Tattered Justice

by John Foxjohn

  “Why didn’t Michelle’s publisher file a suit against the other publisher as well as Loren?” Kayla asked.

  “Simple. Every publishing contract has a clause in it where the author declares that the work submitted belonged to them. Loren violated that part of the contract.” He leaned forward and turned to face Kayla. “I’ll tell you this—there has been bad blood between Loren and Michelle for several years.”

  Kayla closed her eyes and shook her head. No wonder the cops went right to Loren. She’d half-hoped that the woman had changed at least a little bit over the last few years, but she hadn’t. If she hadn’t changed, could she actually be guilty of the murder?

  FIVE

  When Jimmy left, Kayla poured herself a glass of wine that she didn’t need and trudged to her office. Hitting the eject button on her CD player, she removed the jazz CD, put it in its case, and selected another by Marie Knight.

  As she opened her briefcase, the song stopped her—“Death Don’t Have No Mercy.” She took out the Estes file she’d started, but didn’t open it. Instead, she stared at a picture of her father and mother that sat on her desk corner.

  Death never had any mercy in her life. Her parents died in a car wreck when she was sixteen. Although Kayla resembled her mother, Gabrielle Layton Nugent, the two had little in common. She’d loved her quiet, unassuming mother, but her father dominated her life as he did many others, commanding attention with his presence.

  Every time Kayla visited her therapist, she had to listen to the tired rendition of how she needed to break away from her father’s memory—let him go—not compete with her father’s accomplishments.

  Jimmy and her other friends believed that she went to law school because of her father—became a defense attorney because of her father, and tried to live up to the reputation he’d established.

  Their theory had some merit, but not all. Her father’s influence probably did plant the seed, but she believed in the justice system and where other attorneys spouted platitudes about due process and everyone’s right to legal council, Kayla believed in the basic right. Even Loren Estes had the right to that process, just not with Kayla defending her.

  As always with these moments of self-incrimination and nostalgia, Kayla picked up her wine glass and went to the attic, which contained the few things of her parents’ that she’d kept. Her most prized possession was the large, wooden trunk with gold inlaid fasteners.

  She wilted in the dust before it, and the wood creaked as it always did when she opened it. Mothball odors and old cedar assaulted her senses. The trunk contained her mother’s wedding dress, pictures, a diary her mother had kept even before she’d married Kayla’s father, letters, and old documents.

  Many times, Kayla had taken the dress out and held it close, or cried when she looked at the pictures. Now, she reached in and took out the diary. Holding it close to her chest, she rocked back and forth. She told herself that one day she’d open it and read her mother’s thoughts, but she’d told herself the same thing since the time she discovered the diary after her mother’s death. She couldn’t bring herself to invade her mother’s privacy.

  * * * *

  Darren didn’t sleep well—he never did in a hotel room. Besides that, he had a headache. After a shower and brushing his teeth, he dressed and strolled to Denny’s where he ordered coffee.

  He opened the Houston Chronicle to find Loren Estes’ face smiling with the front-page headline, “Suspicion doesn’t bother suspect.”

  He sat back and shook his head as he read the interview that Loren Estes had given the reporter.

  When he finished he threw the paper down. What was wrong with this woman? He had sat right in the room when Kayla Nugent told them not to talk to anyone, including the media. He picked the paper up and scanned it again. The reporter quoted Loren Estes as saying, “I’m not worried at all about the police investigating me. They will never convict me of anything. I have a great attorney.” His hands clenched the paper. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

  “Pardon me.”

  He jerked his gaze from the paper. The waitress glared at him, coffee pot in one hand, the other on her hip. He held his hands up. “No, sorry. I was talking about this woman in the paper.” He held the front page up so she could see.

  “Yeah. I read that. What can you expect from people who have money like that? She’ll buy her way out of it. Wish they’d put people like me on the jury.”

  She filled his cup and hurried away. He set the paper down. They do put people like her on juries. That’s why Kayla told her not to say anything.

  As he left the restaurant, he thought about the meeting at the law office. He’d caught the daggers Kayla Nugent shot at Loren Estes. He had no doubt that the two women had a history with each other. From what he’d seen of both women, the history between them wasn’t good.

  He needed to find out what was going on. It might make his job more difficult if he had to stop them from killing each other.

  Why had Loren Estes gone against her father’s wishes and insisted that Kayla Nugent defend her? She could have any attorney. Why Kayla Nugent?

  He strolled back to his hotel and his car, figuring he’d go to see Nugent, then start asking questions and talking to people again. He’d spent four hours yesterday afternoon trying to find information on the police lieutenant, but had found nothing that would help.

  Downtown traffic crept and it took him thirty minutes to go ten miles. When the traffic picked up some, he glanced in his rearview mirror. Several cars back, a Houston police car dodged in and out of traffic, attempting to get through. A white car mimicked the patrol car’s actions.

  He frowned when the police car made it through and dodged behind him, staying there. His instinct told him that the white car that followed the cruiser was an unmarked. Without taking his eyes off the traffic in front of him, he reached for his leather carry case that sat on the front seat. As he fumbled in the side pocket, the lights on the trailing cruiser ignited, sending red and yellow strobes through the dense air.

  He looked for a place to pull over, but didn’t have many choices. Half a block up the street on the right side, a strip mall parking lot came into view. He found his small, digital recorder, hit rewind, and when it beeped, he looked down at it.

  Pressing the record button on the side, he slipped it in his shirt pocket.

  Before he pulled into the parking lot, the cruiser siren erupted and died. He glanced in the mirror and it didn’t surprise him that the white car that followed the cruiser also pulled in. Both cars formed an open-ended vee behind him ensuring that they had him blocked in.

  He sat with both hands on the steering wheel for a couple of minutes while the patrolman in the cruiser talked on the radio.

  When the two cops stepped out of the cruiser, so did two detectives from the unmarked. As one officer approached the driver’s side, the other eased his way to the passenger side. Both detectives remained in front of their vehicle.

  When Darren rolled his window down, the officer stood sideways. “I need to see your driver’s license,” the cop said without courtesy or the reason he’d stopped Darren.

  Darren reached into his back pocket for his wallet, but kept his eye on the cop. “Mind telling me why you pulled me over?”

  “Yeah, I do. Are you going to identify yourself?”

  Darren opened his wallet and extracted his license, handing it to the cop who glanced at it for a moment and handed the license to one of the detectives who had strolled up.

  As the detective wrote the license information on a spiral, the cop said, “Fella, you’re a long way from home.”

  Darren raised an eyebrow, wondering what all this was about. “Uh-huh. Why’d you pull me over?”

  The detective handed the driver’s license back to the patrolman who stuck it in his front shirt pocket. “A mile or so back you changed lanes but didn’t signal the change.”

  Darren knew the game now and he was glad he’d thought about the record
er. “You mean you and two detectives charged through all that traffic to pull me over for failure to signal a lane change?”

  “That’s right. You’re in Texas, not Chicago. We do things different down here.”

  Darren smirked. “You got that right, anyway.”

  The cop put both hands on hips. “You’re a wise ass, huh?”

  “Look. I have some place I need to be. If you’re going to give me a ticket, please do, so I can get to where I’m going.”

  The cop by the car door turned his head and glanced at the closest detective who nodded. He turned his attention back to Darren. “Step out of the car.”

  He groaned as he opened the door, knowing their little game. He adjusted his coat and kept close to the patrolman hoping the recorder picked up the conversation. He didn’t know why they hassled him, but they would find some reason to take him to jail. But he didn’t know the reason behind this.

  The second patrolman strode around the front of Darren’s rental. The one facing Darren smirked. “We’d like permission to search your vehicle.”

  “Uh-huh, and you can have it,” Darren said, “when you show me a warrant. Not even in Houston, Texas, is failure to signal lane change considered probable cause for a search.”

  “You’re just making it hard on yourself. We can have a warrant here in fifteen minutes.”

  Darren faked a yawn. “Mind if I sit down while we wait for the warrant?”

  The second cop, who hadn’t spoken, said, “No need for a warrant to search the vehicle. Turn around and place your hands on the car. You’re under arrest for failure to signal a lane change.”

  Darren glanced at the cop’s nametag who’d told him he was under arrest. “Your name’s Perkins, correct?” He leaned forward. “Badge number 20235.” He glanced at the other one. “Cowlings. Badge number 20774. I’d like to know who the two detectives are that haven’t identified themselves.”

  The cop with Darren’s license in his pocket lost his smirk. “There are no detectives here. Either put your hands on the car, or we do it for you. Easy way or the hard way.”

  Darren turned, placed his hands on the car and spread his legs. They patted him down, and slapped the cuffs on his arms behind his back. They didn’t check his pockets and didn’t find the recorder.

  On the way to jail, Darren asked, “Why are you two doing this?”

  The cop in the front passenger seat half-turned. “You may be able to go around in Chicago and ask questions about cops, but we don’t allow it here. If you don’t find a way to keep your nose out of cops’ business in this town, this will just be the beginning.”

  “Actually, you’re telling me that the Houston PD is running me out of town.”

  “You either leave town or you will spend all your time in jail. The choice is yours.”

  It took every ounce of Darren’s willpower to keep from laughing as the recorder continued to roll.

  * * * *

  Kayla woke at five-thirty tired and needing sleep, but had to get up. Dragging to the kitchen, she turned on the prepared coffee pot and put her old sweats on. After tying her running shoes, she stretched for a few minutes and headed out to run.

  She took a deep breath of the humid morning air and began a slow jog, her shoes echoing off the pavement. By the time she reached the end of the block, her stride and pace increased, and she lost the sound in her mind as she found her rhythm.

  Running had always been one of the ways she either escaped a problem, or solved it. Now, she didn’t need to escape, she needed to figure out how to deal with Loren Estes.

  She’d believed that she was finally getting over the betrayal by both her husband and Loren. The shock and denial that caused her to stop eating and the lack of sleep, the illness and the anger that had built up inside her had subsided.

  Now, with Loren forcing her way back into her life, it all flooded back. She realized it was her own fault. If she’d given him what he needed, he wouldn’t have had a need to go to another woman. She shook her head. That wasn’t true. She’d married an asshole. Her only fault, she didn’t see it before they married. If not Loren, someone else, but it didn’t need to be that woman. It not only took her husband away from her, but her best friend, too.

  She could’ve used a best friend’s help in getting over it, but Loren had robbed her of that, too.

  For months after the affair, she’d lie awake at night and cry, or plot revenge on both of them. It tore her to pieces because she wanted to hurt them, and that knowledge hurt her because she wasn’t that type of person. Before that, she’d have never believed she’d have thought about physically harming another person.

  At times, she’d go about her normal routine but find herself in a daze. Because she was afraid of how she might react if she encountered either of them, she became a recluse, spending her time at home trying to figure out ways to avoid them.

  Her ex had given her a way—killing himself. This should have made it easier on her—one less person to avoid, one fewer to get revenge on, but it didn’t. Instead, his death piled more guilt on her.

  He’d taken their marriage away, and then taken her revenge away, too. She’d have never done the things she’d planned in her mind, but he didn’t let her decide that, either.

  The longer she thought about Loren, the faster her pace became and she didn’t realize the distance and the speed she traveled. When she could no longer stand the pain in her sides and couldn’t breathe, her lead legs forced her to collapse beside the street.

  She lay there, gulping in air, tears running down her cheeks, thinking of the unfairness of the whole situation.

  Loren Estes could hire any attorney in the country to defend her, but no, she had to insist on Kayla. Hadn’t the woman caused her enough pain without this? The worst part, Loren had forced Kayla to spend time with her, talk to her, advise her, and the only thing she wanted to do was scratch out her eyes.

  Kayla could never trust the woman to tell her the truth. Did Loren kill Michelle? Kayla would never be able to believe her. She believed she was capable if it suited her needs. How could she defend this woman?

  SIX

  Kayla’s heels clicked on the tile floor as she strode toward her office, briefcase in one hand and newspaper in the other. She’d showered and dressed when her phone rang. Marvin asked her if she’d seen the morning paper.

  She’d almost exploded when she read the interview, telling him to meet her at the office in thirty minutes.

  She marched past her secretary’s empty desk and found Marvin waiting in her office. She dropped her briefcase on the floor, sat, and slammed the paper on her desk. “I told that woman to say nothing to anyone about this case. I emphasized the media, too, and look at this mess.”

  She leaned back in her seat, arms crossed. “She is going to convict herself before the state files charges.”

  Marvin took his glasses off and wiped them with a handkerchief, then put them back on. “I have a friend at the DA’s office. He doesn’t know what they have or anything, but he told me Proctor danced a jig waiting on this one.”

  Kayla’s anger left her when he said this. She picked up her pencil and twirled it as she thought. Without stopping the pen, she said, “What can they have that led them directly to Loren Estes and that fast?” Without waiting for him to answer, she continued. “If they have that much on her, why haven’t they filed charges yet?”

  He reached down, picked up his briefcase, and opened it. After removing a manila folder, he glanced up. “I have an idea. I could be wrong, but look at the things Loren Estes said they seized from her in the search. My guess is they are having their experts go over her computer, and they recovered the bullets from the victim. Just a hunch, but I’d bet they are waiting for a ballistics report.”

  Kayla nodded. She should have thought of that herself. Before she could say anything, someone knocked on her door. Sarah Jane poked her head in with a worried expression.

  The secretary’s lips trembled. “Kayla,
they want you in McMasters’ office immediately.”

  She groaned. Two days before, Kayla had made this trip. All she could think about then was failing her father, failing as an attorney.

  Now, she hoped they did fire her. All her life she’d wanted a firm of her own—to be her own boss. Having to take this case with Loren Estes had reaffirmed what she wanted. If she had her own, she could select the clients she wanted—the ones she believed in. Loren did not fit that category.

  She’d put this decision off for several years. First, because of her insecurities, she didn’t believe she could manage a firm—then with the divorce, suicide, and estrangement from Loren, she’d lost focus on her dream.

  Now, firing her would be the best thing that could happen. She’d open her own firm, but first, she’d tell Loren Estes to stick it up her rear. For the first time in a while, this thought made Kayla laugh.

  As she pushed the elevator button for the sixth floor, she came to a realization. Her therapist had told her many times that she relied on her father’s memory too much.

  Maybe the therapist knew what she talked about. For years, she’d let people push her around, afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings, afraid to stand up for herself. She needed to change some things in her life—for the better. She thought about Darren Duval when she made this decision.

  Could she let him be a part of her life, or any man for that matter? She needed him or someone. She had friends and Jimmy would always be there for her, but she needed more than the kinds of friendships she had. She wanted and needed love, but more than that, mutual respect and trust like her parents had.

  When she marched into the outer office on the sixth floor, the secretary glanced up from her computer. “Have a seat. They’ll call you in shortly.”