by Joel Goldman
“More like scared to death.”
“Did he kill the Hendersons and Kyrie Chapman?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you’re afraid he did.”
“Off the record, yes.”
“And you don’t want him to kill anyone else while he’s waiting for you to cut him a deal on the possession charge.”
Alex nodded, her voice falling an octave. “Yes. I’d rather he didn’t.”
Judge West shrugged. “Dwayne strikes me as the kind who kills when he thinks he’s got a reason, though he probably gets a sick kick out of it too. And if he killed those people, I can see how he would have thought he had a reason. You think he’s got a reason to kill someone else?”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice thick, her answer catching in her throat. “Or at least hurt someone very badly.”
The judge peered into his shot glass before draining it. “Newspaper said Dwayne tore up his leg climbing over a fence trying to run away from Detective Rossi. I don’t suppose the paramedics took him to the ER at Truman.”
“They did.”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “And I don’t suppose Bonnie took care of him.”
Alex rose from her chair, arms crossed, angry now. “The son of a bitch threatened to come back and rape her as soon he got out of jail. She believes him and so do I,” she said, then telling the judge what had happened in the ER.
“Then tell Detective Rossi or, better yet, tell Tommy Bradshaw, and they’ll yank his ass back to jail and Judge Upton will have to revoke his bail.”
“Tommy already knows. Bonnie told him. Tommy offered to let Dwayne plea to a Class C felony for possession and do three years if he agreed to stay in jail, enter his plea tomorrow, and start serving his sentence. He also offered to let him plead to the murders in exchange for consecutive life terms.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Dwayne turned both offers down. He thinks I’ll get him off and he says he has a promise to keep for someone when she gets home. That has to be Bonnie. I told Bradshaw and he’ll tell Rossi. But there’s no way to know if or when he’ll try something or whether Rossi will be able to stop him.”
“And in the meantime, you’re still Dwayne’s lawyer. You’ll have to tell your boss about Bonnie.”
“If I do, Robin will pull me off the case. And if by some miracle she doesn’t and Bradshaw tells Judge Upton that Dwayne threatened Bonnie . . .”
“Dwayne will be able to use your relationship with Bonnie to make you do God knows what.”
“Exactly.”
“And you want to hold on to Dwayne’s case without him making you jump for the sport of it.”
She heaved a sigh. “Yes.”
Judge West squinted at her, drawing out his one-word question. “Why?”
Alex threw her hands into the air, pacing around his chambers before planting her palms on his desk.
“Because I want him off the streets forever.”
Judge West nodded, reached for his bottle of whiskey, and filled both of their shot glasses. “Can’t argue. Now, how about that drink?”
Alex snatched her glass and gulped it down, the amber liquid warming her throat and soothing her jangled nerves. She folded her arms across her chest again, clutching her sides.
“I can’t believe I just said that.”
“Why not? It’s what you believe. It’s what you want and it’s what Bonnie needs.”
“You know that’s not the point!”
The judge raised his hand. “Now, settle down. Settle down. You know that it is a big part of the point. Why not let things take their natural course? Let the system work. Let Rossi keep his eye on Bonnie. If he can make a case against Dwayne for the murders, they’ll arrest him. I’ll make sure his case ends up in my court. You can stay on it without ever having to mention Bonnie’s name. He’ll be convicted and sentenced to death. And ten years down the road, after the ACLU has cost the taxpayers a few million dollars on appeals that will go nowhere, he’ll get the needle.”
Alex’s eyes popped; she was amazed at what she’d just heard. “You can do that? You can make sure that Dwayne’s case is assigned to you?” West nodded. “How? Case assignments are supposed to be random.”
“It’s enough for you to know that I can.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that you can somehow magically guarantee that he’ll be convicted?”
“There are no guarantees in life, including in my courtroom. But some things are more certain than others, and if we both do our parts, maybe that can be one of them.”
Alex shook her head. “Why are you telling me this? If anyone else finds out, you’ll be thrown off the bench, maybe even indicted.”
“Alex, why did you come to me for advice?”
She shook her head again. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” Judge West tapped his finger on his desk. “In here, in my chambers, on this case and every other one like it, you and I will tell each other the truth. I’ve shown you that respect. I expect no less from you. Now, why do you think I told you?”
She hesitated, gripping the back of her chair again to keep her balance as she fought off a split second of vertigo, her world spinning off its axis. Grounded, she said what she knew to be true.
“Because we’ll both do whatever it takes to stop Dwayne Reed.”
Judge West raised his glass to her. “And now we understand each other. Everyone knows the system isn’t perfect, but you and I can get it a little closer.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper. “That’s my cell phone number. You need anything, call me.”
Alex folded the slip of paper in her hand. “But what happens if Rossi can’t make the case against Dwayne? Or Tommy Bradshaw can’t convince the jury? Or if you can’t do your part or when it comes down to it, I can’t do mine? What then? What happens to Bonnie? Rossi will try to protect her, but how much can he do, really? I mean, he’s only one man and he can’t be on her or Dwayne twenty-four/seven.”
“You’re right about that. There are rules they have to follow, and knowing them both, that’s what they will do. Even Rossi, despite his trigger-happy reputation.”
“There are rules I have to follow too.”
“Then you’ve only got one choice,” Judge West said.
She looked at him, her face pinched with pain and worry. “What’s that?”
“Break the rules.”
Chapter Twenty
ALEX LEFT JUDGE WEST’S CHAMBERS, her head still spinning. She’d just entered into a conspiracy with him to deprive Dwayne Reed of his right to due process, a fair trial, and faithful representation by counsel. And that was just for starters. Their conversation, even without more, violated a host of ethical canons and, if discovered, would cost them their careers.
She emerged from the courthouse, stopping at the top of the lengthy flight of stairs leading down to the street. The day had dawned warm and clear, staying that way as the sun climbed higher in the sky. She walked partway down the stairs, pausing to let the sun chase the chill in her bones.
She half expected to see a roiling, rumbling mass of black clouds steaming across the horizon, an ominous portent of things to come, but there was none of that. It was just a day. People going about their business, lawyers she recognized nodding and smiling as they passed her on their way into the courthouse. Their ritual greetings reminded her of the fellowship and sanctity of her profession, triggering a flash of doubt about what she’d agreed to do.
She’d defended many people who’d committed terrible crimes, some of whom had threatened her. There was nothing new in that. This should have been no different, but it was because of Bonnie, though Alex knew that Bonnie would insist she play by the rules rather than risk her career. She had to go back to Judge West’s chambers, tell him that it had all been a terrible mistake, and beg him to forget their conversation had ever happened.
She turned around but couldn’t take the first step. Dwayne Reed stood in he
r path.
“Oh!” was all she could manage, so startled that she began to fall backward and would have fallen to the ground if Dwayne hadn’t grabbed her by the arms.
“Hold on, now. I ain’t in the market for another lawyer just yet.”
He was wearing baggy jeans and a gray jersey. She pulled away, but he held on to her.
“Let me go, Dwayne.”
He released her, holding his hands up. “All right, then. Jus’ makin’ sure you ain’t gonna fall.”
Deputy Paulson would have taken Dwayne from the courthouse annex back to the jail and processed his release. Yet here he was standing behind her, meaning he had to have come from inside the main courthouse.
“What are you doing here?” Alex asked. “You should be on your way home by now.”
“Thought we needed to talk some more. I heard you tell that deputy that you had to be in court. Figured that’s where I’d find you.”
She panicked for a moment, worried that he’d seen her coming out of Judge West’s chambers, searching her memory, relieved that she didn’t have a mental picture of him in the hall.
“You went looking for me?”
“Best way I know to find somebody.”
He said it with a disarming grin. She knew who he was and what he was. She’d seen what he’d done—or what she suspected he’d done—to the Henderson family and heard how he’d threatened Bonnie. If she had to draw a picture of a nightmare, it would be a portrait of him. Yet there were moments like this when he gave a glimpse of humanity. She couldn’t tell whether it was real or a sociopath’s trick.
“What do you want to talk about? Did you change your mind about the plea bargain?”
His grin vanished. “I ain’t never gonna change my mind ’bout that shit.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
“I wanna make sure we unnerstan’ each other, you and me.”
“Understand about what?”
“What you gonna do.”
He’d rattled her, the way he’d appeared out of nowhere igniting a vision of him doing the same to Bonnie, only in the dark and for an unspeakable purpose. The image forced her to regain her composure and squelched any thought she might have had of reneging on her agreement with Judge West.
“I’m your lawyer, Dwayne. That’s what I do.”
“And you ain’t gonna tell nobody what I tell you. Not about Wilfred, not about nuthin’, no matter what I do.”
She looked up into his unforgiving eyes and realized that this moment was the next small step along the path she’d chosen. She could explain that the attorney-client privilege only went so far, that if he told her that he was going to commit a crime the privilege didn’t apply and she’d have to tell the police. Or not.
“That’s right. In fact, the more I know, the better I can do what I have to do. I’m like a priest. You can confess all your sins, even the ones you haven’t committed.”
He drew his head back. “Sins I ain’t committed?”
“Yes. Is there something on your mind, something you did or you’re going to do that I need to know about? Maybe something having to do with that promise you told me you had to keep?”
He came down to her step, clamping his hands on her shoulders, digging his fingers into her flesh, and leaned in, his mouth at her ear, his words clipped.
“That shit don’t concern you. Somethin’ goes down and I need you, I let you know. In the meantime, you keep your fuckin’ mouth shut ’bout my business.” She tried to turn away, but he grabbed her chin and forced her face back to his. “You a good lawyer. Don’t make me your last client. You feel me?”
He didn’t wait for her to answer, sauntering the rest of the way down the stairs without looking back. Tremors raced through her as she watched him go. She pressed her arms against her sides, anchoring her body, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly when she stopped quivering.
She’d had her phone on silent while she was in the courthouse. She opened it, checking to see whether Bonnie had replied to her text. When she saw that Bonnie hadn’t responded, she started to dial her number but stopped when the phone rang. It was Tommy Bradshaw.
“I got your text. Tell your client that the deal is off the table—permanently,” he said. “And tell him that I’m going to make it my personal mission in life to nail his ass and watch him get the needle.”
Any other time on any other case, Bradshaw’s comments would have pissed her off. She’d have fired back, telling him to save his threats for someone who gave a shit. But not this time. Her battle wasn’t with Bradshaw.
“I’ll do that. Did you talk to Mitch Fowler about putting Rossi on Dwayne?”
Bradshaw cleared his throat, and when he answered, the fire had gone out of his voice. “Yeah, about that. Fowler says he needs Rossi on the investigation.”
“Jesus, Tommy! Doesn’t Fowler realize that Dwayne is part of the investigation?”
“Take it easy, Alex. Of course he does, but he wants Rossi tracking down leads and putting the case together, not babysitting Dwayne.”
“I’m not going to take it easy! What’s going to happen to Bonnie?”
“Nothing. When I told Fowler that Dwayne had threatened her, he agreed to have a patrol car go by your house at night. Sorry, but that’s the best I could do.”
She closed her phone without thanking him, convinced that the best he could do was nothing more than another way of saying the system sucked. All she could think of was Bonnie and what Dwayne had promised to do to her.
Her fear for Bonnie’s safety had wedged its way into her heart and mind alongside the still fresh horror from the slaughter of the Henderson family. As sickened and outraged as she was by their murders, there was nothing she could do to salvage their lives.
Not so with Bonnie. Bradshaw’s promise to send Dwayne to death row did little to reassure her when she thought about two things Judge West had told her. Nothing in life is guaranteed, even in his courtroom, and, if he was convicted, it would be ten years before Dwayne was executed. In an uncertain world, she was now certain of one thing. Ten years was too long to wait.
Chapter Twenty-One
COMMANDER MITCH FOWLER STOOD outside his office in the Homicide Unit addressing the detectives in all three squads. They had been on the Chapman and Henderson murders since Saturday, no one grabbing more than a few hours’ sleep each night.
Hank Rossi sat at one of the scarred and dented fifty-year-old metal desks, listening as Fowler summarized where the investigation stood, which Rossi knew was ass deep in bullshit. If it weren’t, they’d have solved both crimes and would be hungover from celebrating.
Rossi and Fowler had come through the academy together, Rossi itching for a life on the street catching bad guys, Fowler reaching for the next rung up the administrative ladder. Rossi forever looked like he’d either been up all night or slept in his clothes. Fowler was as clean, pressed, and starched as his dress uniform. They hadn’t gotten along at the academy, and nothing had changed since.
It was their mutual bad luck that found Fowler serving as Rossi’s boss. The lines between them were drawn when Fowler first took command of Homicide, coming down on Rossi after his hard-nosed tactics had landed another suspect in the ER.
“Banging heads isn’t the way the detectives under my command are going to do things,” he told Rossi.
“So what do you want me to do the next time some asshole comes at me with a knife? Kiss him?”
“All I’m saying is tone it down. Nobody else in Homicide gets in as many scrapes as you do.”
“And nobody else closes as many cases as I do, so what’s your problem, Commander?”
Fowler puffed up his chest. “This sort of thing reflects poorly on my leadership.”
“And that would be a joke if your leadership wasn’t so pathetic.”
Fowler’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. “It’s the chief. I have to take this call, but we aren’t finished.”
Rossi
knew they were. He was too good at what he did for Fowler to do anything about the way he did it. Fowler admitted as much by continuing to assign Rossi to the heaviest cases.
It was nine o’clock, Monday morning. More than forty-eight hours had passed since the murders, and every detective in the room knew that the chances of solving either case, let alone both, dropped by as much as fifty percent when that window closed.
By now, anyone who knew something or thought they did would have calmed down, the loss of emotion putting distance between them and the crime, fear of retaliation eroding any lingering inclination to cooperate. That’s why many shootings on Kansas City’s east side were never solved.
“The neighborhood canvass was a bust,” Fowler said. “Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything, and nobody knows anything.
“Par for the course,” Gardiner Harris said as he took a seat next to Rossi.
Harris was a veteran homicide detective with a worn, haggard face and barrel chest that had tricked many a thug and gangbanger into thinking he was slow and soft. He’d grown up on the east side, beating the odds by going to Missouri State on a football scholarship, unlike his younger brother, who dropped out of high school, joined an offshoot of a local Crips gang, and was shot to death the night Harris graduated from college. He and Rossi had worked enough cases together to bond over dead bodies, good bourbon, and a shared opinion of Mitch Fowler.
“CSI says all the blood, hair, and tissue they recovered from the Henderson scene belongs to the victims,” Fowler continued. “They’ve got some fibers that didn’t come from the victims’ clothing, but we’re a long way from tying the fibers to a suspect.”
“You mean to Dwayne Reed,” Rossi said.
“Reed is a person of interest and that’s all he is until we’ve got something more than your hard-on for him that proves he did any of this,” Fowler said.
“Everybody knows Rossi’s dick is a fucking divining rod,” Harris said. “If Dwayne Reed gives him the wood, that’s proof enough for me.”
