Fire and Justice: A Legal Thriller (Bill Harvey Book 3)

by Peter O'Mahoney

  “Maybe.” She shrugs. “Maybe just a little.”

  Chapter 18

  Within two hours, Penny returns to Bill’s door. “Boss, this is what I’ve found.”

  “That was quick, Penny.” Bill raises his eyebrows as he looks up from the file in front of him. “And stop calling me boss. This is not a sitcom from the 1980s.”

  “Sorry, sir.” She smirks. “I knew where to look for the information on these cases. I suppose I got lucky. And there weren’t too many people charged with strangling deaths in the last two years in the L.A. area.”

  “So what have we got?”

  “We’ve got a man murdered by strangulation twelve months ago. A person named Lachlan Shaw was charged with the murder. He got seven years and is doing time in Twin Towers Correctional. He always maintained his innocence though. Throughout the whole trial, he declared he didn’t do it. Very vocal about his innocence, but the jury found him guilty. He was going to appeal but then withdrew his application. The write-up in the media says that it took the jury three days to reach a verdict and the evidence wasn’t convincing. A borderline decision.”

  “Who were the prosecutor and the defense attorneys?”

  “The prosecutor was Shannon Chettle, and the defense attorney was, um…” She flicks over a piece of paper. “Mr. Timothy Greene and—”

  “Ahhh…”

  “What’s wrong with Mr. Greene?”

  “He had a nervous breakdown only six months ago and hasn’t returned to work. One of his previous cases is getting retried because he failed his duty of defending the client. That happens in our line of work. You’re either one hundred percent in – or things get questioned. That can put a lot of pressure on a man, and when things aren’t right, some people crumble under that pressure. It means that Mr. Shaw might not have received the best possible defense.”

  “What about you? Ever crumbled under pressure?”

  “Me? No. Not yet anyway. I’m sure we’re all just one bad month away from falling apart, but luckily that hasn’t happened to me yet.” Bill pauses. “Tell me more about Mr. Shaw. Who did he murder?”

  “A homeless teen who had been walking in Skid Row that night. Apparently, they had no connection to each other, but Mr. Shaw was charged when video footage placed him near the scene of the crime. I used to know a Lachlan Shaw, briefly. The name rings a bell, I think.”

  “Anything else?”

  “There was a witness who placed him at the scene, and Mr. Shaw was also drunk at the time. He said he couldn’t remember most of the night but might have had a run-in with the teenager on the walk home. The deceased also had Mr. Shaw’s wallet on him, so the prosecution stated that the teen tried to mug him and Mr. Shaw got angry and strangled the teen.”

  “But why kill a man who tried to mug you, and not take your wallet back?”

  “Sounds questionable, doesn’t it?”

  “Certainly does.” Bill closes the folder on his desk. “And it sounds very similar to Jonathon’s case too. Find out more information about Mr. Shaw and call the prison to set up an appointment for me this afternoon. Looks like I am going to have a chat with Mr. Shaw.”

  Chapter 19

  Entering the Twin Towers Correctional Facility is like entering a morgue.

  The long-term inmates almost seem dead. There is an air of regret, sadness, and emptiness in their eyes. Despite being one of the largest prisons in the world, Twin Towers is known for its rough-housing, abuse, and gang warfare.

  Not a pleasant experience for anyone.

  The musky smell in the interview room itches the inside of Bill Harvey’s nose. It is a smell he knows well, but not one that he will ever get used to. Although he thinks that the metal chairs with worn cushions are uncomfortable, he knows that it is the most comfort some of the inmates have seen in a very long time.

  The table in front of him is as cold as the small room, and the scratches along the edge present evidence of a dangerous past.

  “Mr. Shaw.” Bill stands and greets the forty-year-old man that walks into the room. “My name is Bill Harvey, Criminal Defense Attorney. I need your help.”

  He looks at Lachlan Shaw – a man full of purpose and confidence. He walks into the room with a straight back, his face holds a grin, his eyes alive. Perfectly groomed. Slick hair. Strong. Assured. Poised.

  Not what Bill expected at all.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harvey.” His voice is strong as they shake hands.

  “How are you doing in here, Mr. Shaw?” Bill states as they sit down.

  Lachlan draws a long deep breath, and a smile drifts across his face. “I’m doing better than I ever have in my life. I have never felt more alive than I do now.”

  “Prison has done that to you?”

  “Not prison, but the Lord. In here, I’ve had time to find my path to the Lord. He is my savior and my hero. The Lord is great. I am grateful for my experience here because I have found my purpose in life. The world is a dangerous place, and life has lots of twists and turns, but the Lord will look after me. I will follow the path he has laid down for me.”

  Bill almost laughs out loud. Lachlan Shaw could not be more of a stereotypical preacher-type.

  “Have you found the Lord, Mr. Harvey?” Lachlan leans forward on the table.

  “I didn’t realize he was lost.”

  “Ah, a bit of a joker, I see.”

  “You know, I once prayed to the Lord to bring me a bike when I was seven years old. I prayed and prayed, but nothing happened.”

  “The Lord doesn’t work that way, Mr. Harvey.”

  “I realized that after a while. So then I just stole a bike, and prayed for forgiveness.” Bill smiles.

  “Ha.” Lachlan laughs genuinely and leans back in his chair. “I like your joke. Would you like to hear my best joke, Mr. Harvey?”

  “Go on.” Bill nods, glad that the rapport is building between them.

  “Mother superior says to two twenty-one-year-old nuns that they have to paint their bedroom without getting any paint on their new clothes. The first nun suggests to the other, ‘Hey, let's take all our clothes off, fold them up, and lock the door.’ So they do this and begin painting their bedroom. Soon there is a knock at the door. ‘Who is it?’ they ask. ‘Blind man!’ The nuns look at each other, and the first nun says, ‘He's blind, so he can't see. What could it hurt?’ They open the door and let him in. The blind man walks in and says, ‘Hey, nice tits. Where do you want me to hang the blinds?’

  Bill slaps the table, laughing hard. “Well, that was unexpected.”

  “That’s the tamest joke I have heard in prison. Things get dirty in here.” Lachlan smiles. “But enough jokes, how can I help you, Mr. Harvey?”

  “It’s about your case,” Bill replies, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “I’ve read over your file, and despite the conviction, you’re still maintaining your innocence. You’re—”

  “I’m not maintaining my innocence. I am innocent. There’s a difference. A real big difference. Some people in here say they are innocent one day, and then admit their guilt the next. That’s not me.” Lachlan’s voice rises with aggression, and he shows signs of vigor. “I am innocent of that crime; I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Of course.” Bill opens his notepad, pen ready. “What can you tell me about the night that the man died?”

  “Whoa, Mr. Harvey. Settle down. First, you need to tell me what you’re doing here.” Lachlan waves his finger in the air. “I don’t know you or what you do. I don’t even know why you’re here. You’ve had me pulled from my Bible reading to talk with you, but I know nothing about you. And they taught us at school not to speak to strangers.”

  Bill smiles at the inmate’s attempt at another joke. At least he has kept his sense of humor. “I’m investigating a very similar murder to yours, Mr. Shaw, and I believe that my client is innocent. There are a lot of similarities with your case, and if you’re innocent like you say you are, then there is a chance tha
t we might be dealing with the same killer. If you can help me, then there is a chance that I can help you.”

  Lachlan stares at Bill, processing the information.

  Hope is a dangerous feeling.

  Lachlan had given up on any piece of optimism; now he is just waiting for his time to pass until his sentence is completed. His thoughts turn to the day of his release – when he can begin to rebuild his life.

  He has pinned all his dreams to the day of his parole – the day when he can walk out a free man again. He can make new friends, find a new job, preach to the people and follow the path that the good Lord has set for him.

  That is his future. Locked in.

  So this announcement of hope gives him a feeling of unease.

  He wasn’t prepared for that today.

  “I’m not sure I want to hear that.” He shakes his head.

  “I understand that hope is a very delicate concept in prison. I’m not here trying to sell you anything, Mr. Shaw. I’m being honest with you. Even if I prove that my client is innocent and we suspect that the same person might be involved in your case, there is no guarantee that there will be any evidence that can support the claim. Time has passed since your case, and any new evidence is likely to be weak. The chance of you getting out of here early is still very slim. But I don’t want two innocent men to go to prison for someone else’s sins. And I’m sure you wouldn’t wish this experience on your worst enemy.”

  Lachlan nods slowly. “If this is the path the Lord wants me to take, then I will help you.”

  “What are—”

  Lachlan holds up his hands as a stop sign.

  He closes his eyes and looks inwardly to himself, calming his mind with a number of long, slow breaths.

  After a few moments, he opens his eyes again. “The Good Lord says that I should help you. This is my path.”

  “Go on.” Bill leans forward in his chair. “Tell me about the night in question.”

  “We were drinking heavily that night, like we did most Friday nights. I was out celebrating the end of the week with the other people from the office I was working at. It was just one of those offices where everyone liked to party. A lot of people there were temporary workers, and that meant that a lot of people felt pretty free about what they were doing. We were a ‘party office’ – that’s what we were known for. And it was the same bar every Friday night.”

  “Interesting. How many temp workers were there in the agency you were working for at the time?”

  “Hundreds. I wouldn’t know them all. I’m sure there is a list of the workers somewhere.”

  “And the company name?”

  “Harrison & Wilder. It was a large stock market firm. Lots of accounting types and bankers. They needed administrative support, which is why they hired a lot of temporary workers. They treated us very poorly, and that’s why none of the staff lasted very long. The turnover rate of the staff was a huge problem for them, but they weren’t willing to change any of their behaviors.”

  “Temp workers…” Bill’s thoughts process fast.

  “So I partied hard that night. Extra hard. Then I was with this girl – I don’t even know her name, and I don’t even remember if she was from the firm, a temp worker, or just a random at the bar. I was too drunk to remember. But I do remember telling her all about my drinking. I used to be proud that I could drink ten beers every night and still show up to work the next day. I used to wear that level of drinking like a badge of honor. Of course, it means nothing now. So, I was too drunk – the girl rejected me, and I was a bit angry. After that, I don’t remember much. I remember I was angry, but that’s about it. It was like a massive blank spot in my mind. I have spent so much time in here trying to figure out what happened, but what I do know is that I couldn’t have done it. I couldn’t kill a man. I wouldn’t have been able to do it. And I certainly couldn’t strangle a person.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m just not that person. I couldn’t kill anyone. I’m a vegetarian because I don’t like killing animals. I just wouldn’t have been able to do it to a real person. I wouldn’t have been able to do that. That I am sure of.”

  “Did the police follow up with the girl?”

  “The police didn’t do anything. Not a thing. They had some witness place me at the scene – I was drunk and angry, and apparently, that was enough to convict me of the murder. I mean, they didn’t even have DNA evidence of me at the scene. How could they do that?” Lachlan shakes his head, dismayed that the legal system failed him. “I tried so hard to fight it. I tried so hard to appeal the conviction, but I got nowhere. Nowhere.”

  “And you can’t remember anything else about the girl?”

  “She was young and pretty. Blonde. And I remember she said that she had to go because someone was about to pick her up from the bar. But we had a real connection. Despite the drinks, we had something real. I know that she felt it too. She gave me her phone number on a piece of paper, but when I looked for it the next morning, I couldn’t find it. She was the last girl I saw before coming in here, so naturally, I think about her a lot.”

  “A witness mentioned that there was a woman with you when they saw you near the man that was murdered?”

  “That’s what they said. But I couldn’t remember a thing. Not a thing. I’ve tried so hard, but I have nothing.” Lachlan’s voice is full of desperation. “I have meditated, done hypnotherapy, tried all sorts of formulas to try and remember what happened. But I have nothing. It’s just a massive black spot in my mind. Nothing.”

  “Tell me more about the people you were drinking with.” Bill scribbles notes on his pad.

  “They were just the usual bunch of party people. Temp workers, people in their early twenties, and old guys who were holding on. You know the type. Life is all roses, peaches, and parties at some workplaces and—”

  “What did you just say?”

  “Temp workers.” Lachlan looks at him with a questioning look. “That means temporary workers. They’re—”

  “No, no. After that. Something about life is all roses?”

  “Life is all roses, peaches, and parties. That’s a saying that we used to have among the temp workers. It meant that now was the time to party, no regrets. We were unhinged and carefree. We had to make the most of our time. But I didn’t know it would lead me to prison.”

  Bill pauses and looks off into the distance for a few moments, the thoughts processing fast in his mind again.

  “I did some bad things in my time, Mr. Harvey.” Lachlan stands from behind the table and begins to walk the room like he is delivering a sermon. “I beat people up, I stole things, I burnt cars. I was a terrible person. Terrible. I got what I deserved. I didn’t kill that man, but I deserved to be in prison.”

  “Is that why you withdrew your last appeal?”

  “That’s right. When I found the Lord, I realized that this was my path. This is what was supposed to happen in my life. This was my punishment for being so evil in the past. And now, I am thankful for my experience here. Although I didn’t kill the man, I’m sure that the Good Lord lay this path for me for a reason. It was the path I was supposed to take. I am serving time for my many sins. It is in here that I have found the Lord. I have found peace in here. You should too.”

  “I should what?” Bill raises his eyebrows, not listening to the man any longer, his thoughts somewhere else.

  “Find peace, my brother. You should—”

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Shaw. You have been a great help.” Bill stands, nods and leaves the interview room, in no mood to listen to him preach.

  He has no time for a sermon.

  He has a killer to catch.

  Chapter 20

  As he steps out the front doors of the prison, the city air hits him.

  Bill hadn’t realized how stale the air was in prison, filling his lungs with moldiness. He loves the smell of his city in the middle of the day. Eucalyptus, jasmine, and pine all mixed together.


  It smells like freedom.

  His moment of contemplation is interrupted by his mobile, buzzing loudly in his pocket.

  “What have you got for me, Penny?” he questions as soon as he answers.

  “Hi, Bill. I’ve done some more digging on the Internet and found something else. I’m not sure if it will help, but I thought I’d let you know anyway. I find all this stuff really exciting. It feels like I’m on a real-life murder show, solving a mystery. This is so exhilarating.” Penny’s voice is full of glee.

  “Just remember that someone actually died. Don’t get too excited.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replies softly. “So, I did some searching online, just Googling names and following tracks, that sort of thing. After about half an hour, I found some information about the murdered Gerard West on Facebook. There hasn’t been an update for a few years, but his profile was still public. Some old photos of his family, his old job, and his old life – wearing a suit, looking really fit, and shaking hands with lots of politicians. But it’s really clear that he was an alcoholic because there are a lot of photos of him in bars and parties, and each one he has a drink in his hand. A year ago, the abuse started on his Facebook profile. That’s when he didn’t win the case for the little girl. So many people said such horrible things about him. His profile is just filled with hateful things. Those messages seemed to stop after about a year.”

  “It was trial by public opinion. It was chaos for him then, there was no escaping it.”

  “I don’t understand why he didn’t make his profile private?”

  “He probably logged off one day, and never opened it again. Those hateful messages can strike deep, Penny. That’s the problem with the Internet – keyboard trolls making horrible statements that they would never say to your face. Everyone has a voice now, even those filled with hate.” Bill sighs. “Has there been any updates on his profile since those messages?”

  “He hasn’t logged an update since then, but he was tagged in a few photos at a center for those with mental illnesses.”