Harper Ross Legal Thrillers vol. 1-3

by Rachel Sinclair

  “I know who she is. I requested her specifically. Her law partner, Tammy something, didn’t want to sign me up, but I insisted. Harper’s going to get me out of this hideous orange jumpsuit and into something fabulous in no time. I know that. I have faith.”

  Heather really did have faith in Harper. Harper had something special, Heather knew.

  Which was why Heather wasn’t going to settle for anybody else but Harper. It was why she convinced her drug dealer boyfriend to pony up the $25,000 asking price for Harper’s retainer.

  Harper Ross was the only attorney that Heather was going to hire, and there was a very specific reason for that.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  By the time I arrived at the jail to see this Heather person, I had a headache that was screaming towards a 75 on a scale of one to 10. That was always why I chose to keep on drinking once I got going – I needed the bad hangovers to happen at night, when I was already sleeping. If I started drinking early in the day, then I had to keep on going. Tammy stopped my jam way too early, and I was paying the price. I had a bottle of Pedialyte in my car, which sometimes got rid of my hangovers, but often didn’t, and, today, there wasn’t a thing that was going to stop it.

  I put my fingers to my temples, knowing that I looked like hell, and also knowing that there was little time to talk before the initial appearance hearing on Heather’s case. I pretty much was just there to introduce myself, and explain the process, so that she wasn’t totally in the dark.

  I had just arrived at the common area, where I would meet my client, when I saw her. She was slight, about 5’2”, with features that looked like she had been born a girl. She had long chestnut hair that was pulled up in a high pony, big green eyes with long dark eyelashes, a tiny nose and full pouty lips. She probably didn’t weigh 110 lbs soaking wet.

  Not bad. If this is her pre-operation, then she doesn’t have far to go to look completely like a woman. I had had experiences with men who fancied themselves as women, even though their features were completely masculine. Caitlyn Jenner came to mind. Although Caitlyn was a beautiful woman, she had to work for the look with a lot of makeup to try to tone down her naturally butch face. But with Heather…she didn’t have to do much. She already looked just like a female.

  “Hello,” she said. “Harper Ross, I presume.” She sat down at the table with me and peeked at the guard who was standing there in the room, as well.

  I raised my eyebrow at the guard, as I needed for him to leave. I literally couldn’t talk to my client if another person was around, because, if I did, anything that Heather told me wouldn’t be confidential. That was the rule – the attorney-client privilege only was good if there wasn’t a third party around to hear everything being said.

  “You presume correctly.” I continued to stare at the guard, who didn’t seem to be taking the hint. I didn’t need this. I was running late as it was. “Excuse me, uh, Mr. Spaulding,” I said, reading the guard’s name tag. “I need to speak with my client confidentially. That means that you need to leave.”

  The guard gave me a look, but he glanced over at the other guard who was behind the glass. That other guard was motioning for him to leave us alone, so he just nodded and walked through the door without another word to either Heather or me.

  “Oooh, you made that boy disappear just like magic,” Heather said, snapping her fingers, which seemed to be difficult for her to do, considering she had on cuffs. “Wish I could have those same super-powers.”

  “They’re not super-powers, they’re called rules. I can’t speak to you confidentially if there are other people around. That guard probably should have known that.” I shook my head. I had no idea what kind of training these guards had, but it seemed that whatever training they had needed to be revisited. “Anyhow, there’s not much time before your hearing. I just wanted to meet you and let you know what’s going to happen, from start to finish.”

  “Good. Is this the part where I tell you about why I iced that old bag?”

  I cringed. The “old bag” in question was Heather’s own mother. Not that that mattered to Heather or to people like her, but it certainly mattered to me. I loved my mother and could never imagine doing something to her like what Heather did to her mother. Nevertheless, I knew that I was lucky in that regard, and that others weren’t so lucky. Heather apparently fell into that latter category.

  “We can get to that later. I’m so sorry, I really didn’t even know that I was on this case until about an hour ago. I haven’t had the chance to look at your file or anything else. I’ll be completely honest – the only thing I know about your case was learned by glancing at the headlines in the newspaper.” I looked at my watch, which read 1:15. There was just enough time to get out of that jail and high-tail it across the street to the courtroom in time to watch the gavel fall. I also knew that Heather was going to have to be transported, which was going to take some time as well.

  We both were probably going to be late to court. I felt bad about that.

  “Well, Harper, I guess you’re in a hurry. Can you at least do something about my bond?” She made a face. “Orange is just not my color, I’m afraid. It makes my skin look totally sallow. It’s such a hideous color of orange, too. They couldn’t have gone with more of a burnt sienna orange or even a nice salmon color? It’s like they deliberately want to make us look our very worst. So I need to get out of here as soon as I can. I hope that you can arrange for that.”

  “Yeah, about that. I’ll do what I can to get you a 10% bond at the very least.”

  “10% bond. What’s that?”

  “You would only have to come up with 10% to get out. In your case, you would be able to make bond if you put up $25,000. Bear in mind, though, that if you jump, you would be on the hook for the entire $250,000. That’s how it works.”

  Heather nodded her head. “I guess somebody in my life can come with $25,000. He’ll get it back, won’t he?”

  “Of course. As long as you show up to all your court appearances, your surety will get the money back. I’m assuming you’re going to get that money from the same person who paid my fee?”

  “You assume correctly. I think he’s good for it. I’ll just have to make sure I make him very happy in bed.” She raised an eyebrow. “Do you know about that, Harper? Making your man happy?”

  I groaned. “If I had a man, I think that I would know about it. But let’s not get so personal just yet. Is there anything else you need to know from me?”

  Heather shrugged. “I guess not. Please try to get me that 10% bond, and then we can meet in your office or somewhere, maybe get a cocktail, and I’ll tell you all about why I did what I did. It’s a good story, I can assure you.”

  “Okay, but no cocktail.” I took a deep breath. I was going to try to get back on the wagon again. I had already found an AA meeting to go to in the evening. I was going to have to get my life back, yet again, and try to keep it on track this time.

  I still had hope that I could get custody of Rina and Abby. I had to try again, and I had to do it sober.

  Plus, I now had Heather’s life literally in my hands. I couldn’t screw this up.

  Maybe I could still make amends for my role in Gina’s death.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Harper Ross,” the prosecutor, Vince Malloy, said to me as I made my way into the packed courtroom. The place wasn’t packed because of my case, but, rather, it was just how it was for these initial appearances. Every defendant was granted an initial appearance, and there were always a lot of people committing crimes in the jurisdiction, which meant that these dockets were always extremely busy. “And the dead shall rise. Seriously, where’ve you been? I keep seeing your law partner covering for you, and, I’m sorry, but she doesn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground around these parts. I’m pretty sure she’s damned happy that you’re back. And you are back, right?”

  I always thought that Vince might have had a slight crush on me, and the way that he was acting at the moment
didn’t exactly dissuade me from that thought. He was a handsome enough guy, with his jet black hair, blue eyes and dimples and, at 6’3”, he was tall enough for me to date. Being a woman who was 5’9” always meant that my prospects were somewhat limited if I didn’t want to tower over the person I was with.

  But I never wanted to shit where I sleep, and dating the lead prosecutor on many of my cases would be a definite no-no in that regard. “I’m back,” I said. “And feeling like shit, so go easy on me, k? Listen, I’m going to be asking for a bond reduction on my client, and if Judge Wilson here doesn’t allow it, I’ll make a motion for the trial judge, whomever that may be, to hopefully reduce the bond. Please don’t make me beg. My client is trans and she’s in detention with the men. I don’t think that I need to tell you how dangerous that is for her.”

  Vince shook his head. “You do know that happened, don’t you? On this case?”

  I stiffened my spine. No, I actually didn’t know what had happened on this case. I only knew that my client killed her own mother, apparently by slicing her jugular vein with a sharp knife. That was what I gathered from the newspaper articles about the case, as well as a quick cursory glance at the statement of information, which I speed-read right before I got into court. I didn’t want to tell Vince that I had spent the last month completely wasted, although I was sure it was common knowledge anyhow. The legal community in Kansas City was unfortunately not that big, and the criminal defense community was smaller still. Everyone knew everyone, which meant that secrets didn’t stay that way for very long.

  “Of course I know what happened,” I said to Vince. “Don’t condescend to me. You only need to know that my client isn’t a flight risk and has no priors. There’s not a reason for the bond to be as enormous as it is.”

  “Not a reason? Killing her mother in cold blood, there’s your reason right there. No, I won’t concur on a bond reduction. You’re just going to have to try to get that over my strenuous objection.”

  “But-“

  “You know better than that. Our office is considering the death penalty on this one, so, no, Harper, I don’t foresee your client getting out on some kind of 10% bond if that’s what your thinking of asking for.”

  “The death penalty? What kind of aggravating circumstances were there?” I demanded, knowing that I was showing my hand by asking that question. If I would have read through the Statement of Information more thoroughly, I probably would have already known what aggravating circumstances were present and would have anticipated that the prosecutor was going to make it a capital crime.

  “We’re going to show that she killed her mother to get ahold of her life insurance policy,” Vince said. “And it was a big one, too. $250,000.”

  I bit my tongue wanting to ask the next question, but I really didn’t want Vince to know how little I knew about this case. But I needed to know what happened to my client’s father. If the father was still alive, then the life insurance policy would go to him, not Heather. That would negate the prosecutor’s aggravating circumstance right there.

  “What else you got?” I asked him. “That sounds pretty flimsy on its face. I mean, come on. If my client wanted to murder her mother for her life insurance policy, I would think that she would do a better job of demonstrating that it wasn’t her killing her.” I wanted to say more about the circumstances of the case, but I wasn’t sure of certain things. Like who called the police? Did my client try to flee the scene? Did she try to finger somebody else? Did she lie about what happened when she was interrogated? I didn’t know the answers to those questions, but if my client did little to cover up what had happened, then it would be extremely easy to show to the jury that she didn’t commit the murder for money. It was my experience that people who murder loved ones for profit usually either hired somebody to do the deed or made the whole thing look like an accident. It would be rather idiotic for my client to kill her mother for her life insurance policy and not even attempt to cover up the fact that she was the one who murdered the mother. Duh.

  Then again, I hadn’t even had the chance to really speak with my client and get her story. Maybe she was going to tell me that she didn’t kill her mother at all. Some other dude did it, or the SODDI defense, was one that I often used and it sometimes worked.

  “The murder was especially depraved,” Vince said.

  “In what way? Because there was a lot of blood squirting out of her neck? That’s going to happen when you hit the jugular vein, for your information.” I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. “You’re grandstanding, Vince. You’re standing on whipped cream here by asking for the death penalty. I think you know this.”

  At that point, the judge came in and called everyone to order. Vince and I rose and sat down, and Vince immediately went up to the bench to give his recommendations on everyone who appeared.

  I wasn’t going to get the chance to talk to Vince about the death penalty business further, but I was certainly going to call him and find out what the hell was going on. If I had to guess, I would imagine that Vince was using the death penalty thing as a bargaining chip. He’d offer to take it off the table if I would plead to 25 to life or something like that. Suddenly, every offer he would make me would seem primo. If I were an inexperienced litigator, I might get scared about the death penalty and urge my client to take any offer that came down the pike, just so that my client could avoid the needle.

  I knew that game, and I wasn’t going to play it. Vince was going to have to show me exactly why he had grounds for asking for the death penalty. Thus far, it seemed that he had nothing. He knew it and I knew it.

  While Vince stood at the bench making his recommendations, I did a better read-through of the Statement of Information. My heart sunk as I read. My client didn’t call the police. In fact, she ran and hid out with her drug-dealer boyfriend. She was picked up for questioning three days after the incident, after an eyewitness told the police that she heard a loud fight between Heather and her mother, and called the police the next day when she couldn’t get in touch with Connie Morrison, who was Heather’s mother. Heather never told the police that she committed the murder, and the weapon wasn’t recovered at the scene.

  Well, there’s good news and bad news. The good news is, there’s still a possibility of a SODDI defense. The bad news is, there’s still the possibility that the prosecutor can show that Heather killed her mother for money. I shook my head. Nothing was ever cut and dry in this business, unfortunately. As much as you try for a slam-dunk every time, you usually get a lay-up instead. Still, I was going to work with what I had. That was all that I could really do and all that my client could ask of me.

  I looked up and saw the in-custody people being brought out and seated in the jury box. Everybody was hooked together in a line, each prisoner being attached to the one next to him by a handcuff. They were dressed in light blue jumpsuits, because, for whatever reason, the prisoners usually switched from the hideous orange into the baby blue for court appearances. I never could figure that one out, but I had to admit, my client looked much better in the blue than in the orange. She was right – that orange color did nothing for her, but the baby blue really did.

  I smiled as I realized that I was getting my gallows humor back, for whatever that was worth.

  I cringed, though, when I looked at Heather. She really did look like a girl, and she was hooked together with a guy who had a face full of tattoos and a mouth full of gold teeth on her left, and an angry-looking black guy with a huge afro on her right. They both towered over her. She looked completely out of place in that lineup.

  Out of place, but not frightened. In fact, she looked rather bored with the whole thing. Her dark hair was pulled back into a low pony and she kept smacking her lips. She never made eye contact with me, but she was certainly eyeing Vince appreciatively.

  The judge called up her line and she went up to the bench with the others. Each of the others who were attached to her had an attorney there, and they each pled not
guilty and got a new court date. Some got court dates for a preliminary hearing, where the prosecutor would present evidence to the court to show that there was probable cause for the defendant to be bound over for trial, while others got the same court date, but their case would probably go to a Grand Jury.

  My client was going to be grand juried, of course. That was how it was done in the Jackson County Circuit Court. Murder, arson, kidnapping, robbery…basically any kind of major crime got the Grand Jury treatment. I hated that, because I would have no say on whether or not my client was bound over for trial. Only the prosecutor would present evidence, with no rebuttal of any kind. Someone once said that you could indict a ham sandwich that way, and I believed that to be true. After all, the evidence was the very definition of one-sided, with the prosecutor laying it all out and the defense attorney not being able to even attend the hearing. It was a rare Grand Jury that didn’t return an indictment, so rare that the Defense Bar still got stunned when it happened.

  Judge Wilson read Heather her charges and asked how she pled.

  “Not guilty your honor,” I said on her behalf. “And I would like to request a bond reduction from $250,000 cash to $250,000/10%.”

  “Denied,” the judge said without even looking at the prosecutor. “Your case will be remanded to Division 33 for trial, date to be set by Judge Reiner.”

  Well, Tammy sure called that one. The Rocket Docket it was.

  “Your honor,” I said. “I would like to at least request a bond review hearing. As you can see, my client is transgender. She’s basically a female living in detention with all males. It’s detrimental to her mental health to be in such a situation, so I would like for her to be able to go home to await trial.”

  Judge Wilson was a good ol’ boy. He hunted on the weekends and had a cup right there on the bench, where he would spit his tobacco into while he talked to lawyers and clients. He wore blue jeans underneath his robe, and cowboy boots. He was a typical rural Missouri boy who made good, and I never could relate to him. I found his tobacco habit beyond disgusting, and the fact that he found sport and happiness out of killing defenseless animals made my skin crawl. There were rumors that he often used the “n word” with some of the like-minded attorneys, although that could never be substantiated, which was why he still had his job. I didn't exactly know how he felt about LGBT, but it probably wasn’t good.