A Time for Justice: A Legal Thriller (Bill Harvey Book 4)

by Peter O'Mahoney

  Sitting next to Kevin on the couch is his notepad – a prized possession for the avid note-taker. At the end of every session, he has filled out his review of the session, closing the book without allowing Bill to see it.

  “Now, I want you to see yourself helping an older lady, perhaps a parent.”

  Kevin nods slightly. “I am helping my mother; Yin Sun.”

  “I want you to help Yin Sun across the street. I want you to hold her hand, another arm around her back, and I want you to walk her across the street. Slowly…” Bill studies the quick eye movement under Kevin’s closed eyelids. “And once you have helped her across the street, she’s going to turn to you and say thank you. She’s going to say thank you filled with love, joy, and happiness – her lifetime of love, joy, and happiness. She’s going to pass that love, joy, and happiness to you. You will feel that love fill your body. You feel lighter with that joy. You feel like you’re floating away with happiness.”

  Kevin’s mouth moves, almost turning into a smile. A moment of silence sits over the room, allowing the feelings to flow through the client.

  “Now, you are going to walk away from the happy woman. She will wave to you as you walk down the street until you see a door, any door that you remember clearly. You don’t need to force the thought; your mind will bring the thought to you. I want you to feel what it’s like standing in front of that door. I want you to see your hand reaching for the door handle, feeling how cold it is.”

  Kevin’s hand jerks. “I can’t open it.”

  “Don’t force it, but describe your location to me.”

  “I’m on Centinela Avenue, and I’ve walked into a building. The door is orange and heavy, really thick. It’s next to a roller door, and the door has the number 1649 on the front. But I can’t open it. It holds too many of my secrets. I can’t allow my secrets out. I have to keep that door closed.”

  “Why can’t you open door 1649?”

  “Because it will incriminate me. I can’t let anyone into that door.”

  “That’s ok,” Bill replies. “I want you to walk away from that door, leave it closed, and find another door that you can open.”

  Kevin’s hand releases, and then tightens again. “I’ve found one. It’s red. I’m inside a tall building, an apartment block, and I can open this door.”

  “Good. Now, I want you to open the door and step inside the room that holds the source of your anger. This room is filled with your rage. Tell me, what do you see inside the door?”

  “A girl.”

  “And how does the girl look?”

  “She looks scared. She has her arms across her chest, and she’s refusing to look at me. She’s frightened.”

  “Why is she frightened?”

  “Because I’m going to kill her.” Kevin’s voice is uncomfortably calm. “I’m going to murder her, but she looks so sweet. So innocent. She’s the source of my anger. Her father should feel the same pain that I’m feeling. That’s my responsibility.”

  “No,” Bill states calmly. “You’re not going to hurt her.”

  With his eyes still closed, Kevin nods.

  “Tell her. Tell the girl that you’re not going to kill her.”

  “Don’t be afraid, Tiffany. I’m not going to kill you.”

  “How does she look now?”

  “She still looks scared.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going to kidnap her.” Kevin Wu’s mouth moves again, almost turning into a smile. “Her father must feel the pain that I felt when my Amy was taken. He must feel that pain. It’s my duty as a father to inflict that pain on him. My honor is at stake.”

  “You’re not going to hurt her. Tell her that you’re not going to hurt her.”

  Kevin nods. “Tiffany will be hurt. That’s only fair. But I’m not going to take the blame. Someone else will. Someone will be to blame for her pain.”

  The anger he’s experiencing after the loss of his daughter is enormous, Bill writes. He’s angry, and he wants to hurt someone else for that pain. Monty Lee’s daughter is at risk. This must be reported to the police.

  “I want you to walk out of the room, leaving the girl alone, and you will find yourself in a large field of grass,” Bill continues. “I want you to imagine the pain you feel as a balloon, a red balloon, and you’re holding it tightly. Really tight. Hold the string of the balloon, and feel it tug against your arm, trying to float away, but you won’t let it. You’re holding onto the anger tightly. Don’t let go of that balloon even though it wants to float away. And then…” Bill takes a long pause, watching Kevin’s right hand clench tight. “And then, I want you to let go of the balloon. I want you to let go of that anger.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Gently, release one finger at a time. Softly, release your hand.”

  His hand twitches.

  “Lightly, release the string of that balloon. Release that pain and anger. Let it float away.”

  “I can’t.” His knuckles are white with tension.

  “Don’t force it. Don’t fight it. Don’t fight against the balloon. Softly, release it. Let go of the anger. Let it float into the blue sky.”

  Kevin’s hand releases, one finger after the other, and then, his palm opens.

  “Watch that red balloon float away into the blue sky and feel all the anger float away with it. Watch that anger float away. Feel the softness in your body, feel the calmness in your stomach. Feel yourself sink into the couch.”

  The client’s shoulders relax again, easing as he imagines the balloon floating away.

  “And how do you feel now?”

  “Relaxed.” Kevin’s voice is peaceful.

  “And now, how do you feel about the girl?”

  “She’s just a girl.” His face begins to scrunch as he fights back the emotions. “She’s just a little girl.” His face softens. “I won’t hurt her. But for the honor of my family, her father must feel the pain that I felt.”

  Chapter 8

  “How was the session with Kevin Wu? Any success?”

  “I’m not sure.” Bill reaches into the fridge and removes a beer, his Friday night ritual. Once the can fizzes open, his shoulders instantly relax. “Today was the first time that I actually got through to him. He was finally comfortable and spoke truthfully, but I don’t know whether that made any difference at all.”

  “You don’t think it helped?”

  He looks to the ground. “My goal was to help him manage his anger, and let go of his past. I really felt we took a huge step forward today with his level of anger.”

  “But?” Amber Harvey asks, busy stirring the pot of Bolognese.

  Bill looks at his wife, her bright yellow apron covered with splatters of tomato sauce.

  These are his favorite moments; the moments he treasures. Both their lives are busy, so busy that they barely have time to enjoy a weeknight dinner with each other. But after numerous fights about trivial things, they made the commitment to come home for Friday night dinners. After six months of sharing their end of week dinners in their warm home, their relationship found the spark again.

  They love their house, although they spend very little time in it. He loves the comfort and security of owning his piece of L.A; for her, it’s the art they have collected from around the world, proudly on display throughout. Every art piece is a reminder of their well-travelled life. From the African masks, to the Fijian headwear, to the European paintings, she is proud of their adventures together.

  Originally, they tried to avoid discussing work at their Friday dinners, but found the conversations to hard to avoid.

  “Kevin Wu is the most cunning person I’ve ever met. He’s completely detached from his emotions. Anger isn’t what’s driving him – everything he does is well-thought-out without the involvement of emotion or feelings. Helping manage his anger isn’t going to stop him from dealing drugs, running brothels, or hurting people in the future. He’s completely detached from his actions.”

  �
��And that means that you can’t help him at all?” She places the wooden spatula down and picks up her glass of red wine.

  “I want to help him. I feel I can get through to his emotions, but they’re not why he does what he does. Getting through to his emotions won’t help him.”

  “So why does he do what he does, if not because of his emotions?” As a practicing psychologist, Amber Harvey knows the value of asking questions and listening closely to the answers.

  “Success. Money. Honor. Notoriety. They’re the things that drive him.”

  “I think you did the right thing.” She moves around the island bench in the middle of their kitchen, steps up on her tiptoes, and gives her husband a small peck on the cheek. “I think when his wife came to you and asked for help to stop his criminal behavior, you did the right thing. Eva Wu seemed like a desperate woman, one who wasn’t dealing with the pain of losing her step-daughter, and all you wanted to do was help their heartbroken family. That’s honorable.”

  “I wish it was that simple.” Bill leans on the island, dropping his head. “I understand their pain. They’re now at the point where they’re starting to presume that Amy is dead. It’s been weeks since she was kidnapped, and I could see that Eva wanted to get out of that world. She wanted something different, and I wanted to help her. But it feels like I’ve just opened up a bigger problem.”

  “How so?”

  “Kevin talked about killing a little girl.” Bill shakes his head. “Another daughter of Monty Lee’s.”

  “Really? Oh no.” Amber’s hand goes to her chest. “Hasn’t that man suffered enough already? He’s already lost his youngest daughter. He doesn’t need to suffer anymore.”

  “He talked about not being involved in her death, but someone else is going to take the blame for whatever he does. I felt like he was even referring to me, although I don’t know how I could be to blame.” Bill moves to the Bolognese, picks up the spatula and stirs the sauce. “I reported it to the LAPD, but they can’t do anything about what I told them. It wasn’t a threat, and it wasn’t a call to action. In fact, Detective Pitt laughed in my face. He said the information was completely useless to him. Hypnotherapy doesn’t rate too highly in his eyes.”

  “But you think that he’s going to do something?”

  “I’m sure of it. He’s going to hurt one of Monty Lee’s surviving daughters.”

  “I don’t like it when you have to deal with such dangerous people. I really don’t like it. I think you should stop the sessions and not have any further association with that man.”

  “I already have. I told Eva that I had done all I could and not to bring him back there. She looked sad, but I did all I could. It’s too dangerous, he’s too dangerous, and I don’t want any further part of it. I’ve reported what I know to the police, and that’s all I can do.”

  Amber takes the spatula from Bill’s hand, and stirs the pot in the other direction, shaking her head.

  “And how was your day?” He throws his hands up in surrender as his wife takes over the cooking.

  “It was fine – lots of client work and not much fun.” She shrugs. “But I’m still feeling really tired all the time.”

  “Maybe you’re pregnant?” he jokes, half-wishing it was true.

  “No.” She sits down on the kitchen stool, suddenly short of breath. “I checked that, like I do every month. I’m not pregnant yet.”

  “I’m worried about you, honey. It’s so unusual for you to be this tired. I usually have to run to keep up with you, but this tiredness has been going on for months now. Are you sure you’re not sick?”

  “What’s this?” She tries to laugh. “More emotion from Bill Harvey? That’s very unlike you.”

  “I’m trying.” He grins. “One day, I’ll be an open book, a really emotional type of guy. I’ll cry all the time, even when I’m happy. I’ll cry during movies, while reading books… I’ll even cry while talking to your mother. Actually, that’s sure to make me want to cry.”

  “Stop it.” She smiles, playfully slapping his hand. “But you’re getting better. You’re really starting to open up. I never thought I’d see it, but I really love this vulnerable side of you. It’s so beautiful and open.”

  Feeling lightheaded, she moves her left arm to the table, trying to steady herself.

  “Whoa.” He grabs her. “You have to see a doctor about this. Ask him to do a check-up. Just to make sure there’s nothing wrong.”

  “And say what? ‘I’m tired.’” She shakes her head. “No, that’s not a good enough reason to go to the doctor. I’ll be fine. I’ll just get some sleep over the weekend, and I’ll be fine by Monday. I’m just tired, that’s all. I just need sleep.”

  Amber looks up at the man she loves, a vulnerable look in her eyes, the sentiment touching the heart of her husband. She married a stoic man, a hard man, and has spent the last five years trying to open him up. During the last twelve months, she’s finally started to see the benefits of all that work.

  But it’s her turn to act tough.

  She doesn’t want her husband to know how much this sickness has her worried.

  Or just how bad it really is.

  Chapter 9

  Present day.

  Tonight is the night.

  Her chance.

  Her moment to break free; to see what’s beyond the concrete walls that surround her existence.

  He came earlier tonight and hugged her. He’s doing that more and more now. Tonight, it was a tight hug, almost tight enough to squeeze the air out of her lungs. When he walked in, there were no words, no greeting, just a long, deep emotional embrace. She thought that she even heard him cry a little.

  She knows that he loves her. She can feel that. She knows that he cares for her, but that doesn’t stop her need to be free, her need to escape from what’s going to happen. She can’t let another man come to her. She can’t dream of the pain that he is going to cause. She can’t let it happen. Not again. Not after what happened last time.

  She had thought about tonight so much – how much she would be giving up. What she feared the most was that this was the best life had to give, that this was heaven on earth. Here, she has luxuries, she has gifts, she has love, and she has time. Maybe that’s all there is. Maybe, beyond the walls, they don’t have what she has. Maybe they don’t have fresh bread or crispy red apples.

  In a life full of deprivation, her sense of luxury was redefined. Fresh, soft bread was pure gold to her. In a world of very little, such a thing lights up her world.

  Scarcity was the birth of her sense of appreciation.

  And appreciation was the birth of her view of luxury.

  For all the time she had to think, for the time she had to daydream, she couldn’t imagine anything more special than the feeling of a soft, fresh piece of bread melting in her mouth.

  She doesn’t want to risk losing access to the bread, she doesn’t want to risk losing her luxuries, but she has to. She has to know what is out there.

  Freedom or luxury – those are her choices.

  And tonight, she chooses freedom.

  Bathed in darkness, she creeps to the door, her steps barely making a sound. She knows he didn’t lock the door. She listens to the thud every time, the bolt across the door, but this time, again, there was none. It’s almost like he’s baiting her to leave.

  She scans upwards, through the gap in the door, to make sure there are no movements above her.

  None.

  She’s safe to keep moving.

  She rests her hand on the heavy door that keeps her locked up. With movements slow enough to deaden any noise, she pushes upwards.

  Her heart skips a beat as it moves.

  Freedom awaits.

  With the door half open, her breathing becomes faster and faster. Peering out, she exposes herself to the outside world.

  “I can do this,” she whispers, and turns back to gaze at her current world, blowing a kiss into the nothingness. Her grandmother would be so prou
d of her right now. “I can do this.”

  With the nimble ease of a young teen, she climbs out of the basement, out into the unknown. A different world awaits. A new world.

  The yard around her is silent, and it’s hard to see without the shine of the moonlight. Her muscles clench as she stays crouched down, looking for any movement in the shadows.

  She looks to the house behind her – no lights shining through the windows. The night has been dark for many hours, and it’s likely he’s fallen asleep.

  She tiptoes out into the yard.

  With a pounding heart, she moves forward, leaving all that she knows behind.

  Crack.

  A noise. In front of her. Not far away.

  No.

  Her heart rate shoots up.

  Muscles clench.

  She turns.

  Runs.

  Back to her basement.

  Back down the steps.

  Without concern for the sound, she slams the door behind her, leaping back into bed. Back to the safety of what she knows.

  And just like any scared young girl, she hides under the covers, gripping her blanket tight, hoping for the best.

  Under the safety of her blanket, she listens.

  Waiting.

  The noise hasn’t followed her.

  Here, in the basement, she’s safe…

  For now.

  Chapter 10

  The frail woman that walks into Bill Harvey’s office is a shadow of her former self.

  A former model, Eva Wu hasn’t worn makeup in years. She isn’t even sure if she owns makeup anymore. Every movement that happens around her makes her jumpy so that she grips her purse tighter to her chest. This is the first time she’s been out of the house in months.