A Time for Justice: A Legal Thriller (Bill Harvey Book 4)

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “I can see that you won’t be able to help me with the notes, Monty. I’ve come to see the wrong man for help.”

  “Wait.”

  “Yes?”

  “If…” For the first time since meeting, Monty’s expression softens. “If they find Tiffany’s body, please tell us straight away. If she’s dead, then I want to have the honor of burying my daughter. I want to give her the farewell that she deserves. That’s all I want - a chance to bury my daughter. Please.”

  “You have my word.”

  Bill steps back towards his car, keeping his eyes on the house, wildly suspicious about the secluded settlement in the woods.

  Chapter 23

  “I’m missing something, Kate.”

  Bill Harvey sits in his office boardroom, looking over all the files spread out in front of them, studying them closely.

  With the evening sun sneaking through the large windows, the boardroom feels more like a new office showroom than a place to discuss legal strategies. Redesigned only a year ago, the boardroom is spacious with clean lines, light colors, and new furniture.

  “Let’s do a timeline,” Kate states as she sits across from her boss. She ties her hair back into a ponytail, a sure sign that she’s becoming focused. She moves a file from one end of the table to the other. “Six years ago, you defend a man named Kevin Wu and get him off criminal charges. Despite the evidence, the court declares him innocent of pimping and pandering. You wrote in your notes at the conclusion of the trial that he’s the most cunning, untrustworthy person you’ve ever met, and you won’t be defending him again.”

  “That’s right. I didn’t know the extent of his activity then, but it turns out that he’s consistently trafficked people from Hong Kong to L.A. to use in his illegal brothel operations. If I had known that then, I wouldn’t have taken on the case.”

  “So it all kicks off with Monty’s daughter dying of an accidental drug overdose at Kevin’s house. Kevin is cleared of any wrongdoing, but then four weeks later, his daughter, Amy Wu, goes missing. People think it’s Monty out for revenge, an eye for an eye, but there’s no evidence, and Monty isn’t charged. Two weeks after the disappearance of Amy Wu, Kevin’s wife, Eva, comes to you saying that Kevin feels he needs to get out of the criminal game, and your former job as a hypnotherapist will help him lose the need to conduct a crime.”

  “She seemed genuine. She wanted him out of the brothels, out of the drugs, and out of that world. She thought this was the best way to do that. And if it helped him get out of the game, then I was going to do what I could. After the disappearance of her step-daughter, Eva said that she had seen enough violence in her life, and she wanted to start again. They wanted a clean slate, and I wanted to help them achieve that.”

  “I’m sure they did seem genuine.” Kate moves another file around the table. “Kevin does five sessions of hypnotherapy over a period of one week with you, then claims he’s cured and clean. In your notes, you write that he seemed very reluctant about the sessions, and you’re sure he isn’t there for the right reasons. And at the end of the five sessions, he says that ‘a girl’ is going to get hurt.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Only two days after the fifth session, Monty’s second daughter, seven-year-old Tiffany, goes missing. Her body was never found. Kevin is accused, but again there’s not enough evidence. And of course, no charges are laid.”

  “Possibly three dead girls. This isn’t a nice story.”

  “Monty physically attacks Kevin, beats him up so bad that it puts him in hospital, and then Monty’s house is shot at – his wife and last remaining daughter almost killed. Desperate to protect what is left of his family, Monty disappears without a trace – goes to the mountains with his wife, mother, and child, to live a gypsy lifestyle and his only contact with the outside world is reporter Harry Beach.” She moves another file around the table. “Five years later, the police go after Kevin Wu really hard and shut down all his operations. Again, no charges stick, but suddenly, the LAPD is watching Kevin Wu’s every step. So Kevin doesn’t have an income, and he still has large debts to pay. He then comes at you with claims that your hypnotherapy sessions changed his life, and he was under the influence of your sessions while making bad personal and business decisions. He wants to be compensated for that to the tune of $100,000,000.”

  “That’s it, Kate. That’s all of it.”

  “And you’re saying that Kevin had this planned all along. From the day that he walked into your office for the hypnotherapy sessions, he planned to kill Monty’s second daughter as revenge for the disappearance of his only child, and you were his cover, his fallback plan.”

  “Almost. He planned to kill Monty and use the hypnotherapy as his defense. But it didn’t work out like that. Monty stayed alive, and it was Tiffany that went missing. And now, he sees that defense as a solution to all his problems.”

  “Bill, that’s the most planned, cunning, ruthless behavior I have ever heard of.”

  “I should have listened to my intuition, Kate. I shouldn’t have trusted him, but I fell into his trap. How could I have been so stupid?”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You wanted to help him get out of the game. There’s nothing wrong with that. It was the right thing to do at the time.”

  “And look where’s that’s got me.” Bill throws his hands up in the air. “I shouldn’t help people. I should just worry about my own interests and forget about helping anyone.”

  “Don’t be like that. You’re better than that,” Kate responds. “So now, you think that if you can put Kevin Wu in prison for human trafficking, pimping, or murder, you can convince him to withdraw the civil case.”

  “And all we need is evidence. We have somebody that can help us, but won’t step into the courtroom.”

  “Terrance Marshall.”

  “Right.” Bill leans forward, elbows resting on the table as he looks over the files. “He’s refusing to testify – says that if he does, then he will incriminate himself, and doesn’t want to spend his final years behind bars.”

  “Then what you need is leverage.”

  “Leverage?”

  “Absolutely – make coming to court Terrance’s only option. Find something that is dear to him, and use that to squeeze him.”

  “Blackmail him?”

  “Not blackmail, just…” She bites her bottom lip. “Just give him no other option. What could convince him to come clean with the evidence?”

  “Not a lot, it seems. He lives a very simple life on the edge of a reserve, and he’s slowly dying. Death doesn’t scare him, and nor does pain.”

  “How about any family?”

  “As a hired thug, he spent most of his life destroying relationships, not building them. He never married, never had kids, never really dated anyone, as far as I’m aware. I did hear a rumor that he had a child, a girl, and the mother had passed away, but I never heard anything more of it. And I certainly didn’t see any evidence of children when I went to his house.”

  “How then?”

  Bill places his pen on the table, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if an answer is written on it. He stares at the smooth ceiling for a long while before answering.

  “There’s something on his property. Terrance is protecting something back there. Maybe he’s kept Kevin’s black book at his house, or maybe it’s the CCTV footage of the park, but whatever is there might be our only chance to convince him of testifying.” He keeps looking upwards. “If we find the notes, or if we find the footage, then not only will we send Kevin Wu to prison, but we can also convince Terrance to testify. If Kevin finds out that Terrance kept the notes after asking him to destroy them, then Kevin will come at him regardless of testimony or not.”

  Kate looks up. “You got that idea from the roof?”

  “We need to find the evidence. If Terrance has kept it, the fear of what Kevin will do will be enough to make him testify in the civil case.”

 
“And where will you find the evidence?”

  “In the most obvious place.” Bill smiles. “I’ll get Jack to stake out Terrance’s house and study his movements. Once he’s out of the house, I’m going to search it. I don’t want to have to blackmail him, but that might be my only chance to win this case.”

  “Good. I’m coming.”

  “Not a chance. Terrance is big, he’s mean, and he’s still very dangerous. There’s no way that I can allow you to do this.”

  “I’m a grown woman; I can look after myself.”

  “Not against a man twice the size of you.”

  Kate raises her eyebrows and stares at Bill, a clear statement that she isn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “Alright.” Bill sighs. “But you have to stay out of trouble.”

  “You got it, boss. So, what’s the plan?”

  “Jack will scope the place, and when we have the chance, I’ll go in and search his house, but I’ll need plastic gloves.”

  “For fingerprints?”

  “No. Because the place is filthy.”

  He picks up the mobile phone lying on the table and dials.

  “Jack. You’re on. There’s something at Terrance Marshall’s place, and we’re going to find it. And then, we might have a chance to save our jobs.”

  Chapter 24

  Sitting in the back of Jack’s Ford pickup truck, Bill and Kate watch as Terrance leaves the old, gray house, built in a time when plain was considered value for money. Nestled in the trees, backing onto the reserve, the house is not the place where you would expect to find a hardened criminal. It looks more like the place where a family of four, with two cats and a dog, spend their downtime.

  The piles of trash sitting next to the front door dispel that thought.

  Known as the ‘Wilderness in the City’, Montecito Heights is home to many long-term residents, who want to see out their final days in their piece of paradise. The Ernest E. Debs Regional Park that backs onto the suburb is 280 acres of mostly low-lying scrub, scattered trees, and dusty hills, but it’s enough to feel like you’re a hundred miles from Downtown L.A, when in fact, it’s only a thirty-minute drive.

  Terrance Marshall limps to his car, lugs his heavy frame into the front seat, roars the engine of his Chevy in park, indicates for at least one minute, checks all his mirrors twice, and then slowly drives away.

  “At least he’s a safe driver. Can’t fault him for that,” Kate says from behind the tinted window of Jack’s truck, taking a photo of the number plate as Terrance leaves.

  “Your job is to watch two things,” Jack says firmly. “You need to watch the street for Terrance’s black Chevy returning, and you need to watch that entrance to the street for any sign of people coming in and out. If you see anything unusual, you need to call us straight away. Don’t hesitate. If you hesitate, we die. Is that clear?”

  “I think so.” Kate’s voice shakes with the responsibility. “But how do I know if it’s unusual? I haven’t spent much time in Montecito Heights, but from what I have heard, all sorts of things happen out here. We’re right next to the reserve. Anything could happen.”

  “You’re looking for groups of serious people. Any of them. If two or more people walk onto the street, and they’re not a family, call us. Any car that looks out of place, either too rich or too poor, call us. Any sudden movements in the shadows, call us. If anything changes, call us. We’ll make the decision after your call. It’s better safe than sorry. Call us if anything happens.”

  “Got it.” Kate nods, focused on her task. Excited to be on her first stakeout, Kate had spent the afternoon Googling ‘How to stay focused on a stakeout’. Next to her sits two cans of energy drinks, four bags of candy, and a box of matchsticks.

  “And lock the doors,” Bill adds, wanting nothing more than to keep Kate safe. “If there’s any danger, you’re to drive away. We can look after ourselves. Do not put yourself in danger. Keep yourself safe first.”

  “On it,” she replies as the two men climb out of the car.

  Dressed in a white business shirt and suit pants, Bill stands out in this place. Most people in this suburb will assume he’s a detective, and in this area, that’s dangerous. Luckily, he has Jack Grayson by his side. Dressed in his usual work uniform of a tight black shirt and slick jeans, Jack looks more at home on these streets than he does inside a courthouse.

  Trained in the brutal martial art of Krav Maga, Jack is confident he can defend himself in most dangerous situations in this part of the city. The Glock pistol resting under his shirt also helps.

  With as little noise as possible, the men walk across the front yard, past the overgrown bushes, and to the door of Terrance Marshall’s house. Gently, Bill knocks on it. When there is no answer, he nods at Jack.

  Without a word between them, Jack leans down to the door handle, jiggles it, and slides a card into the gap between the door and the frame. It’s a skill that his next-door neighbor taught him when he was a teenager, and those skills have come in handy more times than he cares to remember.

  He never trusted the old man next door, but when he was twelve, he had locked himself out of the house. The man in his seventies, a loner, walked across to him, didn’t say a word, jiggled the door with a pin, and popped the door open. It turned out the man had served in the Second World War and had learned those skills during the German occupation of France when he served as a spy.

  And so was born one of the closest connections Jack had during his childhood. He would spend long hours during his summer holidays listening to the man tell stories of a bygone era, hearing about the war, and learning skills as a spy.

  With two forceful pushes and one right turn, the door opens. “Can’t do that with the new doors. Luckily, most of my clients live in old areas with old doors that have old locks.” As Jack steps into the house, the wall of smell hits him first. “Whoa. What does this guy do all day?”

  “He certainly doesn’t clean,” Bill states as he follows Jack inside, shutting the door behind him.

  “Alright, boss. Where to start?”

  “Anywhere. When I talked to Terrance, he was evasive about something in here. We’ll search anywhere where he could be hiding anything valuable.”

  Starting with the hallway cupboards, Bill goes through old paperwork, dating back twenty years, searching for anything of use. Jack starts in the bedroom, wincing as he lifts unwashed clothes off the floor to check underneath them. He checks under the bed, in the bathroom, and in the kitchen cupboards.

  “Nothing, Bill,” he concludes within ten minutes. “The place is fairly sparse. Apart from a collection of photos from his army days, I’ve got nothing.”

  In the hall, Bill has an equal amount of success. “I’m the same – nothing. No USB footage, no black book.”

  “There’s no sign of any hidden cupboards, safes, or trapdoors.” Jack taps his knuckles along the walls, listening for any hollow sound. “He would have to be stupid to leave anything of value here. Wu and his boys would find it too easily if he did. I don’t think he would have left anything here. If he kept them, he would have hidden them somewhere else.”

  “His car?”

  “That would have been even stupider. No. Maybe a deposit box, or a warehouse. Somewhere secure, but hidden.”

  Rubbing his chin, Bill nods. “There must be some evidence of it here. Maybe a receipt for the deposit box, or a bill from the storage place?”

  Jack nods, and Bill returns to the cupboard, searching through the old paperwork again. Heading back to the bedrooms, Jack spends the next ten minutes searching for any clues.

  “Bill.” Jack walks back into the hallway. Bill turns from the paperwork he’s looking through. “There’s a lot of camping gear in his bedroom. And it’s all relatively new. It seems unusual that a man like Terrance would be spending much time in the forest, or sleeping outside. He really doesn’t seem like the naturist type.”

  “I agree.” Bill places the last receipt back in the cupboa
rd.

  “He’s got torches, a sleeping bag, bug spray, and an old pair of well-worn boots.” Jack shakes his head. “What would a man like Terrance be doing in the forest?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Judging by all this gear, I’d say he’s looking for something.”

  “Or someone.” The thoughts flood Bill’s head. “He said he was looking for Monty Lee in the hills. These men have an old score that still isn’t settled.”

  As Bill thinks, his mobile buzzes in his pocket. He answers it.

  “Terrance’s car has turned into the street.” Kate’s voice is panicked.

  He looks at Jack. “We have to go.”

  Jack’s focus instantly kicks into action. “Back door. This way.”

  As they scurry, the headlights of the Chevy shine through the living room window.

  With adrenalin pumping through their veins, the men move out the back door, Jack closing it behind him, pulling it shut with the gentlest of tugs.

  It’s only two steps into the yard when Bill spots it.

  “Jack,” he whispers, “what’s that?”

  Turning, Jack winces as he stares at the small trapdoor on this side of the yard. “It’s a door. Probably a small basement.”

  “Here? Terrance said he didn’t have a basement.”

  As Bill starts to step towards it, Jack grabs his arm. “No, Bill. Not now. It’s probably nothing at all. We have to go. This guy won’t appreciate finding us in his yard.”

  As Bill stares at his friend, the light in the house turns on, following by the dulled mumbling of the television.

  “C’mon, Bill.” Jack tugs at his friend’s arm, desperate to sneak through the broken fence and get out of the yard. “We have to move.”

  Bill stares at the bunker door for another moment. “That’s it, Jack. In there is where he’s hiding the footage.”

  “Not now. We have to go.”

  Another light goes on in the house, and Bill reacts.

  He scampers through the yard, through the fence; moving away from the house.