“Your Honor,” another of Shaw’s lawyers said, “the burden of proving those elements is on the moving party. The plaintiffs here have not shown them.”
“Not true,” Snyder said. He flipped more pages. “Let’s see. First element. Right. The class must be so numerous that joinder of all members is impracticable. That’s an easy one. How many of these deadly toys did the defendants foist upon the unsuspecting public? Thousands? Tens of thousands? More? The exact number doesn’t really matter because….” He flipped more pages, hurriedly looking for Jessie’s argument to back up his comment. Watching him, she gritted her teeth. Then he found it and read, “‘The class representative need not plead or prove the number of class members so long as she is able to define the class with some precision and affords the court with sufficient indicia that more members exist than it would be practicable to join.’ Bam.”
“Bam? Hardly.” Shaw’s lawyer smirked. “To date, the Rowlands are the only people alleging an injury from my client’s products.”
“Oh, come on,” Snyder said. “The toy was a bestseller last Christmas.”
“There’s also the element of commonality, Your Honor,” Shaw’s lawyer said. “Questions of fact must be common to the class. Thousands of toys may have been sold, but that doesn’t mean every purchaser is in the same factual position. The common question of fact means the facts must be substantially the same so that proof as to one claimant would be proof as to all. That’s from Allegheny County Housing Auth. v. Berry, which, by the way, was cited in the defense’s brief.”
“That’s a very narrow reading of the law,” Snyder said. The sound of flipping pages filled the courtroom. “Just give me a second here.”
Judge Dax sighed and shook her left arm so that her judicial robe fell away from her watch. She read the time, then glared out at the courtroom. “I’ve heard enough. Although I am certainly sympathetic to the plaintiffs in this action, I do not feel that a class action is appropriate here. For that reason, I am denying the motion to certify a class—”
Noise erupted from the plaintiffs’ table as Ken and Deanna Rowland, looking angry and shocked, peppered Snyder with questions about how this could happen. Across the aisle, Douglas Shaw smiled knowingly. Jessie noticed that he carefully avoided eye contact with the judge.
Almost as if….
Jessie bit her lip. Had Shaw and his lawyers known all along that Dax would rule in their favor? Was Dax in Shaw’s pocket? If so, the Rowlands didn’t have a chance. This ruling was only the beginning. Next, Judge Dax would consider the defense’s motion for summary judgment, and she would grant it, throwing out the Rowlands’ case forever.
The courtroom doors opened with a bang. Jessie watched as uniformed police officers streamed into the courtroom, apparently not concerned that their entrance was disrupting a legal proceeding. Behind them, Warren Williams and Mark Leary followed. Jessie’s breath stopped. What the hell were they doing here?
Snyder shot her a questioning look. All she could do was shake her head.
The bailiff started to object, then realized what he was seeing and shut up. Judge Dax rose slightly from the bench. “What is the meaning of this?” Her voice was as imperious as ever, but Jessie noticed the way her gaze fell on Warren. She went pale.
“Cynthia Dax,” one of the cops intoned, “you are under arrest.”
Jessie could barely hear the rest of the litany as an uproar in the courtroom drowned out the Miranda warnings. But she did see one of the cops lock handcuffs around the judge’s wrists like the criminal she was.
Jessie joined Warren and Leary as the cops led Judge Dax toward the courtroom doors. Jessie realized too late that their paths were going to intersect. She stood rooted in place with Warren and Leary. Dax walked straight toward them.
“Well, look who’s here. The whole team. Shouldn’t you people be prosecuting homicides, instead of harassing a judge?”
Jessie pressed her lips together. Warren and Leary also remained silent in the face of the woman’s hostility.
The cops tried to push the judge forward, but she jerked out of their grasp. “If my career is over, I’ll make sure yours are, too. That’s a promise.”
“No, that’s a threat,” Warren said, “and one I highly doubt you’ll be able to carry through. I think you’ll find that you don’t have as many highly placed friends as you thought. Those kinds of friends tend to disappear when the handcuffs come out.”
“We’ll see,” Dax said.
“Ending our careers won’t help you anyway,” Jessie said.
“Revenge is its own reward.”
The cops jerked Dax forward, and this time the judge went willingly. Jessie watched them disappear through the courtroom doors.
Jessie sense Warren looking at her. She turned and saw his serious expression. “Judge Dax is out of the picture now, Jessie. The Rowlands will get a new judge, and you better believe, after this, he or she will handle the case strictly by the book. Your job here is done. It’s time to let this go.”
“Warren’s right,” Leary said.
Jessie was grateful for their help, but she wasn’t ready to let it go yet. “What about Kelly? If Douglas Shaw had her killed—”
“I gave you a chance to find evidence,” Warren said. “Did you?”
“No, but….”
“But what?”
“Let me talk to Judge Dax. Now that she’s under arrest, she’ll be sure to turn against Douglas Shaw to reduce her own sentence. Maybe she knows something about Kelly’s accident.”
“That sounds like a long shot,” Warren said.
“No harm in trying, though,” Leary said. Jessie was glad for his support.
Warren seemed to consider. “Fine. Talk to her. But this is it, Jessie. One way or the other, this is the end of your involvement in the Kelly Lee matter. Agreed?”
With some reluctance, she nodded. “Agreed.”
35
At the police station, Jessie watched Cynthia Dax through the one-way mirror of the interrogation room wall.
Dax had managed to reach her lawyer—Micah Burnside—en route to the police station, and the man had arrived only minutes after Dax was booked. Now he rested a hand reassuringly on Dax’s arm and spoke to her in what looked like a quiet, measured tone.
Burnside was a top-tier criminal defense attorney who’d once been known for his prowess defending murderers, but, in his middle age, had fallen into the easy and comfortable practice of rescuing the irresponsible children of the rich and powerful from drunk and disorderly conduct and other embarrassing charges. Apparently, he also helped politicians get out of trouble.
His presence seemed to calm his client. Dax still looked angry, but the fear that had been evident on her face when the cops had led her out of her courtroom in handcuffs seemed to be gone now. Jessie needed to change that, and quickly.
“I’m going to talk to them.”
The cop standing at her side, a detective named Leo Ferguson who specialized in corruption investigations, looked like he might object. But when he turned to speak, something in her expression must have stopped him. “Okay.”
Jessie entered the interrogation room. “Hello, Micah.” She shook the lawyer’s hand, then sat down. She did not offer her hand to Dax even though the woman’s wrists were no longer shackled. She barely managed a polite, “Judge Dax.”
The woman’s eyes flared with anger. “I hope you realize you are going to regret this day for the rest of your life.”
Burnside squeezed his client’s arm. “Cynthia, I know how frustrating this situation must feel, but it would be better if you let me do the talking.”
“I’m a judge and a lawyer,” Dax snapped at him. “You can trust me not to say anything I shouldn't.”
Burnside did not look convinced, but he nodded. “Of course.”
Jessie leaned forward. “You may be a judge and a lawyer, but this is a criminal matter. My territory.”
Dax sneered. “She’s trying to inti
midate me,” she said to Burnside.
Burnside watched Jessie carefully. “Or bait you into saying something—”
“I get it,” Dax cut him off. To Jessie, she said, “I’m going to walk out of here in time for my dinner reservation. You, on the other hand, will walk out of here without a job.”
“Do you think so?” Jessie said.
Dax crossed her arms. “I know so. Whatever evidence you think you have—”
“We have an email exchange between you and one of the attorneys for Boffo Products Corporation. We also have financial statements showing the transfer of money from an account held by one of Boffo’s subsidiaries to an account you maintain offshore.” Working from the materials Leary’s contact had provided, Detective Ferguson had built a file with impressive speed.
Dax’s lips pressed together. A look of fear touched her features.
“Are you familiar with Section 4701 of the Pennsylvania Criminal Code?” Jessie said. “’A person is guilty of bribery if he offers, confers or agrees to confer upon another, or solicits, accepts or agrees to accept from another: (1) any pecuniary benefit as consideration for the decision, opinion, recommendation, vote or other exercise of discretion as a public servant, party official or voter by the recipient; (2) any benefit as consideration for the decision, vote, recommendation or other exercise of official discretion by the recipient in a judicial, administrative or legislative proceeding; or (3) any benefit as consideration for a violation of a known legal duty as public servant or party official.’ Sound familiar? That’s a third degree felony, Judge Dax.”
Burnside cleared his throat loudly. “Remember, you don’t have to say anything.”
Dax ignored him. Her glare seemed to bore into Jessie. “What does that mean, a third degree felony? Are you saying I could go to prison?”
“Up to seven years, and I’ll make sure you serve every minute of it. How old will you be in seven years? What will you have missed out on?”
“I can’t go to prison—”
Burnside spoke over his client. “You obviously want something, Jessie, so why don’t we cut to the chase?”
“I want Douglas Shaw.”
“Let me speak privately with my client.”
“Fine.” Jessie rose from her chair. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Jessie left the interrogation room feeling confident. When she returned exactly ten minutes later, she felt even better. Dax had lost what was left of her composure. Her face was drawn, her hair was disheveled, and her eyes looked haunted.
“My client is prepared to testify that Douglas Shaw bribed her to rule in his company’s favor in the case of Rowland v. Boffo Products Corporation. In exchange, you agree to recommend a fine but no prison time.”
“You mean Douglas Shaw’s company,” Jessie said.
“No.” Burnside leaned forward. “I mean Douglas Shaw. He handled the deal himself, and personally met with Cynthia. I trust you understand the value of her testimony now. No prison time.”
“I can’t agree to that. I can recommend a four year sentence instead of the maximum,” Jessie said.
“Two,” Burnside said.
Jessie paused. “I can recommend two, but your client’s going to need to give me more than a bribery case against Shaw.”
Burnside and Dax exchanged a confused look. “More?” Burnside said.
“Did Shaw have Kelly Lee killed?” Jessie said.
Dax’s eyes popped wide, as did her lawyer’s, and both of their jaws dropped. It would have been comical in different circumstances. Then Burnside laughed quietly to himself. “I was wondering why we were talking to a homicide prosecutor. Now I understand.”
“Kelly Lee died in a car accident,” Dax said. “Is this some kind of joke?” She looked genuinely incredulous.
“When you met with him, Shaw didn’t say anything to you to suggest he may have had a hand in the accident?”
“That’s insane—”
“Think,” Jessie said. “Try to remember everything he said to you. The way he said it. Looking back, did he ever give you cause to suspect that Kelly Lee’s accident might have been intentional?”
Dax shrugged helplessly. “No. I mean, he bribed me. Why would he kill her when he knew he was going to win?”
“Why seek a settlement if he already knew he would win?” Jessie shot back.
“That’s easy,” Burnside said. “Shaw would require a nondisclosure agreement as part of the settlement. A gag order. Believe me, I work with these rich business owners all the time. Shutting the Rowlands up would be just as valuable—maybe more valuable—than winning at trial.”
Jessie nodded. Burnside was right. Bribing the judge made sense. Pushing for a settlement made sense. Killing Kelly Lee didn’t.
“Do we have a deal here or not?” Burnside said.
“I’ll think about it.” Jessie stood up. The room suddenly seemed smaller, the walls closing in. She headed out of the interrogation room, ignoring Burnside’s complaints.
“Get what you needed?” Detective Ferguson said.
Jessie didn’t answer him. She still had no evidence against Shaw, and if she didn’t find some immediately, Warren was going to shut her down. Heading for the exit, she pulled her phone from her bag and called Vicki Briscoe.
“You better be calling me with progress on getting my license reinstated.”
Jessie quickly brought her up to speed on Leary’s meeting with Alphonse Fulmer. “He’s confident Fulmer’s story was bogus. Now all we need to do is prove it.”
“And you’ll be able to do that?”
“Leary is the best detective I know.”
“Good.”
“But now it’s your turn to help me again. Where else did Kelly go? Who else did she talk to?”
Briscoe’s sigh carried across the phone line. “Where should I pick you up?”
36
Inside a coffee shop near the police station, Jessie ordered a hot cup of coffee, took it to a table near the window, and warmed herself up while she stared out at the street. The sky was overcast, and the clouds looked ready to dump torrents of rain onto the city. Jessie’s focus shifted from the darkening view to her reflection in the glass. She looked defeated.
Had she been wrong this whole time? Had Kelly’s death really been exactly what it appeared? An accident?
After Judge Dax’s interrogation, she could almost believe that. Douglas Shaw did not have a particularly strong motive to kill the lawyer, and based on everything she’d learned about the man, he didn’t strike her as the kind of maniac who would kill without a good motive.
But then she thought about what Emily Graham had told her she’d learned from the lead AID investigator about the accident. Ross Reid had found a brick by the driver’s seat, but no brick missing from the wall of the building at the accident site.
It wasn’t an accident. You missed something. That’s all.
Maybe Shaw had a motive she didn’t know about yet. Or maybe Shaw had not orchestrated the accident, but someone else had. As a personal injury lawyer—and one who apparently had no moral compunctions about bending the law—Kelly had probably angered a lot of people.
She’d certainly angered Vicki Briscoe.
Jessie felt a chill. If there was one person who had a motive to kill Kelly, it was Briscoe. Briscoe also had means and opportunity—the classic homicide investigation trifecta. Why had Jessie ruled her out as a suspect? Because she was too vicious to have killed Kelly by staging a car accident? Because Jessie believed her when she claimed she would want to kill her slowly, torturing her first?
Suddenly, with Shaw looking less like a killer, Jessie started to question the prudence of driving around the city with Briscoe. She looked at her phone. She’d already called Briscoe, and she was on her way here to pick her up. There was still time to call back, though, make up some excuse so she could think this through….
No. Even if Briscoe was behind the murder—maybe especially if she was—Jessie�
�s best chance at finding the killer was to continue Vicki Briscoe’s tour of the days leading up to the accident.
Jessie drank two more cups of coffee and watched the sky fill with even more ominous-looking clouds. A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. She was taking the first sip of her fourth cup when Vicki Briscoe called her. “I’m a block away. Meet me outside.”
Briscoe’s Mercedes pulled to the curb. Jessie got in. Briscoe flashed her a half-smile, then pulled onto the street and drove.
“Looks like it’s about to rain,” Jessie said.
“What’s the next step?”
“You tell me. Where else did Kelly go when you were following her?”
Briscoe navigated through traffic. “No. I meant what’s the next step in getting my medical license back? You said that detective found out Fulmer’s claims were lies. Where do we go from there?”
“We don’t have actual evidence yet, but we’re working on it.”
Briscoe took her eyes off the road and gave Jessie an angry look. “You better not be fucking with me.”
“I’m not.”
“This detective is real?”
“He’s real.” She almost added that he was her boyfriend but stopped herself. The less personal information she shared with Briscoe, the better.
Briscoe’s gaze jumped from Jessie to the road and back. Her expression softened. “You don’t look so good.”
“It hasn’t been a good day.”
“No?”
Jessie sighed. “I thought I was closer to proving that Kelly was murdered, and finding her killer, but now … I don’t know. My theory doesn’t make as much sense as I thought it did.”
“The toy guy?”
“Douglas Shaw. I was so sure he was behind Kelly’s death.”
Briscoe turned a corner, passing a group of people with umbrellas. “Of course he did it. He had her office and her apartment searched, right? He stole her files.”
Jessie Black Box Set 2 Page 38
