Jessie Black Legal Thrillers Box Set 1

by Larry A Winters

  These two were definitely going to be a challenge to work with.

  “Never mind,” Jessie said. Then, to Graham, “In my experience, that kind of strategy doesn’t work. If it’s out there, the defense will find it, so the more information we have, the more effectively we’ll be able to counter their arguments.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Graham said.

  “It probably doesn’t matter much in this case,” she said, ignoring the detective’s sarcastic tone. “Whether Russell Lanford was influenced by someone he met online, or just by his own damaged psyche, we have him at the scene, with the murder weapons and the victims. It’s a strong case.”

  “Exactly,” Graham said.

  Novak burst out laughing. He held up his phone. “You gotta see this video of Joey at the playground!”

  Before either of them could respond, the sound of a cough drew their attention to a man approaching them from the direction of the school building. Jessie didn’t recognize him, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t a cop. He was average height, with a slim build. He wore khaki pants and a sport jacket that fluttered behind him in the breeze.

  Graham threw her partner a look. “Not this guy again.”

  “He’s just trying to be helpful,” Novak said. “School’s closed. What else is he gonna do?”

  “He’s not trying to be helpful,” Graham said. “He’s trying to cover his own ass.”

  “Who is he?” Jessie said.

  “School principal,” Graham said. “Pretending to help us, but every chance he gets he reminds us that neither he nor the school could have prevented the shooting. No one was blaming the school, anyway. He’s wasting his breath and getting in our way.”

  Novak shook his head. “You’re too young to be this cynical, Emily. Some civilians actually want to help the police.”

  Graham shot Jessie a knowing look. “You’ll see.”

  The man waved awkwardly as he drew closer. He had brown eyes that looked tired, dark brown hair, and a brown goatee with a few strands of gray. His face was long and narrow, attractive in a hangdog kind of way. If she had to guess, Jessie would say he was in his mid-forties, but he wore the weary expression of an older man.

  “Jessie Black, meet Clark Harrison,” Graham said. “Ms. Black is the prosecutor who will be handling Russell Lanford’s case for the district attorney’s office.”

  Harrison seemed to study her for a second before extending his hand. “Nice to meet you.” He had a firm, dry grip. “I saw you on TV. Like I told the detectives, if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

  “And like I told you,” Graham said, “we don’t need anything more at this time.” There was an edge in her voice, but if Harrison noticed it, he didn’t let on.

  “Anything you need. Stevens Academy takes student safety very seriously. I do, too. This is our first serious incident that anyone can recall—”

  “As you’ve told us several times,” Graham said. She gave Jessie a sidelong glance.

  “Do you have kids of your own?” Jessie asked the principal.

  The question seemed to catch him off guard. “No, but we plan to. My wife and I. When we’re less busy with our careers, you know.”

  She did know, all too well. She thought of Leary and wondered if they’d ever find the time to take their vacation together, much less anything that required serious commitment.

  “Don’t wait too long,” Novak said. “I did, and now every day I worry whether I’ll live to see my grandson graduate high school, or get married, or—” A notification appeared on his iPhone screen and he looked at it, grinning widely. Jessie caught a glimpse of a child’s smiling face.

  “I just want to help,” Harrison said again.

  The man looked sincere, and Jessie could see the frustration in his eyes. Novak had been right—some civilians did want to help the police. But Graham had also been right, in that those civilians often got in the way.

  “The best thing you can do to help is let the police and the DA’s office follow their process,” Jessie said. “I know it’s difficult, feeling like there’s nothing you can do, but sometimes you just need to trust the system.”

  Trust the system. She’d spoken those words, or words like them, too many times to count. To grieving families, traumatized witnesses. And she never felt wholly convinced herself. When something bad happened, there was a human instinct to do something. Trusting a faceless system to handle it—especially one as flawed as the criminal justice system—was tough for most people. As terrible as crime was, sometimes it seemed that the feelings of helplessness and impotence that followed were worse. But Graham was right—being a principal did not equip a person to assist the police, and Harrison would best serve them by staying put.

  Novak’s phone lit up again, and Jessie began to feel the same irritation that Graham had shown. But the display did not show a child’s face this time. Only text. Graham pulled out her own phone, which was also vibrating.

  “Excuse us for a moment, please, Mr. Harrison,” Graham said.

  The detective took Jessie’s arm and tugged her away from the principal. They walked together to the bleachers, where they would be out of earshot of the civilian if they spoke in whispers.

  “What’s wrong?” Jessie said.

  “We just received a message from the jail. Russell Lanford killed himself.”

  Jessie felt the blood drain from her face. “What? How?”

  Graham shook her head. “I’ll get the details, but apparently he hanged himself.”

  “How could this happen?” Jessie said. “He should have been closely watched. He—”

  “There’s no sense arguing about it here,” Graham said. The detective’s gaze turned to Harrison, Novak, and the crime scene.

  “You’re right.” Jessie said. She needed to head back to the DA’s office immediately, where she was sure Warren was impatiently awaiting her.

  6

  Warren was waiting for her in his office in the Homicide Unit. “Well,” he said, “I guess you can go on your vacation now.”

  Jessie thought of the cancelled plane tickets and hotel reservations, but bit her lip. Outside Warren’s office window, the sky had turned overcast, and she could practically feel the chilly air. The balmy weather of the Caribbean seemed a million miles away.

  “What?” Warren said. “You don’t look happy.”

  “Why would I be happy?”

  “I thought you wanted to go on vacation. Check Expedia—you can probably book something last-minute on the cheap.”

  “And you know this from experience?” As far as she could remember, Warren had never taken a day off, not even a sick day. She’d even caught him working on Christmas and New Year’s.

  He blew out a sigh. “Now you don’t want to go on vacation anymore.” It was a statement, not a question, and as soon as she heard the words, she knew they were true. The Lanford case had sucked her in and wound her up—and now, just like that, it was over, leaving her with a feeling of unfinished business.

  She tried to express this. “I just feel....”

  He waved away her words. “I know how you feel. Rivera’s not happy either, believe me. He made a promise to the city. A promise to deliver justice. Closure. Russell Lanford’s suicide makes that promise impossible to keep.”

  Jessie paced in front of her boss’s desk. In the past, he probably would have asked her to sit down, but he’d apparently learned that pacing was part of how she worked. Moving. Thinking on her feet. He turned to his computer, checking email and letting her do her thing. She was grateful.

  “Maybe there’s still a chance to fulfill Rivera’s promise,” she said, stopping.

  He looked up at her. “What do you propose? Sit Russell Lanford’s corpse at a defense table and pretend he’s alive, Weekend At Bernie’s style?”

  She could always count on Warren for some tasteless gallows humor. Seventeen dead—eighteen counting the teenage killer hanged in his jail cell? Perfect time
to roll out the 80’s movie references.

  “This morning, I ran into Russell Lanford’s father. I mean, I didn’t run into him. He found me. He wanted to tell me about a website that Russell had been frequenting.”

  Warren made a face. “Why would he want to tell you that?”

  “He thinks someone on this website influenced his son. He wanted us to look into whether, I don’t know, there might be another person to blame for what happened at the school.”

  Warren barked out a laugh. “Come on, Jessie. We’re not that desperate.”

  She tried to laugh with him, but it felt forced. He looked at her and his eyes narrowed.

  “You’re not serious?” he said.

  “What’s the harm in talking to him, finding out more? There’s no trial to jeopardize now—Russell Lanford is dead. Worst case scenario, we learn nothing useful, offer our condolences, and walk away. No downside.”

  “It’s a waste of time,” Warren said. “That’s the downside. Look, if you don’t want to take your vacation, I’m certainly not going to try to change your mind. I’ve got six new cases I can assign you. If that’s what you really want.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  “Please do,” he said as she turned toward the door. “Maybe even ask that boyfriend of yours for his opinion.”

  Jessie nodded—feeling more than a little chastised that she hadn’t even considered asking Leary—and left the room. She walked down the hallway to her own office. She sat at her desk, opened the web browser on her PC, and navigated to Philly.com. The Stevens Academy incident continued to dominate the news, with Russell’s suicide now taking center stage.

  She forced herself to leave the news sites and go to Expedia. A search for Punta Cana filled her screen with colorful photographs of vacation resorts, which should have been a welcome change from the stark, painful pictures she’d just been looking at. But her mind refused to focus on palm trees and tropical beaches.

  Like the rest of Philadelphia, she wasn’t ready to let go of her case yet. And she wasn’t convinced that talking to Wesley Lanford would be a waste of time.

  7

  An hour after Warren told her to put the Lanford case behind her and head for the tropics, Jessie found herself visiting Police Headquarters instead. The so-called Roundhouse (a name derived from the shape of the building, which resembled twin circles) was about as far from an island resort as you could get. No ocean breezes or Mai Tais here—just stale coffee, stale air, and the smell of tired, overworked city cops.

  But there was something comforting about the familiar sights and sounds of the Homicide Division’s open floor plan. She passed the desk where Leary used to sit before he left the PPD, and a pang of nostalgia burned in her chest. She pushed the feeling aside. She hadn’t come here looking for memories.

  She saw Novak first. The detective sat tilted back on the rear wheels of his swivel chair, his smiling face buried in his iPhone. She located Emily Graham at a similar desk a few feet from Novak, curled over a keyboard and staring into her monitor.

  Jessie peered past the woman’s blonde hair and saw Russell Lanford’s name on the screen. “Paperwork?” she said.

  Graham jumped, then threw Jessie an irritated look. “Ninety-nine percent of this job,” she said with a frown. “At least it feels like that sometimes.”

  “Maybe you’d like to go somewhere with me for a few hours, do something a little more exciting?”

  A creased line appeared between Graham’s eyes as she regarded Jessie with obvious skepticism. “Depends what you have in mind. In my experience, ‘exciting’ usually means something different to a cop than it does to a lawyer.” She said the word lawyer as if speaking of a rare and unpleasant zoo attraction.

  “I’d like to interview Wesley Lanford. Learn more about the website that supposedly played a part in the Stevens Academy shootings. Just to tie up loose ends.”

  Graham pushed away from her desk and turned to face Jessie. “First of all, investigating crimes is a job for a detective, not a lawyer.” Jessie caught an angry emphasis on the word lawyer again. “Second, there are no loose ends.” Graham returned her attention to her computer. “The investigation’s over. I’m closing out the file now. Why don’t you go back to the DA’s office and focus on a live case? Preferably one with a different lead detective?”

  Jessie put a hand on Graham’s wrist to stop her from moving the mouse. “Can you wait a day before you do that?”

  “I could, but I don’t see why I should.”

  “Do you have a problem working with me, Emily?”

  Graham froze. The direct question, and use of her first name, seemed to have caught her off guard. “No.”

  “You sure seem to.”

  Novak’s shadow fell over them. The older detective had stowed his phone in the sagging pocket of his suit pants. He looked first at Jessie, then Graham. “What’s up, partner?”

  “We’re fine,” Graham said. “Go get a cup of coffee.”

  Novak seemed to study them. “You don’t look fine.”

  “Get me a cup, too,” Graham said.

  Novak’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t like coffee.”

  “Or lawyers, apparently,” Jessie said.

  Novak sighed. “That was this is about? Christ sakes, Emily, we talked about this.”

  The detective avoided his gaze. “I said we’re fine.”

  “Then why can I feel the tension from across the room?” Novak said.

  “Our illustrious legal counsel doesn’t think we should close out Lanford. She thinks there are loose ends. I disagree. There’s nothing more to it.” Jessie could see anger and embarrassment in the woman’s eyes. “Certainly nothing personal.”

  “Loose ends?” Novak said. “Everyone’s dead.”

  “Maybe not,” Jessie said. She still believed that whatever Graham’s problem with her was, it was personal. But she could sense the time was not right to force the issue, especially with Novak present. She allowed the conversation to shift back to Lanford. Part of her felt silly in persisting when everyone else seemed ready to throw in the towel, but she had a gut feeling that there was more to this case than they realized, that not everyone involved was dead.

  “What are you saying?” Novak leaned his hip against the side of Graham’s desk. The flimsy furniture rocked and a pen rolled off the surface. Graham caught it before it reached the floor.

  “She wants to visit the shooter’s father,” Graham said.

  “The guy you said you had a hinky feeling about,” Novak said. “Sounds kind of like you’re in alignment on this.” There was a subtext Jessie sensed but couldn’t quite decipher. Novak had a determined glint in his eyes.

  “Humor me,” Jessie said. “One conversation. We hear the man out, look at the website, see if there’s anything to his claims. If it comes to nothing, you can drive straight back here to finish your paperwork.” But if there is something there, she thought, maybe we’re back in business.

  “You don’t give up,” Graham said. She pushed back from her desk. “I’m guessing you were a precocious child? Always challenging things, arguing, asking questions? Did your mommy and daddy tell you you’d make a great lawyer one day?”

  “My mother died when I was four. I don’t remember what she might have said about my future career. And as for my dad, I think he assumed I’d be president of the United States.”

  Graham and Novak both looked taken aback. Jessie forced her lips into a casual smile—no big deal—and looked at her hands. Why had she brought up her personal history? It was none of Graham’s business, and besides, she didn’t want to get her way by playing the dead-mother card.

  “Sorry,” Graham said. She seemed to look at Jessie a little differently. Seeing me as a person, maybe? At least the woman wasn’t totally devoid of empathy.

  Jessie waved away the condolences. “It happened a long time ago.”

  “I mean about not being president,” Graham said. She smiled tentatively. “Must h
ave been tough for your dad to see his daughter throw away all that presidential potential by embarking on a dead-end career in the prosecutor’s office.”

  Jessie smiled back. She felt herself relax. They’d transitioned to the safe territory of cop banter. “He’s working through the disappointment.”

  “So,” Novak said. “We going to Chestnut Hill or what? I’ll drive.”

  The Lanford house was a sleek, modern mini-mansion in Chestnut Hill, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Philly. Novak parked the unmarked sedan in the driveway, and he, Graham, and Jessie stepped out of the car and took in the view. The two-story house presided over an immaculate lawn—there was not a single fallen leaf within its bounds, even though the neighbors’ yards were strewn with them. Tall, majestic trees rose like columns near the house. The air felt cool on Jessie’s face, and she thought she smelled pumpkins, apples. Behind them, two kids wheeled past on bicycles, fearlessly riding in the middle of the quiet residential street. The word that came to mind was idyllic. And yet, this place had spawned a monster.

  The front door opened and Wesley Lanford looked out at them. The expression on his face was mostly sadness. But also, Jessie thought, hopeful. He hadn’t thought they’d come.

  Jessie and the detectives climbed the path to the front door. Lanford shook their hands and guided them into his house. The entryway was brightly lit, clean and inviting. They passed through it to a kitchen, where Lanford gestured to a large oak table and said, “Make yourselves comfortable. I can brew coffee.”

  “Coffee would be great,” Jessie said. She pulled a chair out from the table and sat down.

  “I’ll try not to spill this one on my shoe,” he said. It was meant as a joke—a callback to their first meeting outside the DA’s office—but he didn’t seem capable of a smile.

  Novak lowered himself into one of the kitchen chairs with a heavy grunt. Then he pulled out his phone. He hadn’t checked for grandson updates during the whole car ride over here—Jessie thought it was a wonder he wasn’t trembling from withdrawal.