“Nothing’s going to happen. Her claim against Dr. Lighten was real. It was unethical to follow it through for money, but he was still guilty.” Heart placed her hands in her pockets. “I hate it, and I told her that, but she didn’t do anything illegal. Hopefully, the penalties that will be handed down to Katherine Jennings and the witnesses will act as a deterrence to anyone that’s tempted to do something like this again.”
Hunter nodded. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Like I said in there, I’m not out to get people. I’m out to get the truth.” She paused for a moment, before offering Hunter a half-smile. “No matter what that is.”
Hunter leaned against the wall, and watched her walk down the hallway, before he drew a deep breath and re-entered the meeting room.
“What happens now?” Dr. Mackie asked. “Is that it?”
“That’s it. It’s over.” Esther closed her laptop. “Isn’t it, Tex?”
Hunter shut the door, but kept his hand on the door handle.
“For you, yes. It’s over.”
“Not you?” Dr. Mackie quizzed.
“I’m not done yet.” Hunter stood tall. “Whoever killed Joe Fielding caused Stacey’s death, and there’ll be no justice until I find the real killer.”
Chapter 37
The truck stop on the outskirts of Minneapolis, Minnesota, smelled of diesel fuel. The odor filled the air to the point that it was overpowering. The woman didn’t mind, though. It masked the smell of her body odor. Her cap shielded her face, protecting her from the gentle rain, and her backpack was full of the few remaining possessions she had left. She walked with her arms folded across her chest, dark hair dangling over her face. She had dyed her hair black and wore dark sunglasses. She struggled to recognize herself in the mirror.
She’d been able to cut the ankle bracelet off. It wasn’t hard. She smashed it on the rocks and tossed it in the water under the bridge, ensuring it would be the last signal the cops received. That would seal their decision that her body was trapped somewhere under the murky water.
She tried not to think about her children, but she couldn’t avoid it. They filled her thoughts while she hitched a ride. The truckers she rode with didn’t talk much. She liked that. She had stared out the window of the trucks, watching the world wash past. For the past week, she had been living in a nearby motel, formulating her plan, working out the details, but something was holding her back. Crossing the border into Canada would make her decisions real. That was the point of no return. She still cried herself to sleep each night, but the tears were beginning to dry up. She had enough cash for a month of supplies. After that, she would need to find work.
Stacey Fulbright walked into the truck stop diner and ordered a coffee and a raspberry muffin. Using a new cell phone, a cheap second-hand one from another trucker, she logged onto the diner’s Wi-Fi, and checked her new fake Facebook profile. ‘Eden Malls,’ she had called herself. Her profile picture was of a flower. She could’ve been male or female, young or old, or of any race. It was the perfect cover. Despite the knowledge that she had to cut contacts with her past life, she couldn’t resist the urge to check on her children. She logged onto the private Facebook group for her memorial, looked at the profiles of the attendees, and scrolled through the photos. It was comforting to know that people went to her memorial. There were photos from her friends, celebrating the life that was her past.
Her mother looked heartbroken, as did her cousins. Some of her old clients were there, paying respects with their heads down. Her friends looked shattered, although they could’ve seen this coming a long way off. John C. Clarke was there, as was Michael Vandenberg and Tex Hunter, and there wasn’t one smile to share between them.
Then she saw a photo of Noah in the background of another picture. He was hugging his Aunt Melissa tightly. Her breath was taken away. What had she done? Was losing a mother worse than growing up the child of a killer? She thought she’d done the best for them, but the look of distress on Noah’s face broke her heart.
“Are you ok, sweetheart?” The server placed the coffee and muffin down in front of her on the stained table. “Need anything?”
Stacey Fulbright avoided eye contact. “I’m ok.”
The server nodded, turned and reached across to the diner counter, before pulling out two tissues.
“Don’t worry about the tears. We get lots of tears out here.” She nodded outside. “Don’t know what it is. I guess when you’re on the road, you’re going somewhere, but when you stop, that’s when things hit you. That’s when things become real.”
“Thanks.” Stacey whispered, and the server moved away.
Stacey knew she had to get across the border to Canada. She’d managed to hitch-hike this far, and she was sure she could get across the border without being detected. Once there, she could build a life again. Start all over. She could build a life without a husband determined to set her up for murder.
She’d come to the truck stop looking for a ride close to the border. She left nothing in the motel room that she paid for by the day. A man at the counter stared at her. His eyes lingered for far too long. He had a moustache, and had arms that looked like he worked hard for a living. He was missing a few teeth.
“Going somewhere? Need a lift?” The man moved into the seat opposite her in the booth. “Pretty girls like you don’t hang out in places like this unless they want something.”
“Where you heading?” Her voice was quiet.
“Detroit. Got myself a truck full of motor parts to deliver. I could use the company on the road.”
“Sorry, I’m going the other way.”
The man stayed at the booth, staring at her. She looked up at him, and he licked his bottom lip. In one swift movement, she grabbed her muffin from the table and walked away.
“Not tonight.” She whispered to herself. “Not tonight.”
She had made her choice. She had made the decision to leave her home. She had made the decision to leave her past life behind her. She had made the choice for the benefit of the children.
She only hoped that it was the right one.
Chapter 38
“Think King will do it again?” Ray Jones cradled his beer. “He got away with it a few times and made a lot of cash out of it. You could argue that the Wisconsin medical clinic is what set him off on his path to success.”
“King?” Hunter stared into his whiskey. “I don’t know. He’s arrogant enough to think he could get away with it again in five years’ time. If setting up someone worked a number of times, then he’d be tempted to do it again. But with Fielding, his go-to guy, dead, he’d have to find a new person to trust.”
The sports bar was half-filled, mostly at the rear end of the bar, near the television screens. The bar was a local Cubs fan hangout when games were on, and when the Cubs were playing well, it was packed. But this time of year, without much hope for the season ahead, the bar was only a quarter full. Only the die-hards, with their signed caps and shirts, remained. The front end of the bar was almost empty, except for Hunter and Jones sitting in the furthest booth. The table they sat at was damaged, with cracks in the dark wood, there were crumbs on the leather seats, and the blinds next to them had a number of small holes, allowing a tiny amount of daylight to sneak into the otherwise dark bar.
“Did they manage to bring any charges against King at all?” Jones turned to look at the nearest television screen, hanging above the liquor shelf. The Cubs were deep in the fifth and winning. The game was close, but nobody seemed to have much confidence in the Cubs’ ability to close out a game.
“No charges yet, and I’d be surprised if they’re able to find anything. There’s not enough to prove that King set it all up. Jennings and the other witnesses have all been charged with various offences, but King kept an arm’s length away from it all. All he said was that he saw a girl leave the medical clinic with tears in her eyes. Without proof he set this up, then he walks.” Hunter watched the next ball. A sli
der. Swing and a miss. “King is going to keep running his business, keep making money, and keep pressuring Dr. Mackie to sell. The unfortunate thing is that even though Dr. Mackie was found innocent, his reputation has taken a hit. His name was splashed all through the papers, and that sort of mud sticks to a man. If his clients abandon him and stop coming to the clinic, then he still may have to sell the business.”
“So King wins either way.” Jones watched the next play. He made a humming noise when the batter swung hard and connected, but the ball landed in the stands. “Do you think the witnesses will turn on King?”
“Even if they did, it wouldn’t be enough. There’s no proof. The only person who could’ve proved anything was Joe Fielding and he’s not testifying any time soon.” Hunter sighed. “I hate to think what else King has done. This case could be the tip of the iceberg. The only person who could turn on King’s operations was Joe Fielding.”
“On the bright side, you won a case.” Jones said as he took a large gulp of his ale after the batter struck out. “Another one in the win column.”
“We won one case, but we lost another.”
“You can’t count Stacey Fulbright’s case as a loss. It never even made it to court.”
“It’s a loss to me. I let an old friend walk a dark path because I wasn’t able to save her. I wasn’t able to prove that she was set up. I failed when someone needed me the most.” Hunter’s voice was somber. “If we’d been able to prove that Stacey had nothing to do with Fielding’s death, I could’ve saved her life. I should’ve saved her.”
“Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
They both stared at the nearest television, not really watching the game, but looking for a distraction. Jones finished his beer and pointed at Hunter’s drink. Hunter nodded. Jones took his empty glass back to the bar and ordered two more drinks—another pint for himself, and a whiskey for Hunter.
“I can still do something about it.” Hunter stated as Jones placed the drinks on the table. “The way I see it, the person who killed Fielding killed Stacey. The murder charges led to Stacey’s death. The person who organized this set up is responsible for Stacey’s passing. I won’t fail her twice. I won’t stop until we find the person responsible. I need to do it for her.”
Jones waited a moment, and recognized the look in Hunter’s eyes. He’d seen it many times before. He hesitated before he took a long sip of his beer. “What do you think Fielding was going to give Stacey that night?”
“He had to be going to Stacey with something to blackmail King with. King was looking down the barrel of another divorce, and I’m sure King would’ve been looking to get out of it with as little damage as possible. Fielding must’ve turned on King and offered Stacey a slice of the pie.”
“It would’ve been for a lot of money.” Jones suggested. “King is now worth around $50 million, and he built that success during this last marriage. Half of that would’ve hurt. If he was willing to set a guy up to buy his business, I’d hate to see what he’d do to a person that dared to betray his trust.”
“And that’s how Fielding was going to strike it rich. Becky Bennett mentioned that Fielding had a plan to make a lot of money. He was going to blackmail King.” Hunter’s jaw clenched as he pieced together the final pieces of the puzzle. “And Fielding went to Stacey to see if she wanted in.”
“And it got him killed.”
“But it’s only a theory.” Hunter nodded. “Even if we’d seen this earlier, we couldn’t have proved it in court. There’s too many missing pieces.”
The people at the rear of the room cheered. The Cubs had hit another homer. Two runs up. They were holding onto a small amount of hope, something that Hunter still had.
“So what do we do now?” Jones asked. “Fielding is dead, Stacey Fulbright is dead, and Christoph King just walked out of court a free man. How do we prove any of it? We’ve already exhausted every avenue.”
Hunter knocked back the new glass of whiskey in one shot. He stood. “The quickest way to find out the facts is to go straight to the source.”
Chapter 39
Hunter’s hand slammed against the black door, echoing the sound through the neighborhood.
The two-story mansion on Lincoln Ave, Winnetka, fifteen miles north of Downtown, was soulless, a place to stare at, not to live in. There was a black Mercedes in the driveway, polished so much it was almost a mirror, the grass was clipped like a golf course fairway, and the house was painted a dull gray. The porch, painted ashen-gray, was devoid of furniture, and the garden didn’t have one personal touch.
A maid answered the door. She was Latino; young and pretty. Hunter was sure King hand-picked her personally. “May I help you?”
“I need to talk to Christoph King.” Hunter didn’t wait for an invitation to come inside. He stepped around the maid, and onto the white marble floor of the spacious, bleak entrance. Jones followed behind him. With a glass of red wine in his hand, Christoph King stepped out into the foyer. King was dressed in a red and green shirt, running shorts, and socks with sandals. It seemed no amount of money could buy good taste.
“Tex Hunter?” King questioned.
“You think you can get away with this?” Hunter grunted. “I’m going to prove what you did. I’m going to prove that you’ve set up many people in the past.”
“What?” King chuckled. “I get away with whatever I want. I do what I want, when I want. That’s my life. You can’t touch me.”
“Stacey is dead because of what you did.” The rage built inside Hunter until it was almost overflowing, every muscle in his body tightened into a spring ready to explode.
“Stacey Fulbright? She did that herself. Silly little girl.”
In a moment of rare emotional intensity, Hunter cracked. With one swift motion, he slammed the smaller man against the wall, his forearm pressing into the short man’s neck, the wine glass smashing onto the floor.
Jones stood behind Hunter, and nodded to the housekeeper that everything was going to be ok. Jones peered outside, then closed the front door.
“You think you can play me, King? I’m the best player in the whole game.” The bone of Hunter’s forearm pushed hard into King’s windpipe.
“And yet, here you are, threatened by me.” An air of infallible confidence leaked off King. He grinned as Hunter pressed his arm deeper into his neck. “Go on. Do it, Hunter. Strangle me when there are witnesses. See how long you’d last in prison.”
Hunter growled, pressing tighter.
“Go on, Hunter. Let me see what you’re made of. Choke me out.”
With restraint, Hunter released the pressure on King’s neck, but his left hand still gripped the collar of his shirt. “I should smash you into the ground, King. Setting Stacey up for Fielding’s death was low, and I’ll prove you did it. I won’t rest until you’re charged with Fielding’s murder.”
King squinted. “Stacey Fulbright was a nasty soul. Imagine representing women who are going through divorces? All she wanted to do was destroy us men. I thought you would’ve understood that, Hunter. You’re a red-blooded male, just like me, and us men have to stick together. We’ve got to have each other’s back.”
“I’m nothing like you.” Hunter growled and pressed his forearm back into King’s neck. King’s smile disappeared. “And I won’t fail her twice.”
King struggled to take a breath, gasping as Hunter’s thick forearm pressed deeper. King felt his face beginning to turn red, and his smugness disappeared. He began to squirm. Exactly what Hunter wanted. Struggling, King brought his hands to Hunter’s forearms, trying to force him back, but it was no use. The lawyer was too strong, and too powerful.
King gasped. He didn’t have much air left. Tears began to fill his eyes. Panic began to set in. King tried to knee his attacker, but Hunter didn’t flinch. Adrenaline and fury had engulfed him.
“Tex.” Jones’ voice was composed. “Ease back.”
The calm voice of his friend snapped Hunter out of
his determined rage. Just as King was about to pass out, Hunter released his forearm, and King fell to the floor, gasping for breath. Crouched over, King wheezed deep breaths, holding his neck, trying to suck oxygen back into his lungs. He coughed loudly, desperately sucking in breaths. When his breath returned, he moved to sit up. Leaning against the wall, still sitting on the ground, King began to chuckle.
“You think this is funny?” Hunter stepped over him. “Stacey Fulbright is dead because of what you did.”
“You think I did that?” King sniggered. “I had nothing to do with her death. Although,” he raised a finger in the air. “I must admit that I danced when I heard she’d killed herself. It was a win for all red-blooded males.”
“You set her up for Joe Fielding’s death, and when you did that, you signed her death certificate.” Hunter growled. “I’ll make sure you pay for that. You’re going down for the murder of Joe Fielding. I’ll find evidence you did it.”
“I didn’t kill Fielding and I didn’t set her up.” King continued to laugh. “That wasn’t me. You really think I did that? Fielding was dirty, and he had more enemies than I did. Take your pick—half of Chicago wanted him dead. He wanted out of the game, but he had too many secrets to be cut loose. There could be a hundred guys that would’ve stabbed him.”
“Fielding was trying to blackmail you.” Hunter bent down to stare King in the eyes. “We know he was going to take the information about your set-ups for sexual assault to the highest bidder. We know he wanted to take you down.”
“Blackmail me? Not likely.” King shook his head as he rubbed his throat. “I didn’t set up any of those doctors. I bought the clinics, and I knew about the plans, but I didn’t set it up.”
Hunter squinted. “Then who did?”
Saving Justice: A Legal Thriller (Tex Hunter Book 5) Page 19
