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

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “Ray was nice. He really listened to what I had to say,” she looked at her almost empty coffee mug. “He told me what you’re doing for that kid in Longford charged with murder. I really wish my son had someone like you fighting in his corner when he was arrested.” There was sorrow in her voice. “I wouldn’t wish that experience on my worst enemy.”

  “I’ve taken a case for a young man who claims he’s innocent.” Hunter turned to the waitress who approached their table. He ordered two coffees, one for himself and another for Anna, before turning back to the conversation. “But it’s turning out to be less about his innocence, and more of a battle against the people that run the city.”

  “You’re either brave or stupid. A big-city lawyer in those parts won’t get much respect.” Anna shook her head. She cradled her hands around her coffee mug and leaned forward. “I moved to Longford with my teenage son because I landed a job in City Hall. We were living about forty-five minutes away, so I didn’t think moving into Longford would be a big change for us. I thought we’d be fine. I thought it’d be a positive move. We were from Southern Illinois, we knew what small cities were like, so I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

  “What happened?” Hunter inquired.

  Anna waited as the waitress delivered their coffees and slipped the bill under the salt and pepper shakers on the table. Once the waitress left, Anna ran her eyes over the room again.

  “I made the wrong people angry.” She lowered her voice. “They still scare me; you know? Those men put the fear of hell into me. I hated it. I still have to check over my shoulder every time I talk about that place. It was a nightmare. It really was. They charged my son with residential burglary. They claimed he broke into the house of Bob West and stole five hundred dollars in cash, but when it became clear they didn’t have enough evidence, they downgraded the charge to trespassing. It was a misdemeanor, instead of a felony, but I knew my son was innocent. And do you want to know how I knew? Because he was with me, at home, cooking a roast on a Sunday afternoon, when the burglary was supposed to have happened.”

  “But they didn’t believe you?”

  “Chief Richardson said I was a mother lying to cover up for her son. I went to court and even testified that my son was with me. They didn’t believe me. Not one person on the jury believed me. The prosecutor made me look like a fool, and they threw my son into prison for five months for something he didn’t do, just to get back at me. It was a complete sham. The whole thing.”

  “How did you make them angry?”

  “I rejected Chief Richardson.”

  “Romantically?”

  “Romance would be a stretch of the imagination. He wanted a fling, that was all he wanted. And I had zero, and I mean, zero, interest in that oaf of a man. Just because I was a single mother, he thought I would be desperate for him. He even offered to pay me. What a sleaze.”

  “And he took it out on your son?”

  “West and Richardson were in on it together. They were the source of most of the corruption in Longford. They claimed my son broke into West’s home and stole the cash from his bedroom. West was the only witness, of course, and when Chief Richardson came to our house, he ‘found the money.’” She used her fingers as quotation marks. “But it was my money that I’d been saving to buy a new car.”

  Hunter sat back in the booth and shook his head in disbelief of the blatant dishonesty.

  “Do you know what prison does to a young man?” She pressed her finger into the table, her anger growing. “It broke him. He was a good kid before that. He was a kind boy. But that five months.” She clenched her teeth and shook her head, fighting back the anger that threatened to burst out. “That five months changed him. I’ve spent the last five years trying to rebuild his confidence, trying to build him back into the man he should’ve been.”

  “And you’re still fighting Richardson to clear your son’s name?”

  “I gave up.” She sat back in the booth, her rage easing. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep fighting. I couldn’t keep struggling in that city. That’s why I was hesitant to call your investigator back. It’s been so long now, and my son is finally starting to rebuild his life. Finally, after all this time, we’re starting to move on. He’s got a home, he’s got a career, and a stable girlfriend. Talking about that time brings up a lot of pain that I tried to hide away.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to Hunter. “Even before all this happened with my son, I saw, with my own two eyes, Chief Richardson take money from a bar owner. The owner brought it up to him in the bar on a Saturday night. I was suspicious, so I did some research, and the bar owner had been charged with the domestic assault of his wife. The charges were dropped the day after the owner gave Richardson a big, thick, fat envelope.”

  “Did you report it?”

  “Not at the time. I was working for City Hall. If I made a report like that, I would’ve lost my job and I couldn’t risk that as a single mother. When I first started at the job, I was warned by another employee that dodgy things happen, and it was best if I turned a blind eye to the events. Anyone that reported anything got fired.”

  “Will you come to the stand and testify about what you saw?”

  “No chance.” Her voice was firm. “I’ve come too far, and sacrificed too much, to lose it all again. If the young man you’re defending is innocent, then I feel sorry for him, but I can’t go back to the city. You have to understand that.”

  “I understand.” Hunter nodded. “Is there anything else you could tell me that would help our case?”

  “Frank Powell is your soft point.”

  “I know the name, but I haven’t met him yet.”

  “He’s the Chief of the Fire Department. He’s powerful, but he’s also honorable. He’s tried to expose Richardson and West in the past, but failed. During my son’s trial, Powell came up to me and said he’d overheard West laughing about the ‘false’ charges against my son, but there was nothing he could prove. He’s a good man, noble, and he felt sorry for us. After my son was convicted, he delivered packages to him in prison and was a strong male voice of reason when my son was released.”

  “Can he be trusted?”

  “He has to deal with Richardson and West, because that’s part of his job, but he can be trusted 100%. He hates them and the way they run Longford. He told me those two corrupt pricks have tried to buy him off many, many times, but Frank is a man of integrity. He wouldn’t go near their dirty tactics.” Her fingers gripped her coffee mug. “If you get the chance, I need you to destroy those pricks. Richardson and West are as corrupt as they come, and I need you to destroy them for me and my son.”

  Hunter tilted his head back, considering his options. “How do I reach Frank Powell without setting off alarm bells?”

  “During fishing season, he fishes at Cedar Lake every Sunday. He’s a man of routine, and I’m sure you’ll find him there tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter 19

  The air was brisk, the shadows long, and the mist eerie. Cedar Lake was still, almost like glass, barely a ripple on the water, and a gentle steam rose from it. The sun began to sneak over the horizon, bathing the area in a soft orange glow, and dew sat on the grass and weeds that lined the edge of the lake. The fresh smells of a summer morning filled the air. It was the perfect escape for someone who had to deal with the traumatic scenes that were part of his position as Fire Chief, and Sunday mornings were the quietest, a place to be alone with nature and appreciate all it had to offer. Rocks lined the edges of the lake near Frank Powell’s fishing spot, followed by a small patch of grass, and rows of trees behind that.

  As Hunter approached, almost two-hundred and fifty yards away on the trail that led around the edge of the lake, he saw Powell sitting on a fold-out chair, fishing rod in hand. His silhouette was clear. As Hunter came closer, he watched Powell reach for his tackle box next to him, take out a pistol, check it was loaded, and place it cautiously under his fold-out chair.

  “Frank P
owell?” Hunter called out as he moved within twenty-five yards. “There’s no need for the weapon.”

  “You present a dangerous shadow.” Powell removed the gun from under his chair and waved it in the air. “You can never be too careful out here by yourself.”

  Hunter raised his hands in surrender. “I needed to catch you before the trial of Javier Mitchell begins tomorrow. I wasn’t after a duel.”

  Powell smiled. He unloaded the clip and placed the gun in the fishing box. Although he was over six-foot-tall, he appeared stocky, wider than the average man. His forearms were thick, as were his biceps, shoulders, and chest. Any pair of jeans would be tight on his thighs. His dark hair was thinning, his skin was heavily tanned, and he had a jawline square enough to be a football coach.

  “How’d you know I was here?”

  “Rumor has it that you have a secret spot.”

  “And secret is the way I like it.” He looked out to the water. “Most people use a boat on this lake, but I don’t need it here. It’s deep off the bank. It’s not the best fishing spot, but it’s the best escape. Sitting here on a Sunday morning is the best way to spend time in nature and not be disturbed.”

  “Your secret spot is safe with me.” Hunter placed his hand on his heart. “What are you fishing for?”

  “Largemouth bass. Southern Illinois has some of the best in the world. It’s light, non-greasy, and so delicious. I usually cook it up for the family every Sunday. Gut the fish, add a bit of butter, wrap in foil and then smoke it. You can’t beat eating fish for dinner knowing you caught it that morning.” He turned back to Hunter. “Is this the way you lawyers do it in the city? Talk to people when they’ve gotten away from it all? Because that’s not how we do things in Southern Illinois. I guess you’re here to talk about a deal to get me on the witness stand.”

  “No deals.” Hunter looked out to the lake. “But I needed to chat with a powerful man in a city with a checkered history.”

  “Checkered history? If you’ve come to make accusations, then I’ll take the gun back out of the box. They’d have a hard time finding a buried body out here.”

  “I haven’t come to accuse you of anything. I know what happens in this city. I know what—”

  “You know nothing about Longford,” Powell said. “You spend five weeks there and you think you’ve got it all figured out? You ride into our city with your flashy car and your fancy degree from your fancy college, and you think you know us? You’ve got no idea about small city politics.”

  “Then tell me about it.” Hunter sat down against a nearby rock, facing out to the lake. “I don’t know half the stories that Longford has to tell. I’ve come out here to learn about it.”

  Powell scoffed and shook his head. “I’ll tell you this—Chicago drains the money from this state to fund its hedonistic lifestyle.”

  “There’s an anti-Chicago sentiment in Longford. It seems the Southern part of the state hates the drain on finances by Chicago.” Hunter looked east, taking in the golden sunrise. “I can see why you like this place.”

  Powell grunted. “Carol speaks very highly of you, Hunter. That’s the only reason you and I are still talking. Me—I don’t know about you. You’re a defense lawyer, which means you choose to defend criminals. I couldn’t do that, and I’m not sure I trust a man who does.”

  Hunter didn’t answer. He sat still, staring out to the lake, watching as a light morning mist rose off the water. He turned as Powell’s rod bobbed at the end. “Got a nibble?”

  “You really know how to spoil a perfect morning, don’t you?” Powell grunted and tugged on the rod. “If I tell you what I know, will you leave me alone out here?”

  “That’s a deal.”

  “Alright. Carol knows a lot about Longford and the people in it, but there’s a few secrets even she doesn’t know,” Powell tugged on his rod again. “Longford represents everything that’s great about our country. Helping each other, a strong sense of community, knowing your neighbors. That’s the stuff that really matters. The big cities have forgotten that. The killings, the crime, the violence, the corruption—we don’t have it out here. We protect each other.”

  “Anna Michele Laurie wouldn’t see it that way.”

  Powell turned to stare at Hunter. His mouth hung open for a few moments while he processed his thoughts. “I haven’t heard her name in a while, but I guess you’ve talked to her, and that’s why you’re talking to me.”

  “She told me you’d be out here,” Hunter responded. “I spoke to her yesterday. And she told me what you overheard.”

  He took a moment of silence, reflecting on his own failings. “It was terrible what happened to her and her son. Horrible.” Powell moved his rod when he saw an air-pocket float up in the lake. “The poor kid never deserved to end up in prison, but I couldn’t stop it.”

  “And I don’t want it to happen to someone else. I don’t want it to keep happening in Longford. Richardson doesn’t get to choose who goes to prison and when.”

  “Chief Richardson keeps the city safe, and sometimes you need to pay a high price for safety. Where would our city be without the hardline taken by Richardson? We’d be run by some leftist woke individual who’d let the city be overrun with drugs. Just look at the towns that surround us. They find dead addicts on the street every week. We don’t need that in Longford.”

  “Jack Yale wouldn’t let that happen,” Hunter replied. “He’s a good cop, a good man, and an honorable person. And he’s a hardliner. He’s not going to let drugs take over the city.”

  “Then let him sort it out. That’s his job, not mine.” Powell began to wind his line in. “What do you need from me, Hunter?”

  “I need to know what you know. I go to court tomorrow when Javier’s trial starts.” Hunter stood. “If you want to help me, if you want to end Richardson’s run of corruption, you need to do it now. If you know something, I need to hear it today.”

  Powell brought his line in with nothing on it. He stood and looked at the edge of the lake, staring at the water for a minute. When he was ready, he drew a long breath, and turned back to Hunter. “Then, Mr. Hunter, I’d better tell you a little secret that not many people know.”

  Chapter 20

  The first punch came from behind.

  Javier didn’t expect it, he didn’t see it coming, and when the fist connected with his ribs, pain pulsated through his body. He crumbled to the ground, clutching his side, confused and disorientated.

  He’d spent weeks in solitary confinement, and just when the guards thought he’d had enough, they invented another reason to lock him back in there. They were playing mental games with him, pushing him to his limit, testing him to see how much he could take. The sleepless hot nights were followed by long hot days, sweltering by himself in a concrete cell, it was taking its toll on his mental state. By the time they let him out of solitary after his third stint, he was unsure what was real and fake. Even talking to the other inmates seemed confusing after so much time by himself. It was a vast vacuum of life where the forgotten trudged through monotonous days.

  Carlos and Al understood his confusion. They’d been in his situation before. The loneliness. The isolation. The confusion. When the boredom became unbearable, the mind tricked itself for entertainment. It was the exile and isolation that was the most punishing. Reality became one with dreams, and visions became one with the truth.

  Carlos had experienced the same on his first trip to prison, but it didn’t mean he cared. He stood over the top of Javier, Al next to him. In the one-room library, just big enough to be an office space, they stood at the end of a row of books, looking down at Javier. Another Mexican stood at the door, keeping watch for any guards. There was only one way in or out of the library, and the guards rarely walked past.

  “Your trial is tomorrow.” Carlos leaned down and whispered in Javier’s ear. “I need you to commit to us. Tell us that you’re with us.”

  “Why?” Javier rubbed his ribs as he rolled over on
the worn carpet. He was sure one was broken. “Why now?”

  “Because if you get out, then we have a contact on the outside. We look after each other in Longford. Understand me?”

  Javier groaned in pain, and Carlos looked up to Al. He gave Al a nod, and then Al’s solid boot connected again with Javier’s ribs. Javier screamed in agony.

  “And if you aren’t with us, you’re against us,” Carlos continued. “You need to say it here; you need to say it now. You need to tell me you’re with us. Commit to our gang and tell me that you’ll be my contact if you get out.”

  Javier rolled over on the floor, his face on the carpet. The gray carpet was stained brown, and the musty smell was overwhelming.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Javier rolled over and looked up at the men towering over him. “I thought we were friends?”

  “Ha.” Carlos laughed. “This is prison, not high school. This isn’t some pretty little television show where everyone has a happy ending. Nothing ends happily in here. This is where your worst nightmares come true.”

  Javier didn’t answer.

  “Give him a taste of what happens if he’s against us.” Carlos pointed to Javier’s ribs.

  Another boot connected with Javier’s abdomen. The next kick, swung by Carlos, connected with Javier’s arm. By the fifth kick, coming from both sides, Javier was struggling to breathe.

  “Now do you understand?” Carlos leaned down close to Javier. “This is your initiation into our gang. If you get out, I need a contact on the outside. That’s going to be you.”

  Javier didn’t respond, keeping his hands close to his chest.

  “You need to tell me now.”

  Javier remained quiet.

  “Are you deaf?” Carlos grabbed Javier by the hair, leaned in close to his ear. “I said you need to commit to our gang. If you’re not with us, you’re against us.”

  “I’m innocent,” Javier whispered. “I didn’t kill Chad.”