The Crimson Trial: A Legal Thriller

by Freya Atwood

  “It wasn’t. I got too involved. That always makes it harder.”

  “I think that’s an asset. You’re passionate. This job isn’t just a transaction to you.” Gretchen replied. “I think that’s why you’re one of Kevin’s Associates. He likes the law to be a vocation.”

  The doors opened revealing two men. One was tall, with a Roman nose and dark eyebrows beneath steel gray hair. His mouth turned down at the corners. He wore a double breasted suit with an ornate, gold tie pin. The other was in his shirt-sleeves. He wore dark green suspenders and his shirt strained over a bulky body. He was bald and had a creased face with sparkling blue eyes. The tall man walked away without a word. The other glared after him, his left hand absently caressing a large gold sovereign ring on his right finger.

  “Laura, come in.” Kevin Hood said, without taking his glare from the back of the tall man. “Gretchen, no calls.”

  I followed him into the room, glancing back once at the stork-like figure of Alexander Glass. I knew better than to ask. Kevin’s office was expansive, occupying a corner of the building, looking over the fire station at one side and Heart Attack Alley on the other. It was decorated with a jarring combination of southwestern native art and artifacts of the Old West. A portrait of a running horse dominated one wall. His desk was ancient as was the green leather chair into which he deposited himself.

  I took the only seat in front of his desk, putting my briefcase beside me and crossing my legs. Here it comes.

  “I’m giving you the Watson case.” He didn’t waste time asking if I’d heard of it.

  I nodded, not giving any hint of the sinking feeling I now had. “I thought so,” I said.

  Kevin grunted, folding his arms and resting them on the desk. “I knew you would. We both know this case is a poisoned chalice. Hunter Watson has fired three attorneys. A charity working on behalf of the family have approached us to defend him. The others got fired because they focused on mitigation instead of acquittal. That includes both Lambert and Locke. You understand the significance.”

  It wasn’t a question. He expected me to read between the lines.

  “Watson is black, and even the state’s most famed African American lawyers don’t think they can get an acquittal.”

  “Even with their crusader’s record of winning impossible cases, they both wanted to try for plea bargains.”

  “So, he came to us.” I said.

  “The charity that’s helping him find representation came to us.” Kevin corrected.

  He finally smiled, a wide beaming grin that never touched his eyes. “And I came to you.”

  I didn’t voice the view that, in five years with the firm, I had never lost a trial case. That I had the best record of any lawyer in the firm, aside from Kevin Hood and Marilyn Kramer who had a combined half century of trial law between them. That Hunter Watson had already been tried and convicted in the public eye. We both knew how difficult this case would be. It just made me more determined.

  “I won’t lie to you, Laura. I wanted someone else to take this case. I don’t think we can win. I’m damn sure we can’t win. But Alex got to Marilyn first and I got outvoted. Fucking politics. I can’t stand it.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Kevin. I intend to win.”

  It sounded like hopeless bravado but I meant it. I would be defending a black man who was accused of murdering a popular doctor well known for providing free consultations and treatment to the city’s most desperate inhabitants. He had in fact been found standing over the body with a gun in his hand, the murder weapon. He had violently attacked the man just hours earlier. And I was as excited as hell.

  Chapter 3

  I left Kevin’s office with my heart racing. The exhilaration was beginning, the thrill of a new case. They were like puzzles, at the beginning seemingly impenetrable but eventually the solution yielding itself. My mind whirled with the options in front of me. Review the case files in my office. No, obtain all the necessary interview transcripts and evidence from the police. No, I need to speak to Hunter Watson. First priority, meet the client, quickest way to buy into their innocence.

  It was Jenny’s voice I heard giving that advice, deep and with an edge that came from a lifetime of nicotine abuse. Gray eyes that could see through me like she had x-ray vision. I needed to make Hunter’s innocence an immutable fact in my mind. He was accused and in America, he was entitled to legal representation. It was my duty to defend him and to do that, I had to believe he was innocent.

  I jogged down the stairs back to the first floor. I strode quickly to my office, directly beneath Kevin’s. Doors to either side bore the names of the other five Associates who worked for the firm. Before I reached mine, I knocked at another door, opening it almost immediately.

  “Nic, can I see you in my office?”

  Nic Malone was in her mid-twenties. Her hair was fair and cut short, a mass of tousled curls held in place with hairspray and attitude. When I put my head around the door she had her feet up on her desk, eyes closed. They opened in a heartbeat as I opened the door, hooded and dark. She greeted me with a customary sardonic smile. Her lips were dark today, matching her nails.

  “Shouldn’t you be working?” I asked.

  “I was waiting for you.” She replied, her accent still clinging to Dublin though she’d lived in the States now for ten years. “Heard you’d been called in to see the Sheriff, figured you’d be looking for a wingman.”

  “Looked like you were sleeping.” I said as I walked along the hall to my door, Nic following me. “Another late night?”

  “No, actually. I was just walking through my memory palace. Reviewing some family law precedents.”

  “I believe you.”

  Nic wore a plain, dark suit as was prescribed in the firm’s rules, but in the office she wore a battered pair of sneakers, when she wasn’t just barefoot. She was a junior associate, had recently passed the state bar and often acted as my assistant. I trusted her completely, her capacity for memory was phenomenal. It made her invaluable. As I walked into my office I saw a man, in a gray suit with a royal blue sweater over his shirt, was perched on my desk scrolling through his phone. He looked up as we came in, his smile as false as his tan.

  “Jesus, Neill what are you wearing?” Nic commented as she took a seat. “Did your mommy dress you this morning?”

  Neill’s smile slipped a little as he glanced at Nic then turned his brilliant white teeth back in my direction. “I understand you’re taking on Hunter Watson. Congratulations.”

  “Hunter Watson?! Sweet Jesus, what have you got us into?” Nic commented, looking at me. Her every comment produced a minute twitch in Neill Drummond’s facade of professionalism. Nic knew it, which was why she couldn’t keep her mouth shut in Neill’s presence.

  “We’re busy, Neill. What can I do for you?” I said, impatiently.

  I took a seat behind my desk, folding my hands and meeting Neill’s eyes.

  “I’m going to be taking on a few of your cases. I’ve just emailed you the list, to free you up to focus on your…career kryptonite.” He said, smile flashing to a snarl towards the end.

  Nic chuckled loudly. She had her phone in her hand, apparently absorbed.

  “That’s good of you Neill. I’ll look over them and let you know if I need any help.” I told him, keeping my cool.

  “Alexander’s instructions are to take over all…”

  “Kevin didn’t give me any instructions. So, I’ll let you know if I’m struggling. Now, if you don’t mind?”

  The smile was definitely becoming more feral but Neill smoothed his sweater and pulled on the lapels of his jacket. “Fine.” He said. “I’ll speak to Alexander.”

  “Do I sense a power grab?” Nic commented after Neill had left.

  “Neill is Alexander’s boy. Alexander doesn’t like that I have some of the firm’s prestigious clients. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t engineered this case coming to us so he can take them for himself under the guise of hel
ping us out.”

  “Over my dead body.”

  “I imagine that would be Neill’s preferred option.” I said drily.

  Nic laughed, a single overloud bark. Putting her phone away she leaned forward, hooded eyes sharp as fish hooks.

  “So, what’s the plan, boss?”

  “I need to meet with Hunter Watson. You need to get us everything the prosecution have. Transcripts of the police interviews, evidence. Everything. I know from the media coverage that Hunter didn’t make the bail required so he’s in the Stone. I’ll speak to the DA on my way out there, let her know we’re taking the case and find out exactly where we are in the court process. I’ll let her know you’ll be in touch for the evidence they’re holding.”

  Stone Mountain Penitentiary was the nearest prison, known simply as the Stone. Nic gave a single nod, she didn’t take notes but I knew she was filing everything. I could see the exhilaration I was feeling reflected in her dark eyes. She doesn’t like being told what she can and can’t do any more than I do. That made me think of Bryan. How much trouble has he gotten himself into because he won’t be told? How much trouble do I get into for the same reason?

  “Let’s move.” I told Nic. “We’re wasting daylight.”

  She grinned and rose to leave as my phone rang.

  “Laura Jo…” I began.

  “Laura! It’s Carole in reception. Could you come out here please? I need…”

  She cut off with a scream of terror followed by the crash of breaking glass.

  Chapter 4

  I dropped the phone, tore open the door and ran down the hallway towards the door to reception at the far end. Bursting through, I saw Carole cowering behind her desk. A glass topped coffee table was the source of the broken glass. A chrome-legged chair was lying in the middle of it, surrounded by pieces of what had once been the table top. A woman was walking away from the desk, hands to her head pulling at her short, brown curls. She looked to be late middle-aged and dressed in work boots, pants and a thick checkered shirt.

  She whirled at the sound of the door and pointed a finger straight at me. Her face was red and eyes tearful.

  “You! This is your fault, you bitch!” She screamed.

  I held up my hands. “I don’t know you.” I said calmly. “Carole, are you okay?”

  Carole nodded from where she crouched. “She threw the chair across the room,” she said.

  “I did not. I kicked it and it…I didn’t throw anything. You’re not framing me like you did my husband!” She snarled, taking a step towards me. It was then that I saw the knife in her hand. It was the kind with a retractable blade used in DIY. Her knuckles were white around it. I sensed Nic behind me and backed up slowly to force her back into the hallway.

  My mind raced. Framed? I framed her husband? The pieces clicked together. “You’re Mrs. Lyle Summers.” I said, keeping my tone level.

  “Yes, I am! And I haven’t seen my husband for three days. After he was suspended, he went out drinking and he ain’t been home!” Mrs. Summers screamed. “He was a good man. He didn’t deserve what you did to him.”

  “Mrs. Summers. I defended Alice Hicks. She was acquitted of the crime your husband arrested her for.”

  “He was just doing his job!” She was close enough now for me to smell her breath. No alcohol, she’s genuinely upset. If she believed her husband was a good cop it would do no good to tell her what I believed.

  “I know that.” I said instead. “I know he was under pressure to solve the Donnie Hicks’ murder case. From his Captain, from the DA. And under that kind of pressure…”

  “He’s not a bad man!” Mrs. Summers yelled. But her fury was ebbing, leaving behind grief.

  “And neither was Alice Hicks, Mrs.…” I paused. “What’s your first name?” I asked.

  “Deborah. Debbie.”

  “Debbie.” I cautiously reached out and touched her arm. A feather touch to show her I could be no threat.

  My heart hammered in my chest and my throat was dry. I was aware of the knife she held and how close I now stood.

  “Alice Hicks was a good person too. A good mom. She didn’t deserve to go to prison for what she did. Are you a mom?”

  It was a risky question but it was a calculated risk. If she wasn’t a mother or if she didn’t have a good relationship with her kids it might provoke her. On the other hand making her think of her kids might calm her. Bring her back from the brink.

  She nodded. There were sirens in the distance. Somebody must have called the cops. Debbie Summers didn’t seem to hear. “I couldn’t protect that innocent child and his mother without showing how the police got it wrong. I’m sorry.”

  My hand now touched her elbow, slipping down to the knife she held. She didn’t resist when I gently pried it free and dropped it into my suit jacket. There was a cop car pulling up outside. I stepped close to Debbie.

  “Nothing happened here but an accident with a chair. You didn’t have a knife. And we wouldn’t dream of pressing charges.”

  She looked up at me with wide eyes. Her face was pale, the heat of anger gone. I knew that feeling, the emptiness and the sick realization of what you had done under the influence of that red mist. I gave her a hug, feeling her tense but then sag into the embrace. Over her shoulder I mimed to Carole to keep quiet.

  “Debbie? Is that you?” One of the officers said.

  He had a square face and a bulbous nose.

  “Sergeant Nix. Debbie’s a little overwrought. She said she hasn’t seen Lyle for three days.”

  “Debbie. I know where he is. He’s sleeping off a hangover above Tom Crawford’s place on highway 89. Spent three nights propping up the bar there. Come on now.”

  “What’s been happening here?” Asked a younger, female cop who came in with Nix.

  I couldn’t place her name but Nix answered before I could.

  “Looks like somebody’s had an accident. Do I have that right, Counselor?” He directed the question to me.

  “You do, Sergeant.” I answered, letting Nix take over comforting Debbie Summers and going to check on Carole.

  “We’ll just go and see that husband of yours.” Nix told Debbie, guiding her to the door. “Sorry for the trouble, folks.”

  There was a look of relieved gratitude on his face. I presumed he was a friend of former Detective Summers.

  With the drama over I felt my knees shake. I knew my hands would be trembling too and kept them still atop Carole’s desk while she busied herself putting her domain back to rights. I felt Nic’s hand on my shoulder.

  “That was way cool. You OK, boss?”

  I nodded. “Poor woman. Her life must have been turned upside down.” I said.

  “You really feel sorry for what happened to that Detective?” Nic asked skeptically. “You sounded pretty genuine.”

  “Of course not. He was incompetent and he had no business being a police officer. He got what he deserved.” I replied. “But Debbie didn’t deserve it.”

  Nic nodded thoughtfully. “Remind me never to play poker with you.” Then she lowered her voice. “I could have sworn she had a knife.”

  “You’re seeing things.” I told her, looking her straight in the eye.

  Doug Mitchell, a rotund Associate Attorney with an office next to mine was helping Carole clean up the broken glass. As he passed with a laden dustpan he said, “Laura, if you were a guy, I’d say you had balls of solid steel.”

  “Lovely image Doug, thanks.” Nic quipped.

  I gave him a quick smile. I could feel my phone buzzing in my jacket. I turned away to take it out, not wanting to give a glimpse of the knife I had taken from Debbie Summers. It was Elaine Halden, district attorney for Phillips County.

  “Elaine…” I answered.

  “Ms. Jones. Let’s keep this brief. I’ve just found out that Hood, Kramer and Glass are representing Hunter Watson. I just got off the phone to Kevin Hood and he gave me your name. You should know that in this office you’re pretty much public e
nemy number one because of the stunt you pulled on Lyle Summers. I look forward to taking you apart in court eventually but I don’t think it’ll come to that. He’s as guilty as sin.”

  My anger flared white hot for a moment. I automatically doused it with the mantra Jenny had taught me. Anger is a river, control the flow, channel it. Elaine Halden was infamous for her psychological warfare. The best way to beat her was to show her I didn’t even think I was in a fight. Fuck, I want to tell this bitch a few home truths right now! But I couldn’t. I walked to the window, looking out over Mason Street, focusing on the bright signage of Vincente’s Deli.