Natural Justice: A Legal Thriller (Tex Hunter Legal Thriller Series Book 6)

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “Thanks for the chat.” Hunter stood. “It was very informative.”

  “My eyesight might be failing, but I can still see a dirty rat when I cross one.” West walked to the door and rested his hand on the handle before he turned back to Hunter. “Did you hear what I said? I need you to skip out of the city. It’d be best for your health.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “This is a tough city, Mr. Hunter. People here have been through more than you could ever imagine.” West opened the door fully. “So, I’ll give you this piece of advice for free—there are guns everywhere. Just remember that before you think about crossing us.”

  Chapter 6

  After stepping out of the City Hall into the blaring morning sun, Hunter stopped on the sidewalk and looked up to the sky. It was a pale blue, drenched in the glare of summer brightness. Carol stepped out after Hunter, looked up to him, and raised her eyebrows. Hunter nodded his response. No words were needed. She knew what their conversation was about, and she knew what was said behind the closed doors. Not only was it obvious what the Mayor was going to say, but the walls in the City Hall were paper-thin, and she could hear every word exchanged between the two loud men.

  “We’ve got two hours until court,” Carol looked at her watch. “I’ll grab a couple of subs to go and meet you back in the office. There’s a little deli around the corner, and they make the best beef sub in the state. And while the subs might be big, trust me, you’ll need the energy for court. It’s going to be hotter in that courtroom than on these streets.”

  “Thank you, Carol,” Hunter responded. “I’ve got a call to make.”

  Carol walked down the street, careful to stay in the shade of the buildings and out of the sunshine. One touch of the direct sun could melt even the toughest of souls.

  Hunter walked in the other direction, back towards his office. There was hostility in the air, and he could sense it. A man in a passing pick-up truck stared at him with unwavering anger, before spitting out his open window onto the street. Five teenagers had gathered near the entrance to the parking lot next to Hunter’s office. They stopped their conversation as Hunter walked past, calling Hunter a number of names once he was further away.

  Hunter ignored them and called his investigator in Chicago, Ray Jones.

  “Hello, Ray.” Hunter loosened his tie as he approached his office. “What have you found out about the Javier Mitchell case?”

  “Well, Tex, I’m glad I’m not there in Longford with you right now. Everything I’ve read about this city says that it’s not a nice place for a person of my skin color,” Jones replied, referring to his African-American heritage. “Unemployment is 15%, youth unemployment is even higher, and new business investment is practically non-existent. There’re claims of corruption that stretch back decades, the high school is ranked poorly in the state, and there isn’t one nice thing to say about the police force. This isn’t a city you’d put on the map for tourist vacations.”

  “Especially during this heatwave. You couldn’t relax here,” Hunter replied, fumbling with his keys and opening the newly fixed office door. His first act inside was to turn on the air-conditioner. “What about the family of Chad Townsend?”

  “One of the few families in the city that seem to have consistent work. The father runs the main diesel mechanic shop in the city. Mostly deals with trucks and loaders from the surrounding farms, but also gets a lot of work from the nearby highway 45. The Townsends seem like one of the more popular families in the city—hard-working, respected, good church family. They host a large gathering every fourth of July, where family flies in from all over the country to attend, and they regularly host Sunday cook-outs. And they were very supportive of their son. Always at his football games, always at his baseball games, and always with their photo in the local paper. Obviously, they’re devastated they had to bury their son a month ago.”

  “And Chad Townsend?”

  “He’d been dating the police chief’s daughter, Maggie Richardson, for a while. There were numerous photos of them together throughout their high school years, and they looked destined to marry. High school sweethearts that could lead into marriage. Chad had posted a lot of photos on social media with comments like ‘My future witch,’ or ‘My future ball and chain.’ Real charming. It looks like they broke up a few months ago, because Chad posted a few things about being heartbroken, and then there were no more photos of them together. And it looked like Chad didn’t move on.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “In the months before his death, the tone of his social media profiles changed. He went from being all high and mighty, quite arrogant really, to being quite aggressive. He made some stupid accusations online against other people. Really angry stuff, along with a lot of bullying. I found one string of comments on a social media site where he attacked a fifteen-year-old kid in a wheelchair, and called him some nasty names. Names that shouldn’t be repeated.”

  Hunter wheeled his chair to sit under the direct blast of the air-conditioner. “And what can you tell me about Maggie Richardson?”

  “Hard to tell, because all her social media pages are private. She could’ve moved on to someone else, or she might not have. I don’t have any information about that right now, but I’m working on it. As Chief Richardson’s daughter, it looks like she liked to keep things offline as much as possible.” Jones drew a long breath. “But honestly, Chad Townsend looked like an all-around prick. He might’ve had everyone’s respect because of his athletic ability, but it didn’t help his personality. There are videos of him bullying younger kids on YouTube, posted by himself, as if his behavior was something to be proud of. And he’s laughing the whole time that he’s pushing these kids half his age. He’s made some really terrible comments about people with disabilities and some nasty comments about poor people. It doesn’t look like he listened to the pastor when he went to church as a kid.”

  “Keep digging around on Chad. He’s got to be our focus. Anything you can find may help.” Hunter wiped the sweat from his brow. “Even though he was popular, he must’ve made some people angry. Perhaps there’s a group of kids who were sick of being bullied by him? You might be able to talk to them and get the inside word.”

  “I’m on it. What else do you need me to do?”

  “I need you to look into anyone around the city that might be the city’s main gossip. In a small city like this, there’s always one or two people who air the city’s dirty laundry online. I need you to find the person that posts the most things about the city on social media. They might be good to speak with, someone with a weakness for gossiping who we could pressure a bit into letting something important slip.”

  “If there’s one person like that, I’ll find them.”

  “Thanks Ray. I’m going to need every bit of help I can get with this one.”

  Hunter ended the call as the air-conditioner stopped. He picked up the remote, pressed the power button a number of times, but the machine didn’t turn back on. He slapped the remote against the palm of his hand, pressed the button again, and then the machine clunked back into action.

  Carol arrived a moment later with the subs. He thanked her, and they ate them in the office with the sound of the air-conditioner for comfort. Carol was right. The subs were good. Fresh. Two hours later, after reviewing their files, they exited the office and drove the two blocks to the courthouse on Main St. The temperature had passed ninety-five, and even the shortest walks would drench them in sweat. The Marline County courthouse faced south, a two-story red-colored brick structure that was bland enough to pass for a high school building. Located near the center of Longford, a block from City Hall, it was non-descript, blending into the surroundings, and not attracting attention.

  Hunter was able to park his BMW sedan directly outside the front steps. Led by Carol, they walked into the courthouse and were met by a force of cold air pushing down from the ceiling over the front doors. Inside the courthouse was no more
exciting than the outside. Dull colors. Old furniture. Little natural light. Hunter thought he’d stepped back into the 1970s.

  “You’re the son of a killer, right?” The first guard greeted Hunter before he walked through the metal detector, just inside the entrance. “I know things are different in Chicago, but out here, we don’t like killers. Especially ugly-looking ones like you.”

  Hunter glared at the man and stepped closer, towering over the guard.

  “Settle down. Let’s not do anything silly.” Carol’s tone was firm before she turned to the guard. “And David, keep your mouth shut. Your job in this courthouse is to nullify violence, not instigate it.”

  The guard swallowed and stepped back from Hunter, before raising his hands. “Just making a joke to make the guy feel at home, Carol.”

  When Hunter took his eyes off the guard, he saw all the eyes in the foyer were staring at him. Twenty people were standing around in groups, talking to each other, discussing the city’s latest rumors. Hunter was sure that most of the rumors would’ve involved him. On the far side of the room, the Townsend family were gathering. Someone yelled across the room, before being restrained by another family member. It was the most challenging part of Hunter’s job—every crime had a victim, every victim had a family, and most families wanted revenge, not justice. Those families saw Hunter as the enemy, the man who blocked their quest for vengeance.

  Hunter stepped through the metal detector to be confronted by a man waiting for him. He was commonplace in appearance—in clothing, in features, and in posture. He was of average size and average build. His hair was ordinary brown, his eyes a usual blue, and his skin-tone pale, but it was the look on his lips, a stealthy, sly grin, that alerted Hunter to trouble.

  “Mr. Matthew Tanner.” The man greeted Hunter and held out his hand. “I’m the prosecutor for Javier Mitchell’s case. We’ve spoken a few times over the phone.”

  Hunter shook the man’s hand. He wished he hadn’t. The handshake was soft and weak, sending a shiver up Hunter’s spine.

  “I’m sorry about the abuse around here. People around here wear their hearts on their sleeves. I’m sure you can understand that.” Tanner pointed down the hallway, directing him to the courtroom, and walked alongside Hunter as they approached the edge of the foyer. “But by all reports, you’ve been in a lot of fights. A boxer, I hear?”

  Hunter stopped, tilted his head, and squinted at Tanner.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Hunter. I research all my opponents to make sure I can expose every little crack in their armor.” The niceties were already gone from Tanner’s voice. “We’re in courtroom one at the end of the hall. I’ll see you in there.”

  Tanner stepped away from Hunter, walking back towards the other side of the courthouse foyer, where Chief Richardson waited next to the far wall. Richardson didn’t take his eyes off Hunter once.

  “Don’t worry about them.” Carol leaned close to Hunter and nodded to indicate they should continue towards the courtroom. “They’re trying to intimidate you. Don’t worry if they get to you. I’ve seen lesser people run away from these guys. There’s no shame in being intimidated.”

  At the entrance to the courtroom, Hunter paused for a moment. He took a deep breath before he continued through the tall wooden doors. Stepping inside, Hunter scanned the room. Brown was the color of choice. The long wooden pews were light brown, the wooden walls were dark brown, the doors were brown, and the gate was brown. The tables for the defense and prosecutor were brown, the judge’s seat was brown, and the chairs in the jury box were brown. The natural light coming in from the side of the room did little to lighten the brownness. At least the carpet was off-white, and the ceiling was cream-colored.

  Hunter went through the gate to the defense table, and Carol moved into the first row of pews behind him. He opened his briefcase and sat down on the brown leather chair. They reviewed the case files for the next twenty-five minutes, reading over the options to move the case to another venue. At 1:55pm, Tanner entered the room with two female assistants, followed by Chief Richardson, and then Mayor Bob West. Soon, a small crowd began to gather behind them. Javier, still in his prison uniform, was escorted into the room by the bailiff and seated next to Hunter. The clerk at the front of the room read the case number in a robotic fashion, and then asked the room to rise for Judge Gregory Johnson. Judge Johnson walked into the room, not giving Hunter the privilege of eye contact, keeping his eyes on his seat.

  Judge Johnson sat down, picked up the file in front of him and then groaned loudly, his tone wearied after decades of courtroom drama. His gray hair was thinning, his olive-skin tanned by too many hours in the sun, and the wrinkles in his face showed years of sadness. He was in his late-sixties and close to retirement, having spent much of his life controlling the courtroom, yelling at people who dared question his authority. His weight had gotten away from him in recent years, and he looked much heavier than his profile photo.

  “Proceed, counsel.” Judge Johnson was still reading the brief as he waved at the lawyers. “I see you’ve entered a Motion to Change Venues?”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Hunter stood at the defense table. “The motion to change venues, pursuant to the 725 ILCS 5/114-6, has been filed to move this case where the jury pool won’t be prejudiced against my client, as there exists such prejudice on the part of the inhabitants of this county that he cannot receive a fair trial in Marline County.”

  “Prejudiced against your client?” Judge Johnson looked over his reading glasses at Hunter. “Please explain further.”

  “Your Honor, due to the extensive media coverage of the charges against Mr. Mitchell, it’s impossible for him to receive a fair and impartial jury trial on this set of charges. This entire city is aware of the death of Chad Townsend, and they all have a personal opinion on this matter.”

  “Response?” Judge Johnson looked to Tanner.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Tanner stood and buttoned his gray jacket. “The prosecution is strongly opposed to moving the venue. This murder happened in Longford, the victim lived in Longford, and the accused deserves to be judged by residents of Longford. Moving it to another venue is disregarding the nuances of this city.”

  “Your Honor, this isn’t about nuances of a small city. This is about a fair trial. The Illinois Code of Criminal Procedure provides the discretion to approve this motion if there’s a substantial risk to the fairness of this trial.”

  “I’m well aware of the ruling.” Judge Johnson grunted. “The defendant has pleaded not guilty?”

  “That’s correct, Your Honor.”

  “And we’re set to start this trial in late July?”

  “We are,” Tanner replied. “And the State requests we continue with this trial in this county.”

  “Your Honor,” Hunter argued. “This would severely weaken the defense’s ability for a fair trial, and the defense would be at a major disadvantage if the case was to remain in this county. The jury pool within Longford is tainted, and this would severely prejudice the case against the defendant.”

  “You don’t think this court is capable of being impartial, Mr. Hunter?” The disdain in Judge Johnson’s voice was clear.

  “It’s not the court I am concerned about, Your Honor. It’s the jury pool.”

  “And that’s why we have a voir dire,” Tanner argued. “People in this city are impartial, and not biased, as the defense suggests. That’s a wild and misleading accusation, because there have been many studies to show exposure to publicity isn’t enough to prove bias, as potential jurors don’t need to be completely ignorant of the facts of a case to be able to sit in judgment of a defendant. If a potential juror proves to be incapable of fairly judging the evidence against a defendant, he or she is dismissed from serving on the jury during voir dire.”

  “And you’re currently satisfied with this case continuing in Marline County?” Judge Johnson looked at Tanner over the top of his glasses.

  “We are.” Tanner tried to
hide his smirk, but it was obvious. “And as you can understand, we have a limited budget to try cases in this area, and this trial may take months to resolve, and we fear moving the trial to another jurisdiction may unfairly limit the prosecution’s ability to call witnesses. We don’t have endless resources.”

  “Your Honor, these are very inflammatory arguments,” Hunter stated. “The cost to the prosecution for this trial shouldn’t be a factor in the decision for this motion.”

  “Understood.” Judge Johnson read the report. “The defendant is a dual citizen?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Hunter retorted. “I’m not even sure how that’s relevant to this motion.”

  “Given your client’s situation, and the motion that you’ve provided, I’m inclined to agree with the prosecution. I completely understand the prosecution’s apprehension about moving venues.” Judge Johnson continued to read the file. “The motion is denied, pursuant to The Illinois Code of Criminal Procedure,” Judge Johnson stated. “However, to appease the defense as I’m sure there’ll be further arguments, the court will provide the option to refile this motion if voir dire proves the bias this motion alleges.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Tanner smiled.

  Hunter didn’t respond as Judge Johnson stood and moved out of the courtroom.

  After Judge Johnson had exited, Hunter sat down and wrote a number of notes on his legal pad. The crowd was jovial behind him as they left the courtroom, happy that the city lawyer had been beaten in the local court. A fair trial was a joke to them. This was a celebration of revenge. A celebration of reprisal. Once the crowd had moved out, Hunter packed up his briefcase and moved towards the doors. Carol waited a few moments, organizing more files, and then followed him.