A Case of Hate

by Rex Darby

  “He is charged with first-degree murder, Your Honor,” I reiterate. Two can play the visual game. “He crept up into that house, then strangled his girlfriend to death in a planned murder with a necktie. Not only that, he messaged his friend Thomas Hatton two hours previous, stating, Today is the day. Is this the kind of dangerous criminal we want on our streets, Judge? His lack of previous convictions should have no bearing on the decision for bail in such a serious offence.”

  Judge Roach is silent for a moment, then replays the videos. He briefly looks up at Jason, who looks like a little mouse, hunched over in his expensive gray suit. Matching attire with the defense, I note.

  “While I acknowledge the serious nature of the crime...” he begins.

  My heart sinks.

  “...and the poor character the video displays, given other circumstances regarding the defendant, I see no harm in granting bail with the following conditions of release as per section 22-2802.”

  Little muffled joyous noises erupt from odd spots around the courtroom, as they always do.

  “One, that the defendant is released to the custody of his parents who agree to supervise him.

  “Two, that the defendant is placed on house-arrest at the parents’ home and does not breach this house-arrest for any reason whatsoever.”

  My face is burning. I sincerely hope it’s not reddening.

  “Three, that the deposit shall be in the full amount of the bond.

  “Four, that he surrenders his passport and drivers license. Is there anything else before me, regarding Mr. Blachowicz?”

  “No, Your Honor,” Ms. Fairweather says quickly.

  “State?” the judge asks.

  I feel the whole courtroom is looking at me. “That’s all, Your Honor.” I know he’s not going to change his mind. Fighting now would only make me look desperate.

  “Bail is set at a million dollars with the four aforementioned conditions applied until the July 14th preliminary hearing. Clerk, please collect the check. Thank you. Mr. Blachowicz, you are free to go.”

  And with that, it’s over.

  Ms. Fairweather turns around and gives me a mock look of sympathy that turns my stomach. But there’s a silver lining – she didn’t bring a motion to get the necktie evidence suppressed. Meaning she doesn’t have any basis for any Fourth Amendment violation. The search of Jason’s car wasn’t unlawful, and we both know it.

  I swallow, then go over to Georgia’s parents. “Don’t worry,” I say. “Jason’s parents’ money and influence may have landed him bail, but the jury will see the very strong evidence we have in this case, and will get us the conviction we seek.” I see the doubt and pain in their eyes. “I assure you, the State is committed to bring Mr. Blachowicz to justice, and I will not rest until that happens.”

  A loud peal of laughter rings out through the courtroom, and we all turn to look at Ms. Fairweather shaking the hand of the senior Mr. Blachowicz, all of them with smiles plastered all over their faces. Sick. Not a second’s thought given to the victim. It’s only Jason who has the respect to look withdrawn and sorrowful. Everyone else looks like they’re at a birthday party.

  Mr. Stafford squares up to me. “You make sure that murdering miscreant goes down for life, at the very least, or I’ll make sure you lose your job.”

  “Hal,” his wife says gently, placing her hand on his arm.

  He turns away, fighting tears.

  I look Mrs. Stafford in the eyes and speak from my heart. “I got into this job to bring justice for people like Georgia. I’ve done that hundreds of times, and I’ll fight to the very end on Georgia’s behalf. I promise.”

  “Okay,” she says. “I trust you.”

  I beckon JaMarcus and we leave. In the corridor, I tell him, “We’ll go see Kelly Acaster this afternoon. I’ll handle that. For now, I need you to put all the forensics together for the preliminary hearing.

  “Dig into any and all personnel involved in bringing the evidence, including the police officers, the criminalist, the lab, everyone. You know she’s going to try to get it thrown out on any little issue on that side, so if you find anything not 100% straight, bring it to me right away, okay?”

  “Got it,” he says. “I’m going to go grab coffee and a muffin. The usual?”

  “You’re an angel, JaMarcus, thank you.”

  I go up to my office, and see through the glass door a very unwelcome visitor sitting at my desk.

  I sigh as I get through the door. “What is it, Cruz?”

  Marisol Cruz gets up to shake my hand. “Close the door. It’s a sensitive matter.”

  What trick has Ms. Fairweather got up her sleeve now? I close the door then sit across from her. “So...?”

  “I want a deal.”

  I’m confused. “You mean, Ms. Fairweather wants a deal for Mr. Blachowicz?”

  “No, a deal for myself,” she says.

  “You’re going to have to enlighten me here.”

  She swallows, looking unsure of herself. She looks around, to see no one’s watching us. “This stays between me and you for now, okay?”

  “Right.”

  “Promise me.”

  “Well, it depends. Some things I’m legally bound to report.”

  “Fuck the law for a moment,” she says. “Just give me your word.”

  “I can’t, Lopez.”

  She sighs with impatience. I can see her thoughts turning over on themselves. I see a change in her eyes as she finally decides she can tell me. “There’s something you should know about Liliana.”

  “What is it?”

  “She’s been screwing with evidence. I can give you all you need to charge her for it. But I’ve... well, I’ve been looking the wrong way a long time, and have maybe... put my hand in, a couple times. I’ll testify, and give you everything you need. But I want no charges brought against me. None.”

  I sit, stunned. Is this a Ms. Fairweather stunt, or genuine?

  She looks at me with her big brown eyes, obviously trying to convey honesty. I don’t know whether to believe it or not.

  “I’ll continue to work with her and feed you information. You can win the Jason Blachowicz case, and charge her. Give me an immunity deal, Lincoln,” she says, “and I’ll help you bring her down.”

  “And what is in this for you, exactly?” That’s not a question I’d have asked a few years ago. When I first got into this job, I thought the vast majority of the population were good people who wanted to Do The Right Thing. Now, I’ve had the corners knocked off me. Most will do right or wrong happily – whichever happens to work toward their own best interest at the time.

  “All her clients on retainer,” Marisol Lopez says simply. “She gets disbarred. I take over.”

  Chapter 5

  Liliana Fairweather

  Marisol’s at the DA’s office, working on another ‘scare-the-shit-out-of-Lincoln’ tactic, and I’m bursting with joy with the bail outcome. It makes me feel open-hearted and like all is right with the world, so I head to Nerius’ house to see if he can really forgive me once and for all. There might be a way for us to move forward.

  “Nerius!” I holler on the driveway, getting out of my car.

  He takes a while to respond. “Come in, you stupid bitch!” he finally hollers back in his harsh, raw Caribbean accent. I’ve heard those with lilting, soft accents that sound like music. He’s not one of them.

  I grin. I love being around Nerius. I’ve missed him.

  The screen door on the old house leads right into the living room, which is chaotic with junk food debris and a thousand torn out pages of handwritten notes, as usual. He’s on a bare mattress on the floor wearing nothing but Spiderman underpants with a hole in the side. He looks more gaunt than ever, his big eyes popping out of his face like a starving child. His thin dreadlocks are draped over one shoulder, resting on his stomach, showing his ribs on the other side. As standard in Nerius’ world, he’s glued to his state-of-the-art laptop.

  “What you up
to?” I ask, flinging my purse down on the mattress and then flopping down next to him.

  “Gone down a rabbit hole of the neuroscience of trauma and bonding.”

  “I see. Sounds interesting... You know you love me, right?”

  “What do you want?” he says, still glued to the laptop.

  “You back, of course! Killing it with Marisol and me.”

  He sighs and puts the laptop down very gently on the mattress. He reaches for a can of Coke. “Want?”

  “Oh, go on then.” I take it and crack it open, then take sip. It’s warm and makes me feel nauseous.

  He cracks his own. “I don’t know. It’s all a bit... samey.”

  “Oh, come on. I keep telling you, you need the rush of the courtroom in your veins. You should get your J.D. and—”

  “Nah, I’m good. I don’t want my time dictated by whatever clients show up at the door. I have things to do.”

  “Like what?”

  “Research.”

  “What for, though? You know everything about everything, but what do you actually do with it?”

  “Know it.”

  I sigh. Now I remember why we’re not talking. “But... You could choose which cases to take on.”

  “A J.D. is throwing cash down the drain. Cash I don’t have.”

  “Cash you should have. You’re a genius. A total and utter genius. You could do anything, be anything.”

  He shrugs. “I’m good.”

  “Ugh, you’re so annoying!” I say, passion bringing me to my feet. I pace. “Why can’t you see your own potential?”

  “You have a different perspective,” he says. “You’re a 3 on the Enneagram, I’m a 5. We value different things.”

  “The Ennea-what?”

  “It’s a model of nine different types of perspectives on viewing reality.”

  “Oh, god, please, don’t. I don’t have the headspace for you and your bullshit.”

  “Ditto.”

  I look at him. He’s studiously studying a spot in the corner, avoiding my eyes. “I’ll pay you more,” I say.

  He shrugs. “I’m good.”

  “You’re not good!” I burst out. “Look at this darn place!”

  “Like I said,” he says tensely, “we have different perspectives. You can’t just hammer me into whatever shape you want me to be, think I should be. I. AM. FINE. What about that is so hard to understand?”

  “No, you think you’re fine.”

  “You’re a know-it-all jackass.”

  I smirk. “And...?”

  “And obnoxious as fuck.”

  “And...? Go on, get it all off your chest.”

  “Stop patronizing me.”

  A long silence stretches out between us.

  I sit down next to him and put my head on his shoulder. “Sorry. I just... I think you’re brilliant. You have the most amazing mind. I want to see you put it to use.”

  He runs his finger gently up and down my forearm. There’s nothing sexual – or, heaven forbid, romantic - about it. That’s just what we do. “To whose use?”

  “Mine. The clients’.”

  “I don’t care about clients, babe.”

  He’s so warm against my back. “Fine, just to see yourself achieve.”

  “Achievement is vain.”

  I laugh at how infuriating he is. “So how do you eat, then?”

  “A couple of coding cli—” He starts to say clients, then clears his throat. “Coding jobs.”

  I giggle. “You nearly said clients.”

  I interlace my fingers with his skinny ones, and we play a little game opening them, then interlacing them again.

  I hear the smile in his voice behind me. “Yeah, I did. So what, smartass?”

  “Just drop them and take on our jobs. Please. We need you. And... I won’t bother you otherwise, I promise. Just replace the time in those coding jobs with time with us.”

  “Ha. Good one. You’re a black hole, Liliana, and you know it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You suck everything and everyone around you into your head-swirling chaos with your irresistible gravitational field. And no one can escape, despite their best efforts.”

  I pause, not sure whether that’s a compliment or insult. I end up laughing. “We do have fun, don’t we? Don’t tell me you don’t enjoy being a part of the team that always wins.”

  He pauses for a moment. “I do enjoy when you blindside the prosecution with unexpected evidence we dug up. Pow! Pow! Pow!” He does mock punches.

  I laugh. “That’s what I’m talking about. Come back, Nerius. Please.”

  “Hmm, well, well, well,” he says, his voice full of braggadocio. “I’ve got the infamous Ruffles McSlaughter begging me to come back. My knowledge must be in demand.”

  “It is. I’m not too proud, babe. The A-team just ain’t the same without you.”

  He kisses me on the head, gets his chin lost in my hair. “Your patent flattery and manipulation has been somewhat successful.”

  “That’s because I mean it.”

  “The intention justifies the means.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That sums you up, really, doesn’t it? You know, I’m sure members of Islamic State would say the same thing.”

  “Are you calling me a terrorist?”

  He pauses. “Of sorts.”

  I snuggle into him. “Fuck you. Psychoanalyze yourself.”

  “It’s not my fault you’re a fascinating specimen.”

  “Oh, god. Don’t chop me up for analysis, please.”

  “I won’t. If I did so, I’d have to contact you via telepathy in the spirit world for legal advice to win my case, and I’m not well-versed in mediumship.”

  “You’re such a fucking headfuck.” I pause, then laughter bubbles up in me. “Tell you what, I can still represent you. Just chop up Marisol instead.”

  He laughs, a rare occurrence. Today has been fucking amazing.

  Chapter 6

  Lincoln Agnew

  “I’m telling you, delete it,” I say, my pulse racing like it never has before.

  “No.” My lover shifts in the driver’s seat.

  “Do it. Please.”

  He shakes his head. “You can’t go down this road.”

  “You’re one to talk. You were the one who started me on it. What was all that about not being a saint, about bending the rules, all of that?”

  “This is too far. I’ve known you for how many years now? Eight? You’re not acting like yourself. Never once have you done anything like this.”

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything.” This particular first time has my head rushing, the world spinning. Nothing feels real. But that image Ms. Fairweather planted in my mind... a younger, sexier Exec ADA sidling up to my husband... it hasn’t gone away. Especially the way Brett looks at ADA Renee Davies, with her long thick blonde hair and her tight suits and her formidable record. I know she’s angling for a promotion. “Please, Matt.”

  Legally I have to inform Ms. Fairweather of the victim’s criminal record at least 30 days before trial. But I know she and Marisol will try to wiggle it out of someone in the department way before then. Luckily Matt’s let me know it hasn’t happened yet – he checked the digitized access records, and no one’s accessed it for a while.

  She always knows too much. Maybe she’s hacking, maybe she’s screwing a cop. I don’t know. I just know I have to stay one step ahead. I need to buy time, to work around the criminal record, somehow.

  He sighs. “You’re not thinking straight. You are going to get found out. This isn’t the early 90s where you could just lose a file and nothing would come of it. The computer systems are highly monitored and have all kinds of—”

  “Can’t you get around it? I’m sure you could do it. Look who you are.”

  “Look who I am,” he says. “Exactly. And look who you are. And look who we both won’t be if I do this. I’ll lose my job, you’ll lose yours. Probably both
be brought up on charges, knowing how thorough your husband is. Is that what you want? Ms. Fairweather representing you when your husband gives you your day in court? From Exec ADA to disgraced defendant.”

  “It’s not going to happen. It can’t.”

  He sighs. “I’m worried about you, Lincoln. You’re letting work get to you too much.”

  “Work is my life.”

  “Then keep your job. Don’t do anything stupid. Is this all about Liliana Fairweather?”

  “Why would you think that?” I haven’t confided in him my feelings about her. No one knows, except she herself.

  “It’s no secret how she...” He pauses.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Tell you what, I can do something for you. I can’t delete it, but I can prevent her from getting to it.”

  “Oh my. Could you? Could you really?”

  “Uh huh.”

  I grab him by both sides of the face and plant a kiss on his mouth. “You’re a darling, Matt.”

  He jerks back, shocked. It’s out of character. I’m not usually demonstrative.

  Later that night, recalling the meeting with Matt, I can’t stop shaking. I tell Brett I’m going to bed with a migraine. I fully intend on taking a sleeping pill and going to bed, but when I get in the bathroom and see myself, my hands shake uncontrollably.

  “You stupid, disgusting, evil... bitch!” I say to my reflection.

  A wave of rage surges up in me. I pull violently at my hair with both hands. “Argh!”

  I don’t deserve to walk this earth.

  I wish I could just choke myself and die on the spot.

  I strip off quickly and get into a cold shower. I make it as cold as possible, but it’s not intense enough. I grip the lever and force it around to the right until it feels like the water’s burning my skin off. I stand under it and turn my face up into the stream of scalding water. The pain is cathartic. It washes all my rage away and down the drain.

  I soon get out and rub down the mirror with a little towel I keep exactly for that purpose. Steamed-up mirrors make me nervous. I look hard at my lobster reflection in the mirror. “Be better.” I grab my fine-tooth comb and carefully run it through every section of my wet hair. “I will be better.” I change into a fresh pair of pajamas, change the sheets like I do every night, take a sleeping pill, and slide into bed.