Blind Rage (Blind Justice Book 3)

by Adam Zorzi

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Hey, why so sad?” Mark asked when he sat beside her and dimmed the lights. She'd been reading on the bed with the transcripts propped on her knees.

  “Is the movie over already?” She hadn't been reading that long.

  “Why would I watch a movie I can see any time when I have a hot woman in the bedroom who must be close to finishing work for the day?”

  “I see your point. Glad to hear I beat out Matt Damon.”

  He laughed. “It was a close call, but you're prettier. He hasn't aged well.” He ran his hands up one smooth thigh.

  Bella laughed her siren's laugh. “He's also about fifteen years older than I am.”

  “Really?” Mark said. He leaned back against the headboard. “I basically know nothing about you.”

  Bella got off the bed and put the files neatly in her briefcase. “You know what matters.”

  “Like?” Half question. Half challenge.

  She sat on the bed and stretched out her legs. “I'm brilliant, ruthless according to you, and an exceptional lover.”

  He made his crinkly eyed laugh. “Modest. You didn't mention modesty or humility.”

  “You know I possess neither of those qualities,” she said as she turned to face him. “They're highly overrated. I prefer honest to disingenuous.”

  “So, that's it? That's all there is to you?”

  “I don't talk about myself. It's not important.”

  “But it's important for you to tell me that I need to create a home, find a wife, and broaden my horizons,” he said amiably.

  She poked him in the ribs. “You asked.”

  “Touché. I might have amazing insights. Try me.”

  She looked directly into his eyes. “Mark, my life is just as I want it. I have no one to please but myself. That makes me selfish. There are worse things to be.”

  He seemed surprised by her candor. “Well, at least tell me why you're suddenly available.”

  “I decided to be available to you. You're a hard man to resist. Why should I deprive myself? That's the selfishness speaking.”

  “Your life isn't just like you want it if you're making adjustments,” he suggested as he ran his hand along her leg.

  “New opportunities present themselves all the time. If I didn't make adjustments, I'd be in a rut or worse.”

  “Like me, you mean.” He looked serious.

  “You're being ridiculous.” She made an exaggerated sigh. “You can have one question. What do you want to know? Favorite color? Animal? Vacation spot?”

  He turned her head to face him. “Why isn't someone as fabulous as you married?”

  “I was,” she said quietly and without hesitation. “He died of cancer when I was thirty.”

  She closed her eyes for just a moment to get the image of seeing her handsome, brilliant, and vibrant husband waste away. He hadn't wanted any futile interventions, but even reducing or eliminating pain and keeping him comfortable hastened his physical decline. She was grateful his mind had never been affected.

  Mark cursed. “I'm sorry.” He banged his head against the headboard. “I'm sorry I pushed you into telling me something painful.”

  She'd successfully pushed all the horrible images back in the deepest recesses of her mind.

  “It's part of who I am, Mark. It changed me. I learned to live with pain. It's not something I volunteer,” she said. “Law school 101. Never ask a question you don't know or want the answer to. Grammatically incorrect, but that's the rule.”

  “Man, I am an idiot.”

  She laughed to lighten the mood. She didn't want a serious conversation. She wanted sex and for Mark to sleep. They'd both need iron spines tomorrow.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  The bald man in the hospital bed looked nothing like the violent hulk repeatedly shown on Richmond TV stations. This man, sitting with the head of the bed raised, looked robbed of life and substance. His skin and the whites of his eyes were yellow from liver failure. Three separate IV tubes curled around each other from a central catheter embedded in his chest. Both of his hands were swollen and bluish purple from previous IV injections. His cheeks were sunken with excess skin from the larger man he'd once been resting on his face. He was sedated to be calm but responsive. He was soon to be put into a medically induced coma to better attend and relieve his physical failings.

  Bella reminded herself they just needed to get what they needed and get out. When she and Mark arrived, Dr. Constantine recited the facts of his medical condition, the medications he was receiving, and the date, time, and location of the deposition for the record. He then woke Larry Yarbrough. On the record, Mark and Bella introduced themselves. Mark wanted Bella to do the questioning on the slight chance that a female voice would elicit calm, focused responses.

  “Mr. Yarbrough, do you know where you are now?” she said with quiet authority.

  “Hospital.” There was a hoarseness in his voice from medication or lung damage. Bella didn't know. She didn't want to know. The goal was to get what they needed and leave him.

  “Do you remember being in a hospital in Virginia?”

  “Sorta'.”

  “Was it bright, like this one? Did you have the same number of doctors and nurses?”

  “Dark. No docs.”

  “Why were you in the hospital in Virginia?”

  “High.”

  “On what?”

  He stuck his white tongue out to lick his dry, cracked lips. “Bath salts.” Bella willed herself not to show her revulsion.

  “You took bath salts a lot?”

  “Oh, yeah. Do you have some? Did you bring me some?” His eyes had a brief glint of interest at the prospect of drugging himself out of the moment. She ignored his look.

  “No, Mr. Yarbrough. In the Virginia hospital, were you alone in a room?”

  “Too hot. Too hot in there. Had to keep looking for a fan that worked.”

  “Where were the fans?”

  “A room down the hall. All lying down. Wouldn't stay upright. Just threw them on the floor. No plug anyway. I needed an air-conditioner. Couldn't find one. Ripped up the room looking for it.”

  “You weren't locked in your room?”

  “Too hot.”

  “Did anyone help you look for a fan or an air-conditioner?”

  “No. Watched me but didn't help.”

  “Who watched you?” This was the critical question. Once he answered, she could leave.

  “The man behind the glass. He had keys to air-conditioners. I banged on glass, threw chair at glass. It wouldn't break.”

  “You asked for help and no one helped you. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember how long you looked for something to cool your room?”

  “Days. Couldn't sleep. Too hot. Too hot.”

  “Did you ever cool down?”

  “When I found my salts.”

  “You had bath salts in the hospital?” She couldn't let this oddity get her off track. Stick with verifying the tape. Get what he recalled of the night.

  “Yes, snuck them in. No search.”

  “No search when you were admitted? Did you change clothes?”

  “No. Too hot. Just opened the door and pushed me inside.”

  Bella looked at Mark. He shook his head that he had no questions.

  “Mr. Yarbrough, do you know why you're in this hospital?”

  “Bath salts.”

  “Do you feel the same way as you did in the Virginia hospital?”

  “No, bath salts are killing me now.”

  “You believe you're dying?”

  “I know. Heart hurts. Can't breathe.”

  “Did you tell me the truth?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Yarbrough.”

  Bella stepped back from the bed, left the room, and dictated the formalities to the court reporter. She went to the end of the hall and took the elevator down to the first floor. She wa
nted to be in the sun and fresh air. She felt like she was cloaked in death.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-NINE

  Mark found her sitting on a wooden bench in the hospital courtyard with her jacket off. He had two water bottles with him. He sat next to her, offered her a water, took off his jacket and loosened his tie. His faced was flushed.

  “You okay?” he asked Bella.

  Keeping up the pretense of physical needs, Bella pressed the cold water bottle against her forehead, throat, and wrists. She nodded her head.

  “They all smell alike. Hospitals. Disinfectant and death. Hopelessness and unimaginable pain. Torture, really. Better to skip from diagnosis to death.” Bella was talking to herself more than to Mark.

  “You think so?”

  “I do. Nothing saves us in the end. We get reprieves, but we all die.”

  Mark sat silently. Bella righted herself. She sounded like an old woman with her talk of despair and death. She focused on the case.

  “Opal's pulling the surveillance footage entered into evidence at trial.” Before she could explain, her phone buzzed. “That's her.” Bella listened before speaking.

  “Do you know anyone who can tell where it was altered? Some audio guy or video tech or whatever they're called? Is he reliable? I don't care whether he's stoned. Can he do it? Today. Whatever he usually gets paid plus fifty percent. Thanks.”

  Mark expected an answer. Bella spelled it out.

  “The surveillance tape presented at trial. The so-called authenticated one? Altered if Yarbrough is telling the truth. He said he was checking what he believed to be a storage room, which was most likely Evan Cooper's room and went in and out frequently. He said he asked for help.

  “He saw the night nurse, whose name is in the transcript, watching him and not helping him. He banged on the glass. Threw a chair at the glass. None of that was on the tape.

  “That nurse sat there and watched Yarbrough in a rage, tear off his clothes, and run around the ward naked looking for something to cool himself. The nurse didn't call anyone. Not even a security guard, unless he shows up on tape. Not a doctor or anyone who could give Yarbrough the elephant tranquilizer that would slow him down, if not knock him out and get him in an ice bath.

  “At the height of his episode, Yarbrough was no doubt a wild, dangerous man. So much so that he wasn't searched, made to change into scrubs, or even locked in his room. Whoever made the transfer just let him loose on the ward, where he could prey on whoever his drug-induced hallucinations suggested. That bastard prosecutor knew. He knew the tapes were altered. He wanted Yarbrough to be guilty without raising the issue of the state's culpability. Disbarment isn't enough. I want to grind a hole in his filthy hands with my stilettos.”

  Mark stood and cursed. He paced in the sun.

  “Another one. All these old boys are corrupt. Dinwiddie County isn't a prestigious assignment, but the prosecutor is an old boy. About five years ahead of me at UVA Law. How could I not see it? He's an arrogant ass, but I didn't think he'd tamper with evidence in a murder case.”

  Bella tried to be soothing. “For corruption to work, there has to be old boys in all places, not just the prestigious ones.”

  Mark nodded and moved on. “I take it Opal is having the tape reviewed by an expert so we know where and how much it was edited?”

  Bella nodded. “I also asked if the tech can determine whether the audio track is missing versus never recorded. My guess is it was cut. The jury saw Yarbrough screaming and ranting, but didn't hear his words.

  “Mark, once Opal's guy finishes, we need to subpoena the entire surveillance footage for that night. We need to let her obtain it through her connections. Getting it through proper channels isn't going to work. They'll stall us.”

  “You're right. We'll go through the motions just like we did with documents and retrieve them ourselves. Damn, you're good. Are you a hundred times smarter than me or is it objectivity? An outsider looking in?”

  “A little of each. Plus I work with corruption. I'm trained to look for it. I'm not a cynic. A realist.”

  “Wow,” Mark said. “Just wow.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Bella wanted to fly in the car all the way back to Richmond. Instead, they shot through North Carolina and slowed on I-95 north of the Virginia state line. After taking Larry Yarbrough's deposition, Mark and Bella went back to the hotel. Mark had lunch. Bella swam.

  She called a personal shopper at Saks in Richmond and requested that a particular dress for which she knew the style number be delivered to Mark's community concierge during the afternoon or evening. She intended to wear her Duke Hospital jersey with cheap sandals also purchased at the gift shop home. She threw the suit she'd worn to the deposition in the trash.

  She called Opal and told her they were on their way back. Bella wasn't coming into the office. Mark might. Opal hadn't yet heard from the tech reviewing the evidentiary tape.

  “Are you wearing that home?” Mark asked when he saw Bella in her jersey and sandals.

  “Yes, I had to get that suit off. I felt like it was crawling with lies and death and hate.”

  “That's why you took a swim.”

  She nodded.

  “What about what you wore yesterday?”

  “It's in my bag. Just needs to be cleaned.” She was desperate to get out of there. “Mark, I'll meet you downstairs. I need to be outside.”

  Bella jumped in the car almost before it stopped when the valet brought it to the front of the hotel. She put on a scarf and sunglasses and said, “Let's go.”

  They drove in silence, mostly because of the noise of the wind and traffic. Bella didn't feel completely free of revulsion until they pulled into Mark's garage. She raced upstairs, put on her silk satin robe, and pulled her hair into a knot at the top of her head. Some blonde tendrils drifted along her cheekbones.

  Mark came upstairs. “I take it you're not going back to the office.”

  “No, this morning did me in. I spoke to Opal. No word yet from the tech guy.”

  “I'm going in for a couple of hours. Make some calls. Check email. All things I could do here, but I want to show my face.”

  “And make sure Opal's not having a rave in the office?” she said to lighten the mood.

  “Something like that.” He hesitated before he spoke. “Bella, whatever tape was entered into evidence at trial is stored along with all the other evidence in the Dinwiddie County courthouse.”

  “Yes,” Bella said, “that's where the tech guy, using your signature, checked it out. He's reviewing it on equipment in the courthouse. It can't be removed from the building without a court order.”

  Mark didn't remark on the use of his signature to obtain evidence. “The techie is certain that it's been altered?”

  Bella nodded.

  “So falsified evidence was admitted at trial. The original tape never made it to trial. It's either with the police or it's gone missing. Somewhere in the Petersburg police or Dinwiddie County Sherriff's evidence room is a box full of stuff that wasn't entered into the court record. The original tape is physically in that box.”

  “If we make a formal request, it will definitely go missing.” Bella thought aloud.

  Mark shook his head. “Maybe not. This was done by the prosecutor's office. He wouldn't be stupid enough to involve the police. Cops have really tightened up their evidence logs. They can't afford to let rape kits, cigarette butts, and anything that might have a speck of DNA on it go missing. Ten years ago, maybe. Not now.”

  “Do you have any friends on the force in Petersburg?”

  “I do. I have to decide whether to involve her. I don't want to get her disciplined or fired.”

  “Well, think about it.”

  Mark walked toward her and pulled her close. “Are you going to nap?”

  “Probably.” She was too wound up to nap, but she might rest. Even become invisible for a while.

  He tucked one of the tendrils of her hair behind her ear. �
��Bella, you were amazing. You got what we need in less than fifteen minutes. We can't help Larry Yarbrough. We're looking at a bigger picture.”

  She nodded.

  “Part of the bigger picture is you and me. I want you in my life. Not just professionally. Personally. We have something undeniable. You're a dream for me.”

  His mouth found hers. She was tempted to fling open her robe and delay his return to the office. Pressing against him was enough. He was solid and strong. Nothing sickly or frail about him. She needed that. She wanted him, but she wasn't going to lose focus or delay him.

  She'd seen death today. Dr. Constantine had called Mark to say Larry Yarbrough had died three hours after they left. They'd probably just gotten off the highway when he died. They'd almost missed their chance with him. Still, Bella couldn't shake the picture of that dying man.

  Bella put her hands on Mark's chest and pulled away from him. “Go. Do what you need to do. Opal knows what we need and she's the liaison with the tech guy. I wouldn't understand him.”

  Mark kissed her on the cheek. “Aha. You're aren't all-knowing. You're not a techie.”

  Bella smiled and watched him leave. If he only knew. Her recent education was how to be a ghost who could be visible, invisible, and space travel at will. Her tech skills hadn't been updated since her death in 2001. She'd had to read the entire manual twice in order to use that genius phone system Opal had installed. Texting was her limit.

  With Mark out of the house, Bella lay on the bed and let big, choking sobs escape from her. She cried for all her losses. Daniel, her parents, her husband, and the three hundred seventy-two colleagues, clients, and friends in the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. She cried for Evan Cooper and Larry Yarbrough and all the souls still not at rest in Commonwealth Psych. She cried until there was nothing left in her. She was empty. She wanted to finish this case and move on to eternity with Daniel.

  Daniel. The man she'd loved since she was seventeen years old. His mind and body had failed him, but he was trying so hard to get better. He hadn't given up. She couldn't give him up, either.