Within five minutes, there was a knock at the door.
“Tex Hunter?” The man called out in a hushed tone. “You in there?”
Hunter stepped towards the door and held it ajar, peering at the person outside. “Who are you?”
Despite the heat, the man was wearing a black sweatshirt with a hood over his head. The man’s black shoes were shiny, his black trousers had been ironed within an inch of their life, and underneath his sweatshirt was the straight collar of a white shirt. Around five inches shorter than Hunter, he looked like he weighed around fifty pounds less, although his body appeared toned. He was the type of man that Hunter could reasonably assume was a cop.
“My name’s Jack Yale. Can I talk to you inside?” The man came close enough for Hunter to smell his minty breath.
“What’s it about?”
“I’m a cop here in Longford, and I shouldn’t be here. Don’t leave me standing out here in the hallway where someone could see me.”
Hunter looked back into the room, and then opened the door further, allowing the man inside. The man stepped through, checking over his shoulder one last time, before he removed the hood of his sweatshirt. In his thirties, Jack Yale had a straight posture, a military order to his appearance—clean-shaven, recently trimmed hair, and his skin glowed of someone in good health.
“Expecting trouble?” The man pointed to the gun on the table. “And I hope you’ve got a permit for that.”
“I’m allowed to carry.” Hunter looked over the man and considered him no threat. He unloaded the gun, moved it to the bedside drawer, and placed it back inside its storage box. “And I’ve got enough reasons to be concerned in this city.”
“I understand that.” The man looked at the view of the lake at the end of the room and then pointed to the chair in front of the desk. “Can I sit down?”
Hunter nodded. “What is it you need, Jack Yale?”
“I’m not supposed to be here,” Yale said as he sat down. The sweat was starting to show on his brow. “If anyone knew I was here, I’d lose my job in a heartbeat. I’m risking everything just talking to you. Driving here, I couldn’t even think of a reasonable excuse if I was caught here.”
“So, what are you doing here?” Hunter stepped back and leaned against the wall near the entrance.
“Because I’m done with it.” Yale gritted his teeth and shook his head. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be a cop in this city. No. That’s wrong. I can be a cop; I just can’t be a cop working for Richardson. He’s as corrupt as they come. I can’t stand by and watch any more. If anyone goes against him, he sets them up for an arrest. And if they bring the right amount of money, the charges disappear. I need this corruption to stop.”
“What does he do?”
“Nothing out in the open. Nothing I could ever use to report him.”
“But you think he’s corrupt?”
“He doesn’t earn much money, and yet, he still has one of the best houses in the city on Elliston Avenue. And he drives the best truck. He goes on expensive vacations and his young girlfriend is always getting nice jewelry. There’s no way he does that on a cop’s wage.” He looked up at Hunter. “Where do you think the money comes from?”
“He could have investments,” Hunter replied. “Thinking someone is corrupt is one thing, proving it is something else.”
“There are good people in this town. You’ll never meet a better person than the Fire Chief, Frank Powell. He’s been helping me try to deal with Richardson.” Yale stood and wiped his brow, his nerves clearly visible. “I came here to say that I’m sure Javier Mitchell is innocent.”
“Why?” Hunter was still cautious.
“Because there was a witness who claims Javier was elsewhere, but now, the witness has changed her story. Richardson got to her after I interviewed her.”
“Can you prove it?”
“No, and that’s the problem. All the computer files have been wiped because Richardson said the witness was mistaken. There’s no record of any of my interviews anywhere. But I know it. I heard what the witness said with my own ears.” He tugged at his ear. “At first, I was sure the witness was lying to protect Javier. I didn’t believe a word she said, but a day after I interviewed her, and gave those interview reports to Richardson, the witness changed their story to say she didn’t see Javier after the party, and when I went to check my records on the system, they’d been wiped.”
“Who was the witness?”
“I’ll get to that, but first, I need to tell you what I think.” Yale started to pace the room. His nerves filled the air. “I think Richardson knows what really happened to Chad, and he’s trying to cover it up. I think he chose Javier as the suspect because he hates the kid and he’s trying to protect someone else. He saw an opportunity and he took it. He destroyed the kid’s life just because he’s Mexican.”
“Are you playing me?” Hunter questioned.
“What?” He looked at Hunter with a confused look. “No. I’m not playing you. I’m sick of our city being run by a corrupt group of old men. It’s time for a change, and it’s time for things to move on. This isn’t the eighties anymore.” Yale went to the window, pulled the curtain back slightly, and peered out. “I have to go before someone sees me here.”
“What will happen if you’re seen here?”
“I’ll end up six feet under, just like Chad.” Yale waited a moment. “There are two things I’ve come here to tell you. One—Richardson didn’t like Chad Townsend. Apparently, Chad hit his daughter when they were dating, and he didn’t like that. Although I’m sure Richardson hit his daughter in the past as well.”
“And two?”
“The witness who claimed they saw Javier elsewhere was Maggie Richardson.” He paused. “She’s the soft spot. If you need to get to Chief Richardson, talk to his daughter, Maggie. She talked to me after Chad died and said she saw Javier elsewhere at the time of death, but Richardson walked in, told her to stop lying, and threw her out of the room. And I mean, physically threw her out of the police station. He slapped her for good measure as well. I’ve tried to talk to her since, but she said she can’t. She knows something.” Yale looked at Hunter, put his hood back over his head, and then hurried to the door. “That’s your lead. That’s where you’ve got to start.”
“Thank you, Jack.” Hunter was still cautious.
“And I was never here.” Yale opened the door, checked outside in the hallway and then leaned back in. “You tell anyone about this, and I’ll deny it all.”
Yale left the door open, hurrying down the hallway towards the fire escape. He had his head down. Hunter waited a moment and then closed the door behind him. He walked back to the balcony and watched the dark sedan drive past and exit the parking lot. As soon as the sedan drove away, Hunter called investigator Ray Jones.
“Ray, I need to know everything about Maggie Richardson.” Hunter’s voice was strong. “She’s going to be our chance to break this case wide open.”
Chapter 11
Ray Jones worked quickly. Within twenty-five minutes, the investigator had sent through Maggie Richardson’s address, social media profiles, work history, tax records, and school transcripts. With a name and a location, the internet provided more than one could ever imagine. It was all there—all out in the open for the world to see. Photos by friends. Mentions of names on school websites. Locations posted on social media. The lack of awareness about internet security astounded Hunter, but for him it was different, he’d grown up hiding his identity. He didn’t want anyone to know his address, he didn’t want anyone to know his movements, and he didn’t want anyone to know his personal details. He tried a social media account once, but was bombarded with a hundred hateful messages within the first five days. He quickly deleted the account.
Due to his father’s actions, his was a life lived in the shadows. However, his job, along with his infamous family name, meant his face had been splashed in the Chicago papers more times than he cared to count.
Some families would’ve been proud of his success, some grandmothers would’ve kept all the newspaper clippings, but not the extended Hunter family. They abandoned him after his father was convicted. Nobody wanted anything to do with his side of the family. Their name was tarnished and damaged forever by the actions of one man.
With the information Jones provided, Hunter moved to sound out his new target. The Steeler’s Agriculture Store was on the east side of the city, with farmlands behind it, and a strip mall to the west side. Half the shops in the strip mall were empty, some with broken windows, while the remaining shops looked like they were barely clinging to existence. There was only one other car in the parking lot.
Hunter stepped through the store’s entrance and a small bell rang, hanging above the door. The décor in the shop was busy. The shoulder height shelves were filled with farming tools, most with John Deere branding, and the shop was heavy with the smell of diesel.
A young girl was behind the counter at the left side. She froze the second she saw the tall well-dressed man. The blonde twenty-year-old was slim and fit, with the figure of a tennis player. Her skin was tanned, her hair pulled back tightly, but her eyes showed years of anguish.
“Can I help you?” Her voice was shaky.
“Maggie Richardson?” Hunter approached her.
She nodded, mouth hanging open.
“I was wondering if I could talk to you. My name is—”
“I know who you are. You’re the new lawyer.”
“Hey.” A short, round, older man stepped out from behind one of the shelves, rubbing a cloth over his greasy hands. “Are you here to buy something, lawyer? If not, you can get out of my shop. I don’t want you in here.”
Hunter’s reputation preceded him. Word traveled fast in the small city, and he was recognized everywhere he went. Even without the tie, he was still the best-dressed man in the city, and there was no hiding for a man of his height.
“I would like to talk to Miss Richardson for a moment.”
The man looked at Maggie, and she shook her head.
“Not today, buddy. She’s busy working. I don’t pay her to stand around talking.” The man grunted and stepped closer to Hunter. “Unless you’re here to buy something, you ain’t welcome in the store.”
Hunter stared at Maggie for a long moment, before he turned and exited the shop. He stepped outside into the humid air and looked at his watch. It was 4:55pm. There was only one car in the parking lot—a large pick-up truck parked towards the back edge. Hunter assumed it wasn’t Maggie’s.
According to the map on the internet, it was a fifteen-minute walk from the store to where Maggie lived with her father on Elliston Avenue, and it went straight through Norwich Park, passing the spot where Chad Townsend had died a few weeks earlier. Hunter drove his BMW sedan out of the parking lot, and down the wide street, before stopping behind a large oak tree at the edge of Norwich Park, ensuring he was parked out-of-view.
He took off his jacket, undid another button on his shirt, and exited the car, waiting in the hut at the edge of the park. The public park hut was an open shelter space. It had no windows and a narrow swinging door. The wooden frame was weathered, and the structure had seen better days after decades of use. Hunter entered the hut and looked around. It had a concrete floor, and there was one picnic table in the middle of the room. There were engraved hearts and initials on the wooden walls, professing undying love that would last forever. Hunter doubted their claims of ‘4ever’ were true. He looked over them and saw some names were carved as long as fifteen years ago. He sat on top of the table, his feet on the seat, and kept his gaze out the window, watching to see when Maggie approached.
On the outskirts of the city, Norwich Park consisted of a playground to the east, a basketball court, and beyond that, two baseball fields that were mostly used for Little League games. The trees were mature, the grass was short, and although there were patches of green, it was wilting in the heatwave. The park’s centerpiece was the lake that stretched the length of it, complete with five small bridges that crossed it. Groups of ducks dotted along the edge of the lake, birds were chirping in abundance, but there were no people. Even as the sun started to dip and the heat began to ease, nobody came outside.
The nearest bridge to Hunter was the small rock bridge that crossed the narrowest part of the lake. It was where Chad Townsend met his demise. A thought crossed Hunter’s mind as he waited. He stepped out of the hut and looked around. There were no lights near the park, and the nearest house was over a hundred yards away.
At fifteen minutes past 5pm, Hunter saw Maggie approaching. He waited for her to cross the bridge before he stepped out from behind the hut to talk to her, however, she’d stopped and leaned on the railing on the bridge, staring at the ducks swimming in the water.
“Not many people walk between places out here,” Hunter said as he approached her. “Most people drive to work.”
Maggie Richardson drew a short breath when she saw him. Hunter raised his hands in peace. “I’m not here to hurt you, but I need to talk to you.”
“I’ve been told not to say anything.” She crossed her arms across her chest. “My father warned me to steer clear of you. He said you were trouble.”
“And do you do everything your father tells you?”
She shook her head and looked behind her. Nobody was following and nobody could see them from the road. They were sheltered from any passing traffic by lines of bushes, and there was little activity in the park.
“I can either talk to you now, or we can do it in court.” Hunter was gentle in his approach. “The choice is yours.”
“Can you do that? Force me to talk in court?”
“I can.”
She checked over her shoulder again. “Why do you need to talk to me?”
“Because in my investigations into Chad Townsend’s death, your name has come up. You were Chad’s girlfriend. You should’ve expected I would need to talk to you.”
“Ex-girlfriend. I hadn’t dated Chad for around five months before he died,” she said. “We weren’t a couple when it happened.”
“Chad didn’t seem to want to let that go.”
Her eyes cast back to the pond. “I really shouldn’t talk to you.”
“Like I said, we either do it now, or I subpoena you as a witness.”
Her gaze turned to the spot where Chad had died. There were a number of bouquets of flowers there, each with a card, although the flowers had started to wilt under the summer heat. Someone had left a baseball, and another left a single rose.
“Do you get along with your father?” Hunter stepped closer and leaned against the railing on the other side of the bridge, cautious not to invade her personal space.
“I hate the old man,” she snapped and then drew a breath and calmed herself back down. “Ever since Mom died, and it’s been almost a decade now. I was only ten at the time and I was left with him to raise me. He’s an overbearing prick who thinks I’m still his property to use as he pleases. He thinks it’s his life, not mine, but it’s my life and I get to make my own choices. Not him. All the men in the city are like that. Chad was the same. He thought he owned me.” There was fire in her voice. She gripped the edge of the bridge hard before she calmed herself. “Ok. Sure. You’ve made your point—I won’t do as my dad says. I’ll talk. What do you need to know?”
“I would like to ask you about your relationship with Chad.”
“We used to date. He was the sports hero and I was the lead cheerleader, so it should’ve been a perfect match, but he was too much like my dad. Exactly like him, really. I couldn’t do it. I wanted to travel, see the world, taste the foods of Europe. I wanted to eat pasta in Rome, bratwursts in Berlin, and baguettes in Paris. I didn’t want to settle down and have babies right away. Chad wanted that. He wanted to own me and use me like a piece of meat. I’d just be his ‘wife,’ and nothing more.”
“So, you broke up with him?”
She nodded. “So many p
eople told me not to break up with him. Everyone said Chad would give me everything, he would give me a great life and a great family, but I didn’t want any of it. I didn’t want to be stuck with a violent bully. That’s not the life I wanted.”
“And your father? Did he like Chad?”
“No, he hated him. They were exactly the same, and they were constantly battling to be the alpha male whenever Chad came to my house. They were always arguing. Chad thought he was the king, but my father wouldn’t have it. He kept putting Chad in his place, and they infuriated each other,” she said. “Dad was actually happy when I broke up with Chad. It’s funny, the only person who was happy that we broke up was another violent bully. I guess my father wasn’t ready to lose ownership of my life.”
“Do you know what happened to Chad the night he died?”
She shook her head. Hunter waited for her to continue. Everyone in the city seemed quick to point the finger at Javier, but Maggie didn’t take that opportunity.
“Were you at the party on Baker St?”
“I was, but I left around 9:30.” She pulled on her earlobe. “I went home.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“My dad.”
Hunter went to ask another question, but a loud diesel truck drove past the back corner of the park, echoing the sound through the air.
“I should go,” Maggie said. “I can’t be seen talking to you. My father would hit me if he heard I was talking to you.”
She said the statement with such casual ease, and Hunter understood she’d been beaten many times by her father. Hunter stepped aside at the end of the bridge, allowing her to walk past. She put her head down and brushed past, but once she was a few feet past him, she turned back.
Natural Justice: A Legal Thriller (Tex Hunter Legal Thriller Series Book 6) Page 7
