Shattered Trust (Shattered #2)

by Magda Alexander

  “You were?” I ask. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I just found out. My boss e-mailed me. It’s the informal offer. The formal one will come in the mail. I hope you don’t mind that I gave him this address.”

  “Of course I don’t mind, silly.” I pat her hand.

  “Which division?” Steele asks.

  “White collar.”

  “What crimes are those?” Madison asks. She seems to be getting her curiosity back. Maybe she’ll turn into a journalist after all.

  “Fraud committed by business and government professionals, ranging from insurance to corporate to financial institutions to securities and commodities.”

  “Bor-ing,” Madison says singsong-style.

  “Maddy, hush,” I command.

  “Actually, there’s nothing boring about it,” Cristina says. “It requires a great deal of investigation. Some people abuse their power and steal money from companies, investors, employees. Millions of dollars are usually involved. It’s the Department of Justice’s responsibility to prosecute them.”

  “What about your plans to practice in Florida?” Hunter asks. “Isn’t that why you took the Florida bar?”

  “Like I told you, I did that to keep my options open, but I’d prefer to work here in DC at the DOJ.”

  By the look in her eye, Cristina doesn’t wish to pursue the subject. Maybe after a visit with her family, she’s rethinking working at the DOJ, or maybe Scott’s betrayal has soured her on DC. Taking the hint, Hunter, who’s gazing at her with regret and hunger, drops the discussion.

  After dinner, Maddy asks permission to stroll through the garden with Philippe. Clearly, she wants to be alone with him. But since the purpose of his visit is for us to become acquainted with him, I offer an alternate plan. “How about we go bowling?”

  “Bowling?” Trenton asks.

  “That’s a bit too public, Madrigal,” Hunter says.

  “Not really. We have a bowling alley in the basement. Gramps built it a million years ago. Remember, Maddy?”

  Maddy groans. “That thing is hideous. It was built in the sixties.”

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun,” I say.

  After dessert, I lead the five of them down to “Lucky Strike.” Like everything else in the house, the place has been kept in good condition. The lights work, and so does the bowling lane.

  “There’s only the one, so we’ll need to take turns.” When I flip a couple of switches, lights flash at the end of the lane, and Elvis Presley’s “Hound Dog” comes on over the speakers.

  Madison makes a face while Cristina claps her hands. “This is totally rad.”

  I dig up the old scoring supplies from beneath the cabinet on the far side of the room. The sheets are a trifle musty, but the tiny pencils are still sharp.

  “On rainy nights and in the winter, Gramps used to bring us down here to bowl.” He did have his nice moments, although they were few and far in between.

  I decree that the women choose their partners. Rather than go for the obvious choice, I pick Philippe. Maddy reciprocates by taking Steele, which leaves Hunter and Cristina to partner up. We spend the next two hours bowling strikes, spares, and gutter balls. Surprisingly, Philippe’s a natural, Hunter’s not.

  “I never played,” he says in his defense.

  “You’re good at other things, Hunter,” I say.

  “Yeah, he is,” Cristina pipes up.

  The look Hunter sends her would incinerate entire villages.

  At the end of the evening, Philippe and I are declared the winners, and we retire upstairs for a nightcap. Well, the adults have cocktails, except for Hunter, who’s on duty. Philippe and Maddy enjoy glasses of sweet tea.

  When it’s time for Philippe to leave, I suggest Maddy walk him to his car. They’ll be watched the entire time by Hunter, but at least it will give them a semblance of privacy.

  “Well, I better turn in. It’s been a long day,” Cristina says, yawning.

  “What about you?” Steele says as soon as she leaves. “Are you tired?”

  “Not really, but I am a little sore from the bowling.” I rub my hip.

  “How about a massage?”

  “You read my mind.”

  Chapter 36

  Trenton

  Today Judge Marjorie Sutton must decide whether there is probable cause to believe that Mitch killed Holden Gardiner on the night of July 5. The prosecution only needs to submit sufficient evidence for the judge to determine if there is a fair probability that Mitch committed the crime. If she determines probable cause exists, a trial date will be set.

  Yesterday, when I met with Mitch, I reminded him that the preliminary hearing does not determine his guilt or innocence. I will be allowed to question the witnesses and place their answers on the record. If later on they decide to recant, they can’t do so, because it would mean they perjured themselves. But I’ll do no such thing. It’s the prosecution’s case to prove, and I don’t want my questions to alert the prosecution as to my defense.

  The courtroom quiets as a handcuffed and shackled Mitch enters. It pains me to see my proud mentor brought down so low. Once they remove his restraints, I shake hands and pat him on the back after he takes a seat.

  The prosecution calls the medical examiner to the stand. He testifies that the victim, Holden Gardiner, was killed by a bullet from a .22-caliber pistol. During the autopsy, he’d retrieved the bullet from Holden Gardiner and turned it over for evidence. He found no gunshot residue on the victim’s hands; therefore, it’s his expert opinion that the victim did not commit suicide but was murdered.

  After the forensic scientist declares that the bullet was fired from the .22-caliber pistol found next to the body, a police technician relates that the pistol belonged to Mitch Brooks.

  Once all the technical details have been taken care of, Detective Broynihan’s sworn in. He testifies that on the evening of July 5 he was called to the scene of the crime, where he found an eighty-year-old male slumped over his desk, blood spattered across the ink blotter, and a .22-caliber pistol in his hand. After securing the scene and notifying the forensic team, he interviewed several witnesses, including the victim’s granddaughter, Madrigal Berkeley, several members of the staff, and Trenton Steele.

  “This Trenton Steele? The defense attorney in the case?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anyone else present there that night?”

  “Yes, sir. Mitchell Brooks.”

  “Do you see him in this courtroom?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s right there.” He points to Mitch. Nothing like pointing to a person sitting at the defense table. But there’s power in that gesture, as I have cause to know.

  “What was he doing there?”

  “Rescuing Madrigal Berkeley. His words.”

  “Rescuing her? What do you mean?”

  “Ms. Berkeley had been locked into her room by her grandfather.” A swell of murmurs sweeps across the room. “She called Trenton Steele to tell him about it. He and Mitchell Brooks devised a plan to remove Ms. Berkeley from her grandfather’s care.”

  “So it’s fair to say that Mitchell Brooks and the victim were at odds over his treatment of his granddaughter.”

  I come to my feet. “Objection. Calls for speculation on the part of the witness.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Sutton says. “Please rephrase your question, Counselor.”

  “Actually, Your Honor, I believe we may get to the truth of this matter by calling another witness—Ms. Madrigal Berkeley.”

  “Very well,” Judge Sutton says. “You are dismissed, Detective Broynihan.”

  Madrigal is escorted into the courtroom by the bailiff. She seems to be taking her appearance in stride. Even though this can’t be easy for her, she put some thought into her outfit. She’s wearing a business suit, pearls adorn her ears, and her hair’s swept back from her face.

  After she’s sworn in, Jefferson lobs a softball question. “I understand that you recently graduated from
law school.”

  “Yes, from Yale.”

  “One of the finest law schools in the land. I studied at William & Mary myself.”

  Where the hell is he going with this? Probably putting her at ease, the bastard, so he can move in for the kill.

  “So you understand the purpose of this proceeding?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  I stand. “Is Mr. Jefferson going to get to an actual question that has to do with the case?”

  The bastard tosses me a glance filled with derision. “Just laying the groundwork, Counselor.”

  “Get on with it, Mr. Jefferson,” the judge says.

  “So, Ms. Berkeley, can you tell us what happened on July fifth?”

  “A lot happened. Any particular time you’d like me to zero in on?”

  Good girl.

  “Oh, let’s start with the afternoon.”

  “Things were kind of tense at home.”

  “Why?”

  “Earlier in the day, my sister, Madison, and grandfather argued, and Madison ran away.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I called St—Mr. Steele.”

  “This Mr. Steele? The defense attorney?”

  “Yes.”

  If he asks her about our relationship, I’ll murder the son of a bitch.

  He glances at me for a moment while he lets that tidbit sink in. “And what did you tell Mr. Steele?”

  “That Madison had run away and I was worried about her.”

  “And what did he do?”

  “He came over.”

  “Was he the only one who came over?”

  “No. Uncle Mitch came over as well.” When she fiddles with her ring, I sense she’s nervous. But other than that, she doesn’t let on that the questions are getting to her.

  “Uncle Mitch meaning the accused, Mitchell Brooks.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did Mr. Brooks do?”

  “He tried to talk some sense into Gramps. He’d refused to notify the police about Madison’s disappearance.”

  “And that’s all they did? Talk?”

  “No. They were—they yelled at each other.”

  “And what happened after that?”

  “Mr. Steele and I searched for Madison. We found her and brought her home. She wasn’t hysterical or anything, but my grandfather was upset at what she’d done.”

  “And?”

  “I confronted Gramps. Blamed him for some things.”

  “And how did he react?”

  “He ordered me to my room and asked Mitch and St—Mr. Steele to leave and never come back.”

  “So he threw both of them out of the house?”

  “Yes.” Her chin wobbles. I want to tell her everything will be all right. But I can’t promise that. Not now when everything’s looking so bleak.

  “And what happened then?”

  “Gramps called Madison’s doctor.”

  I stand. “Objection. Hearsay. Witness has no knowledge of who her grandfather called since she was not present when he made the call.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Very well,” Jefferson says. “So what happened later on that evening?”

  “Dr. Holcomb arrived.”

  Before I can object, Jefferson asks, “You saw him?”

  “Yes. He went into Maddy’s bedroom. When I heard them arguing, I tried to get in, but the door was locked. Ten minutes later, he led her out. Her eyes were unfocused, and she stumbled on the way down the stairs. She appeared to be drugged.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “Dr. Holcomb took her to his mental health facility.”

  Another wave of murmurs sweeps around the room.

  Once the noise dies down, Jefferson asks, “And how did you feel about that?”

  She bites down on her lip. “I was upset. When I was twelve, Gramps did that to me, and he kept me there for a year. I was afraid he’d do the same to Madison.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I argued with my grandfather over his treatment of Madison. He told me to go to my room and stay there. As soon as I stepped in, he locked the door. So I called Mr. Steele and told him what Gramps had done.”

  “And what happened then?”

  “He and Uncle Mitch—”

  “The accused.”

  “Yes. He told me they’d come around midnight to rescue me.”

  “And did they do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And when they did, that’s when your grandfather was shot.”

  “Yes. But Uncle Mitch didn’t do it. I know he didn’t.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Berkeley. That will be all.”

  On visibly shaking knees, she steps down from the witness stand, but then she firms up her spine and, head held high, walks out of the courtroom.

  “We call Joss Stanton to the stand.” Not entirely unexpected, but a surprise nonetheless. I would have saved Joss for the actual trial. Wonder what information she has that Beauregard Jefferson needs to prove probable cause.

  “Please state for the record your name and occupation,” he asks her once she’s seated on the witness stand.

  “My name is Jocelyn Stanton. I’m a partner at Gardiner, Ashburn & Strickland.”

  “The law firm the victim, Holden Gardiner, founded?”

  “Yes.”

  “How well did you know Holden Gardiner?”

  “Very well. We were . . . friends as well as partners.”

  Jefferson’s steely stare drills Joss. “Come, Ms. Stanton, you were more than friends, weren’t you?”

  Her breath shorts, and her caramel-colored skin flushes. I can only imagine her struggle. She’s such a private person. Although it was an open secret that she and Holden were lovers, it was never acknowledged in public. I have a feeling that’s about to change.

  “Yes.”

  “As a matter of fact, didn’t you have intimate relations with Holden Gardiner?”

  Gasps and a couple of squeals erupt in the courtroom.

  Judge Sutton bangs the gavel on her desk. “Order in the court.”

  I wait until the room quiets before I come to my feet. “Objection, Your Honor. The prosecution is leading the witness.”

  “Sustained. Mr. Jefferson, please rephrase your question in an appropriate manner.”

  “Beg your pardon, Your Honor. So, Ms. Stanton, what was the nature of your relationship with Holden Gardiner?”

  “As I told you, we were friends.”

  “Casual friends or more than that?”

  Joss heaves out a heavy breath. “We were lovers.”

  The place erupts in pandemonium. The media will have a field day with this. Nothing like a scandal to perk things up in the news.

  More gavel banging from Judge Sutton. “Order. Order in the court.” This time it takes a bit longer for things to calm down. But finally it does.

  “So, Ms. Stanton,” Jefferson asks, “did Holden Gardiner confide in you?”

  “Sometimes he did, yes.”

  Glancing back to where Olivia and Madison are sitting, I nod toward the exit, hoping Olivia will get the message to remove Madison from the courtroom. She whispers something to her and grabs her arm, but Madison, stubborn to the last, shakes her head and refuses to leave.

  “You’re familiar with the defendant, Mitchell Brooks?” Jefferson asks Joss.

  “Yes, I am. He was a partner at the firm.”

  “Was?”

  “Yes. He left to take a position at the Securities and Exchange Commission.”

  “What position does he have there?”

  “Head of the Investment Management Division.”

  “That would be quite a step down in pay, I imagine.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “When exactly did he leave the firm?”

  “About three years ago. April 2011, I believe.”

  “Were you aware Holden Gardiner had two granddaughters?”

  “Yes, of course.”

 
“What are their names and ages?”

  “Madrigal is twenty-four and Madison is sixteen.”

  “Do you recall what happened to Madison in late March 2011?”

  “Yes. She was thrown from a horse. She suffered a slight concussion and was taken to the hospital.”

  I come to my feet. “Your Honor. I’m not sure where Mr. Jefferson is going with this line of questioning. As far as I can tell, it has no bearing on the case.”

  “It goes to motive, Your Honor.”

  “I’ll allow it, Counselor, but get to the point.”

  “Very well. Do you know if the hospital contacted Holden Gardiner?”

  “Yes, they did. They needed his permission to perform a procedure on Madison.”

  “And did they get his permission?”

  “He couldn’t be reached. He’d gone on a hunting trip to some godforsaken island in the middle of nowhere. So they contacted Mitchell Brooks.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Because Holden had given him power of attorney over the girls in case of a medical emergency.”

  “Which certainly this was.”

  “Yes. He gave them what they needed, of course, and went to the hospital to make sure Madison was okay.”

  “And was she?”

  “Yes. She came through with flying colors.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I went to the hospital with him. I was worried about her myself.”

  “What happened when you got there?”

  “They were reviewing the list of medications Madison was taking. When Mitch learned what Madison was on, he became rather agitated.”

  “Why?”

  “She was being given antipsychotics.”

  “And this upset him.”

  “Yes. He was quite concerned.”

  “To your knowledge, did he ever take up this subject with Holden Gardiner?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  Mitch jerks up. His eyes widen and his breathing shorts. I don’t know what Joss is about to reveal, but Mitch not only suspects, he knows.

  “When did this occur?”

  “The day Holden returned from his hunting trip. I was in his office reporting to him about a management committee meeting when Mitch called to talk to him. I’d warned Holden about Mitch’s reaction, so he was expecting the call.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Holden asked me to wait in his private restroom until he was done. I would have preferred to leave, but he was adamant. So I complied with his wishes.”