Will of Justice_A Legal Thriller

by Peter O'Mahoney

  Thomas’s arms fold tighter as Bill stares at him. There is no doubt that Thomas is hiding something, but he can’t figure out what that is.

  “Have you ever been in Jessica’s apartment?”

  “Um.” He thinks his answer over. “Before last week, I had been in there twice, I think. Once when I had to check the windows for body corporate and the second time…” Thomas takes a long pause. “The second time I went in there when she was screaming at someone. We went there to see if she was okay.”

  “We?”

  “Sorry?” Thomas looks at Bill confused.

  “You just said ‘we’ went next door. Who is ‘we’?”

  “Um, Carlos. He’s a friend of mine. Just a friend.”

  “Did Carlos know Jessica?”

  “Yes… Carlos is Jessica’s cleaner. He goes there twice a week to clean her apartment.”

  Bill makes a mental note that Carlos is likely to have a key to Jessica’s apartment. “And what did you hear when there was screaming?”

  “I’m not sure. It was very loud shouting, and it was really aggressive. I don’t hear much through the walls, but I could hear this argument really clearly, so I was worried for her safety. Carlos and I went and knocked on the door while they were still screaming at each other. It was very loud screaming, and I was worried about her. Jessica answered the door pretty quickly.”

  “And Jessica was okay?”

  “She was fine. She told us to go away and mind our own business. We waited out in the hall for a few moments, you know, just to make sure that everything was fine, but the old guy left pretty quickly. I had seen him around before, but not for a long time. I figured they were friends, or that it was her boyfriend.”

  “And how long ago was this?” Bill continues.

  “I’m not exactly sure. About a month, maybe two months ago. I can’t be exactly sure.”

  “And you’re good friends with Carlos, Jessica’s cleaner?”

  “Yes, but we’re just friends. Just friends. He comes around sometimes, and we hang out. There is nothing more to it than that. We are just friends. He likes to watch wrestling, just like me. Sometimes we just sit here and watch the wrestling for hours.”

  It’s clear that he’s hiding something. But Bill can’t work out whether it’s because he’s guilty, or if it’s the natural state of his hesitant personality.

  “Tell me what you saw when you entered the apartment?”

  “When?”

  “On the day that Jessica Lempare died.”

  “Oh. Um, it was quite distressing, you know? I was just checking that she was okay, and then after I went in there, I just saw her lying on the ground. She was just lying there. I tried to check her pulse, but I could not find one. That is when I ran in here and called the police.”

  “Did you enter the apartment again after that?”

  “No way. I was too scared. I waited in the foyer until the police arrived.”

  “Did you enter the apartment again with the police?”

  “No. I waited in the corridor until they confirmed she was dead.”

  Staring at Thomas, Bill searches for any hint of a lie. Thomas’s eyes avoid direct contact with Bill’s, but he can’t determine whether it’s because Thomas is telling a lie or if it’s because he’s the killer.

  Time will answer that statement for Bill Harvey.

  “Thank you for your time, Thomas. You’ve been of great assistance.” He stands. “And I’m sure that we will talk again.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The entrance to the Recovering Veterans charity is not what Bill expected.

  He expected a small broken door in an outdated shopping mall, but instead, he’s riding a clean elevator to the top floor of a large inner city office building.

  When the doors to the elevator slowly open, he’s even more surprised.

  The space alone must have cost a lot of money – not to mention the modern art all over the office walls. There are large glass doors, and the space resembles more of an expensive corporate office than it does a charity office. However, surprisingly, there is no signage for the charity.

  Jack Grayson was able to build a thick file on the Recovering Veterans charity. Their history has been filled with controversy, mostly relating to money. The financial status of the foundation is closely guarded and well-hidden, protecting it from even the best investigative journalists.

  The deeper Jack dug into the evidence, the more it became clear that there was a lot of questions about the operations of the charity.

  “May I help you?” a young, pretty, blonde secretary asks as Bill walks into the foyer of the office. Everything in the foyer is slick, with freshly painted walls and glass doors leading to separate offices.

  “Good morning. My name is Bill Harvey, and I have an appointment to speak with Mr. John Morgan, the CEO of Recovering Veterans.”

  “May I ask what it is regarding?”

  “It’s about the death of Jessica Lempare. I’m representing Anna Lempare as her lawyer.”

  The young lady smiles politely, and then types something into the computer in front of her.

  The door to the main office quickly swings open, an older man stands at the entrance. Despite Bill’s height, he’s forced to look up at the man, whose strong, weathered and large hand rests on the doorframe.

  “Hello.” The voice is laced with creepiness. “I’m John Morgan, but most people call me Bud. So please, call me Bud.”

  Although he’s close to seventy years old, Bud Morgan stands with a rigid, straight posture. It’s a posture that’s been practiced many times with the benefit of army training. His square jaw and tense focus instantly project an image of a life-long army officer. His jeans have been ironed, his shirt is neatly tucked in, and his hair is perfectly clipped – this is a man whose life has been run by routine.

  “Hello, Bud,” Bill greets the man, shaking his hand in a solid handshake. “My name is Bill Harvey, and I’m the attorney for Anna Lempare.”

  “Jessica Lempare’s death was a sad, sad occurrence.” Bud’s eyes drop to the floor as he shakes his head. “I’ll miss that woman.”

  “Shall we discuss that in your office, instead of standing in the reception area?” Bill directs.

  “Of course. How rude of me, Mr. Harvey. Please, come into my office.”

  Following Bud through the door, Bill enters a large corporate space, complete with modern furniture, new carpet, and floor to ceiling windows. It feels like he has just stepped into the pages of a business sales catalog. Bud walks behind the large desk, resting in his almost regal office chair.

  “Mr. Harvey, this is Mr. Frank Matthews – a decorated veteran, and the deputy CEO of this charity,” he says, introducing the other man sitting in Bud’s office. “We were actually just discussing Jessica’s unfortunate passing.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Matthews.” Bill offers his hand to shake.

  The result of ten years practicing hypnotherapy means that Bill isn’t able to meet anyone without making an instant judgment on their character. Frank Matthews stands to greet Bill with tense shoulders, like they are reaching for his ears. He’s hiding something.

  Over the years, he has learned that all mental issues display themselves physically. Tense shoulders mean that he’s either nervous about the situation or he’s hiding something about his personality. There is something that Frank isn’t proud of, something that he wants nobody else to know.

  “I’ll leave you two to discuss what is needed,” Frank states almost with an air of disappointed authority.

  “No, please, Mr. Matthews, I would like to discuss this with you as well. I was hoping to catch both of you at once.”

  Frank offers Bud a glance and Bud thinks for a moment, then nods, and Frank sits back down.

  “This is a very nice office, Mr. Morgan. It must be expensive,” Bill comments as he walks over to the windows and looks down at the view of the parklands below. “Impressive view as well.”

  �
��This office does the job,” Bud’s reply is flippant.

  “More than required perhaps.” Bill shrugs his shoulders. “Do you meet clients in this office?”

  “Here? No.”

  “The veterans would hate this place,” Frank adds. “We go out to meet them. It’s part of the service that we provide. We work hard to bring our services to the veterans and save them the trouble of having to find parking. They have enough going on without having to worry about traveling Downtown to see us.”

  “Why isn’t this office listed as your charity’s address?” Bill questions, although he already knows the answer.

  Bud shakes his head at the question. “Like I said, we go out to meet the veterans. It’s what they prefer. We also have another smaller office that we use if the veterans would like to meet with us. Our charity service is all about making the veteran’s comfortable. We use our smaller office for the meetings that we hold.”

  “Interesting,” Bill quips. “And may I ask how many people you assist on a day-to-day basis?”

  “Before we get into that, Mr. Harvey, can I ask what the exact purpose of this visit is?” Bud stops the questioning progressing any further.

  “As I mentioned, I’m representing Anna Lempare about the unfortunate death of her aunt.”

  “Is Anna pleading Not Guilty?” Frank asks.

  “Yes.” Bill nods. “And this all seems to tie back to the will that I imagine you’re very familiar with as your charity receives sizable donations each month from the trustee. I would like to discuss that with you.”

  With a sigh, Bud sits down at his large professional desk. He’s more comfortable behind the desk as it provides a physical barrier between himself and Bill. “I’m very familiar with the will. Please, Mr. Harvey, sit down. May I offer you something to drink?”

  Bud indicates towards the chair on the opposite side of his desk, next to Frank.

  “No, thank you,” he replies as he places his briefcase down on the floor and then slowly sits in the chair. “And you were familiar with the trustee?”

  “Jessica and I knew each other quite well, yes.”

  “Frank, did you know Jessica?”

  “We have a past.” Frank squirms uncomfortably. “We used to date many years ago, and we have kept in touch since. Obviously, we appreciate the monthly donations from the estate.”

  “The donations from the estate are our largest,” Bud interrupts. “And as you would be aware, with the untimely death of Jessica, the will leaves half the amount of the estate to the charity.”

  “Her death is rather timely. Your charity would have suffered greatly if Anna was to complete the conditions of the will.”

  “Ha.” Frank chuckles. “I think that we all know that there is no way that little girl was going to enroll in the Army Basic Training course. And if she did enroll, then there would be no way that the precious girl would have completed it.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Bill adds, watching for a reaction from either of the men. Neither show any emotional reaction, although the emotion was beaten out of both of them years ago. “What exactly does this charity provide?”

  “We help those who helped us,” Frank says proudly. It’s the first time that Bill has noticed truth in his words. “That’s our motto. We provide services to those who served – including mental health support, help for those who returned with a physical disability, and emotional support for those who need it.”

  “Our main focus is support,” Bud talks over the top of Frank again. There is still a clear ranking structure between them. “We act as a conduit between the veterans and various support options – and they may be psychologists, counselors, physiotherapists, or any number of options. We pay for a lot of their services as well. Mostly, though, we organize support groups, where men and women can gather and support each other.”

  “How many people are employed here?”

  “There is myself, and Frank, obviously,” Bud responds. “And Nicole, our secretary, who you met on the way in.”

  “And how many veterans have you helped?”

  “Too many to count.”

  “Do you keep those numbers available?”

  “Not readily.”

  Bill is frustrated by the evasiveness of the details of the charity.

  “You’re a veteran also?” Bill turns to the man next to him, attempting to build rapport with Frank.

  Frank’s eyes flick up and to the left. He’s accessing the thinking part of his brain. “The Gulf War.”

  “What division?”

  “Are you a veteran, Mr. Harvey?” Frank counter asks, leaning forward to move his glass of water on the table slightly to the left.

  Bill Harvey learned a long time ago that when facing an anxious situation, people may dissipate that anxiety through physical activity in the form of grooming oneself or the immediate surroundings.

  When responding to a direct question, a dishonest person may adjust their physical appearance; for example, they may move their tie, or move a few strands of hair behind their ear, or straighten a piece of clothing, or adjust their surrounds. If the question is laced with pressure, suddenly the glass of water is in the wrong place, or the book on the table isn’t lined up correctly.

  “No, I didn’t serve. However, I have great respect for those who did.”

  “Then look, Mr. Harvey, no offense, but I find it hard to talk about it with anyone who hasn’t experienced war,” Frank responds. “There is… there are things that happen in war that words can’t convey. It’s hard to understand.”

  Bill nods with understanding, but the air of uneasiness in the room remains. He can tell that Frank’s words are lacking truth.

  “Mr. Morgan, can you tell me anything of interest about Jessica Lempare?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re referring to?”

  “I would like to know how close you were to her. In the past few months, were you and Jessica friends? Or more than friends?”

  Bud laughs. “We were friends, Mr. Harvey. If she needed my help, then I would help her. We were certainly not anything more than that. We had known each other for many years, and of course, she attended all our functions as our main benefactor. I had great respect for that woman, and I’m saddened that she has passed.”

  “Where were you on the afternoon of May 1st?”

  With a sharp glare, Bud turns. “I’m not sure what you’re asking, Mr. Harvey?”

  “It’s a simple question.”

  “But it’s one with a lot of implication.” He leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the desk. “When I first heard that Jessica had been murdered, my first thoughts were of Anna. They didn’t like each other – everyone knew that. They argued a lot and that Anna has quite a temper.”

  “Mr. Matthews.” Bill turns to the man next to him. “When did your romantic relationship with Jessica end?”

  “Many, many years ago, Mr. Harvey. We still saw each other occasionally, mostly because I felt sorry for her. She lived a lonely life, and a lot of what she did was with me. Some weeks, I would be the only other person that would talk to her. But it was all her own making – she wouldn’t go out, or do anything new. That was the world that she wanted. Other than her housekeeper, Carlos, who came in twice a week, she wouldn’t talk to anyone else. Not that she really talked to Carlos either. She hated him. She didn’t trust him at all. She even bought a small video camera to hide in her living room, just to make sure he wasn’t stealing anything.”

  “And you were saddened by her death?”

  “Of course,” Frank snaps. “Once upon a time, I loved that woman, but she drove me insane. She was very needy and very rude.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Bill notices Bud is squirming in his seat. He’s clearly trying to stay out of this conversation.

  “I’m not sure I like the tone of this conversation, Mr. Harvey,” he states, clearly evasive. “We have welcomed you into our office, and you’re treating that welcome with complete disregar
d. We are not on trial here, Mr. Harvey. The police have arrested Jessica’s murderer, and ten million dollars is a very clear motive.”

  “Ten million dollars is a very clear motive. That’s why I’m here.”

  Both men stare at Bill, unsure what to say next.

  “I’m interested in where you men were on May 1st.”

  Frank looks to Bud, who shakes his head.

  “I think this discussion is over, Mr. Harvey.” Bud stands up from behind his large desk, walking towards the door. He holds the office door open, waiting for Bill to move. “It’s time for you to leave.”

  Picking up his briefcase, Bill nods to Frank, before turning towards the exit.

  “Both of you should be aware that I have evidence that Anna is innocent,” he bluffs, attempting to cause anxiety for the real killer. “And as Anna is innocent, that means there is a killer still walking free.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Harvey,” Bud whispers as Bill walks out the door. “We’re all killers here.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Your thoughts?” Jack Grayson hands a pint of pale ale across the table, and Bill takes a long, hearty sip before he answers. He takes his time to taste the hops and the heavy flavor of the locally crafted beer, then gives a nod of approval; not to anyone in particular.

  “She didn’t do it,” he states as he looks around the bar.

  The bar is half-full with people yelling at the basketball game on the television hooked up in the far corner of the room. In general, he prefers bars without televisions as there is too much testosterone floating around when a game is on, but he likes this place. The lighting is dim, the décor is outdated, and the bar is understaffed, but it’s close to his apartment.

  “Really? You think Anna is innocent? Why?”

  “She might be a fiery redhead who didn’t like her aunt, but I don’t think she was wild enough to strangle her. I can’t see it in her. I can’t see her as a murderer, Jack. She’s just not that type of person. Maybe if it was a gunshot that killed her aunt, I might think differently. A single gunshot could be a moment of suspended disbelief, almost an accident. But strangulation is different. That is a determined process where she would have had to look her aunt in the face for a minute, perhaps two. I don’t think that Anna Lempare is capable of that sort of behavior.”