The Crimson Trial: A Legal Thriller

by Freya Atwood

  “That was some low trick you pulled tipping off the press.” I snapped in a low voice.

  “Whatever gets me ahead.” Halden didn’t look at me, stepping through the door ahead of me.

  I berated myself for even mentioning it. I shouldn’t give her the satisfaction. The corridor was carpeted, one wall decorated with portrait photographs of current and previous judges between windows overlooking a parking lot. The other was wood paneled, light fixtures made to resemble wall mounted lamps for an air of antiquity. There was a slightly stale smell of old cardboard and paper.

  At the end of the corridor was the door to Judge Greene’s chambers. Halden knocked once and went in. Greene was sitting behind his desk. He came straight to the point.

  “Counselor Jones, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news. Everwood Police have been called to your home; EPD received a call and sent a patrol car to your house. When they arrived they found the house had been broken into. There’s an EPD detective waiting for you outside.”

  Chapter 31

  “Is this really worthy of an adjournment, Your Honor?” Halden protested. “I sympathize but if police are on the scene then the house is secure. Why the urgency? This is a murder case.”

  She sounded petulant and stood with her arms folded and her mouth in a thin line. I had never wanted to slap someone more. I was already moving to the door but stopped, looking back.

  “There is more to this than simple breaking and entering. Counselor, don’t worry, go home and speak to the police.” Greene assured me, gesturing for me to leave. “District Attorney Halden, lodge a formal protest in the record if you wish. Your attitude does not do you credit.”

  I didn’t wait to see Halden’s reaction or the conclusion of the exchange between the two. I was through the door and down the corridor, fumbling my phone out of my shoulder bag and switching it out of flight mode which it had been in during the trial. Bryan is in college. He’s not at home. The house was empty. I knew none of these things for sure but was praying that they were true. He had left that morning before me, as usual. I hit his name in my contacts list as I headed back into the courtroom. Nic and Halden’s team were the room’s only occupants. I got Bryan’s voicemail. Damnit, why did I buy you a phone if I can’t get you in emergencies?

  “What’s happening?” Nic asked, as I strode past her, pausing only to grab my shoulder bag.

  “I don’t know yet. I have to get home. I’ll call you.” I shot back over my shoulder.

  I forgot about the media until I stepped into the courthouse’s atrium. They were gathered and none of them missed me stepping through the doors. A wall of noise hit me, underscored by the whirring clicks of camera shutters. They moved forward as one and I was quickly surrounded.

  “Laura, do you think you are still the right person to be defending Hunter Watson?”

  “Laura, how do you respond to the allegations made against you by the DeLuca family?”

  “Will you attempt a reconciliation with your ex-husband for the sake of your son?”

  I knew I had to give them something. I had walked right into the middle of them. Trying to barge through them without a word would look bad, like I had something to hide. It would just make them thirst for more and who knows how much further they would go to get their story.

  “The trial has been adjourned as I deal with a personal emergency. It has no bearing on my competence to defend Hunter Watson and I remain confident of his innocence.”

  The camera flashes and the microphones shoved towards me were needle points stabbing into my facade of calm professionalism, leaving behind holes. I stared through the mob, looking at a point beyond them and thinking only of my words. I kept moving, forcing them to step back. If I stopped they would close into a wall.

  “As for anything else, I know of nothing to respond to and my personal life is my own. I won’t discuss it in public.”

  “Do you wish to apologize for attempting to murder your husband?”

  I gritted my teeth and kept taking determined steps towards the exit. “I am confident that my client is innocent and this will be proved in court. That is the only matter I wish to make any comment on or that the press has any right to ask questions about.”

  “Laura…!”

  My name was repeated over and over. More questions were barked into my face by reporters so close I could feel their breath. They were a pack of baying hounds and I wanted to put my fist through their camera lenses, stamp on their microphones and scream at them. I fought to keep my anger in check. Somehow I made it to the doors of the courthouse and to the police officers standing outside holding back an even bigger crowd of reporters. They must have been assigned to stop the atrium from becoming dangerously overcrowded.

  “Officer, I need to reach my vehicle safely and be able to drive away without injuring any of these people.” I said to one of them. “I’m an attorney on the Hunter Watson case.”

  He touched the peak of his cap. “I know, ma’am. Been waiting for you to come out. Follow me. Matthews and Alvarez, keep these people here while I escort the Counselor to her car.”

  He was an older man, with a square, lined face and dark eyes. He spoke with a snap and no wasted words, gesturing for me to move ahead of him down a disabled access ramp that ran along the front of the courthouse. The other cops moved forward, down the steps fronting the building with arms held out, ushering the press down. I walked quickly down the ramp and headed to my car.

  At the bottom of the ramp he jogged forward to intercept a few reporters who had begun to move in my direction. As he drew level with me, he whispered.

  “Waters and Ditzarella are as dirty as they come. So is Captain Brannigan.”

  Then he was moving away, arms wide to block the reporters’ path. “The Counselor is leaving and I don’t want anyone blocking a thoroughfare. Stay in the pedestrian area or I will have to cite you for causing an obstruction to traffic.” He barked.

  I kept going for my car, suppressing the urge to turn and look at the veteran cop. I had no doubt that he had a reason for not speaking to me where anyone else could hear. Whistleblowers in the police department were not popular with their fellow officers, which made it a dangerous thing to do. It was confirmation of what I already knew about the officers who had arrested Hunter Watson. And that told me there may be other men in the EPD with information I could use.

  As I reached my car, I filed the information away and dismissed it. It was a priority for another day. Right now my only concern was Bryan and, of secondary importance, our home and possessions. I felt a small sense of relief as I got my car out of the parking lot and took off down the street, leaving the media pack behind. My phone sat on the passenger seat. It lit up with Bryan’s picture. I picked up the call.

  “Mom? What’s up, got your missed calls.”

  “Bryan, thank Christ! Where are you?”

  “I’m at college. Just leaving class. Why?”

  There was an edge to his voice, a tone of suspicion. He thinks I’m checking up on him. “I just got pulled out of the trial by the police. Our house was broken into. I wanted to make sure you weren’t there when it happened.”

  Bryan swore under his breath. “Did they catch him?” He asked.

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know. Look, I just wanted to make sure you were nowhere near. But I think they would have told me if they had arrested someone. I’m on my way home now…”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “No, Bryan. That’s not necessary. I can take care of…”

  “Mom, I’m coming.” He sounded resolute.

  “Bryan. No, you are not.” I told him just as resolutely. “There is a detective there. There’s no danger to me. And no reason for you to interrupt your classes.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Mom. I have to be there.” He said finally.

  “Why?”

  “I…I just do.”

  “Do you know anything about what happened?” I asked, perplexed by his behav
ior.

  “No, of course not. Why would you even say that?” Came the immediate response. So immediate it was like he had been ready with it.

  “Bryan, I don’t want you there. You’ll just be in the way.” I told him harshly.

  “I’m coming.”

  He hung up. I focused on the road, flooring the gas as I wove between slower cars. What the hell is wrong with him? What does he know about this? First the drugs and then…Where did he get those drugs from? It was a question I had avoided asking him the night before. After the scare he’d received he had been more open and receptive to my company than he had been for a long time. I had wanted to just enjoy it for a while. But now I wondered. I didn’t think of Bryan as one of those street-smart kids, running with gangs and comfortable around drugs.

  Is there a connection between the house being broken into and Bryan and his girlfriend buying some drugs? Is this a dealer?

  I arrived home to find two cars blocking the driveway. One was a police cruiser, the other an unmarked sedan. A uniformed EPD officer stood at the door of the house while a man in a crumpled, dark suit leaned on the cruiser smoking a cigarette and talking to someone on the phone. I pulled up at the curbside and got out of the car. The man in the shabby suit looked up as I approached.

  “The divorce did not include the dog for chrissakes. Who even gets custody of a dog? Look, I gotta go but if you think you’re keeping…”

  He took the phone from his ear and looked at the screen, gritting his teeth and swearing under his breath. He kicked the cop car behind him with his heel.

  “Laura Jones?” He asked as I drew level. He had untidy dark hair and a growth of stubble along his jaw. His eyes were dark and his expression morose.

  “Yes. Are you the detective?”

  “Yeah. Detective Franco, robbery.” He replied curtly. He casually flicked the cigarette away. “Shall we go inside? There’s something you’re gonna want to see.”

  I followed. He walked with both hands thrust into the pockets of his pants and his head down. As we reached the door he stopped.

  “Oh, yeah. You’re gonna want to put these on. Forensics.”

  He offered me a pair of shoe protectors, a pair of gloves and a face mask. I hastily put them on.

  “We got a CSI team in the house.” He said from behind his own mask, as he opened the front door.

  “A team? Seems overkill for a burglary. I’m not complaining but I didn’t think EPD had that kind of budget.” I followed him inside.

  “We don’t. Usually, you’d only qualify for one of these nerds. But there’s more to this than a simple robbery.” Franco pointed and then thrust his hands back into his pockets.

  I looked. Three CSI officers in full forensics clean suits were working around a stretch of wall between the den and the kitchen. Words had been scrawled there in a dark, red liquid.

  “I know where you live. Omerta”

  Chapter 32

  “Kinda redundant, if you ask me.” Franco drawled.

  “What?” I was distracted, still looking at the words which had dripped trails of liquid down the wall.

  “I mean, it’s pretty obvious. He was in your house. So, yeah he knows where you live.”

  I turned at the flippant tone but Franco was staring right at me. His dark eyes were unblinking and his brows drawn in. He’s watching me for my reactions.

  “Which makes me think this is someone who knows you, but didn’t know where you lived. Until now. Stop me anytime you want to jump in.”

  My mind was numb. I needed to think this through, consider my responses, my options and consider the repercussions. The officer at the door was within earshot as were the CSI. Franco was an unknown quantity. I hadn’t come across him in my professional dealings with the EPD so I had no idea what kind of cop he was.

  “Is this why you notified Judge Greene?” I asked, stalling for time.

  Franco cocked his head to one side. “I thought it warranted your immediate attention..”

  “Is there anything else like this?” I demanded.

  Franco was silent for a minute and then turned and slumped onto the stairs, resting on his elbows. “Why don’t you tell me who might be writing messages to you in blood on your wall? Then I can show you what else we found.”

  “I’m the victim here, Detective.” His attitude sparked my anger. “Now, will you please tell me what else you found?”

  “You’re the owner of the house. I don’t know if you’re a victim yet. That’s a message written in human blood. And that last word is Italian. It means keep your mouth shut. Jump in whenever you’re ready.”

  I ran my hands through my hair in exasperation. “Well, in my last case I proved police corruption and that led to an officer getting fired. He’s already tried to frighten me by running my car off the road.”

  “Yeah. I heard about that. Didn’t know the guy.” Franco jumped to his feet and strode up the stairs. “Come on. Anyone else?”

  I followed, momentarily confused by his sudden movement. “I’m a defense attorney. I tend to piss off law enforcement.”

  “And anyone who doesn’t get an acquittal.” Franco shot back over his shoulder. He was making for my room.

  “So far, I haven’t lost a trial case.” I replied.

  Franco looked back at me with a raised eyebrow. There was something about him that was familiar. I felt like I had seen that sardonic expression before. Franco turned away, reaching my room and opening the door, stepping aside to let me see and leaning against the wall as he did. I took in the devastation without changing expression. If this cop thinks he’s going to shock me, he’s got another thing coming.

  My bedroom had been ransacked. I looked about dispassionately. The bedclothes had been torn to shreds as had the pillows. The mirror on my bedside table was smashed and the wardrobe doors ripped off their hinges. My clothes were scattered around the room, also ripped apart. It looked as though a tornado had rampaged through the room.

  “This is more damage than I would expect to see from a perp ransacking a room looking for valuables. This was done deliberately.” Franco said.

  I remembered where I had seen him before. “You were the arresting officer in the Frank Hudson case. Multiple break-ins in the Fern Creek neighborhood, three assaults.”

  Franco’s half smirk dissolved. He looked up at me from a slouching posture. His eyes betrayed his apparent slovenliness. They were sharp and hard. “Yeah. You got him off.”

  “He was innocent.”

  “So you say.”

  I made to step into the room but Franco caught my arm, moving quickly, his slouch disappearing for the moment. “We haven’t had CSI in there yet. Don’t want to contaminate anything.” He paused, letting go of my arm and turning away. “Sorry.”

  “I bet you are.”

  Franco moved across the hall, opening the door to the bathroom and looking around. I had no doubt he’d already looked into every room in the house, this was pure theater.

  “So, my question stands. You think this is a disgruntled cop or some perp you failed to keep out of jail?”

  “The evidence suggests it.” I replied, hiding my growing anger behind a professional facade. I walked along the hall to Bryan’s room, opening the door and looking inside.

  “Care to give me some names, Counselor?” Franco called after me.

  My hand tightened on the door handle I was holding. Bryan’s room didn’t look like it had been touched. Something caught my eye as I turned back to Franco. I looked back into the room. The bottom drawer of the unit beside his bed was open. It was empty. That’s where Bryan kept his journals. Why would they be taken? Unless, Bryan took them, thinking that I’d been reading them, maybe?

  Franco was moving quickly to join me. He made to enter Bryan’s room but was stopped by my hand still holding the door.

  “Do you mind?” He drawled.

  I moved aside, gritting my teeth and hiding it behind a forced smile. He stepped into the room, turning a slow
circle. I had his tell now. He was observing the room with a keen eye. I could tell by following his gaze that he was noting details. He stopped at the open drawer and then looked back at me.

  “Something missing from in there?” He questioned sharply.

  I clenched my fists at my side. The stress of the situation on top of the trial and this detective’s attitude was getting to me. My temper was a thin film of ice over a boiling geyser.

  “Nothing relevant.”

  “Let me decide that. What was it?”

  A splash of seething anger made it through the ice. “Why do I feel like I’m the suspect here? Aren’t you supposed to empathize with the victims of crime?” I snapped.