by Diane Capri
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” Ursula hung up and took Mason’s call. “Ursula Westfield here.”
“Ms. Westfield, we’ve located Jason Taylor’s briefcase. We also got a warrant for his e-mails. Interesting reading.” Mason paused, perhaps believing she would blurt out something foolish. When she didn’t, he said, “You weren’t his only pen pal, Ms. Westfield. I’m calling to tell you to be careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Taylor was targeted first, then followed, and then murdered. The killer probably knows you were there. Knows what you know.” He paused. “Might be a good idea for you to get out of town until we wrap this thing up.”
Her mouth dried up. She felt her heart pounding. “I don’t know much of anything. I’d have told you.”
“That’s not exactly true, is it? You know that Jason Taylor believed Aaron Michaels was a rapist and drove his mother to kill herself.”
Now her pulse was throbbing in her ears so loudly she could barely hear. She cleared her throat. “He had no proof of that. None at all. And it was a long time ago. If I’d told you about it, are you saying you would have investigated the old crime?”
“No. We wouldn’t have. You’re right about that.” Someone called Mason’s name in the distance. “I’ve gotta go. Be careful, Ms. Westfield. Better yet, be on the next plane to New York tonight. Come back after we catch Taylor’s killer.”
Ursula sank onto the bed. Her hands were shaking, and her thumb accidently hit the redial button on the last call she’d made.
Willa picked up again. “That was fast.”
Ursula pressed the speaker button. “Detective Mason found Jason Taylor’s briefcase. He knows about the photos. About Millie Taylor. He’s read our e-mail exchanges.” Her voice was as shaky as her hands.
“Yes, and that’s not all.” Willa took a sip of something. “Why don’t you come over here for dinner. I’ll tell you what I’ve found out about Aaron Michaels.”
“You’ve been looking into Michaels?”
“I told you things were dull at work.” Ursula heard the smile in Willa’s voice before she spoke seriously again. “Based on what you told me last night, and what I know of your work, I had no doubt you were on to something. So I poked around with my contacts a little and a couple of interesting things popped up.” Willa paused. “Do you want to know, or not?”
Ursula rubbed at her temples to stave off an oncoming headache. “I don’t want this to blow back on you. He could be one of your colleagues soon.”
Both women went quiet at the chilling thought.
“Don’t worry about me,” Willa said, finally. “I can handle myself. And George is here. But you shouldn’t be alone. Are you coming over?”
“Yeah. Let me get a quick shower. I feel grimy.” She glanced at the clock. It was still early. This day seemed to have lasted way too long already. “Thanks so much. And Willa? I apologize again.”
“No need. Bring an umbrella and dress warmly. That cold front has brought some icy rain down from Canada. Talk soon.” Willa disconnected.
Ursula set the phone down. She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She rummaged around in her carry on for makeup remover and shampoo. She was about to slip into the hot shower when her hotel room phone rang.
The front desk, maybe? She sat on the bed and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Ms. Westfield?”
The words were timid, almost a whisper.
She was about to catch a break. She could almost smell it. Ursula sat perfectly still as if the simple act of breathing might scare the woman off. She schooled herself to sound calm and controlled. “Yes, this is she.”
“Tiffany Stone told me about you. I have something about Judge Michaels you’ll want to see,” the tinny, female voice said. “Something important. Can we meet somewhere and talk?”
The woman sounded young. She also sounded terrified. Ursula’s palms broke out in a cold sweat as she snatched up her notebook and tossed it into her bag.
“Yes, of course. Where? When?” She searched the room for her shoes. Where had she kicked them?
“We can’t be seen together,” the caller murmured. “I don’t want to end up like Jason Taylor. I can come after work. Meet me at Garcia Park in an hour.”
Ursula dropped to her knees to look under the bed. “But—” The line went dead. She pulled her shoes into the open and plopped onto her butt. Damn, this thing was coming together. She resisted the urge to fist pump the air.
She jogged in Garcia Park sometimes. It wasn’t the nicest park in the area, but it wasn’t far from her hotel. She could easily get there in less than an hour. But she’d promised to meet Willa. She hit the redial on her phone again. This time, the call went to voice mail.
Ursula waited for the beep and then left her message. “Willa, I got a lead. I’m meeting a witness at Garcia Park in an hour. She knows something about Aaron Michaels, and it might be exactly what we’re looking for. I’ll come over afterward, as soon as I’m finished. Thanks.”
She took a quick shower, slapped on a bit of makeup and clean clothes. She grabbed the old umbrella standing by the door and fought to open it. Several of its ribs were broken into sharp pieces, but the fabric was waterproof and basically intact. She slipped into her coat, tossed her bag over her shoulder, the umbrella in one hand and keys to the rental car in the other, and headed out.
The moonless night air was still cold, but not as cold as last night when Jason Taylor died. Wind buffeted the umbrella and lifted it away from her face. Icy rain pelted her skin. Ice had already glazed the parking lot. She slipped twice before she reached the sedan and grabbed onto the door handle to steady herself. She fought to close the umbrella and slid behind the wheel, cold and shivering.
Slippery pavement slowed her progress, but she barely noticed the drive, because she was so focused on the meeting. What could this woman have on Aaron Michaels? She had to be another of his victims, didn’t she? A live victim, willing to testify. That was more than enough to get this story into every news outlet in the country.
Aaron Michaels didn’t belong on the bench. Ursula planned to prove it.
Briefly, she considered calling Detective Mason, but she dismissed the idea out of hand. The young woman was already spooked. Showing up with a cop in tow would send her running in the opposite direction.
No, Ursula had known the risks when she took on this quest. She wouldn’t back down now. She was so close. By habit, she reached into her purse and groped around until she found her Taser and slipped it into her coat pocket. She never walked around alone at night without it.
When she pulled up to Garcia Park, her every nerve lit in anticipation, but the place was deserted. Foul weather had chased even the usual joggers away for the night. But the gate was unchained, wide open.
She maneuvered the rented sedan down the winding driveway, slowly, keeping the wheels on the pavement only by sheer will and tension.
Once she reached the parking lot that sat directly in front of the central pond, she pulled into an empty spot. She turned off the ignition but left her lights on. The cold and lonely park felt more than a little creepy. She shuddered.
A few minutes later, one hour from her phone call on the dot, another vehicle pulled in and parked in the spot next to hers.
A young woman was in the driver’s seat, the only occupant of the non-descript vehicle. Ursula blew out a sigh of relief.
She hadn’t been expecting a white van with three goons in it, but who knew?
Her heart rate slowed to something closer to normal as the young woman, dressed in a brown and yellow uniform from a local eatery, stepped out of the SUV and slipped into a hooded yellow raincoat. The poncho had the same local eatery’s logo on the front.
They met on the sidewalk. Ursula held the decrepit umbrella in her left hand and stuck out her right. “Thank you for meeting with me. I’m Ursula Westfield.”
The woman smelled like fried fish. She tucke
d a lock of mousy brown hair behind one ear and stuffed both hands in her pockets. “Yeah, well, when I heard what happened to Jason Taylor, I felt like I had no choice. I’m Stacy Albrecht. I used to be Judge Michaels’ law clerk.” Her pale face shone in the moonlight, and her eyes were full of tears. “Do you mind if we walk and talk? I’m so cold I can’t seem to stop my legs from shaking. It warms me up to move.”
She walked along the sidewalk that circled the pond, a popular track for joggers, rollerbladers and the like during better weather. Ursula matched her pace, noticing for the first time that the other woman was holding a large envelope.
Maybe she’d brought actual proof. Photos of her abuse. Ursula gently attempted to guide the conversation. “You said you wanted to talk to me about Michaels?”
Stacy nodded. “He has affairs with his law clerks. He’s having an affair now with Tiffany Strong.”
“I met her earlier today. Intense young woman.” Ursula tugged her coat more tightly around her body. Her fingers were cold claws on the grip of the umbrella’s handle. “But you said you didn’t want to end up like Jason Taylor. Was there some connection between Michaels and Taylor?”
“That’s not the problem. It’s Tiffany’s failure.” The younger woman slowed and turned to face Ursula, her thin lips twisting as she frowned. “She’s not strong enough. She could never protect Aaron. See, that’s why I had to do it, Miss Westfield. Because Tiffany’s too weak.”
Quickly, smoothly, Stacy’s hand slid out of her pocket. Stacy lunged at her, right arm extended, holding a blade that glinted in the weak lamplight.
Ursula jerked back in stunned surprise. Too late.
She pin-wheeled backward, fear coalescing in her stomach like spoiled milk. She dropped the umbrella, and it collapsed. Sleet pelted her body. Her teeth chattered.
Stacy lunged forward again, slicing the knife through the air.
Ursula spun left. Her heel caught on a rock, sending her stumbling backward. She tripped on the umbrella and fell onto her back in the muddy grass. A hot stinging pain erupted in her side, and she realized through building terror that she’d been cut. She scrambled to push herself to her feet.
“That stupid fool. She thinks he loves her, but she has no idea what it takes to keep a man like Aaron.” Stacy’s words were shrill now. The look in her eyes was almost maniacal, as she continued to stalk Ursula, lunging and slicing with the bloody blade.
Ursula backed up, keeping her eyes on Stacy, looking for an opening. Any opening.
God, why hadn’t she called Mason?
She cupped a hand to her aching side and winced as the sticky heat of her blood coated her fingers.
“You don’t have to do this, Stacy.” Ursula held up her free left hand defensively as she continued to walk backward, off the side of the sidewalk and onto the grass. “He’s not worthy of you. He’s not who you think he is.”
“Shut up. You shut up about him.” Stacy brandished the dagger threateningly and kept coming, her motions growing more agitated by the second. “He made a terrible mistake, choosing her over me. He’ll realize that now. Jason is dead. You’ll be dead. No one will know.”
Ursula swallowed hard and strained to see the grass in her peripheral vision as she spoke in a calm voice. “You’re probably right. She thinks she’s younger and prettier than you, but she doesn’t understand what you’re willing to do for him.”
Stacy nodded breathlessly. “Exactly.”
Without taking a moment’s rest, Stacy barreled at Ursula like a bull charges the red cape, throwing all of her body weight and momentum behind a final swift and lethal strike.
Ursula’s Taser was in her right coat pocket. But her right hand covered the gash in her side, so she couldn’t wrestle the Taser out in time.
She dropped low and, quick as a snake strike, snatched up the umbrella. She brandished it in front of her body to deflect Stacy’s slashing blow.
The umbrella was a Hail Mary. But it was all she had. And it did nothing to slow Stacy’s determination. Or her momentum.
Ursula squeezed her eyes closed with a silent prayer as Stacy’s body connected with hers, the useless umbrella between them.
They toppled to the ground with a bone-jarring crash.
Ursula screamed in agony.
Her stomach and chest felt hot. So hot. Sticky blood pooled over her. The pain in her torso was excruciating. She couldn’t bear it.
Stacy’s full weight held Ursula to the ground as her vision went black.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Willa said from the doorway of Ursula’s hospital room the next day.
Ursula looked up from the plastic container of pudding she’d been eating and managed a weak smile. “That’s the understatement of the year.”
Willa walked closer to her hospital bed. She rested a hand on her shoulder. “How’s your head feeling now?”
The doctors said she’d been knocked unconscious when Stacy tackled her and her head hit a rock. “Like a Japanese drummer is playing Wipeout on my brain.” She grinned and squeezed Willa’s hand. “My stomach doesn’t feel all that great, either.”
Stacy had lacerated her side, just under her ribcage. But the strike had missed all vital organs. The cut required stitches, but she’d survived.
“You were a lot luckier than Jason Taylor,” Willa said, softly.
“Yes.” Ursula shuddered when she thought about how close she’d come to joining Jason in death. “Thanks for coming to pick me up. They’re finishing my discharge papers now.”
But Willa wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily. “That was a reckless thing you did, going out there alone. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I know, I know. And you have every right to rip into me, but can you just give me a day or two? I’m worn out.”
Willa’s gaze softened a little, and she shook her head. But she didn’t reply. Instead, she pulled a bouquet of flowers from behind her back with a flourish.
“Gerbera daisies are my favorite,” Ursula said, tears leaking from her eyes. She felt weak after the attack. It seemed she cried at the least little things. She cleared her throat. “How is Stacy Albrecht?”
“Detective Mason said she’s touch and go.” Willa shook her head again. “When she charged at you that last time, she landed on that old umbrella at an odd angle, and somehow one of the broken ribs on it punctured her chest and nicked her heart.”
Ursula gasped. She’d been fighting for her life, but she hadn’t intended to kill Stacy in the process.
“She’ll survive.” Willa’s sympathy didn’t extend as far as Ursula’s. “But she killed a man in his prime and tried to murder you. She’ll be prosecuted.”
“But that look in her eyes, Willa. She’s mentally ill. Her relationship with Michaels pushed her over the edge.” Ursula shuddered.
“If that’s true, her lawyer will present those defenses to the court.” Willa frowned. “The justice system has a way of sorting these things out. You do your job, and we’ll do ours.”
Ursula didn’t have the energy to argue. She lay back against the pillow and closed her eyes a minute.
“I have some good news, too. I never got a chance to tell you what I learned about Judge Michaels.” Willa reached under her arm, grabbed a newspaper and tossed it onto the hospital bed.
Puzzled, Ursula picked up the newspaper and gasped when she saw Judge Aaron Michaels staring back at her in black and white. She read the first paragraph aloud.
“Circuit Court Judge Aaron Michaels was arrested on charges of multiple counts of corruption. Michaels is accused of accepting kickbacks from two private juvenile detention centers. It is alleged that Michaels received the money in exchange for sending youths to the private detention centers instead of sentencing them to community service or probation. Judge Michaels was recently accused of sexual harassment of his law clerks, including a decades-old rape accusation that hit airwaves yesterday in the wake of his wife’s petition
for divorce.”
Ursula sat back, stunned. “Holy cow. Kids for cash? How did this come out?”
“Turns out that after Stacy attacked you, Detective Mason persuaded Tiffany Strong to come clean. The pictures of Millie Taylor were found in her son’s briefcase. And Michaels’ wife had been having him followed. She wanted a divorce. She handed over an entire box of evidence to Detective Mason before she walked out.” Willa shrugged. “I’d heard rumors about the kickbacks investigation a while ago.”
Ursula looked at her. “Will he be convicted?”
“Not for what he did to Millie Taylor.” Willa shook her head. “But the corruption has been going on for years. One boy, sent away at the age of twelve, was killed at fourteen by another boy. Michaels will go to prison for a long time.”
Ursula looked down at her hands and nodded.
Willa sat on the chair next to the bed and folded her hands across her knee. “I know how much you wanted justice for Millie Taylor. And for her son. But Michaels didn’t kill Millie, and the rape case is simply too old to prove. And he didn’t kill Jason Taylor. Stacy did that on her own.”
“I understand. He’s going to prison. I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with that,” Ursula took a deep breath and looked up again. “Unless I can find a way to tie him to those murders someday.”
Willa stood and smiled expectantly. “George canceled your hotel room and insisted you stay with us. He swears he’ll keep the dogs from jumping on you. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Ursula gazed down at the newspaper in her lap and bittersweet tears blurred her vision. She could never give Millie or Jason back what they’d lost, but Judge Aaron Michaels’ life was in shambles. His career was over, his family had abandoned him and he would be in prison for a long time.
It would have to be enough.
Goodbye, Millie. I wish I’d had the chance to know you.
Ursula set the newspaper aside and swung her legs off the bed.
“Let’s go.”
THE END
I hope you enjoyed False Justice as much as I enjoyed writing it for you. Judge Willa Carson stars in the best selling Hunt for Justice Series. Read more Judge Willa Carson books to spend some time with Tampa’s feisty federal judge. Here’s the full list in order of publication!
