by Scott Pratt
“I heard on the news that Kasey Cartwright’s grandparents filed a $100 million wrongful death suit against Paul Milius first thing this morning,” Caroline said as she started the engine and pulled out of the parking space.
“Not surprised,” I said.
“I’ll bet you’re exhausted.”
“It was a pretty wild ride. Oh, I talked to Lilly last night. She said she let Randy move back in.”
“Yeah, I think she’s forgiven him for straying, or thinking about straying. It was hard on both of them. It’s been hard on everyone.”
“How long was he out? Six weeks?”
“Seven weeks and two days. Lilly counted. Did you get a chance to have breakfast with the juror?”
“I did,” I said. “His name was Hanson. He was the foreman. He was a good guy, very complimentary.”
“Complimentary? Toward you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why did they convict your client?”
“He said it went back and forth several times, that it got pretty heated in the jury room. But in the end, they took all the theatrics out. They decided to ignore Lana’s testimony completely and ignore John Smith’s testimony completely. That left them with Paul being in Kasey’s room near the time of death. It left them with the argument earlier at the CMT show and the tea being thrown into Paul’s face and Paul admittedly slapping her in her room and the DNA evidence. He said it was enough and he was comfortable with it. He also said they would have liked to have heard Paul deny it himself.”
“Why didn’t he take the stand?”
“He was terrified that he’d have to answer the question.”
“Ah,” Caroline said, nodding her head. We’d talked about the mysterious question a few times before. “I wonder what she said to him that made him slap her.”
“I think I know,” I said.
“Really? How?”
“Smith, or whatever the hell his name is. He told me what she said the night he showed up at the place I was staying. He said he was in the closet when they were arguing. Paul came into the room and immediately started trying to get Kasey in the sack. He was saying things like, ‘I miss you so much, baby,’ and ‘I need you so bad.’ And you know what she says to him? She says, ‘Cameron Jones’s dick makes yours look like a toothpick.’ And he slapped her. The man was so egotistical that he wouldn’t take the witness stand because he was afraid the jury would hear that Kasey had insulted the size of his manhood. I don’t know if it really made that much difference because I don’t think the jury would have liked him, but his ego wouldn’t even let him take the chance.”
“So Lana wins,” Caroline said.
“I guess so. Her young rival is dead and her adulterous husband is in prison. His company will soon be on the auction block, and it wouldn’t surprise me to see her end up with it. And I’m sure she’ll wind up with the estate and everything that goes along with it.”
“What will happen to Paul?”
“He’ll get fifteen years and he’ll probably serve close to ten, but they’ll send him to a minimum security camp. It won’t be a picnic, but it won’t be hell on earth, either.”
“Will he appeal?”
“I’m sure he will, but it won’t get reversed.”
“You don’t think he did it, do you?”
“Nah. Smith killed her.”
“Life can be so unfair sometimes,” Caroline said.
I reached over and patted her hand, thinking about the cancerous tumors that had wrapped themselves around her bones.
“It sure can, baby,” I said. “It sure can.”
EPILOGUE
John Smith, whose real name was Michael Baker and who hailed from Bozeman, Montana, sat with his back against a tree and gazed down at the house a couple hundred yards away. It was always lit, although this late at night, most of the lights were off. An easy breeze rustled through the newly bloomed leaves above him; the night was cool but pleasant. Smith took his cell phone out of his pocket, pushed a few buttons, and heard the whir of the blades as they began to spin.
Smith had spent many hours in the woods on the Xanadu estate since the trial had ended in Paul Milius’s conviction for second-degree murder. Normally, he would simply have disappeared and gone about his business, but he couldn’t get past the feeling that he’d been defeated, and that he’d been cheated in the process, and John Smith, formerly known as Mike Baker, didn’t like to lose and he damned sure didn’t suffer cheaters. So he had decided to stay a while longer. He’d contacted some associates and requested some equipment. It had arrived almost immediately.
Smith had watched the house and the grounds during the morning, during the evening, and at night, getting the routines down, trying to find the rhythm of the people and the place. It didn’t take him long at all to figure out that late at night would be the best time. She’d be drunk. She would have taken an Ambien, and all the servants would have gone home. Lana’s personal assistant had quit and she hadn’t hired another. Paul was in prison. Nobody but Lana lived at Xanadu.
But this night was a special night, the one he’d been waiting for. It was Saturday and the lawyer was there. Finally, the lawyer was there. He’d arrived almost two hours ago. He and Lana had been served drinks in the atrium, dinner in the dining room, then more drinks in the atrium. Smith even knew what they’d eaten: poached lobster and beef filets, grilled asparagus, roasted potatoes, chocolate mousse. The drone had hovered just outside the atrium windows, then the dining room windows, silently displaying everything on Smith’s cell phone screen while the servants served and the masters gorged themselves. The resolution on the cameras was amazing.
Now the servants had left and Lana and the lawyer had moved to the bedroom. As soon as Smith realized they were heading upstairs, he’d flown the drone back to his little hideout, quickly outfitted it with some special equipment, and now it was on its way back to the house. Smith flew it to the southern wing, second floor, to the first of six leaf-shaped windows that surrounded Lana’s bedroom—the bedroom that overlooked the Olympic-sized indoor-outdoor pool and the most luxurious patio Smith had ever seen.
Attached to the bottom frame of the six-bladed hover drone, just beneath one of three cameras, was a cocked, double-action Smith & Wesson .357-magnum pistol, and inside the chamber of the pistol was a specially-constructed cartridge (built very much like an armor-piercing shell) that would reduce Lana’s overpriced, luxury, leaf-shaped window to powder. Molded around the upper frame of the drone was roughly one thousand grams—about two pounds—of C-4 plastic explosive.
Smith watched the monitor on his phone as the window came into view. When the drone was about fifty feet away, he pushed the button that fired the pistol. The window disintegrated in an explosion of glass. Smith maneuvered the drone through the opening and into the bedroom. He could see Carl Browning scrambling off the side of the bed, naked. He pushed the button that would detonate the C-4 and looked up.
Fire and glass erupted from the bedroom as the explosion roared and the earth seemed to vibrate. Then all was suddenly quiet as smoke rolled lazily from the openings that had recently contained windows. Smith watched silently for a minute or so as Xanadu bled. He wondered what Lana Raines and Carl Browning had thought when they looked up and saw the drone float into the bedroom.
As he started down the hill away from the house, Smith took one last look down at his phone and smiled to himself.
Like the house behind him and the lives of the people he’d just killed, the screen was empty.
Thank you for reading, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed A Crime of Passion. As an independently published author, I rely on you, the reader, to spread the word. So if you enjoyed the book, please tell your friends and family, and if it isn’t too much trouble, I would appreciate a brief review on Amazon. Thanks again. My best to you and yours.
Scott
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Scott Pratt was born in South Haven, Michigan, and moved to Tennessee when he w
as thirteen years old. He is a veteran of the United States Air Force and holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in English from East Tennessee State University and a Doctor of Jurisprudence from the University of Tennessee College of Law. He lives in Northeast Tennessee with his wife, their dogs, and a parrot named JoJo.
ALSO BY SCOTT PRATT
An Innocent Client (Joe Dillard #1)
In Good Faith (Joe Dillard #2)
Injustice for All (Joe Dillard #3)
Reasonable Fear (Joe Dillard #4)
Conflict of Interest (Joe Dillard #5)
Blood Money (Joe Dillard #6)
River on Fire
Children’s Stories
An Elephant’s Standing in There
A Ride on a Cloud
