Asteroid Outpost (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 1)

by John Bowers

  “Semen was recovered.”

  “How does that change anything? It was still heart failure.”

  Nick stared at her until she looked away.

  “There is a box on that medical exam sheet labeled ‘suspicious’, and another labeled ‘homicide’. Neither of those boxes was checked.”

  He waited, but she didn’t respond.

  “I didn’t see any indication that the semen was tested for DNA,” he added.

  “That would be your department, not mine.”

  “True, but the checkboxes are for you to fill out. Yet you didn’t check them. Why not?”

  “The cause of death was as I stated. It was heart failure, probably induced by extreme physical trauma. Inmates can be very cruel.”

  Nick mentally shifted files and recited another case.

  “Renee Carmelletti, age forty-four, inmate at Farrington. Also came in D.O.A. Post-mortem X-rays revealed partially healed fractures of both arms, several ribs, and one foot. She had ligature marks that had partially faded, showed signs of genital trauma, and one eye was swollen shut. Cause of death—natural causes.”

  Shirley Chin sat rigidly at her desk, her face frozen. She began to tremble ever so slightly.

  “Doctor Chin? Can you tell me about Mrs. Carmelletti?”

  He stared accusingly at the woman behind the desk, and waited until she finally made eye contact with him. He saw the glitter of tears.

  “No,” she said so quietly he could barely hear. “I can’t tell you anything.” She took a shaky breath and swallowed hard. “Are we done?”

  His demeanor relaxed a fraction as he realized what was really going on. His mounting anger began to fade—the woman was scared to death.

  He stood up and retrieved the folders.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “We’re done.”

  * * *

  The courtroom was packed with prisoners in jumpsuits when Nick walked in, so he sat down and watched the proceedings for awhile. Monica Maynard spotted him but tapped her watch, as if to tell him she couldn’t take the time at the moment, so he waited. Most of the cases pending seemed to be arraignments and plea agreements, each taking only minutes to conclude, and forty minutes after he arrived, the last prisoner was escorted out. Monica called a recess and headed for her chambers. Nick knocked on her door a minute later.

  “Come in.”

  Nick opened the door and stepped through. Monica was waiting and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight.

  “Oh, god, I’ve missed you!” she said.

  “It’s only been three hours,” he laughed.

  In lieu of a reply, she hooked her arms around his neck and drew him down for a long, passionate kiss. He felt his body respond in spite of the beating it had taken the night before.

  “You want to go for it right here on your desk?” he asked when she released him.

  “I would love to, but if anyone came in it wouldn’t look very dignified, would it?”

  She walked around the desk and took her chair, leaning back and gazing at him as if he were an exotic painting. He sat facing her and heaved a sigh.

  “So how’re you feeling?”

  “Like a new woman. And you?”

  “I think I need an I.V.”

  She frowned in confusion.

  “To replace lost fluids.”

  Monica burst into laughter. “Well, I can certainly believe that. So, how can I help you, Marshal? You didn’t come over here just to kiss and make out, did you?”

  “I’m afraid not, though that would be a lot more fun. I need to ask you a procedural question.”

  “Sure.”

  His brow knitted as he sought the proper way to phrase the question.

  “Suppose you had a prisoner in lockup serving out a sentence, and that prisoner was suddenly charged with a crime committed while incarcerated.”

  She frowned and nodded, trying to follow.

  “Now, let’s say the prisoner had been injured during the commission of that crime and was unable to physically appear in court—”

  “You mean, he attacked a guard, they beat the shit out of him, and he couldn’t appear?”

  Nick grinned. “You’re quick.”

  “That happens sometimes. What’s the question?”

  “How does that prisoner defend himself?”

  “Through his attorney.”

  “What if he doesn’t have an attorney?”

  “He has to have an attorney if he isn’t physically able to appear. Someone has to represent him.”

  Nick nodded. “That’s what I thought. But in the case I have in mind, the prisoner did not have an attorney, and wasn’t even deposed.”

  Monica’s lips pursed dramatically. “What case are you referring to?”

  Nick hesitated; he was pretty sure he could trust Monica—she was a judge, after all—but he’d made a promise.

  “I…would rather not say at this point.”

  She spread her hands. “If you’re talking hypothetical, then the answer is, it couldn’t happen. But if you have a specific case in mind, I can’t help you without a name.”

  Nick sat silent for a moment, drumming his fingers on the chair arm.

  “Let’s keep it hypothetical. Suppose the prisoner was not represented by Geraldine Gabbard or any of her staff. Are there other attorneys who might represent him?”

  Monica nodded. “There are other attorneys on Ceres, but they’re privately employed.”

  “Really? How many?”

  “Ten or twelve. But they’re corporate; they don’t handle criminal cases.”

  Nick’s eyes widened slowly and his heart beat a little faster.

  “Could a corporate attorney represent a person in a criminal proceeding?”

  “Theoretically, yes. It doesn’t happen very often, though.”

  “But it has happened?”

  Still frowning, she tilted her head curiously. “Nick, what are you investigating?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry; I don’t feel comfortable telling you that right now.”

  “Nick, this is me. I fucked you last night. Remember?”

  He nodded. “The first time we met, you said no strings. This could be a string.”

  She shrugged and spread her hands in surrender.

  “Okay.”

  “Do you remember any cases where a corporate attorney represented a criminal defendant? In particular, someone in lockup who was physically unable to appear?”

  She thought a moment, then nodded slowly.

  “Yeah, I think that happened two or three times.”

  “Do you remember who the attorneys were?”

  “It was the same attorney in each case. Stanley Cramer.”

  Nick let his breath out slowly, sensing victory.

  “And where do I find Stanley Cramer?”

  “Farrington Industries. He’s head of their legal department.”

  Chapter 16

  The outer office was empty when Nick walked into the public defender’s office, but Misery Allen heard the door and popped her head out.

  “Nick!” she exclaimed with a smile. “What a surprise!”

  “Hi, Misery. How are things?”

  “Busy, as always. Come on into my den.”

  He stepped into her office and took a seat.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  She scurried around her desk and settled into a chair, beaming at him.

  “It’s so good to see you again!”

  He grinned. “Seems like a month since I was here. So much has been going on.”

  She nodded, her dark eyes sparkling. “You’ve been a busy boy. Rescued two missionary girls and I hear you cleaned that bully’s clock yesterday.”

  “Bully…?”

  “Turd Murdoch.”

  “Oh. Word travels fast.”

  “Like a virus. We don’t need holonews here. So what brings you to this overworked, understaffed establishment?”<
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  Nick grinned a little sheepishly. “I have a confession to make.”

  “A confession! Do you need representation?” Her eyes twinkled.

  “I hope not. I was hoping to throw myself on the mercy of the court.”

  “And what is this great transgression of yours?”

  “I feel like I cheated you. I cancelled our dinner date the other day, but last night I had dinner with Judge Maynard. Somehow that seems unfair, but I swear she invited me and I couldn’t really turn her down.”

  Misery sat back in her chair with a knowing smile.

  “So you’re the one!”

  Nick’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. “Huh?”

  Misery laughed. “Everyone in court today swore she must have gotten laid last night. She’s been positively civil all morning.”

  Nick couldn’t stop the flush that swept up from his collarbone; he could feel his face burning.

  “Can I invoke the right not to incriminate myself?” He spread his hands. “She’s a judge. I didn’t want to be held in contempt.”

  Misery laughed again. “Nick, don’t be embarrassed. Everyone is thrilled that she’s found someone. A happy judge makes for a happy courtroom.”

  Nick’s eyebrows arched. Found someone?

  “Don’t misunderstand,” he said, “she and I are not an item. I mean, we’re not ‘together’. It just happened.”

  “And it will happen again. Ever since you showed up she’s been drooling over you, so don’t think she won’t come after you again.”

  You watch your ass, Nick. She’s a very sexy lady, but she’ll eat you alive.

  “Thanks for the warning. Anyway—” He leaned forward. “Since I’m not sure when I’ll be available for dinner, I was hoping I could interest you in an early lunch.”

  “You mean right now?” She glanced at her watch. “Well—sure. I don’t have anything moon-shaking for the next couple of hours.”

  “Great! I’ll let you pick the place…since I don’t know of any.”

  She smiled and reached for her purse. “I know just the spot.”

  It was a small café just two blocks from the courthouse, certainly nothing fancy, but Nick could smell the kitchen as soon as they walked in the door. The floor was a black and white checkerboard, the tables small and bare. They were too early for the lunch crowd, so the place was empty. Misery ordered for both of them and Nick sat back with a cup of watery coffee while they waited for the food.

  “I’ve been looking at records,” he told her casually. “You guys really run a lot of cases through that place.”

  “Oh, I know. It gets insane sometimes.”

  “How do you keep up with it? Every time I go into the courtroom it seems like things are backed up.”

  Misery stirred her coffee. “Ninety-nine percent of it is boilerplate. You have assaults and fights and minor thefts; the PO pleads most of them out, offering standard deals, and the defendants usually accept them. If we had to hold an actual trial for every case we’d be here until eternity.”

  “Looks like a lot of people get probation.”

  She nodded. “There isn’t enough room in the lockups to imprison everyone. Farrington lockup houses most of those incarcerated, and their facility is running near maximum all the time. The other lockups are completely full, even overcrowded.”

  She chatted on for several minutes and Nick didn’t interrupt. The food came sooner than he expected and they began to eat.

  “What the hell is this stuff?” he inquired as he stirred the soup.

  Misery laughed. “You probably don’t want to know.”

  Nick glanced up at her.

  “It’s hydroponic gruel,” she said. “At least that’s the standard joke. Probably a little meat in there, but nobody knows for sure.”

  Nick sipped it with his spoon and tested the flavor.

  “Not too bad,” he ventured.

  “It’s a little strange at first, but you’ll acquire a taste for it. Some people actually like it.”

  Nick looked at the rest of the food and wasn’t overly impressed. It bore a strange resemblance to military rations he’d eaten in combat, except it was hot.

  “Is everything microwaved around here?”

  “‘Fraid so. Real food is obscenely expensive. Everything has to be imported from Mars, or even farther, so most of the population lives on hydroponic meals. It leaves a lot to be desired, but it’s affordable and it’s supposed to be nutritious.” She smiled thinly. “Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve eaten a lot worse.”

  Once he started eating, he realized it was actually better than those military meals, and he was nothing if not flexible.

  “The first time we met,” he said, “you were telling me about problems with Farrington Security.”

  “I think I used the word ‘thugs’.” She smiled.

  “Yes, you did. And since then I’ve heard the word ‘goons’.”

  “I like that word even better.”

  “You’ve only been here a few months. And yet you have a decidedly low opinion of Farrington Security. For you to form such a firm opinion in such a short time, conditions over there must be really bad.”

  She locked gazes with him, all humor gone from her eyes.

  “That wasn’t a rhetorical statement, was it? What are you looking for?”

  He glanced around involuntarily, but they were completely alone.

  “I was wondering if you could pull some records for me. About one case in particular.”

  “I thought you were already looking at records.”

  “Yeah, but those were given to me by someone else.”

  “You can access court records yourself. It’s all public information.”

  “I’d like to get inside this case without anyone knowing about it. I can’t tell you why right this moment, but if certain people found out I was nosing around, it might put someone else in danger.”

  “Someone? Like who?”

  He hesitated, then spoke slowly.

  “I have to be able to trust you completely, Misery. I think I can, but I have to know for sure.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you can’t tell a soul that I made this request, and certainly not the name of the party I’m inquiring about. You can’t tell your staff, your boss, and certainly no one outside your office.”

  “Will I be in danger?”

  “Probably not, but it’s possible. But a defense attorney accessing old transcripts would be a lot less suspicious than a U.F. Marshal walking in off the street doing the same thing.”

  Misery glanced at her food, thinking it over, and took another bite. A moment later she looked into his eyes again.

  “Okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “If this will contribute in any way to improving things at Farrington lockup, then yes. I’m sure.”

  Nick laid his hand over hers and squeezed it.

  “Thank you, Misery. I’ve got your back if you need it.”

  She smiled. “I never doubted that, Nick. I may be a small-world girl, but I know an honest man when I see one. What records do you need?”

  “I want to see the trial transcripts for one Jessica Garner. There should be two cases—the original assault charge and another filing a few months later for assaulting a prison guard.” He gave her the approximate dates.

  “Okay. I can have it for you later today.”

  “You be careful. And don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  Back at the U.F. Marshal’s office, Nick dropped into his chair with a sigh. Milligan wasn’t there, but Sandy Beech looked up from his desk opposite and grinned.

  “Walker! Man, you really get around. I haven’t seen you since the first day we met.”

  “I’ve been in and out. What do you do all day?”

  “Boring shit, mostly. Unlike you, I haven’t been in a fight for days.”

>   Nick laughed. “Boring sounds pretty good. I could do with a little boring.”

  “I hear you laid out Turd Murdoch last night.”

  “I did. He threatened a U.F. Marshal, and I don’t take that lightly. Does everybody on this rock know about that guy?”

  “Oh, yeah, just about. He’s in and out of court constantly.”

  “Sounds like he needs some serious jail time.”

  “No question about it. But his employer keeps paying his fines. They consider him an essential worker.”

  “Must be nice.” Nick kicked his heels up on the desk and locked his fingers behind his head. “Tell me about Farrington Industries.”

  Beech looked blank. “What about them?”

  “Are they legit?”

  “I guess so. Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “I’ve been here four days and everywhere I turn I run into evidence that something really stinks over there. The men who kidnapped those missionary girls were Farrington employees, Turd Murdoch is Farrington—I’ve been hearing about prisoner abuse in Farrington lockup, inmates being tortured and killed, women being raped…that paints a pretty grim picture.”

  Beech looked surprised. “You’ve heard all that?”

  Nick nodded. “In four days.”

  “Well…every company has a few bad apples. I mean, you can’t really blame FI for what happened at Caribou Lake…”

  Nick inclined his head to the side.

  “In the Star Marines, we had a quarter million men on Alpha Centauri. There were bad apples there, too, but very few committed atrocities against civilians. I was there for fifteen months and I only heard of one rape and maybe a dozen other crimes. The men who did it were given star-courts and sent to prison, some of them for life.”

  Beech looked confused. “What’s your point?”

  “The organization conforms to the morality of whoever is at the top. If the man in charge is corrupt, his employees feel free to do whatever they want. Has anyone run background checks on Farrington’s security people?”

  “I dunno. That would be their responsibility, not ours.”

  Nick nodded. Beech was right, but it might be an interesting exercise.