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Life Sentence (Prequel to the Detective Madison Knight series)
Copyright © 2013 by Carolyn Arnold
Excerpt from Eleven (Book 1 in the Brandon Fisher FBI series) copyright © 2011 by Carolyn Arnold
www.carolynarnold.net
2015 Hibbert & Stiles Publishing Inc. Edition published at Smashwords.
Smashwords ISBN: 978-1-301009-27-5
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All rights reserved. The scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN (e-book): 978-1-988064-23-9
ISBN (paperback 4 x 7): 978-1-988064-21-5
ISBN (paperback 5 x 8): 978-1-988064-22-2
ISBN (hardcover 6 x 9): 978-1-988353-13-5
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Please note that this book is a romantic suspense.
Madison Knight of the best-selling police procedural series has more of a secondary role in this book. This story provides insight into Madison’s background and the series that was inspired by her.
If you’ve been following the Detective Madison Knight series…you’ll notice some different characters in this book. The events in Life Sentence took place just over five years before the first book of the series, Ties that Bind. Due to the fact this book takes place in the past, vehicles and colors mentioned may no longer be available and values placed on property may differ from the current market.
Madison’s partner, Terry Grant, known in the series, came around not long after the events of this novel. Falkowski was Madison’s first partner when she ranked detective and he retired shortly after the murder of Bryan Lexan. The officer at the front desk in this book has been replaced by the woman known as Ranson in the series.
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Prologue
HE HATED BEING RIGHT SOMETIMES. Too bad money blinded him from following his gut instinct. He hated being so self-assured that he thought he could meet the infamous Russian mafia boss and have the option of walking away.
“He’s in here.” The officer swung the door open and stepped to the side.
Possibly it was his heightening sense of paranoia getting the best of him, but he could swear the cop didn’t even want to be in the same room with the man.
The Russian was cuffed to the table but leaned back in his chair, chest wide, as far as the chain would allow. He cupped one hand over the back of the other.
For being forty-five, he looked older than his years. His shoulder-length brown hair clung to his head as if slicked with grease. His eyes were sunken and his cheeks concave, giving prominence to his jaw bone, but it wasn’t his physical attributes that changed perception—it was the raw energy in the room.
Dimitre Petrov snapped his fingers, and Bryan was torn from his thoughts.
“Lexan, da? You’ll be my lawyer.”
Dimitre kept his eyes on him, and when he didn’t respond right away, he made a point of directing Bryan’s attention to the clock on the wall.
Bryan supposed time held a different value when facing the possibility of life in prison.
“So you had nothing to do with his murder?” The words blurted out in a nervous reaction to the built-up media hysteria, and Bryan felt like an amateur the moment they left his lips. Guilt or innocence didn’t factor heavily into the equation, but he liked to be prepared.
“Nothing—nothing is a strong word, Mr. Lexan.”
There was that gut feeling, the one that told him to back away. But what this man represented—the high profile case and what winning would accomplish for his firm combined to mute his better judgment.
Dimitre’s stare made Bryan’s skin tingle and raised the hairs on his neck and arms.
What was it about this man’s incessant gaze? His eyes contained a dark history. He had been witness to unspeakable things. His eyes provided testimony to this. Bryan preferred to be spared the details.
Calculating everything involved, he was conflicted about accepting the job, but the money and the publicity that would come from it were impossible to turn his back on.
Bryan extended his hand across the table. “I’d be honored to be your lawyer.”
Dimitre clenched his hands into fists. “Now get me the hell out of here.”
“You’re charged with first-degree murder and based on your history—” Bryan watched Dimitre’s eyes glaze over and hesitated to continue “—bail may be difficult to negotiate.”
“Don’t tell me I misjudged you.”
“I said difficult, not impossible.” He forced a smile. “I’ll do my utmost, Mr. Petrov.”
“Simply, Dimitre.”
His voice held an insincere sweetness, but his facial expression concerned Bryan more. It conveyed a proud sense of ownership. Or did it mimic parental pride? Such as one reflected when a child reaches a goal or mile marker. Within the context of their relationship, it made him both nervous and offended. He was owned by no one. But the advantages of swallowing some of his pride were too good to ignore.
“I’ll get you that bail hearing. I’ll also keep the prosecution buried in motion appeals, starting with a change of venue.”
Dimitre slammed his palms on the table and exclaimed something in Russian.
Bryan didn’t know the meaning, but he assumed it meant something good based on the spark in the man’s eyes.
“All right, I will be in touch, Mr. Petrov.” The man’s eyes corrected him, and Bryan addressed him by his first name. “Dimitre.”
He began to rise but was directed with the motion of a hand to sit back down.
“One more thing.”
Bryan’s stomach tossed, albeit faint enough to try and deny it. He’d never admit to the innate fear this man elicited.
“Bonded by attorney-client privilege, da?” Dimitre probed his eyes, intently enough Bryan sensed pressure on the back of his skull.
“My being exonerated of all charges, very important to me.” His broken English was evident as it came through his thick Russian accent.
Maybe he was getting in too deep. No one could guarantee victory.
The room fell silent in the way an eerie calm precedes a horrible storm.
“I have men who will ensure my—how you say—restitution, should I be convicted.”
Bryan knew all too well. He had done his research before he agreed to this meeting yet still came. Curse money for being such a temptation.
The man’s organization was large and encompassed more than it was possible to know. What he had f
ound out, part of him wished he hadn’t.
The man operated according to his own rules, directed by no one but himself—invincible and untouchable. Witnesses disappeared. Evidence went missing or was tainted. There was never enough to link him to his crimes. The murders, trafficking, and possession of drugs and weapons may as well have been rumor for the amount of good it did in putting him behind bars.
Then again, the fact that Dimitre Petrov was sitting in front of him, chained to a table, proved the legend was an imperfect being after all. They had him on a single murder charge, hardly the big picture, but Bryan supposed the authorities were frustrated by their previous attempts to keep the man behind bars.
For a few seconds, Bryan took solace in the fact the powerful man was on his side, but he also realized the flipside to that. The one being pointed out to him now. You wrong the powerful man, you disappear for good.
His tie constricted his airflow, but he managed to get his words out. “I understand.”
“Just to make sure you do, know this.” The man paused for dramatic effect—and it was effective.
Flashes of newspaper articles sparked in Bryan’s brain. Should he lose the case, he would likely have the unpleasant experience of meeting Sergey and Anatolli—Petrov’s two right-hand men. This stark realization made him aware of a large wad of saliva at the back of his throat.
Dimitre opened his mouth to continue, poised with the confidence of a god.
“If I pay with my life, you will pay with yours.”
Bryan’s stomach fully churned. This time there would be no denying it. The threat was real. Dimitre Petrov had the power to ensure the fulfillment of his words—even from behind bars.
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Chapter 1
“I OBJECT YOUR HONOR!” Bryan shot to his feet. “Calls for speculation.”
“Sustained,” the judge declared. “Prosecution, rephrase your question.”
Judge Myles Flannigan represented the third generation of his family to sit as a Supreme Court judge, but equally important to his influence in the law community was the personal role he played in Bryan’s life.
The man had been a close friend of his father’s, and a mentor to him. They would spend hours discussing law and leave the door open so Bryan could join them. As he got older, Bryan would get into heated debates with them and clearly remembered the praise he received from Myles at an early age. While laughing heartily and patting him on the head, he told Bryan he would excel at law.
Bryan’s mind came back to the courtroom when Martin Andrews, the prosecuting attorney, addressed the witness.
“Is it true the defendant Dimitre Petrov’s fingerprints were found on the gun?” Martin pointed to the gun on the evidence table.
“Yes, it is.”
Mr. Woods, who was sent from the forensics lab, was a weak and timid man. He squirmed in his seat. Nervously trying to compose himself for the next question, he pushed his glasses higher on his nose with his left index finger.
Bryan watched him closely. He knew how to get what he needed out of this puny man to accomplish his purpose, how to get Dimitre exonerated. He would intimidate Woods and squash his testimony. Weak people earned his disrespect and contempt. His father always taught him the world would be better off without them, and Bryan agreed.
Martin stood in front of the witness stand, hands clasped behind his back. He continued, “Were the fingerprints from Mr. Petrov located where necessary to have pulled the trigger?”
Bryan sensed the heat in the courtroom turn up due to the rage radiating from Dimitre.
Woods’s Adam’s apple heaved with a deep swallow. His eyes shifted from Dimitre to Bryan and back to his questioner. His eyes veered again to Dimitre, and after a prolonged blink, he opened his mouth to speak.
“Yes.” His seemed to choke on the word, and his eyes cast downward.
Bryan glanced at Dimitre, who glared at Woods with murderous eyes.
“No further questions.” He smiled at Bryan, his eyes disclosing a confidence that he had the case sealed up.
Bryan was not the type to back down but had he been a lesser person the prosecution’s witnesses may have proven challenging to refute. The testimony given yesterday by their first witness, Detective Madison Knight, made him uncomfortable.
Her attention to detail and recollection of the crime scene hurt his case. He had chosen to address her but failed to make any headway. For a man like himself, it served to be extremely aggravating. He could normally break anyone on the witness stand, including professionals, but he couldn’t attack her methods. She followed the law to the letter.
When she picked up Dimitre, she had left no room for dispute when she convinced him to sign away his rights. Even the investigative team chosen for the case had a tremendous reputation for being thorough and accurate, yet now facing a representative from that team, any anxieties he had were obliterated.
Mr. Woods is already sweating up there, wait until he finishes answering questions from me. Bryan suppressed the smirk that wanted to give birth.
Judge Flannigan directed his attention to Bryan. “Does the Defense wish to cross-examine the witness?”
“We do, Your Honor.”
Bryan stood, straightened his suit jacket, and approached the stand. His steps were slow and deliberate. There was no sense in wasting time, the earlier the exoneration, the better. Sow the seeds of doubt right away. He gestured toward the ‘evidence’ where it was displayed for the courtroom.
“Did you find any other fingerprints on the gun?”
Woods pushed his glasses up again and avoided eye contact despite Bryan being fixed on him. He took another rough swallow.
“Yes, we did, but we couldn’t find them in any of our databases. They came back unknown.”
Bryan glanced at the jury. The short-haired brunette in the front row exchanged interested expressions with the man on her left.
It gave him a sense of satisfaction, just the thought of Martin being uncomfortable in his seat. He must have been having a hard time concealing discouragement in his witness for elaborating on what should have been a simple one-worded answer—amateur.
“So in fact this other set of prints could have belonged to the killer, but because we don’t know who the prints belong to we point the finger at my client?” Bryan expected Martin to object, but when none was raised he gestured with his right hand for Woods to answer. “Mr. Woods?”
“I suppose.” He fidgeted with his hands.
“I suppose? Mr. Woods, a man could be sent away for his life—an innocent man.”
Bryan stared at the witness, and it forced his eyes upward. His brow glistened with moisture, and his glasses were halfway down his nose again. Bryan found amusement with how a man like this could think he would play a part in bringing down his client.
“I’ll repeat the question. Please respond with a yes or no. Could the other set of unidentified prints found on the gun belong to the killer?”
The intensity of emotion in the courtroom was tangible.
“I object Your Honor!” Martin stood from his seat. “Badgering the witness.”
“Sustained.”
Those in the courtroom talked among themselves.
“Order! I will have order in my courtroom.” Flannigan banged his gavel three times. “Continue with another line of questioning.”
The slight interruption and shift in direction did nothing to deter Bryan’s purpose or diminish his poise. He stepped toward the stand.
“Is it not a fact there was also unidentified female DNA found at the scene?”
“Yes, there was.”
Bryan imagined Woods mentally counting down the seconds for his release from the stand.
“Could it not be her fingerprints, her fingers, which pulled the trigger, thereby killing Leroy Adams?” Bryan let his rhetorical question hang for se
veral seconds. When Woods didn’t answer, Bryan said, “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Woods got off the stand, pulling out on his suit jacket. His eyes met with no one’s, and his face was pale. The man gave the impression he could use a drink.
Bryan tugged on his suit jacket with both hands and walked self-assuredly back to his chair. Sitting down he sensed someone watching him. Following his instinct, he turned to Martin, who had shifted his attention back to the judge.
“Would the Prosecution like to call another witness?” The judge looked over the brim of half spectacles.
“Your Honor, I would like to call a last-minute witness to the stand.” Martin rose. “A Miss Stella Robins.”
Bryan pivoted his neck to face Martin. Standing, Bryan said, “Your Honor, the Defense had no prior knowledge of this witness.”
Dimitre’s hand brushed Bryan’s arm. His client’s face was plastered with arrogance. He was happy that Dimitre had faith in him, but he preferred preparation, viewing it as a vital component to a successful outcome.
“Approach the bench.”
The judge addressed Martin, “Why is she integral to this case and it better be good.” Judge Flannigan conveyed his irritation by the arching of his brow.
“She saw Dimitre go into the apartment of Leroy Adams.”
Bryan listened in utter disbelief, but neither man was concerned about his reaction.
Martin continued, “She came forward when she heard the news.”
Bryan sighed and rolled his eyes, his exasperation evident to his colleagues. “Has she been living in a box for the last few months?”
The charges against Dimitre had been littered all over the news. The local papers must have been making a fortune. Martin’s silent communication conveyed that she had been afraid up until this point. The unspoken words caused Bryan to experience a split second of fear himself as Dimitre’s words slammed into the front of his mind: If I pay with my life, you’ll pay with yours.
He couldn’t let this guy get to him like this. He cleared his throat. Changing his eye contact from Martin to the judge, Bryan said, “I will need time to speak to the witness and confer with my client prior to questioning.”
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