Justice Denied - A Harper Ross Legal Thriller

by Rachel Sinclair

  It seemed like it took forever, but I ended up at my building at some point. I went in, taking the elevator to the sixth floor, where my dorm room was. I got to the door of my room, opened it, and climbed the ladder to get onto my loft bed. Once I got there, I lay my head on my pillow and cried all night long.

  Four

  Michael arrived at my office right at 1 PM. I took a deep breath as Pearl announced him. “Harper, your new murder case is here,” she said, calling me on the phone. “Michael Reynolds.”

  “Send him in.” I took another deep breath. I was going to get through this. I was going to face this. I didn’t face him when I was in college. I didn’t face him when he called me at my home, some five years after I graduated from college, to apologize to me for what had happened. He was getting married and expecting a child, and he wanted to unburden himself. I simply listened to him babbling on the phone. I didn’t say a single word. I ended up hanging up on him and he never called me again.

  I had never faced him before, but I was going to face him now. I was going to face him and I was going to take his case. If I found an opportunity, I would make sure that he fried. I wrestled with this, however, because if he happened to be innocent, I would essentially ensure that the real guilty party would go free.

  I hoped that he was really guilty. That way, I would have the best of both worlds – I could make sure that he got his just desserts, which would be a long prison sentence. If I knew that he was guilty, I could make sure that the prosecutor didn’t go easy on him. That was the best way I knew how to get my revenge on this guy. But if I thought that he was innocent…I couldn’t throw it. I just couldn’t do it. It was against my ethics and it was against my conscience.

  He walked through the door of my office. He looked different than I remembered him. When he raped me, he was an 18-year-old kid, slender, young, with a full head of dark hair. He was now 35, same as me, and it showed ever-so-slightly in the paunchiness of his gut. He still had a full head of wavy hair. He still had enormous dimples and his blue eyes were as young as they were back in the day. With his long dark eyelashes and easy smile, he looked like a choir boy. “Harper,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m so glad you agreed to meet me. I was pleasantly surprised, actually.”

  “Sit down,” I said, pointing to the chair right in front of my desk. I got out a yellow pad of paper. “Did you fill out the new client intake sheet?”

  He nodded and handed it to me. I looked at it, trying to calm my racing heart. My hand was shaking and I turned away. “Tell me what happened,” I said. “With Judge Sanders. Start from the beginning.”

  “Hey,” he said. “Slow down. I called you specifically because I wanted to talk to you. I’ve never been able to forget that night. I haven’t been able to live with what I did. So, when I was arrested for this, your name was the first one I thought about. I remembered reading about your John Robinson case. You did an amazing job with that dude.”

  Oh, no he didn’t. He didn’t just re-open that wound too. “I don’t want to talk about that,” I said crisply. “I just want to know what happened with this case. I’m not promising that I’m going to take your case. I’m not promising anything until I hear your story.”

  “Okay,” he said. “But I was hoping that you would forgive me for what happened. I was wasted and stupid. It was something that I wish that I could take back. I’ve wished that every day for 17 years.”

  “You’re not going to get my forgiveness,” I said. “Now tell me what happened. With your father-in-law. Why were you arrested?”

  He finally sighed. “I don’t know why I was arrested, to be honest with you. I don’t know why. All that I know was that I was on the scene when the cops got there. Dad was in the house alone. Mom was gone for the weekend, visiting her sister. Dad was alone that weekend. My wife was trying to call him for days. He was on leave from his job, medical leave.”

  “Medical leave,” I said, writing the words down. “What were his medical issues?”

  “Nobody knew. He just started getting sick. Started to lose his hair. I mean, he was an older guy, 76 years old, but he had a full head of grey hair. He was really tired all the time, and he bruised really easily. He also stopped eating, so he started to lose a lot of weight. He vomited a lot and had the runs. He also started to get severely depressed. I mean, he started to just to go his room when he got home from work and just kinda lay there in bed, watching television. He never was like that before. He used to play tennis three days a week, and he was a part of a bicycle group that biked all over the city – the Prairie Village Yacht Club. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

  “Yes,” I said, writing down the things he was telling me. I had heard of it – it was a cycling club that went on group rides several nights a week. I had even joined it myself at one time when I was cycling a lot. They were a neat group of people, and I got to know many professionals through that club. “So, he was active at one time.”

  “Yeah. But, oh, about a month ago, he started to really go downhill quickly. The doctors did test after test, but they couldn’t find anything wrong with him. All that was known was that he was getting weaker and weaker, and his bones were aching, he was vomiting, he was losing his hair and he bruised when he barely bumped his leg.” Michael shook his head. “So he was on medical leave.”

  “And your mother-in-law left for the weekend? Was there anybody around to care for him? Any nurse or anybody like that?”

  Michael shook his head. “No. There wasn’t anybody like that.”

  “Why not? He was that sick – why he was left alone?”

  “I don’t know. That’s a good point.” He didn’t elaborate further, so I decided to press on that point.

  “Come on, Michael, it sounded like he was desperately sick. Why would your mother-in-law leave him that weekend without making sure that somebody was there to care for him?”

  Michael shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked embarrassed. “I don’t know.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You’re lying. This isn’t my first rodeo, Mr. Reynolds, and I can always tell when my clients are lying, and you’re currently lying.” That wasn’t entirely true – I had the wool pulled over my eyes on more than one occasion by some really adept liars that I had defended in my career. But this guy was transparent. I actually was cheered by that, because the worst thing in the world was to defend a client who was a really good liar, only to find out, halfway through the case, that I had been snowed all along. I would then be stuck with a dog of a case even though the case looked good at the outset.

  “I’m not lying,” he protested.

  “You are. Now tell me the truth. Why was your father-in-law left alone that weekend, when he was having so many health problems? Serious health problems, it sounds like. Tell me the truth. I can’t defend you unless you do.”

  He finally sighed. “I was supposed to look after him.” He looked down at the floor. “I was supposed to.”

  “You were. And where were you?”

  He looked out the window, his face bright red. “I was at the Marriott downtown. I was…”

  “Staying there with your mistress.” I nodded my head. “Go on. I’ve already caught you in two different lies. One more strike and you’re out.”

  “What are the two lies?”

  “You said that you went to Judge Sanders’ home because your wife had been trying to get ahold of him. If she thought that you were staying there with him and looking after him, why didn’t she just call you when she couldn’t get ahold of your father-in-law? In fact, why was she so desperate to get in touch with him when she thought that you were there with him?” I raised my eyebrow, trying to get a read on this guy.

  He shook his head and sighed. “She did call me. She thought that I was staying there with her father. I obviously wasn’t.”

  I nodded my head. “How many kids do you have?”

  “Why is that relevant?”

  “I just want to know. How many kids do you leave
your wife to care for while you’re away with your mistress when you’re supposed to be looking after your father-in-law? And what ages are they?” I couldn’t disguise my disgust. This guy was a tool in college. No, not a tool, a rapist. He raped me. I doubted that I was the only one. Now he was cavorting with a mistress, telling his wife that he was going to be caring for her sick father, while no doubt leaving her at home with a brood of kids to look after.

  Michael Reynolds was making me nauseated.

  “Five kids. The oldest is…”

  “13. I know. I remember you calling me and telling me that you were expecting a child. That was the first time you asked for my forgiveness. I remember that well. How old is the youngest child?”

  He sighed. “He just turned five.”

  “And the other three?”

  “Ten, nine and seven.”

  I nodded my head. “So, your wife is home with five kids, four of whom are under the age of 10. And you’re off with your mistress instead of caring for your father-in-law.” I wrote this down.

  “Listen, I didn’t ever pretend to be a choir boy. I’ve made mistakes. That doesn’t make me a murderer.”

  “I guess it doesn’t. But go on with your story. One more lie, though, and you’re out the door.” I should have shoved him out the door anyhow, but I somehow couldn’t do it. I guess I was getting a perverse sense of pleasure watching him squirm as I pressed him on facts that he had no desire to disclose.

  He leaned back in his chair. “You’re judging me.”

  “Damned right. Now, as I see it, you need me much more than I need you. You’re standing on my last nerve. You need to start telling the truth, because if you don’t, I can’t defend you.” Of course I was judging him. He was an amoral guy with a violent streak a mile long. That was the most important thing that I learned in my years of counseling that I had to go through after this asshole raped me – it was an act of violence. It had zero to do with sex. It was all about power, control and violence.

  He sighed. “Okay, okay. I was with my mistress at the time that this happened.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Why is that important?”

  I rolled my eyes and threw down my pen. I crossed my arms as I stared at him. He stared right back for a few seconds, but, after about a half a minute of my staring him down, he looked away. I smiled as I realized that I was intimidating him. That was a good sign. “Mr. Reynolds, I need the name of your mistress. That’s your alibi, obviously.” Duh.

  “I, I, can’t give you her name. She, she’s married to a CEO of one of the largest companies in Kansas City. If he found out what we’ve been doing, he’s gonna divorce her and leave her penniless. That’s in their prenuptial agreement – if there’s any infidelity, she gets nothing.”

  “Guess she should have thought of that before she started sleeping with you.”

  Michael took a deep breath. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea to come to you with this. It seems that you’ve prejudged this whole thing.”

  “There’s the door,” I said, pointing to the door of my office. I wasn’t going to take his crap. He came in the door lying. That wasn’t a good sign, to say the least, and it didn’t bode well for the case going forward.

  He sat in his chair, not budging. He fidgeted for a few minutes and looked towards the door several times. However, he made no move towards it. He showed that he had no intention of leaving.

  He finally leaned forward. “Harper, again, I’m sorry for what happened all those years ago. I need your help here, though. I’m being charged with something that I clearly didn’t do.”

  “Why me? There are attorneys everywhere in this city. Why do you want my help so desperately?”

  “Because you’re the best there is. I was stunned about what you were able to do with that John Robinson guy.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about John Robinson. That was not my most shining moment. In fact, it was my low point.”

  “Regardless, even though he went on to kill somebody else, the fact that you got him off stunned me. It stunned the city. The nation, really. I saw segments on that case on Fox News.”

  “It wasn’t magical what I did. It was incompetence on the part of the prosecutor’s office. Nothing more, nothing less. Any idiot could have gotten that guy off. I’m not that good and I’m not that special. So, please, since we’ve already gotten off on a bad foot, I suggest that you look elsewhere for legal counsel. I do charge for this consultation, though, so you can pay that fee to my assistant, Pearl, on your way out the door.”

  Michael still didn’t leave. “Okay, okay, I’ll give you all the information you need.” He rolled his eyes. “This isn’t going to go over well with Kayla at all. Her husband is going to divorce her and leave her with nothing when this gets out.”

  “Not my problem. Now, your mistress’ name is Kayla. What is her last name?”

  “Stone. Kayla Stone. She’s married to Gerald Stone. He’s the CEO of Stone Enterprises.” Stone Enterprises was a chemical company that was based in Parkville, which was a suburb of Kansas City just north of the city.

  I wrote down her name. “She’s going to be your alibi, so I need to speak with her as soon as possible.”

  Michael smiled. “Does this mean that you’re going to go ahead and take the case?”

  “I didn’t say that. I guess I should clarify – I will need to speak with her if I decide to take your case. I haven’t yet decided that.”

  “But you’re willing to have an open mind.”

  I stood up. “Listen, Mr. Reynolds, I might take your case. I like a challenge. But I haven’t forgiven you for what you did. I never will forgive you for that. You’re the reason why I’ve spent thousands and thousands of dollars on therapy. I still have nightmares of that night. I was a drunk for years because of what you did. I even went through a period of my life when I had to be hospitalized for bulimia. All because of you and what you did. So, no, your apology isn’t accepted. You’re a disgusting piece of work, and it seems that you haven’t changed much, since you’re sleeping with a mistress while your wife is dealing with a sick father and five kids at home. You’re incredibly selfish, you’re violent, and the sight of you makes me sick.”

  I sat back down and stared at him. I fully expected him to tell me off and leave the office, but, instead, he just stared at me. “You might think that because you said those things to me that I’m going to not want to hire you. Sorry, but I now know that you’re the right one to be on this case. I like that you don’t take bullshit, including mine. I like that you tell it like it is. That’s actually what I was hoping for when I decided to come and see you.”

  “Okay, then. My retainer is $50,000, payable in cash. I charge $500 per hour. I expect that this retainer will be exhausted by the time we get to trial, so you’re probably going to have to replenish it before we go to trial. That retainer will get about 100 hours of my time, and it goes quickly.”

  He got out a checkbook. “Not a problem.”

  Of course it’s not a problem. He’s married to a woman whose father was a District Court Judge. He’s probably wealthy in his own right. Douchebags have no problem making money, because they have no compunction in screwing people over to get to the top. “I didn’t think that it would be a problem. Please write me a check. I’ll put the money into my trust account, and I’ll give you an accounting of my time as I go along. Now that we got this straight, why don’t you tell me the rest of the story.”

  He sighed. “Well, okay. It’s all out in the open, so I’ll just tell you that my wife called me when I was at the Marriott with Kayla. She was worried about dad, because she couldn’t get ahold of him. I don’t even know why she was so anxious to speak with him, but she apparently was. I lied and told her that I was out getting some fried chicken for dad and me to eat for dinner, but, of course, I was really at the hotel with Kayla. I rushed home and found him lying in the living room. He was shot twice, once in the chest and once in
the head.”

  I kept writing as he spoke. “Okay, so, you lied to your wife about where you were. What time was it when you got to the house to find your father lying on the floor?”

  “Midnight.”

  “Midnight. What chicken place is open at midnight?”

  “Well, she called me at 11 PM,” he said.

  “What chicken place is open at 11?” Here was another hole in his story. Either his wife was the dumbest broad alive, or she didn’t believe his chicken story. Maybe the wife wasn’t so innocent, either.

  “I don’t know, KFC. Actually, grocery stores sell fried chicken, and they’re open late. I didn’t tell her where I was getting the chicken, I only told her that I was out getting chicken.”

  “And your wife never questioned why you were getting dinner so late for you and your father-in-law? I mean, your father-in-law was 76 years old. I doubt that he was used to eating at 11 PM.”

  “What does it matter if my wife believed my story or not?”

  “It matters because I keep catching you in lies, and I strongly suspect that I’m catching you in another one. Maybe it’s insignificant, but you have to give me each and every detail correctly. That’s the only way that I’m going to be able to piece all of this together.”

  He sighed. “I did tell my wife that I was getting chicken,” he said weakly. “I doubt that she believed me, though. It was a stupid story, anyhow, but it’s the best I came up with on the fly.”

  I shook my head. “Your wife probably isn’t stupid. Her father was a judge and intelligence is generally inherited. I doubt that she’s a dummy. I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that she knew exactly where you were when she called you about her father.” That was a safe assumption, but why was that important?

  “You’re right. I mean, she hasn’t ever said anything to me about Kayla. It’s not like she spies on my emails and texts and that, but I would imagine she at least suspects. But what does that matter?”