Javier Mitchell stood in line, arms by his side, the dull orange jumpsuit uniform loose on his body. He could smell his own stench. He hadn’t showered in days. His uniform was itchy, scratching at his skin, and his feet were tired, squashed into the prison shoes that were two sizes too small. He struggled to hold down the vomit that threatened to come out, and his hands were constantly shaking.
The line in the mess hall moved forward. There were potatoes and peas on the menu, there always were, and Javier couldn’t identify the third substance. It was a sloppy brown lumpy liquid. Javier could barely think about it. He picked up the tray and moved a step forward in the line.
When Javier first arrived in Longford, he never expected the hatred some had for his cultural background. The youngest son of an American father and Mexican mother, he traveled to work for his uncle, who owned a burger restaurant. Thanks to his father’s birthplace, he had an American passport, and he wanted to spread his wings and live the American dream. The mega-cities didn’t appeal to him much, and he thought Longford was a good place to begin his adult life.
When he arrived five months earlier, his Uncle Thomas warned him about Longford. He said a small group of people would hate him and warned him to steer well clear of them. He said never retaliate, no matter how bad the abuse became. Javier did his best to keep his head down, flipping burgers by night and studying business and economics at an online school by day. His cousin introduced him to several friends, and he settled in, living in the back room of his uncle’s restaurant.
Longford seemed nice most of the time, but it was on the streets, where people drove past and yelled cultural slurs at him, that his heart broke. After a month of random abuse, he told his uncle he’d work for a year in the restaurant to save up enough money to buy a car and drive west to California. It was in the west that he hoped to find a place to settle forever.
“What are you looking at?” A bald, shorter man in front of Javier turned around. He had tattoos all over his body, and on the side of his neck, Javier spotted a small Nazi swastika tattoo tucked in amongst other marks. “I can smell you looking at me. I can smell your eyes.”
Javier didn’t respond, despite the temptation to tell the man that his sentence didn’t make sense. If he thought the back streets of Longford were bad, the men behind the prison walls were proving to be a lot worse. The Marline County prison was home to murderers, rapists, and petty thieves, all lumped in together. The one-level prison was built in the 1970s, and even then, it was outdated. Everywhere in the building smelled the same—a mixture of mold, sewage, and body odor all rolled into one pungent aroma. The cement walls were painted a dull gray, the cells were tight and narrow, and the ventilation was non-existent in some parts.
The justice process had been a whirlwind. His arrest, the bond hearing, and his Preliminary Hearing passed in a blur. He didn’t understand what was happening. The people in power, the people who hated him, wasted little time before they decided to send Javier behind bars.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s a harmless little doll.” It was a new Mexican prisoner behind Javier. The man was short, stocky, and had a round face. “I’m Carlos.”
“Javier.” He moved another step closer to the brown sludge that was to be his lunch.
“I’ve heard about you, Javier. You murdered Chad Townsend. That’s upset a lot of people back here.” Carlos rolled something around in his mouth. “You’ve got to be careful back here. Being by yourself will mean you’ll end up dead before you even make it to trial. And you’re good-looking. Boy, you could’ve made it in Hollywood. Look at those brooding looks. That’s not going to help you back here. Trust me. I’ve spent the last ten years in and out of places like this.”
Javier nodded.
His uncle came to visit him the day after he was arrested. He told him to keep his head down, stay out of trouble, and not join any gangs. Prison was a criminal university, he said, where good people entered, and gang members exited. But Javier’s first two weeks in prison had already consisted of five beatings. A purple bruise covered his ribs. It hurt to turn left. If he didn’t pledge his alliance to the other Mexicans behind bars, the beatings would increase in regularity. Joining them was the only way to survive.
“You look too fresh to be in here.” A prisoner slopped a lump of mashed potatoes onto Javier’s tray. The man winked at him. “But don’t worry. That won’t last long. You’ll lose your innocence quick enough. We’ll make sure of that.”
Javier stepped closer to the brown sludge, and he wasn’t sure if it was food or sewage that he could smell.
“Everyone’s got a story.” Carlos stayed close to his new friend as they moved along the line. “What’s your story?”
Javier didn’t say anything in response.
“Like that, uh? Well, we’ve got lots of time to get to know each other. The five of us Mexicans have to stick together.” Carlos nodded to another man behind him. “This is Al. He’s the muscle for the Mexicans back here. You’ll want to stay on his good side.”
Al was tall, thick, and had tattoos running up his neck and across his jaw. He had two teardrop tattoos under his eye. Javier nodded to Al.
“I was just put back in here last night. Breaking and entering. Been in here a few times, though.” Carlos accepted the lumpy mashed potatoes from the server. “If I’d known you looked so innocent, I would’ve found you and told you to get out of Longford and never come back. I wish someone told me that when I first arrived.”
Javier nodded. He put his tray out for the peas. A step closer to the brown sludge.
“Heard you got a good lawyer,” Carlos continued. “A big-city lawyer that’ll get you out of here. How’d you afford that?”
“I didn’t. He’s doing it as a favor for someone.”
“Look at that!” Carlos slapped him on the back. “The kid can talk!”
Javier nodded again. The sludge was next.
“But I’ll tell you something, even if that lawyer is a magician, he’s got a hard job ahead of him. Unless he’s got evidence to prove you’re innocent, you’re never walking out of here. There’s no way they’d let that happen,” Carlos continued. “I was innocent the first time Richardson arrested me as well. This time I did it, but the first time they locked me up, I was totally innocent. They said I robbed a guy and beat him within an inch of his life, but I didn’t do it. Being back here toughened me up. Taught me new skills. Back here, it’s a different world. You’ve got to do what you have to do to survive.” He tapped the teardrop tattoo under his eye. “When’s your trial?”
“Soon.”
“Don’t say much, eh?”
Javier nodded. He held out his tray and the brown sludge was lumped onto it by the next server. Javier swallowed hard, struggling to keep the vomit down.
“Stick close to us, Javier. There are people in here that’ll beat you for your skin color. The Aryan Brotherhood are strong in this prison.” Carlos looked over his shoulder. “Don’t trust anyone but us. If you killed the Townsend kid, then there’ll be people after you. Don’t even trust the guards. Those pricks will want to make you pay, and they have the power to do it.” Carlos pointed to the guards. “But if you join us, we’ll make sure they can’t touch you.”
Javier swore to his uncle that he wouldn’t join a gang in prison, but he was starting to realize that he had little choice.
Chapter 4
In the prison meeting room, surrounded by unsympathetic concrete walls, Tex Hunter waited as Javier Mitchell was escorted in by two prison guards. Javier kept his eyes down the entire time, refusing to give anyone eye contact, his black hair falling over his face. He didn’t move as the guards uncuffed him. The meeting room was spacious, almost large enough for an echo, and the air was stale and heavy, used up and burned out by the summer heatwave. There was one small window near the top of the wall, only one door, and one air vent. The table was metal and screwed to the ground, as were the chairs. They were uncomfortable, at best.
&n
bsp; Originally picked up by the public defense lawyer, Javier’s case had barely progressed at all. According to the notes, the Preliminary Hearing was brief, and the public defender did little to help Javier. When Hunter requested the case, the public defender took a further five days to get back to him, but then threw the matter to him without any additional questions. Hunter had talked to Javier twice via conference call, however, this was his first face-to-face meeting.
“Javier Mitchell.” Hunter offered his hand to shake. “My name is Tex Hunter, the lawyer you’ve been speaking to over the phone.”
“Hello.” Javier shuffled forward and shook Hunter’s hand. His palms were sweaty. “Thanks for everything.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t dealt with the case yet.” Hunter had his briefcase on the ground next to him and several files stacked on the table. “There’s a long way to go, and by the end of it, you might not be thanking me.”
Javier nodded, a blank expression on his face. His breathing was shallow.
“As we discussed over the phone, I’m doing this case pro bono, which means there’s no cost to you.” Hunter sat down on the warm metal chair. “As you’re my client, I’ll be working to achieve the best outcome for this case, and it may include discussing a deal with the prosecution. I need you to be honest and forthcoming with your knowledge about what happened the night Chad Townsend died.”
“They’ve said you’re a good lawyer.” Javier finally raised his eyes to look at Hunter. “They said you might get me out. Lots of people have been talking about you.”
“I have a lot of experience,” Hunter said. “Usually, my fees for this sort of case run into the hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“So why are you doing this for free?”
“A friend of your mother asked me for help. Someone in Puerto Vallarta, your home city.” Hunter drew a long breath. “That person has information I need about an old case.”
Javier didn’t respond. He was skinny, only a few months past his twenty-first birthday, and had the sort of face many young women would fawn over. His eyes were dreamy, his jaw was square, and his black hair was luscious. His Hollywood good looks helped him in the outside world, but in prison, they were proving to be a nightmare.
“Javier, I’ll be blunt. I’m not going to string you along. I need to win this case.” Hunter leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But this isn’t an easy case to win. The prosecution had offered a deal of fifteen years in prison for an early guilty plea, but, according to the files, you’ve rejected the offer. They’ve said they won’t make another offer. It’s already a difficult situation, but what makes this case even worse is that they’ve charged you with the murder of the city’s super jock. On top of that, Chad Townsend’s father owns the main mechanic shop in the city, and Chad’s mother is a social queen bee of the local scene. The Townsend family is revered in this city.” Hunter paused and then chose his words carefully. “And things happen differently in small cities.”
Javier nodded. He was beginning to realize that.
“I’m not going to ask you if you did it or not, because it may limit what I’m able to say in court. Although we’re covered by the attorney-client privilege, I can’t, and won’t, lie for you in court, so the truth may limit what I’m able to say. If you murdered Chad Townsend, you’re under no obligation to tell me,” Hunter said, holding his pen in his hand. “But I need you to tell me everything you remember about the night of June 25th, the night Chad Townsend died. We’ve got a lot of time on our hands, so take a deep breath and calm yourself down. We’re here to work towards a solution.”
“I don’t even know what happened,” he whispered. “I have no idea what happened. It was just another night in this city.”
“Then tell me what you remember.”
Javier nodded. “We were at a—”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Myself, and the friends I’d made since arriving here. They were mostly other people from my uncle’s restaurant—my cousin Jim Mitchell, the server, Steve Bain, his girlfriend, Renee Watts, and another of Jim’s friends, Jack Sully. Jim and I are around the same age and we both like basketball, so it was easy to hang out with him when I arrived in Longford. I’d been on vacation with Jim and his family when I was younger as well, so I knew him before I arrived. Family was one of the reasons I first came to Longford, instead of going straight to California.”
“Go on.”
“We arrived at Dave Spiller’s house on Baker Street for a party on Friday night. His parents were away, so he thought he could throw a party for a few of his friends. There were about twenty-five people there having a good time, singing and drinking. Just good fun. Nothing bad.” He drew a breath. “Then Chad and his friends showed up.”
“What happened when Chad arrived?”
“Chad was… he wasn’t a nice guy. He hated me because of my Mexican background. They don’t get many Mexicans around here, so I stood out everywhere I went. Chad was the king of the youth in this city, but since my arrival, I think he felt threatened by me. So, he had to prove he was tougher than I was.” Javier shook his head, his hair moving with it. “He was always telling me that I was just a Mexican and I didn’t deserve to stay in his country. He’d driven past me on the street before and threw stuff at me. Over the few months I was here, he tripped me over, he pushed me, and he punched me.”
“What happened when Chad arrived at the party?”
“He punched me again. Right on the nose. I was bleeding.”
Hunter waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. “The punch isn’t the end of the story, is it?”
“I didn’t kill him.” Javier looked away. “That’s the truth, and it should be the end of the story.”
“But it’s not.” Hunter pressed. “What happened next at the party?”
“He… he was always bullying me, and I’d had a few beers, so I snapped. After he punched me, I threw a clean right hook and it landed on his jaw. He fell to the floor, so I grabbed him by the collar and said to leave me alone or I’d hurt him worse next time.” Javier shook his head again. “I’m not a violent guy, I never get in fights, but he pushed me past my limit, you know? He punched me first, and then I retaliated.”
“You both threw punches. He hit you, and then you hit him.”
“That’s right.”
“When you grabbed him by the collar, was your nose bleeding?”
“It was.” Javier nodded. “That’s how my blood got onto his clothes. It fell onto his shirt. He was bleeding as well, and that’s how his blood got onto my shirt. We both had blood on us.”
“What happened after you grabbed him when he was on the ground?”
“His friends grabbed me, but then Dave pulled out his father’s shotgun. Chad hesitated, but then he saw Dave with the gun. He got up and left with his friends. As he was going, he said he’d make me pay for this.”
“And what did you do next?”
“I left the party around 10:30pm.” Javier didn’t continue.
“And where did you go?”
“I went for a walk.”
“A walk? I’m going to need more than that, Javier.”
“I just… I went for a walk.”
“We’re covered by the attorney-client privilege. This is your privilege to refuse to disclose any confidential communications between you and me. Also, I cannot be compelled to disclose matters conveyed in confidence. Here is a safe place. And I need you to answer the question.”
Javier shook his head.
Hunter waited. He knew it would take time for Javier to trust him. He had to let the information pass for now. “After you went for a ‘walk,’ what’s the next thing you remember from that night?”
Javier stared at the white concrete wall again. There were cracks down the walls, chips taken out of the edges, and the white paint was peeling under the intense heat.
“I’ve read the police report and charges many times.” Hunter moved on. He opened
the folder on the table and picked up the first page. “I know what they’ve reported, and I know why they’ve charged you. But for us to have a chance to win this case, I need to hear it in your own words.”
“Is it any use?” Javier stood and walked to the far edge of the room, tapping his head against the wall. “Everyone wants me behind bars, and in this city, people get what they want.” He paused before he looked at Hunter. “I can still stay in the country, can’t I? Even if I get a criminal record? I’ve got an American passport.”
Hunter didn’t like the kid’s chances—not of getting off, not of getting free, and not even of getting a good deal. “The prosecution has built quite the case against you already. They’re moving quickly to file this case in court,” Hunter stated as he opened another file on Chad Townsend’s death and Javier’s subsequent arrest. “Chad died as a result of blood loss after he sustained an injury to his skull. According to the report, he was attacked and suffered damage to his head when he fell in Norwich Park. When his head hit the ground, he was kicked in the mouth, and this act rendered him unconscious. The impact caused his brain to swell, and along with the blood loss, that was what killed him. The prosecution has two witnesses who place you near the park, one of whom claims they saw you around the time of death. The prosecution will show more evidence at your trial, but along with your blood being on Chad’s shirt and sneakers, and your hair on his shirt, they’ve got a number of witnesses who claim you threatened to kill him that night. They’ve got a motive, and although circumstantial, the evidence is strong. That’s going to be hard to disprove in a court of law.”
Natural Justice: A Legal Thriller (Tex Hunter Legal Thriller Series Book 6) Page 2
