Hidden Justice

by J K Ellem

  He took a step sideways, nearly fell before catching himself. He stumbled forward towards the hole in the wall that he’d flown through.

  Inside the cabana he stepped over bodies and moved towards the bed, his eyes averting as to what lay there.

  She was breathing, alive.

  He sat down on the edge of the mattress and rested for a moment, trying to compose the mess in his head, the tangle of emotions he now felt, trying to calm himself, pull himself back.

  Slowly he pulled the sheet up and over Abby, covering the rawness of what had been laid bare, things another person should not be allowed to see except in those moments of permitted intimacy. He tucked the sheet under her chin, leaving a red stain on the fabric from his bloody hand.

  Finally, with Abby covered, unconsciousness pulled Shaw off the bed, took him to the floor, and held him there.

  23

  It wasn't his first time in a jail cell and it certainly wouldn't be his last. Shaw sat on a small bunk staring at an impossibly plain wall, his mind not thinking about anything in particular. An inch long neat line of black stitches ran across one cheek, courtesy of police doctor who had examined him last night.

  Shaw had gone too far, and he knew it. Did he have regrets? No? Would he have done things differently? Maybe. Maybe he would have knocked on the door next time instead of ramming it.

  Ambrose Smith had gone to the emergency room with a mild concussion and a nasty head wound. He would recover. Dean Gymp, who Shaw had kicked in the groin would also live, but his reproductive ability—he would later discover—would be severely hampered. The other men in the room, who claimed it was an unprovoked attack, were just parasites feeding off the situation Teddy Hanson had created.

  Attacked? Shaw took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he regarded the bland yellow color of the cinder block. He hadn't attacked anyone. But that's what they would have said, lies, used words like attacked, insane, crazed, unjustified force.

  Abby was in the hospital, but she was safe. Shaw had found her just in time. He didn't want to contemplate what would have happened if he hadn't. It wasn't hard to imagine.

  Teddy Hanson was nowhere to be found. The police had arrived after an unknown caller had said there was some kind of domestic disturbance down near the beach on the Hanson Estate. The police were given previous notice that a party had been planned, yet they didn't expect to find what they did when they arrived.

  Shaw was taken into custody and placed in a holding cell. He was offered a phone call but he had no one to call. He just wanted to sit. He was sore and battered, but happy he had done what he had done.

  As he sat on the bunk, Shaw still simmered with anger. Teddy Hanson was the instigator, had planned it all, and Shaw wanted retribution. The police would probably do nothing, take a few statements, file a report, put it all down to drunkenness or drugs. Shaw was more concerned about Abby Brenner, how she was, what she could remember of the incident, maybe nothing at all.

  Footsteps came and a scowl appeared between the cell bars. "Get up, Shaw, you're out of here." The police officer was middle-aged, gruff and had taken an instant dislike to Shaw.

  Shaw rose gingerly and grimaced. Keys were produced and the cell door pulled open. "Your lawyer is upstairs waiting."

  Lawyer?

  Upstairs, a small man dressed in a neat dark suit wearing a navy blue spotted bow tie was standing at the counter. Rudy Kerber, Attorney at Law, may have been, short, stocky and small in stature, but he was big on fight. What little hair he had turned gray years ago. He was in his early sixties, hawkish, and wore wire glasses behind which sat an intense set of piercing eyes, eyes that could peel away the layers of authority and bureaucracy without a single word being uttered.

  He had the demeanor of a university professor and, if aggravated, the tenacity of a great white shark. He carried a battered leather brief case, scuffed and scratched, a casualty of the wars he'd waged in numerous police department foyers and criminal courtrooms.

  Kerber introduced himself to Shaw as the long-standing attorney of the Brenner family.

  Five minutes later they were hitting forty-five miles per hour in Kerber's immaculate Lexus heading back to the Brenner Estate. Sunlight dappled off Shaw's face as he sat patiently listening as Rudy Kerber explained what had transpired. Kerber, having been awoken at 5 a.m. by a very distressed Margaret Brenner, had driven up this morning from his apartment on the Upper West Side without even bothering to go to his Lower Manhattan law office.

  He'd already spoken to the police and had visited the hospital where Abby had been admitted. Abby was unharmed. In her blood stream they had found traces of cocaine and a concoction of party drugs. Kerber explained that, according to the police report, Ambrose Smith claimed that Abigail Brenner gave consent, was a willing participant in group sex. Kerber found this statement hard to believe. What sane women would give her consent to have sex with multiple men all at once while being filmed and drugged out on cocaine?

  "She's not like that," Shaw said. He continued to stare out the window, his thoughts set on retribution. "I admit," Kerber said as he drove, "Abby has had her share of problems, substance abuse, run-ins with the police. She can be wild at times."

  Shaw turned and faced the attorney for the first time since they got in his car. "That's because no one understands her. She's had a difficult childhood."

  Kerber nodded defensively, "I know, I know. I've known the family for over twenty years. But the fact is this isn't the first time I've paid the police a visit on behalf of the family because of Abby."

  Shaw waved him off. "I don't want to know. What about Teddy Hanson? He planned this. It was his party. There was no consent. They drugged her, plain and simple."

  "He’s denied everything," Kerber replied. "He said he knew nothing about what happened down at the beachside cabana. He blames you, though, for attacking his guests."

  "That's crap," Shaw replied. "What does Abby say?"

  "She can't remember much. Just that she had gotten separated from her friends and the next thing she remembers was waking up in hospital."

  "Does she know what happened? That I was there?"

  "The doctors would only give me a few minutes with her. I told her what was in the police report but I needed your version of the events." Kerber was silent for a moment as Shaw repeated his side of what had happened, what he had told the police when they interviewed him. Shaw didn’t want a lawyer. He wanted the police to go and question Teddy Hanson.

  "She knows you saved her. She remembers you vaguely in the room. She said you would never attack anyone without good reason, especially if it meant protecting her." The old attorney glanced at Shaw. "And for that, Mrs. Brenner and I are forever grateful."

  Shaw waved him away. He didn't want praise. He wanted answers. "Can I see her?"

  "Right now?"

  Shaw nodded.

  "Can I give you some advice, Mr. Shaw?" Kerber asked.

  "I don't need a lawyer's advice." Shaw snapped. His leg shook impatiently, something Kerber had noticed before. The young man was understandably riled, but he needed to calm down. After reading the initial report, Kerber pointed out to the police that the huge amount of incriminating evidence found in the room and that Shaw was hopelessly outnumbered, were grounds for release. When Kerber also threatened them that he would pull a judge out of bed who was vacationing in the Hamptons, they released Shaw, but he was not permitted to leave the town.

  "You need to calm down, control your anger, son.”

  Shaw twisted his neck, could feel his vertebrae popping.

  "You saved Abby, got there just in time. Be happy knowing that fact. No harm came to her because of you. Be thankful for that small mercy."

  Shaw took a deep breath. Kerber was correct. But time would tell how harmed Abby was.

  She looked even thinner and paler in her hospital gown, and tears filled Abby's eyes as she held out her arms when Shaw quietly entered her room. She buried her face into Shaw's chest.<
br />
  Rudy Kerber, content to observe, stood in the background and watched Shaw. There was something about this young man, how he behaved, how he treated Abigail Brenner, what he had done for her, no regard for his own safety that stirred something deep in the old lawyer.

  "I'm sorry," Abby sniveled into Shaw's chest. “I was a fool for thinking Teddy wouldn’t try anything. I should have listened to you.”

  "It's not your fault."

  Abby pushed back and gazed into Shaw's eyes. "You found me. Saved me."

  "I did nothing."

  "Yes, you did," Abby insisted. "I don't know what happened. How I got there. Rudy told me what the police had said but I need to hear it from you."

  Shaw explained how he came to find her and what he saw. All the time Abby held on to his hand, never letting go. Kerber remained silent in the corner, impressed by Shaw. Abigail Brenner was like a niece to Kerber. He and his wife never had children. And when Abby’s mother committed suicide, Kerber took it upon himself to offer what little guidance he could to the young impressionable woman. But there was only so much someone can do from afar. Abby was her own person, and Kerber just wished he could do more for her.

  "That bastard," Abby said. Her eyes full of fury looked at Kerber. "They drugged me, forced me there."

  “Leave it to me, Abby,” Kerber replied. “I will get to the bottom of this and charges will be pressed.”

  "You need to rest." Shaw untangled her fingers and then bent forward and kissed her on the forehead. Abby touched his cheek as he pulled back, noticing for the first time the stitches. "You bled for me?"

  "It's just a scratch."

  Kerber motioned Shaw out of the room.

  In the hospital cafeteria, Kerber grabbed takeout coffee for them both and they sat outside in the sunshine at a picnic bench near the parking lot.

  "Where's Abby's mother?" Shaw asked. "She should be here, with her daughter."

  Kerber gave a knowing smile and raised his eyebrows. "I've kept her up to date on the situation. I'll drive her here later."

  "You mean she's drunk and sleeping it off?”

  Kerber didn't respond, his silence confirmation enough that Shaw was correct. "Mrs. Brenner wants to speak to you.”

  Shaw shook his head. "Tell her to get down here and see her daughter."

  "She will when she is capable,” Kerber finally admitted, "Otherwise, it may be awkward." Kerber paused for a moment, studying Shaw. "What do you want Mr. Shaw? Why are you here?"

  Shaw was beginning to wonder that exact same question. ”It was a mistake," Shaw replied, wishing he'd never climbed in to Abby's car when she offered him a ride. "I was walking along the beach road not two days ago. I wanted to see Long Island. Abby pulled up and offered me a ride."

  "And you’re staying in the guest house, I believe, on the estate."

  "I'll be moving out, it would be better that way."

  "On the contrary.” Kerber sat forward, his eyes full of wisdom. "I think it would be good if you remained on the estate, until at least Abby is back home and has recovered. I spoke also to Gomez, one of the grounds men. He told me what you did with the security, got the contractor to fix the deficiencies.” Kerber gave a shrewd smile. "I have this philosophy on life, Mr. Shaw. Would you like me to tell you?"

  Shaw looked at the old attorney. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to tell me anyway?"

  "You learn fast." Kerber patted Shaw’s arm. "Life, in my opinion, is just a series of one way intersections, choices, Ben. Can I call you Ben?"

  Shaw nodded.

  Kerber’s eyes scrutinized Shaw. "The only problem is that we can't go back, do a U-turn, so to speak. We must follow the path we have chosen, see where it takes us.” Kerber paused then went on. “I also have a second philosophy that I live by. And it is that life is just one bad doctor’s phone call away from being ruined. So make every day count, like it’s your last day ever.”

  Shaw looked at the bruising on his knuckles. No regrets at all.

  “But I can tell you now, you made the right choice when you accepted Abby's offer,” Kerber continued.

  Shaw thought about it for a moment.

  "Can you imagine if you hadn't got in her car? Where she would be now?"

  It was true. If he hadn't made that decision, Abigail Brenner would be living a nightmare right now until the day she died.

  "It was destiny, Ben. You were meant to do what you did last night. You were meant to get in her car. You have made a series of choices, passed through various intersections in your life that have delivered you here, to this exact moment, when she needed you the most.”

  "I'm not a babysitter," Shaw replied. He understood what Kerber was saying. “I can’t be there for someone all the time. This has to be fixed, this vendetta Teddy Hanson has with Abigail. It’s gone way beyond simple ex-boyfriend jealousy.” Shaw could easily take care of Teddy. But what would happen after he left town when Shaw couldn’t be there? Shaw needed to understand the past if he was going to solve the present dilemma. Maybe there were old hidden secrets between the Brenners and the Hansons that was fueling Teddy’s hatred.

  "I know, Ben. But what do you want? What are you looking for?”

  "I want you to start at the beginning. And I want the truth.” Shaw looked Kerber dead in the eye. “I want to know what happened to her father, Edward Brenner. I want to know it all.”

  24

  “I’m sorry about last night.” Shaw stood on the porch of Annie’s cottage, the midday sun slicing across his face. After the hospital he didn’t want to go back to the Brenner Estate, so he asked Rudy Kerber to drop him off at the end of the back road, telling him there was an errand he had to run. The lawyer obliged and was a little more than curious as to where Shaw was going.

  Annie stood defiantly behind the partly opened front door, the screen door remained locked. She was ready to ignore him and close the door. Then she saw the cut on his face, the line of stitches, the bruising. “What the hell happened?”

  “Let me in and I’ll tell you.”

  Shaw didn’t want to sit, didn’t want coffee, didn’t want a drink. He just wanted to be outdoors, in the open, to walk along the beach, with the sun in his face, fresh salty air in his lungs and the crash of the waves as the only soundtrack. He needed to clear his head, get his thoughts in order.

  So they walked, barefoot, leaving a trail of their journey in the moist sand just above the water’s edge. And when he had finished explaining about last night and his sudden departure, an astonished Annie pulled him to a stop, reached up and kissed him hard on the mouth. He tasted of coffee and felt like granite.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Because I went to bed in a bad mood last night thanks to you,” she replied. “Tossing and turning all night, wondering what the evening could have been.”

  “You don’t know me, Annie,” Shaw replied. “We just met.”

  “You don’t need to tell me about yourself, your past. I don’t care. Your actions, what you did last night, tell me enough about the kind of person you are.” It was true. Annie was sick and tired of being betrayed by people who, on the surface said all the right things, only for her to discover that they were all lies, an act, that the true person beneath was a monster. She knew the kind of person Shaw was on the inside. Someone who wasn’t caught up with their own vanity and ego. He was someone who cared. Someone who saw something wrong and had the balls to do something about it. Even if it meant risking their own safety. He was genuine. Authentic. Too many men these days were too precious, too wrapped up, too fake and tried to get you into bed the first chance they could. He was different.

  They walked some more. “I saw something a few nights ago, up there,” Annie said. “It may be nothing, just something strange.” In the distance the Ballard mansion sat vaulted on the cliffs, endless sky above.

  “You were up there? At night?”

  “I sometimes run at night,” Annie lied. “When I can’t slee
p.” She explained about the running trails that snaked up the hillside and how at times during the day she liked to walk the path along the cliff top. “You know in the two years I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen anyone from the Ballard family. I know they live up there but I’ve never actually seen them.”

  “So you went up there to take a look?” Shaw asked.

  “There’s no one up there. The house is closed for the summer break. They go away each year I’ve been told.”

  “But you saw something?”

  “Something,” Annie hesitated, “Lights in the sky, a strange sound, I thought I saw an object in the sky. Whatever it was it came from the roof of the house, then headed out over the edge of the cliffs and flew out to sea.”

  “Flew?”

  Annie nodded.

  Shaw looked at the mansion. It looked dark and still, no movement, just a few gulls circling in the breeze overhead. “Let’s take a look.”

  “It’s probably nothing,” Annie said.

  “I’d still like to take a look,” Shaw replied. “But first I want to have a taste of what I missed out on last night.”

  They sat on the deck at a small table with two fold out chairs with the sun, surf and sand framing the view. Annie had reheated the pasta and sauce from last night and had grated fresh parmesan over it. Shaw hadn’t eaten since late yesterday afternoon and he wasn’t going to eat the food they brought him in the holding cell this morning. Usually he could run all day on just coffee if he’d eaten breakfast.

  “This tastes amazing,” Shaw said as he ate. “What can you tell me about the Ballards?”

  Annie sat across from him, a stack of notes next to her coffee cup. “Husband and wife, two teenage kids. I don’t know much about them. Like I said, I’ve never really seen them and I couldn’t find anything about the family when I searched. But I did find something interesting about Moors Island.” Annie read from her notes. “There used to be an old cabin on the island. There was a fire though, it was burned to the ground thirty years ago.” Annie looked up from her notes. “Police suspect that it was deliberately lit. The place was empty, just an old shack really from the old photos I managed to dig up.”