Contempt: A Legal Thriller

by Michael Cordell

  “I don’t know about—I’m not sure that’s correct,” Yoder stammered.

  Thane pulled out a report and handed it to the judge. “I’d like to submit the official prison report related to this event. The witness’s statement was that he came across inmate Hernandez lying against the wall, bleeding to death, his head caved in by a small rolling pin used by prison cafeteria workers. A rolling pin, by the way, the same dimension as a guard’s metal baton. He claimed the incident took place before he got there, and there was nothing he could do to save the prisoner. He said the reason the man’s blood was all over his uniform was because he tried to resuscitate him.”

  Yoder started squirming. He glanced at Stone, then over at the judge. “I remember that now. I got the names mixed up with another time, is all.”

  Thane walked quickly toward the witness box until he was standing immediately in front of Yoder. “It was only a little more than a year ago.”

  “Like I said, I just got the names mixed up.”

  “But there are no other reports where you beat a man to death with your baton for coming at you with a frying pan, so it’s not as though you just got the names mixed up. Tell me: why the sudden change in stories? Why did you tell the prison inquiry board that you came across Mr. Hernandez after he had been beaten, but today you said you killed him in self-defense? No, I remember now: the look in his eyes. Very scary.”

  “You said I killed him with the baton. That’s what you said,” Yoder yelped.

  “But you were certainly quick to agree with it. Almost looked as though you were reliving that frightful day all over again. Except, of course, for the fact it never happened.”

  Yoder glared at him, probably one breath away from launching himself over the top of the witness box and onto Thane. He then turned and gave a death glare toward Gideon, who scratched the side of his nose with his middle finger.

  “Is it possible you simply couldn’t remember which lie you told regarding this inmate’s death?” Thane asked.

  Yoder leaned forward, grabbing the front of the jury box. “I’m telling you that Skunk told me—”

  Thane wheeled back toward Yoder. “I told you not to call him—”

  “Fuck what you want! That piece of shit told me he beat that cop down and that he’d do the same to me.”

  Reynolds banged his gavel and turned toward Yoder, but Thane didn’t slow down.

  “But the detective was shot, not beaten,” Thane said. “You’re the one who beats people to death. Sure you don’t want to retry your story yet again?”

  Stone rose. “Your Honor, there’s obviously been some misunderstanding on the part of the witness. I suggest the counsel for the defense ask any more questions he might have regarding Mr. Yoder’s earlier testimony . . .”

  Thane waved Stone off. “Why should I waste a second more of my time talking to this witness?”

  “Your Honor!” Stone shouted.

  The judge nodded his agreement. “Mr. Banning, if you have no other questions, I shall dismiss this witness.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor. However, I hope the District Attorney’s office will look further into the events described during today’s testimony. It’s clear the witness should be dismissed from more than just this witness stand.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  Court adjourned immediately after Thane finished with Yoder, but many of the spectators were slow to leave, talking amongst themselves. When the bailiff started directing the crowd to leave the courtroom, Thane stood to see if Hannah was still at the back. Yes, there she was—but unlike the other gawkers, there was no curiosity in her eyes. Just shining admiration.

  Thane picked his way through the crowd towards her, pulling her to the side to let the mob skirt by them, most of them not hiding their stares. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

  “I didn’t either. It was just the spur of the moment. I hope you don’t mind.” She reached over and took his hand. “I was afraid I would make you nervous.”

  “I’ll be nervous all the time until this is finished. I appreciate the support.”

  “Is that guard someone you knew at Forsman?” she asked hesitantly.

  “He was there. Nothing special.” If and when he ever felt comfortable talking about Forsman, he wouldn’t give Yoder a significant role in that story. He put his arm around his wife’s waist and turned toward the door.

  “Buy you a drink?” he asked.

  “I have to close the store this afternoon. Why don’t you come by around six and we can get a drink then? My treat.”

  “Deal. I’ll see you there.”

  As he turned to rejoin his colleagues, Hannah put her hand on his shoulder. “Thane? You were really impressive today.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek, then exited the courtroom.

  He walked back to the defense table where Kristin was reading a document, pretending not to have been watching them. Gideon, on the other hand, simply chuckled as Thane approached.

  “You had a good day there, Counselor.”

  Kristin sprang up, her eyes looking as though they could start emitting sparks of electricity. “Oh my God, that was so amazing. You rocked up there. When you started reading from the official record and Yoder’s face just froze up and he started sweating . . . I swear to God I thought smoke was going to start pouring out his ears like in the cartoons. Jesus—that was better than sex.”

  Thane and Gideon looked at each other, then started laughing.

  “Damn, girl,” Gideon said. “I know crackheads mellower than you.”

  Thane looked at the now-empty witness chair. During all his time at Forsman, he never imagined he would get to do something like that. He just hoped his stunt had worked—that Yoder would get arrested, or at least thrown out of Forsman for good.

  The three of them exited the courtroom and started down the long marble corridor leading to the elevators. Immediately they were mobbed by reporters like hornets streaming out of the trees.

  “What was your experience with Mr. Yoder while at Forsman?” a bleach-blonde reporter hollered out to him, her deep voice rising above the maelstrom. “Did he ever mistreat you?”

  Thane held his hand up, futilely attempting to quiet the pack of journalists. “What you heard today was just one example of Yoder’s abuses. I’d love to comment more, but my guess is that this will become a legal matter soon, so I’d rather leave it up to the police. But if it doesn’t get looked into further, I hope you’ll be asking why.”

  Thane and his team walked on down the hall, ignoring the second volley of questions. Thane was trying to find a quicker way out of the building when he saw Hannah being hassled by a TV reporter and cameraman. She looked like she was trying to move past them, but the reporter kept blocking her way forward, and his cameraman was keeping her from retreating.

  Thane turned and moved quickly down the hall toward her with long, determined strides, leaving Gideon and Kristin behind. As he neared, he heard Hannah trying to politely get away from Jag Colter, the court reporter for Channel 4. His jet-black hair was slicked back—Thane could almost smell the styling mousse caked in it.

  “I just want to know if you support your husband taking on this case,” Colter asked. “How’s he been since his release? What do you say to accusations that he’s risking a man’s life because of his dislike for the District Attorney?” He jabbed a microphone in front of Hannah, who flinched backward.

  “Please stop,” Hannah pleaded. “Just leave me alone. I’m trying to ask you nicely.”

  Hannah put her arms out in the hope that she could gently move Colter to the side, but he was too sturdy for her to budge. The obese cameraman behind her kept crowding closer, his lights coming dangerously close to burning her.

  “A lot of people feel Mr. Burns is going to get the death penalty because your husband’s desire for r
evenge is keeping him from accepting a plea deal.”

  Suddenly Thane’s voice boomed off the marble walls.

  “Leave her alone.”

  Thane pushed past the cameraman, causing the large man to stumble a couple of steps to the side, though he didn’t stop filming.

  Hannah turned and took hold of Thane’s arm. “It’s okay. I’m all right.”

  He shook his arm free with one strong movement. Colter’s eyes lit up.

  “Jag Colter, KXLA News. I wanted to know how your wife feels about you putting a man’s life at risk?”

  “She has nothing to say to you. If you want to be an asshole, come at me, but leave her alone, understand?” He tried steering Hannah around the microphone, but Colter leaned around Thane.

  “Mrs. Banning, has it been difficult having your husband back after so many years?” As he thrust his arm past Thane, the microphone got too close and struck Hannah in the forehead.

  In an instant, Thane had grabbed the reporter by the lapels of his jacket, picking him up off his feet. Colter’s eyes grew round as the distance between him and the floor kept increasing. Thane carried him across the corridor and slammed him against the cold marble wall. The cameraman never pulled his eyes away from the viewfinder, though he did take a few steps back.

  Colter looked shaken, but his voice never wavered. “You learn that move in Forsman?” he asked.

  Thane shoved the smirking reporter to the ground. “Keep the hell away from her! Didn’t you do enough damage the first time?”

  Colter tried holding his microphone up toward Hannah. “Mrs. Banning, has your husband been violent with you as well?”

  Thane knocked the microphone out of Colter’s hand; it spun down the hall like a game of spin the bottle. “I said, leave her alone!” he roared.

  By now, the other reporters were making a mad dash toward this breaking story. Thane saw them coming and turned to Hannah, who looked lost, her eyes glazed over.

  “Get out of here,” he said.

  “Thane, what are you doing? Come with me.”

  She started toward him, but froze as he wheeled on her.

  “Leave, damn it!”

  She looked at Thane, who only minutes ago had been holding her hand. Her expression grew hard, as did her voice. “I may have to.”

  Thane stopped cold. He watched her turn and walk down the corridor away from the approaching reporters, slowly at first, then breaking into a run as if chased by ghosts. She reached the stairwell at the end of the hall, shoving the bar on the door open and disappearing down the dimly lit stairs.

  The reporters caught up with Thane, who positioned himself firmly between them and the door through which Hannah had just vanished. They began peppering him with questions, not one of them checking to see if their fellow journalist, who was gingerly lifting himself up off the floor, was injured.

  From the rear of the pack, Gideon forced his way through toward Thane. Kristin followed close behind him, like a running back following her All-Pro blocker. When they reached him, Gideon said to Kristin:

  “Get him out of here.”

  She walked over and lightly placed her hand on Thane’s shoulder. He looked at her with a face full of fury. She pulled back slightly, then once again rested her hand on him, turning him toward where Hannah had just escaped.

  “Come on. Let’s go outside. She’s safe now.”

  As Thane and Kristin turned and started toward the stairwell, he glanced back and saw Jag Colter brushing himself off and looking over at his cameraman with a gleam in his eye, his hair somehow still perfectly coiffed.

  “Tell me you got that,” Thane heard him say.

  The heavyset man held up his camera like a trophy and grinned, as though he’d just won a free dinner.

  “Hell yeah.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  Thane sat at the bar at Tucker’s, a musty hole-in-the-wall joint he always passed on his way to Hannah’s bookstore. At three thirty in the afternoon, the only patrons were himself and a couple of derelicts. He had been in the bar for less than five minutes, just long enough to throw down a shot of whiskey and rebuke himself for sitting in a bar, rather than finding Hannah.

  He looked at the other two men sitting three stools down from him, draped over their drinks as if afraid someone was going to run by and snatch them. He caught his own reflection in the mirror, lurched over as well. He shook himself, grabbed a mint from the ashtray, threw a ten-dollar bill on the counter, and slid off his bar stool.

  He walked down the sidewalk, still wired from court and his encounter with Jag Colter. He’d never wanted to feel like this, but he could sense a kind of bitterness worming its way down inside of him, like termites in an old house. Bitterness toward Bradford Stone, who let him go to prison for a crime he didn’t commit; toward the bastard that had killed Lauren; and toward the whole blasted system that had torn his life apart, fractured his marriage, and poisoned his soul. Perhaps a better man would know how to move on, how to put it all behind him—but he was not that man. At least this time, when he saw Hannah getting hassled, he’d been able to stand by her side and protect her.

  But he hadn’t stood by her side: he’d yelled at her.

  The look in her eye made him wince whenever the image bullied its way back into his consciousness. The fear in the face of the woman he loved, confusion as she tried to understand why the man she loved was acting like an ugly drunk.

  He entered the bookstore, this time not caring whether there were customers inside or not; but the only person he saw was Caitlin, curled up in her usual chair. She glanced up at him, her eyes springing wide. Her mouth dropped open a couple of inches, but nothing came out.

  “I need to talk to Hannah,” he told her.

  She stumbled up out of her chair, clutching the book to her chest like a shield. She glanced toward Hannah’s office, then back at Thane, throwing her shoulders back and trying not to sound so much like a kid.

  “She’s not here. She’s not working today.”

  “She told me she was closing up this afternoon. She in the back?”

  Caitlin shifted back and forth on her feet and pushed back a lock of hair that kept falling over her left eye. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “That’s not for you to decide,” Thane said.

  He started toward the back of the store. Caitlin looked as though she was going to step between him and the hall, but she quickly backed out of the way, her hand going up to her mouth and then back to her side.

  “I’m serious, you really shouldn’t be here. Right now . . . it’s not a good time. Please believe me.” She nervously glanced at her watch.

  Thane didn’t break his stride. As he neared the door, Caitlin was still calling out to him. “I’ll call the police. I mean it. Please, you need to leave.”

  Thane paused in front of the office door, but only to catch his breath. He lightly tapped on the door, then slowly opened it after he hadn’t gotten a response. Hannah sat, staring at the top of her desk, her fingers steepled in front of her mouth.

  “Hi,” he offered, keeping his voice soft. Hannah didn’t look up.

  He walked into the office, shutting the door behind him. “I was worried about you. I’m sorry about this afternoon. I don’t know what to say. It’s just . . . when I saw that reporter harassing you, it brought back memories of the first trial, when I wasn’t around to protect you.”

  She spoke without taking her eyes off the clean desktop. “I didn’t feel protected. I felt threatened.”

  Her voice was quiet and flat, betraying no emotion whatsoever.

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I meant to do.”

  She finally looked up at him. Her eyes were red and she looked exhausted, beaten down. “Thane, I just want you back.”

  “You have me.”

  She lea
ned back in her chair. “No. I don’t. I felt like I was starting to, but then you took this case. Now you’re slipping away, just like I was afraid you would.”

  He walked over and stood in front of her desk, glancing at the chair next to him, but afraid that if he sat down he wouldn’t have the strength to stand again. “I have to do this.”

  Hannah jumped up from her chair. “No you don’t.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “No, you don’t have to do this. You’re choosing to do this.”

  Thane looked into his wife’s face—and for a moment, he could have done it. He could have walked away from the trial, from Skunk, from Bradford Stone . . . But the moment passed as quickly as it had come. He wished he could explain what he was trying to do, but he couldn’t conjure the words. Of everyone he knew Gideon, and probably Joseph, would understand. But not Hannah. Never Hannah.

  “I’m hoping this will allow me to move on.”

  She looked at him as if he were a puzzle. A curiosity. She closed her eyes, her jaw working as she thought. Finally, she shook her head.

  “I don’t understand how.”

  “I know you don’t. I wish you could trust me.”

  She opened her eyes again. “Trust you? Who is it I’m trusting?”

  She stared at him, waiting for an answer. Then her voice grew quieter, but strong like a wire. “You need to decide. Are we going to move forward—together—or are you going to keep waging war with the past? With Stone. With Forsman. I waited five years for you, Thane. I’m not going to wait any longer.”

  He knew she was serious. Although she had obviously been thinking about everything since the incident at the courthouse, he felt she had just come to this conclusion. He had spent five years wishing he could get back to Hannah, and she was finally back in his life. Things could go back to the way they used to be.

  And yet . . .

  “I have to do this,” Thane said at last.

  “Then do it alone.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes glassy. Thane couldn’t move, struck with the sudden fear that if he left her office, he might never see her again.