Burden of Truth (Cass Leary Legal Thriller Series Book 1)

by Robin James

  Burden of Truth

  A Cass Leary Legal Thriller

  Robin James

  Burden of Truth

  A Cass Leary Legal Thriller

  By

  Robin James

  Copyright © 2019 by Robin James

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law or for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Up Next for Cass Leary

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  About the Author

  Also by Robin James

  Prologue

  Delphi, Michigan

  The first day of spring

  Three months ago …

  Rain pelted my windshield, leaving thick streaks in my field of vision where the wiper blades caught. I should have replaced them before I made this drive. But I never did things like that anymore. Not for ten years.

  Since the day the Thorne Law Group hired me as a junior associate, I had my own driver if I wanted it. Company cars. A Lexus. No need to do mundane tasks like oil changes or even pumping my own gas. By the time I made partner three years ago, I had a corner office in one of the most coveted office buildings in Chicago. Now, with each mile I put behind me going east on I-94, the trappings of my old life slipped away.

  Two hundred and fifty-two miles. The distance between my old life and my new. No ... that wasn’t it. Chicago had been my new life. My second chance. My flipped script. Or at least, that’s what I’d told myself all those years ago when I severed the ties that threatened to drag me down.

  The green-and-white road sign for Exit 159A loomed to my right, the left corner chipped off and rusted. I could keep going. Ann Arbor, Detroit, maybe even further east or over the Ambassador Bridge into Canada. It didn’t have to be this way.

  Except I knew it did. As the pieces of my life shattered and reformed, I recognized the shape almost instantly. There was only one place left for me to go. I took the exit to the old highway that would bring me back. Gripping the steering wheel, my heart flipped as my headlights caught the big green sign on the side of the road.

  Welcome to Delphi – Home of the Class B State Championship Men’s Basketball Team:

  2005, 2006, 2008, 2009, 2011, 2013, 2014, 2016 – Go Fighting Shamrocks!

  I smiled to myself. Fighting Shamrocks. Everyone in the town just accepted that like it was normal. To me, it had always seemed as absurd as saying the Mighty Ferns or the Menacing Dandelions. But at least it was memorable.

  The rain let up some as I took the turn to Main Street. My stomach clenched as I headed into town. Nothing had changed. I should have found that comforting. When the ground beneath me had just shifted to quicksand, maybe coming home was just what I needed to feel safe again.

  Downtown Delphi consisted of two main intersections and a quaint town square complete with a water fountain and old-fashioned storefronts. The Town Beautification Committee had fought and lost the battle to keep the big box stores from moving in a half mile to the east. But they’d kept this little corner of the world looking like it had for the past seventy years or so.

  I kept on going. My muscles seemed pre-wired to go east and turn down Trumbull Avenue. But I kept heading south to the lake. What little civilization Delphi offered faded away and the woods grew thicker along the winding business route.

  Ten minutes later, I’d made the sharp curve and the lake view opened up before me. Finn Lake seemed so much smaller than I remembered. But I’d spent the last decade staring out at the vast blue waters of Lake Michigan from my office windows. Endless. Fathomless. And now, unreachable.

  Gravel crunched beneath my tires as I pulled into the tiny driveway next to the little yellow bungalow. Well, it had been yellow once. Now the siding faded to a sort of rusted beige.

  Grandpa Pat’s ancient pontoon still sat at a tilted angle up on cinder blocks across the street. Three of the windows on the south side of the house were boarded up. My heart lurched as I saw the dock sinking into the water at the front of the house.

  I gripped the steering wheel one last time and took a steeling breath. I was here. This was real. I cut the engine and got out. A dozen smells hit me as I made my way around the house, keys still dangling from my fingertips.

  Boat fuel. Trees. Wet grass. Fish. I was twelve years old again. It hit me like a gut punch as I gingerly stepped down the crooked paving stones to the edge of the water. Just one section of the dock looked stable and I took a chance, stepping onto it. Minnows darted away as my footsteps echoed across the placid water.

  A strange sense of calm came over me as a bullfrog made his rubber band chirp somewhere in the weeds.

  I caught my reflection in the water. My blonde hair fell forward. My blue-gray eyes looked cold and dark. Just forty-eight hours ago, I’d stared at this same reflection from the waters of Lake Michigan off the deck of a yacht. Only then, my hands and feet had been tightly bound with zip ties as they’d pulled that dark-blue pillowcase off my head. I rubbed the raw skin on my wrists now, trying to push the pain away.

  I hadn’t cried yet. Not once. I couldn’t now. I had to rebuild my life again from scratch. This was my second chance. I straightened my back and turned toward the house.

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  “All rise!”

  I nudged my client with my elbow. Sandy York was a pleasant, fifty-year-old woman with wiry hair that went prematurely gray. She let it and that was one of the many things I admired about her. With no small effort, Sandy hauled herself to her feet.

  For a moment, she looked like she might keel over. Sandy had Parkinson’s disease. She didn’t have to stand. No one in the courtroom would have demanded it of her, but Sandy York wanted no special treatment.

  M
oira Pierce, my favorite judge of the Woodbridge County Family Court so far, took the bench. She peered at Sandy over her half-moon reading glasses and she pursed her lips into a thin line. Moira knew how hard it was for Sandy to get to her feet these days too.

  “Counsel, are you ready to proceed?” Judge Pierce addressed Bill Walden to my right. It was his client’s motion today. He wanted to increase his parenting time to every weekend and half the summer. Sandy planned to fight him with all the strength she had left, which was considerable.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Bill said. He’d been practicing law in this county for over forty years. Longer than I’d been alive. I’m pretty sure the blue seersucker suit he had on was just as old. Bill had an unruly mass of white hair that stuck out in peaks and cones. He had a habit of brushing it over to the side, Kennedy-style, when he talked.

  “If it pleases the court, my client seeks an increase to his previously court-ordered parenting time. Under MCL 722.25, we believe this request will serve the best interests of the three minor children he shares with the plaintiff by a preponderance of the evidence … to wit...”

  I winced. Bill was already stumbling out of the gate and it was in me to interject, but one look at Judge Pierce’s face told me that wouldn’t be necessary. I’ve seen hundreds of other lawyers walk into that mistake. There was no need to pounce when a judge was paying attention like Moira Pierce was.

  “Mr. Walden,” she said. “Let me stop you right there. I’ve read your motion and brief. I’m not interested in a rehashing of the law. I know it well. You have anything to add, Ms. Leary?”

  She looked at me over those reading glasses. I half wondered if they weren’t an affectation. Moira was young enough not to need them. But wise enough to know they might lend her a certain air of wisdom for the closed-minded good old boys that ran rampant in my hometown. God. This was one of the reasons I left in the first place.

  “The plaintiff stands on our brief and the Friend of the Court recommendation filed last week. We see no reason for this change. It’s not broken, Your Honor. There is no need to fix it,” I said, knowing Judge Pierce hated having her time wasted. Walden was about to read his brief verbatim to her. “Though I would like to point out that opposing counsel has just recited the wrong standard of review for the type of relief he’s requesting.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll make this short and sweet. Mr. Walden, your client has been here a few times before on this request. Twice with my predecessor and now twice with me.”

  “Now hold on,” Bill said, standing up again. My heart lurched. His client had just whispered something in Bill’s ear that made his face turn purple. “These boys need more time with their father. They’re of an age now. And I’d like to point out that the referee assigned to this case is also a woman.”

  Sandy rolled her eyes beside me. I knew what this was about. Sandy knew what this was about. Everyone in this room knew what this was about, probably even Bill. Colby York was sick of paying child support. He probably read on the internet somewhere he could only get a reduction if he had more overnights with the kids. It had nothing to do with their best interests.

  Judge Pierce nodded and shuffled the papers in front of her. “I agree with the plaintiff on this one, Mr. Walden. You haven’t met your burden. I’m not mucking up the custody arrangement.”

  “Your Honor!” Bill Walden actually tried to shout the judge down.

  “I’ve made my ruling,” she said. “Ms. Leary, if you have a proposed order I’ll sign it now.”

  “I do,” I said, giving Sandy another squeeze on the shoulder. I walked around her and handed my order to Bill. He grabbed it out of my hand. A rude gesture that wasn’t lost on Judge Pierce or her bailiff.

  “We’ll need time to review this,” he said. “Counsel for the plaintiff can submit it under the seven-day rule.”

  Judge Pierce’s eyebrow went up. “Excuse me? Who’s wearing the robe here, counselor? Defendant’s motion is denied. Is that what Ms. Leary’s order says?”

  “It is,” he grumbled.

  “Perfect,” she said. “You may approach the bench with it.”

  More grumbling from Bill Walden. His client whispered something behind my back that rhymes with shunt. I felt my blood turn to lava, but kept on smiling. The sooner I could get Sandy out of here, the better for all of us.

  Judge Pierce’s bailiff stepped between the bench and Bill Walden. His name was Ted Moran and he was six foot seven, easy. He graduated with my younger brother, Matty. He’d been captain of one of the Fighting Shamrock’s basketball state championships, if memory served. A big, burly guy with hands roughly the size of dinner plates. I remembered Ted with dark, curly hair once upon a time. Now he shaved it completely bald, Dwayne Johnson-style.

  As Ted took my order and pivoted on his heel, I noticed something else about this two-hundred-and-fifty-pound giant. He had tears in his eyes and his hand shook as he brought that single piece of paper to Judge Pierce’s side.

  She noticed it too. She gave a quick scan of the order, signed it and put it in her outbox. Then, before anyone else could figure out what was going on with Ted, she banged her gavel and adjourned court for lunch.

  “Thank you,” Sandy said. She gave me a hug and got back to her feet. I knew she wouldn’t want to be anywhere near her ex. She had family in the gallery and I made eye contact with her brother, Rob, sitting behind us. He’d make sure Sandy got out of the building without incident.

  Rob York’s color had turned to ash. He wasn’t crying, but it looked like he was about to. Hushed murmurs spread through the gallery in a rolling wave. A few sobs broke the silence but I couldn’t see who made them.

  “You just let me know if there are any other issues with Colby or the kids,” I said to Sandy. “Hopefully he got the message this time.” She hugged me, still oblivious to whatever news had gripped what looked like the entire population of Delphi.

  “I knew I made the right choice with you,” Sandy whispered. “Rob tried to talk me out of it. Hell, a lot of people tried to talk me out of it. But I had a feeling, Miss Leary. I don’t care who your family is. You shouldn’t either.”

  Her words stung but I’d heard ones like it my whole life. Until I left town, that is. I’d been gone for ten years but some things would never change. In the three months since I’d come back, I found that equal parts irritating and comforting. But it wasn’t like I had any other choice.

  “Thanks,” I said. Sandy York meant well. She overcame plenty of her own baggage to get where she was in life. Besides, other than my court-appointed work, she was currently my only paying client. I needed her good graces and word of mouth if I was ever going to get my feet fully back under me.

  “We’ll talk soon,” I said.

  “Not too soon, I hope.” She shot me a wink. “Colby’s had his wings clipped good today. It won’t last though. Especially if I do go after more child support. You really think we can get it?”

  “It’s basic math,” I said. “Just give me a call when you know for sure where he’s working now.”

  Sandy finally caught her brother’s eye and realized something was off. I excused myself from the pair of them. I had an early lunch planned with a potential new client with a property line dispute. General practice might be the death of me and it was something I swore I’d never do. I suppose that should teach me about swearing.

  I stepped out in the hall. Three other lawyers stood huddled near the vending machine. One of them let loose a stream of obscenities that damn near blew my hair back. A door slammed beside me and Ted Moran came out. He was full-on crying now.

  “Ted!” I went to him. His shoulders quaked and his color deepened from red to purple. He swayed on his feet.

  “Come here,” I said, reaching up to touch his shoulder. He let me lead him to the little law library adjacent to Courtroom 5. The books in the stacks were outdated now as the county long since stopped paying to update them. They did spring for two computer terminals agai
nst the wall. Ted sat down on a mismatched office chair at the end of a long conference table.

  “Put your head between your knees and breathe,” I said. “Are you lightheaded?”

  Ted let out a choked sound that cut through me. Something had happened. Something awful. My heart thundered and for a moment I was about to take my own advice.

  “Coach.” He managed that single word before he broke down again and sobbed into his catcher’s-mitt-sized hands.

  “Ted, what’s going on?”

  He looked up at me. I took a seat across from him, sliding it so our knees touched. Ted Moran was one of the good ones. He grew up on the east side of the lake like I did. He’d been a good friend to Matty when my mother died and lost his own a few years earlier. Back in the day, I made just as many school lunches for Ted as I had for my own younger siblings.

  “C-Coach D,” he said, sobbing. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”

  My phone vibrated from the outside compartment of my leather messenger bag. I let it go but something told me I should answer it.

  “Coach D,” I repeated. “Coach Drazdowski?”

  Larry Drazdowski was the high school basketball coach. In Ted’s case, I knew he’d become somewhat of a father figure. He was a legend in this town ... hell ... maybe in the whole country. The team had won their eight state titles under him.