False Justice Read online

  False Justice

  A Jessie Black Legal Thriller

  Larry A. Winters

  Copyright © 2018 by Larry A. Winters

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Newsletter Signup

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Silenced Witness (Jessie Black Legal Thrillers, Book 4)

  Books by Larry A. Winters

  About the Author

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  —Larry A. Winters

  1

  As a prosecutor, Jessie Black usually viewed defense attorneys as the enemy, but today, looking across the courtroom at Randal Barnes, she couldn’t help feeling a pang of sympathy. The lawyer was leaning over sideways from his seat at the defense table, rummaging through an overstuffed attaché case, apparently searching for the right file amid of mess of other ones. His suit was wrinkled, his tie half-undone, and his hair stuck up in random clumps. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot.

  The judge cleared his throat. “Mr. Barnes?”

  “Sorry, Your Honor!” Barnes shot to his feet, knocking over his attaché case and spilling papers onto the floor. “I’m trying to find my notes.”

  Beside him at the defense table, Barnes’s client, an overweight Latino man named Tomas Alvarez, closed his eyes and silently mouthed words. Maybe a prayer, Jessie thought. More likely a curse.

  “You’re the one who requested this hearing,” the judge said.

  Barnes’s ears turned red. “Yes, Your Honor. And I’m prepared, but—”

  “Apparently not. Let me refresh your memory.” The judge looked down at his own papers. “You submitted a motion seeking a one-month continuance on the basis that you need additional time to prepare for trial due to other cases preventing you from devoting the necessary time.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. That’s correct.” Barnes made a fumbling attempt to straighten his tie, then dropped his hands to his sides. “It’s just bad timing, Judge,” he went on in a weakened voice. “I’ve got a bunch of trials hitting at the same time. I’m stretched too thin.”

  The judge waved his hand dismissively. “Ms. Black, does the Commonwealth oppose?”

  Jessie had spent the past four weeks gearing up for Alvarez’s trial. Her opening statement was memorized. Her witnesses were ready to testify. And the victim’s family was ready to endure the trial and hopefully find closure in a guilty verdict. But motions for continuance were commonplace, and, in this case, Barnes’s seemed justified. Tomas Alvarez might be a murderer—Jessie was certain he was—but he was still entitled to a vigorous defense.

  “No, Your Honor,” she said.

  The judge nodded. “The defense’s motion is granted. Trial will be postponed one month. Mr. Barnes, I expect you will manage your calendar accordingly so that there are no further delays.”

  “Absolutely, Your Honor. Thank you.” Barnes let out a long breath. Alvarez just shook his head, looking disgusted.

  “The defendant will return to custody at the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility to await trial,” the judge said. He banged his gavel and dismissed them.

  Jessie gathered her files and headed out of the courtroom. With the Alvarez trial postponed, she had some unexpected free time on her hands. She’d have to talk to Leary. Maybe they could pull off a last-minute vacation together. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. She touched the button for the lobby.

  “Hold that?”

  She looked up and saw Barnes running toward the elevator. She kept the doors open for him. He stopped at her side, breathing heavily. Maybe I’m not the one who needs a vacation.

  “You okay, Randal?” The elevator doors slid closed and they descended.

  “Me?” He looked surprised by the question. “I’m great.” He smiled at his own reflection in the metal elevator doors and tugged the lapels of his suit jacket. “Thanks, by the way. You really helped me in there.”

  “I know what it’s like working hard on too many cases at once.”

  Barnes laughed. “Working hard or hardly working?” When she didn’t join in his laughter, he looked at her quizzically. “You know that stuff about my workload was bullshit, right? I used it because I knew old Judge Bobblehead in there wouldn’t risk violating Alvarez’s Sixth Amendment right to counsel.” He smoothed his hair into place and fixed his tie.

  Had he played her? Jessie tried to think of a meaningful advantage Barnes might gain through a one-month continuance of the trial, but nothing significant came to mind. “If you’re not really overloaded, why ask for a continuance?”

  “Bills, Jessie.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Alvarez is my client, but the checks come from his mama. They’re supposed to come, anyway. She’s late. You know the best way to get a mother to pay? You throw her beloved baby boy’s fat ass back in jail for a month, and let her know you won’t hesitate to do it again.”

  “You asked for a continuance so you could extort his mother?” Jessie felt a tightness in her chest.

  “He’s been crying to her every chance he gets. About how the guards beat him. The other inmates beat him. His cell mate hit him so hard he spent a night in the infirmary.”

  “And instead of trying to help, you extend his suffering?”

  “She’ll pay up now. With interest.”

  Jessie shook her head and turned away from him.

  “Don’t act all indignant,” he said. “I do the work. I’m entitled to my fee.”

  “It’s unethical.”

  “He’s a scumbag.”

  “He’s your client.”

  “According to you, he’s a murderer. You want to put him in prison for life, right? What does one more
month matter?”

  “For one thing, he hasn’t been found guilty yet. Is this a trick your old boss taught you?” She knew Barnes used to work for Noah Snyder, a Philly-area lawyer not known for his ethical exactness.

  “Learn from the best.”

  “Noah Snyder is not the best. He’s not the lawyer you want to emulate.”

  “I’ve been doing pretty well for myself so far.”

  The elevator doors opened. Barnes stepped forward, but Jessie caught his arm. “What you did today was wrong, Randal. You have a duty to advocate for your client. Acting against his interests to put pressure on his mother so you can get paid…. I don’t know what Noah Snyder taught you, but that’s not how the legal system works.”

  Barnes looked at her with an expression that seemed to teeter between amusement and disappointment. “Jessie, that’s exactly how the legal system works.”

  Barnes strolled out of the elevator. “I have a meeting with a certain mother and her checkbook. See you in a month.”

  2

  Jessie watched Barnes weave his way through the courthouse lobby. The Criminal Justice Center was crowded as usual, and she lost sight of him within seconds. Sighing, she stepped out of the elevator and into the noisy chaos.

  The sick feeling in her stomach had not dissipated, and she was surprised by its visceral intensity. His attitude had affected her more strongly than she could explain. When she’d woken this morning, she’d known Barnes’s motion to postpone the Alvarez trial would probably be granted, but she’d felt happy and optimistic anyway. Now, after an elevator conversation that could not have been more than a minute long, she seemed filled with a dark feeling of gloom.

  Shake it off, Jessie.

  So Barnes had misused the system. Why should that bother her to this extent? There were always lawyers who behaved unethically. Despite what Barnes might believe, most did not. Barnes was the minority. Overall, justice prevailed. She’d seen it firsthand throughout her career.

  “Jessie?”

  Lost in her thoughts, Jessie almost didn't notice a woman wending her way through the crowd in her direction. Recognizing her, Jessie felt her melancholy vanish in an instant. She smiled. “Kelly?”

  All thoughts of Randal Barnes fled from her mind, replaced with warm memories. She had not seen Kelly Lee in what—ten years? Probably not since the day they’d both graduated from Penn Law. Kelly hadn’t changed at all. Same petite frame, long black hair, expressive eyes. It wasn’t until Kelly reached her that Jessie realized she was not smiling back. She looked upset.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I was hoping to find you here,” Kelly said. “You're probably busy, but—”

  “Actually, my trial just got postponed.”

  Kelly's gaze seemed to scan the crowded lobby, as if watching for someone. “Your office told me you were in court today, so I came here. I … I don't know who else to talk to at this point.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  “An attorney conference room?” Jessie said. Each courtroom had a small attorney conference room outside of it, for use by lawyers and witnesses, family members, clients, and others. When Kelly nodded, Jessie ushered her into the elevator and they went to the conference room outside the now-vacant courtroom where Barnes had been granted his continuance.

  Jessie gestured at one of the metal chairs, then took a seat in the other one. The table between them was mottled with stains, its edges dulled by many nervous hands. The air had an unpleasant odor, as if the room had trapped someone's bad breath. But Kelly barely seemed to notice their surroundings.

  “It's been so long, but I feel like we were in class together yesterday,” Jessie said.

  With a wistful smile, Kelly said, “You look great.”

  “You, too.”

  Kelly looked around. Her nose wrinkled as she finally seemed to take in their squalid surroundings. “Back when we were studying for our Contracts exam, I never would have imagined you working for the city as a homicide prosecutor.”

  “I didn't think you'd become a personal injury lawyer.”

  Jessie immediately regretted the comment. She knew Kelly’s area of the law was considered shabby in many circles. People—even other lawyers (maybe especially other lawyers)—mocked personal injury lawyers with derogatory names. Ambulance chasers. Bottom feeders. But if Kelly was offended, she didn’t show it.

  “I wanted to run my own firm. I have an entrepreneurial spirit, I guess.”

  “That's really impressive. I don't think I could do that—strike out on my own like that.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.” Kelly looked down at her hands, and Jessie noticed the woman's fingernails were ragged, chewed. “Remember how worried you were about our Contracts final? And you aced it.”

  “I do remember that.”

  “I doubt there’s anything you couldn’t do if you put your mind to it.”

  “Kelly, tell me what’s going on.”

  Kelly seemed to hesitate. “I think someone wants to hurt me.”

  “Have you gone to the police?” Jessie felt a bolt of adrenaline.

  “Yes. They told me there’s nothing they can do. Not unless someone makes an overt threat, or actually tries to harm me. Just the feeling that I'm being followed around, that's not enough for them to act on, apparently. And besides that, you probably know about….” She looked away and her voice trailed off.

  Jessie leaned forward. “I probably know about what?”

  Kelly shook her head. “Nothing. I'm sure the police are just following protocol. They can’t spend all their time and resources protecting every person who feels threatened. I understand that.”

  “Why do you feel threatened?” Jessie said.

  “I’m working on something big. A case that could cost some rich people a lot of money. Maybe worse.” She paused and seemed to study Jessie, as if deciding whether to trust her.

  “You came to me, Kelly. If you don’t tell me what’s going on, how can I help you?”

  Kelly took a deep breath. “About a month ago, a husband and wife came to my office. Parents. They'd just lost their two-year-old son. They were grief stricken, but also angry. One day he was a normal toddler, and the next he was struggling to breathe. They took him to their pediatrician, who diagnosed him with restrictive airway disorder—it’s common, usually a minor condition for kids. The pediatrician prescribed an inhaler. But the same night after visiting the pediatrician, he suffocated in his sleep and died. Acute respiratory failure.”

  “That's awful.”

  “I hear a lot of awful stories in my line of work. I guess you do, too.”

  Jessie nodded.

  “The parents wanted to hire me to pursue a med-mal claim against the pediatrician. They believed their son's death had been unnecessary, that the doctor caused it by failing to properly diagnose his condition. I agreed to look into the claim.” She ran her fingertip along a rough line of graffiti someone had gouged in the table’s surface. “The way I work usually is that I will consult with a trusted expert to see if a claim has validity. If it does, I will usually take a case on a contingency basis. If I win, I get a percentage of the damages or settlement awarded to my client. Usually one-third. If I lose, I bill nothing. That's my risk.” She looked up at Jessie. “The parents were okay with this and agreed to wait for me to look into the claim and get back to them. I know a doctor, an MD, PhD. Great expert witness. I brought him the information and the file on the case.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Not what I expected.”

  “The pediatrician didn’t screw up the diagnosis?”

  “Oh, he did, but that was the least of it. My guy’s findings suggested that the condition itself had been brought on by exposure to excessive levels of formaldehyde. He proposed examining the family's living area to try to identify the source. We found it. A toy called Dinowarrior—it was a popular gift for boys last Christmas
. The toy tested extremely high for levels of formaldehyde. The parents confirmed that the toy had been their son's favorite gift and that he'd been inseparable from it. That toy killed him.”

  Jessie suppressed a shiver. “So the parents have a claim against the toy manufacturer?”

  “Potentially huge,” Kelly said. “We filed a complaint against the company and a motion to certify the case as a class action.”

  “How many of these toys were sold?”

  “Thousands."

  In her head, Jessie put the pieces of Kelly’s story together. “Someone from the company threatened you?”

  “Not exactly. But … I don't know. It’s like I'm being followed. Like someone is watching me. I feel like someone wants to do me harm.”

  “Kelly, you’re not giving me much to work with here.”

  She hesitated. “I can tell you the toy company is Boffo Products Corporation. They’re big, but they started as a local company. Their headquarters is still based right outside of Philly.”

  “And the name of the family who lost their son?”

  Kelly hesitated again. “Rowland.”

  “I can understand this Boffo company fighting you in court, but to come after you personally? That seems unlikely, doesn't it?”

  Kelly brought a hand to her face and gnawed on the nail of her index finger. She seemed to realize she was doing it and stopped, intertwining her fingers on the table instead. Jessie waited patiently.