The Justice Game

by Randy Singer

  Jason stopped and looked at Andrew. “I’m sorry, Andrew.” His friend looked at him, pursed his lips, and nodded, though he couldn’t hide the disappointment on his face.

  “I told Kelly about the shadow jury and about the fact that we’ve been very careful not to let them know which side of the case impaneled them. I suggested that we dismiss the two members of the shadow jury who were chosen to mimic Jurors 3 and 7 on the real panel. I also suggested that we not let this shadow jury hear the testimony of Chief Poole or any comments the lawyers made in their closing arguments about Chief Poole.

  “To cut to the chase—we’ve all agreed to be bound by the verdict of the untainted shadow jury, not the actual jury. If the shadow jury comes back with its verdict before the actual jury, we’ll inform Judge Garrison that the case has been settled. If the shadow jury comes back after the real verdict, we just settle the real case then. Either way, we ignore the real verdict even though we decided to let that case run its course this morning because…” Jason paused. “Well, for reasons I can’t disclose, it’s best that the real case continue.”

  Kelly piped in, her voice far more upbeat than Jason’s. “My only caveat was that I wanted a chance to eyeball these jurors and ask them a few questions, like my own private voir dire. Jason can ask questions as well if he wants. I just need to make sure they haven’t been influenced by something other than the evidence in the case.”

  Heads were nodding. Bella was still wide-eyed, trying to take it all in.

  “One other thing I didn’t mention last night,” Kelly said. “I would like to leave someone here to monitor things.” She was speaking to Jason. “You’ve got Bella and Mr. Lassiter. The rest of us may be called back to court. My dad’s in from out of town, and he can be trusted to keep this confidential. If we decide to move forward with this, I’d like to have him stay with this jury and your team as part of the monitoring process.”

  Jason shrugged and looked at Case. He knew better than to seek Melissa’s approval on anything right now.

  “It’s fine with me,” Case said. “If you can’t trust a minister, we’re all in trouble.”

  Other logistical details were discussed, and a stunned Bella and Andrew Lassiter were dispatched to prepare the jurors for a meeting with the real attorneys and real parties in the case.

  A few minutes later, Bella came back and directed traffic. She was already taking to her new role, a kind of shadow judge for the shadow jury. She explained to the litigants that the jurors were in the hotel’s largest conference room, right down the hall. They were seated around a conference table, and Bella had put some chairs in front of the table for the lawyers and their clients.

  She had Kelly and Blake enter first, followed by Jason, Case, and Melissa. There were astonished looks on the faces of the shadow jurors, as if the actors from a TV show had just walked into their living room. Bella introduced the parties and their lawyers and asked them to take a seat. Then she turned to her jury.

  “Folks, the lawyers are going to ask you a few questions to make sure you’ve not been biased by some outside source in this case. The actual case has had a few—” she searched for the right word—“hiccups. It’s now going to be incumbent on you to render a fair and impartial verdict in this case. And the parties have agreed to be bound by whatever you decide.”

  87

  After nearly an hour of voir dire, Kelly and Jason stepped into the hallway to consult with their clients. They huddled for a few minutes; then Kelly pulled Jason aside, out of earshot of the others.

  “We’ll go with it,” Kelly told him.

  Jason took a deep breath, and Kelly’s heart went out to him. Though Jason hadn’t shared any details about his conversations with his clients, it was obvious that Melissa Davids was not happy.

  “Thanks,” Jason said.

  “Let me go to the feds with you,” Kelly said. It was an offer she had already made, and Jason had already refused.

  Jason shook his head. “Part of the deal was that I go alone. There’s no use destroying more lives than we have to.”

  He had the same determined look in his eyes that he did on Friday night when they met at the Hilton. Jason had told Kelly about the attack in the parking lot and the way Luthor had blackmailed him in the case. Jason said that he had decided not to call Chief Poole to the stand. He suggested that he and Kelly settle the case. If they couldn’t agree on a settlement, Jason would move for a mistrial based on his own misconduct. Either way—settlement or not—he was going to blow the whistle on himself and go to the authorities.

  Later on Friday night, after her ocean swim, Kelly had reconciled herself to the fact that her past would be exposed. The one thing Luthor had demanded of her was that she refuse to settle. But her client’s best interest now demanded settlement—it was either that or face a mistrial motion from Jason that would undoubtedly be granted. Afterward, they would all be back at square one.

  But Jason had no authority to settle unless he could get his client to go along.

  Over the weekend, a slightly different plan evolved, fueled by the objective thinking of Brad Carson. Why not submit the case to the shadow jury? That way, both sides could get a fair resolution and they could still nail Justice Inc. for trying to blackmail the litigants in the real case.

  As the plan unfolded, Kelly began to trust Jason and decided to tell him in confidence about Luthor’s e-mails to her. She had offered to go the authorities with him, but Jason had been adamant that he wouldn’t settle the case if she did.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Jason insisted now, as the two lawyers stood alone in the hallway. “I kept two jurors on the panel who I knew would hurt my case. You didn’t do anything to hurt yours. Luthor wasn’t sabotaging your case; he was helping it. Why ruin your career too?”

  “But he was trying to manipulate it from both sides. His e-mails to me are still a crime.”

  “We’ve been over this, Kelly. Your duty is to your client. The terms of settlement I offered include you not going to the authorities unless your testimony is later deemed necessary to convict Robert Sherwood and Justice Inc.”

  He was right; they had gone over this ad nauseam last night. On this point, Jason would not budge. Kelly didn’t understand why he was so adamant about protecting her, but she couldn’t really fight it. The agreed-upon resolution was in the best interest of her client.

  “Okay,” she said with a sigh.

  “I’ll let everyone know we have a deal,” Jason said.

  They shook hands, and Kelly thanked him. He nodded grimly.

  Even in the best case, his reputation would be shattered. His green eyes had gone from piercing to resolved, the look of a martyr heading into the Coliseum. He seemed so much older to Kelly than when they had started the case. She felt a little ashamed at the way she had initially judged him and belittled him.

  “You tried a good case,” she said.

  “Not half as good as you.”

  * * *

  Kelly’s dad arrived at the hotel a few minutes later, and another round of introductions followed. The plan now was for Blake and Kelly to head back to the Virginia Beach courthouse and chat with reporters while the jury deliberated. They would be joined there by Melissa Davids, who would provide the media with plenty of ammunition from her side. Brad and Jason thought it would seem a little suspicious if every participant in the trial suddenly disappeared for the entire afternoon.

  The shadow jury would be monitored by Kelly’s dad, Bella, and Case McAllister. It was never explicitly stated, but everyone knew what Jason would be doing. It was time to turn state’s evidence and cut a deal.

  Kelly decided to stop at her hotel on the way to the courthouse. She wasn’t looking forward to another round of fending off reporters, especially when she needed to be careful not to say something inappropriate during jury deliberations. She figured she could spend a few minutes packing her stuff and watching the news coverage. She could grab a sandwich and eat lunch while
driving to court.

  She parked in the 31st Street garage, on the fourth floor. By now she knew the routine—she would walk down two flights of stairs and cross over the street on the covered concrete bridge that connected the parking garage to the hotel.

  She reached the stairwell at about the same time as a man from another spot on the fourth floor. He looked vaguely familiar—maybe one of the other regulars at the Hilton? He was wearing jeans, a Windbreaker, and a baseball cap with a ponytail hanging out the back.

  A Windbreaker? It was pushing ninety-five degrees.

  Kelly walked down the first flight of steps as quickly as her high heels would allow. The man followed close behind, literally breathing down her neck. If she kicked off her heels, she could surely out-sprint him. The man must have tipped the scales at 250.

  As she turned the corner to head down the next flight, he reached out and grabbed her arm. She gasped as he drew her next to him, face-to-face, a gun suddenly in her ribs.

  “Not a word,” he hissed.

  He yanked her toward the door that opened to the third level of the garage as a car came skidding around the corner. The back door flew open.

  Kelly screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “Shut up!” The gunman threw her in the backseat and climbed in behind her, catching her as she scrambled to get out the other side. The driver took off even before the door closed behind the beast beside her. The man’s bulk pinned Kelly against the door on her side, muffling her screams.

  He whipped his gun across her face and she felt her cheekbone crack.

  “Shut her up!” yelled the driver.

  The ponytailed man forced her face up against the side door, wrenching her arms behind her back so he could handcuff them. Once she was cuffed, he bore down on her with his full weight until she stopped squirming. She felt a needle in her neck and the world started spinning.

  The driver pulled into a parking spot and popped the trunk. Kelly tried to yell again, but her tongue wouldn’t cooperate. Her attackers were fading, spinning, zooming in and out of focus.

  Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she quit fighting it, her assailants’ words lost in a blur of scrambled noise and jumbled thoughts.

  * * *

  Rafael Johansen paid the cashier at the exit to the parking garage. He calmly made a left on Atlantic and another left on Laskin Road. Jason and Kelly had surprised him. Jason in particular. The little jerk had mustered the guts to defy Luthor and sacrifice his own reputation.

  The stupid kid had no way of knowing it would cost him his life.

  Johansen called Robert Sherwood and detected a hint of panic in the great man’s voice. Things had not exactly gone according to plan on the Crawford case.

  Johansen ended the call, checked his rearview mirror, and took a left into the deserted parking lot of the Surf and Sand movie theater. The yellowed signage on the large marquee still displayed its final message: Goodbye Surf and Sand. We will miss you. Love, the staff.

  Last week, the locals had told Johansen the place had been sitting vacant for the past eighteen months. The doors had been locked and chained.

  Johansen had scoped out the place two days ago. The parking lot was shielded by tall marsh grass and a wildlife area protected by the Chesapeake Bay Preservation Act. The theater was only a mile or so from the Hilton, set back from Laskin Road and bordered by the marsh on every side except the west end of the parking lot, which abutted the Purple Cow parking lot. Earlier today, using a bolt cutter and a crowbar, Johansen had pried open one of the back doors of the theater.

  He parked the car behind the building and took a final glance around. The car could only be seen from the marsh.

  Johansen opened the trunk, and a partner from his investigative firm, a large weight lifter named Tony Morris, lifted Kelly out and carried her into the abandoned theater building. Except for Johansen’s flashlight, the place was pitch black.

  They duct-taped Kelly to a seat in the front row directly in front of the big screen, gagged her with a cloth, and left to abduct their second victim.

  “How long before she comes out of it?” Johansen asked.

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Just in time for the feature show.”

  88

  It had already been a disastrous day before Olivia ushered Special Agent Billingsley of the FBI into Robert Sherwood’s office. The agent was short, stocky, and young. He had perfect posture and light blond hair clipped short. If Sherwood had met him on the street, he would have guessed West Point graduate.

  “Nice view,” Billingsley said, admiring the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Hudson River. “Do you ever find yourself taking it for granted?”

  “Have a seat,” Sherwood said, motioning toward the navy blue leather chair. “I’m a busy man, and I understand you’ve got some questions.”

  “Right.” Before Billingsley sat down, he placed a digital recorder on Sherwood’s desk. “Do you mind if I tape this?”

  Sherwood sighed. “No.”

  Billingsley took a seat and ran through a little intro for his recording—time, place, the consent of Robert Sherwood. Then he began his questions.

  “Does the name Luthor mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been following the Crawford trial in Virginia Beach?”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand that both Jason Noble and Kelly Starling at one time worked for you. Is that correct?”

  “Technically, no. They worked for two law firms in town. Justice Inc. was a client of those firms. But they did spend most of their time working on mock cases for our research department.”

  “Are you aware of any other clients either one of them had while supposedly working at these New York law firms?”

  This brought another big sigh from Sherwood. Why did they always have to play these cat-and-mouse games? “No.”

  “Are you aware of anything in either Mr. Noble’s or Ms. Starling’s past that might be used to blackmail or embarrass them?”

  Sherwood narrowed his eyes. “What’s this about?” he asked.

  “Somebody has been blackmailing Mr. Noble in the Crawford case and possibly manipulating jurors,” Billingsley said. He seemed to be watching Sherwood for any possible reaction. “We think it might be somebody with a lot of money at stake.”

  Sherwood scoffed at the implied accusation. “You think I’m blackmailing Jason Noble?”

  “I’m just asking questions,” Billingsley said.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Sherwood replied. “If I’m blackmailing Jason Noble, I’m doing a pitiful job of it.”

  * * *

  Jason was in his office, printing off e-mails and pulling together the documents he would need to present to the U.S. Attorney. He was supposed to be at Brad’s office by 2 p.m.

  In the conference room down the hall, Andrew Lassiter was doing the same thing. When Jason had told him he was spilling the beans on Justice Inc., Lassiter had wanted to help. “I can testify about all the data they collected on employees,” he told Jason. “I know for a fact they were checking your e-mails, tapping your phones, and all that.”

  At first, Jason hadn’t wanted to involve anyone other than himself. But Lassiter insisted, and Jason had to admit that his friend could provide a lot of corroborating evidence. Jason called Brad, who saw no downside in bringing Lassiter along.

  As he organized his evidence, Jason was consumed with thoughts about the fallout from his decision. What would happen to his dad? Detective Corey? What would LeRon’s father say? How could Jason face him?

  “Jason!”

  It was Andrew’s voice from the conference room, shattering the silence, startling Jason. It was followed by the sounds of a scuffle and another muffled shout.

  Jason grabbed his gun and bolted from his office, sprinting toward the conference room. When he turned the corner in the hallway, he stopped in his tracks. A large man with a ball cap and light blond hair had taken
Lassiter hostage and was using him as a shield, holding a gun to his temple. The big man’s hand was covering Lassiter’s mouth.

  “One more step and I shoot,” he said to Jason.

  Before Jason could react, he felt a blow to the back of his head. There was a flash of color, a kaleidoscope of sparks… and this time Jason’s world went dark.

  89

  Jason drifted in and out of the fog. Stray thoughts and nightmares tumbled together through the cobwebs of his mind. He heard voices at the end of a long tunnel and felt the intense pain of a pounding headache radiating from the back of his skull. His head felt like someone had it in a vise and was screwing it tighter and tighter as Jason regained consciousness. His mouth was dry as cotton.

  He felt something sting his cheek. Once. Twice. He flinched. Another slap.

  “Wake up, Boy Wonder.”

  He realized he was sitting in a chair. He blinked a few times into the darkness, trying to clear his head. Somebody pointed a bright light into his eyes—some kind of spotlight? He squinted and slit his eyes—a flashlight.

  He felt the sting of the next slap on his cheek, a hard shot with an open palm, and he shook his head. He tried to retaliate, but his wrists were handcuffed together in front of him. As he tried to stand up, a strong arm shot out and jammed him back into his seat. He couldn’t yell—they had stuffed something in his mouth; he could feel fabric on his tongue. A rag, maybe, held in place with some kind of tape wrapped around the back of his head.

  “Welcome back to reality,” a deep voice said. “Unfortunately for you, reality sucks.”

  Jason squinted to get his bearings. He was in an auditorium. A theater? It was dark except for the light shining directly in his eyes. He could make out the shadows of two figures behind the flashlight.

  He felt a gun barrel at the back of his skull.

  “That’s enough,” someone said. “He’s awake.” It was a softer voice. The person who had just spoken took the flashlight from the first man and placed it on the floor. He knelt in front of Jason.