Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1

by Cayce Poponea

  “Did Detective Morgan ever identify himself as a police officer to you?”

  Greyson shifted in his seat, leaned back farther, and combed his dirty hair back with his fingers. “Listen, I don’t care what Morgan said, that alley was dark. I could barely see the chick I was about to get with. I didn’t know he was cop until I got to the hospital where there was enough light to see him.”

  “So, if he never identified himself, did he read you your Miranda rights?”

  “Objection! Detective Morgan was not the arresting officer in this case; Detective Kennedy was and has submitted video documentation to the fact.”

  Judge Randolph passed a warning glare to both attorneys; he too was showing signs of fatigue.

  “Mr. Greyson, it’s your claim you were wrongfully detained after being assaulted to the point of unconsciousness. Can you describe for the court the injuries you received at the hands of Detective Morgan?”

  Mr. Anderson and Aiden must hang around the same people. They both twisted the truth to suit their needs, preying on not only the weak in our society, but the loopholes lawmakers created to boost their own agendas.

  “Objection, the defendant refused medical treatment after the event.”

  For the first time in several minutes, I noticed Dylan move. He methodically rubbed his left hand, the same hand I’d cleaned and bandaged after he defended Lainie. Mr. Anderson could spin this story in as many directions as he wanted, but in the end, the truth would prevail. I had to believe this, for Lainie, I had to believe.

  “Your Honor, there was treatment at a later date.” Anderson scurried back to his files, pulling out several sheets of paper. I caught the hospital logo across the top of the first page.

  “Objection, this treatment was sought over a week after the arrest. These injuries could have been sustained during an altercation while incarcerated.”

  “Sustained, the evidence is inadmissible,” the judge ruled, not bothering to look up from his notes. The light from under the lip of his desk reflected in the lenses of his glasses. How many criminals had those eyes seen? How many lives had he changed for the better or the worst?

  “Your witness, Mr. DA,” Anderson shot, aggravation evident around the cracks in his words. Jessup’s title leaving his mouth laced with discontent. All men deserved their time to face their accused. I’d listened to my daddy bitch about having not been heard when he was sentenced. Although, I’d never attended a single time he went before a judge, I could see how his attorney, much like Anderson was doing, would have painted a much prettier picture than the truth.

  “Mr. Greyson, you spin a fairly good tale.” Jessup began. “Your deflection skills are some of the best I’ve seen. Tell me, do you not think the doctors at the hospital would have run a drug screen on not only you, but the victim?”

  I swallowed hard as I knew the answer. Dr. Gillman had not ordered a drug screen on Lainie. There was no protocol to do so as she was attacked and not drugged. Mr. Jessup held a single sheet of paper in his left hand, the blank back facing Mr. Greyson.

  “Pfft…” Greyson huffed, looked over his left shoulder, and then back again. “Joint, cigarette, whatever.”

  “I beg to differ, Sir. There is a vast difference between a cigarette and a cell phone. Which, by the way…” Mr. Jessup twisted his back and brought up a plastic bag with a cell phone resting inside. “This cell phone has the screen shattered and blood on the back side, which ironically matches the DNA samples we obtained from the victim. Oh, and lest I forget…” He pulled another bag from behind him. “The victim was wearing a skirt, not jeans, like you testified.”

  “Objection, the DA is badgering the witness.” Mr. Anderson growled.

  “Sustained. Keep it professional, Sir.”

  “My apologies, your Honor.”

  It seemed the DA could lie with a straight face, as well. Did they teach this skill in law school or was it a natural born talent? Either way, I’d stick with the truth.

  “Mr. Greyson, you say in your testimony that you didn’t know it was a police officer who had pulled you off the victim. Yet, even after you were told the identity of the officer, you still declined to sign a formal complaint. Why is that?”

  Mr. Greyson looked to Dylan and Mr. Morgan; acid spilled from the pores in his face, a reflection of the utter hate he possessed for them. “Nobody goes against a Morgan. They gots too much money and power round these parts. Any paperwork would get lost before the ink had dried.”

  My dad might have been hundreds of miles away, but those were words he would use; blame the system for the wrong he did.

  “So, you know who Detective Morgan is, then?” Mr. Jessup pointed in Dylan’s direction.

  “Yeah, we’ve met.”

  Was he in reference to the call Dr. Gillman placed the other night? Or did the two of them have a history? I looked to Dylan, as if he would turn in my direction and tell me all I needed or wanted to know in front of God and everybody.

  Still, I allowed my eyes to travel to Dylan’s face, searching beyond the sharp jaw, eyes so blue and deep; they kept women up nights with fantasies of the secrets hidden in those layers. Dark hair, so thick and vast, you could spend hours knuckles deep in those locks, losing yourself in the pleasure a man like Dylan could bring you.

  Invisible battle lines had been drawn between Dylan and Mr. Greyson. Where the face from the witness box showed an undeniable recognition, the man who sat behind the badge reflected a small glimmer of something, a forgotten memory or perhaps an old case. Whatever it was, it was definitely adding to the evolution Dylan had started earlier.

  “Do you see the woman you met the night in question, here in the courtroom?” Jessup waved his hand around. “The one you claim offered sex in exchange for a place to purchase more drugs?”

  Mr. Greyson broke his stare down with Dylan, running his eyes among the faces present, skipping over Lainie’s and landing on mine. “Nope, but I sure do see one I’d like to get with.” He wiggled his eyebrows, blew me a kiss, then tapped the point of his tongue against his top lip.

  I should have felt fear, anxiety over the implication his statement carried, but I kept my face neutral. “Show a man you’re scared and you’ve shown him he has beat ya.” My dad’s voice echoed inside my head.

  One of the hardest decisions you’ll ever face in life is choosing whether to walk away or try harder

  ~Unknown

  “I’m proud of you, Son.”

  Twilight had begun to grace us with her presence. Majestic purples, pinks, and touches of gold painted the horizon. Rainbow-colored streams of light were cast from the glass of Hennessy in my hand onto the reflection in the window, as I watched the world continue to turn.

  “For what?” I huffed, disgusted with myself and my inability to protect women like Lainie Perry. “He got thirty fucking days!”

  The ice in Dad’s glass clinked behind me. He had insisted we stop by my office and regroup after the verdict was handed down. I agreed, but with one condition: we would follow Lainie and Claire to make sure they made it home safely. I didn’t give a shit if he thought I was crazy. His mouth stayed shut, while his wisdom-filled eyes told me he understood.

  “For not doing what your gut was telling you to do when that prick was mean mugging Claire.”

  I leaned my forehead against the glass, welcoming the chill it held and the small slice of relief it brought. “The son of a bitch should be under the jail, instead of sitting in it.” My voice was gravely and weak, traits I despised in general.

  “Dylan, you have to remember, as much as it’s your job to collect evidence for trial, it’s men like Anderson and Jessup who are responsible for finding a way for the jury to agree with them.” He moved to refill both glasses, his eyes full of compassion and a desire to take away all the bad. When I was much younger, he was the king of ice cream. For the longest time, I believed the cold, creamy goodness held something magic. Somewhere along the way, I graduated to something less sweet and far more p
otent.

  “I know, Dad, I just…” I shook my head, exhaling a breath, which filled my cheeks as I released it. “Things have changed. I’ve changed.” I brought the refilled glass to my lips, then thought better of it. “I can’t continue to stand behind my word anymore, to protect and serve.” A lump formed in my throat as the truth came to life.

  “Listen, you have to do what makes you happy. If that is being a cop, fine. If it’s backpacking through Europe, then I’ll let you explain this to your momma.” He placed his open hand in the space between my shoulder blades. “Look inside yourself and see what your heart truly wants.” His hand moved to the top of my shoulder, his eyes mirror images of my own. “Just give me a heads up when you’re ready to bring Claire ‘round your momma.” A smile spread across his face. Thoughts of her were oddly comforting, warm and, just like the ice cream from my childhood, magic.

  “She is amazing.” I lowered my head to look at the floor. “Jessup swore to Lainie he wouldn’t place her on the stand unless he had to. Claire sat right there like a gladiator ready to take on Greyson.”

  Dad leaned back in his chair. “Dylan, I’ve defended thousands of trials. It doesn’t matter if you have the crime on video, sometimes things just don’t go as they should. Jessup was right in not having Lainie testify. He could tell the sentence would not be in her favor, so there was no reason to have her singled out like that. Dr. Gillman explained everything in the simplest of terms, yet with the way Anderson managed to spin it, caused doubt in the minds of the jury.”

  Amber liquid sat calm in my glass, a complete contradiction to the memories in my mind.

  “Dr. Gillman, the defendant has testified the victim struck him across the face and then kissed him. Is it possible the DNA was under her nails as a result from a passionate slap and not the struggle we are made to believe?”

  “Yes, if the slap was powerful enough and the angle and length of the nail was enough.”

  “Thank you, no further questions.”

  In all the confusion I’d found myself in, Claire was the one thing I was certain about. I’d watched, as she held tight to Lainie while the verdict was read.

  “Has the jury reached a decision?”

  “Yes, your Honor.” The middle-aged man who had been making eyes at Claire stood, his hands folded at his waist.

  “On Count one; attempted rape, how does the jury find?”

  “Not guilty, your Honor.”

  “And Count two; assault in the first degree?”

  “We find the defendant, guilty.”

  “But thirty days, Dad?” I stood abruptly, my level of aggravation skyrocketing. I wanted to kick something, preferably Anderson, and make him see the monsters he was creating. How could he stand to look at himself in the mirror every day, knowing the number of coldhearted criminals he helped stay on the streets?

  “Jails are overcrowded. Even if Randolph gave him a year, he would be released in about the same time.” My dad reasoned. I knew he was correct. I saw the inside of our jails every single day, watched the revolving door of men and women who made their way through as if it was a normal errand during their day.

  “Well, it still doesn’t make it right,” I countered.

  “If you’re this passionate about it, maybe you should consider going back to school, major in Political Science. You could follow in Granddaddy’s footsteps and run for office.”

  Granddaddy possessed a temperament, which I did not. I was too quick to speak my mind, not taking the time to consider my words and how they impacted the people around me. He had a way of listening to someone express their opinion, which might have been completely different from his, only handed out one of his analogies; his reasoning typically changed their arguments and beliefs. I’d rather toss your ass into a holding cell until you came to your senses.

  “We both know that would end badly.” I quirked an eyebrow at him as I drained my glass in one gulp. Dad stood from his seat at the same time my cell phone started to ring. I glanced at the screen, Austin’s name above the caller ID.

  “It’s Austin,” I said, my thumb hovering over the screen.

  “Good, have a talk with your brother, get his opinion on what you should do.” Not waiting to send him off, I swiped the screen to answer the call.

  “Hey, Austin, what’s up?” I sat back down in my desk chair, placing my heels on the edge of my desk.

  “Hard dicks and hand grenades,” Chase answered, surprising me with his quick wit.

  “Hey, Chase, what’s going on?” I swallowed down my frustration with my life. The verdict had been read and as much as I disagreed with it, nothing would happen today to change it.

  “I’m here, too, dickweed.” Austin used the term of endearment he reserved for times when Momma couldn’t hear him. Nana Morgan would praise him on not being like the hellions in the street, using such grotesque and foul language. If only she knew he taught those hellions half the shit they spewed.

  “Well, this shit can’t be good.”

  Both my brothers laughed into my ear, the sound of it bringing on a smile I thought to be lost forever. Dad was right; I was taking too much internally, accepting issues of others as my own. I needed to hear my brothers’ opinions on how I should proceed.

  “It’s all good, bro,” Austin assured. “I had some news and wanted to share, but y’all know how much I hate to repeat myself. So I sent a message to Chase, asked him to give me a call when he had a minute or two, and I would bring you into the conversation.”

  Whatever he had to say was going to be big. Austin did hate to repeat himself, but he could have just sent an email with the details. This news he had was either really good or very bad.

  “Motherfucker, you better not be getting fucking married or dying,” I shouted into the phone. Austin had a desk job, playing around with security shit. It was my or Chase’s job which I assumed would result in the call of one of us being dead. Austin got frustrated with most women he met, complained they had only two brain cells, neither of which were talking. He, like most men, liked a pretty face and a great rack. But, to him, having intelligence was number one on his list.

  “If you two could shut the fuck up for a second,” Chase countered. “I only have a few minutes before I have to get off here. And I have my own news.”

  Oh shit! This would be the “I’m getting married” part. Chase hadn’t even brought his girl around the family yet. If he’d asked for her hand, I wanted to be in another country when Momma found out.

  “You done, dude?” Chase clarified.

  “I’m all ears.” I reached over to refill my glass, fearing the news and yet sadistically wanting to hear something, which would take my mind off the shit storm I had brewing all around me.

  “Chase, you go first, just in case you have to bounce.”

  “All right, to make a long story short, I received notice yesterday of a critical fill; which basically means there is a position open that needs a body in it. My name was brought up by my commanding officer and now I’m slotted to a new duty station. So, in just a few weeks, I’ll be in Cherry Point.”

  I nearly choked on my drink as Austin congratulated him. This was incredible news; having Chase within driving distance would make our momma’s day. Not to mention, give me a needed distraction.

  “Dylan, you gonna live? You ain’t gotta be all choked up on my account.” Chase, the comedian wannabe in the family.

  “Nah, man. I’m having a shitty day, this is great news.”

  Silence filled the once celebratory space. Leave it to me to ruin what was the best news in a while. None of us were thrilled with our little brother being so close to such turmoil. Momma avoided watching the news for fear of what she might hear and see.

  “Austin, you gonna be able to top this with what you got?” I teased, trying to return back to the great news Chase had just shared.

  “Maybe not top it, but pretty damn close.” His tone was confident and assured, which was how Austin was all the time. H
e possessed the best of both worlds—book and street smarts. He was able to carry on a conversation with a three-dollar hooker or the president of a corporation.

  “You two remember the project I told you about? The one I said would be ready by the first of the year?”

  I recalled the conversation where Chase teased him about curing a super virus and Austin explaining in as few words as possible, how this program would constantly change passwords for banks and the like.

  “Well, my boss came in last week and sat my team down. He informed us they were pulling the plug on the project, our ideas obsolete, he said. I suspected something a bit deeper, so I did a little digging.” His tone had me sitting my drink back down. Austin was suspicious by nature, much like myself. Neither one of us took anything at face value. “What I found pissed me off.” He enunciated the last three words.

  While Austin was smart and cynical, he was also very much a gentleman. Not as softhearted as Chase or anywhere near as callous as I was, but somewhere in between. His reaction was uncharacteristic of him. He never held grudges or let little shit like this get to him, something more was bothering him. More than having a project canceled.

  “Our program isn’t obsolete—it’s one of a kind. Mid-Century Bank, the potential buyer, found out exactly what they were being sold. Instead of getting a program with tech support and constant monitoring, they were getting simple software. Like a goddamn download on the internet, open to hackers and the fuckin’ like.”

  He had my attention; hackers were merely modern day pickpockets. Instead of walking the streets searching for potential victims, they hid in the shadows, invading bank accounts and personal information.