Redeeming Justice_A Legal Thriller
Page 15
“Good luck with that one, buddy.”
“Why?”
“She has no fixed address, and nobody is going to tell you where to find her. You’ll have no luck locating her.”
“You must know something. Anything.”
“If I knew anything, Bill, I would tell you, but I don’t. Your best bet would be to look at one of Lewis’ homes. Maybe she’s there. What’s the rush?”
Without answering the question, Bill hangs up the phone and turns to Kate. “I want you to go straight away and get Connor. Go to your mother’s house. Don’t stop for anything. Once you’re at your mother’s house, don’t go out. Lock the doors, and keep Connor inside. This woman is dangerous, Kate, and she’s coming after you.”
“But Bill—”
“No, Kate. This isn’t the time to argue.”
As he talks, the phone buzzes in his pocket.
An unknown number.
If this is a telemarketer, Bill will tear them apart on the phone.
“Bill Harvey,” he answers.
“Bill Harvey, this is Michelle Hardgrave.”
“Michelle Hardgrave?” His eyes squint as he looks at Kate. “How can I help you?”
“I have a job for you. I need you to sign a document. Meet me at the Vincent Thomas bridge in thirty minutes. Bring a pen.”
Chapter 30
The bridge is only twenty-five minutes away by cab, and Bill wastes no time organizing a ride. This isn’t a time for a new Uber driver; this is a time for a life-long cabbie that knows the L.A. streets like the back of his hand. He throws a fifty at the cabbie and tells him to drive faster than he has ever driven before.
The back seat of the cab is dirty, smelly, and rotten, but that makes no difference now. His only focus is his destination.
Gripping the door tight, he stares out the window, trying to understand why Michelle Hardgrave would want to meet him at Vincent Thomas bridge.
It isn’t the place to assault someone. It isn’t the place to commit murder. If Michelle wanted to do that, she would have asked him to meet in a more secluded area, perhaps a warehouse. This is no quiet area.
But it also isn’t the place to conduct a public-style execution. Not enough people to witness the event. If she wanted that, she would have done it at the courthouse steps.
He feels safe but wary.
“Stop!” he yells to the cabbie as they approach the bridge. He jumps out of the car, tossing a few more notes into the front seat.
Standing at the end of the bridge, looking towards the swollen river below, is the lone figure of Michelle Hardgrave.
Her hair blows gently in the breeze, and for the first time, he sees the resemblance to her father. The same broad shoulders. The same lean legs.
Holding a piece of paper tightly, she stares out to the river. Cautiously, Bill approaches her.
“Michelle Hardgrave.”
Slowly, she turns from the river, looking at the man approaching. Her mini-skirt is old and dirty, her denim jacket the same.
“He isn’t a good man.” There is a reflection in her voice; the voice of a woman well-educated, but with the edge of someone who has lived their life on the streets.
“Your father did a lot of great things in this world, Michelle. He helped a lot of people.”
She looks back to the river. Her hair is brittle from dehydration, her skin looks the same. Her body looks like the water has been slowly sucked from it. She was a beautiful girl once, a girl with the world at her feet. Now, she looks ten years older than she is, some teeth missing, her eyes almost glowing yellow.
Only her blue and green love heart necklace looks well looked after.
“I was talking about Juan.”
“I can’t speak for Juan Lewis. I don’t know him.”
“He’s going to prison, isn’t he?”
“For a very long time, Michelle.”
Turning to face Bill, she looks contemplative, pensive – the same look that her father often had.
“He was a very horrible man as well.” Michelle scratches the part of her arm where needle tracks have broken the skin.
“Lewis?”
“No.” She shakes her head, avoiding eye contact. “This time I’m talking about my father. Andrew. He was a very horrible person. He got what was coming to him. He used to beat my mother and I. Constantly. Every second night he would drink too much, and he would beat her first, and when I was old enough to try and stop him, he would beat me second. I went to school so many times with bruises and black eyes, but nobody said anything. Why would nobody say anything? Why wouldn’t somebody help me?”
“I don’t know, Michelle.”
“He tried to hide it. He tried to cover it up. I bet he never told anyone of how bad he really was. Under all that public goodwill, he was a despicable man at home.”
“He told me.” Bill steps closer to Michelle, wary of her instability. “He regretted what he did to you and your mother more than anything. It ate him up inside. He worked so hard to make up for those mistakes.”
“Mistakes? It was more than that. It was more than just a mistake. His behavior ruined my life. Ruined it. That’s more than just a mistake. That’s the behavior of an evil man.”
“He knew he did wrong. He talked to me about it, Michelle. He was so sorry for what he did. He regretted it every day of his life. He hated himself for doing that to you, and all he wanted in those final years was for you to be happy.”
The emotions of the beaten teenage girl, the emotions that she has never let go of, come flooding back, filling her with rage, hatred, and fear. She doesn’t have the energy to fight it anymore, she doesn’t have to power to be strong and hold it back. The tears well in eyes as she grips the fence in front of them.
For so long, she avoided the emotions. She tried to mask them with constant hits of heroin, but all that did was sink her further into a pit of self-loathing.
“I never forgave him.” She sighs, shaking her head and sniffing away the tears. “Never. I never wanted to forgive him either. That hatred was a part of me. I couldn’t let that go; it was a part of my identity. Instead of hating myself, I could hate him. I could use all that energy to hate him. He was still evil in my eyes.”
She scratches the other arm, desperate to avoid looking Bill in the eye.
“People can redeem themselves, Michelle. Your father spent the last ten years of his life trying to redeem himself. He tried to help so many people, me included, so he could leave a better mark on this world. He wanted to leave this world a good man, not an evil one.”
“No matter how much good he did in this world, he damaged mine beyond repair. I have spent my entire adult life addicted to one thing or another, trying to escape the pain of a father who didn’t love me. He didn’t love me. Why couldn’t he love me?” Bill doesn’t answer. “I tried to forget it, but I couldn’t. It destroyed me. He used to beat me all the time. How could someone do that?”
He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he moves closer, wary of her nervousness. “Why did you call me out here, Michelle?”
“I needed a lawyer. Isn’t that what you do?”
“Yes, but what for?”
Michelle starts to unroll the piece of paper in her hand. “It’s my will. I need a lawyer to sign it, and I knew that my father was close to you. I figured you would help me because you knew my father. That’s why I needed you to come here.”
“Why here? Why not my office?”
“This is the last place Mom walked before she went into hospital. She never left hospital after that. This was the last place she walked free before she died of cancer.” She wipes another tear away. “She loved bridges. She loved this place. She loved the breeze in her hair and the sun on her shoulders. She felt free here. This was her place of peace. Her place to escape him.” She draws a long breath. “She was the only person to ever love me.”
“Your father loved you,” Bill adds. “He loved you more than anything.”
“He did?” Her voice
is desperate. “But he was horrible to me. How could you beat someone that you love?”
Bill can’t answer that question. He doesn’t understand it either. “He regretted his past so much, Michelle. He hated what he did to you and your mother. He used to talk to me about you. He would bring out photos of you, and there was love in his eyes, a smile on his face. His favorite photo was you dressed up as lion for your elementary school play. You looked so cute.”
“He still had that photo?”
“Next to his bed.”
That brings a smile to Michelle’s face. “I remember that day. I was so nervous before the play, and Dad gave me a great big hug and said everything would be fine. That was one of the only times I really felt his love.”
“All he wanted was your forgiveness and your health. He wanted you to be happy.”
“I know that… now.” She pauses again; looking out to the flow of water in front of them. “I finally realize that. The court case made me realize that. All this time I hated him, and he loved me. And now…” She goes to say the words that she has never been able to say. The words catch in her throat.
Bill waits, providing her all the time she needs.
“I… I forgive him.”
A strong ray of sunshine pokes through the gray clouds, a sign from the heavens above.
“I forgive him.” A lone tear slowly rolls down her cheek. “It seems so strange to say that. After all those years of hate, after all that anger, I forgive him. That forgiveness only came to me today. I finally picked up the paper and read his obituary. I had it with me for months, but I couldn’t bring myself to read it. Today, I read about all the good he had done in the world. All the lives he has changed. All the people he has helped. And I realized that I’m just being one selfish little girl. It’s time for me to forgive him. I have been holding onto that hate for so long, and now I almost feel free.”
“Almost?”
She rubs her arm and looks away again. “Almost. There are other things that have trapped me these days.”
“Heroin?”
She nods, ashamed. “But this, this hatred, it consumed me. And… now, finally, it’s gone. It’s gone.”
“Forgiveness can set you free.”
“Do you know what it’s like to be hurt by someone that you love so much?”
“I do.”
“And did you forgive them?”
“I did.” He looks to the water, leaning on the handrail. “My brother, Jonathon, became addicted to drugs in his late teens. Heroin. It tore our family apart. He stole from us, abused us, and even hit my dear old mother. Gave her a black eye. After that, I beat him into the ground and told him to leave the house and never return. He did that. That was twenty years ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Do you think he’s still addicted to drugs?”
“I hope not. I forgave him for everything that he did a long, long time ago. I only want the best for him now.”
Michelle looks to Bill and whispers, “I just wanted him to love me. I wanted…” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“What’s in the will, Michelle?” As always, Bill stops the emotive conversation from digging too far into past hurts.
Michelle looks at the paper in her hands. “After my father’s death, I inherited ten million dollars. That was what the old man left me. Ten million dollars. I guess it was his way of saying sorry. I downloaded this standard will form from a website, and filled in the blanks. It says I need a lawyer to witness it, so that’s why I need you to sign it. I need to make sure that the money goes to the right place after I die.”
She shoves the piece of paper into Bill’s hands.
Carefully, in the gently blowing breeze, he opens the piece of paper and reads it.
“You’re donating the money to The East Rehabilitation Center? The one that Carlos works at? And to the other drug rehab center down the road?”
“That’s right. Five million dollars each.”
“No one else?”
“No. It’s my time for redemption.” She scratches her arm again. “It’s my time to let go of the past, and make sure that money goes where it’s needed.”
He stares at her, hard and cold.
“Was it the money that made you pull the trigger?”
Her head turns suddenly towards him, surprised by the question. “Sign the paper.” She gestures towards the will. “And then I’ll answer any questions you have.”
He reads every word on the page carefully, adding his signature where required, and leans the paper on his lap as he signs.
“I need you to sign here.” He leaves an ‘x’ on the page.
Quickly, she scribbles her name on the page and hands the paper back to him. “I want you to keep it on file for when my time comes.”
He nods and folds the piece of paper in half.
“Was it the money, Michelle? Is that why you shot your father?”
“No.” She shakes her head, brushing her hair back from her face. “For Juan, it was about the money. He knew that I would have gotten a lot of money from my father’s death. He knew how much that old man was worth.”
“Then why did you shoot him?”
“Revenge. Freedom. A chance to leave an old life behind.” She looks back to the water flowing gently under the bridge. The sun glistens off the little waves in the water, creating a sense of peace in her. “When I looked him in the eyes and pulled the trigger, I thought that I would have felt some sort of satisfaction. I had dreamt about it for years. So many years. Freedom from my abuser. I wanted so much to shoot him. Every time Juan made me go to his house and meet him, I just wanted to shoot him. I imagined that over and over. I wanted to watch him suffer so badly.”
“But?”
“But I felt nothing. I didn’t feel anything. It wasn’t the freedom that I craved. It was nothing. He didn’t argue, he didn’t even fight back. I had the gun to his head, and he just sat there, almost a smile on his face, and he said that he loves me. That’s when I shot him. I expected that moment would bring me freedom, but I felt nothing.”
“Where are you going to find that freedom, Michelle?”
“At the end of that road.” She nods to the other side of the bridge, but her reference confuses Bill. “Hold onto that will, Bill Harvey. Drug addicts like me don’t generally live that long.”
“If you find freedom, you may surprise yourself and live for a very long time.”
“I know where my freedom is.” She begins to walk away from Bill, across the bridge. Despite the lack of pedestrian access, she walks along the side, out of the way of the cars.
Bill watches her for a while, her steps small, her head held high, and her shoulders back. From this angle, he would never guess she was a drug addict.
Her walk looks free.
Loose.
Happy, almost.
But as she walks across the bridge, she stops halfway. Awkwardly, she climbs upwards, up the tall metal structure.
The reality of the situation becomes clear.
“Michelle! No!”
Frantically, he runs towards her, across the bridge.
By the time he makes it to her, she’s halfway up the towering bridge, too far for him to reach.
“Michelle! No! Michelle!”
“This is my freedom,” she calls back down to him. “This is my chance to be free from all the pain. This is what I have wanted for so long. I want to be free.”
“No, Michelle! There is another way! Let me help you. Please! Come down!”
She smiles as she looks down at him. “You can’t help me, but hold onto that will. It will help so many people. That’s my redemption.”
“No!”
Slowly, Michelle Hardgrave steps her right foot forward…
With the sorrow of a girl who will never escape her addiction, she falls towards the water.
Arms wide, hair flowing, smile on her face.
Finally, she is free.
Epilogue
“Could you be any more of a stereotype?” Kate laughs as she stands in the doorway to his office.
“Just enjoying life’s finer things, Kate.” He takes a puff of his cigar. “We’re very lucky people, you and I. Despite everything that life has thrown at us, our lives are very good. We live happy, meaningful lives that help make a difference in the world.”
“Cigars always make you philosophical.” Kate grins again, her slight figure leaning on the doorframe. With her arms folded, and her hair flowing free, she looks a picture of good health and good will.
He so desperately wants this moment to be at his house, her standing in the bedroom door, after a long day of work, husband and wife smiling at each other.
“Kate—”
“Can I ask you something, Bill?” She steps into the room and quietly shuts the door behind her.
“Go on.” He draws another puff of his cigar. “But remember you’re talking to ‘Philosophical Bill’.”
“Of course.” She smiles and sits down. “Did Michelle Hardgrave kill her father? After her death, Juan Lewis is claiming that it wasn’t him that pulled the trigger. He’s blaming Michelle for pulling the trigger. Is he just trying to get off the charges, or is there truth in what he’s saying?”
“Who knows?” Bill lies. “But if Michelle did kill her father, then she wouldn’t have been entitled to the inheritance. It would be the fortitude ruling, and because she received the inheritance as a result of her crime, she wouldn’t have received a cent. Her will would be invalid.”
“Where would the money have gone then?”
“Back to the estate. Then who knows where the money would have gone? There would have been legal battles for years over that money. But this way, with Juan Lewis charged with Judge Hardgrave’s death, her inheritance goes to people it can help. I don’t think anyone is going to argue over that.”
“So just because the money has gone to good use, we should just forget about it?”