense!
Don’t stop now! Turn the page to read the next book in the Jessie Black Legal Thriller Series, False Justice. I hope you love it!
—Larry A. Winters
False Justice
A Jessie Black Legal Thriller
1
As a prosecutor, Jessie Black usually viewed defense attorneys as the enemy, but today, looking across the courtroom at Randal Barnes, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy. The lawyer was leaning over sideways from his seat at the defense table, rummaging through an overstuffed attaché case, apparently searching for the right file amid of mess of other ones. His suit was wrinkled, his tie half-undone, and his hair stuck up in random clumps. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot.
The judge cleared his throat. “Mr. Barnes?”
“Sorry, Your Honor!” Barnes shot to his feet, knocking over his attaché case and spilling papers onto the floor. “I’m trying to find my notes.”
Beside him at the defense table, Barnes’s client, an overweight Latino man named Tomas Alvarez, closed his eyes and silently mouthed words. Maybe a prayer, Jessie thought. More likely a curse.
“You’re the one who requested this hearing,” the judge said.
Barnes’s ears turned red. “Yes, Your Honor. And I’m prepared, but—”
“Apparently not. Let me refresh your memory.” The judge looked down at his own papers. “You submitted a motion seeking a one-month continuance on the basis that you need additional time to prepare for trial due to other cases preventing you from devoting the necessary time.”
“Yes, Your Honor. That’s correct.” Barnes made a fumbling attempt to straighten his tie, then dropped his hands to his sides. “It’s just bad timing, Judge,” he went on in a weakened voice. “I’ve got a bunch of trials hitting at the same time. I’m stretched too thin.”
The judge waved his hand dismissively. “Ms. Black, does the Commonwealth oppose?”
Jessie had spent the past four weeks gearing up for Alvarez’s trial. Her opening statement was memorized. Her witnesses were ready to testify. And the victim’s family was ready to endure the trial and hopefully find closure in a guilty verdict. But motions for continuance were commonplace, and, in this case, Barnes’s seemed justified. Tomas Alvarez might be a murderer—Jessie was certain he was—but he was still entitled to a vigorous defense.
“No, Your Honor,” she said.
The judge nodded. “The defense’s motion is granted. Trial will be postponed one month. Mr. Barnes, I expect you will manage your calendar accordingly so that there are no further delays.”
“Absolutely, Your Honor. Thank you.” Barnes let out a long breath. Alvarez just shook his head, looking disgusted.
“The defendant will return to custody at the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility to await trial,” the judge said. He banged his gavel and dismissed them.
Jessie gathered her files and headed out of the courtroom. With the Alvarez trial postponed, she had some unexpected free time on her hands. She’d have to talk to Leary. Maybe they could pull off a last-minute vacation together. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. She touched the button for the lobby.
“Hold that?”
She looked up and saw Barnes running toward the elevator. She kept the doors open for him. He stopped at her side, breathing heavily. Maybe I’m not the one who needs a vacation.
“You okay, Randal?” The elevator doors slid closed and they descended.
“Me?” He looked surprised by the question. “I’m great.” He smiled at his own reflection in the metal elevator doors and tugged the lapels of his suit jacket. “Thanks, by the way. You really helped me in there.”
“I know what it’s like working hard on too many cases at once.”
Barnes laughed. “Working hard or hardly working?” When she didn’t join in his laughter, he looked at her quizzically. “You know that stuff about my workload was bullshit, right? I used it because I knew old Judge Bobblehead in there wouldn’t risk violating Alvarez’s Sixth Amendment right to counsel.” He smoothed his hair into place and fixed his tie.
Had he played her? Jessie tried to think of a meaningful advantage Barnes might gain through a one-month continuance of the trial, but nothing significant came to mind. “If you’re not really overloaded, why ask for a continuance?”
“Bills, Jessie.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Alvarez is my client, but the checks come from his mama. They’re supposed to come, anyway. She’s late. You know the best way to get a mother to pay? You throw her beloved baby boy’s fat ass back in jail for a month, and let her know you won’t hesitate to do it again.”
“You asked for a continuance so you could extort his mother?” Jessie felt a tightness in her chest.
“He’s been crying to her every chance he gets. About how the guards beat him. The other inmates beat him. His cell mate hit him so hard he spent a night in the infirmary.”
“And instead of trying to help, you extend his suffering?”
“She’ll pay up now. With interest.”
Jessie shook her head and turned away from him.
“Don’t act all indignant,” he said. “I do the work. I’m entitled to my fee.”
“It’s unethical.”
“He’s a scumbag.”
“He’s your client.”
“According to you, he’s a murderer. You want to put him in prison for life, right? What does one more month matter?”
“For one thing, he hasn’t been found guilty yet. Is this a trick your old boss taught you?” She knew Barnes used to work for Noah Snyder, a Philly-area lawyer not known for his ethical exactness.
“Learn from the best.”
“Noah Snyder is not the best. He’s not the lawyer you want to emulate.”
“I’ve been doing pretty well for myself so far.”
The elevator doors opened. Barnes stepped forward, but Jessie caught his arm. “What you did today was wrong, Randal. You have a duty to advocate for your client. Acting against his interests to put pressure on his mother so you can get paid…. I don’t know what Noah Snyder taught you, but that’s not how the legal system works.”
Barnes looked at her with an expression that seemed to teeter between amusement and disappointment. “Jessie, that’s exactly how the legal system works.”
Barnes strolled out of the elevator. “I have a meeting with a certain mother and her checkbook. See you in a month.”
2
Jessie watched Barnes weave his way through the courthouse lobby. The Criminal Justice Center was crowded as usual, and she lost sight of him within seconds. Sighing, she stepped out of the elevator and into the noisy chaos.
The sick feeling in her stomach had not dissipated, and she was surprised by its visceral intensity. His attitude had affected her more strongly than she could explain. When she’d woken this morning, she’d known Barnes’s motion to postpone the Alvarez trial would
probably be granted, but she’d felt happy and optimistic anyway. Now, after an elevator conversation that could not have been more than a minute long, she seemed filled with a dark feeling of gloom.
Shake it off, Jessie.
So Barnes had misused the system. Why should that bother her to this extent? There were always lawyers who behaved unethically. Despite what Barnes might believe, most did not. Barnes was the minority. Overall, justice prevailed. She’d seen it firsthand throughout her career.
“Jessie?”
Lost in her thoughts, Jessie almost didn't notice a woman wending her way through the crowd in her direction. Recognizing her, Jessie felt her melancholy vanish in an instant. She smiled. “Kelly?”
All thoughts of Randal Barnes fled from her mind, replaced with warm memories. She had not seen Kelly Lee in what—ten years? Probably not since the day they’d both graduated from Penn Law. Kelly hadn’t changed at all. Same petite frame, long black hair, expressive eyes. It wasn’t until Kelly reached her that Jessie realized she was not smiling back. She looked upset.
“Is something wrong?”
“I was hoping to find you here,” Kelly said. “You're probably busy, but—”
“Actually, my trial just got postponed.”
Kelly's gaze seemed to scan the crowded lobby, as if watching for someone. “Your office told me you were in court today, so I came here. I … I don't know who else to talk to at this point.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“An attorney conference room?” Jessie said. Each courtroom had a small attorney conference room outside of it, for use by lawyers and witnesses, family members, clients, and others. When Kelly nodded, Jessie ushered her into the elevator and they went to the conference room outside the now-vacant courtroom where Barnes had been granted his continuance.
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