Corrupt Justice

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Corrupt Justice Page 8

by Peter O'Mahoney

“I’m not going to do that, Pradesh.” Hunter sipped his lager again. He nodded once the smooth flavor filled his mouth. Smooth and delicate, it was clear this beer was made with passion. “I’m going to do what’s best for this girl, and that means looking into McCann’s life, which also means looking into your department. And that’s the real reason you’re here—you don’t want me sniffing around the department’s business. Someone has asked you to be here, haven’t they?”

  “This is a simple case.” Baron remained calm. “You don’t have to look into our business. This homeless girl killed McCann. All the evidence is there—motive, witnesses, video footage. It’s cut and dry. Don’t go digging into the departments that protect Chicago, don’t go digging into the procedures, because you may find things that will cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people. Things this city doesn’t need right now.”

  Hunter looked at Baron, held his stare for a moment, then turned his focus back to his lager. He sipped it again, and then smiled. It was good beer, but then, Hunter enjoyed most beers.

  “Do you know how many cops there are like him, Tex? Sidney McCann was a real cop, a real hero. He was what this city needed and there aren’t many people out there like him. He ran into a burning building to save a child. Do you remember seeing that? It’s incredible footage. If you need a reminder of how good a cop he was, then watch that footage. In the age before phones recorded everything, this was the most viral footage you can get. A beefed-up cop running into a burning building, and returning with a young child, before handing the baby off and returning to the flames to try and save her family.”

  “I remember it clearly.”

  “And I’m sure you remember Blackstone’s ratio from school—the notion that it’s better to have ten guilty people walk free, than have one innocent person suffer.” Baron flattened his tie down the front of his shirt. “That’s how I saw McCann’s police work. It was better he did one great thing, one life changing act, than nothing at all. He was a man that did great things.”

  “Being a man that does great things doesn’t make him a great man.”

  “True, but he also didn’t just go to work and punch a clock. He saved lives.”

  “At what cost?”

  “Ask the girl he pulled out of the fire. That’s something great.”

  “So you turned a blind eye to his corrupt behavior because he did great things?”

  “Not a blind eye.”

  “You knew what he was doing?”

  “There was never any evidence we could prosecute on.”

  Hunter leaned back in his chair, their conversation disturbed as the server came and took his plate. When the server indicated to Hunter’s stein, suggesting Hunter had finished when there was still another mouthful, Hunter waved him away. He wanted every last drop.

  “Why are you here, Pradesh? Why have you been chasing me? To tell me not to do my job?”

  “Not at all. By all means, defend your client. Do your job. Play your role in the system.”

  “But?”

  “But don’t destroy this city. Don’t run this city into the ground because you think something should be exposed. Don’t let this city burn for a homeless girl.” He shook his head. “There are people very high up that will make sure you don’t destroy this city.”

  “Destroy the city? Are you referring to the deal McCann made with the DOJ to expose corruption in the CPD?”

  Baron sat back, shocked the information was already known to the defense lawyer. “That’s privileged information and you know I can’t discuss individual cases. I have no idea where you heard that information, but I suggest, for your own safety, you don’t tell anyone else about it.”

  “And if, in the normal course of the investigation, it comes out McCann spent thirty years as a corrupt cop?”

  “Then every conviction, every case, every day of his working life is going to be re-examined and those arrests may be challenged. Hundreds, if not thousands, of cases will be re-opened. Every career criminal in the city will try to have their cases reheard. Can you imagine the drama? Can you imagine the distrust Chicagoans would have for the force if the truth came out? It would be a PR nightmare, not to mention the chance for riots. You would destroy this city.”

  Hunter sat back. Hunter’s calmness at the notion surprised Baron, and it took him a moment to work out why.

  Then the truth hit him like a truck.

  “But you knew this, didn’t you?” Baron leaned forward, his eyes wide with shock. “You knew McCann was the man that arrested your father, and if you could prove in court he was corrupt for decades, then there would be the chance that the case would be reopened. That’s why you’ve asked for it. For your father’s case. McCann is your father’s only hope.”

  “Hope is a dangerous feeling, Pradesh. It makes people do crazy things.”

  Pradesh stood suddenly, the shock written across his face.

  He tried to compose himself, but the thoughts steamrolled through his head. How could he have not seen it from the start? “You want the chance, in court, to prove McCann was corrupt, you want the chance to dispute all his arrests… and the only way to do that is to take the case of the girl. Of course.”

  “I’m doing my job.”

  “I’m only going to warn you once. And I’m going to say it quietly.” Baron leaned down to the table. “Don’t dig too deep. Don’t dig too deep into McCann, don’t dig too deep into the potential deal with the DOJ, don’t dig too deep into his past. By all means, defend your girl, defend your place in the system, but please, please, don’t rip open the old wounds caused by McCann. For your sake, and for the sake of your city. There are people in this city that are very dangerous and they’re very determined that the past will remain the past.”

  “I’ll do my job.” Hunter stood, dwarfing Baron’s shorter stature. “I’m not scared of the corrupt.”

  Baron took a step back.

  “There are people involved in this, high powered people, that you should be scared of, Tex. These people will make sure the police department’s reputation remains intact.” Baron looked to Hunter, his eyes pleading with him. “And they’ll do it at whatever the cost. Even if it costs a defense lawyer his life.”

  Chapter 13

  Tex Hunter was looking forward to this coffee—the new coffee shop, run by Italians, had a fast building reputation as the best latte in Chicago. The small café was squeezed into an old building off West Jackson Avenue, only a block from Hunter’s office. He ordered two large takeaway coffees from the older Italian man, moustache and all, who was shouting at his staff at regular intervals, which also added to the sense the café was straight from the streets of Rome. A red Vespa scooter sat near the door, the pictures on the walls were of the vineyards in Tuscany, and the menu was littered with Italian words.

  Hunter waited until he had returned to his office before tasting the coffee, handing one takeaway cup to Esther. He walked into his separate office, where he removed the lid of his cup and took in a deep breath. Slowly, delicately, he sipped the coffee, closed his eyes, and then nodded. The reviewers were right—it was mighty fine coffee.

  After his strong hit of caffeine, Hunter opened the paper files on his desk, reading through the information on Nina Aisha. After an hour, he closed the files, turning to look out to his view of Chicago. He knew he was lucky. He only had to look out the window to realize that. People lived their whole lives and never had the chance to view Chicago like he did.

  His office was large, spacious, and in the middle of the action. Esther had added an indoor plant near his door, attempting to bring greenery into the office, but he found it distracting. This wasn’t a forest, he argued, this was a place of work. But she wouldn’t listen to him, arguing that he spent too much time in the city, walking amongst the concrete buildings, never quite getting out into nature. The area around his office had been through quite a change over the past two years—once an area filled by only busy government offices, the cashed-up entrepreneurs had st
arted to move in, bringing with them new coffee shops, restaurants, and a new vibe.

  But despite all that, despite all the successes of capitalism, there was a part of Chicago life that he could never get his head around—the part where generational disadvantage was growing, where kids didn’t have a chance, where hope was as rare as a bed. These were places drenched in abuse, neglect and deep agony. They were the places where Nina Aisha grew up.

  She had numerous valuations of her psychological assessment in the Shelter for Young Women where she had stayed for much of the last year, and they all stated she was a very intelligent girl who had experienced too much pain in her life. Lashing out was the only way she could deal with what she had experienced.

  The more he read about the child, the more he learned about her past, the clearer it became why it was important to help. There were children in his city that had never had a chance in their young lives, never had a hope, and the best he could do was attempt to give one tiny sliver of optimism.

  And if there was one thing he felt strongly about, it was that no child deserved to be born without hope.

  As he turned back to his desk, Hunter remembered one of the first cases he had as a defense attorney, back in the days when he was starting out, trying to break free of his father’s shadow, when he took any case that came across his desk. Kane Anderson was quick-witted, intelligent, and driven to succeed. His desire to succeed had been born out of the fact that his twenty-two years of life had been spent in turmoil—both his parents were in prison, he grew up surrounded by drugs, and his peers were dying at a rapid rate.

  When his name came across Hunter’s desk, it was because Kane had broken into a clothing store late at night and stole only one item—a black suit. He had needed it the next day for a job interview, and the only clothes he owned all had holes in them. All he wanted to do was work. Kane landed the job in sales, but then security footage identified him and he was charged for the robbery. The prosecution put a deal on the table for a month behind bars, but Hunter wouldn’t take it. He wanted to keep Kane’s record clean.

  They took the case to trial, got him off on a technicality, and kept a conviction off his record. As they were leaving court, Hunter gave Kane the number of a large supermarket chain that his friend worked at. Within five years, Kane was the manager of the supermarket with a wife, two kids, and a nice house in the suburbs. Hunter was happy to break the generational cycle of poverty—not so much for Kane, but for his children.

  “Tex?” Esther leaned her head in the door. “Have you got a minute?”

  Esther swayed into the office, her steps small in her tight business skirt. Two strands of blonde hair had escaped her ponytail, falling across her face, and she pushed them back over her ears. She was tall enough to play volleyball in high school, had broad enough shoulders to race on the swim team, and was confident enough to try everything. She walked across the long office space, checking on the indoor plant in the corner. Her gentle smile disarmed the emotional walls around Hunter’s heart.

  “Anything I can help you with on this case?”

  “Possibly,” Hunter handed the second file across to Esther. “This girl had no hope.” He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, thinking over whether he should keep talking.

  “And you’ll risk everything to save her?”

  “It’s not just her.” Hunter leaned forward. “If I can prove Sidney McCann was corrupt, if I can prove he had false arrests in his past, then I not only help this girl, but I also help every other innocent person he put away.”

  It took a few moments for the information to process in Esther’s mind. “Including your father.”

  Hunter nodded.

  “Nina has a strong case against her—witnesses saw them together on the last night before McCann went missing, and she’s admitted to hitting him, even when he was on the ground. So now you’re going to state McCann was a corrupt cop and he was trying to blackmail her?”

  “Blackmail, extortion, bribery, violence, attempted rape. Take your pick.” Hunter tapped his finger on the desk, looking down. “If we can find anything of substance, then we can have all of McCann’s previous cases reviewed.”

  “But you’re not chasing this one hundred percent. Something is holding you back.”

  “You know me too well.” He turned away from Esther.

  “What is it?”

  “Sidney McCann. Why did he have to have one final year of goodness?”

  “You’re scared of tarnishing a man’s legacy.”

  “I’m going to do my job, no matter what it takes, but…” He shook his head. “But McCann tried to change his life. He tried to change everything he did. He tried to redeem himself. And redemption may have even gotten him killed.”

  Hunter stared at his desk—he had an opportunity, something he had been searching years for, and now it was in his lap, he didn’t feel he could take it.

  For thirty years, he worked to find a gap in the law to free his father. For thirty years, he worked to find a piece of legal wording that could take his father’s case to trial again.

  Despite never stating he was innocent, or guilty, Hunter had absolute faith his father was innocent of the murders of eight teenage girls. He knew, even as a ten-year-old, even as a child, he knew his father couldn’t have slit the throats of those girls and buried them in the forest. His brother, Patrick Hunter, along with the rest of the country, was less convinced of his father’s innocence. In fact, most of the country thought he was outright guilty, even with the little evidence presented by the prosecution. That experience, that drama, drove Hunter into law, drove him to become a defense lawyer and fight against injustice.

  “Where can I help?” Esther asked.

  “I want you to look into the McCann family. Look into the wife, Li McCann, and the son, Rhys McCann. I want you to have a look at their bank accounts and pay close attention to their spending habits.” Hunter drummed his fingers on the table again. “And find out if there was anything unusual in the weeks before or after McCann’s disappearance. See if you can find anything about a freezer.”

  “A freezer?”

  “Rhys McCann mentioned his freezer when I questioned him. It could be nothing, but look into it.”

  “I’ll see what I can find.” She smiled. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve been thinking about Nina. She had a look in her eyes. She was innocent—she had a look of complete purity. She didn’t have the look of a murderer, but that won’t save her in court.” He stood. “To get her off, I’m going to have to find Sidney McCann’s real killer.”

  Chapter 14

  Kenneth Chow was a hard man to meet with.

  The only way Hunter could tie him down for a meeting outside of a deposition was to threaten the Chinese-born businessman with a second subpoena, plus a subsequent appearance in court, and only then, after Chow had discussed the case with his lawyers, did he reluctantly agree. He only met on his terms—his day, his time, and his choice of site; a construction building on the edge of Chinatown.

  As Hunter parked next to the worksite, he could imagine what it would look like in ten years—due to Chow’s reputation for cutting corners, all of his previous residential developments were plagued with problems. Cracks in walls, unstable foundations, windows coming loose. Of course, Chow argued none of the problems were his fault, nor his responsibility, the faults had to be caused by the building maintenance companies managed by the Homeowners Associations. Despite his long history of faulty constructions, despite his long history of avoiding responsibility, his building developments continued to be approved, with dollars thrown at the right officials, and people continued to buy them, unable to refuse the cheaper prices.

  As Hunter parked his BMW at the entrance to the construction site, he saw a familiar figure waiting next to a dark sedan parked across the road—Detective John Yates. An old partner of Sidney McCann, his reputation was as sordid as McCann’s. Hunter stepped out of his car, staring at
Yates, who was leaning against the driver’s side door of his vehicle. He made no attempt to hide his presence, clearly visible as he ate his hamburger wrapped in paper. A piece of lettuce fell from the burger onto his overflowing stomach, and Yates flicked it aside. If he didn’t eat the lettuce on his burger, he would struggle to eat any vegetables at all.

  Hunter stared at the detective for a long moment from across the road, Yates ignoring him to focus on his food.

  It wasn’t a good sign.

  Hunter turned and walked to the tall chain-link fence, covered in black netting, making it impossible to see what was happening on the other side. Early evening on a Thursday, the site was closed down, with no working noises coming from inside the building.

  Also, not a good sign.

  Hunter stepped into the murky entrance, the ground a mixture of concrete, mud and dust, and he looked up to the unfinished shell of the five-level apartment building. He could already see cracks in the concrete, although he was sure they would be painted over.

  The gate closed behind him.

  He turned to see a burly six-foot-five construction worker wrapping a chain around the gate. He was either a construction worker or gang member—from his tattoos, Hunter couldn’t tell the difference. As the chain went around the gate, three other men, equal in size, width, and tattoos as the first, came from inside the concrete shell.

  They were all dressed in the same construction uniform—boots, dirty jeans, and high-visibility tops. Their forearms were as thick as baseball bats, and their chests were as wide as barrels. Their knuckles had seen enough action to be hardened, and their boots were made for kicking.

  “Chow wants to talk to you inside.” The first one grunted. “Not safe out here, being a construction site. We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself. Follow us.”

  The men were there to intimidate Hunter, scare him into backing off, but it didn’t work. After the life he had lived, Hunter wasn’t scared of violence, he wasn’t afraid of a physical altercation.

 

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