Vandenberg turned, laughing to himself as he strutted down the hallway. Hunter waited a moment before he continued to Bond Court.
Mondays were the worst for bail hearings. Although Chicago’s Central Bond Court ran seven days a week, the weekends usually saw more than its fair share of felonies. More murders. More assaults. More break-ins. The result of a weekend filled with violence left a backlog of people needing their moment in court. Prosecutor Michelle Law was waiting inside the courtroom, seated in the back row of the pews, waiting for her chance to protect the system. She had a file on her lap, impatiently tapping her finger on the cover while another defendant had their bail paperwork processed.
“Looking good,” she said as Hunter’s tall figure approached. “Is that a touch of gray in your hair?”
“I like to call it experience.” Hunter sat next to her. “You have the Fulbright case?”
“I do. It’s always sad when lawyers fall off the wagon like this, but I know what it’s like. I’ve been through my own mid-life crisis, although I didn’t kill anyone. It makes me sad that someone like Stacey Fulbright murdered a private investigator, but she’s been known to snap before. Got that fiery streak. She might dedicate her life to defending abused women in divorce cases, but she’s not an innocent angel, Hunter. There’s a long line of people willing to testify against her. She’s a prime candidate for stabbing someone in a parking lot late at night.”
The bailiff at the front of the courtroom called out the next case number. “Criminal Case 20-CR-2555.” The bailiff was loud, but he had to be. Bond court in Cook County moved fast. The hum of the courtroom was busy with lawyers negotiating, preparing, and shuffling through paperwork. Hunter followed Law to the front of the room as Stacey Fulbright was escorted into the dock. Judge Lyon welcomed them. He exhaled as he read the file, and then turned to the defendant. He confirmed the name of the defendant and asked the lawyers to identify themselves. They did so and Judge Lyon moved to the next stage in the process.
“Anything to add before I make a determination?” Judge Lyon asked. “And if you do, make it quick.”
“The prosecution moves to request that bail is denied.” Law’s response was fast. Her tone was cold, as was her demeanor. “This is a violent and callous murder and deserves to be treated as such. We have evidence that she intended to commit this act, and we cannot let her walk the streets.”
“That’s inflammatory speech, Your Honor.” Hunter argued once his surprise subsided. “Mrs. Fulbright has never been charged with a crime, never been convicted of anything, never even had so much as a speeding ticket. In this case, there are no eyewitnesses, there’s no video footage, and there’s no motive. Mrs. Fulbright is a lawyer, a graduate of Chicago Law School, and has great respect for the institution of this courthouse.”
“Your Honor, the defendant has access to funds, a passport, and a desire not to see her day in court. She’s a flight risk and we cannot allow that to happen.”
“The presence of a passport does not indicate the intention to use it.” Hunter retorted. “She has a family at home, and strong ties to the community. She’s been married for more than a decade, has two young children, and all her connections are in Chicago. She’s no flight risk.”
“All valid statements, Mr. Hunter.” Judge Lyon read over the file again. He was in no mood for theatrics. “However, the prosecution has a point. The defendant will need to surrender her passport, wear an electronic home monitor, and will have a curfew to be set at 7pm. She may continue her work; however, she’s not to leave the state of Illinois. Due to the defendant’s assets, ‘D’ Bond is set at five hundred thousand dollars.” Judge Lyon turned to the bailiff, who then called the next case number.
Hunter looked to Stacey Fulbright in the dock and offered her a smile. She didn’t return it. She barely reacted at all. Her fists were clenched, as was her jaw. There was anger in her eyes.
Hunter stared at the woman he used to love and started to question how well he really knew her.
Chapter 3
The cab trip from Cook County Prison to Naperville took over an hour, and to Stacey Fulbright, it seemed like an eternity. The cab stunk of stale beer and takeaway, but it was still nicer than the smells she encountered while locked up. Sitting in the back seat of the cab, Stacey was stuck with her own thoughts as they drove past the suburbs of Chicago. She cried the entire time her bail paperwork was being processed. There was so much waiting, and so many lines to stand in. When the cab turned into her street, she wiped her eyes with a tissue and took a number of deep breaths. Still in the same clothes as when she was arrested more than a day earlier, she took a moment to calm herself before exiting the cab.
She wasn’t sure how many tears she had left. Life as she had known it had come tumbling down in a matter of hours. When the police arrived at her office the day before, she was sure there was a mistake. It had to be. They asked about her gold-plated letter opener. It seemed unusual, but she answered their questions. It was a graduation gift; she told them. Then they asked where it was.
When she didn’t see it on her desk, her legal training knew it was time to shut her mouth. She didn’t say another word. The following day, the detectives came to her home with an arrest warrant. She entered the police car without a fuss. Most arrests were lawful, she told herself. It was just a mistake. Whatever evidence they had was wrong.
She didn’t have an alibi for that Friday night. She’d been working late, negotiating a divorce settlement over the phone, before she left and walked to the parking lot near her office around 11pm. There was footage of her walking into the parking lot at 11:15pm. She drove out of the parking lot at 11:25pm. That was enough time to stab someone, the police said. The gold-plated letter opener was found next to the victim’s body, bloodied and used. Of course, her fingerprints were on it. She had used it only a few days earlier in her office.
The multi-level lot was two doors down from her office in The Loop, but even though the distance was short, she always walked there with her hand on the pepper spray in her bag. She’d been attacked outside the lot only two weeks earlier, and that night, she’d managed to fight the man off. She filed a complaint, but she couldn’t identify her attacker, and nobody was arrested.
After she was detained, the detective yelled his theory at her in the police interrogation room. Joe Fielding tried to blackmail you, he yelled. The evidence was in his emails. Fielding had contacted her with an offer. He called her multiple times, and she told him she wasn’t interested, but Fielding was insistent. He told her that he would find her. ‘I’ll meet you in the parking lot one night,’ Fielding had messaged her.
When she stepped out of the cab, she saw Carl, her husband, sitting on the front step of the house. He looked like a wreck, although she was sure that she looked worse. After she was arrested, Stacey told her husband to stay away from court. She didn’t want her children to have any idea about what was happening.
She could see Noah and Zoe were playing in the front room of their two-story home. Noah was ten, becoming more intelligent and more aware by the day, and Zoe was five, still growing into her own strong personality.
Their home was pleasant, almost the picture-perfect American dream house in Naperville. They had four bedrooms. A two-car garage. A white-picket fence. She loved the city of Naperville, only forty-five minutes’ drive from the hustle of Chicago. One of the safest and highly educated small cities in the country, it was the perfect place to raise her children. Best of all, it felt a million miles away from the stress of life as a divorce lawyer in the depths of Chicago’s skyscrapers.
“I need to see the kids.” Stacey said as she stepped through the waist high gate and started to walk up the path to the front door. “Have they had dinner?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me what’s going on first?” Carl approached her, but Stacey folded her arms and looked away. Carl hesitated and stopped before embracing her. “Noah and Zoe are watching television. They’ve been fed. The
y can’t hear us.”
She gripped her arms tight across her chest, and avoided eye contact. “They’ve charged me with first degree murder. I’m out on bail.” She lifted up the leg of her trousers to reveal an ankle monitor. “I’ve got to wear this.”
Carl’s mouth dropped open. “I thought you said it was a mistake. That it’ll be sorted out by the morning. That the bail hearing was just a formality before the charges were dropped. You said this was a mistake.”
“What do you want me to say, Carl?” She snapped. “It isn’t sorted out. The cops have charged me with murder one. They think I did it. They think I stabbed a man named Joe Fielding.”
He moved away slightly. There was fear in his eyes. But worse than that, worse than the fear, was the doubt he showed.
“I didn’t do it.” Stacey whispered. “I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t stab the guy.”
Carl nodded his response. He went to hug her, but she stepped back again.
“I need a shower first. I need to wash the feeling of prison off me.” She stepped past him. “What did you tell the kids?”
“I told them you were called away for work and you had to travel for a case.” He murmured. “Is Tex Hunter the right guy to defend you? You have a past with him.”
“We had a past a long time ago.”
“He’s too personally involved. You said it many times—if you’re personally involved in law, then you’ll miss things. He’ll miss the important pieces because he’s too close.”
“There’s someone else I’ll meet with. John C. Clarke. If he’s the right fit, then I’ll ask him to take over the case.” Stacey took another step towards the door. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“Stacey.” Carl called out.
She waited on the step, staring at the front door. There had been a growing distance between them, and it seemed to be widening every month. She wanted to go to him, to hug him, but she couldn’t remember how. “What is it?”
“There’s something you should know.”
She turned. “What? What could possibly be that important?”
Carl hesitated. “There was a man at the school today.”
“What do you mean ‘a man’?”
“When I went to baseball practice with Noah, there was someone past the outfield, in a suit. He wasn’t a parent.”
“And you think it’s connected to this?”
“He was watching Noah. The whole time.” Carl ran his hand over his black, short-cropped hair. It was graying at the sides. “I’m worried, Stacey. What have you got caught up in? Is this one of your divorce cases seeking revenge? What if they come after the kids? You defend women who have been the victims of domestic abuse. What if one of those men have changed their target to you?”
“This is just a big mistake. That’s all.” She whispered. “It’ll be over soon. I’m sure of it.”
“What if it’s not? What if you were set-up? What if this is some lunatic that’s taken things too far?”
Stacey stared at him for a long period of time, her mouth hanging open. Tears filled her eyes again. She blinked them back.
“Mom!” Noah opened the front door. “Are you back already? Dad said you’d be gone for a few days.”
“Hi, sweetie.” She wiped her eyes with her sleeve before turning back to Noah. She hugged him tightly. “Mom is back now.”
“Do you have to go back to work? Dad made us eat the worst spaghetti and meatballs ever. He said he followed your recipe, but it was terrible. Like, yuck! I don’t even think it could be considered food. You won’t travel away again, will you? You won’t make us eat Dad’s spaghetti and meatballs again?”
Stacey smiled. “I hope not, sweetie.”
But she wasn’t sure if her statement was true. From that day forward, life was about to change dramatically.
Chapter 4
Tex Hunter and Esther Wright rode in the back of the black sedan. Dressed in a dinner suit, Hunter looked across to Esther. She looked dazzling in her red dress. He’d only given her five hours’ notice of the dinner function, and somehow, she’d managed to look like she had five weeks to prepare. The dress ran down to her knees, highlighting her long slim legs, her blonde hair draped over her shoulders, and she smelled like a light bouquet of a thousand flowers.
“Don’t be a pervert.” Esther teased when she caught Hunter staring. “Stop ogling my legs.”
“You look amazing tonight, Esther. Not that you don’t look amazing at other times, I mean. You always look amazing.” Hunter stumbled over his words. “It’s just you don’t usually wear a dinner dress to work, and I mean, that, well, um, you look amazing.”
“For a man that has a way with words, you’re hopeless at compliments.” She squirmed a little, happy to have impressed him. She pulled a strand of blonde hair over her ear, and the grin on her face broadened. They sat in awkward silence for a few long moments as they approached their destination.
“Your brother Patrick left a message earlier today. He said he had a lead with finding your sister Natalie.” Esther broke the silence. “Are you sure she wants to see you now? Three and a half decades is a long time not to talk to someone.”
“I spoke to Patrick. He found an address in Mexico, in a tourist town named Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific coast. She’s been working as a waitress in a family run café for the past few years. We think she’s got a family, perhaps two teenage boys. She’s covered her tracks really well. No social media, no internet information, no data on her name. She completely wiped our family name from her history. There really isn’t a lot of information out there.”
“But what says she’ll actually talk to you even if you find her? There’s a reason she left Chicago all those years ago and hasn’t returned.”
“We’re family. If she knows the truth about my father’s case, like I think she does, then she’ll want to talk.” Hunter looked out the window as the car slowed. “My big fear is that I won’t recognize her. She’s my sister, but I haven’t seen her in thirty-five years. Ever since she got on a plane and fled Chicago, I haven’t seen her. Haven’t even talked to her. Not even a letter between us. And back in those days, photos weren’t taken very often. They were a special occasion type of thing. I barely have any photos of her now. I don’t even know what she looks like.”
“Did you ever think that maybe she doesn’t want to be found?”
“Often.” Hunter looked out the window as the car stopped outside the event center, a dinner function with a number of guest speakers, headlined by Christoph King, a republican advocate. “But I need answers. And she has them.”
Hunter thanked the driver, left him a healthy tip, then exited the car, holding the door open for Esther to exit. She stepped out, dazzling in her red dress and red heels. She smiled as she caught his eyes staring again.
“You hate these things, Tex. A room full of lawyers, raising funds for a conservative political group? Why come now?” Esther asked as she stood on the sidewalk.
“This political fundraiser is organized by Michael Vandenberg, of Vandenberg and Wolfe Family Law Offices, and Christoph King is due to give a speech here.”
“A room full of lawyers and business men expressing political view-points? It sounds like a nightmare to me.”
“Our goal is to find the connections between Vandenberg and King. We’ll ask around and see what these people can feed us. If we get to talk directly to either Vandenberg or King, it’s a bonus.” Hunter looked up to the grand building. “Christoph King is the man who’s offering to buy out Dr. Mackie’s company. After Vandenberg approached me the other day, I’m willing to bet King and Vandenberg have very close ties.”
“Right. Christoph King wants to buy Dr. Mackie’s company.” Esther responded, disappointed it was all work and no play. “It’s good to hear you’re focusing on the Mackie case.”
“The people at this function are mostly lawyers. Chicago Law School alumni.”
“Of course. They all know Stacey Fulbright, don’
t they?” Esther drew a deep breath when Hunter didn’t answer. “I know Stacey’s case is going to take a lot of your focus but don’t forget you’ve still got Dr. Mackie’s case on the table. He’s a nice guy. I like him. He’s sweet. Just an honest, respectful man. The sort of family man that good girls dream about.”
“Dr. Mackie is a lovely man.” Hunter responded. “Stacey is an old friend—”
“Ex-lover.”
Hunter stopped before they walked up the stairs to the entrance to the hall. “Is this going to be a problem for you?”
“Of course not.” She lied. “Just don’t lose sight of what’s important. Dr. Mackie has to be your top priority as we head towards the trial. Stacey Fulbright is… well, she’s a divorce lawyer who represents victims of domestic abuse. It’s admirable, but it’s also dangerous. Family and finances are emotionally charged fields, and you’re not even going to be the lead on the case. She said she’s going to bring in someone else, remember?”
“I need to do what I can to help.” Hunter waited a moment, and then walked forward, opening the door for Esther to step through into the building. The lady at the reception desk took their names, checked them off a list, and welcomed them into the conference.
Nestled within the Downtown district, the ballroom in the historic Beaux Arts building had a sophisticated Art Deco interior with a sense of modern style. The function hall felt spacious. It had high ceilings, dotted by five chandeliers, and at the front of the room, there were fifteen round tables, covered by white tablecloths. To the rear of the room, the attendees were mingling, standing around and grabbing any drink that went past. The stage was set up for speeches, a large banner displaying the organization they were supporting, and a large display screen sat to the side of the stage. The attendees were well dressed, and mostly an older crowd.
“Our goal is to gather information about Michael Vandenberg and Christoph King. Vandenberg dropped a hint last time I saw him, and I want to know what it’s about. But we’ve only got until the speeches start, because I don’t want to listen to these guys talk. I want to slip out the side door before they invite us to sit down.” Hunter looked at his watch. “We’ve got an hour to mingle. Try and find out anything about Vandenberg and King that’s not publicly available—where they meet for lunch, where they drink, where they play golf. We’re looking for any link we can investigate further, and perhaps later exploit.”
Saving Justice Page 2
