“I’m on your side,” Bill reassures him. “But I’m not going to sugarcoat this. I’m not going to lie to you about the case. The prosecution is putting together a file on a serial killer that has been operating on the streets of L.A. for twelve months, and they’re close to solving it. Really close. The rumor is that they want you to take the fall for all of it. I believe you’re innocent, but that doesn’t mean anything. They want someone to take the fall for this. And at the moment, you’re that guy. They’re going to present you to the media as a serial killer, and the second they do that, we’ve lost the case.”
“Why?” Jonathon pleads desperately. “Why me? What have I done?”
“You fit their profile.” Bill looks to Penny. “You’ve had a rough childhood, have a history of violence, no close family connections, and you’ve had incidents in your past that could have caused great mental distress. That’s the profile they’re looking for.”
Still nothing from Penny.
Not a thing.
She continues to write notes on the pad, oblivious to the accusations.
“I don’t understand.” Jonathon paces the room, his hand rubbing his brow frantically. “How long do I have before they lay the charges?”
“One day, possibly two.”
“What?” Jonathon looks like he wants to curl up into a ball, sit in a corner, and escape the world. Life has been hard for him, and it’s not getting any easier. “Why me? I didn’t do anything. You have to believe me, Bill. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill this guy, and I haven’t killed anyone else!”
“Do you know any of these people?” Bill removes a piece of paper from his briefcase and slides it across to Jonathon.
“No.” Jonathon studies the photo and shakes his head. “Who are they?”
“The murdered people; the ones with unsolved cases. There’s a decorated war veteran in that list of photos. He fell apart with Post-traumatic stress disorder, and ended up on the street, before becoming one of the victims. That’s not going to make you very popular with the public or in here.”
“I don’t know any of them.” The tears are starting to well in Jonathon’s eyes. He’s powerless. Without control over his future.
“Do you have an alibi for these dates?” Bill removes another piece of paper from his briefcase and places it on the table.
“How would I know?” Jonathon studies the paper. “Some of these dates are twelve months ago! I’m not a teenage girl; I don’t write in a diary every night! How would I know where I was on those nights!”
“Settle down. We’re trying to help you.”
Jonathon paces the room again, his fists clenched, unsure of what to do with his arms. His emotions are flowing from wanting to fight to needing to flee every few seconds. It’s a roller coaster and not one that he’s enjoying.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually says, sitting back down. “It’s just… I didn’t expect this. I didn’t want this. I thought my life was getting back on track. I kicked the drugs. I’ve been clean for so long, I’ve worked so hard to stay clean, and now, this. This. I can’t handle it. I want a hit of heroin. That’s all I want right now.”
“You won’t find it here.”
“Sorry,” he replies. “I don’t really want the hit; it’s just all this stress. They’ll kill me in here if they think I’m a serial killer that’s killed a war vet. Yesterday, someone in the cell next to me was stabbed by the gangs in here. Seven times. All in the chest. If these gangs think I killed that vet, they’ll tear me apart. I’ll just be bait for them. You can’t let them charge me with those murders, Bill. You just can’t let it happen.”
“I can’t stop it, Jonathon. They’re going in hard.”
“But I’ll die if they charge me. I won’t last a week in here. I’ll be hunted and then stabbed to death. Even if I go into solitary, they’ll still find a way. They’ve got their own version of justice in here, and there isn’t a judge to deliver the verdict. Bill, if they charge me with those murders, I’m dead. And I don’t want to die in prison. I don’t want to die here.”
“Then we have a fight on our hands.” Bill places his notepad back inside his briefcase, then closes it firmly. His attempt at testing Penny’s resolve has not provided the results he needed.
Instead, it’s only added more pressure to his case.
More urgency.
Now, he’s not only defending his brother, but he’s also saving his life.
“Please, Bill.” Jonathon leans forward, the hopelessness in his eyes clear. “Don’t let me go down for this. Don’t let them hang me for this one. I didn’t kill anyone. You’ve got to believe me, Bill. Look in my eyes, you’ve got to believe me.”
Bill looks at his younger brother, desperate to be saved again.
“I’m close, Jonathon. We’ll solve this. We’ll get the real killer.”
But even Bill is not convinced.
And time is running out.
Chapter 30
Bill Harvey always wears one of his best suits to court.
It’s the day when he can change the future of the person sitting next to him.
If he makes one wrong step, one wrong word, the prosecution will pounce and punish them with all they have. If he makes one wrong turn, it can send a person away for years, destroying their hopes and dreams.
He loves that pressure.
He thrives on it.
Sitting opposite Bill Harvey is prosecutor William Clarke, a man with one of the city’s most powerful voices. In his spare time, he provides voice-overs for motivational videos on the Internet and talks at schools about the path to success. The power of his voice alone can win a case.
When they first met, Bill was compelled to view one of the videos, and, surprisingly, he quite enjoyed it. It was a polished piece of work – great editing, strong voices, moving music. The rise and fall of emotion in the speech was powerful, gripping, and quite possibly, life-changing.
But amongst all the melodrama, amongst all the sentiment, there was one line in the motivational video that stood out for Bill: You can make mistakes, but never let a mistake define who you are.
As a criminal defense attorney, that line was particularly moving for him.
He had seen both sides of the story in the past – he had defended a teenage drug-dealer who went on to become the CEO of a charity organization, but also defended a petty thief who threw his life away and fell into a world of addiction, unable to accept his mistake.
Never let a mistake define who you are.
The words have rung through his head time and time again.
Jonathon Harvey is walked into the small courtroom, a guard on each side. He is desperate not to let his mistakes define who he is.
Wearing an ill-fitting prison uniform, he looks like a man that is sorry for his mistakes, sorry for his past.
For the arraignment hearing, Jonathon sits near Bill, awaiting his fate. He’s as pale as a ghost, as lost as a nomad, without control over what happens next.
Judge Andrew Bayes sits at the head of the court, having spent the last forty years dedicated to law. His small frame and Harry Potter-esqe glasses don’t portray his strength. He knows the law backward and isn’t afraid to pull up anyone on even the slightest mistake.
With a disinterested but firm voice, Judge Bayes reads the charges against Jonathon Fredrick Harvey.
“For the murder in the first degree of Gerard West, how do you plead?”
Jonathon’s answer is quick and confident. “Not Guilty.”
Bill waits for the judge to continue reading the next seven murder charges, but nothing comes.
“The prosecution moves to deny bail,” William Clarke announces. “The defendant doesn’t have ties to this community, he’s a clear flight risk, and this was a particularly violent crime. The defendant would not only be a clear risk to the community if he was allowed to walk out of this courtroom, but he would also be at risk of fleeing the country, having traveled extensively to South America in th
e last ten years.”
“Defense?”
“We don’t agree. My client deserves the right to post bail. He’s pleading innocent of these charges, and it’s his right to have bail assessed.”
Judge Bayes considers his thoughts for a while, reading the page of charges with pursed lips. “Bail is set at three million dollars.”
The gavel slams.
Arraignment completed.
Bill looks across to his brother, whose eyes look at the ground, accepting his fate behind bars. He won’t be able to post bail. He wouldn’t be able to post bail at three hundred dollars, let alone three million.
When he looks up, Bill offers a reassuring nod. The request for bail denial was not unexpected, and nor was the high price of his release.
Slowly, he packs up his briefcase as his younger sibling is transferred out of the courtroom. He remembers that gait, the way he walks. He watched it for years. During high school, Jonathon Harvey was an exciting quarterback prospect. Even at fourteen, there were college scouts at almost every one of his games. They all wanted a piece of this guy – he was hardworking, he came from good stock, and his vision on the field was outstanding.
But that sort of pressure does something to a man that is still developing. People either crumble or succeed under that pressure.
Jonathon crumbled worse than most.
“What’s it like defending your brother?” William Clarke asks as they begin to exit the courtroom, shoulder to shoulder as more attorneys push past, ready to do their bit for the justice system.
Bill’s reply is blank. “Fun. What’s it like being the worst dressed man in L.A.?”
“Ha!” Clarke laughs loudly. “You don’t like my tie?”
“It’s not the tie; it’s the whole outfit. It looks like you walked into Gordon Gekko’s wardrobe and pulled out the pieces he didn’t want.”
“Haha!” Clarke laughs again. “I can always trust you to make things personal. But I suppose it’s hard not to be personal when you’re defending your little bro. Don’t you worry that you’ll be blinded by the emotions?”
“No. Aren’t you worried that you are chasing the wrong person for this murder?”
“This murder, no. Others, maybe.” He shrugs, and the two men stop just outside the courtroom doors, standing eye to eye.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what that means. Your finger is on the pulse of this city. You know what’s coming.”
“Enlighten me.”
“There’s a serial killer out there, Bill. Killing homeless drunks near Skid Row. We don’t want that person back out on the streets, we don’t want more people killed. But I assume you know that already. And I’ll assume that you know where the department is looking to find this serial killer.”
“You shouldn’t assume things, William.”
“True. What’s the old saying again?” He clicks his fingers. “‘Don’t assume. It makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’. ’”
“Clever. Although it wouldn’t be that hard to make you look like an ass.”
“Ha!” Clarke laughs loudly again. “I just hope that you haven’t missed something. I hope that you know what’s happening here. Your brother is a pathological liar; most drug addicts are. They spend their lives lying to their families, to their friends, and to themselves. Your brother is a liar. He has spent his whole life as a liar, and he’s refined those skills. He’s very skilled at deceiving people. I just hope that you haven’t fallen for those fabrications of the truth. I know that you’re good at reading people, but I think you’re blinded here, Bill.”
“He’s not a drug addict. He’s clean. Has been for over a year.” Bill defends his brother, moving closer into Clarke’s personal space. “And he’s not a liar.”
“I would have thought you, out of everyone, would be able to see his lies, but I guess you’ve missed it because he’s your brother. You’re not looking at it subjectively, Bill. You’re too involved. Too close this case to see the truth. You’re missing all the facts.”
“I know that he didn’t do this. He’s my brother. I know that he’s innocent.”
“And that’s your problem. He’s your brother; he’s not just another client. You’re missing all the facts. You’re missing the truth.”
“He’s not a killer.”
“We’ll catch this serial killer.” Clarke leans in close enough to whisper, “We have enough evidence to pin it all on him. If you’re going to stand by him, I really hope you’re ready for the next wave of accusations. It’s coming, Bill. The storm is coming, and it’s going to be colossal.”
“I haven’t seen the weather report.”
“The storm is due to hit in twenty-four hours. It’s rolling in, and it’s rolling in fast.”
Chapter 31
Impatient, Bill Harvey jogs to meet Jack Grayson’s car as he arrives outside the courthouse steps.
“Ease up, Usain Bolt. What’s the rush?” Jack asks as he steps out onto the sidewalk.
Bill looks over his shoulder, checking for anyone that could listen. “We have to make a move. Now.”
“On who?”
“Penny Pearson.”
“Your assistant? No, she’s not strong enough, Bill. She couldn’t have done it. She doesn’t have it in her. You’re looking at the wrong person.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences, Jack. This is too close. There is too much that connects her to the case. She fits the profile, she’s got the ability, and she’s got a mean streak. We have to move now.”
“Hold up.” Jack stops his friend from going any further. “You sound like a cop. You sound like everyone else. That’s not the Bill Harvey I know. That’s not the voice of a man who solves the impossible. This isn’t you, Bill. All this emotional stress has taken a toll on you. It’s broken you, man. You have to take a step back.”
Bill looks away in a desperate attempt to avoid the truth, running his hand through his hair. “It has to be her. She’s too close to it all.”
“What’s the rush? Why does it have to be now?”
“Clarke is going to pin the other murders on Jonathon within twenty-four hours, and if we don’t get him off now, then it’ll be trial by media. The media will eat up a story of a former addict that’s a serial killer, a druggie that killed a war vet with PTSD. He’ll be the front page of every paper in the country. If Clarke runs this story, it’ll be so big that we won’t be able to find a jury that hasn’t been influenced by the media. We have to move now, or he’s done. We have twenty-four hours to catch this killer.”
“I just don’t see it, Bill.” Jack’s brow tightens. “Are you sure it’s Penny?”
“It has to be. There is no other choice.”
“The boyfriend?”
Bill shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Don’t tell me maybe, Bill. If we’re going to do this, we have to be sure. You have to be sure. That’s what you do. You figure things out. You solve the impossible. You need to clear your head, step back from this, and consider the answer. Take a breath, and think about it before you make a move. You may only get one shot at this.”
“I don’t have time for that. We have to move now.”
“It’s a mistake. You’re moving too quickly. You’re missing all the signs.”
“What else can I do?!” Bill snaps.
“Hey, man, ease up. I’m trying to help you here. I’m trying to get your brother off. Because in the end, that’s what this is all about. You’re missing the point – you don’t care about justice at the moment; you only want to get your brother off. You just want to keep him out of prison, and hey, I get that. I really do. You haven’t seen the guy in twenty years, and now it’s your responsibility to save him. I get it. But you’re missing the point.”
“No. This is about justice. It’s about justice for Gerard West. Putting away an innocent man isn’t justice. Catching a serial killer is.”
“But do you really think it’s her? Deep down, do yo
u think it’s her?”
Bill doesn’t answer.
He can’t.
“Alright.” Jack concedes defeat. “What do you need me for?”
“In three hours, I’ll meet you at my office. For the next three hours, I’m going to consider the best way to make a move.”
“What are you going to do when I’m there?”
“I’m going to get a confession out of a cold-blooded killer.”
Chapter 32
He can feel it.
The tension rises as Bill Harvey steps into his office.
His shoulders are tight, the grip on his briefcase is firm, and his brows are creased.
This is it.
His chance.
No matter good he is as a lawyer, no matter how talented, he can’t beat the drenching effect of the media. Guilty or not, his brother will be roasted alive by the news outlets if it’s released that he’s a serial killer. The outrage will snowball into a frenzy of anger. There will be no stopping it.
The move has to be now.
This is his last hope to save his brother.
There are too many connections to Penny Pearson for it to be a coincidence. Everything that he has uncovered points to her guilt – her hatred for drunks, her skills at combat, her violent outbursts.
Even her profile fits the killer perfectly.
Traumatic event in childhood, lives alone, has the skills to kill someone.
Everything points to her.
Logically, it has to be the answer.
But he just doesn’t feel it.
He cannot see the cold-blooded murderer in her eyes. She isn’t a killer.
Having spent his life around hardened criminals, around the worst offenders in L.A., he knows the intense feeling of standing opposite an unstable person.
There is an aura around them – a feeling that they can break at any time. A sense that they can give in to their evilness.
A sense that they can snap.
Fire and Justice_A Legal Thriller Page 13
