Revenge

by Anne L. Parks

  "That reporter sure stirred up the hornet's nest,” the trooper says. “Looks like more than a few people want your boyfriend to burn at the stake.”

  I glance out at the mob. "Idiots. They have no idea who James Wells really is."

  It's unfathomable to me how people can watch such a slanted report and, without any further research into what actually happened, demand justice that has already been meted.

  I walk into the District Attorney's offices and check in with the receptionist. She calls Matt, hangs up, and tells me to go on back to his office.

  "Kylie, come on in," Matt says when I knock. He reaches across his desk and shakes my hand. "How're you doing?"

  "Good," I answer. Another man is standing off to the side. I hadn't noticed him when I came in. "Sergeant Reyes, it's nice to see you again."

  "It's very nice to see you, Ms. Tate." He smiles, his eyes lingering on mine, a slight flush creeping up his neck and hitting his face.

  What the hell is that all about?

  I've only been around him on a few occasions, when he was assigned to investigate John. While he had always been cordial toward me, he was always professional. Funny enough, there was no love lost between Reyes and Alex—they hated each other from the first moment they met.

  "Uh, Sergeant Reyes is doing double duty as an investigator for my office, so I've asked him to join us," Matt explains.

  I don't have time to analyze Reyes right now, nor do I care why he is moonlighting as a prosecutorial investigator. There are other things more important to me. James Wells cannot get out of prison. It would break Alex. This is now priority number one.

  "So, what do you know about the James Wells case?" I ask Matt.

  He slides a file across his desk. "Take a look. It was waiting for me this morning. Perfectly timed with last night's report. They must have been waiting to hear from the court before airing the news program."

  A notice of appeal, filed by Geoffrey Hamilton, is at the top. My heart races. Even though I knew this was the most likely outcome, I'm still shaken.

  "What's he claiming?"

  "What isn't he claiming?" Matt chuckles. "New evidence, prosecutorial misconduct, ineffective assistance of counsel, lack of physical evidence connecting Wells to the crime, and a failure of law enforcement to adequately investigate other potential offenders."

  I flip through the appellate brief and scan the assertions. "You have got to be kidding me? He's not actually going to accuse Alex of killing his mother?"

  "That's exactly what he did argue."

  I look up. "Did?"

  Matt points to the file. "Keep looking."

  After the voluminous notice, with supporting evidence and case law, is the order of the court. I scan the document to find the decision, and nearly drop the entire file onto the floor. "Oh, God, they reversed the conviction?" I look up at Matt. “Wait, how did you not know about the appeal?”

  “I was, but I receive notices for appeals all the time. You know the state has their own appellate division.”

  “Didn’t they ask for information?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure, but I wasn’t the prosecutor at the original trial. Bit before my time. So, I had nothing of value to contribute. I only found out about the decision being reversed when I came in this morning and saw the order.”

  I sit for a minute and let the information sink in. James Wells conviction has been overturned—he is essentially a free man.

  “Please tell me you’re retrying him?”

  "The charges have not—and will not—be dropped. So, yes, we will be retrying the case." Matt leans back in his chair, a half grin on his face. "Are you still working at Daniels?"

  "No, I've decided to go out on my own. Why? Do you have something in mind?"

  "You have the unique advantage of being involved with the only witness to the murder of Mrs. Wells, and you're a decent criminal defense attorney."

  I laugh. Matt and I went head-to-head in a first-degree murder trial a few months back. My client was found not guilty. Rumor has it, Matt is still a little bitter about the loss.

  "What's my role?" I ask.

  "Thought you might be interested. I'm in a particularly tough spot right now. I'm up for re-election, so Mr. Wells must be convicted again, or I’ll most likely lose my job. I, also, have an especially full load around here, and can't give this case the attention it needs. That's where you come in. I need someone I can trust, and who wants to ensure Mr. Wells never walks free, albeit for different reasons. So, here's what I propose, you will be appointed as special prosecutor—you'll take the lead, and I'll second chair. Sergeant Reyes will be available to assist with investigating, as well."

  I glance at Reyes. This is a great opportunity for me, and Alex will want me involved in this case in some capacity. Being the lead prosecutor will probably put his mind at ease. But working with Reyes is probably about as far from okay as I can imagine. There is no way Alex will be okay with Reyes being around me—let alone working closely day-to-day. I'm going to have to figure out how to put a positive spin on this if I have any hope of avoiding a fight with Alex.

  "Can I keep this?" I ask Matt and hold up the file.

  "Yeah, that's your copy," Matt says, his lop-sided grin returning.

  “You’re feeling rather confident.” I rise and reach my hand across Matt's desk. "Let me talk it over with Alex and I'll let you know this afternoon."

  Matt nods, thanks me for coming in, and walks me out. I text Thomas to let him know I'm ready to go, exit the building just as he pulls up, and climb into the SUV. "Where's Alex?"

  "He's working from home today," Thomas answers.

  "Okay, let's go there."

  This is going to suck. Not only do I have to tell Alex his father appealed, but that the appellate court reversed the conviction and now he's going to be retried. And, by the way, I will be lead attorney working with Matt and Reyes.

  Things have gone from bad to worse in the span of an hour and a half. If I don't succeed in getting a conviction, the world will become a very dark place, and Alex's demons will no longer only reside in his head.

  They will walk amongst us.

  * * *

  * * *

  "No," Alex says. It's so definitive. Final. End of discussion.

  It takes everything in me to remain calm and try to ease into a conversation with him. "Alex, please hear me out."

  "You're not ready to go back to work. It's too soon."

  "It's not too soon. I've been away for over two months."

  "You can't even go for a run on the property without having an anxiety attack, how do you think you’ll last back a whole day at the firm? It's too much—too soon."

  Low blow. "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, Alex, but I'm not going back to the firm. I resigned this morning."

  "I don't understand—"

  I move to the couch and sit, facing him. "I've been thinking about how I would handle going back to work there. So much has changed. Lisa's in law school. John's dead. There's no telling what the rumor mill has concocted about me over the past two months."

  "So, what are you going to do, look for a position at another law firm?"

  "No, I'm going to open my own law office. Jack is letting me use the top floor of a building he owns a couple of blocks from the courthouse."

  Alex's shoulders relax, his eyes soften, and he caresses my cheek. "And this is what you want?"

  "Yeah, it really is. I've known for a while the firm isn't right for me. I thought once I moved into the penthouse offices and started trying murder cases things would finally fall into place, and I'd feel as if I belong. But John was well liked, and I was seen as a woman screwing him over to get ahead."

  "Well, if you're sure, then I fully support you, baby." He leans in, gives me a quick kiss, and starts to rise.

  "Um, there's something else I need to discuss with you. I met with Matt. Your dad filed an appeal." Better to just get it out there. No sugar coating needed. Alex hates t
he run around, and I’m not fond of it either. Best to drop the news and start formulating a plan.

  "He's petitioned them before—it never goes anywhere."

  "It's different this time."

  "Why?"

  "Geoffrey Hamilton is not just one of the best appellate attorneys in this state, he's the best in the country."

  "So what do you think his chances are of getting the courts to hear it?"

  "Pretty good, he was granted cert—sorry—” I forget not everyone understands lawyer lingo—"the right to appear and present arguments."

  "What's he claiming?"

  "Well, I haven't been able to get all the way through it, but the biggest assertion is new evidence."

  "How is that even possible?"

  "They found an autopsy photo of your mother and had a forensic expert examine it. He claims there are ligature marks around your mother's neck that could mean she was strangled to death by someone other than your fa—someone other than James."

  "Who?" His face pales. "Me."

  I nod.

  "That bastard. He has to know there’s no way anyone will believe him."

  "Hamilton made other claims, as well, that bolster his argument. And, I don't know if you realize it, but there is a ground swell of public support for James."

  "Yeah, my office building was swarming with protesters apparently."

  "They were at the courthouse, too."

  "Jesus." He rakes his hand through his hair.

  I take a deep inhale and release it and hold tight to his hand. "There's more—and it's not good. The appellate court reversed the conviction."

  Alex jumps up, his hands over his head, yelling. "So, he's free? Is he out of prison?"

  I grab his hand and pull him back down next to me. "No, babe, he's not out. And Matt has already filed charges and the DA’s office is going to re-try the case."

  "Will they be able to convict him again—after all these years?"

  "Well, that's where I come in. Matt wants me to assist with the trial, and I've agreed."

  "Dammit, Kylie. I don't like this."

  "Do you really want to risk leaving this up to people who don't know you, or the situation? This is what I do. I know how to defend against Hamilton's allegations and make sure James stays in prison."

  He pulls me tight against his chest and buries his face in my hair.

  "I can do this, Alex. Please trust me."

  "There is no one I trust more."

  His heart pounds against my cheek, his breathing ragged, and, for the first time since he broke down and confided in me about his mother’s death, Alex is trembling. It's frightening—this man who is the epitome of strength and courage—and all I want is to protect him. I owe him, after everything he has done for me.

  10

  There must be a hundred stairs up to my new office, but the windows looking out onto the quaint historic town make it worth it. I can see the courthouse, and not far beyond, the still waters of the bay.

  Sergeant Reyes and Lisa are already stacking boxes into the conference room. The law school's fall break came at a very opportune time, and while I feel bad Lisa is using her time off to help me when she should be studying, I'm also grateful to have someone who knows my system of handling evidence, briefs, and case files.

  I place a box on the long rectangle table and open the top. "I brought some supplies—pens, highlighters, legal pads, sticky notes—you name it, it's probably in here."

  Reyes pulls back one of the flaps and peers into the box.

  "Okay, I'll go through it and get stuff put away," Lisa says. "We have most of the files from the prosecutor's office in here. I put some files on your desk which Matt suggested you go through first. I'm guessing you'll want to set up your office the way you want it."

  "I'll have to do that later. I have to run out, right now."

  "Hot date?" Reyes asks. He's smiling, but his eyes narrow.

  Christ, what is his deal? Why am I getting a jealous vibe from him?

  "Uh, no," I respond. "I was going through some stuff last night and found the name of a psychiatrist who evaluated Wells during the first trial. He's agreed to meet with me, but I have to see him this morning before he goes on vacation for two weeks."

  "Shrinks take vacations?" Reyes asks.

  I shrug. "Who knew? I'll be back this afternoon."

  * * *

  * * *

  The drive out to Cedar Grove State Hospital for the Criminally Insane took just under an hour. Once I turned off the main highway, the road wound its way through a dense forest. The hospital looked to be about a hundred years old and was as beautiful as the surrounding landscape. Crazy people who commit heinous crimes have some of the best real estate in the country.

  The receptionist shows me into a waiting room, informs me the doctor will be with me in a few minutes, and then leaves. The room is a mix of white and gray walls, with navy blue chairs that could stand to be cleaned, and white, blue, and gray industrial floor tiles. There are two doors—the one I came in, and one with Dr. Jeremiah Hinderland's name on it. The door opens, and a short, gray-haired man comes out, catches sight of me, and extends his hand.

  "Ms. Tate?"

  I stand and shake his hand. "Kylie."

  "It's very nice to meet you. Come into my office, we can talk in there." He leads me in, points to a chair I can sit in, walks around his desk and sits in a swivel chair. "I understand you have some questions for me about an inmate?"

  I reach into my briefcase and pull out a legal pad with a few questions jotted down. "Yes, James Arthur Wells. He was convicted of murdering his wife."

  Dr. Hinderland crosses to a five-drawer filing cabinet and rummages through it. "Ah, here we go." He returns to his chair and flips through a few of the pages in the file.

  "Yes, I remember this case. Very sad. Mr. Wells beat his wife to death in a drunken rage. The oldest son, James Alexander Wells, witnessed the altercation, and was present when his mother died."

  "Alex Stone," I say, though I don't know why it's so important for me to correct him. "He was adopted by his aunt and uncle and changed his name."

  "Not surprising,” Hinderland says on an exhale. “It's natural to want to distance oneself from a tragedy such as this and deny any connection to the event or the person who committed the offense. But I doubt you’re here to talk about Mr. Stone."

  "I’d like to know more about your evaluation of Mr. Wells."

  "The court record has the evaluation I did to assess his mental capacity at the time. I'm not sure what else I can add to it." The chair squeaks as he leans back in it, his elbows on the armrests and his fingers steepled.

  "I was hoping you might have taken notes during your meetings with Mr. Wells, and have retained them."

  "What is it, specifically, that you're looking for?"

  "I'm not sure, exactly, but I'm hoping your notes will provide some clarity into his demeanor…and character. Sometimes it is the most innocuous statements which provide insight."

  "So, you're on a fishing expedition? Why now? Mr. Wells has been in prison for many years, and will be there for the rest of his life, if I remember correctly."

  "Mr. Wells appealed his conviction and has been granted a new trial."

  "Ah, I see. And you’re hoping to find something which will keep him in prison?"

  "Yes."

  "I can give you what I have in my file, but it's not much. I'm not sure the notes will be of much value to you without proper context. They are scribblings which meant something at the time but have very little meaning now."

  "Whatever you can give me will be appreciated."

  Dr. Hinderland picks up the receiver from his desk phone and pushes a button. "Yes, can you make copies for Ms. Tate, please?" He replaces the handset as the receptionist comes through the door, retrieves the file, and leaves.

  "It will be waiting for you at the reception desk when you leave."

  That was easier than I thought it'd be. I toss the legal p
ad into my briefcase and begin to rise. If I hurry, I can make it back to the office just after lunch. The sooner I can get things organized, the sooner I can seriously delve into this case. I need to make a timeline of events. And go through the crime scene photos—I wonder how many there are?

  "I have to admit, I was confused by your phone call," the doctor is saying.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Well, when I got the message you wanted to meet with me, I thought it was in response to my requests."

  What the hell?

  "Now I'm the one confused. What requests are you talking about?" I hope this isn't another effect of my memory loss. Most everything has come back to me—at least, as far as I know.

  "I've sent letters to your home hoping you would consider meeting with my patient. It would assist in his recovery…seeing you and being able to apologize for his actions."

  "I think you have me mistaken with someone else, Doctor. I don't know anyone incarcerated here."

  "Why sure you do, Ms. Tate." He opens the door and calls out into the waiting room. "Bring him in."

  A ghost—my worst nightmare—walks through the door. Pressure builds in my chest. I’m dizzy. My legs nearly fail me. Nothing is making sense. An icy chill penetrates my bones, my heart, and my soul.

  It can't be. It can't be him. He's dead.

  But here he stands in front of me. Very much alive.

  John Sysco.

  11

  I stumble backwards. My body quivers. My heart is pounding, nearly bursting out of my chest.

  No, no, no.

  "You're not real," I murmur. "You died."

  An evil grin slides across John's face. A dark glint flashes through his eyes.

  My head is swirling. I'm hanging by my arms in the shower. Crying. Begging John to stop. The same grin—the same evil glint. He raises the flogger so I can see it. Blood drips from the leather tendrils. My blood. I'm not through with you yet, he whispers in my ear.