by J W Becton
“But you knowingly and purposely altered evidence, did you not, Special Agent?”
Blood pounded in my ears, and my lips felt numb.
“I removed a small sample so that I could continue the investigation. I was trying to do the right thing.”
“But in doing the right thing,” Lanyon said, “you broke numerous rules of evidence that you, as a police officer, knew quite clearly. I don’t have to tell you about police misconduct and noble cause corruption, and the problems that arise when officers are just ‘trying to do the right thing.’”
My heart thundered, and a drop of sweat rolled down my spine. I had the impulse to stand up and begin pacing, but I managed to stay seated.
“I’m not a corrupt police officer,” I said.
“And the evidence is clearly suspect now,” Hild added, ignoring my comment. “It could have been tainted or planted to frame my client.”
“The evidence was neither corrupted nor planted,” I said, my lips tight. “The suspect’s civil rights were not violated.”
“But you broke the seal on evidence and stole from the police department, at the very least jeopardizing the chain of evidence and subsequently its admissibility in court against the very suspect you claim to want to bring to justice.”
I felt my stomach drop somewhere to the vicinity of my toes. I didn’t know what to say to that. Lanyon was right. I had jeopardized the chain of evidence, and I’d known that was a risk from the beginning. But I’d done it anyway. Call it hubris or sheer lunacy, but I had believed that my actions would go undetected. I’d been so careful in defeating all the tamper-resistant barriers. I’d taken only the smallest bit.
“Special Agent Jackson came here today for that very reason, Judge Preece,” Martling said. “For justice. She would like you to consider her testimony as proof that the chain of custody remains intact, and the original evidence was not corrupted, other than the alteration caused by removal of the sample.”
The judge considered me for long moments while I tried to keep my body from vibrating out of the chair.
“Tampering with evidence in a felony case, such as rape, is in itself a felony,” she said.
I nodded.
“You are aware that you will be subject to discipline by the court and, quite possibly, by the DOI,” the judge continued. “You may face felony charges by this admission.”
She was telling me, not asking me, so I didn’t do much by way of response except to watch her steadily.
“She is well aware,” Martling affirmed. “But Special Agent Jackson does ask that you use leniency given the circumstances of the case. My client’s intent was to aid the investigation, and she certainly did not intend to hinder or obstruct the process of justice in any way. In fact, all other evidence supports the DNA identification of Slidell as the alleged rapist.”
“Evidence that also may have been tampered with,” Hild interjected.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
The judge’s eyes flicked between Slidell’s lawyer and me, and I met them without hesitation, hoping she would somehow be able to read my sincerity in my expression.
“The court will take one week to study the evidence and render an opinion,” she said finally. “We will reconvene here next Friday at the same hour. Until then, I’m issuing a suppression order. This matter will remain undisclosed to the public.”
The judge’s ominous tone rippled through me, and I was left wondering if delayed judgment wasn’t the most awful sentence I could have heard.
But after we were dismissed from Judge Preece’s chamber, I heard something much worse.
Kay Lanyon marched down the courthouse hallway toward Martling and me on stiletto heels that could double as ice picks.
Beside me, Martling muttered a curse that could have set wet newspaper on fire and nodded in the direction of the prosecutor’s approach. “Let me do the talking.”
Surprised to hear him swear, I regarded him and then faced Lanyon. The woman halted her assault at a professional distance and kept her hands tucked at her side, but she might as well have gotten right up in my face and shaken her fist at me. When she spoke, her tone stirred every defensive instinct I possessed, and I felt myself bracing for a physical blow.
“You don’t know what you’ve done, Ms. Jackson,” Lanyon growled. “What potential hell you’ve unleashed on this city.”
“Don’t you think you’re being dramatic, counselor?” Martling drawled.
Lanyon took another step forward, and her pitch dropped ominously. “Not only could a guilty rapist walk, but every other arrest you’ve ever made could very well be called into question. Every successful prosecution doubted.”
“Ahh,” Martling said. “Worried that your precious conviction record will take a hit if Judge Preece throws out the case against Slidell?”
Lanyon turned, focusing her ire on Martling now. “Certainly not. And how gauche of you to make such an accusation.”
Martling leaned against a nearby pillar and crossed his arms as if to say, “If the stiletto fits….”
Lanyon glowered while my attorney regarded her steadily, and then she turned back to me.
“Just wait and see what happens when this gets out!”
“Good to see that you’re concerned about keeping Judge Preece’s suppression order, Ms. Lanyon.”
The prosecutor glared at Martling, and, without either words or gestures, she managed to convey her wish that he might go do something anatomically impossible.
She faced me again. “If you screwed up my prosecution of Slidell, I’ll be on you like a bad rash. I’ll make sure you are never in a position to thwart justice again.”
I did my best to keep my facial expression passive, but her threat hit home. I hadn’t given serious consideration to how my admission might affect other cases I’d investigated. Was she right? Would other guilty criminals go free because of something I’d done so long ago?
“Wow,” I said to Martling as she stomped away. “She sure takes the intimidation factor seriously.”
“Sadly, she has the power to back up her threats,” Martling said.
That wasn’t what I wanted to hear at all.
“How worried should I be?” I asked.
“Hard to say,” Martling replied soberly. “Lanyon’s point is valid. Your admission could cause a severe backlash. But we can’t be sure of anything until we hear Judge Preece’s decision.”
I hadn’t wanted to hear that either.
It felt like someone had brought me to the edge of a cliff and then given me a little shove over the side, but before I could fall, someone hit the pause button and I was left suspended halfway between solid ground and a sheer drop.
Eighteen
“I’m sorry, honey,” Bonnie drawled. “But I can’t give you that information.”
It was the end of the day, and the courthouse traffic had slowed to a near crawl. The watcher had caught Bonnie alone in the file room, and this time he’d brought her favorite scones from the bakery downtown.
The process went as it normally did.
Bonnie eagerly consumed the treat, but then she surprised him. She apparently wasn’t giving up the goods for him this time.
The watcher’s jaw tightened. “Why not?”
Bonnie’s eyes fluttered at the roughness of his tone, but then frowned.
He’d let too much emotion into his voice.
Quickly, the watcher rearranged his features. He must appear calm and charming. Now was not the time to loosen his hold on his own emotions.
For instance, leaping over the counter and beating Bonnie senseless so he could get a look at the computer would be a bad idea.
But, dang, it was so tempting.
Unleashing his temper would be like breaking into a china shop using a hammer. Sure, he could wreak a lot of havoc, but it was also a great way to ruin the very goal he was trying to attain. And a surefire way to get caught.
Since the entirety of his plan hinged on his ability to work behin
d the scenes, he must exercise caution.
Offering a self-deprecating smile, the watcher chuckled.
“I’m not trying to be difficult,” Bonnie said in a placating voice. “It’s just that there’s no information I can give you. Judge Preece issued a suppression order on what went on in that meeting.”
Double damn. That was a blessing and a curse. A gag order meant that whatever happened in Judge Preece’s office was even more serious than he’d hoped, but it also meant that the stakes had been raised. It would be much more difficult to get the necessary information out of Bonnie now that the penalty for being caught could mean more than a slap on the wrist. Disclosing sealed information could result in the loss of her job, maybe criminal charges.
“A suppression order? Are you sure?” he asked. “There’s nothing there you can tell me?”
Bonnie’s expression vacillated between determination and uncertainty.
“I—I can’t help you with this one,” she said, her eyes flicking back to the computer. “Gag orders prevent parties to a case from speaking publicly about it.”
“But there is something in the computer?” he asked, running his forefinger along the top of the ancient monitor.
She averted her eyes.
So there was some information. He knew it! Something was on her computer that he ought to know, and Bonnie was playing games with him.
He lashed his burgeoning feelings of urgency tightly down. He had to get Bonnie to stop thinking logically. He needed her to be emotional, flirtatious, afraid—if it came to that.
“I don’t think the gag order applies to us, my dear. You aren’t a party to the case, are you?” he purred, leaning forward over the counter.
“No, I’m not,” she said, stepping back, just out of his reach. “But I’m an officer of the court.”
He ignored the last part.
“And I’m not the public, am I?”
He placed both his elbows on top of the counter and eyed her as if she were a sheep and he a wolf.
“What you’re asking me to do….” She backed up another step. “I can’t. I could get in big trouble.”
“You’ve given me a lot of information over the years, and you haven’t gotten in trouble once.”
She mulled over that idea. “That’s true. I haven’t gotten in trouble.”
“Exactly. So why would you get in trouble now?” he asked.
She shrugged. “This is different. They’d know the information leaked from me. I was the one who transcribed the recording. Other than the people in the meeting, I’m the only person who knows what went on in the room.”
Bonnie continued to babble, but the watcher no longer listened. A burning sensation spread through his gut, and he wanted to grab Bonnie and demand that she tell him everything. But he didn’t want to scare her. Not yet, anyway.
“Who says the information is going to get out?” he asked, the lie tasting delicious on his tongue. “It won’t.”
“I—I….” She shook her head. “I can’t risk it. I need this job.”
A final time, the watcher tamped down his rage and smiled at the rosy-cheeked woman.
“It’s okay. I understand why you don’t want to tell me.” He crooked a finger at her, beckoning her closer. She took a few hesitant steps in his direction.
“I do want to tell you,” she said in a halting voice. “You’ve been so sweet to me. But I can’t.”
When she was close enough, the watcher reached for her hand and drew it into his.
“I know how you feel, my dear,” he said, tightening his grip until he felt her bones grind together. “But you need to know how I feel.”
Bonnie let out a small shriek and tried to pull away.
“I feel that you don’t trust me,” the watcher growled, refusing to release her. “That you are just trying to make things more difficult for me.”
“No, no,” Bonnie said, tears spilling from her eyes. “That’s not it—”
“Yes, it is,” he insisted. “You realize that you’ve already crossed the line, don’t you?”
Bonnie blinked through her tears.
“You’ve told me all kinds of secrets over the years. You don’t have to tell me anything today, and I could still have you fired.” He yanked her hand so that she sprawled partially on top of the counter. “There are worse things I could do to you.”
“I—I—” Bonnie stuttered through gasping breaths.
“You will tell me what I need to know, just like you always do, or I’ll tell your boss everything. You’ll be out on that pudgy little ass of yours in no time flat.”
Bonnie gaped at him like a fish, hurt swimming in her eyes.
“And then I’ll really make you suffer.”
On those words, he released his hold and shoved her away from the counter so hard that she stumbled backward a few steps and crashed into a file cabinet behind her. Bonnie righted herself, her lower lip trembling as tears fell down her cheeks, dragging mascara down her face with them. She refused to make eye contact, which was fine with him. But he needed her to focus, so he reached forward and tapped the computer monitor.
“Now, make me a copy of the transcript.”
What did Jackson think she was doing?
The watcher pondered this question as he exited the courthouse with a full transcript tucked in his jacket pocket.
No one admitted to their crimes if they had any idea how to work the system. If Jackson were smart, she would deny, deny, deny. It worked for politicians all the time.
Photos of you in a compromising position? If you don’t admit it, then that compromising position never happened. “That’s not me snorting cocaine. That’s not me with a hooker, and I’m going to sue you for slander!”
That’s how the pros did it. All balls and bluster.
But Julia Jackson was clearly not up to that level. She was still trying to be honest and do the right thing.
Moron.
But what more could he expect from a police officer? They believed themselves to be the smartest people in the room, heady with power, but they often proved to be the least intelligent prey he faced. Blinded by their own egos and weighed down by their codes of ethics, they didn’t realize what really went on until it was too late.
Now that Jackson had made the mistake of admitting what she did, it was entirely possible that the best course of action he could take would be to sit back and wait for the situation to implode.
That option offered him the advantage of minimal personal risk.
The watcher considered this as he strode back to his downtown office, sheltered under his umbrella and oblivious to passersby on the street. When he tromped into his building, the place was empty, but he hardly noticed that either. He stowed his wet umbrella in the corner and went to his office, closing the door behind him.
First things first. He poured himself a double whiskey. Downing the whole drink in one gulp, he sank into his chair, abandoned the empty glass, and pulled out the transcript.
Carefully, he unfolded the paper and laid it out on the desk sheet by sheet.
He stared at it as he considered the options it afforded him.
Waiting for Jackson’s inevitable implosion held a certain appeal, but there was no guarantee that Judge Preece wouldn’t decide to go easy on her. According to the transcript, she and her lawyer had offered a decent explanation for her actions. It was entirely possible that the judge might take her side. And once the judge made her decision, it might be too late to achieve optimum results.
His task was to discredit Julia Jackson, and for that to happen, he needed her to face the worst possible consequences.
What’s more, he needed her vulnerable, alone, and unwilling to fight back.
He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling more certain now that he’d redefined his goals.
He could not sit idly by and hope the judge made an example of Jackson. He had to make sure she went down hard.
Leaking the story to the local press would
force Jackson’s crime into the sphere of public opinion. Adding the voices of the unwashed masses to the mix might sway the judge’s decision. If the citizenry cried out against a dirty cop and if the right people got stirred to action, the judge wouldn’t be able to let Jackson go with a slap on the wrist.
As a result, not only would her professional reputation be ruined, but there was a chance she would be charged with a felony and sent to prison as well.
Smiling at the thought of the chaos he was about to unleash, the watcher picked up his phone and dialed his contact at the Mercer Messenger. Some newspeople had morals and respected due process of law and the privacy it sometimes required, but not Marty Hunter. He craved the excitement of putting the juiciest stories out for public consumption, and he viewed his half-formed columns as nothing less than a public service. That belief made him a useful tool.
When his contact answered, the watcher dangled the bait. “Marty, have I got a story for you.”
“Really?” Hunter asked. His voice held unconcealed eagerness. “It’s been a slow news week. We could use a big story. Is this big?”
“Would I call you with small potatoes?” the watcher asked. “Of course it’s big.”
“How big?”
“Well, how does public corruption and tampering with evidence in a rape case sound?”
“Sounds like a Pulitzer to me.”
Nineteen
There. It was over. I was no longer in control of my fate.
My entire future rested in someone else’s care, but that didn’t mean life stopped while I awaited Judge Preece’s decision. I wasn’t going to sit down and wallow in self-pity. I had things to do. I could still act and make decisions and do something good.
Before anything else, I made good on my promise to call Vincent, and I did it right in the courthouse parking lot. I sat in the quiet of my Explorer and told him everything.
“So now it’s a waiting game,” I summed up, checking the time. Vincent would watch Blissett’s house for a few more hours, and I imagined he would appreciate having me run interference with Mrs. Twilley again.
“I’ll head back to the Heights,” I offered.
