Fire and Justice_A Legal Thriller

by Peter O'Mahoney

  FIRE AND

  JUSTICE

  PETER O’MAHONEY

  Fire and Justice: A Legal Thriller

  Peter O’Mahoney

  Copyright © 2018

  Published by Roam Free Publishing

  2rd edition.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Also by Peter O’Mahoney

  In the Bill Harvey Legal Thriller Series:

  Will of Justice

  Redeeming Justice

  In the Tom Whiskey Private Investigator Series:

  Whiskey Justice

  The Max Harrison Series with Patrick Graham:

  Criminal Justice

  Defending the Innocent

  The Paid Juror

  Burning Justice

  The Girl on the Road

  FIRE AND JUSTICE

  PETER O’MAHONEY

  This story is dedicated to all the wonderful and interesting people that provide the fuel for this work of fiction.

  Chapter 1

  Harry Jones was well aware that his days were numbered.

  A serial killer had been picking off homeless men in Downtown Los Angeles at an alarming rate over the past twelve months. But despite the cold-blooded killings, despite the bodies piling up, there was no media outrage. There was no prime-time TV report. There was barely a police response.

  The death of these men, Harry’s friends, hardly rated a mention.

  They were Los Angeles’ forgotten people; the dirt and scum that didn’t matter.

  A death here or there meant that the streets were cleaner. Safer.

  But amongst the homeless community, the rumors spread.

  It’s Batman, they said. A gang, maybe. A former army general that had a hunger for blood. The stories grew and grew. As a former cop, a detective, Harry Jones knew that what this meant.

  It meant trouble.

  He couldn’t go back to the department and ask for help after what he did. After what the alcohol did to him. They would march him straight back out the doors, or worse yet, lock him up.

  Harry had tried to get sober. He had tried rehab. He had tried to start again.

  The men and women at the Wells Community Center for Mental Health tried to help him, but he couldn’t accept what he did. Alcohol was the only thing that numbed the pain of his mistakes.

  He rested in his usual spot, down a dark alley in a forgotten corner of Skid Row.

  He tried to sleep, or hopefully just pass out from the cheap vodka.

  As he laid against the dirty wall, away from the dirty puddle between the overfilled trash cans, he felt the first boot.

  A quick kick to the stomach.

  It woke him up. Startled him.

  Dazed, he looked up at the shadow.

  It kicked him again.

  He mumbled and then climbed to his feet.

  The shadow didn’t run. It wasn’t scared. It only waited for Harry to defend himself.

  Harry Jones did just that. He swung at the shadow, but it easily dodged his attack.

  Suddenly, he was on his back again, his feet swept out from underneath him.

  That’s when he felt the hands around his neck. Squeezing. Holding tight.

  He tried to struggle, but the shadow was too strong.

  Or he was too drunk.

  Before long, his resistance stopped.

  He no longer fought. He no longer struggled. He knew he deserved this. This was his punishment.

  As the final few breaths escaped his throat, he accepted his fate.

  He was no longer Harry Jones.

  He could finally let his past go.

  Now, he was to be known as victim number seven.

  Chapter 2

  “Another one dead.” The beautiful Penny Pearson slaps a copy of the L.A. Times on her boss’ desk. “Page twenty-three. Small article – probably all the scum deserved.”

  “Don’t be so flippant. That’s somebody’s life you’re talking about.” Criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey responds firmly, fist clenched around his pen. “Does the person have a name?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it does. A life is a life.”

  “It’s just another homeless guy. That makes it seven now in the past twelve months. These people are homeless because nobody cares about them. If anyone cared about them, they’d have a house to stay in, they’d have people to look after them. These men are scum. This killer is doing the city a favor. This killer is cleaning up the streets and saving the city from itself.”

  “Not true.”

  “Why do you care? Why do you need me to keep you updated on this? Why do you care about these nameless people?”

  Bill drops his pen on the desk and stares at his new temporary assistant.

  He didn’t expect this attitude. He didn’t expect this fire from her. He knew her past was harrowing, he knew her life was full of pain, but he didn’t expect this level of hatred, and he certainly didn’t expect her to express it on a daily basis.

  Penny Pearson’s exterior is stunning – flowing blonde hair, perfect skin, athletic body. When she was a model in her mid-teens, she was an advertiser’s dream. She left school at fifteen, appeared on a number of ads for Nike, and then tried to make it big on the catwalk. But modeling is a tough gig, and Penny doesn’t play nicely with others. Now, at the mere age of twenty, her modeling career is over and she has little to show for it.

  “Any of these men could have been my brother.” Bill flips open the newspaper. “He went missing many years ago, two decades in fact, and he could be one of the nameless men that are being killed. I cared about my brother, even though he went missing. He’s my family, and he will always hold a place in my heart. These men are something to somebody. These people, these lives, matter. They matter to me, and they matter to this city.”

  The mere mention of his brother makes his heart sink.

  The depths of despair, despite the twenty years that have passed, still haunts him today.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I really have to try to keep my mouth closed,” Penny responds, looking down. “But you did ask to be kept updated on that case, and tell you if anything else comes up.”

  Penny slumps into the chair opposite the large desk in the private office, slouching like a misinformed teenager.

  Being a temporary assistant has its pluses and minuses. One; she doesn’t have to hold her tongue. She doesn’t have to think about the long-term consequences of her uncontrolled attitudes. Two; she doesn’t have to worry about being fired, because if she is, there’s another temp position just around the corner. However, the job offers no stability, no health benefits, and no career path. Not exactly the dream profession.

  When Kate Spencer, Bill’s faithful assistant, insisted that she needed a holiday, Bill had to bring in someone to fill her role. Luckily, his bookkeeper’s niece was available. However, despite Penny’s efficiency and enthusiasm in the office, he’s starting to regret that decision. He doesn’t want to spend the next two weeks arguing against her idealistic twenty-something attitudes.

  His bookkeeper, Nicole Cowan, has been running his books for the last ten years – ever since he started practicing as a criminal defense attorney. With an office just around the corner from his building, he initially hired her services out of convenience of location, but over the years, they have formed a bond closer to friendship than associates.

  She has been faithful to his cause, a
nd when he mentioned that he needed a new temp assistant, she threw her niece’s name into the ring. He accepted the proposal, but Penny is a girl that comes with a warning. Nicole, as the sole guardian of Penny after Penny’s family passed away, has raised her niece since Penny was eight years old.

  Penny Pearson certainly has all the credentials that he requires for an assistant – fiery, intelligent, street-smart, and witty. She’s studying part-time for a college degree majoring in psychology, and she has a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. She’s not a woman that anyone should mess with, but her feminine appearance has sex appeal, and more importantly, she knows how to use it.

  Under the watchful eye of Kate Spencer for the next week, she is being shown the office procedures, the systems, and hopefully, some more tact.

  “Come on,” Bill states, trying to avoid another argument with Penny. “Let me take you to dinner. I’ll call your Aunt, and see if she wants to join us.”

  “I just don’t understand why you want to be updated on these deaths.” Penny shrugs. “I don’t understand why you want to help people you’ve never met.”

  “Like I said, any of these men could be my brother. If I help them, I feel like I’m helping him.”

  “But you can’t do anything about it. You can’t stop this killer. That’s not your job.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Penny. We have the resources to solve these cases. We have the ability. And right now, I have the time.” He begins to walk towards the door. “And if the LAPD isn’t going to solve these murders, then I will.”

  Chapter 3

  “Got a dollar?”

  In a dark area just off 6th St, Downtown Los Angeles, a rough hand rests against criminal defense attorney Bill Harvey’s chest.

  This isn’t a friendly hand.

  Walking home on the streets of Los Angeles after a late night at a restaurant, Bill is stopped by a filthy, homeless drunk. The man’s clothes are in tatters, he has the odor of a lifelong alcoholic, and his mouth is missing more than a few teeth.

  Being a tall, broad man, Bill Harvey has never hesitated walking down a dark alley in L.A. late at night. Despite the danger in Downtown, despite the craziness of its people, he knows the right places to avoid and when to avoid them. He’s not usually the target of weak, vulnerable people.

  But the man in front of him stands as tall and as broad as he is.

  “I need a dollar.” The man’s voice rises. “Just give me a dollar. That’s all I want, man. Nothing more. You look rich, I’m sure you can spare a dollar.”

  Bill pauses, feeling the tension in the moment quickly escalate. The night air is fresh, and the street is bathed in darkness.

  It’s brave for this man to be here. There are currently homeless people being strangled all over the city. All drunks. All strangled. It should be front-page news, there should be hysteria, but nobody misses these men. They are society’s forgotten people, left out in the dark, slogging through another day without love.

  “Give me your wallet.” The voice has changed to a snarl. “Give me the money or I’ll stab you. I don’t want to, but I need a dollar, man. Just give me a dollar.”

  The man growls aggressively, drawing a small knife from his coat pocket.

  Bill’s heart pounds at the sight of the knife.

  It is sharp, clean.

  The man in front of Bill has nothing more to lose.

  The pure desperation in the man’s eyes is clear.

  He is willing to plunge the knife deep into Bill’s torso for the sake of a dollar. One dollar. That’s what his life has come to. That’s where his life is at.

  “Give me the money.” The growl is harsh. Edgy.

  Bill Harvey was walking home after an evening with Penny, her boyfriend, Caleb Wood, and her aunt, Nicole Cowan. He was buzzing from the high of spending the evening with one of the most beautiful and animated women he has ever met. Effortlessly, Penny dazzles everyone with her stunning smile and fluttering eyelids.

  But that buzz is gone now, replaced with fear.

  “You’ve got five seconds to pull that wallet out,” the man growls out again, closing the distance between them.

  The hand of the homeless man is steady – the situation holds no fear for him. There is no shaking, no nerves. He’s willing to risk it all for a mere dollar.

  As Bill’s hand goes to his coat pocket, the man licks his lips. He desperately wants the money.

  He needs it.

  But as Bill looks at the man’s face, he notices something else.

  “You’re not going to hurt me.”

  “I’ve got a knife, man! How could you say that?”

  “Because, Gerard,” Bill states calmly. “We’re old friends.”

  Chapter 4

  Gerard West was once one of Los Angeles’s most prominent prosecutors. He stood in the courtroom proudly, displaying his smarts, delivering victory after victory. He talked to the media with confidence and loved to splash his name on the front page of the paper. No publicity stunt was beyond him.

  When you win case after case, the DA’s department gives you a lot of leniencies.

  But it was the first case that he lost that led to Gerard’s high-profile downfall.

  She was a girl, just a small two-year-old girl, laying in a dumpster at the back of a Downtown hotel. The case captured the public’s attention, and social media was alight with any news of the case. How could an angelic girl become so lost in the system that she didn’t even have a name for some weeks after she was found?

  Her picture in the newspapers was perfect – a beautiful smile, soft skin, glowing innocent eyes.

  The mother was a deceased drug-addict, and the father unknown. For her short life, she was passed from family to family, and home to home, but nobody took responsibility for her.

  The system failed a little angel.

  When they charged a possible killer, Reece Knowles, the media ran with the story. He was the perfect fit – a convicted rapist, a loner, a homeless drunk. There was outrage on the streets, calling for his immediate death. After his arrest, other prisoners attacked him on a daily basis. Guards attacked him. The hatred for the man was overwhelming.

  But despite the weight of evidence, despite the support of all of the people in L.A., Gerard West couldn’t land the conviction for the DA’s department.

  The jury had no choice but to find Reece Knowles Not Guilty of the murder charges.

  The media storm that followed would have broken even the strongest of men. The media outlets placed the lack of justice on Gerard’s shoulders – even going as far to blame him for dishonoring the beautiful deceased angel. The Facebook haters, the keyboard warriors, all blamed Gerard for the lack of justice.

  He had struggled with bouts of depression his whole life, but this tipped him over the edge.

  He self-medicated on alcohol, trying to escape his deep, horrible pain. How could he not find justice for the poor girl? How could he let the case slip? How could he let that killer back out onto the streets?

  Alcohol became his only escape from the darkness of depression and the hatred of his community.

  His wife left him. His kids disowned him.

  And then his job let him go.

  They couldn’t have a desperate alcoholic walking into court every day.

  When he lost his job, his life’s work, his world finally imploded.

  Gerard lost everything.

  Everything.

  “It’s good to see you, my friend,” Bill Harvey states calmly, looking at the man with a knife.

  The man looks at Bill like he’s being misled. He doesn’t recognize the man in front of him. After years of living day-to-day on hard alcohol, his memory is shot to pieces. He would barely recognize his own face in a mirror.

  Bill rests one of his large hands on Gerard’s shoulder, a caring touch and a sign of his friendship. “Put the knife away. And let’s get a coffee.”

  Bill’s gentle touch pacifies the man, and he slowly puts the
knife in his pocket.

  Without another word spoken, Bill leads Gerard to the nearest diner, and they sit down in a small booth.

  “Two coffees please.”

  “I don’t recognize you, but you know my name. How do we know each other?” the man questions, sitting opposite Bill, leaning his arms on the stained table.

  “We were friends for years. I’m a lawyer, like you were once. I was there when you fell apart, and I tried to help you piece it all back together.”

  A moment of realization dawns on Gerard’s face. “Oh… Bill… Bill Harvey?”

  He nods. “It’s been a while, Gerard.”

  “That seems like a different lifetime. A different world.” He shakes his head as the memories start to come back, his shoulders finally relaxing. “I don’t… I tried to wipe most of that life away. I’d forgotten about the past, all that pain. Days are just about surviving now.” Gerard draws a deep, long breath, leaning back in the uncomfortable vinyl chair. “They were hard times, man. I wouldn’t wish that pain on my worst enemy. They broke me, Bill. They broke me. They were the worst times of my life.”

  “And things are better now, are they?”

  Gerard shrugs. “At least people don’t know me these days. They don’t know who I am anymore. I’m just another bum on the street to most people now.” He looks out the window to nothingness. “I was abused every day. Every day. People yelled at me when I was walking down the street. They said some horrible things – things that cut me to my core. I had to move house because of the abuse. And the face of that little girl haunted me. Still does. I still see her face everywhere. It sent me into a downward spiral, and I couldn’t stop it. The black dog of depression, it had me. It controlled me. It tore everything away from me.”

  “I remember. I took you out a few times for lunch and tried to support you. You were broken, but you could see the way out then.”