Bill Harvey Collection

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “Settle down. We’re trying to help you.”

  Jonathon paced the room again, his fists clenched, unsure of what to do with his arms. His emotions were flowing from wanting to fight to needing to flee every few seconds. It was a roller coaster and not one that he was enjoying.

  “I’m sorry,” he eventually said, sitting back down. “It’s just… I didn’t expect this. I didn’t want this. I thought my life was getting back on track. I kicked the drugs. I’ve been clean for so long, I’ve worked so hard to stay clean, and now, this. This. I can’t handle it. I want a hit of heroin. That’s all I want right now.”

  “You won’t find it here.”

  “Sorry,” he replied. “I don’t really want the hit; it’s just all this stress. They’ll kill me in here if they think I’m a serial killer that’s killed a war vet. Yesterday, someone in the cell next to me was stabbed by the gangs in here. Seven times. All in the chest. If these gangs think I killed that vet, they’ll tear me apart. I’ll just be bait for them. You can’t let them charge me with those murders, Bill. You just can’t let it happen.”

  “I can’t stop it, Jonathon. They’re going in hard.”

  “But I’ll die if they charge me. I won’t last a week in here. I’ll be hunted and then stabbed to death. Even if I go into solitary, they’ll still find a way. They’ve got their own version of justice in here, and there isn’t a judge to deliver the verdict. Bill, if they charge me with those murders, I’m dead. And I don’t want to die in prison. I don’t want to die here.”

  “Then we have a fight on our hands.” Harvey placed his notepad back inside his briefcase, then closed it firmly. His attempt at testing Penny’s resolve had not provided the results he needed.

  Instead, it only added more pressure to his case.

  More urgency.

  Now, he was not only defending his brother, but he was also saving his life.

  “Please, Bill.” Jonathon leaned forward, the hopelessness in his eyes clear. “Don’t let me go down for this. Don’t let them hang me for this one. I didn’t kill anyone. You’ve got to believe me, Bill. Look in my eyes, you’ve got to believe me.”

  Harvey looked at his younger brother, desperate to be saved again.

  “I’m close, Jonathon. We’ll solve this. We’ll get the real killer.”

  But even Harvey was not convinced.

  And time was running out.

  Chapter 30

  Bill Harvey always wore his best suits to court.

  In court, he could change the future of the person sitting next to him.

  And if he made one wrong step, one wrong word, the prosecution would pounce and punish his team with all they had. If he made one wrong turn, it could send a person away for years, destroying their hopes and dreams.

  He loved that pressure.

  He thrived on it.

  Sitting opposite Bill Harvey was prosecutor William Clarke, a man with one of the city’s most powerful voices. In his spare time, Clarke provided voice-overs for motivational videos on the Internet and talked at schools about the path to success. The power of his voice alone could win a case.

  After they first met, Harvey was compelled to view one of the videos, and, surprisingly, he quite enjoyed it. It was a polished piece of work—great editing, strong voices, moving music. The rise and fall of emotion in the speech was powerful, gripping, and quite possibly, life-changing.

  But amongst all the melodrama, amongst all the sentiment, there was one line in the motivational video that stood out for Harvey: You can make mistakes, but never let a mistake define who you are.

  As a criminal defense attorney, that line was particularly moving for him.

  He had seen both sides of the story in the past—he had defended a teenage drug-dealer who went on to become the CEO of a charity organization, but also defended a petty thief who threw his life away and fell into a world of addiction, unable to accept his mistake.

  Never let a mistake define who you are.

  The words had been ringing through his head time and time again.

  Jonathon Harvey walked into the small courtroom, a guard on each side. He was desperate not to let his mistakes define who he was.

  Wearing an ill-fitting prison uniform, he looked like a man that was sorry for his mistakes, sorry for his past.

  For the arraignment hearing, Jonathon sat near Harvey, awaiting his fate. He was as pale as a ghost, as lost as a drifter, without control over what happened next.

  Judge Andrew Bayes sat at the head of the court, having spent the last forty years dedicated to law. His small frame and Harry Potter-esqe glasses made him look vulnerable, but Harvey knew better than that. Judge Bayes knew the law backward and wasn’t afraid to pull up anyone on even the slightest mistake.

  With a disinterested but firm voice, Judge Bayes read the charges against Jonathon Fredrick Harvey.

  “For the murder in the first degree of Gerard West, how do you plead?”

  Jonathon’s answer was quick and confident. “Not Guilty.”

  Harvey waited for the judge to continue reading the next seven murder charges, but nothing came.

  “The prosecution moves to deny bail,” William Clarke announced. “The defendant doesn’t have ties to this community, he’s a clear flight risk, and this was a particularly violent crime. The defendant would not only be a clear risk to the community if he was allowed to walk out of this courtroom, but he would also be at risk of fleeing the country, having traveled extensively to South America in the last ten years.”

  “Defense?”

  “We don’t agree. My client deserves the right to post bail. He’s pleading innocent of these charges, and it’s his right to have bail assessed.”

  Judge Bayes considered his thoughts for a while, reading the page of charges with pursed lips. “Bail is set at two million dollars.”

  The gavel slammed.

  Arraignment completed.

  Harvey looked across to his brother, whose eyes looked at the ground, accepting his fate behind bars. He wouldn’t be able to post bail. He wouldn’t be able to post bail at two hundred dollars, let alone two million.

  When he looked up, Harvey offered a reassuring nod. The request for bail denial was not unexpected, and nor was the high price of his release.

  Slowly, he packed up his briefcase as his younger sibling was transferred out of the courtroom. He remembered that gait, the way he walked. He watched it for years. During high school, Jonathon Harvey was an exciting quarterback prospect. Even at fourteen, there were college scouts at almost every one of his games. They all wanted a piece of the guy—he was hardworking, he came from good stock, and his vision on the field was outstanding.

  But that sort of pressure does something to a boy when they’re still developing. People either crumble or succeed under that pressure.

  Jonathon crumbled worse than most.

  “What’s it like defending your brother?” William Clarke asked as they began to exit the courtroom, shoulder to shoulder as more attorneys pushed past, ready to do their bit for the justice system.

  Harvey’s reply was blank. “Fun. What’s it like being the worst dressed man in L.A.?”

  “Ha!” Clarke laughed loudly. “You don’t like my tie?”

  “It’s not the tie; it’s the whole outfit. It looks like you walked into Gordon Gekko’s wardrobe and pulled out the pieces he didn’t want.”

  “Haha!” Clarke laughed again. “I can always trust you to make things personal. But I suppose it’s hard not to be personal when you’re defending your little bro. Don’t you worry that you’ll be blinded by the emotions?”

  “No. Aren’t you worried that you are chasing the wrong person for this murder?”

  “This murder, no. Others, maybe.” He shrugged, and the two men stopped just outside the courtroom doors, standing eye to eye.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what that means. Your finger is on the pulse of this city. You know what’s c
oming.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “There’s a serial killer out there, Harvey. Killing homeless drunks near Skid Row. We don’t want that person back out on the streets, we don’t want more people killed. But I assume you know that already. And I’ll assume that you know where the department is looking to find this serial killer.”

  “You shouldn’t assume things, William.”

  “True. What’s the old saying again?” He clicked his fingers. “‘Don’t assume. It makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’.’”

  “Clever. Although it wouldn’t be that hard to make you look like an ass.”

  “Ha!” Clarke laughed loudly again. “I just hope that you haven’t missed something. I hope that you know what’s happening here. Your brother is a pathological liar; most drug addicts are. They spend their lives lying to their families, to their friends, and to themselves. Your brother is a liar. He has spent his whole life as a liar, and he’s refined those skills. He’s very skilled at deceiving people. I just hope that you haven’t fallen for those fabrications of the truth. I know that you’re good at reading people, but I think you’re blinded here, Harvey.”

  “He’s not a drug addict. He’s clean. Has been for over a year.” Harvey defended his brother, moving closer into Clarke’s personal space. “And he’s not a liar.”

  “I would have thought you, out of everyone, would be able to see his lies, but I guess you’ve missed it because he’s your brother. You’re not looking at it subjectively, Harvey. You’re too involved. Too close this case to see the truth. You’re missing all the facts.”

  “I know that he didn’t do this. He’s my brother. I know that he’s innocent.”

  “And that’s your problem. He’s your brother; he’s not just another client. You’re missing all the facts. You’re missing the truth.”

  “He’s not a killer.”

  “We’ll catch this serial killer.” Clarke leaned in close enough to whisper, “We have enough evidence to pin it all on him. If you’re going to stand by him, I really hope you’re ready for the next wave of accusations. It’s coming, Harvey. The storm is coming, and it’s going to be colossal.”

  “I haven’t seen the weather report.”

  “The storm is due to hit in twenty-four hours. It’s rolling in, and it’s rolling in fast.”

  Chapter 31

  Impatient, Bill Harvey jogged to meet Jack Grayson’s car as he arrived outside the courthouse steps.

  “Ease up, Usain Bolt. What’s the rush?” Jack asked as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  Harvey looked over his shoulder, checking for anyone that could listen. “We have to make a move. Now.”

  “On who?”

  “Penny Pearson.”

  “Your assistant? No, she’s not strong enough, Harvey. She couldn’t have done it. She doesn’t have it in her. You’re looking at the wrong person.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences, Jack. This is too close. There is too much that connects her to the case. She fits the profile, she’s got the ability, and she’s got a mean streak. We have to move now.”

  “Hold up.” Jack stopped his friend from going any further. “You sound like a cop. You sound like everyone else. That’s not the Bill Harvey I know. That’s not the voice of a man who solves the impossible. This isn’t you. All this emotional stress has taken a toll on you. It’s broken you, man. You have to take a step back.”

  Harvey looked away in a desperate attempt to avoid the truth, running his hand through his hair. “It has to be her. She’s too close to it all.”

  “What’s the rush? Why does it have to be now?”

  “Clarke is going to pin the other murders on Jonathon within twenty-four hours, and if we don’t get him off now, then it’ll be trial by media. The media will eat up a story of a former addict that’s a serial killer, a druggie that killed a war vet with PTSD. He’ll be the front page of every paper in the country. If Clarke runs this story, it’ll be so big that we won’t be able to find a jury that hasn’t been influenced by the media. We have to move now, or he’s done. We have twenty-four hours to catch this killer.”

  “I just don’t see it, Harvey.” Jack’s brow tightened. “Are you sure it’s Penny?”

  “It has to be. There is no other choice.”

  “The boyfriend?”

  Harvey shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t tell me maybe, Harvey. If we’re going to do this, we have to be sure. You have to be sure. That’s what you do. You figure things out. You solve the impossible. You need to clear your head, step back from this, and consider the answer. Take a breath, and think about it before you make a move. You may only get one shot at this.”

  “I don’t have time for that. We have to move now.”

  “It’s a mistake. You’re moving too quickly. You’re missing all the signs.”

  “What else can I do?!” Harvey snapped.

  “Hey, man, ease up. I’m trying to help you here. I’m trying to get your brother off. Because in the end, that’s what this is all about. You’re missing the point—you don’t care about justice at the moment; you only want to get your brother off. You just want to keep him out of prison, and hey, I get that. I really do. You haven’t seen the guy in twenty years, and now it’s your responsibility to save him. I get it. But you’re missing the point.”

  “No. This is about justice. It’s about justice for Gerard West. Putting away an innocent man isn’t justice. Catching a serial killer is.”

  “But do you really think it’s her? Deep down, do you think it’s her?”

  Harvey didn’t answer.

  He couldn’t.

  “Alright.” Jack conceded defeat. “What do you need me for?”

  “In three hours, I’ll meet you at my office. For the next three hours, I’m going to consider the best way to make a move.”

  “What are you going to do when I’m there?”

  “I’m going to get a confession out of a cold-blooded killer.”

  Chapter 32

  He could feel it.

  The tension rose as Bill Harvey stepped into his office.

  His shoulders were tight, the grip on his briefcase was firm, and his brow was creased.

  This was it.

  His chance.

  No matter good he was as a lawyer, no matter how talented, he couldn’t beat the drenching effect of the media. Guilty or not, his brother would be roasted alive by the news outlets if it was released that he was a serial killer. The outrage would snowball into a frenzy of anger. There would be no stopping it.

  The move had to be now.

  This was his last hope to save his brother.

  There were too many connections to Penny Pearson for it to be a coincidence. Everything that he had uncovered pointed to her guilt—her hatred for drunks, her skills at combat, her violent outbursts.

  Even her profile fit the killer perfectly.

  Traumatic event in childhood, lived alone, had the skills to kill someone.

  Everything pointed to her.

  Logically, it had to be the answer.

  But he just didn’t feel it.

  He could not see the cold-blooded murderer in her eyes. She wasn’t a killer.

  Having spent his life around hardened criminals, around the worst offenders in L.A., he knew the intense feeling of standing opposite an unstable person.

  There was an aura around them—a feeling that they could break at any time. A sense that they could give in to their evilness.

  A sense that they could snap.

  Penny Pearson didn’t have that.

  She was a young, excitable woman who wanted to explore the world.

  There was no feeling of evil around her.

  But perhaps, for once, he was wrong.

  “Hello, Bill.” Penny smiled nicely as he stepped into the main office.

  He didn’t respond.

  Instead, he walked into his private office, closed the door behind him, placed his briefcase
down, and opened the top drawer of his desk.

  There it was.

  Something that he hoped he would never have to use.

  But in case he had completely misjudged his assistant, he took his Smith & Wesson from its locked container and carefully loaded the gun.

  Having spent a lot of time at a shooting range letting off steam, he knew how to handle his piece. He knew he could aim, he knew he could shoot, but he didn’t know if he could kill.

  If the moment of adversity confronted him, he would have one split second to make a decision.

  He was hoping that he didn’t have to make that decision today.

  Once loaded, he carefully placed the gun on top of a stack of files in the top drawer, leaving it slightly open. The gun rested heavy on the files, and Harvey stared at it for a number of minutes.

  How could he use that weapon on a girl like Penny?

  Even if the situation called for it, he doubted he could pull a gun on her.

  Even with all the fire that raged inside her, he just didn’t feel like she was guilty.

  Despite all the evidence pointing her way, he didn’t feel like she was capable of multiple murders.

  Which led him to his next dilemma—does he present the evidence to the court in an attempt to get his client off the charges, even if it led to Penny?

  Could he present her name to Detective Pitt, even if he felt she was blameless?

  If throwing Penny’s name into the guilty ring got his brother off the charges, should he do it?

  His brother or an innocent girl?

  Staring at the gun in his top drawer, he shook his head.

  He couldn’t throw a possibly innocent person in prison for the sake of another innocent person.

  Two wrongs didn’t make a right.

  After ten years knee-deep in law, Harvey had developed a feeling for those who were hiding something. He knew when someone was running scared.

  They had fear.

  Fear of the justice system, fear of getting caught, fear of the future.

  Neither his brother nor Penny Pearson had that feeling.