Will of Justice: A Legal Thriller (Bill Harvey Book 1)

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “Were you aware that your Aunt Jessica had cancer?”

  “What? How would you know that?”

  “She disclosed that to me when we met. She said that you didn’t know. She was frail and on her last legs, Anna. I didn’t tell you because she said that she didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “And yet, she told you.”

  He sighs. Anna still has a lot of deep resentment towards her aunt. Years of rejection can do that to a young woman.

  “Take me through what happened that day. I want to know all the details about the day that your aunt died. I want to know where you were, who you were with, what you did, and even what you ate. The more information that you tell me, the more likely it’s that we will be able to discover what really happened.”

  “Alright… I saw my aunt on the afternoon that she died. I talked to her.”

  “Where?”

  “At her apartment. I went there to discuss the will. After you had told me that the will was watertight, I wanted to go there and be nice to her. I thought that now it had gotten serious and I had hired a lawyer, then she might change her mind. I went in and was really nice and soft, and we had a nice chat about life. It’s strange, but it was the first real chat we have ever had. And I thought that I might have been able to convince her to do something different. The funny thing is, I think she started to listen to me. I think that I was starting to get through to her. And then… we got into another argument.” Anna draws a deep breath. “Look… I’m a redhead, and we’re known to have a temper.” She seems genuinely embarrassed in admitting it. “Sometimes when things don’t go my way, I can get fiery.”

  “Ahh… the fiery redhead defense.” He smiles.

  “Quite. I knew that I had to negotiate with her and so I had to calm myself down before I went to talk to her. I went to a bar near her apartment and had a couple of drinks – nothing outrageous – just a couple of quiet drinks to relax. I wanted to be calm before I talked with her.”

  “Did you talk to anyone in the bar?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it, but I saw one of my father’s old army buddies, and we exchanged pleasantries. I asked how his wife was and he asked how my travels were going. We had a good chat, and I said that I was going off to see my aunt.”

  “This man served with you father?”

  “Bud Morgan served in the army with my father. They both went to the Gulf War. I know him because he works for the Recovering Veterans charity.”

  “Bud Morgan…” Bill ponders for a moment. “Go on. What happened after you left the bar?”

  “I left the bar and went to see my aunt. She was in a grumpy mood – as always – but after a while, we were talking amicably. She was starting to acknowledge my point of view on the Army Basic Training. She actually looked like she understood what I was saying. She truly looked like she understood me. And then she said that we wouldn’t have this problem if I weren’t so lazy and that just set me off. It was like a trigger. I just lost control. I didn’t plan on getting angry, but the more she spoke, the worse it got. She wouldn’t see any sense to anything that I said. She was just being a stubborn old cow. And she was always like that. I should’ve expected it to continue.”

  “And what was said?”

  “We talked about the will.” She avoids eye contact. “I was just trying to talk to her nicely.”

  “But you didn’t?”

  “We did at the start… but not in the end. I told her that my grandfather left the money to me. Apart from the two of us, I lost my entire family to the army. My father, my mother, my brother, my uncle – everyone that I was once close to died because of the army. I couldn’t support an institution that did that to my family. I love the veterans, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t commit to that institution. You understand, don’t you?”

  “It’s not up to whether or not I understand. That decision was up to your aunt. Was she willing to negotiate?”

  “She was from that generation where everything was supposed to be done right. You were supposed to serve your country, get married, have kids, grow old. That was the ideal lifestyle. That was their picture of perfection. My aunt had never even traveled to Canada. She didn’t even own a passport, the stupid old bat. She didn’t have any idea what travel teaches you. So, I tried to tell her my point of view… and I truly think that she was starting to listen to me. I know I shouldn’t have got angry. I should have left the apartment when things were going good, and she was listening to me.”

  “Did you shout at her?”

  Anna shoots him a glare. “Like I said, I have a mean temper when wound up. I can get pretty wild.”

  “So, you shouted at her?”

  “Yes, we were shouting at each other. We were both shouting loudly.”

  “Loud enough for the neighbors to hear?”

  “Probably. They’re a nosey bunch anyway. They’re all in each other’s business all the time because none of them have anything better to do. One of the neighbors was waiting in the hallway when I stormed out of her apartment. The man from next door.”

  “And what did you say to him?”

  “I told him to go back into his apartment and mind his own business. I was angry. No doubt about it. I punched a wall as I walked down the hallway. The man from next door would’ve seen that.”

  “Did the neighbor go into your aunt’s apartment after you left?”

  “No, he did what he was told. He walked back into his apartment.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “When I was getting into the elevator, I turned around and saw him walking back through his door. I shot him an evil glance as the doors to the elevator closed. I reckon that man told the police that I did it.”

  “I think that the police made the connections all by themselves, Anna. It seems pretty clear-cut from where they sit. The man from next door is the one that discovered the body. One hour after you left, he went to check on your aunt. She didn’t answer the door, and so he used a key to get in. And that’s when he found your aunt dead on the floor with a copy of the will next to her body.”

  “Are you on their side too?” Anna snaps.

  Bill takes a long, deep breath. “Did you hit your aunt?”

  “No! I didn’t touch her, I swear. I shouted at her because I was angry, but I didn’t lay a hand on her. I didn’t touch her. This wasn’t the first time we have had an argument. It’s just the way we communicate. It was nothing unusual.”

  “Have you ever hit your aunt?”

  Anna’s eyes divert away, and she doesn’t answer the question.

  “Anna? Have you ever hit your aunt?” Bill repeats.

  “I never hit her… but… I pushed her once.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I was seventeen at the time. My parents had passed away, and Aunt Jessica was my legal guardian. I was living with her, and she hated having me in her apartment. She was a real bitch to me while I lived with her. She was jealous of me and the freedom that I had. She thought I wasn’t living life the right way, and she took all her hatred out on me. And one day we got into a big fight about nothing. She could just push my buttons; you know? She deliberately used to say things just to get me angry. I’m sure of that. And she said something really hurtful about my father, so I pushed her. I didn’t plan on pushing her, it just happened.”

  “Was she hurt?”

  “She went to the hospital with a cut on her arm. She fell on a wine glass, but she didn’t need stitches.”

  “Did she report it to the police?”

  “The police came over because she went to the hospital. They had a chat with me, but my aunt didn’t press charges. I didn’t push her hard. It was just a little shove. She would’ve been fine if she hadn’t of fallen onto that damn glass.”

  Bill takes his time, writing down his thoughts on his notepad. He then turns his attention back to Anna. “The timeline so far is that your aunt’s neighbor heard you arguing that afternoon. One hour later, he goes in
to your aunt’s apartment and finds her strangled to death. He called the police, and they arrived within twenty minutes. The police found there was no sign of forced entry or a struggle, which suggests that your aunt knew the murderer.”

  “So, they arrested me because she didn’t know anyone else?”

  “You also have a very clear motive for your aunt’s death. You’ll receive half the inheritance because her death occurred before you turned twenty-five. You have made it very clear that you had no intention of completing the Army Basic Training, and you still wanted the money. Half the amount – ten million dollars – is a very strong motive to see your Aunt die.”

  “I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her.” Anna scratches her arm again. This time, it’s more aggressive. “I went back to Jessica’s apartment looking for the hidden camera, but it wasn’t there. Somebody took it, Bill.”

  “Hidden camera?”

  “My aunt didn’t trust her cleaner, so she set up a hidden camera to spy on him. She wanted to make sure that he wasn’t stealing anything. She hid it in the living room, behind a book. When I went back to the apartment yesterday, it wasn’t there. I searched the entire house, but the camera wasn’t there.”

  “There is no mention of a camera in any of the police reports, Anna, which suggests that your aunt moved it before her death or the killer took it with them. Who else knew about the camera?”

  “Everyone. I’m sure that the cleaner even knew. She didn’t hide it very well. If we find that camera, it will prove that I didn’t do it.”

  Bill nods again, scribbling more notes.

  “Anna, I like to be honest with my clients to set realistic expectations of the outcomes. We don’t have that camera and nor do the police. In reality, this case isn’t looking good. There’s a lot of evidence building against you. We have a motive and a witness that places you at the scene of the crime. You have a history of angry outbursts, even directly against your aunt, and the neighbor saw you that afternoon. He reports that you were furious.”

  “I know it looks bad, but I swear, I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t kill her. You have to believe me. I didn’t do it. I didn’t want her to die. The system is supposed to charge criminals, not innocent people. I’m innocent. I can’t go to jail for something I didn’t do.”

  “You’re also not that upset by the death of your aunt. That isn’t going to work in your favor if this case makes it to trial.”

  “I know I don’t look upset, but I feel alone now. Do you know what that’s like? To be the last remaining member of your family?”

  “No.”

  “It’s horrible. Really horrible. I feel totally alone in the world.”

  Although he has spent much of his life reading people’s actions and emotions, he’s uncomfortable with the raw passion that Anna is displaying. Her eyes have drawn him in, but he reverts back to the cold realities of the case.

  “At this point, we only have two options that can clear you of the crime. We can either find a problem with the police investigation – maybe some contaminated evidence or a missed step in your arrest or…”

  “Yes?”

  “If you didn’t do it, Anna, then somebody else did.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Mr. Thomas Feeble, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Thomas Feeble opens the door to his apartment next to Jessica’s, looking up at Bill with weak, empty eyes. Bill is a big believer in embedding words into the subconscious, and he feels that a surname like Feeble would have set Thomas up for a fragile life.

  “I’ve been told to be careful what I say to you,” Thomas Feeble states in a shy, submissive voice. “The lawyer told me not to talk too much with the defense.”

  “I’m sure that you have been told that.” Bill nods. “I’m going to come in for a few moments to talk about your case. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

  Bill frames his words in such a way that Thomas feels like he has no other choice but to agree to Bill’s statement.

  “Okay.” Thomas opens the door wide enough for Bill to enter. “But only for a few moments. We can’t talk for long.”

  “Of course.”

  As Bill walks into the apartment, he stands close to Thomas, making sure that his physical ascendancy in the situation is clear. Intimidation is a factor when questioning a person, and he needs Thomas to know that he’s a man that will do what it takes to get the information that he needs.

  With an open hand, Thomas points towards the living room, offering Bill a seat. Although his apartment is next door to Jessica Lempare’s apartment, his home has a completely different feel. While his apartment is the same size, the furnishings are modest, at best.

  It looks as though Thomas has ordered a house full of furniture from late night television, and has put it all together himself. The couch looks flimsy, and it has Bill worried that it might give way under his weight.

  The curtains are still drawn despite it being midafternoon, and the layout of the entire house seems to be pointing towards the television. As he glances into the kitchen and the main bedroom, Bill notices a television in each room.

  Thomas Feeble follows Bill into the living room; his arms crossed, his shoulders slumped, his eyes darting everywhere. With a mix of Mexican and English heritage, he never felt comfortable in his own skin. He never fit into the right social circles at school, and that rejection has left him scarred for most of his adult life.

  With his closed body language, it’s clear that this is a man who is keeping a secret.

  “This is a nice apartment,” Bill comments. “And it’s a very beautiful building."

  “My apartment does the job.” He sits opposite Bill on a sofa that looks like it folds out to form a bed. “It’s the place where I live.”

  There is one picture of Thomas’s family hanging on the main wall, a picture of a dog on the other wall. Out of the corner of his eye, Bill notices a black and white cat amble down the hallway.

  “Do you like animals, Mr. Feeble?”

  “I do. I have three cats, and I used to have a small dog, but she passed away four years ago. Animals are very non-judgmental, Mr. Harvey.”

  “I read that you’re the head of the resident’s body corporate for this building?”

  Feeling his privacy has been invaded, Thomas stares at the defense attorney.

  “What do you want, Mr. Harvey?”

  “I’ve come to ask you a number of questions regarding the death of your next-door neighbor. Let’s start with your relationship with Jessica.”

  “Like I said, I’ve been told not to tell you too much.”

  “We can either have our discussion here, or our discussion will be on the stand in the courtroom. It doesn’t matter to me which you choose. However, I feel that it would be in your best interests to have the discussion here.”

  Looking carefully at the table in front of him, Thomas almost looks like he’s searching for the answer ingrained in the wood.

  “I didn’t get along with Jessica, if that is what you’re asking. But that is nothing unusual,” he says, defending himself. “Nobody got along with her. She was very selfish and very rude. I would see her in the hallway sometimes, and I would say hello, but she would turn her nose up at me. I hated that.”

  “Did you ever tell her that you hated it?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I never talked to her long enough to tell her that.”

  “Tell me what happened on that afternoon.”

  “I’ve already told the police everything I know. It’s all in the police report.”

  Leaning backward on the couch, Bill spreads his arms out to the side, widening his legs apart. He’s taking up space to assert his dominance in the room, letting Thomas know that he’s in control of this situation.

  “Yes, Thomas. I’ve reviewed the police report, and I’ve found some things that deserve further questioning. There are particular things that don’t make sense to me, and I would like you to explain them.” He looks Thomas straigh
t in the eye. “The police report states that there was no forced entry into the apartment, and you used a key to get into her place. Do you have your own key to her apartment?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “And was she aware of this?”

  “Yes,” Thomas says as he brushes his nose, covering his face with his hand.

  It’s obvious to Bill that this is a lie.

  The reason he can tell that Thomas has told a lie isn’t magic; rather it’s science. During his years training in hypnotherapy, Bill learned that when avoiding the answer to a direct question, there are certain tell-tale signs that a person will display.

  A direct question creates a spike in anxiety when an honest response would be incriminating. This apprehension triggers the body’s nervous system to dissipate the anxiety, draining blood from the surfaces of the face, ears, and extremities, which in turn creates a sensation of cold, or discomfort. Without the person even realizing it, their hands are drawn to those areas, and their body language answers the question for them.

  “Do you expect me to believe that someone who has just stated that they have barely had a conversation with their next-door neighbor, also had their own key to her apartment?”

  “Um, sure.” Thomas shrugs.

  “Was there anyone else in your apartment at the time that you heard someone having an argument with Jessica?”

  “No.” Thomas’s answer is snappy, direct and sudden, and it’s clear that he’s again lying.

  “Really?”

  “It was just my cats and me.” Thomas’s response is deadpan.

  Bill isn’t sure if he’s being funny and he should laugh, or if he’s being serious. When Thomas doesn’t laugh, he continues. “Thomas, I’m going to ask you a direct question, and I’m going to study how you react,” Bill states firmly, staring intently at Thomas. He’s deliberately applying pressure. “Did you kill Jessica Lempare?”

  “Me? No.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t do it.”