Justice Denied - A Harper Ross Legal Thriller

by Rachel Sinclair

  Justice Denied

  A Harper Ross Legal Thriller Book

  Rachel Sinclair

  Tobann Publications

  Contents

  Also by Rachel Sinclair

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Also by Rachel Sinclair

  Also by Rachel Sinclair

  Bad Faith - A Harper Ross Legal Thriller

  http://amzn.to/2oXIMnK

  One

  Taking Michael Reynolds on as a client made me sick. Made me want to vomit. I didn’t want this creep anywhere near me.

  Yet, the calculating part of me also saw how I could use him. I brought out my slinky and expanded and contracted it like an accordion while I stared at my ceiling. My mind started to race. Go to places that were dark. Corners of my brain that were better left unexplored. Deep down, I knew that I needed to face what happened at the Sigma Chi house that night. What happened between Michael, his roommate Jim, and me. If I closed my eyes, I still saw him – tall and handsome, with huge dimples, big blue eyes and wavy black hair cut short on the sides and longer on top. He caught my eye from across the room, and I went over to him – a lamb being docilely led to slaughter.

  Of course, my brain was swimming in alcohol by then. It usually was, just about every night, when I was in college. Bars ran drink specials every night of the week – quarter draws at this bar one night, dollar pitchers at this other bar the next. The best special of the week was the “all you can drink” for two hours on a Friday night at still another bar. I would go there with my friends at 8 PM, drink all I wanted for one low price until 10 PM, and spend the rest of the night blasted and way, way, too friendly.

  I went over to him, swaying to the music and barely able to stand. I said something to him. I don’t know what. The details were hazy, and they were hazy even then. Even at that moment, I was saying things to him that I forgot just two seconds later.

  Before I knew it, we were grinding our bodies together on the dance floor. My hands were going through his thick dark hair, my teeth were caressing his earlobe, and my breasts were pressed against his pecs in the dark. His lips were soon on mine and his hands were grabbing my ass. Let’s go upstairs, he said, and I nodded.

  Tammy interrupted my reverie. “I heard about Heather,” she said. “Congrats.”

  I nodded my head. Heather’s case was already in the rear-view mirror. Funny how that worked – for three months, her case was all that I thought about. I had a full roster of other cases, most of them minor criminal cases that I ended up pleading out. But Heather’s case was the only trial that I was preparing for during that period, and it was the one that I was focused on. It was central to my professional life, and, if it crashed and burned, I would have been devastated beyond measure. Not just because I felt that I had to win it, but also because I felt that Heather’s life was hanging in a delicate balance.

  “Thanks,” I said. I swiveled in my chair, and looked out the window.

  “Anything wrong?” she asked, looking concerned.

  “Yeah. I mean, no. I mean…” I shook my head. What was I doing, taking Michael Reynolds on? Was my psyche that damaged that I felt a need to sink him? How was I going to sink him, anyhow? There were any number of ways, but I wasn’t going to get away with any of them if he had a brain in his head. I could suppress evidence, invent damning testimony from witnesses and I could send him up the river with his prosecutor by getting him a terrible deal. But if he was smart, he would know what I was up to and he would turn me over the Bar and appeal his case on the basis of ineffective assistance of counsel. I could certainly lose my license if I did everything to him that I wanted to.

  No, if I was going to sabotage him, it would have to be subtle. It would have to be so subtle that there wouldn’t be any way that he could possibly know what I was doing. That was going to be difficult, but not impossible.

  “Harper?” Tammy said. “What’s going on?”

  I sighed. “You remember me telling you about a Michael Reynolds?” I shuddered just saying his name out loud.

  Tammy sat down. “I think so. You mentioned something about him one time, although I forget the context.”

  “Yes. I’m sure I probably told you something about him. I don’t think that I gave you the entire story, though. I haven’t told anybody the whole story.”

  Tammy looked worried. “What is the whole story? And why are you talking about him now? What is bringing him up for you?”

  “He’s coming in today. I don’t know, he’s been accused of a crime. Pearl said that he called about a murder charge and he wants me to represent him. I’m not at all sure what the facts are about this, though.”

  “I can tell you,” she said, picking up a newspaper. “I knew that his name sounded familiar when you first said it to me. Here.” She handed me the newspaper. “Front page.”

  I groaned. Another high-profile case. I was lucky with Heather, in that the media seemed to lose interest in her case, after initially being all over it. As I read the article in the paper, however, it seemed that I wasn’t going to be so lucky this time. Michael Reynolds was the son-in-law of a Federal District Court judge. Said judge, whose name was Robert Sanders, was shot dead in his home. The article indicated that a random intruder was initially suspected to be the murderer, but that Michael Reynolds, Sanders’ own son-in-law, was arrested for the crime.

  “This is a big deal,” I said, reading the story. “A federal judge is murdered and this Michael guy is the lead suspect. The reporters are going to be crawling on this one.” I questioned my motivation for taking this case. I spun around in my chair, realizing that I was going to have to be above-board with this one after all. Since the media was going to be all over this case, I wasn’t going to be able maneuver the way that I wanted to.

  I wondered if I should just call him back and tell him not to bother. I couldn’t quite understand why he called me, anyhow. Why me, out of all the attorneys he could hire?

  “So, tell me about Michael. You were saying something about him.”

  I felt the anxiety, the cold tendrils that I always felt when I thought about this guy, and shook my head. “Nothing, nothing. I knew him in college, that’s all.”

  “That’s not all,” Tammy said. “There’s something on your mind about this guy. I can sense it. I can see it on your face. You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “I need to see my therapist.” I took a deep breath. “I haven’t seen her in awhile. I think that I need to see her again tonight. Or sometime soon.” I needed to get to the bottom on why I would accept a case from Michael. I originally thought that I needed revenge on him, so I would try to throw it. Now I wasn’t so sure. I needed to get to the bottom of my emotions on this one. All that I knew was that taking Michael on as a client was bringing up th
ings that I hadn’t thought about in years. Things, buried deep within my psyche, were coming to the surface.

  “I think that seeing your therapist is an excellent idea in general. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. Your job is probably one of the most stressful there is. I couldn’t imagine always having people’s lives in my hands all the time, the way that people place their lives in your hands. But why are you bringing that up now? I just think that it’s…a non-sequitur. I ask you about Michael Reynolds and you come back with needing to see a therapist. What’s going on?”

  I couldn’t talk to her about it. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I could barely talk to my therapist about it. I almost felt that if I spoke up about what had happened to me at that fraternity house that it would be true. That if I never said the word “rape” that it didn’t really happen.

  I raised my eyebrow and looked down at the newspaper article. It was a long article, filled with details of Judge Sanders’ life. He was a judge who was appointed by President Clinton in 1994, rising through the ranks to become one of the most respected District Court judges in the country. He was 76 years old. His daughter, Christina Sanders, married Michael Reynolds some ten years ago. The newspaper article didn’t go into the relationship between Michael and Judge Sanders - it simply indicated that Michael was arrested for the murder. I had no idea why.

  Tammy finally sighed. “You’re hiding. You’re always hiding. I guess that you’re just never going to let me in. Or anybody else for that matter.”

  I looked at her. “Don’t you have a will to draw up? Or an estate plan?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. It’s just my way of telling you to back off. That’s all.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why do you ask? Are you assuming that I asked that question for some other reason?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes I think that you assume that my job is easy. I assure you, it’s not easy. It might not be as acutely stressful as what you do, but, trust me, it’s not easy. I deal with millions of dollars and all the tax implications that go with everything I do. It’s not exciting or sexy as trying murder cases, but there’s still pretty high stakes.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Stop it. Stop trying to put words and thoughts in my head. I wasn’t thinking that you were beneath me. I’ve never thought that you and I were anything but equals.”

  Tammy’s face softened. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I sometimes jump to conclusions.” She paused. “The truth of the matter is, I’m kinda jealous of you. Of what you get to do. I have to admit, drawing up estates all day gets pretty boring. I actually look forward to the few times I get to go to court for a will contest or something like that.”

  “Oh, God, don’t be jealous of me. Trust me, you wouldn’t want my job. I love it, I thrive on it, but it’s certainly not for everyone. And look at what happened with John Robinson. Look at how much turmoil that whole thing caused for me. Be happy you never have to deal with that.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.” I looked at my watch. “I gotta move. I have a death case that the State of Missouri has assigned to me.” Death cases were occasionally assigned to private attorneys, even though the vast majority of them were assigned to the special division of the Public Defender’s Office. The attorneys who did those death cases were the most dedicated I had ever seen. I hated getting death cases myself, at least I didn’t like being assigned to them, because I rarely got paid enough for my time. A decent stripper at a high-dollar strip joint would make more hourly than I did for these cases. Hopefully this was one that I could just plead out and I wouldn’t have to deal with it too much.

  Another reason why I hated being assigned cases like these was simple – I didn’t have the chance to vet the person. I liked being able to choose who I represented. That was one of the perks of being a private attorney. When you’re assigned to somebody, you never know who you’re going to get. The guy could be be crazy.

  I had no idea how crazy this one was really going to be.

  Two

  I headed down to the jail, parking right in front. I went through the rigamarole of finding out where this guy was. His name was Elmer Harris, and I imagined what he looked like. I always pictured an Elmer as a guy who was a very slight build, maybe wearing glasses, probably sporting a bald head, probably with a stooped posture. I didn’t know if my stereotype was accurate or not. More often than not, the person I met was opposite of the person I imagined.

  The guard showed me where the guy was located, and I headed up there. I first had to go through a set of doors. The first door opened, and then you were in the middle, and you had to wait for somebody to open the second door. There were times when I got stuck in between the doors, and, for the first time in my life, I experienced claustrophobia. Five minutes would go by, and I was still stuck between the two doors.

  This time, however, things went smoothly. One door opened, and the next door opened right away. I went down the corridor, found the elevator, and took it to the third floor. I walked past the metal doors that housed the inmates and got to another set of two doors. I pushed the button and one door opened, and then the next.

  “Who are you here to see?” the guard asked from behind the bullet-proof glass.

  “Elmer Harris,” I said.

  “Just a minute.”

  I took a seat at the small metal table and waited for Elmer to come out. I actually had read the statement of information and some of the discovery on this case, and the guy seemed like a real piece of work. He was a drug dealer and he had a female partner. Apparently, the female partner was on the phone, allegedly talking to the authorities about Elmer, and he took the phone and beat her to death with it.

  After looking through the police reports and interviews with witnesses, I had the feeling that this guy was good for the crime. I already had it in my head that I was going to plead him on that basis. Pleading him out in exchange for life in prison, as opposed to the death penalty, was going to be the most efficient thing to do.

  Efficient doesn’t necessarily mean doable, however. I knew my clients well enough to know that getting them to take a decent deal wasn’t always easy, no matter how good the deal might be.

  I looked up and saw Elmer coming out, and he wasn’t anything like I had imagined. He was a good 350 pounds, with a head full of white hair and a full beard and mustache. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit that seemed to strain because of his enormous girth, and I could see grey hair on his chest peeking through the top of his jumpsuit.

  Both his wrists were shackled and so were his ankles. He shuffled along slowly towards me and he smiled when he saw me.

  “Hello, Darlin’” he said. “How you doin’?”

  I furrowed my brows at him. “Just fine. I wanted to meet with you before you’re arraigned tomorrow.”

  He sat down. “Let me just tell you one thing about my case before all this bullshit happens,” he said. “I’m good for this case. All day long. But I have an excuse for what I did. It’s a good one, too.”

  I got out a pen and paper and looked at him. “Please, go on. What is your excuse?” I was humoring him, but that was my way. I usually wanted my clients to get out what they wanted to get out, and then I would bring the hammer down on them. In this case, the hammer was a big one – he was going to get the death penalty unless he was willing to deal.

  “Maria was my partner. My drug dealing partner. And the bitch-“ He stopped himself abruptly. “I mean the young lady was turning me into the authorities. I beat her to death with the phone, but darlin’, you have to know that I had to do it.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “Okay. Elmer, you don’t really think that what you just told me is a legally acceptable excuse, do you?” I didn’t know this man from Adam. What I did know was that he was some kind of a sociopath. Either that, or he was flying high on drugs at the time. Either way, he seemed to sincerely think that “I had to do it because s
he was going to turn me in” would be a legal justification for what he did.

  He shook his head. “Darlin’, it was self-defense. Pure and simple.”

  “Self-defense. How do you figure that it was self-defense?”

  “It was either my life or hers. If she turned me in, then I would be put away for fifteen to life. Isn’t that what self-defense is all about? When it comes down to your life or the life of somebody else, you choose yourself.”

  I had to admit, this guy was, if nothing else, a bit of a creative thinker. But I had to disabuse him of what he thought that self-defense was. “It doesn’t work like that. Self-defense is when your life is in danger right at that moment. Somebody has a knife, and they’re lunging at you, you can kill that person. Somebody has a gun and they’re pointing it at you, you can kill him. You can even kill somebody who broke into your home, even if they don’t have a weapon and they’re not really threatening you. But in this case.” I shook my head. “Sorry, Elmer, no dice. Now, we need to talk about possibly getting a plea bargain out of this.”

  He shook his head. “No. No plea bargain. I want you to try this mother-fucker.”

  I groaned. I somehow knew that he was going to say this. I calculated in my head how many hours this case was going to take, and how little compensation I was going to get from the state for trying it. I didn’t like what I was calculating. I also didn’t like that I was getting on a case with somebody who apparently wasn’t so good at listening or reasoning. That was the hardest part of my job – dealing with people who simply weren’t rational. They all somehow thought that they could beat the charge if only the jury could hear their story.

  I swallowed hard and tried to find the angle that would dissuade this guy out of wanting a trial. With every client, it was different. Some could be reasoned with if they were facing the death penalty and the plea was for anything that was less than that. Others could be bullied into accepting something. Sometimes it was best to flatter the client and let them know that they were much more intelligent and worldly than the prosecutor and me.