“You’re lucky I’m a lawyer.” Hunter replied. “I would’ve been a good witness for you in court.”
“No need for witnesses. I’ve got this.” He tapped a device attached underneath the rearview mirror.
“What’s that?” Hunter leaned forward.
“A dash-cam recorder. It records my entire day for insurance purposes. Ain’t nobody taking me to court for running them over, because this is all the evidence I need. If I’d hit that cyclist, I could’ve proved he blindsided me. This thing is invaluable.”
“That could work two ways.” Hunter responded. “What if the accident was your fault and the dash-cam proved it?”
“Then the footage would conveniently disappear.” The driver snapped his fingers. “Gone.”
“Sounds like a similar story I’ve heard too much this year.” Hunter looked out the window, rubbing his brow. “Much too similar.”
It took a moment, but a realization sunk into Hunter’s mind. When it did, when a piece of knowledge lodged itself into his thoughts, he picked up the phone and called his investigator. “Ray. I need your help.”
Chapter 39
The door to Tex Hunter’s office represented so much.
When he first moved into the office, he painstakingly spent hours deciding what should go on the door. After stepping out of the elevator, there were two options on the level—to the left were the offices of Spencer and Dolan Architects, well known for their cutting-edge design renovations, and to the right, The Law Offices of Tex Hunter, Defense Attorney.
He spent so long wondering if his name should have gone on the door, or if he should have hidden it under another title. He knew his name was an invitation for violence and abuse, but he had to be proud of it, he had to hold strong in the face of the fiercest winds.
When he first moved to the floor, the other office was occupied by another law firm, however after they saw Hunter’s name on the door, they had moved to another floor within six months. The office remained empty for years, despite being a popular part of the city, until the architecture firm moved in a year later, the reduced rent too much to ignore.
Two further days of prosecution evidence had passed, two further days of laborious testimonies. Expert after expert came to the stand, each presenting a small fragment of evidence like corners of a giant puzzle. However, the middle of the puzzle, the section that puts it all together, was still missing.
The jury had to know that, Hunter reasoned, but they still had to make a decision on whether the corner pieces of the puzzle were enough for a guilty verdict.
Hunter called his local police precinct on the drive back to his office after another day in court, three weeks after the attack at Navy Pier. With all the footage available, he made the effort to report the incident to the police. They informed him no leads had been followed, no attacker identified, and despite all the evidence available to the police, no arrests had been made. He scolded them for doing a poor job, not doing enough to make an arrest, however, that was expected. He never anticipated an arrest; he never expected the case to progress any further than a file on a desk. The desk officer gave him the spiel about not enough man hours, prioritizing cases, saving people’s lives, but none of that mattered. Hunter knew his name mattered, it was his name that would ensure the case was never solved.
“Tex, you’re not going to like this email.” Esther stood as Hunter walked into the office. She followed him into his separate office, where he placed his briefcase down, sat behind his desk, and turned his computer on. “But you have to read it.”
“Esther, I don’t like any emails. And what are you still doing in the office? It’s late.”
“I was waiting for you because it’s not a nice email. It’s one of the worst.” She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking down to the ground. Her blonde hair fell over her face, gently dangling over her cheeks. “It’s in the business email account.”
He typed in his password, opened his emails, and right at the top, there was an email from the women’s prison. Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes. “It’s Nina, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Esther nodded. “You need to read it.”
Shaking his head, he turned to the screen.
He opened the email, reading it slowly, and his heart sank.
*****
Mr. Hunter,
I’m innocent. I didn’t kill the cop.
Someone paid me money to sign the deal. They said if I took the deal, I would get paid. I don’t know who it was, but the money is in my bank account. The money is worthless. I need it just to survive in here. It’s horrible in here. I don’t think I’m going to make it ten years. I’ll be dead before then.
Help me get out of here.
Nina.
*****
Hunter could tell the tone of the email was anxious, it was desperate. He’d seen it happen many times before—she trusted someone, was taken in by their word, but that person had turned on her in prison, and taken her to the cleaners.
But there was nothing he could do.
She signed the confession, she admitted she killed Sidney McCann, and she took the deal. There was no disputing that.
“I’m sorry, Tex.” Esther stepped close to him, rubbing his arm with a caring touch. “I’m so sorry.”
“Maybe we could prove who deposited the money into her bank account.” Hunter stood, moving towards his liquor cabinet at the left side of the room. “Maybe we could trace the amount? Prove the money was put in the bank for a deal to sign the confession.”
“Would they’ve been that sloppy? They know you’re on the case, and I doubt whether they would’ve taken any risks. They’re professionals. The people that deposited money into her bank account wouldn’t have left a trace.”
“We’ll look, but of course, it’ll be a dead end. It always is.” Hunter poured a glass of Lagavulin 16-year-old single malt whisky, tipping in more than he usually would. After he dropped a cube of ice in from the bar freezer, he paused, resting his forehead against the cabinet door. “It’ll be a cash deposit through an anonymous source, most likely from someone who has already disappeared back across the border to Mexico. That’s how they work these things—take an illegal immigrant, give them no option to disagree, but pay them well, and send them back across the border. There’ll be no trace, and no one left to question.”
“I really am sorry about this one.” She bit her lip. “But I finally have the files on Chow’s business dealings. It could help with Mary-Ann’s case.”
“Go on.”
“Chow has been connected to possible arson in the past. A fire eight years earlier—a residential building in need of demolition, but the demolition would’ve been too expensive. A fire started suspiciously, but no one was ever charged. The building was then condemned, Chow collected the insurance money, and then constructed a new apartment building in its place, making a lot of money.” She placed the first file on the table. “And guess who was the Detective in charge of investigating the possible arson?”
“Sidney McCann.”
“That’s right.” She replied. “No one was hurt in that fire. And the police report, written by McCann, concluded it was an accident, despite the fire department’s arson team reporting it was suspicious. And because of the police report, it meant Chow could take the full insurance pay-out.”
“We knew this was a possibility, so tell me you have something else?”
“On a hunch, I looked into other fires in the past twenty years that were apartment blocks that were since redeveloped, and there were two more. I followed the trail of who owned those buildings, and they both lead to an investment consortium from China, and with a little more digging, guess what?”
“Chow was involved in both.” Hunter placed his finger on the table. “Meaning it was possible McCann was getting money from Chow to sign those police reports and brush the arson information under the carpet.”
“Kenneth Chow arrived in the US under a different name. I
wasn’t able to find his Chinese past originally, but then I was able to track the date of his arrival, and joined the dots to his history in China.”
Hunter stood and paced the room.
“Maybe if we push hard enough, maybe if we pressure the right people, we might get a start. The prosecution may listen to us if we can bring them something solid, something real.” Hunter moved behind his table, placing his whisky glass next to his keyboard, before turning to look at his computer. “But first we need to sort out this money trail for Nina. Esther, get me the video footage from the bank. Let’s see who made the deposit. Let’s see if there’s a starting point. See if there’s a chance.”
Esther didn’t move. She remained standing before his desk, waiting.
“Esther?”
She stared at him directly.
“Tex, you have to leave this alone. We can’t do this today. This has to wait.” Esther was firm. “You can’t let Mary-Ann go to prison because you’re trying to get Nina out of there. You have to let this rest.”
“We can do both.”
“No, we can’t, and you know that. Nina’s case is going to have to wait for another two weeks, at least. We have to focus on the current case. Nina’s case can wait; she’s not going anywhere.” Esther stared at him. “Focus on Mary-Ann’s case. We can’t let two innocent people go to prison.”
He sighed, sipped his whisky, and then stared at the email.
“You’re right.”
“I usually am.” She smiled.
Hunter looked at the email again, reading it word for word, ensuring he didn’t miss anything. It broke his heart that she was languishing in prison, but he knew Esther was right.
“Kenneth Chow comes to the stand tomorrow as a prosecution witness, however, I’m going to reserve the right to bring him back at the end of the case as a defense witness. Our last man on the stand. That’ll buy us time to investigate the links to the Chinese consortium. I want you in the courtroom taking notes about what he says tomorrow.”
“Speaking of the case, Rhys McCann has been calling the office a lot. I’ve said I’ll take a message, but he doesn’t want to leave one for you.”
“Good. Don’t take a message. He’s our first defense witness.”
“What?” The shock was written on her face. “How did you convince him to come to the stand?”
“I didn’t. I sent him a subpoena a week ago. That’s why he’s been calling the office.”
“And that’s why you haven’t returned his calls.” She took a moment to let the new play sink in. “Tex, I hope you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”
“I’m going to question what Rhys McCann saw while working for Kenneth Chow. He’s connected to this case. He worked for Chow in the months before the car was stolen.”
“Tex. No.” She shook her head. “I can see it. The whole court will see it. You’re going to try and prove Sidney McCann’s corruption is related to this case. This is the wrong way to get your father out of prison.”
“If it comes out that Rhys McCann’s father was corrupt, then I can’t stop it.”
“But this isn’t about Mary-Ann’s case anymore. You’ve put your focus somewhere else.”
“This is about Mary-Ann’s case.” Hunter stood. “This is about keeping an innocent woman out of prison, and it’s about cleaning up the history of corruption in this city.”
“But he won’t talk. He won’t cross Chow. There’s bound to be pressure from him to say exactly what Chow wants him to say.”
“He will talk. He will say what he’s seen in the past.” Hunter paused, and then tapped his finger on the table again. “Because Ray has found new information that Rhys McCann can’t dispute.”
Chapter 40
Kenneth Chow was led to the witness stand by the bailiff, walking through the court with a remarkable tranquility. Although cunning and sly outside the courtroom walls, the well-dressed Chow appeared intelligent and respectful. He wore his best black business suit, with a dark blue silk tie in a perfect Windsor knot, and his black shoes were polished to appear brand new. He looked like he was successful, in something at least. He swore his oath as directed, nodded to the jury, and sat in the witness stand, awaiting the questions from the prosecution.
For Chow, stepping into the courtroom was a part of the game, a part of the role he had to play in staying a successful businessman.
“Mr. Chow,” Alwen began. “Do you know Mary-Ann Steele, the defendant?”
“I do.”
“And how do you know Mrs. Steele?”
“Her son, Anthony Steele, was involved in a workplace accident at a residential development site I owned. Unfortunately, Anthony Steele passed away in that accident more than two years ago.” Chow did his best to convey his false sadness—the shaking of the head, the quick blinking, the fake frown. “Since Anthony’s death, Mrs. Steele has been protesting at various development sites about workplace safety, however I have assured her many times that the developments I manage are safe. She has been relentless over the past few years.”
“The prosecution would like to introduce evidence from the Workplace Safety Report into Anthony Steele’s passing. The report is signed by a member of the Chicago Police Department.” Alwen presented a copy of the report to the judge, the defense, and then to the jurors. “Mr. Chow, can you please inform the court what is written in the conclusion of this report?”
“The report concludes,” Chow flicked through the five-page document until he reached the end. “’There were no circumstances within the safety guidelines that could have prevented Anthony Steele’s death.’”
“Did Mrs. Steele speak to you on August 2nd of last year?”
“She did.”
“And what did she say?”
“She yelled at me, called me many different names, a lot that weren’t very nice. She said she held me responsible for the death of her son.” He’d practiced his lines over and over at home, practiced his facial expressions in the mirror, and practiced his tone with the prosecution. His manner, his expressions, the nuances that convince a person of the truth, were all part of the game for Chow. It was all part of the play. “As I walked into the current development I manage, she said, and I quote, that I ‘would pay a price.’”
“Those were her exact words? ‘Pay a price?’”
“Yes.”
“Did she elaborate on how you would pay that price?”
“No.”
“Had you ever felt threatened by Mrs. Steele?”
“I haven’t, no.”
“And when you first realized your car had been stolen, who did you suspect?”
“Objection. Calls for speculation.” Hunter stated loudly. “The answer to that question has no basis in fact.”
“Sustained. Move on, counsellor.” Judge Ramos responded.
“Yes, Your Honor.” Alwen flicked another file open. “Mr. Chow, can you please describe to the court your actions that evening, and why you left the keys in the car?”
Detailing the steps he took that night, Chow went through his actions, explaining why he left the keys in the car, as he often did, and why he left his car in that location, choosing to catch a cab home after a few drinks that night, rather than risk driving home drunk. Plausible, but not convincing.
After an hour of further testimony, the prosecution handed the witness to the defense. Hunter waited a moment before he began his cross-examination, reviewed his file, took a sip of water and then stood, walking in front of the lectern, his left hand in his pocket.
“Thank you for taking the time to be with us here today, Mr. Chow.” Hunter began. “Can you please tell the court if you were totally honest in your testimony today?”
“I was.”
“And will you continue to do so?”
“Of course.”
“Mr. Chow, have you ever been convicted of a crime?”
“No.”
“Neither here nor overseas?”
“That’s correct.�
��
“Have you ever been convicted of a felony?”
“No, I have not.”
“Have you ever been convicted of a misdemeanor?”
“No.”
“Have you ever had any trouble with the law, either here or overseas?”
“Never.”
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“No.”
“Have you ever spent time in prison, either here or overseas?”
“No.”
“Have you been as truthful in those answers as you have been with the rest of your testimony?”
There it was. The clincher. The big swinging right fist. The one that would rattle Chow’s cage.
“Of course.”
“Mr. Chow, were you born in China?”
“I was.”
“What age were you when you arrived from China to this country?”
“Nineteen.”
“Have you returned to China since?”
“Not since 1981.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I love America. I’m an American citizen.”
“Have you ever been known by the name Sun Jing Chow?”
He glanced at the prosecution table and shook his head. There was panic in his eyes.
“Mr. Chow?”
The witness squirmed in his chair.
“Mr. Chow, on your immigration record, is the name Sun Jing Chow recorded?”
“It’s not on my passport. It’s never been a name that I’ve been called in the US. I took the name Kenneth when I arrived. That’s what’s on my passport.”
“That’s not the question I asked.” Hunter shook his index finger. “So, I’ll ask you again, on your immigration record, is the name Sun Jing Chow recorded?”
“It could be.”
“And do you still maintain you have been truthful to this court in declaring you have never been convicted of a crime?”
Chow’s mouth hung open for a few moments.
“I…” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“The defense would like to offer into evidence the arrest report of Sun Jing Chow in the Guangdong Province of China for the crime of arson, dated January 1981.” Hunter handed a file to the opposing counsel, then the judge, and with no objections forthcoming, he continued. “Mr. Chow, in the arrest report of Sun Jing Chow, there’s a photo of the person who was convicted of the crime. Can you please tell the court if this is a photo of you?”
Corrupt Justice Page 21
