by Diane Capri
FALSE JUSTICE:
A Judge Willa Carson Mystery
BY
DIANE CAPRI
Presented By:
AugustBooks
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Praise for
New York Times and USA Today
Bestselling Author
Diane Capri
“Full of thrills and tension, but smart and human, too.”
Lee Child, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author of Jack Reacher Thrillers
“[A] welcome surprise….[W]orks from the first page to ‘The End’.”
Larry King
“Swift pacing and ongoing suspense are always present…[L]ikable protagonist who uses her political connections for a good cause…Readers should eagerly anticipate the next [book].”
Top Pick, Romantic Times
“…offers tense legal drama with courtroom overtones, twisty plot, and loads of Florida atmosphere. Recommended.”
Library Journal
“[A] fast-paced legal thriller…energetic prose…an appealing heroine…clever and capable supporting cast…[that will] keep readers waiting for the next [book].”
Publishers Weekly
“Expertise shines on every page.”
Margaret Maron, Edgar, Anthony, Agatha and Macavity Award Winning MWA Past President
Also by DIANE CAPRI
(Click each title to buy or download a sample)
CLICK HERE for a complete list of Diane Capri Books
The Hunt for Justice Series:
Due Justice (Judge Willa Carson)
Twisted Justice (Judge Willa Carson)
Secret Justice (Judge Willa Carson)
Wasted Justice (Judge Willa Carson)
Raw Justice
Mistaken Justice
Cold Justice (Judge Willa Carson)
False Justice (Judge Willa Carson)
Fair Justice (Judge Willa Carson)
The Hunt for Jack Reacher Series:
Don’t Know Jack
Get Back Jack
Jack and Joe
Deep Cover Jack
Jack in a Box
Jack and Kill
Jack in the Green
The Jess Kimball Thrillers:
Fatal Enemy
Fatal Distraction
Fatal Demand
Fatal Error
Fatal Fall
Fatal Game
The Heir Hunter Series:
Blood Trails
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False Justice is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Diane Capri, LLC
All Rights Reserved
Published by: AugustBooks
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eISBN: 978-1-940768-72-4
Original cover design by Michelle Priest
TABLE OF CONTENTS
FALSE JUSTICE
Reviews
Books by Diane Capri
Copyright
Thanks to…
Dedication
Cast of Primary Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
About the Author
Thank you to some of the best readers in the world: Beth Nagorsky (Desiree Rothchild), Phillip Mason, and John Kuvacas (Antoine Crowe) for participating in our character naming giveaways which make this book a bit more personal and fun for all of us.
DEDICATION
For Wilhelmina Boersma, trailblazer extraordinaire.
CAST OF PRIMARY CHARACTERS
Judge Wilhelmina Carson
George Carson
Ursula Westfield
Desiree Rothchild
Antoine Crowe
Jason Taylor
Phillip Mason
Aaron Michaels
FALSE JUSTICE
BY
DIANE CAPRI
Presented By:
AugustBooks
CHAPTER ONE
Ursula stepped into the warm foyer of the restaurant at precisely twenty to five and let out a long sigh of relief. It was freezing in New York, and she’d been looking forward to thawing out only to find it was uncharacteristically cold in Tampa, barely topping out at forty degrees. She’d done her best for the past couple of years to make sure her visits back home had coincided with perfect, balmy weather, but on this particular visit, the timing couldn’t be helped.
She was glad for her coat as she’d made her way from the parking lot into the building toward the hostess station where a pretty young woman in a chic black sheath dress stood, teetering on the stiletto heels of her knee-high black boots.
The grand old building, dubbed Minaret by its original owner because of the silver dome on the top, was as magnificent on the inside as it was on the outside. Across a private bridge from Tampa’s beautiful Bayshore Boulevard, Minaret sat on its own private island, dubbed Plant Key, a sparkling jewel created by dredging Hillsborough Bay more than a hundred years ago.
“Welcome to George’s Place. I’m Desiree Rothchild. We’re happy to have you with us. Do you have a reservation this evening?”
Ursula ran a hand through her damp cap of dark hair and opened her mouth to reply, but her words were cut short by a booming voice.
“Ursula!” George Carson strode across the marble floor of the former ballroom toward her, a smile on his handsome face.
She pushed aside her rising apprehension over this visit and grinned with genuine pleasure. “George!” She stepped into the circle of George’s outstretched arms for one of his patented bear hugs. He towered over her, even in her heels. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Willa said you’d called, but she wasn’t sure if your flight out of JFK had been delayed.” George stepped back and smiled. “Nasty weather up there. I’m sorry ours isn’t a lot better tonight.”
The ice storms that
had been sweeping the Northeast all winter wreaked havoc on travel plans, but luckily, she’d sneaked out just before the latest front stacked up air traffic again. The scent of spicy tomato sauce and freshly baked bread wafted over her from a passing waiter, and she pulled back to give George’s shoulder a squeeze, grateful for the momentary sense of comfort seeing him brought.
“I don’t know what you guys have got cooking back there, but I can’t wait to get some of it into my belly.” She grinned. “I haven’t had a great meal since I was here last.”
She wasn’t teasing. George’s Place was the best restaurant in Tampa, even if he was too polite to brag. He’d won all of the culinary awards so many times that he’d been disqualified. The judges said keeping George’s Place in the mix made competition impossible. Everything about the place was hard to match and impossible to beat, as far as Ursula was concerned.
George turned toward the hostess and held up two fingers. “Desiree, I’ll put her at the booth in the alcove with the best view of the bay. We can move things around if you have to, okay?”
The young woman nodded as he snatched two menus from the hostess station and walked Ursula to her seat.
“Willa is tied up on a case until at least six, but she said she’ll see you for drinks at the bar after your meeting. Sound good?”
“Can’t wait. It’s been way too long.”
Wasn’t that the truth? Her own career in broadcast journalism had exploded and, for the past year, her days started before sunup and didn’t end until long after the moon was hanging high in the sky. Not that she was complaining. This was the culmination of everything she’d worked so hard for. Sometimes, though, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d spent all this time running, only to find the destination wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as the journey.
She shoved the thought aside as George slowed to a stop next to a cozy booth with a stunning view, as promised. The water moved calmly, gleaming in the fading daylight. The palm trees that lined the shore looked almost out of place against the lackluster sky that had tucked its more brilliant, technicolor plumage away and offered up nothing more than a hint of burnt orange against gray smudge. To some, the sky might look ominous, but there was a stark sort of beauty in it that Ursula appreciated.
She made a mental note to break her own rule next year and bring Marcus here for the holidays. Willa and George hadn’t met him yet, and she wanted him to see where she’d come from. She loved Tampa. She was sure Marcus would, too.
That settled, she unbelted her merino wool coat and slid it off her shoulders, flinging it onto the seat next to her before sitting.
“So how has that wife of yours been, George? Keeping out of trouble?”
George’s hazel eyes went soft at the mention of his favorite person in the world, and he set the menus on the table.
“She’s working a lot. Of course, we’re both busy, as always.” He swept a hand behind him toward the dining room, humming with activity that seemed excessive for a weekday so early in the evening. “Seems like I hardly see her. We appreciate the time we do have and make the most of it.” He smiled again and shrugged. “It’s a good life, Ursula. A great life. We’ve been lucky. I couldn’t ask for more.”
A waiter in a freshly pressed black and white uniform came by and stood off to the side, clearing his throat surreptitiously.
“Everything okay, Antoine?”
“Chef would like to speak with you in the kitchen when you have a moment. Something about the grouper shipment being short,” he murmured in a low voice.
George sent Ursula an apologetic smile. “I’d hoped to sneak in a glass of wine with you before your dinner guest arrived, but apparently, I jinxed myself by bragging about how great everything is.” He let out a good-natured laugh and backed away from the table before turning to the waiter. “Miss Westfield is a close family friend. Anything she needs, Antoine. Only the best.” He smiled and clapped Antoine on the shoulder then stalked away to deal with his fish crisis before the big dinner rush.
Ursula ordered a glass of Cabernet and settled back into the buttery leather seat with a groan of relief. She was finally out of the freezing cold, and she hadn’t been forced to come up with a lie to get George to leave her in privacy. Normally, she’d have loved to sit and chat with him, but until she got this meeting out of the way, she wouldn’t be good company for anyone.
She thought back to the cryptic e-mail she’d received and chewed anxiously on her lower lip.
Federal Judge nominee Aaron Michaels is a murderer and I can prove it. Meet me at George’s Place on December 12th at five p.m. Come alone and don’t be late.
How many times over the past four days had she hemmed and hawed about showing up? Probably a thousand. But as much as she loved New York, Tampa was her hometown. The people here were her people. The thought that a man who was nominated to decide the fates of everyone who stepped into his courtroom was a killer had been too much to ignore.
Her friend, Judge Willa Carson, had told her that federal judges were appointed for life. It was nearly impossible to get one off the bench once he was appointed and confirmed. While Ursula figured that clear proof of murder should be plenty of cause to get rid of a federal judge, clear proof was hard to come by sometimes. The risk that a murderer would sit in judgment of others in her town was too high for her to be complacent about it.
She’d spent the rest of that first night furiously scouring the Internet and newsroom archives for anything and everything she could dig up about Aaron Michaels. What she’d found should’ve persuaded her to blow off this meeting.
A big, fat goose egg. The man was as clean as a whistle. In fact, she’d never had a deep-dive search like that come up so clean.
Michaels’ story was as perfect as his hair. His square jaw fit for a super-hero. His wife and two perfect, Ivy League children so attractive, their public holiday card could’ve been stripped from an L.L. Bean catalog.
The judge Michaels was on tap to replace had died quite suddenly. Ursula wondered if her source planned to accuse Michaels of the man’s murder, but after a few clicks, she found that he’d been suffering from a severe case of pneumonia that went awry. Natural causes, according to the official report.
Meaning squeaky clean Aaron Michaels was still squeaking.
And yet she couldn’t shake a niggling sense that something felt off about him. Something in his eyes, maybe. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on had made her whip off a quick reply to her mysterious source. Yes, she would meet at George’s Place, because she couldn’t stand by if there was even a one percent chance this man was a killer.
Now here she was here in Tampa. Waiting.
There was a better than fifty percent chance she’d get stood up. That could be nothing more than the ramblings of a mentally ill person or a man with a grudge.
She almost hoped he wouldn’t show. She’d have a great meal, a few drinks with Willa and George, lay a poinsettia on her mama’s grave in the morning, and get the next flight back to New York with a clear conscience.
She’d barely completed the thought when a shadow fell over the table.
“Miss Westfield.” The man’s voice was low and raspy. She looked up with a start, daydreams of a pleasant, uneventful visit scattering like dandelion pods in the wind.
CHAPTER TWO
“You’re early,” she said, gesturing to the seat across the table.
He was younger than she’d expected, mid-thirties. His tight, black curls were shorn close to his scalp, and his goatee was trimmed neatly like he’d just been to the barbershop. He slipped off his coat to reveal a dove gray suit, tailor-made for his fit physique. Dark, intelligent eyes searched her face as he slung his coat into the booth and folded his long legs under the table.
“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d show.” His gaze flicked nervously around the room before returning to meet hers.
“I almost didn’t.” She lowered her voice. “Your message was both disturbing and
vague. You’d be surprised how many false accusations I get every day, but…”
“But?” He placed his briefcase on the seat next to him and kept a protective hand on it.
She shrugged. “I just had a gut feeling that I should hear you out. Prove me right, Mr.—?”
They both went silent as Antoine placed her wine on the table. He offered the man across from her a drink, but he declined. When they were alone again, he leaned closer.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “but I’d rather not give you my name.”
“You want me to investigate a story. Knowing your name would build some trust between us.” She had to admit there was some kind of story here, though. He’d showed up, and he seemed to be lucid and intelligent enough. He didn’t seem some nutter holding onto a conspiracy theory or a man bent on revenge. So far.
“I don’t need you to investigate.” His voice was slow, quiet. Almost a whisper, but not quite. Which made him hard to hear.
