False Justice

by Larry A Winters

  “I don’t understand.” Nishith stared at the stairwell door, still rattling in its frame. “Were they burglars?”

  “Worse.”

  She looked around her. Kelly’s apartment was spotless. Common burglars would have trashed the place looking for valuables. These men had been careful not to disturb anything.

  If Jessie and Nishith hadn’t stumbled upon them, no one would ever know they’d been here.

  Later, Kelly Lee’s apartment was filled with members of the police department. Emily Graham came with them.

  “You have to agree it’s looking more and more like Douglas Shaw and his company are behind all of this,” Jessie said.

  Graham picked up an expensive-looking vase from a shelf. “Behind all of what?”

  “Come on, Emily.”

  “Does it bother you at all that bringing frivolous lawsuits against good cops like me enabled your law school buddy to collect fine crystal?” Graham put down the vase.

  “What bothers me is that a woman was murdered and the police refuse to investigate because of a personal grudge.”

  Graham’s gaze swept the room, where police officers were checking out the apartment. “You keep saying that, but there’s no evidence.”

  “No evidence? What about the two men I just caught searching her apartment?”

  Graham shrugged. “It’s depressingly common for burglars to target the homes of the recently deceased.”

  “This wasn’t a burglary.” Jessie felt rising frustration. “They didn’t steal anything.”

  “Because you interrupted them in the act.”

  “They were looking for something. Probably the same thing I came here to look for. Kelly’s files.”

  “Why?”

  “To bury the Rowlands’ case. To protect Douglas Shaw and his company.” Jessie’s body vibrated with anger. There was something wrong here. She didn’t know if the police were simply blinded by their resentment of the police misconduct suits, or whether something even worse explained their inaction, but something was very wrong. “Maybe Douglas Shaw and Boffo bribed someone in the department.”

  “No way,” Graham said. But Jessie thought she saw a flicker of doubt in her friend’s eyes.

  “How else do you explain the total lack of interest in Kelly’s death?”

  “I already explained it. There’s no evidence that her death was anything other than a car accident.”

  “Excuse me.” One of the cops had approached them. “We’re done here,” he said to Graham.

  “Did you find anything?” Graham said.

  “Lifted a few prints, but if the men were wearing gloves, I doubt they’ll tell us anything.”

  “How can you be done?” Jessie stared at the man. “You’ve only been here ten minutes.”

  He shrugged. The other police were already leaving.

  Jessie shook her head and turned to Graham. “I need to talk to Douglas Shaw.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “This isn’t a game to me, Emily. He murdered a woman. I’m going to prove it.”

  “I need to get back to the Roundhouse,” Graham said. “Why don’t you come with me? I’ll give you a ride to your office.”

  “First I need to look for Kelly’s files.”

  “Jessie, this is a crime scene.”

  “No one else seems to think so.”

  The women faced each other. Jessie thought Graham might push the issue, but she didn’t. She turned toward the door. “I guess I’ll check in with you later, then.”

  “Fine.”

  Once Graham was gone, Jessie let out a sigh and looked around. The apartment was spacious, a two-bedroom apartment in which one of the bedrooms had been set up as a home office. All of the rooms were tastefully decorated, with an expensive touch as Graham had pointed out. Kelly had been doing well for herself. Among the artwork and sculptures, Jessie found a shelf of framed photographs—an elderly Asian man and woman, a family of four, also Asian, and a young man standing with a young woman. Jessie assume these people were Kelly’s relatives, although Kelly herself did not appear in any of the pictures.

  The home office seemed like the logical place to start her search for the Rowlands’ file. She took a second to marvel at the clean efficiency of the space. Jessie didn’t have a home office, just a small desk in her bedroom. She felt a pang of envy, but it passed quickly. Jessie loved being an assistant DA. She wouldn’t trade it for anything.

  Then you better hope Warren doesn’t find out what you’re doing.

  The sound of a man clearing his throat behind her made her jump. She twisted around. As if summoned by her thoughts, Warren Williams stood in the doorway of Kelly’s home office.

  He wore a rumpled suit and looked even more beleaguered than usual. The dark circles under his eyes, and his waxy skin, suggested his new morning routine wasn’t treating him well. “You want to tell me what the hell you think you’re doing?”

  Jessie straightened up. “Did you know the client files in Kelly’s law office are missing?” Warren quirked an eyebrow, but remained quiet. “I came here to see if she had any files in her home. When I got here, there were two men—”

  “I heard.”

  “They were looking for files, too. I’m sure of it. I’m just hoping they fled before they could find everything.”

  “The police believe the men were burglars.”

  “They weren’t, Warren. They were looking for something. And they were careful not to make a mess. This was Douglas Shaw and Boffo Products Corporation, the defendants in Kelly’s big lawsuit. You’ve got to see that.”

  Warren rubbed his tired-looking face. “No, actually. What I see is insubordination. I told you to stay away from this case. AID closed its investigation. The police department doesn’t want you nosing around here. I already received one angry phone call and I don’t plan to receive more. You are going to stop right now.”

  “I can’t do that,” Jessie said.

  Warren’s face darkened. “Why not?”

  “Because I need her help,” a voice said.

  Warren spun around and Jessie stared past him. Noah Snyder strolled casually into Kelly’s home office, a friendly smile on his face. “Hello, Warren. How are you doing? Finally get that hemorrhoid problem under control?”

  Warren’s face darkened another shade, and Jessie could see the internal struggle behind his eyes. “What are you doing here, Noah?” Warren said.

  Jessie was as curious as Warren to know the answer. Snyder walked past Warren and stood at Jessie’s side. He put a hand around her waist, a gesture that was either a show of solidarity, sexual harassment, or a little bit of both. Jessie tried not to cringe.

  “What am I doing here?” Snyder said. “I’m working on the biggest case of my career. Major class-action lawsuit, in case you haven’t heard. I’m going to bankrupt those toy-making motherfuckers. Just as soon as Jessie gives me Kelly Lee’s working file. Right, Jess?”

  “Right,” Jessie said, following his lead. “That’s why we’re both here. I’m helping Noah find the file so he can pick up the Rowlands’ case. Professional courtesy. Nothing more.”

  “Okay with you, boss man?” Snyder said.

  Warren rubbed his face again, seeming to consider. “Fine. Spend an hour—no more than that—and see if you can find the file. But that’s it, Jessie. I mean it. There are only so many excuses I can make to my friends in the police department before they decide they’re not my friends anymore. Do you understand?”

  “Completely. Thank you.”

  “I’m going back to the office,” Warren said. “Noah, nice seeing you again. And relatively sober, too. A pleasant surprise for everyone.”

  Jessie waited until Warren had left before turning her attention to Snyder. “You said you wanted nothing to do with this case. You left Kelly Lee’s office without even saying goodbye. Did you grow a conscience?”

  The silver-haired lawyer looked taken aback. “Conscience? Hell no. I have an associate who
monitors the police band for me. She picked up on the home invasion here. I figured you might need me. When I got here and saw fat-ass reading you your rights, I decided to help you out.”

  Jessie couldn’t help smiling. “I have news for you, Noah. That’s called a conscience.”

  Snyder shook his head. “It’s called a favor. I did you one, and now you owe me one. In fact, since the favor I did you was so gargantuan—I mean, I basically saved your job—I think you owe me a few favors in return. For starters, you’re going to help me with this Rowland case.”

  “If Kelly Lee’s file is here in the apartment, we’ll find it.”

  Snyder smirked. “We both know the chances of finding that file are slim to none. I told you, I’m not putting in the work to handle this case from the ground up. If you can’t find the file, then you’ll need to do the work for me. Research the law, write the briefs, and prepare my talking points so I can get Judge Dax to certify the class or at least let us proceed alone on the claim. That’s favor number one.”

  What had begun as a feeling of relief turned to a sinking feeling in her gut. “Okay. Fine. Substitute yourself as counsel and I’ll do the heavy legal lifting for you. What’s favor number two?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But don’t worry, Jess. I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

  16

  Graham gripped the steering wheel of her unmarked Ford Police Interceptor and tried to force away thoughts of what could have happened to Jessie. She knew it wasn’t Jessie’s fault she’d walked in on two men who’d broken into Kelly Lee’s apartment, but she felt angry anyway. Jessie shouldn’t have been there. She shouldn’t be obsessing over Kelly Lee’s death at all. Those men could have attacked her instead of running. Or worse.

  She reached her destination, a complex of squat, nondescript buildings in a corporate park outside the city. The headquarters of Boffo Products Corporation.

  Jessie believed Kelly Lee had been murdered, and that Douglas Shaw and his company were behind it. Graham wasn’t convinced, but she had to admit to her own lack of objectivity. How could any cop be objective about a lawyer who’d brought a police misconduct claim against her? Plus, when she’d dropped in on Ross Reid at the gym to ask the detective about the accident investigation, he’d seemed evasive—even a little hostile. She had enough doubt in her own mind to create an unavoidable question.

  That question was, What if Jessie’s right?

  It wouldn't be the first time. The woman made an irritating habit of it. Graham couldn't help but smile.

  Her smile dropped when a familiar vehicle drove into the parking lot. The driver parked, opened the door, and got out. It was Mark Leary. Graham scrambled out of her own car as the man marched toward the building’s entrance.

  “Leary!”

  He spun around and his eyes widened. “Emily?”

  “What are you doing here?” she said.

  “Getting to the bottom of this mess before Jessie gets herself fired,” he said. “Or worse.”

  “She told you about what happened today at Lee’s apartment?”

  “I have my sources.”

  “So she didn’t tell you?” Graham wasn’t surprised. She knew Jessie chafed at Leary’s sometimes over-protective attitude toward her. “Maybe that’s something you should think about.”

  “I’m not about to take relationship advice from you.” She felt the sting of his words. He must have seen her reaction in her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, Emily. I’m just upset.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Emily—”

  “It’s not worth talking about. What’s your plan? You’re just going to march in there and demand to speak to the CEO of the company?”

  “Yeah.” A look of uncertainty flashed across his face. “Usually works.”

  “With a badge.”

  “I’m a detective with the District’s Attorney’s Office.” He stood up a little straighter.

  “And I’m an actual homicide detective. I think we’re more likely to get past his flunkies using my creds.”

  “The PPD investigation is closed. How are you going to explain this to your superiors?”

  “How are you?” she shot back.

  They stood for a second, staring at each other in the parking lot. A chilly fall breeze made Graham’s jacket flap around her.

  “Well, we’re not going to learn anything by having a staring contest with each other,” Leary said.

  The statement was true, but she still held eye-contact until he looked away first.

  “What was your game plan?” he said.

  “Ask him about the lawsuit. Ask him about the accident. See if I can shake him up.”

  Leary nodded. “You’re good at shaking people up.” Hurriedly, he added, “I meant that one as a compliment.”

  “I know.” She gave him a smile and he seemed to relax. “I always wondered what it would have been like to work with you in the Homicide Division. I guess this is pretty close.”

  “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

  They walked to the building. Graham couldn’t help staring at the expansive lobby. The plain exterior of the building had not hinted at the opulence within. A huge glass display case dominated the waiting area, featuring an array of toys. Artifacts from the company’s history, she guessed. Apparently, Boffo was a successful venture.

  There was a woman in a suit sitting on one of several couches. She glanced up at them as they entered, then returned her attention to her phone. Graham crossed the wide space and approached the receptionist.

  “We’re here to see Douglas Shaw.”

  The woman peered at her through stylish glasses. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Don’t need one.” Graham held up her badge.

  “Is there someone else who could help you? Mr. Shaw is the president and CEO of the company. His schedule is very busy—”

  “I’m a detective with the Philadelphia Police Department, and my colleague here is with the District Attorney’s Office. We’re here to speak with Mr. Shaw.”

  “Give me a moment, please.” She lifted a phone from her desk and touched a button, then turned her chair and conversed quietly with the person on the other end of the line. She put down the phone. “Mr. Shaw can make some time to see you.”

  “Thanks.”

  A man emerged from a doorway and approached the desk. He looked more like one of the toys in the display case than an actual human being—exaggeratedly brawny, like a bad knockoff of a He Man action figure, his body barely able to fit in the suit he’d stuffed himself into. He did not speak or introduce himself. He gestured for Graham and Leary to follow him.

  Leary caught her eye, arched a brow. She moved her shoulders in a slight shrug.

  The man led them toward a bank of elevators, then kept walking. Graham realized there was another elevator, set apart from the others, with a keypad instead of a call button. The man tapped a code into the keypad.

  “My name’s Mark Leary, by the way. And you are?”

  The man stared at Leary. Leary stared back. Either the guy was mute, or he had the social etiquette of a recluse. Or a thug, she thought.

  The elevator doors opened, revealing a spacious elevator car. The man gestured for them to step inside.

  More silence as they rode to the top floor. There was a vein just under the shelf of the man’s chin that pulsed rhythmically. Graham couldn’t help staring at it. She’d dealt with meatheads like this guy before—lots of criminals liked to walk around with oversized goons—but something about this particular oversized guy intrigued her. Maybe it was the strangeness of seeing him in an otherwise typical corporate environment.

  The elevator doors opened directly onto Douglas Shaw’s office suite. The space was massive, the size of four or five normal offices put together. Three of the walls were floor-to-ceiling windows, with a view of a lake Graham hadn’t noticed on her drive into the office park. Seated behind a large, glass desk was a gray-haired man who must be D
ouglas Shaw. He rose from his chair and came toward them. With a nod, he dismissed the big man. He extended a hand to Graham.

  “I’m Douglas Shaw.” His tone was clipped and aristocratic. She disliked him immediately.

  “Emily Graham.” They shook hands. Shaw’s grip was firm. “This is Mark Leary.”

  “My receptionist did not tell me the purpose of your visit.”

  “She didn’t know it.”

  “Is this about Kelly Lee’s accident?” he said.

  Graham and Leary exchanged a look. “Why would you assume that?” Leary said.

  “I can’t imagine any other reason you would be here. I heard about the accident.”

  “You don’t sound too broken up about it,” Graham said.

  “I’m not, Detective Graham. And frankly, I’m too old to bother pretending. Kelly Lee was a bottom-feeding ambulance chaser. The world is better without her.”

  Graham’s own thoughts about Lee’s death had been almost exactly the same, but hearing Shaw speak them aloud made her recoil both from him and from herself. Shaw was cold, hard, indifferent. She didn’t want to be like him.

  “I gotta say,” Leary said, “you’re about as different as possible from what I’d imagine a toymaker to be.”

  “I’m not a toymaker. I’m a businessman.”

  Graham noticed that their musclebound escort had not returned to the elevator. Instead, the big man stood erect against the wall, watching. Apparently, Shaw did not intend their meeting to be a long one.

  “As a businessman, you must have been pretty concerned about the class-action lawsuit Ms. Lee was bringing against your company,” Graham said.

  “Technically, she was not bringing a class-action lawsuit. In order to do that, you need a court to certify the class under Pennsylvania law. She was in the process of seeking certification, which I understand the judge was going to deny.”

  The man’s air of confidence surprised her. “How would you know that, if the judge hasn’t ruled yet?”

  “Call it intuition. Do you have any other questions, Detective?”