Hunter had five other files sitting on the side of his desk, almost screaming at him to look over them as well. Justice had always been his focus, and at that moment, even with another client in his office, his head was flooded with thoughts about Nina’s guilt.
What if Nina was guilty? What if she murdered Sidney McCann in a moment of rage? Could he justify helping her get back on the street? Of course, he had to. That was his job, that was a part of the ethical preparation of a defense lawyer. Guilt, or the lack of it, didn’t factor into his planning, but it was always a nagging thought in his mind, always there to distract him at the wrong times.
There were two cases he refused to accept, no matter how much money was being thrown around—defending rapists or those accused of sexually abusing children. No matter how much he tried to justify it, no matter how much he tried to accept those acts as part of his work, they were the two issues he just couldn’t acknowledge. It was irrational to defend murderers and not rapists, he knew that, but it was his truth.
“Mary-Ann, you’ll be pleased to know that we’re getting to the point where witnesses won’t be as much of an issue anymore.” Hunter turned a page on the thick file, attempting to focus on the people in his office. “But the witnesses are still stating they saw you near the car that night. We’re dragging this case out as long as we can, because if it goes to trial, the longer the time between the witness statements and their testimony, the more likely it is that the witnesses will make a mistake in court. Their memory of that day won’t match their witness statements exactly, and we’ll be able to expose them in court.”
Mary-Ann Steele was flanked by her husband, Nathan Steele, to her left. He had celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday a week before, but there wasn’t a sign he was old. Every morning, he still managed to do fifty push-ups and fifty sit-ups. He had done that his whole life, conditioned from his years in the army, and he wasn’t going to stop now. His polo shirt was neatly tucked into his high-waist jeans, his white sports socks were showing, and his brown leather shoes had been polished within an inch of their life.
“All these lawyer tactics,” Nathan shook his head as he spoke. “Can’t we just take it to court and be done with it? I’m sick of having this arson charge hanging over our heads.”
“People are starting to think I’m actually guilty.” Mary-Ann added. “They’re starting to look at me differently. There’s now a reluctance in my friend’s manner, a second of hesitation before a response, as if they’re weighing up my guilt every time they see me. I’m feeling… numb.”
“If we took it to court now, then it’s still likely, based on the evidence, that you’ll be found guilty. And unfortunately, arson is a hot political topic at the moment. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. The State’s Attorney has been instructed to raise the percentage of arson cases that are solved, and they need convictions to boost the numbers in their annual report.”
Their adult son, twenty-eight-year-old Anthony Steele, had died at a construction site almost two years earlier, on a worksite owned by developer Kenneth Chow. After finishing a double shift as a building contractor, he fell from the fifth floor of the residential construction building, falling through the gaps in the steel bars. The Steele’s held Chow solely responsible, as Anthony had often complained of being overworked and at risk of losing his job, however, according to the police report his death was filed as an ‘unfortunate workplace accident’ under the Occupational Safety and Health Act.
At the time, there was enough evidence to conduct a police investigation into his death, but the investigation found that Chow and his development company were not responsible, despite the claim that Anthony was forced to work a mountain of unpaid overtime to keep his job, to the extent that he was subjected to extreme stress and tiredness.
His death left a young woman a widow, and a young child fatherless. The Steeles had taken it upon themselves to help their daughter-in-law and grandchild, and to chase justice for their son’s death. They had filed for wrongful death in the civil court, however due to the strength of the police report, their claim was quickly rejected.
On the day of the arson attack on the Jaguar sedan, Mary-Ann had a very vocal argument with the developer, Kenneth Chow, seen by numerous people. The witness that placed her near the scene of the crime hours later didn’t help either.
“I didn’t do it.” Mary-Ann looked worried. “That should be the reason I’m going to get off this. I didn’t light the fire in his car. I would’ve loved to harm that evil man, but I didn’t. I didn’t steal his car, drive it two miles to the reserve near my place, douse it in gas, and burn his car.”
“Yes, Mary-Ann.” Her husband patted her forearm, not entirely convinced by her statement.
“I didn’t do it. Kenneth Chow deserved it, the man is a murderer, but I didn’t light the car on fire.” She sat with a straight back, legs close together, an unyielding gaze in her eyes. “He’s responsible for the death of my son, but I didn’t try to get revenge on him.”
“I don’t care how you get her off, or why you get her off, but I need you to make sure there’s no record of this crime. Not now, not ever. We want to travel through Europe on a boat cruise next year, and we can’t get into a lot of countries with a criminal record. We’ve worked so hard for this retirement, and I don’t want it thrown away because some Chinese thug set us up.”
“I didn’t do it.” Mary-Ann continued. “That should be enough. I’ll go on the stand and say that.”
“It doesn’t matter what you say.” Nathan hushed her. He was a solid man, bald, and with what appeared to be a sadness in his eyes. He hadn’t been able to watch a game of football in the time since his son passed. “What matters is what this guy can do for the money. We’re paying him a lot of money to make sure we can enjoy our retirement.”
Hunter didn’t respond to the family dispute.
There was always more than one case, always more than one job on hand, and it was always a juggle. Hunter had become quite skilled at juggling cases, at least he thought he had. In truth, it was Esther Wright that had become skilled at juggling cases, and Hunter had become skilled at listening to her directions. That morning, when she placed Steele’s file on his desk, she reiterated her advice about focusing his energy on this case. She informed him that he didn’t have the time, or the capacity, to take on another case.
He knew she was right, she usually was, but Nina’s case was something he couldn’t let go. It was an opportunity too good to pass up.
Hunter sat looking at the file on his desk—Mary-Ann had given a statement to the police and admitted she was near where the car was stolen earlier that day, admitted that she argued with the developer earlier that afternoon, and admitted she hated the construction company and would have loved to harm Kenneth Chow. She stated she was driven by ‘vengeance’ when pressed by police, and was not going to stop until she had justice for her son’s death.
Mary-Ann had built a memorial for her son in front of the construction site, placing flowers there every day, and talking to anyone who entered the site. She was particularly chatty on Monday, August 2nd, the day the car was stolen.
After Chow’s car was stolen around midnight, and found burned in a reserve near the Steele’s home only hours later, the police started asking questions. The fire department managed to put out the car fire before it was completely destroyed, but the expensive sedan was still a write-off. With Nathan out of town on a golf trip, and the subsequent discovery of Mary-Ann’s burned handbag on the front seat of the vehicle, the police had no option but to arrest the mild-mannered Mary-Ann.
“Go on, ask him.” Mary-Ann whispered to her husband.
Nathan sat up straighter. “We’ve heard you’re defending the cop killer. Is that right?”
“I don’t discuss other cases with my clients,” Hunter shook his head, not raising his eyes from the file.
“We know why you want to defend her.” Mary-Ann leaned forward, her voice quiet. “And I would
do exactly the same thing. If I had a chance to make Kenneth Chow pay for what he did to our son, I would do the same. Dead or not, I would do the same.”
“Thank you for your support.” Hunter raised his eyes. “I imagine there won’t be a lot of support in Chicago for that case.”
“That’s because most people don’t know what injustice feels like.”
“Many people do. Trust me, in this job, I see a lot of injustice.” Hunter replied, before directing the conversation back to the current case. “Has your feeling about the deal that the prosecution has offered changed?”
“I didn’t light that fire and I won’t be charged for it. I won’t admit to something that I didn’t do. I would rather go to prison for something that Chow tried to set me up for.”
“As the trial nears, this is what I can tell you so far.” Hunter closed the folder on his desk. “The prosecution doesn’t want to make a deal with no record at this point. They’ve charged you with a Class 2 felony for arson, and unfortunately, the rumor is Chow is tightly connected within the police force. They haven’t charged you with theft, yet, as so far, they haven’t been able to prove that you were driving the car. The specialized car was also worth around quarter of a million dollars.”
“What a ridiculous waste of money.” Nathan commented under his breath.
“The main pieces of evidence are your partially burnt handbag on the front seat of the vehicle, and the eyewitnesses that place you near the scene of the crime. So, we’ll push this case out for more months, because the more time that passes, the less reliable the eyewitnesses become in court. The prosecution knows this. Memories change all the time. It will be easy to have an eyewitness contradict their police statement in eighteen months’ time. The prosecution wants to take this to court now but the longer we push this case out; the better chance we have of receiving a deal from the prosecution that states you won’t have a record. Perhaps even without a conviction.”
“What if I wanted to take this to court now?” Mary-Ann pressed. “To try and get it over with. These past eight months have been so stressful, and my years are ticking past. I don’t want to spend my last years on this planet with a criminal charge hanging over my head.”
“Most criminal cases don’t make it to court. Most cases are dealt with long before they make it to trial. We’re going to go slow with this, because if we take it to court now, you might lose. The extra time is the best chance of getting this dismissed without a conviction. I’m going to negotiate with the prosecution many times over the coming month to see if we can get this to go away without a record. The longer it goes on; the more strength we have in our case. We’re due to go to court soon, but I’ll lodge numerous stalling tactics, and the prosecution is going to be forced to present a better deal if they want a conviction for this fire.”
“What if she did do it?” Nathan leaned forward, whispering.
She glared at him, almost cutting him in two with her stare.
“That doesn’t make a difference to our defense.” Hunter closed another file. “My job is to get you the best outcome for this case.”
“I didn’t do it.” She shook her head again, not taking her eyes off Nathan.
“That doesn’t matter, didn’t you hear him? This lawyer is going to make sure that we go free.” Nathan turned to his wife of forty-five years. “Kenneth Chow deserves all the bad karma in the world, and I hope that all his cars get stolen and torched, and next time, I hope he’s in one of the cars.”
Chapter 7
Li McCann sat on the edge of her sofa, staring at the television, softly calling out her guesses for the Price Is Right. It had been her daily routine for a decade; becoming so attached to the show that it was almost like a family member. She loved the host and adored the contestants, but her favorite was the handsome male model on the show—he smiled at the right times, winked at the crowds, and when he took his shirt off, well, Li just about melted.
She had spent the morning going through her deceased husband’s things, packing his clothes into a box, finally putting his possessions away, after being able to lay him to rest the week before. The longer those months went by, the longer she hadn’t heard from him, the more she was certain he had died, but even after eight months, she didn’t want to touch his things in case he came back.
It was the phone call she dreaded the whole time he was missing, the one she feared—that her husband’s body was found and it wasn’t an accident. For years, she’d worried about the call when he was working as a detective with the Chicago PD. Violence and gun crime were a part of his job. At his retirement, relief was her overwhelming feeling, even if his decision came on the back of a near-death experience.
Growing up in the chaos of Hanoi, Li McCann had learned to be fearful of authority, fearful of those in power. When she married Sidney, she thought he could take her away from all that stress, away from the fear that permeated through the poor areas of her home country. However, she arrived in Chicago to find that corruption wasn’t restricted to her city.
As the last item went on the Price Is Right, after the host wrapped the show, the doorbell rang. She stood, turned the coffee machine on, and walked to the door.
“Mrs. McCann?”
“I am.” She shook the man’s hand gently. She spoke English well, distinctly, but her accent was clearly foreign. “You must be Mr. Hunter. Please come in.”
She liked the man’s smile; it was warm and inviting. He was tall, well-dressed, and smelled successful, but more than anything, there was something cheeky about those dimples. She invited the lawyer into her home, poured him a cup of coffee, and offered him a seat on her living room couch.
Her living room was basic, not because she couldn’t afford more, but because she didn’t want more. She preferred comfort over luxury, coziness over gimmicks, and relaxation over extravagance. Photos lined the walls of the medium sized room, happy moments captured in an effort to convince friends they were a stable family, and albums filled the bookshelf. The sofa was firm but comfortable, the glass coffee table old but unblemished, and the carpet well-worn but spotless.
Her husband, Sidney, was the one who always wanted more—always talking about buying a nicer house, a nicer suit, a nicer car. He was always chasing the buck, although she had long known it wasn’t an honest one.
“I must say, I was surprised when you called my office and asked to meet.” Hunter smiled when she handed him a cup of coffee. He sipped at the coffee that was too hot, and too strong. “At first, I was sure it was a prank call to my office.”
“I know it must seem strange—the widow calling your office to talk about the trial.” She looked at the wall where there were pictures of her late husband. She hadn’t added a new picture in years. There hadn’t been many happy moments to celebrate over the past decade. “But I’ve always had a soft spot for you—that poor ten-year-old kid sitting through his father’s murder trial.”
“That’s a long time ago now.”
“It is, but I watched all the documentaries about that case many times over. I love true crime shows. Sidney gave evidence in your father’s trial and I liked watching the cases Sidney was involved in. I watched one of the documentaries again yesterday, and I was looking at the three of you children, you as the youngest, and I felt so sad. There was so much publicity about that trial, so much hatred and pressure. Even just watching it on the television, I could feel your pain.”
“They were hard days.” Hunter stared into his coffee for a few long moments, his thoughts drifting back to the days of his father’s trial. “How can I help you, Mrs. McCann?”
“Sidney said a lot of things before he died. Things that… well, he talked about things that he was warned not to say.” She nodded to the wall, at the framed medal hanging as the centerpiece of the picture display. It sat proudly on the wall, almost glowing with its reverence. “That was the turning point, that medal. That stupid bravery medal was the point where everything really fell apart for Sidney. Things
weren’t going great before that, but after that award, life became almost unbearable.”
“How so?”
“After that medal, after the presentation, that’s the day I know he became an alcoholic. For the next fifteen years, he was barely sober. He and his partner, John Yates, ran into a burning house fire, and saved a little girl, but couldn’t save the rest of the family. The girl was so young, maybe four or five, and Yates and Sidney received medals for bravery, but it tore him apart to hear the screams of the rest of the family burning alive. He tried to run back in there, he tried hard to save their lives, but it was too hot, and the flames were too big. After that day, after people praised him for saving the girl, he turned to alcohol to try and squash the memories of the dying parents. Most nights, the nightmares would wake him up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. McCann.” Hunter looked back into his coffee. “It was very brave of him to run into a burning building to save the girl. That girl must be very thankful that he saved her life.”
“I wouldn’t know.” She blinked back a tear. “Sidney never talked about that night again, he never wanted to. He wanted to move on and forget it all. All I know is that it was the moment that changed his life. He drank all the time after that fire—mornings, lunches, nights. I’d often wake in the mornings to find him passed out in the car parked in the driveway, a bottle of vodka on his lap. Things became very bad after that medal presentation, especially for Rhys and I.”
“Did he hit you?”
“Always.” She forced a smile, trying to hide her pain, but it was shaky. “As bad as it was for me, his son Rhys had it the worst. He was still so young when things changed, he was only two when his mother died, and two years later, I came into the picture. Sidney was nice when I first met him, charming, but after that day, five years into our marriage, it was horrible. I tried to tell Rhys that Sidney used to be a different man, that he used to have honor, and that it was alcohol that made him do these things, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Corrupt Justice Page 4