Natural Justice: A Legal Thriller (Tex Hunter Legal Thriller Series Book 6)

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “But I’ll tell you this—Javier didn’t do it. As much as my father wants to put him away, I can tell you he’s innocent,” she said. “And I know you’ll find a way to get him out of prison.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “Those corrupt old men are just looking for someone to blame. They didn’t like Javier, so he became their target. But he’s innocent. I can guarantee it. And I’ve read about you. I know you can win this.”

  Hunter watched her walk away, a feeling of unease surrounding her.

  Chapter 12

  Javier Mitchell hated the guards.

  More than the other prisoners, more than the convicted murderers, he feared the guards the most. Some good souls were working in the prison, good people trying to do a good job, but they weren’t powerful enough to overcome the other guards' hatred for him.

  The older guards were the worst. They were the ones with something to prove. It was the ultimate bully job. In his first week behind bars, he saw one of the younger guards tell an older guard to stop beating a guy, and Javier never saw the younger guard again. With unemployment high in the surrounding area, people had to shut their mouths or lose the chance to support their families.

  Javier found the first day in solitary confinement was bearable. There wasn’t anyone to threaten him and he didn’t have to run with a gang. It was lonely, and boring, but it was still living without fear. He had five days to pass in the hole. The cell was hot and emotionless and lonely, but that was ok. The emotional rollercoaster of the last five weeks had been enough for a lifetime.

  Javier understood there was protection in the gangs. They were a family behind bars, willing to die for each other, ready to risk it all for their brothers. Javier reasoned he could be part of a gang behind bars, but he knew it was back out on the streets, back out in the real world, where they cashed in on those bonds. Many people entered prison as lone criminals, and exited as gang members with hundreds of new associates.

  That’s not where Javier wanted to go. That’s not the life he wanted to lead. He wanted to learn, grow, and make something of his life. He wanted to make a difference in the world. He wanted to travel like his father.

  As he sat in the stuffy cell, he tried to think about his past with Chad Townsend. They’d met on the first weekend Javier arrived in America. Javier attended a party with his cousin, and in their first meeting, Chad put his arm around Javier and said, “Welcome to the US of A.” Javier smiled and thanked Chad, but Chad landed an unexpected right punch in Javier’s abdomen, crippling him to the ground. Chad then laughed, spat on him, and told him to go home to Mexico. He told him he wasn’t welcome.

  In the following months, Javier and Chad had crossed paths numerous times. One night, as Javier was walking home after time at a friend’s place, Chad drove past in his truck and threw a full beer can at Javier, hitting him in the back. The deep purple bruise lasted for days. He tried to report the incident to the police, but they laughed and told him to go home. Javier asked his uncle for advice, and his uncle told him the best thing was to do nothing. The more he ignored it, the quicker they would go away, he said.

  The last night Javier saw Chad, they had an argument at a party. Chad threw the first punch, not a hard one, but enough to make Javier’s nosebleed. Javier had enough and retaliated, landing one quick hook to the jaw. Chad fell onto the ground, blood coming out of his nose and mouth, and Javier grabbed him by the collar. He told Chad to leave him alone. He’d had enough. Two of Chad’s friends grabbed Javier while Chad landed a punch in his stomach.

  Javier woke the following morning in pain but proud he’d stood up to the city’s bully. That pride didn’t last long. By midday, Javier received word from his uncle that Chad had been found dead by the lake at Norwich Park. By 5pm, the police had arrived and arrested Javier, taking his bloodied shirt with them.

  “Hey, scumbag.” A guard rapped his knuckles on the door. “Time to get up.”

  Javier didn’t respond but stood up. The guard opened the hole in the door and Javier stuck his hands through to be cuffed, but the door swung open. There were two guards there, both older men.

  “What’s going on, sir?” Javier questioned.

  The guards looked at each other, and before they said another word, a bar hit Javier’s knees. Javier crumbled to the ground, curling into a ball. He couldn’t fight back, not here, not with them. The best he could do was protect himself. Five kicks landed on his legs before he heard another noise further down the hall. It was another guard, one of the higher ranked younger men.

  “What’s going on here?” the guard asked.

  “Nothing,” the first guard replied, stepping in front of the fallen Javier. “This prisoner fell over.”

  Javier stayed on the ground as the younger guard came over. “Is that right, Javier?”

  Javier climbed to his feet and looked at the two attackers. They stared at Javier, daring him to tell the truth and see the consequences. “Yes, sir. I fell over.”

  “Ok,” the guard replied. “Make sure you stay on your feet in the future.”

  He walked away.

  “You’re lucky, Javier.” The first guard grunted as he watched the younger guard walk away, and then pushed him back towards the solitary confinement cell door. “Next time, I’ll make sure you pay for what you did to Chad Townsend. His family asked me to look after you in a special sort of way.”

  The guard pushed Javier back into his cell. He fell backward, hurting his tailbone, before the door slammed shut.

  Even in solitary confinement, locked away from the world, he wasn’t safe.

  Chapter 13

  Hunter sat in the boardroom of his office in Longford, looking over the options to move the case forward, his eyes struggling to focus after weeks of little sleep. His assistant in Chicago, Esther Wright, was on the speakerphone as they discussed ways to have the case thrown out before it reached the trial stage. Hunter ran his pen over page after page of notes, file after file, looking for the one clue that could break open the case for them.

  “Do you think it’s a reversible error on the motion to change venues?” Esther asked.

  “The judge made an appropriate call for the motion. He wanted to make sure the case reflects the ideals of the local area. Under The Illinois Code of Criminal Procedure, he was well within his rights to do so, and he’s given us the opportunity to re-lodge the motion when jury selection is finished.”

  “What about a motion to strike the evidence? The evidence they have is all circumstantial and it’s very weak. All they have is Chad Townsend’s bloodied shirt, a bloodied sneaker, and a hair of Javier’s on the shirt. Nobody saw the alleged altercation, there’s no video of it, and nobody heard them arguing in the park. There’s not a lot of evidence to convict Javier other than motive, so if you can remove those pieces of circumstantial evidence from the case, then they have to let him go.”

  “There’s little chance for a motion to strike any of the evidence. Judge Johnson has made it clear this case is moving forward, but I think some of his errors will present strong grounds for appeal.”

  Hunter picked up a file and looked over the contents. Esther was right, there was a lack of hard proof to convict Javier, the case was built on circumstantial evidence, but the two witnesses who placed him near the park entrance near the time of death were a problem.

  “How did the discussion go with the attendees of the party?” Esther asked.

  “Nobody wants to talk to me. No, it’s worse than that—nobody wants to be seen talking with me. There’s a real fear that if you cross the powerful people in this city, then you’ll pay the price. It feels like the residents accept that corruption is the price of law and order. Chief Richardson cleaned up the streets after an ice and methamphetamine drug surge through the city ten years ago, and now they accept it’s the price they have to pay.”

  “One evil for another.”

  “Maybe,” Hunter replied. “There’s some truth to the point that his h
ardline approach has done good for this city. He’s almost eliminated drug crimes here over the last ten years. He took a hardline stance on anyone that was found with drugs and locked them up. You just have to look at the surrounding areas to know he’s done a good job. A town only twenty-five miles from here has had a real problem with drugs and it’s destroyed the whole place. The residents of Longford look at the surrounding towns and think if it wasn’t for Richardson, that could be them.”

  “So it gives him leverage to be judge, jury, and executioner? It doesn’t sound right, Tex.”

  “Laws aren’t self-executing.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You can write the law, you can draft legislation on a piece of paper, but you’ll always need someone to enforce those laws. That power belongs to the police. They have the opportunity to choose how, when, and with whom, they enforce those laws. You can write that drugs are illegal, you can spell it out on a piece of paper, but it’s the people on the front lines who have to enforce it or not. Some police officers might give leverage to hard drug users, whereas Richardson gives zero chances. He’s locked them up, even if they were just in the same room as a drug user. The message he sent was clear.”

  “A hardline approach to crime and justice doesn’t always work,” Esther replied. “Last week, I read an article about drug use in Portugal. Did you know all drugs are legal in Portugal for personal use? And since they made all drugs legal, usage has actually gone down over the past two decades.”

  “How does that happen?”

  “Instead of putting money into the police department for enforcement, they put the money into health education about drugs. It took a decade, but the change is real. Just think about how public health education has changed the way we see smoking. Smoking used to be cool. It used to be everywhere, but public health education has pushed it to the fringes and the number of smokers has dropped so much. Almost 45% of Americans smoked in the fifties, and now it’s down to 16%. That’s due to public health education, not police enforcement.”

  “You make a good argument, but it’s expensive. Especially when you’re talking about hard drugs.”

  “No, it’s not. Public health education has proven to be cheaper than police enforcement.”

  “I’m not sure I agree with the approach but any change comes with risk. That’s why people don’t want to change, even if another way is more effective. Making changes against the status quo is a huge risk, and nobody wants hard drug use to get worse.”

  “Even if it’s better for society?”

  Hunter paused for a moment. Esther was the only one who always questioned him, the only one who always pushed him on his ideas. She was broad-minded, open to new theories, and she was always happy to share them with Hunter.

  “How’s Chicago treating my office?”

  “Your office?” Esther replied, a smile in her tone. “You don’t want to know about the people in your office?”

  “I guess if the office is doing ok, then the people inside those offices must be doing ok as well.”

  “Well, there was some big news about Chicago this morning.”

  “I haven’t switched on the news reports yet. What is it?”

  “Two men stole 500 bottles of Viagra from a hospital,” Esther said. “The news said police are on the lookout for two hardened criminals.”

  “That’s terrible.” Hunter laughed.

  Hunter’s cell phone buzzed. He removed it from his pocket, and looked at the number. It was Carol. Hunter hesitated, before sending the call to voicemail.

  “Where’s Carol today?” Esther asked. “Is she in the office with you?”

  “No, I’ve got her looking into the files at City Hall. She has a lot of respect around here, and she’s able to access things that would take me months to get my hands on. She tells people to jump, and they complain about it, but then they jump higher than they ever have before. She has a soft demeanor, a happy one, but also has a glare that makes most people fall into line.”

  “Sounds like the right woman for the job.”

  Hunter’s phone buzzed a second time. He turned it over and looked at the number. It was Carol again.

  “Is that your phone buzzing?” Esther queried. There was a hint of jealousy in her voice. “Have you got yourself a girlfriend down there?”

  “No, it’s Carol, but I’m talking to my number one assistant,” Hunter said. “Carol will have to wait.”

  The phone buzzed again. Hunter looked at the number, but again sent it to voicemail. He didn’t want to be disturbed.

  “Another girlfriend?” Esther joked. “How many have you got down there?”

  “It’s Carol,” Hunter responded. “It can wait. You—”

  Hunter’s phone pinged again. He looked at his phone.

  It was a message.

  Tex, this is urgent. Call me right away when you get this.

  “Sorry, Esther, but I’m going to have to go,” Hunter said. “Carol says there’s something urgent.”

  “Ok, Tex. Just…” She paused for a long moment. “Just be careful down there.”

  “Always. You too.”

  He tapped end call on the speaker phone, and then called Carol on his cell. “Carol.”

  “Tex,” she responded. “You’re not going to like this.”

  Carol explained what she’d received from the prosecution about the discovery information. It was the news they didn’t need. The news Hunter dreaded. The news that could change the course of the case.

  Hunter listened to what Carol said, and asked her to repeat it, but there was no miscommunication, and no chance he misheard.

  Chapter 14

  Hunter didn’t ask the receptionist for an appointment. He strode past her desk, ignoring her requests for him to stop, directly into prosecutor Tanner’s office in the building next to the courthouse. He swung open the door and stood in the entrance.

  The office was spacious. A hefty brown desk sat at the end of the room, in front of the large floor-to-ceiling window, with a bookshelf to the left. The wall on the right was filled with Tanner’s various degrees, and a photo of his family at the end. The dark Oak desk was neat, only a computer monitor and keyboard on it, and the bookshelf was equally as tidy. Waiting behind the desk was prosecutor Tanner, and on the other side, in a comfortable office chair, sat Chief Richardson.

  Tanner looked at his watch. “Quicker than I thought you’d be, Mr. Hunter, although I should’ve expected Carol would’ve been right on top of things. She’s a good woman. Very efficient.”

  “The evidence is ruined,” Hunter grunted and pointed his finger at Richardson. “You did this.”

  “It’s unfortunate.” Richardson stood. “But I would caution you very strongly before you make any wild accusations that could get you into trouble. Accidents happen.”

  “This is no accident,” Hunter growled. “This is a deliberate attempt to divert the course of justice.”

  “Maybe I can calm this situation down,” Tanner said. “Mr. Richardson and I were discussing the options we have to rectify this situation. It’s unfortunate this happened to the evidence before the company could test the blood sample on the sneaker. That’s why we’ve asked you here.”

  “You need to tell me how it became contaminated.”

  “It was a mistake.” Richardson sat back down, facing away from Hunter. “That’s all it was. Everyone makes mistakes, and nobody’s perfect. Unfortunately, one of my officers had the evidence on the table when the sprinkler system in the station was set off. There was a small fire in the kitchen, and the system kicked into gear. The system was so old that we couldn’t turn it off in time, and the sneaker became soaked with water.”

  “Contaminating the sneaker and rendering it useless for a DNA analysis.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. The DNA and blood analysis was already conducted.” Tanner’s tone was calm. “It’s lucky we had a reputable source conduct the analysis of the DNA on the sneaker before this unfortunate accident ha
ppened.” Tanner held up a paper file and waved it in the air. “And the expert analysis clearly stated the blood on Chad Townsend’s sneaker belonged to two people—Chad Townsend and Javier Mitchell.”

  “And a third person. There’s a third DNA sample that we’ve been denied the right to analyze.” Hunter slammed the door behind him and strode to within inches of Richardson. “That DNA is the evidence of the real killer.”

  “Careful, big guy.” Richardson looked up at Hunter towering over him. “If you touch me, I’ll arrest you as well. You can join Javier behind bars.”

  “Both of you, settle down,” Tanner said. “Our experts said there was not enough DNA on the third blood sample to match to a source before the evidence became contaminated anyway. This is all one big mistake.”

  “A mistake? You expect me to believe that?” Hunter was exasperated. “The day after our experts contact your department for approval to review the evidence, this happens. That isn’t a coincidence. This is a miscarriage of justice.” Hunter stared at Tanner. “How can you allow this to happen? How is this fine with you?”

  The question hit Tanner hard. He looked away and drew a long breath.

  “I requested the officer to review the sneaker. That’s perfectly normal procedure.” Richardson held his hands out wide. “We don’t have the funding of the police department in Chicago to ensure everything runs smoothly.”

  “You’ve jeopardized your entire case.”

  “Not jeopardized, Mr. Hunter,” Tanner said, leaning on the back of his large brown leather chair. “I imagine you’ll file a motion to dismiss, but we’ve already decided we’re going to push ahead with this case. We have a legitimate DNA sample on the shirt and hair samples found at the scene. Those samples are still intact and available to be reviewed.”

  “That won’t fly. The missing evidence is in bad faith.”