Counsel (Counsel #1)

by Shenda Paul

  "Do you think they’ll agree?"

  "Silvio’s and Enzo’s attorneys should see the benefits."

  "What do you think of Travis Jones?"

  "He’s built a formidable reputation in divorce and family law, but I think he’ll be out of his depth with this trial. If either he or Joseph had any sense, they'd appoint Bryce as lead counsel with him as second-chair. Bryce is a very good attorney."

  "Who's lost almost every one of his cases against you," she remarks dryly.

  "His overall track record’s good. As for his record against me, I’ve told him he chooses lousy clients. Anyway, back to your question about how we approach these trials. There are so many related to this case; I've been thinking that you and I should work on the Cordi brothers' cases and get Tess to second-chair for me on the smaller ones," I suggest, watching carefully as she processes what I’ve just said before continuing.

  "Or, if you like, I could suggest to the DA that you prosecute the Moretti, McGill and Barnes trials and have Tess second-chair on the Cordi cases. It would be a great opportunity for you."

  "You'd do that?" she asks incredulously.

  "Of course, why wouldn’t I?"

  "I don’t know…." She hesitates, looking unsure.

  "You underestimate yourself, Jodi."

  She purses her lips thoughtfully. "No. I prefer to second-chair on the Cordi cases," she says.

  "You can do it," I insist, my tone a cross between chastisement and encouragement.

  "I appreciate your confidence in me, truly, and if we were working on any other case, I'd probably jump at the offer, but I’ve spent so much time preparing for the brothers’ trials that I’m personally invested. Also, it means a lot to Jon to have Joseph brought to justice, so I want to play a part in making that happen."

  Most prosecutors would leap at the opportunity to lead a case, especially one related to such a high-profile one as the Cordi trial. It speaks volumes about Jodi's integrity and commitment and also her feelings for Jon that she’s refused. I admire her decision.

  "Fine, but I’ll need you to concentrate solely on the brothers' cases; we can't afford the time and attention it would take to have you seconding on the smaller ones as well. If you'd prefer that Tess not be involved, I'm happy to suggest someone else to Bristly."

  "Adam, it's fine. Really," she adds at my skeptical look. "I think it's a wonderful idea, she’s smart and good at her job; besides, she’s familiar with the cases, which I’m sure you considered."

  "That’s generous of you given your experience with her. I'll try and see Bristly today, and I'll confirm it with you and Tess once I get the go ahead.

  "And Jodi, I’m personally thrilled to have you see the brothers’ trials through with me," I say as she turns to leave. She smiles at me bashfully over her shoulder.

  By six p.m., we’ve still not received word from the jury. Jodi decides to leave for the evening, and I'm left feeling strangely restless. As if drawn by a magnet, I return to the folder of information on Angelique. It's still a mystery to me why, given the kind of money she earned at Liaison, she's living in such a modest building in an equally modest neighborhood. I don’t know why exactly, but the knowledge that she hasn’t used that income to build a lavish lifestyle comforts me.

  About half an hour later, I receive notification that the jury’s been sequestered for another night. Given my inability to concentrate, I decide that I might as well go home. On the way, I realize that I’m close to the ballet studio I’d only just read about. I don’t miss the irony in the fact that I travel this route to and from work every day. I'm not sure whether it's whim or compulsion that drives my decision, but I pull into a nearby parking spot.

  I pace outside the building for what seems like ages before knocking on the front door. No one answers, not that I have any idea what the hell I'd say if someone did respond. My brain urges me to leave, but my body refuses to obey. I wander around to the side of the building instead, surprising myself at the relief I feel at discovering another entrance. I ring the bell as the sign instructs but get no response. I try the door, equally shocked and excited when it opens, and enter after only a moment’s hesitation. A man, probably in his seventies, is dusting the counter in the small, dimly lit reception area.

  "Can I help you?" he asks, eyes narrowing at the sight of me.

  "Is the studio still open?" I gesture toward the closed door from which the distinct sound of classical music can be heard.

  "We shut at six. That's Miss Angelique; she dances here most nights."

  "Oh," my heart lurches, then speeds up erratically. "Is she teaching?"

  "She doesn’t teach since the trial mess. Parents complained…dumb people …she's good to the bone that lass." He makes a disgusted sound, and then peers at me closely. "I know you…you here to make more trouble for her?" he asks sharply. "'Cause if you are, old as I am, I'll kick your ass, lad."

  "I'm not here to make trouble," I assure him, touched by his protectiveness.

  "I've gotta go, my daughter will be wondering about me. You can stay and wait, but if I find out you upset or hurt her, I know were to find you," he threatens before shuffling off.

  "And if you leave before her, make sure you slip the latch on the side door. I don't want her here on her own with the door unlocked," he orders over his shoulder.

  "Yes, sir," I reply, ecstatic at being allowed to stay.

  "Murphy... Declan Murphy. Remember what I said," he warns, still-keen, blue eyes bore into mine from his deeply lined face.

  "I'm not here to make trouble for Ms. Bain, Mr. Murphy, I promise." He nods tersely and finally walks off. I stare at the closed door for long moments, listening to the haunting music before finding the courage to gently ease it open; my heart all but stops at the sight of her.

  She's dressed in something black that covers her arms and legs and molds to her body, showing every lithe curve. She's exquisite in her grace, and I'm spellbound, witnessing what I only recently read about. Even if like me, one’s not crazy about ballet, it's impossible not to feel a deep sense of awe watching Angelique dance. Her performance, now, is achingly haunting, echoing the somewhat melancholic music.

  She's totally immersed, unaware of my presence. I carefully shut the door and move into the shadows. The back of the room where I’m standing is bathed darkness; the front, where she's dancing, dimly lit. She moves effortlessly, seemingly floating to the strains of the music. It's apparent that she can still dance, that the horrific accident hasn’t completely robbed her of the ability; so why, I wonder, didn’t she return to performing?

  She lowers herself gracefully into a prone position as the music fades, and then rises to her feet moments later to turn off the sound. Walking over to the wall, she raises an arm; I suspect to turn up the lights. I step back, suddenly realizing just how far I’ve intruded on her privacy and how my actions could be misinterpreted. This is the wrong place, the wrong time and definitely the wrong way to approach her. I turn quickly to open the door.

  "Hello?" her husky voice calls out nervously. "Declan?" she says more loudly. I hate that I've scared her, but I can't announce my presence. I let the door swing shut as quietly as I can before hurrying to the side door. I make sure to slip the latch before I leave.

  It’s no surprise when I wake in the early hours and in a state of arousal from yet another dream. My dreams, like my mind and body, remain a jumbled mess. This time, my visions started off with snippets of the dance routine I witnessed earlier and ended with the same dream I had before, the one of me arriving home to find her asleep in my bed. Without ever having touched her, or even having a meaningful conversation with her, Angelique Bain has managed to turn me inside out… emotionally and physically. I can't remember ever having feelings of such deep tenderness, passion or lust for anyone as those she evokes in my dreams.

  Like the time before, I leap into a long, cold shower, and despite how desp
erately my body clamors for sexual release, I stubbornly refuse to take myself in hand. The memory of what I put her through on the stand, and the thought of what she’d been subjected to at the hands of other men quickly douses any residual lust. I won’t ever do that without her knowledge or permission, I tell myself.

  I’ve never, in situations like this, denied myself release, but as I roughly towel myself dry, I concede that I’m in for a world of sexual frustration. I also admit that I no longer know what the fuck I'm doing.

  .

  .

  "Are you sure about this?" I ask as Jon, Jodi and I discuss his Texas trip.

  "If what we've been told checks out, then yes. It seems that a girl matching Maria’s description may have been taken to the property in Laredo that Mick O’Flaherty leased for three months before her disappearance. I’d hazard a guess that they used the place as a base to plan and execute her kidnapping and then kept her there until they could safely move her."

  "You say O'Flaherty was spotted in Laredo around that time; do we have reliable witnesses?"

  "Several people in town claim they saw both him and Perez, and the wife of the old caretaker on the property says she saw Perez. Just before she spotted him, O'Flaherty informed her husband that he no longer needed the place cleaned. He paid him a bonus for them not to come up to the house, saying he was a writer and didn’t want to be disturbed. They didn’t question it, but the wife grew suspicious when she went to retrieve something from the shed and saw Perez carry what appeared to be a young woman or child into the house. She thought the girl was sick the way her head was hanging, so she crept up each day to try and see something.

  She caught another glimpse of the girl lying on the sofa. She knocked on the door and told O'Flaherty she'd accidently seen a child who looked sick and offered to help. He said it was just his agent who'd dropped by with his daughter to see how the book was coming along; the girl had suffered a bout of food poisoning but felt well enough for them to travel back home earlier that day. The woman thought no more of it until we turned up asking questions."

  "Did she recognize Maria from her photo… and what about O’Flaherty and Perez?"

  "She ID'd the men, but couldn't be one hundred percent sure about Maria. Her face was turned away when she saw her, but she confirmed the girl had the same coloring and hair as Maria. The old man also identified O'Flaherty; he didn't see Perez."

  "Anything else?" Jodi presses.

  "A border patrol officer was murdered at the Colombia Bridge crossing on the night of Maria’s abduction. We're still working with Laredo police to investigate whether his murder is related to Maria's disappearance, but it's a distinct possibility; the timing and Perez's MO fits."

  "Do you have a handle on O'Flaherty and Perez’s whereabouts?"

  "It appears they received a tip-off that we discovered their hideout and moved on; our leads point to them being in either Santa Fe or Phoenix, and they've probably taken Maria with them. We're working with the authorities in both states to trace them."

  "You know what this could mean, don't you?" I ask.

  "I think so, but why don't you tell me just in case I'm wrong," Jon replies.

  "If either O'Flaherty or Perez is proven responsible for the guard’s murder, Texas will request their extradition. And if it turns out that Joseph ordered or hired them to commit a crime, which resulted in murder, then under Texas law, he can also be charged with murder; and murder, as we know, still attracts the death penalty in that state."

  "What do we do?" Jodi questions.

  "We get Joseph, his brothers and their cohorts convicted and give the people of Massachusetts the justice they deserve. Jon will continue his investigations, and if Joseph and his minions were responsible for that guard’s murder, and the Texas authorities seek extradition, we would already have achieved our goal. We leave the rest to the relevant authorities."

  "Adam?" Bec pops her head into my office. "We’ve heard from the jury.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  "The jury has reached an impasse," Judge Bolton informs us.

  "How does the verdict currently stand, Your Honor?" I ask.

  "Guilty; ten to two," he says.

  "Will the court be declaring a mistrial, Your Honor?" Tom asks, barely containing his excitement.

  "Not quite yet, Mr. Martin. I've asked you and Mr. Thorne here to advise you of the current status and to let you know I intend issuing the Allen charge."

  Tom looks unhappy but stops short of arguing. His desire to have a mistrial declared is understandable because other than being found innocent, Justin’s best chance of walking free would be through the declaration of a mistrial, and that hope has just been dashed. There’s nothing more either Tom or I can do, except wait to hear the result of the jury’s further deliberations. We leave the judge’s chamber without exchanging a word.

  Back at the office, Bec walks in during my debriefing to Jodi.

  "What’s it all mean?" she asks.

  "Well, as you know, criminal cases require a unanimous verdict to gain a conviction. The jury’s been unable to reach a unanimous decision, and Judge Bolton is probably, as we speak, issuing them with the Allen charge, which dates back to eighteen ninety-six when the courts ruled that a judge had the right to encourage deliberations to continue until a unanimous verdict is reached," I tell her.

  "So, it’s good for us?" Bec sounds hopeful.

  "It could be; but we all know how unpredictable a jury can be," Jodi replies, causing Bec to scowl.

  "Come on, I’ll buy you both a quick lunch at the hole-in-the-wall," I offer.

  When we return, I keep busy and try not to think about the jury situation. I, especially, try not to think about Angelique, but my unconscious refuses to cooperate. It keeps returning to the vision of her dancing and what Declan Murphy said about her no longer being able to teach. It upsets me that she’s been singled out for vilification. Mostly, I hate that I played a role in shining the unwelcome spotlight on her.

  No matter how justified my actions were, the fact is, that unless her financial circumstances have changed, she could find herself in the same situation that drove her into Joseph Cordi’s world. The thought of that nearly drives me crazy.

  "Thank you so much, Adam," Tess gushes from my doorway, bringing me back to the present. The DA readily agreed to my plans for managing the Cordi prosecutions. She was out of the office when I popped in to see her earlier, so I emailed her the news instead.

  "It's no problem, and I'm not doing you any favors, Tess. You're good at what you do."

  "After my behavior, I really didn't expect that either you or Jodi would want to work with me again. She's okay with this?"

  "Jodi’s perfectly fine, in fact, she spoke in your favor. She's a good person and only wants what's best for this case."

  "I'll thank her too, Adam, I promise," she says, looking suitably embarrassed.

  "I’m glad to hear that. I'll get Jodi to forward everything she has on the Moretti, McGill and Barnes cases to you. You’ll at least have all the background information in case we get summoned to court," I say. "I’ll ask Bec to set up a time for you, Jodi and I to meet to discuss trial preparations."

  Approximately five hours after we left Judge Bolton's chambers, we’re back in court. Cynthia, Mrs. Wade and Joshua are present and looking tense. I had Bec call as soon as we were notified, and now Mom, Cait, Matt and Jon are sitting directly behind Jodi and me. Dad, I’ve been told, is at a job site, too far away to get here on time.

  The room is packed to the rafters. I have no idea how all of these people found out about the pending verdict and how they’ve managed to make it here on time.

  "Please rise…" The announcement everyone’s been waiting for finally comes, and the room comes to its feet. Once protocols are dispensed with, the foreperson hands a slip of paper to the clerk, who, in turn, gives it to Judge Bolton. He reads the contents i
mpassively. The atmosphere, already heavy with anticipation, becomes more charged as he raises his head.

  "Madam Foreperson, has the jury reached a verdict?" he asks for the benefit of the court.

  "We have not, Your Honor. We remain deadlocked," she replies. The room erupts, and Judge Bolton bangs his gavel loudly as he calls for order. When quiet is restored, I request a jury poll; the result delivered is eleven findings of guilty to one not guilty. Whispers start up again, and court is once more called to order. Judge Bolton takes some moments to deliberate before delivering his ruling.

  "The case against Justin John Wade is dismissed without prejudice on the grounds of a mistrial."

  I automatically glance over to see Tom’s reaction. He scowls as the significance of the ruling sinks in. I, on the other hand, despite being deeply disappointed, feel a degree of relief. Jodi looks up at me with a look of pure dismay.

  Judge Bolton had two choices in declaring a mistrial, to dismiss the case either with or without prejudice. Generally speaking, if a case is dismissed with prejudice, it indicates misconduct on the part of the prosecution and is, in effect, a sentence of not guilty. A dismissal without prejudice, however, means that the defendant can be retried at the prosecution’s discretion.

  Jodi and I leave as soon as the room clears to join my family and Jon who are waiting just outside the entrance. I hug and thank Mom for coming. Cait embraces me tightly as she, like Mom’s just done, commiserates at the outcome. Matt claps me on the shoulder. "You did an awesome job, you deserved to win."

  "What will you do?" Jon asks, knowing exactly what the ruling means.

  "Counselor…" a deep voice interrupts before I can respond. We turn as one to face the newcomer.

  "I hoped for a different verdict, but I wanted to tell you that you did a great job. I’m especially thankful for some of the things you got Wade to admit publicly," Samuel, Angelique’s friend, says, extending his hand.