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

by Robin James

  “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”

  “Ted. Teddy ... is he ... what happened to him?” I asked, but of course I already knew. Ted Moran was broken from it.

  “He’s dead. Oh God. Cass, he’s dead.” Then Ted got up. The thing seemed to happen in slow motion but still too fast for me to stop it. Ted Moran curled his giant fist and drove it straight through the wall.

  “Shit,” I shot to my feet and went to him. Ted crumpled against me, curling in half to rest his forehead on my shoulder.

  “What was it?” I asked, as if it mattered to Ted or any of the boys that man had coached. “His heart?”

  Ted gasped against me. My spine creaked as he rested his weight against me then sank back into his chair. “No,” he said. “Cass. He was murdered. Gutted like a fucking deer. They found him last night but the news just came out.”

  The air in my lungs turned to ash. Murdered. That didn’t happen. Not here. Not in Delphi. Not to Larry Drazdowski. The coach. My phone buzzed again.

  “There you are!” A female voice cut through the noise in my head. I turned. Ted turned. It was Nancy Olsen, the deputy court clerk. She knew my family and was one of the few people who didn’t hold it against me.

  “I’ll get out of your hair,” I said to Ted, thinking Nancy was here for him.

  Nancy’s face fell. She came further into the room. Ted straightened. “Maybe give us a minute,” Nancy said.

  I stood. “Of course. I need to get back to my office. Gosh, I’m so sorry, Ted. I can’t even …”

  “No, honey,” Nancy said to me. “I was looking for you.”

  “Me?”

  She lifted her hand. She held a thin green file in it. Under the county’s filing system, green was reserved for criminal cases.

  “Your name came up,” she said.

  “My name,” I repeated. It was all in my head, but I swore I heard the sound of a freight train coming straight for me.

  “Criminal court appointments,” she said. Nancy gave a pained look to Ted, realizing how lousy her timing was right now.

  “Nancy ... I …”

  She handed me the file as Ted let out a garbled cry. He straightened his shoulders and gave the room to Nancy and me.

  “This isn’t …” I said, shaking my head. It couldn’t be. Not this soon.

  “I’m afraid so, honey. I mean ... you can decline, of course ... but they’ve made an arrest already. That poor, poor man. But, like I said, your name came up.”

  She handed me the file. I squeezed my eyes shut, not needing to even read the charging document inside of it.

  It would be murder. The victim’s name would be Coach Larry Drazdowski.

  Chapter 2

  The Woodbridge County Jail is housed in a three-story brick building kitty-corner to the courthouse. I’d learned that on any given day, you can be treated to the thunderous rattling of the windows from the second-floor common area while crossing Main Street. That was the men’s side.

  I walked in through the Clancy Street entrance, away from the visitors’ area, otherwise known as the lawyer’s entrance. Two deputy sheriffs manned the metal detectors. I put my black pumps in the plastic bin and slid my messenger bag and cell phone down the conveyor. The sheriffs knew me, of course. From the glare I got from both of them, they’d already figured out why I was here.

  The younger deputy looked me up and down as if I were covered in dog shit. I took a breath and grabbed my shoes from the bin, sliding them back on. The second deputy shoved my messenger bag down the conveyor belt. It would have fallen off the end if I hadn’t been quick enough to catch it.

  “Really?” I turned back to him. The man’s eyes were red-rimmed. Chances were, he was also one of Coach D’s all-stars.

  “You want the door to the left of central processing,” he said, taking at least a small degree of pity on me.

  I thanked him and checked in with the desk clerk. She too was someone I knew though I couldn’t place her name. She gave me a kind smile when she signed me in.

  “Nancy called ahead,” she said in a whisper. “They’re bringing your client up. She and I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to have to wait around here too long. Best get you in a private room so you can talk.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “It seems there are a lot of people jumping to some pretty big conclusions already. I’m just doing my job. And I’m not even sure if this is my job yet.” I don’t know why I felt the need to explain. I’d spent the last ten years doing business litigation and white-collar criminal defense. This was something altogether different. This was murder and the victim was someone I knew, at least in passing.

  A female deputy poked her head around the corner. She looked familiar to me too, but a few years younger than me. Maybe just out of college. My sister Vangie’s age, maybe. I felt a little sliver of ice low in my gut thinking about her. I wouldn’t let my mind go to how long it had been since we’d last spoken.

  “I’ve got you set up down here,” the female deputy said. Her badge read “Carver.” Familiar, yes, but only just.

  The kind clerk shot me a wink and I slid the strap of my messenger bag over my right shoulder. Deputy Carver led me down a long hallway. Carver opened the door. The room was small, maybe twelve feet by twelve feet. There was a long metal table in the center and a two-way mirror taking up one whole wall. The lights were on though. The room behind us was empty.

  My would-be client sat with her wrists shackled, the chain threaded through a metal loop in the center of the table. She wore an orange jumpsuit that was easily two sizes too big on her. Her head was down and I couldn’t see her face through the stringy blonde hair that hung in front of it. She was crying. Sobbing, actually. And she was just a tiny little thing.

  My trial lawyer brain was already filing things away. Larry Drazdowski was huge. A basketball coach. Fit. Well muscled. Close to six foot five.

  “Thank you, Deputy Carver,” I smiled back. She cleared her throat and shut the door behind her.

  “Aubrey?” I said, my voice soft and gentle. I took a seat across from her.

  Aubrey Ames slowly raised her chin. She had big doe eyes filled with tears. They streaked down her cheeks and the chains binding her rattled as she shook in her seat. God, she was skinny. Her skin was pale, nearly translucent so I could see tiny blue veins running up her arm.

  I saw no track marks. Though puffy, her eyes looked clear, focusing with laser-like precision straight on me. It didn’t mean she wasn’t on something, of course, but it was at least a positive sign.

  I’d had all of fifteen minutes to read through the thin green file Nancy Olsen gave me. There wasn’t much to it. A preliminary police report and the criminal complaint. They were charging this nineteen-year-old girl in front of me with first-degree murder.

  “You’re the lawyer?” she asked.

  “I am,” I said. “My name is Cass. Cass Leary.”

  It registered on her face with the flicker of her eyelids. Her mouth turned down. I had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from letting out an ironic laugh. This girl was chained to a table facing life imprisonment. But I was the one with the shitty family name. Welcome back to Delphi. The signs were all around.

  “Wow,” she whispered. “I heard about you. You went to law school and everything?”

  “I did,” I said, hoisting my messenger bag to the table. I slid Aubrey’s case file out of the side pocket.

  “Why in the world did you come back here?” Aubrey asked. Her words seemed more steady now. Good. The girl was starting to get a grip. Still, she’d just asked the million-dollar question and this meeting wasn’t about me. Plus, we didn’t have a whole lot of time.

  “I’m your court-appointed lawyer,” I said. “Well, if I agree to take this case, that is. I’ll be honest, I haven’t decided that yet.”

  What little color she had drained even more. “You have to!” She almost screamed it.

  “Listen,” I said. “Let’s just focus
on what comes next. Do you understand what they’ve charged you with?”

  A single tear fell down Aubrey’s face. I knew the Ameses too. On the status ladder of Delphi, Michigan, the Ames family was maybe only half a rung above the Learys. To be honest, it’s the second reason I took that file from Nancy.

  “They want to fry me for what happened to Coach D,” she said.

  I raised a brow. “Well, first things first. There’s no death penalty in Michigan, Aubrey.”

  She blanched. It hit me this really was news to her. Her shoulders dropped. For a moment, she looked relieved. Then she slowly closed her eyes.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “They’ll want to kill me anyway.”

  “Listen,” I said. “Let’s just take this one step at a time. That’s how you’re going to get through this, okay? You’re scheduled for arraignment and a bail hearing first thing in the morning. Now, I’m going to ask some questions. What you do tell me needs to be the truth, okay?”

  “You’ll help me though?”

  “One thing at a time. You’re being charged with first-degree murder. Tomorrow, during your arraignment, they’re going to ask you if you understand that. And they’re going to ask you to enter a plea.”

  “This isn’t what anyone thinks!” she shouted.

  “Great,” I said. “Now that we have that out of the way, that’s the last time I want you to answer a question you haven’t been asked. The police read you your rights when they arrested you. Use them. You are not to say anything to the police outside my presence. You are not to discuss this case with anyone but me. Ever. Not your parents, your friends, your priest, no one. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

  Aubrey nodded. “You want me to keep my mouth shut.”

  “Tightly,” I said. “Now, have you said anything to them so far?”

  I cringed waiting for her to answer. Any statements she made would be in the full police report. I was picking that up before I left the building. What they had so far was sparse. Her cell phone was found at the scene near the victim’s body. I didn’t yet know what was on it, but it was enough to give them probable cause to arrest her. That was ominous.

  “No,” she said. “My dad ... he was there when they came to the house to arrest me. He told me not to say anything else.”

  “Smart man,” I said. “Now, what am I going to find when I look up your record, Aubrey? I need to know everything down to the last parking ticket.”

  “Nothing.” She started to cry in earnest. “I swear. I got a speeding ticket two years ago over on Waverly. It’s a speed trap down there. But that’s it. I promise.”

  I sat back in my chair. I’d handled plenty of felony cases in my life but only a few involving teenage girls. Usually I’d been asked to take care of Minor in Possession charges for the sons and daughters of the Thorne Group’s biggest clients. But I’d handled enough to know most people lie about their records.

  “He was alive when I saw him last.”

  My head spun. I was nowhere near familiar with the timeline the prosecution was building. I almost didn’t want to go too much deeper with Aubrey before I had that solid.

  “When was that?” I asked.

  Aubrey sniffled. “A little after ten o’clock at the park.”

  “You were there alone with him?”

  She nodded, her expression growing more dour. Things looked bad enough already.

  “Where did you go after that?” I asked.

  Aubrey shrugged and, if it was even possible, managed to make herself look smaller in her chair. “I drove around. I knew my dad was going to be pissed I missed curfew.”

  Oh boy.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s table the bigger talk we’ll need to have and focus on tomorrow’s procedure. I’ll talk to your parents next. You’re going to spend the night in here and there’s nothing I can do about that. But with any luck, the District Court judge will set a reasonable bail and you’ll be back in your own bed by tomorrow night. In the meantime, your main job is to just keep quiet.”

  She nodded and wiped a tear from her eye. I reached for a tissue from the cardboard box at the end of the table. Aubrey blew her nose into it, looking every inch the little girl she was so close to being.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, crushing the tissue into her fist. “Miss Leary. You don’t know me. You have to be thinking all sorts of awful things about me.”

  It hit me then. I did know this girl. She was an Ames, of course, not a Leary. Her grandfather worked with my dad a million years ago on the line at the spark plug plant on the west side of town that wasn’t there anymore. She had an uncle in prison for dealing ... at least, I thought so.

  She reminded me of me in a way, once upon a time. And I knew it was dangerous for me to think that. She was vulnerable, but tough in the way she kept her back straight even as she fell apart right in front of me.

  “Will you help me?” she asked, meeting my eyes. “They’re going to want me dead.”

  “We’re going to have a lot to talk about, Aubrey,” I said. “One step at a time. Focus on your hearing tomorrow.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me?” she said, holding my stare.

  The weight of her question hung between us. It was one I never asked of criminal clients. In a legal sense, the answer didn’t matter. That’s not what this was about. It was about the prosecution being held to its burden of proof. It was about upholding a system designed to protect all of us.

  In the space of those few seconds, my world seemed to shift on its axis. The haunted, hopeless look in Aubrey Ames’s eyes cut straight through me. It was like looking in a mirror in a lot of ways.

  “Aubrey ... it’s better if …”

  “No,” she said. “It’s not better. Not for me. It matters. I didn’t kill that man. I did not kill that man.”

  The thing was ... at that moment, God help us both, I believed her. And she was right. It did matter.

  “Okay,” I said. “So let me get to work.”

  Chapter 3

  I got as far as the parking lot before it started.

  “You must be trying to tank your law practice before you get it off the ground.”

  I stood next to my newly leased Ford Fusion with my keys in my hand before I turned. Bill Walden stood next to Deputy Ron Tucker. Tucker was twenty years older than me and moonlighted as a driving instructor. He’d helped me get my license. He stared me down with cold, dark eyes, his keys jangling from his belt as he approached.

  “Boys, I’m not in the mood,” I said.

  “You see the crime scene photos yet?” Tucker asked. I was about to ask him how the hell he had.

  “I’m not going to discuss this with you. Either of you.”

  “Larry Drazdowski was gutted like a damn deer, Cass,” Bill said.

  So he’d seen the crime scene photos? Jesus. No matter what else happened, this case was already getting out of hand.

  “You take court appointments too, Bill. Why are you giving me asses and elbows on this?”

  “Just giving you some friendly business advice,” he said, taking a step toward me. “You’ve been away for a long time. Maybe you’ve forgotten a few things. But you’re going to want to stay away from this one.”

  They weren’t overtly threatening me, but they stood shoulder to shoulder and didn’t back up. Tucker’s eyes were puffy. He’d taken the coach’s death just as hard as Ted Moran had.

  “I’ll mind my own business, Bill. I know you’ll do the same.”

  “This is open and shut,” Ron said. “You get in the way of this, you might as well pack your shit back up and keep heading east.”

  “Is that a threat?” I said. I’d had enough of those to last me a lifetime and from far bigger and badder characters than Ron Tucker. Sometimes at night, I could still feel those zip ties cutting into my wrists and ankles as two goons threatened to throw me into Lake Michigan.

  “Ron!”

  A deep voice
came from across the street. I couldn’t place the face at first but knew instantly it was another cop. This one in a suit hustling his way across Main Street and coming straight for us. Great.

  He was tall with black hair and the first touches of gray peppered his temples. He slid his hand in his pocket and his jacket spread, revealing his sidearm and badge clipped to his belt.

  “Perfect,” Ron said. “Maybe Wray can talk some damn sense into you.”

  Wray. As the detective approached, recognition came. Eric Wray. He’d been captain of the football team my freshman year when he was a senior. Eric still had that athlete’s swagger as he crossed the street. He stood nearly a head taller than Bill Walden and had several inches on Tucker.

  “Everything okay out here?” he asked, his blue eyes darting from Ron to Bill then back to me.

  “Why don’t you fill Ms. Leary in on what they’ve got on her client,” Ron said.

  Eric Wray at least had the decency to look shocked. “And I’m pretty sure Ms. Leary can figure out how to do her job without any of our help. Now, I’m heading over to Mickey’s. I could use a beer. You assholes plan on hogging your usual spots over there?”

  He put a heavy hand on Ron Tucker’s shoulder and shot me glance. He kept his eyes on mine as Bill and Ron turned, grumbled, and headed back toward the courthouse. I mouthed a quick thank you to Eric Wray. He lifted his chin and turned his back to me.

  I sank against my car knowing this would be just the first of many encounters like this if I agreed to defend Aubrey Ames. Letting out a hard breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, I slid behind the wheel and headed back for the lake.

  Chapter 4

  A perfect orange sunset melted into the lake as I pulled up the gravel driveway. My brother Joe stood silhouetted against it, casting his line with a fluid zip at the end of the dock. He’d managed to salvage most of the planks of wood I’d found sinking into the sand the day I came back. He was the only member of my family willing to talk to me since my surprise homecoming.