The Crimson Trial Read online

  “Thank you for letting me know. Nicola Malone will be in contact with your office shortly for copies of your evidence.” I replied with icy formality.

  “And if you are foolish enough to take this to trial, you’ll regret it. Your past in Los Angeles isn’t as well hidden as you think.”

  Chapter 5

  I hung up as I heard her draw breath to say something else. I wasn’t going to play her games. Los Angeles. I thought I had covered my tracks, thought that Everwood was far enough from my old life that no one would trace me. What does she know? I had to put it from my mind for now. A confrontation with Elaine Halden would gain nothing except to convince her that she was onto something. Whatever she has it can’t be much. She’s fishing for a reaction. I took a deep breath as I put away the phone.

  I had a case, a client to defend. That had to be my sole focus. Besides, there’s only one other person in the world who knows the truth. And he wouldn’t have talked. I forced Halden’s threats to the back of my mind. The drama of Debbie Summer’s outburst was subsiding. Kevin had appeared at reception, consoling Carole and filling the room with his personality as usual. Alexander hovered like a wraith.

  I hurried back to my office to get my briefcase, then slipped out onto Mason Street and texted Nic as I walked to the company parking lot around the corner. Having decided on a course of action, I didn’t want to be delayed giving an unnecessary account of what had happened. Carole and Nic were more than capable. While on the road heading out of town, I made a call to the office of the Governor of the Stone.

  I was connected to a bored sounding officer in the Visitor Liaison department. When I asked after Hunter’s health, I got, he’s fine. When I asked for a visitation to consult with my client, I got, the chief will have clear that. I lost my temper.

  “Officer, I know that you have protocols to work to and your Chief may be a real hardass. But believe me, he’s nothing compared to me. Now, my client has the right to legal representation and if you make it difficult for me to see him, I’ll make sure the DA knows that you are the one responsible for a motion to declare a mistrial for violation of access to counsel. You. Personally.”

  I lashed out with venom, unwilling to be pushed around by a bureaucrat who either didn’t know his job or was too afraid of his bosses to do it properly. The words of the DA were still fresh in my mind too, despite my attempts to bury them. That added fuel to the fire. He didn’t argue, gruffly acknowledging my appointment with Hunter Watson. I hung up.

  The Stone was north of town, on the other side of the Holland Hills. Lake Drive wove through the hills out of town, passing the reservoir and climbing through a steep sided wooded gorge before descending. It took almost an hour to reach the prison once I was on the freeway. I drove too fast, a failing I had to remind myself of whenever Bryan was in the car. I didn’t want him thinking it was OK. But when I was alone, I couldn’t help it. Like I’m still running, even now.

  The state pen loomed out in the distance. It was dark gray, composed of tall, multistory concrete buildings, dotted with hundreds of identical, small barred windows. Five buildings were visible, arranged in a circle like the petals of a flower. Tall razor wire-topped fencing bordered the prison, several layers of it. I could see armed officers in guard towers around the fencing. A white, concrete wall was the final barrier, enclosing the buildings and the grounds. I could see men at work painting that wall, officers armed with rifles standing guard over them as they worked.

  Security clearances felt like they took longer than the journey. It was just my impatience, though I did wonder if I was being paid back for putting the Visitor Liaison officer in his place. Eventually I was seated in an empty side room off the main visiting hall. There was a table and two chairs, no windows and a strip light overhead. The room smelled of disinfectant and the tiled floor was wet. I dumped bags of chips, candy and a couple of soda cans on the table, obtained from vending machines in the hall.

  Hunter was brought into the room with his hands and feet cuffed. I stood as the guard unshackled him.

  “You want me to stay in the room, ma’am?” He asked diffidently.

  “No, thank you.” I replied.

  Hunter was tall and broad. His head was shaved and he had a thick growth of beard on his cheeks and chin. His cheeks were sunken, eyes red and blood shot. I noticed the faint tremor in his arms as he sat. He tried to hide it by folding his arms, lifting his chin in a show of arrogance. But I could read his eyes. He was in pain and I knew from what.

  “Hunter. My name is Laura Jones. I’m your attorney.”

  “I fired my attorney.” He shot back.

  “Your family hired another one.” I replied, meeting his gaze and not looking away.

  “My family? They can’t afford no attorney.”

  “We were retained on your family’s behalf by a charity that specializes in ensuring people from deprived backgrounds are not deprived of their constitutional rights.”

  “Well, if you’re gonna tell me how I need to plead guilty and try for…”

  “Let’s put aside your prejudice against lawyers, shall we?” I interrupted. I wanted to get to the truth, to the real man. To do that, I would need to drive a bulldozer through the thick shell he was hiding behind. “I’m here to get your account of what happened. You’re innocent, right?”

  He didn’t like being talked over. Maybe the fact that I was a woman made it worse. “Hell, fucking yes, I’m innocent! I’m also a drug addict, an ex-con with a history of violent behavior. And let’s not forget my skin color either.” He spat his words.

  “Hard to ignore.” I commented, leaning forward, hands clasped in front of me. “And I’m well aware you’re an addict. I can see that even if the media hadn’t proclaimed the fact. I know what an addict looks like. How long has it been since you got well? Long enough to get the shivers. Cold turkey is a bitch, ain’t it?”

  I allowed myself to slip into my native SoCal accent. Give him a glimpse behind the professional exterior. It worked. He sat back, eyes narrowing like he was seeing me anew.

  “I know all about your record.” I didn’t. I hadn’t take the time to examine it yet and knew only what had been reported. But I wanted him to see his attorney as being as close to omniscient as possible. “And you wouldn’t be acting like such a little bitch if you didn’t believe you were innocent. Have I missed anything?” I tilted my head to one side, examining him critically, layering scorn into my tone.

  He breathed heavily through his nose, clenching wide fingers into an even wider fist. He closed his eyes and I could almost hear him counting in his head. Classic anger management. Then he was on his feet. With one move he swept the refreshments off the table. His hand slammed down flat on the tabletop as he lifted the other in a fist and swung at my face.

  Chapter 6

  For a moment I was back in Skid Row, Los Angeles. My father was drunk again and coming for my mother. A skinny, underfed twelve year old was standing between them, teeth bared and ready for a fight. Hunter’s fist was a foot from my unmoving face. I hadn’t looked away from his eyes. I hadn’t flinched. I’d learned a long time ago that when pain was coming, running from it only made it worse.

  “Done?” I asked sharply, reaching for my briefcase and standing.

  Hunter was still looming over my now empty chair, still with his fist raised. He blinked, mouth opening and no words coming out. His threat was empty and we both knew it. The guard outside would be checking on us regularly. He would be through the door in a heartbeat if I raised my voice, let along screamed.

  “I have a one hundred per cent record in jury trials and I’ve defended three clients facing murder charges. In case you need it spelled out, that means they were all acquitted. If you don’t want me representing you then frankly, fuck you. I don’t need you Hunter.”

  I made for the door.

  “Wait! I’m sorry.” The words sounded dragged from him.

  I stopped with one hand on the door handle. Through the
barred window in the middle of the door, I could see the guard who had brought Hunter in. He lifted his keys and I held up a hand.

  “If I’m going to defend you, I need full and frank disclosure from you. Cut the BS and cut the attitude. I’m on your side. Deal?”

  “Yeah.” Hunter said wearily.

  I shook my head to the guard outside and he tapped his forehead with his fingers in salute, settling back into a chair. I returned to my seat, putting the briefcase back down beside me and unbuttoning my jacket. I took out a yellow legal pad and a pencil.

  “Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me what happened.” I instructed.

  Hunter grabbed at several packets of chips, moving compulsively. He tore them open and emptied them on the table.

  “Take a soda. The sugar will help with the withdrawal.” I said, pointing to a Coke that had rolled to a stop beside his chair. “And I’ll have those Reeses if you’re offering.”

  “I wasn’t,” Hunter said around a mouthful of chips but he picked up the can and tossed the bag of peanut butter chocolate to me. “How do you know it helps?”

  “None of your business.” I told him. I didn’t know any such thing, I just wanted him to do something that I had told him to. It could have been anything. It was all part of achieving the right power dynamic. Hunter needed to put himself into my hands. If he was second guessing me or believing he could give me instructions, this would end in disaster for both of us. I have the power here Hunter.

  “Dr. Khan ran a clinic out of Hope Street in North Denny.”

  I knew the town, ten miles east of Everwood and dominated by the logging trade. A lot of deprivation existed in North Denny. Everwood had been growing closer to its poor neighbor over the last few years, as new developments expanded it east. Now, there was talk of combining the two to make a new city of Everwood-Denny or some such. This was opposed by almost everyone who lived in pretty, affluent Everwood.

  “He helps out people like me, who can’t afford healthcare or don’t got jobs. Runs a free clinic, gives out free prescriptions.”

  “I’d heard. The media have painted him to be a saint.”

  Hunter laughed. “Man, ain’t no fucking saint. No man is. He’s human like the rest of us.”

  I made a note, it sounded interesting but I didn’t want to sidetrack Hunter. “Were you one of his patients?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I was. I was using heroine. I wanted to get off it. He was gonna help me”

  “How?” I asked, making another note. He’s lying. I had nothing to base that instinct on but there were alarm bells going off in my head. Maybe it was a micro-facial expression. Or body language. Or his tone or choice of words. Something screamed liar and I wondered what the lie was.

  “I don’t know. A program. Or some medicine.” Hunter sounded exasperated.

  There it is. “You wanted him to give you drugs, didn’t you?” I said. “Not a program or a substitute. You thought he could score for you.”

  “Hey, what the fuck is this?” Hunter demanded. “You’re supposed to be my lawyer. You sound like the fucking cops!”

  “What led you to think Dr. Khan could supply you with something?” I demanded, ignoring the hostility. There was a tuning fork resonating inside me now, pinging away the sheer rightness of this line of questioning. There was something here and my mind was already skipping ahead to the potential avenues it would open up. If Khan was holding illegal drugs or even dealing, then his death could have been related.

  “I didn’t say that!” Hunter shot back.

  “You didn’t have to.” I replied. “If you thought you could score, then there would have been others thinking the same. Or wanting to put him out of business.”

  “OK, OK. Someone told me I could score from him. That he was holding. But he said no. Told me he could help get me off the drugs but that was it.”

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “You’re talking to a fucking drug addict. You think I know what day it is?” Hunter demanded. “I went to see him. He wouldn’t help. I left. I went back. Maybe once. Maybe twice.”

  I was beginning to see the problem. Hunter couldn’t account for his movements day by day. The police will have told him where he had been and he was in no position to say they were wrong.

  “Alright, Hunter. I see the problem. When did you attack Dr. Khan?” I asked.

  “What are you talking about?” He demanded. “Why would I attack him? He was gonna help me get straight.”

  “The attack was witnessed and captured on security video.” I told him, watching his reaction closely.

  He looked distressed, running a hand over his head repeatedly, a compulsive action. He muttered under his breath as though talking to himself. I caught the words.

  “Why would I do that? Why would I do that?”

  “What did you tell the police about that?” I asked.

  “I didn’t tell them nothing. I don’t even remember doing it.” He said plaintively. “They told me about it. They told me I done it. They told me I attacked the man and threatened to kill him.”

  I made another note. The world knew he had attacked Adil Khan. The footage had been carried on every network. But Hunter had no memory of the event. It proved nothing. All that mattered was his intent at the time and the grainy, black and white footage of him jumping Dr. Khan, bearing him to the ground and both hitting and kicking him, demonstrating the intent. But I wondered how much of his movements prior to the killing had been given to him by the police rather than recounted by himself.

  “Were you high when you found Dr. Khan’s body?”

  I took care to phrase it in terms of his account. It was important he knew I believed him. Do I? What have I heard that tells me he’s innocent?

  “No. I wasn’t.” Hunter looked down at the table, picking at the tabletop with one hand and rubbing his smooth scalp with the other.

  “Then what were you doing there?” I asked pointedly.

  “I told you. The man said he would help me. Get me straight.”

  “His clinic was closed. He was getting ready to go home.” I pointed out. “You had a reason for being there so late.”

  Hunter looked up at me. “To kill the man for drugs, right? That’s what you believe.”

  “Don’t tell me what I believe. I’m just trying to make sense of your account.”

  “How can you? I don’t make sense of it. I woke up. I don’t know what time it was. I don’t have a watch. Or a phone. I got nothing. I remember walking the streets. I was hungry. I was hurting, sick. You know? I needed something. And then I find myself at Hope Street, where he has his clinic, right? I sees a light go on and hear shots. I go in and there he is. Dead. There’s a gun on the floor next to him. Then I hear a noise, sounds like someone running. Then the door I came in through opens. I didn’t think, I just picked up the gun lying on the floor to protect myself. That’s all. But it’s the cops and I dropped it again like the thing was on fire. Because I know what happens if I don’t. You got it straight, lady? Even then they made sure they had plenty on me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They took the gun and put it in my hand, made me fire two more shots into the wall. Put residue on my hands.”

  His shivering was getting worse. He drained the last of the soda and looked around for another. There was sweat on his forehead. I frowned. There was something different in the account I had just heard compared to the coverage in the media.

  The light went on. There was a shot. Someone lying in wait? Someone waiting in the dark. Someone quick enough to aim, fire and kill the second the light goes on.

  “Hunter, I believe you.”

  Chapter 7

  The same guard who brought Hunter in, cuffed him and took him out again. He was a young man though built like a concrete wall. Close cropped, military style hair and a bull neck couldn’t hide a round and open face. He handed Hunter off to another guard and turned back to me as the prisoner was led away.

  “Ma
’am. I hope he behaved himself.”

  “He did, Officer…?” I found it useful to be on first name terms with people like this. A pair of friendly eyes in the big house is sometimes useful. Jenny’s advice.

  “Halloran, ma’am. Look. It’s not my place to say it but I know his family. In North Denny? It’s my hometown and I grew up a block away from the Watsons. If we’d been the same age, we’d have played basketball together. They’re a good family but they don’t have anything. No one does in that place.”

  “You’re vouching for him?” I asked, walking around the table. I paused, resting my hip against the table, calling attention to my figure. Nothing overt, just a bit of encouragement.

  “No, ma’am.” His eyes went the direction I wanted and then back to mine like a scalded cat. “But when he’s straight, he’s not a bad guy. I don’t think he’s a killer. He’s just messed up.”