Stacey Fulbright’s family home in Naperville hadn’t changed in the five years since he was last there. Nice suburb, nice lawn, nice trees. They had nice neighbors and a nice community. The local school was nice. The shopkeepers were nice. The police were nice. The roads were nice, the gardens were nice, the smells were nice. Everything around him was the same, safe, comfortable living. It was a formula sold to the masses as a suburban dream, but it was also Hunter’s idea of a nightmare. He needed the drama of the city. The energy created by millions of people crammed together. The rush. The fear. The heightened awareness. It fueled him. Perhaps one day, he reasoned, when it was time to slow down and smell the roses, the suburbs would appeal to him.
He knocked twice on the door, careful not to make too much noise for his aching head. It wasn’t long before Carl answered.
“Thanks for coming out here, Mr. Hunter.” Carl looked up to Hunter’s tall figure and then offered his hand to shake. “Please, come in, Stacey’s waiting in the kitchen. She’s refusing to leave the house. She’s even refusing to go into the garden. Perhaps you can talk some sense into her? Tell her it’s not that bad? I’m going to take the kids out while you guys discuss the case.”
Carl turned and called out for the children, before leading Hunter into the dining room. On the hardwood dining room table, piles of papers were spread across the surface. Stacey sat at one end, still in her dressing gown, hair disheveled, and looking even paler than she had been days before. She barely looked up as Hunter entered the room.
“Can I make you a cup of coffee?” Carl offered as the kids hurried down the stairs. Hunter accepted.
“Thank you for coming out.” Stacey stared at the table; her arms folded across her chest. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it into the office. I’m… I don’t want to leave the house.”
“I understand.” Hunter said as he took a warm cup of coffee from Carl. “Thank you for the coffee.”
Carl kissed his wife on the side of the head, and then called out for the kids again. Noah and Zoe ran into the room, hugged their mother, and then raced out of the door to buy ice-cream with their father.
“Noah and Zoe don’t know yet.” Stacey said after the front door slammed closed. “Although I’m sure Noah is aware that things are different. He’s a smart boy and I’m sure he knows something is happening. The secret must’ve gotten out in the community by now. People talk out here. Everyone is in everyone’s business.”
“That’s human nature.” Hunter placed his briefcase on the table, then sat down. “I was the same age as Noah when my father’s trial began. It was hard for me to avoid it, almost impossible. Even without the internet, I was aware of everything that was happening around that time. Ten-year olds are smart, and you won’t be able to hide it from him much longer. It’s time to talk to him.”
Stacey looked up. “And you turned out alright, I guess.”
“Maybe.” Hunter replied. “Noah needs to hear it from you, rather than his friends at school. People will be talking in the community and it’s better you tell him what’s happening. You don’t want him coming home and asking strange questions, and you don’t want him to start believing the rumors.”
She nodded. As much as she wanted to protect her children from the drama, she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t keep them locked up until the trial. But telling the children, telling them that she was about to go through a criminal trial, would make it all seem so real.
“The prosecution has made a new allegation—Joe Fielding attacked you in the same parking lot a number of weeks ago, and you made a complaint to the police, however you later withdrew the allegation, perhaps when he tried to bribe you.”
She looked up in shock. “What? They think that was the same guy? How do they know that? The police asked me to withdraw the statement, but I refused. I didn’t withdraw the complaint.”
“The form is signed by you stating that you wished for your complaint to be withdrawn.”
“I knew the cop who took the report was dodgy. I knew it because he didn’t want to take the report in the first place. He said there was nothing they could do because there was no evidence. He refused to even fill in a form. I forced him to take the complaint, but he protested and said that it would ruin his arrest figures. He knew they couldn’t solve it.” She shook her head. She then looked at Hunter. “How did they know it was Joe Fielding?”
“They don’t, but that’s the theory they’ve put on the table. You claimed that an unknown assailant grabbed your behind in the parking lot five weeks earlier, and you then carried the letter opener in your bag after work every night to protect yourself.”
“That’s not true, but if that’s their theory, then it’s self-defense. The case is closed.”
“We could run with that, but they’re going for excessive force. There were no marks on you when they arrested you, no signs of a struggle, and given there were five stab wounds in Fielding’s neck, you’re possibly looking at murder two. If they successfully argue that you approached him first, or arranged to meet him, then you could still be looking at murder one.”
“This is ridiculous.” She turned to the window. “I didn’t touch him.”
“Joe Fielding worked as a private investigator, and he was sniffing around another case of mine before his death. His name came up in a sexual assault case I’m dealing with. I already had a file on him, and it appears he wasn’t a nice man.” Hunter opened his briefcase, withdrew a file, and placed it on the table. “The police tech team have pulled apart Fielding’s phone, and looked at the files stored on it. There’s evidence he took photos inside your office.”
“What?” She turned back to Hunter.
Hunter removed a photo from the file and slid it across to Stacey. Her face was white with shock.
“That’s my office. When was he in there?”
“The timestamp on the photo suggests he was in your office a week before his death. In the early hours of the morning.”
She bit her lip. “What were the other photos of?”
“The police tech team is trying to find that out. Their timeframe for finding the deleted files could be as long as months, and it might delay the trial. Do you have any idea what he wanted to talk to you about?”
Stacey shook her head as she moved to the kitchen counter. She removed a knife from the top drawer and took an onion from the fridge. With fine precision, she started slicing the onion, sliding the knife through the vegetable with ease. Her focus was impressive. “The kids still need to eat,” she explained. “I’m trying my best to go on with life, even with this murder charge hanging over my head. I haven’t left the house in days, but I’m doing what I can.” She put the sliced onion into a slow cooker and removed another one from the fridge. “I have no idea why Joe Fielding was in my office. All I know is that he contacted me two weeks ago and said he had information to sell me. I wasn’t interested in it, but he was persistent.”
The kitchen was expansive, sterile, and filled with every gadget imaginable. The butler’s pantry to the side of the room only added to the sense of suburban bliss. The smell of cut onions started to fill the room, and Hunter could feel an itch in the back of his throat. He watched the knife as Stacey moved it. It was sharp. “Why did Joe Fielding come to you to sell information? Why not someone else?”
“I’ve been trying to think about that. The only reason I could come up with is that it was related to one of my cases. He was working in Vandenberg and Wolfe Family Law Offices. I’ve dealt with them so many times on divorce cases.”
“Including Christoph King’s first divorce.”
She stopped slicing the onion, staring into the distance. She drew a long breath before she continued. “King’s second divorce was represented by Joanne Wolfe, not his first. His first divorce cost him five million and the divorces since have barely cost him a cent. I represented King’s first ex-wife, Cassandra Mills, and he hired some young kid fresh out of law school, looking to save money, but I tore the kid
apart. The poor guy didn’t stand a chance. King used to beat his first wife badly, and we had police reports and lots of photos. He even beat her in public. The brutality of his attacks were quite confronting, and the female judge sided with us. We got way more from the judge than we should’ve, and even I thought it was unreasonable. But that was my job. I had to do what I was employed to do. And King… well, King never let it go. I got death threats, people crashing into my car ‘accidently,’” she made air quotes with her fingers to strengthen her point, “and I was mugged in broad daylight. I’m sure it was all organized by King. He was so vindictive. I went to the police over and over, but I couldn’t prove anything.”
“I’ve got my investigator looking into King.”
Stacey blinked back a tear, looking away from Hunter. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “It’s the onions.”
“Of course.”
“Tex,” She paused and composed herself. “John C. Clarke has agreed to take the case over. I think you’re too close to this to defend me. John’s a great criminal lawyer, and this is more up his alley. You’re amazing, Tex, but I don’t think you’re the right lawyer for this case.”
Hunter nodded, unable to hide his disappointment.
“Thank you for everything.” She continued. “But this is my life, and it’s too much of a gamble for you to work this. You’re too close. I have to do what’s best for my family.”
“I understand.” The stoic look on his face returned. “I can help your new lawyer. Get him to call my office and come in for a chat. I’m happy to help in any way possible. I’ll sit second chair and support him.”
“Thanks, Tex. Thanks for everything. Send me the invoice for your work so far, and we’ll settle up.”
“You’re not paying a cent to me. I always said I would help you if you needed it, and I’m a man of my word. If you need me, I’m here.”
She offered a smile. “John’s first suggestion was to drag this case out as long as possible to put pressure on the prosecution. He wants them to make a mistake, slip up, and then he’ll push for self-defense. He thinks the longer we drag this out, the longer we have to build our defense case. The State may even get to the point where they drop the charges.” She looked around the kitchen. “But I don’t know how long I can do this. I’m trying to pretend that everything is normal, but I can’t even leave the house. I’ve already had suicidal thoughts. I don’t want to put my family through any of this, Tex. I don’t want to put Noah through what you went through—years and years of turmoil. I saw the effect it had on you when we dated. You might be good now, but that damage marks a child for life.”
“I got through it, and so will Noah. He’s got a good family around him.” Hunter said. “I’ll help John research the case and I’ll get my best investigator on this. We’ll get this sorted out, Stacey. Trust me.”
Chapter 8
Investigator Ray Jones grunted as he reached into the engine of his truck and moved the wrench with great force. His shoulders tensed, his face squeezed tight, and his butt cheeks clenched. Sweat dripped off his brow, his teeth ground together, and his muscles strained. Once he had moved the nut to its tightest point, he squirmed out from under the engine and saw Tex Hunter standing near him.
“Why don’t you let yourself in?” Jones smiled. He stood and brushed his thick forearm across his brow.
“I rang the doorbell.” Hunter replied. “But nobody answered.”
“I was under the car, changing the oil and giving my baby some new parts. I could do with a hand, but you’re a bit overdressed to work on an engine.”
“As Mark Twain said—clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society.”
Jones laughed as he grabbed a towel off the back of a chair and cleaned the grease off his hands. The house in South Kenwood was pleasant, and although small, it was a source of pride for Jones. The two-bedroom home had a narrow yard, a one-car garage, and a patio just large enough to shelter his outdoor equipment—a barbeque, a plastic table, five plastic chairs, an exercise bike, and a set of weights. Jones had parked his truck over the grassed area in the yard, which was bathed in sunlight, to replace a number of parts.
“How’s the new girlfriend?” Hunter asked.
“She dumped me.”
“This one didn’t even last a month. What happened?”
“She said I ruined her birthday. I don’t know how I did that. I mean, I didn’t even know it was her birthday.” Jones laughed and shrugged. “And she kept complaining. She said that I had two major faults—I don’t listen and… something else.”
The six-foot-four African-American private investigator spent a lot of time in bars, gyms, and barber shops. He was a scholar of the streets. He spent time on the corners, walking the blocks, hanging out in parking lots. He knew where trouble was and he knew how to stop it. A huge man, his reputation preceded him most places he went.
“How did it go with finding your sister?” Jones asked as he moved a box of tools into the back corner of the patio. “Any luck?”
“Patrick got a lead in Mexico, and we’re going to fly down and talk to her but it’s complicated. She’s spent a lot of years in prison and we’re not sure of the person she is today. She hasn’t been to prison in fifteen years, but we don’t know what we’re walking into. I don’t even know if she’ll talk to us.”
“What’d she go to prison for?”
“Violent assault.”
Jones froze as he closed the hood of the truck.
“I can see what you’re thinking.” Hunter responded. “But we don’t know anything yet. Before we make any assumptions, we need to talk to her. We have to find out what she knows.”
“And if it isn’t good news? What do you do then?”
“I don’t know.” Hunter shook his head. There weren’t many times when the expectation of the future overwhelmed him, but he’d barely been able to turn his thoughts off. Work was his only escape. Any hint of emotional turmoil in his life was usually met with a change in focus. “I need to talk to you about Dr. Mackie’s assault case. Any luck on a connection between the witnesses and the other new patient, Becky Bennett?”
“Do you know what people say about cases like this? It’s mission impossible. These witnesses have zero connections between them. I’ve looked at their phone records, their internet search history, their jobs, their families, their friends, their family’s friends, their friends’ friends… and I’ve got nothing. Not a thing. Nothing on social media, no overlapping locations, no jobs at the same times, no places near each other’s addresses. Not even a restaurant in the same neighborhood. Nothing at all. It looks like the lives of these witnesses have never even crossed the same path.”
Hunter took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie, before picking up one of the plastic chairs, and placing it in the sunshine. He loved the February sun in Chicago. There was a romantic glow to it. In his vacations further south, he found the sun had more burn, leaving a sting on the skin, but the further north he went, the softer it felt.
“Dr. Mackie is determined to fight this sexual assault charge.” Hunter squinted as he looked skyward. “In terms of the charge, it’s on the lower end of the spectrum and he could even escape prison time, but he doesn’t want to admit to something he didn’t do, and the prosecution isn’t going easy on him, given the current political environment. They have a defendant who’s willing to testify and two witnesses. It’s a strong case, but they’ve got nothing other than the word of these people. No physical evidence and no video footage. No history of abuse. No other accusations. Nothing. If we can discredit these witnesses, or find a connection that links them together, then they don’t have a case.”
“You’ve got an alleged victim testifying, and two people who claim to have seen exactly the same thing. Without a connection between the alleged victim and the witnesses, it’ll be hard to win.”
“And that’s the issue. It’s exactly the same thing. Their
reports are almost word for word the same, and their description is almost textbook. There are some sentences that are identical in the reports. When two people witness something, they see it through different eyes and different angles. There would naturally be discrepancies in what they saw, but in this case, there aren’t any.”
“So you really think that someone set this up? It’s quite the scheme, if they have.”
“It’s hard to defend against, isn’t it?” Hunter said as he leaned back in the chair, almost forcing it to buckle. “There’s no proof other than what was said, and what was said seems to be well-rehearsed. What we know is that the accuser was a new patient, as was one of the witnesses, and the second witness, a delivery driver, was also making his first delivery to the clinic. None of them had interacted with Dr. Mackie before.”
“And you think it’s because of the divorce case?”
“It has to be. That makes the most sense. A large settlement for this case would force Dr. Mackie to sell the clinic. If Dr. Mackie doesn’t sell the clinic, then it can’t be included in the divorce settlement. But if he’s forced to sell it, if he’s forced to offload the company, then there’s an extra ten million in the pot for the divorce. And you can be guaranteed the wife would want more than half of that.”
“And the buyer?”
“Christoph King, a former corporate lawyer turned businessman. Owns a lot of medical clinics across the country. I need you to look into his previous investments, and see if anything similar has ever happened elsewhere. King acquired a lot of medical clinics quickly, more than fifty in the last five years. I want you to look into them and see if there’s any element of foul play or undue pressure in any of the sales.” Hunter leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the vitamin D wash into his skin. “I have another case, not one that I’m working on directly, but I’m going to ask for your help on it. Have you ever heard of a guy named Joe Fielding?”
Saving Justice: A Legal Thriller (Tex Hunter Book 5) Page 5
