False Justice Page 11

  “We’ll hold onto these, chief,” one of them said as he stuck Leary’s 9mm into his pocket. “Give it back to you when you leave.”

  Leary’s lips pulled back, showing his teeth, but he didn’t object.

  Baseball cap was taking his time running his hands along Jessie’s torso. “I’m not armed.” She jerked away from him.

  “You better come with us,” Spiderweb said. All four of the men wore jeans, sleeveless T-shirts, and heavy-looking boots. They marched her, Leary, and Graham into the building.

  The light inside the building was low. There was a table, some chairs—wooden furniture that looked finely crafted but misused. Empty beer bottles were scattered on the table’s surface. A man sat in one of the chairs. He had a shock of white hair and a matching beard. He stared at the visitors with intense eyes as Spiderweb, Baseball Cap, and the other two bikers marched them into the room.

  A wet snoring sound drew Jessie’s attention to the corner of the room, where a dog sprawled on the floor. It was a huge Rottweiler, with a thick padding of muscles beneath its black fur. Its eyes were closed and it breathed heavily in its sleep. Even asleep, it brought out a primitive survival response in Jessie. She felt her heart rate jack up and found it difficult to take her eyes off the animal.

  “Who are our unexpected visitors?” the white-haired man said.

  “This one says she’s with the Philly DA,” Spiderweb said. “The other two were carrying, Ray.”

  “That right?” The white-haired man rose fluidly from his chair. Like his underlings, he wore jeans and boots, but where they wore sleeveless T-shirts, he wore a neat button-down shirt with a collar, tucked in. He pulled a pair of glasses from the chest pocket of his shirt and pushed them onto his nose. Peering at her through the lenses, he looked more like a college professor than the ruthless criminal she knew he was.

  “You’re Ray Briscoe,” Jessie said.

  “This is a private club. What do you want?”

  Leary let out a forced-sounding laugh. “Looks more like a barn than a club.”

  Ray Briscoe’s mouth stretched in a tight line, but he didn’t respond to Leary, or even acknowledge him. He kept his gaze on Jessie.

  “We were hoping to speak with your daughter,” she said.

  “Vicki’s not here.”

  Jessie could not discern if he was telling her the truth. She’d known when she decided to make the trip that it might be for nothing, that Vicki Briscoe might be somewhere else. But she had decided to take a chance, mostly because she didn’t have any better ideas about where to find the woman. “Can you tell me how to get in touch with her? Do you have her phone number?”

  “I have her phone number. I’m not giving it to you. As I said, this is a private club. We’re also a private family.”

  The four men surrounding them closed in, and Jessie braced herself to be forcibly ejected from the premises. “Wait a second,” she said. “We’re not here as your enemies. We need Vicki Briscoe’s help.”

  Ray Briscoe turned his back on her and walked away. Spiderweb and Baseball Cap began to guide her toward the door. The other men ushered Leary and Graham in the same direction. In the corner, the dog stirred but did not wake.

  “We’re not ready to leave,” Graham said.

  Baseball Cap glared at her. “Boss says you are.”

  Graham rounded on him. “He’s not my boss.”

  “We just want to contact Vicki Briscoe,” Leary said.

  Jessie heard a low moan. Her gaze flew to the Rottweiler, but the dog had not moved. The sound came a second time. A human moan. Coming through the wall.

  “Who is that?” Jessie said.

  Spiderweb jerked her toward the door. “Like the boss said, private club.”

  The sound came a third time—between a groan and a whimper. Jessie heard pain. She broke free of the men, hurried past Ray Briscoe and the sleeping dog.

  Ray Briscoe reached for her. She felt his fingers brush her shoulder as she passed him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  There was a door on the far side of the room. She opened it and found a hallway, narrow and dimly lit. Another groan reached her, closer now. She stepped into the hallway.

  “Jessie, wait!” It was Leary’s voice, cut short. She glanced back, glimpsed the bikers closing around Leary and Graham, saw Ray Briscoe coming after her. She hurried down the hallway.

  “Get back here!” Ray Briscoe’s voice. Close behind her.

  Jessie stopped in front of another door. The moans were coming from here. She opened it.

  Bright light stung her eyes. She blinked, adjusting to the sudden brightness.

  What she saw in the glaring clarity of the ceiling lamps made her legs weaken—monitors and stands, a plastic tarp stretched across the floor, and a bloody man on a wheeled hospital bed.

  A figure dressed in scrubs and a mask, long red hair tied back and partially covered by a surgical cap, a scalpel gripped in one gloved hand. Blood dripped from the blade. On the bed, the man groaned again. There was a deep incision in his left leg. In a dish beside the bed, metal fragments lay on a blood-soaked paper towel. Jessie felt nausea rush up her throat.

  “This is a sterile room!” Vicki Briscoe said through the mask. Her eyes were livid.

  From behind Jessie, strong arms pulled her away.

  Ray Briscoe threw her into the hallway and kicked the door shut behind them. Jessie looked up into his rage-filled eyes, so similar to his daughter’s.

  “I told you to leave,” he said. “Now you can’t.”

  24

  Jessie’s heart slammed in her chest. Everything seemed to be moving too quickly. What had she just seen in that room before Ray Briscoe had yanked her out? Blood. Monitors. Scalpel. A makeshift operating room. Vicki Briscoe had been removing something metal—shrapnel or bullet fragments—from a man’s leg. She was performing surgery. In a run-down building in the middle of Amish country. Without a medical license.

  “Let go of me,” Jessie said. She fought to free herself, but Ray Briscoe’s grip was unyielding. The narrow hallway—dark after the brightness of the operating room—seemed to close in around her.

  “Shut up.” His voice came from just behind her right ear. She felt the bristles of his beard touch her neck. His hands tightened on her shoulders and he propelled her roughly forward. She dug in her heels and tried to resist, but he was too strong. She had to walk—her legs unsteady with fear—to avoid falling.

  He was forcing her in the wrong direction, away from the building’s front door. Where were Leary and Graham?

  Ray Briscoe pushed her into a small room at the end of the hall. Inside, Leary and Graham sat in chairs, while the bikers she thought of as Spiderweb and Baseball Cap loomed over them. The other two thugs hovered near the door. Ray Briscoe indicated an empty chair beside Leary and Graham. When Jessie didn’t move, he shoved her into the seat.

  Fear thrummed through her. “What are we doing in here?” She tried to sound fearless, but there was a waver in her voice that she could not suppress. “I am an assistant district attorney. Think about what you’re doing.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned that.” Ray Briscoe turned to the two men at the door. “Any of them move, shoot them.” Then he left.

  Even though they were far from safe, Jessie felt a rush of relief with Ray Briscoe out of the room. A shuddering breath escaped from her lungs. She looked at Leary and Graham. “Are you guys okay?”

  “What’s going on?” Leary said. “It sounded like someone was moaning.”

  Jessie glanced at the four bikers who were watching over them. “Maybe it’s better for you if you don’t know.”

  Graham’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever you saw—”

  The door opened and Ray Briscoe returned. His eyes seemed to simmer with pent-up violence. He breathed, air whistling through his nostrils. “Vicki says she’ll talk to you.”

  “Great,” Leary said.

  He started to rise. Ray Briscoe lunged forward and thrust
him back into his chair. Leary flashed his teeth and looked like he might strike the man, but Spiderweb stepped between them and aimed a nasty-looking revolver at Leary’s face. “Careful, boy.”

  “Not you,” Ray Briscoe said. He glared at Jessie. “Miss Assistant DA. She’ll talk to you only. Alone.”

  “No fucking way,” Leary said.

  Spiderweb smacked the side of his gun against Leary’s head.

  “No!” Jessie reached toward Leary, but Baseball Cap grabbed her and held her back. Leary had been knocked halfway out of his chair, almost into Graham’s lap. The blow didn’t look hard enough to cause major damage, but it did break the skin. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face. He righted himself and his gaze found Jessie’s.

  “We should stay together,” Leary said through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, you can,” Ray Briscoe said. “I won’t break up the band. But if you insist on staying together, you’ll be leaving together without seeing my daughter.”

  Jessie ignored the man and kept her focus on Leary. “It’s okay, Mark. I can do this.”

  “Jessie, think about this,” Graham said. “The last time—”

  “I’ll be fine,” she snapped.

  She didn’t want to think about the last time she’d encountered Vicki Briscoe. Her arm ached at the memory, and she felt a cold feeling in her stomach. She had hoped to come here as a peaceful visitor seeking advice and assistance, but Ray Briscoe and his thugs had turned the scenario upside down, making her an intruder and a witness to criminal activity. How would Vicki Briscoe react to that? Only one way to find out.

  She turned to Ray Briscoe. “Take me to see her.”

  Ray Briscoe gestured for her to get up, then they exited the room and entered the dark hallway again. He led her to another door and opened it, revealing what looked like a storeroom, with boxes piled against the walls and a card table with two folding chairs in the middle of the room. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling. Ray Briscoe yanked its chain with a hard jerk, and a wan light washed over the table.

  “Vicki’s very quick in the OR. Sit.” Jessie watched the man’s face soften. For a second, his expression reminded her of her own father on the day she graduated from law school. Then the moment passed and the hardness in his gaze returned. There was a knock on the door. “Here she is.”

  Vicki Briscoe still wore blood-streaked scrubs, but she had removed her gloves, mask, and cap, and her red hair was in disarray. Her gaze fell on Jessie as she entered the room. “Give us some privacy, Dad.”

  He gave his daughter a meaningful look. “She’s an assistant DA.”

  “I know that.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “I won’t.”

  The father and daughter stared at each other for a second. Then Ray Briscoe nodded and left the room. As soon as he was gone, Vicki Briscoe locked the door after him and turned her attention to Jessie. Jessie rose from her chair, not wanting to be sitting while Vicki loomed over her. That would be too much like their encounter in her apartment.

  “Vicki—”

  “I thought I warned you to stay away from me.”

  “You did.”

  “But here you are. In my home.”

  Jessie almost pointed out the irony, but thought better of it. Besides, she’d just learned an interesting piece of information. “You live here? With your father and his gang?”

  Briscoe looked away, almost with shame. “It’s temporary. Tough to pay rent when you don’t have a job.”

  “It looked like you were working a few minutes ago.”

  Vicki’s eyes flashed. “You didn’t see anything.”

  “Alright,” Jessie said evenly. “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “It’s about Kelly Lee.”

  “You still think I had something to do with her car accident?”

  “No. You said you didn’t and I’m taking your word for that.”

  “And yet you brought cops.” Briscoe arched an eyebrow.

  “Those are my friends. They’re here to make sure I don’t get hurt.”

  “That makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.”

  “I think I know who the person is who’s really behind Kelly’s death, but I can’t prove it. He’s smart. He was careful. He covered his tracks.”

  Briscoe shrugged. “Oh well.”

  “But there’s one thing he didn’t know about, couldn't have prepared for.”

  Vicki’s expression was quizzical. “And what’s that?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “You told me you were stalking Kelly during the days leading up to her death. Her killer didn’t know that. I’m hoping you saw something that might help us prove he killed her.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know yet. But if we reconstruct the events leading up to her death, maybe—”

  “Why would I help you? That woman ruined my life.”

  Jessie had anticipated this challenge, had rehearsed her response in her mind during the drive out here—but even so, she hesitated now.

  “Why?” Briscoe repeated. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You were right about Kelly,” Jessie said. “At least partly. A lot of her lawsuits were … questionable.”

  “Shady,” Briscoe said.

  “Yes. It looks like she manipulated the legal system, profited by finding the point at which it made more financial sense for a defendant to settle than to fight, even when the defendant had done nothing wrong.”

  “Like me.”

  Jessie had no way of knowing whether the medical malpractice claim that had cost Vicki Briscoe her career had been justified or bogus. “If you help me, I’ll help you. I’ll do whatever I can to convince the medical board to reverse its decision and reinstate your medical license.”

  “I already talked to lawyers, explored my options. There was nothing they could do. Why would you be any different?”

  Jessie felt her back straighten. “For one thing, I’m a respected member of the DA’s Office. For another, I’m a damn good lawyer.”

  Briscoe scoffed, but Jessie saw a familiar look in her eyes. Hope.

  “Vicki,” Jessie said, “what do you have to lose?”

  25

  Warren Williams was working in his office when Judge Cynthia Dax swept into the room, looking around at the piles of documents with her nose wrinkled in distaste.

  He let out a sigh. First the anger of the police department. Then the complaints from Douglas Shaw. Now a decorated judge. He wondered just how bad this political disaster was going to get. Real bad, unless Jessie came through with evidence to back up their meddling in the accident investigation.

  Judge Dax was more striking in appearance than Warren had expected—far from the typical dowdy judges he’d become used to. Dax was slim, athletic looking, with long blonde hair—streaked with gray, but still youthful looking—and pretty features. She entered his office as if she owned the place and his usual messy working conditions were an affront to her. She lifted a stack of papers off one of his visitor chairs and transferred it to a clear spot on the floor. Then she sat down and crossed her legs primly.

  “I don’t know how you can function in an environment like this.”

  He rocked backward, eliciting a squeal from his chair. “It works for me.”

  “Does it?” the judge said dubiously.

  Warren suddenly wished he’d had a solid night’s sleep. His brain felt fuzzy, and he needed every brain cell functioning at peak performance. “Is there something I can help you with, Your Honor?”

  “Your office has been overstepping its bounds of late. Specifically, one of your prosecutors, Jessica Black. She harassed me at my courthouse, and has been making slanderous accusations against one of the parties in a trial over which I am presiding. I want her stopped immediately.”

  “It sounds to me like you’re the one making accusations. Slander is a pretty seriou
s word to throw around about one of the Commonwealth’s strongest prosecutors.”

  Dax’s expression shifted. Apparently, she had not expected any resistance from him. Warren let himself smile on the inside. He knew he had a reputation as a political toady. While it often irked his pride, it was sometimes valuable to be underestimated—especially by a player like Judge Dax.

  She recovered her composure quickly. “If Jessica Black is one of your strongest prosecutors, maybe the DA’s Office needs a better homicide chief.”

  “So now I’m the one you’re complaining about?”

  Warren had dealt with people like Cynthia Dax before—complainers who were never satisfied and who viewed everyone who was not their advocate as their enemy. He would have liked nothing more than to throw her out of here. But it wasn’t as easy as lifting his phone and having her removed from his sight. Dax was a judge, and a politically connected one at that. Warren’s job was largely political. Every action he took needed to be weighed for its political consequences—consequences to him, to the District Attorney of Philadelphia, Jesus Rivera, and to the DA’s Office. He folded his hands in front of him.

  “Why don’t you tell me what Jessie Black said that upset you?”

  “I’m not upset, Warren. I am offended and annoyed. Your prosecutor has attempted to insert herself in the Rowland case. That’s not acceptable.”

  “That sounds kind of tenuous.” Warren felt a wave of relief that he hoped didn’t show on his face. At least Jessie hadn’t made any overt move against the judge.

  “When I’m done, the only thing that will be tenuous is your future.”

  “What are you suggesting that I do to help you, Judge Dax?”

  “For now, make Black stand down. I don’t ever want to see that woman again, or hear her voice. Get her off my back.”

  “No problem. I understand Noah Snyder is representing the Rowlands now. Jessie is no longer involved in the case.”