Harper Ross Legal Thrillers vol. 1-3

by Rachel Sinclair

  Rina didn’t mention the food because she was still apparently going to keep on me about Axel. “Tell me about Axel,” she whined. “I’ve never known you to like a dude.”

  “I don’t like a dude,” I said. “He’s a friend. He’s helping me out on my murder case.”

  “The transgender case,” Rina said, nodding her approval. “I need to meet this chick.”

  “Do you know about transgender?” I asked the girls, secretly relieved that the topic had been changed off of Axel and onto something that was more comfortable for me to talk about.

  “Of course,” Abby said. “We have two transgender kids in our class.” She shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I know this girl, her name is Cameron, and she used to be a boy named Cameron, and I knew her when she was a boy, too. Nobody really cares. The adults make a big deal out of it, for some reason, but none of my friends care. She uses our bathroom, too, and that’s not a big deal, either.”

  “Cameron is one of my best friends,” Rina said. “In fact, I’d love to have her for a sleepover this weekend. She’d like to go to the cult, too. I told her all about it. She likes weird things, just like I do.”

  “We’ll talk about that,” I said. “I’m happy that you girls know about trans people, and you don’t have any prejudices about it.” I took a deep breath. “I’d like to do something, and I need to run it by the two of you. Then I’ll run it by Alexis. But I need to talk to you two first.”

  “Okay,” Rina said. “But we’re not going to let you get off the hook about Axel. We’re dying to know about him.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “I’m not dying to know. You need your privacy, Aunt Harper. It’s none of our business.”

  “Thank you, Abby. Now, I have a client, whose name is Heather Morrison. She’s accused of murdering her mother. She says that it’s self-defense. I would like to take her in for now, just until her trial. She’s currently staying at a halfway house, and I don’t think that it’s the healthiest place for her. Plus, I kinda said that I would take her, and she thinks that I’m turning my back on her now because I’m hesitating. Would you girls care if she lived here?”

  Rina’s eyes got huge. “No way. That would be totally rad.” She nodded her head. “It would be righteous.”

  Abby smiled. “I would like that, Aunt Harper. It sounds like she doesn’t have anybody, and you would be a good influence on her.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I said. “She has nobody. Her mother didn’t accept her, and, if Heather’s story is believed, her mother tried to kill her. She’s an orphan, and she’s only 18. She’s having a tough time right now. Plus, she’s living with three other guys who have committed crimes, and they’re in the halfway house because they’re out on parole, or they’re awaiting trial. She says that she holds her own, but I worry about her.”

  “What will Alexis say?” Abby asked.

  “Well, that’s the thing. I wouldn’t imagine she would be too much in favor of it. There’s still the off-chance that Heather is a cold-blooded killer. I don’t really know at this point. She has a good story, but there are holes in it. I need to get answers from her. I’m of a mixed mind about this, to be honest with you.”

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Rina said. “Just because she killed her mother doesn’t mean that she’s a killer in general. If she killed her mom, she probably had her reasons.”

  I smiled. “You’re going to make a great attorney,” I said to her.

  “You know it.” Rina smiled.

  AFTER DINNER WAS OVER, the girls did their homework and watched a movie. Once they were sent to their rooms to go to bed, I finally got the chance to get on my email to find out what Rina was talking about. She seemed to finally forget about bugging me about Axel, and I was so relieved about that that I resisted the temptation to get on my email when she was awake. I just didn’t want to talk to the girls just yet about Axel, because I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to date him.

  I hadn’t really dated anybody for a long time. I was always so busy with my career, but that wasn’t necessarily why I resisted getting involved with anybody. The main thing was that, when I was drinking, I didn’t feel that I was good enough for anybody. My self-esteem was constantly in the toilet, because I couldn’t stand to look at myself in the mirror. When I looked at myself, all that I saw was a wasted person who couldn’t stay sober.

  Well, I was sober finally. I knew that I would stay that way, because I had to for the girls. So, maybe I could dip my toes into the dating waters.

  I took a deep breath and looked at my emails. I immediately saw the one from Axel.

  HARPER, I just wanted to let you know that I had a great time with you at Manny’s, and I’d love to do it again sometime. If you like jazz, there’s a great trio playing at The Phoenix this weekend. Their food’s pretty good, too. Let me know. If you don’t like jazz, then we can’t go on. :) No, really, I’ll survive. Just let me know what you’d like to do.

  Axel

  I PUT my fingers to my temple and tried to concentrate. Axel got me feeling tingly in all the right places, tingly in places that I hadn’t really thought about for way too long. But he also made me nervous. Was I ready to start dating? I was learning in AA that getting into a relationship wasn’t such a good idea for the first year that you’re in recovery. In my case, my recovery was barely in my rear-view mirror.

  I bit my bottom lip and started to type.

  AXEL, I’d love to go to The Phoenix this weekend. I enjoy live music, and I don’t know much about jazz, but I’d loved to find out more about it. What time would you like to meet?

  Harper.

  MY CURSOR HOVERED over the send button, trying to figure out if that was the direction that I wanted to go. I tapped my fingertips on the desk, and then got up and paced around the room. Come on, Harper, it’s only a date. You remember dating, don’t you? It’s when two people go out and see a jazz act or get tacos. It’s when two people like each other and have fun together. Axel is sexy as hell and he seems like a nice guy. What is your problem?

  I scratched my head absent-mindedly and finally sat down to my computer again.

  And I erased my previous message.

  In its place, I wrote another one:

  Axel, I’d love to go to The Phoenix, but I have a death penalty case that I have to get ready for. I can’t get involved right now. I’m so sorry.

  Once again, my cursor hovered over the send button.

  I was being indecisive. I didn’t know where I wanted to go with this.

  I finally decided just to go to bed without answering him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The next morning, I had a pre-trial conference on Heather’s case, and, as usual, I was running late. I had a hard time being on time to court appearances and meetings before I had two pre-teens under my roof, and I was having a hard time getting adjusted to their schedules, so I really started to run late for things.

  “Rina,” I yelled while I frantically tried to pour cold cereal for everybody, “you need to get down here.” Abby was already sitting at the table, obediently eating her cereal and drinking her orange juice. Rina, thus far, hadn’t yet emerged from her room.

  She came out of her room, her hair not yet brushed, and still in her pajamas. I rolled my eyes. “Rina, you know better than this. I told you last night that everybody is to be here at the breakfast table right at 7. That means that you have to be dressed and with your hair combed and ready to go. Now go back up and get dressed, comb your hair and be down here in ten minutes. Your cereal is going to be soggy by then, so you might as well live with it.”

  “Why do you pour my cereal and milk before I get down here? That’s stupid.”

  “I do that to train you to be on time next time. And you’re going to eat every cluster of your Honey Bunches of Oats. Every cluster.”

  Rina rolled her eyes and I bit my tongue and sat down across from Abby.

  “She does this,” Abby said quietly. “She hates waking up in the morn
ing.”

  “Don’t we all. I did the same thing, when I was her age. I hated getting up for school. I used every trick in the book to stay home.” I chuckled. “One time, my mom was taking my temperature and she left the room. I put the thermometer on a light bulb, and I really freaked my mother out because she thought I had a fever of 110.”

  “What happened?” Abby asked, her eyes wide.

  “Well, my mom dragged me to the ER, where they took my temperature and it was normal. The doctor informed her that having a temperature of 110 was impossible, because I would be dead if that were the case. I found out later, years later, that my mother wasn’t a fool. She knew I was faking it, and she made a big production of taking me to the hospital to teach me a lesson.” I shook my head. “Lesson learned.”

  “Don’t tell Rina about that,” she said. “You’ll give her ideas.”

  Rina finally appeared, her hair combed and wearing her school uniform. “You happy?” she asked, sitting down to the table.

  “I am, but I’m not happy with your attitude.” I looked at her sternly. “I suspect that you’re staying up late watching TV or playing on the Internet, so if you don’t want me to take those things away, I suggest that you go to sleep at a decent hour, so you can get up at a decent hour.”

  Rina mouthed my words mockingly and silently, and I took a deep breath. I didn’t need her brattiness. I looked up at the ceiling and counted to 10 and then looked at her. “Finish your cereal, and get your backpack. I have an early pre-trial conference at 8, so there’s no time to dilly-dally.” Actually, my pre-trial conference was at 8:15, but I needed to light a fire under Rina.

  “I’m not dilly-dallying, I’m eating my cereal.” She was eating extremely slowly. First one corn flake went into her mouth, and then another, and then a cluster went in, and then another.

  I drew a breath as Abby nudged her. “Come on,” she whispered. “We have to go.”

  Rina snarled at me, and then started taking huge clumps of cereal and shoveling them into her mouth. Her cheeks were full of cereal, and she gulped huge amounts of orange juice to wash it all down.

  I rolled my eyes at the show that Rina was giving me and, once again, I counted to ten.

  Finally, everybody had their backpacks and we all headed into my SUV.

  “What’s your pre-trial conference about, Aunt Harper?” Abby asked me while Rina stared out the window, silent and sullen. They both were sitting in the back, which was a habit of theirs, for some reason. I guessed because they actually enjoyed sitting together. I didn’t mind it, because it cut down on fights on who would get to sit in the front seat. I remembered those fights all too well, for they happened often with me and my siblings.

  “It’s on that murder case,” I said. “It’s a meeting with the judge and the prosecutor to see where the case is at. We have to give deadlines for discovery and witness lists and things like that. And the judge generally wants to know if there is any chance of a plea bargain, which there’s not. Not right now, anyway.”

  “What do you mean, not right now?” Rina asked, suddenly paying attention to what I was saying. “You’re not thinking of pleading your client, are you?”

  “No, not at the moment. I need to figure a few things out before I make a decision, though. I don’t think that she’s lying, but there are a few nagging details.”

  We arrived at their school, and the two girls got out. “Sophia will be picking you up,” I said to them. I never could get free at 3:30 PM, which was when the girls got out of school. “I’ll be seeing you hopefully by 6.”

  Rina and Abby nodded, and then ran off to join the other kids who were rushing through the door of their school.

  I GOT to the court right at 8:15, and I let out a sigh of relief. I was often late to court, but that wasn’t always a big deal if there was a large docket. I would just call the court clerk and explain what was happening, and I could get my client put on the end of the docket. But pre-trial conferences were a different thing. The judge typically would schedule pre-trial conferences in 15 minute slots, and if you were late, you missed your slot.

  And Judge Reiner was known for going off on attorneys who wasted his time. If I would have been late for the pre-trial conference, I would have been called on the carpet for doing just that.

  “Hey Harper,” Vince said as I bolted through the door of the courtroom. “And not a moment to spare. Let’s go on back.”

  I nodded my head, unable to speak, because I had literally ran from my car and up the five flights of stairs to the courtroom. I didn’t wait for the elevator, because the elevator was notoriously slow.

  We went back to the judge’s chambers, where Judge Reiner was waiting for us. He was smoking a cigar, and he put it out in an ashtray when we approached. His chamber was a typical chamber – dark walls, a large cherry-wood desk, and leather chairs that were held together with gold studs up and down the seat. Behind him was a large library that had every law book imaginable.

  “Harper, Vince,” he said. “Have a seat.”

  We both sat down.

  “Where are we with this case?” He asked us. “And why isn’t it settled yet? Trial’s in two months. Time’s a wasting.”

  “Your honor,” I began. “I’d like to point out that I have yet to get an offer from the prosecutor. So far, all that I’ve heard is that he’s seeking the death penalty. I can’t very well consider an offer when there’s no offer to consider.”

  Judge Reiner leaned forward and looked Vince right in the eye. “That true?” He pointed at me. “How is she supposed to accept a plea deal when you won’t even give her one?” He then looked at both of us. “I’d like this case off my docket. The press is going to be all over this one. Flies on shit comes to mind. I’m in no mood for cameras in the courtroom. The last media-ready case I had ended in a mistrial.” He glared at me. “As you know, Harper.”

  I didn’t know why he was bringing me into it. My John Robinson case wasn’t in front of him. It was a media shit-storm, as my client was a Kansas City Chief’s linebacker, but it was in front of a different judge. “Your honor?” I asked questioningly. “I don’t understand?”

  “Your media crazy case ended in a mistrial, and the prosecutors didn’t want to deal with it anymore. And then he went out and killed again.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to deal with that. That happened in my courtroom, too, except so far, my guy hasn’t killed somebody else, thank God. But I want this case gone. You two need to work it out.”

  I looked over at Vince, and so did Judge Reiner.

  “Vince, why don’t you make Harper a reasonable offer? Give her an LWOP sentence, and everybody’s happy.”

  “LWOP” was the slang for “Life Without Parole,” which pretty much means that the client would serve life in prison without a possibility of parole. That was unacceptable to me, of course.

  “Your honor, with all due respect, I wouldn’t be happy with an LWOP sentence.”

  “It’s better than the needle, Harper,” Judge Reiner said.

  “In the case of my client, it would be the same as the death penalty. She’s trans.”

  “So?” Judge Reiner shrugged his shoulders. “Your client’s made her bed by acting like a woman, how is that supposed to affect her sentence?”

  “Your honor,” I said. “That’s not an acceptable sentence. At this point, nothing is going to be acceptable. We’re going with self-defense.”

  Vince snorted. “Self-defense? That’s really where you’re going? What proof do you have? The victim in this case was a God-fearing woman who nobody had a bad word about. You should think twice before you go with yet another self-defense case after John Robinson went so wrong.”

  Low blow. But, I had to admit, he had a point. For all I knew, Heather was pulling the wool over my eyes. “You’ll just have to find out, Vince, what proof we have. Go through the discovery process. We won’t hide anything from you, of course. But I’m not going to volunteer anything right now.”

&nbs
p; Judge Reiner just shook his head. “Okay, you two work things out. I don’t want this case in front of me, though, Harper. I’m just warning you.”

  “Why are you directing that statement at me? Vince is the one who isn’t giving me an offer that I can even consider.”

  “Give her something,” he said to Vince. “And let’s get the show on the road.”

  Judge Reiner gave us both a deadline of September 21 for the close of discovery, and the trial was to start one week later. “That deadline isn’t a suggestion,” Judge Reiner said. “You two have to have everything into each other by then, and that includes your witness list. No other witnesses may be called except the ones that are on your lists. You got that?” He pointed at both of us. “No games, no surprises. No eleventh hour witnesses. I won’t put up with shenanigans in my courtroom. Now, go.” He made a shooing motion with his arms. “Make a deal. Please.”

  Vince and I exited the chambers. “Do you want to sit down and make a deal?” Vince asked me.

  “No. I told you, I’m going with self-defense. No offer you give me is going to be accepted.”

  “What the hell? The way you were talking in there, it sounded like you were just waiting for an offer. Were you lying in there?”

  “No, of course not. I never once said that I was going to accept an offer from you. I simply said that you haven’t given me anything. Plus, I did tell the judge that I’m going for self-defense.”

  Vince sighed. “On what grounds? We can show that your client and the victim went through some serious fights, and I’m going to bring in witnesses to testify that your client told others that she wanted her mother dead. She used those words – I want my mother to die.”

  I was going to have to ask Heather about that. “Those are just words. Everyone says things like that – I could kill you. I wish you were dead. I mean, I’ve never said such things, because I’m superstitious, and I would be afraid that my words would somehow make it happen. But people say stuff when they’re angry. And my client and her mother didn’t exactly see eye to eye, and there were plenty of fights.”