by J J Miller
“It’s a bit more specific than that. Isn’t it, Mr. Simpson?”
I bring up a slide on the monitor. It’s a screenshot from the forum complete with the Dream Raiders masthead — an image of a pouting Lara Croft in lingerie.
“This is an online members-only club where people, men to be exact, come to share their Lara Croft sexual fantasies. Isn’t that right, Mr. Simpson?”
“It’s not dirty.”
“Perhaps you mean it’s not all dirty. Members of the jury, what you will find here is everything from schoolboy crush to soft-core porn to sexual aggression.”
I pause to display a series of images up on the screen.
“Some of it’s actually quite sweet. But a lot of this material is rather disturbing.”
I bring up an illustration of a naked Lara Croft bound and gagged. Lawrence stands.
“Objection. Is there a point to this?”
“Get to it, counsellor,” says Judge Fernandez.
I open a forum page and zoom in on a post.
Simpson squirms in his seat.
“Mr. Simpson, this is a post from a member who calls himself Chase 5000. Is that your username?”
I turn to face Simpson and am a little taken aback - the intensity of his hatred is unsettling.
“Yes,” he says almost inaudibly.
“Please speak up, Mr. Simpson. Are you Chase 5000?”
“Yes.”
I return to my desk and pick up another sheet of paper, walk to Simpson and hand it to him. I do the same to the judge and Lawrence.
“Mr. Simpson, can you please read the post I have brought up on the screen here?”
Reluctant is not the word. I have to ask Simpson twice more to read the post.
“OOD brushed me again today, the bitch.”
I interrupt for the jury’s benefit: “OOD is shorthand for ‘object of desire’. Please continue, Mr. Simpson.”
“She had better start playing nice or Chase will have to teach her a lesson.”
He stops reading.
Lawrence is on his feet again.
“This is pure fantasy, Your Honor. There is no crime being committed here.”
“Well, what about this?” I say.
I bring up another post featuring a photo of Lindy Coleman in her underwear. She is leaning in to do something on her computer.
“Mr. Simpson, did you have Lindy’s permission to take and distribute this photo?”
His mouth is open slightly, his lower lip trembling.
“Did you use your remote access to take this photo? Mr. Simpson?”
“It was just for…”
“Did you take this photo and post it online on this forum?”
“Yes.”
I barely give him time to catch his breath. I want to ping him on the nickname he has for Lindy. Jack told me we were misled by thinking it was ‘Elsie.’
“Mr. Simpson, you have a pet name for Lindy Coleman, don’t you?”
“What?!”
“My question is perfectly clear, Mr. Simpson. You have a pet name for your next-door neighbor Lindy Coleman. What is it?”
“LC.”
“Right, LC for Lindy Coleman... and, as luck would have it, Lara Croft.”
I bring up the video tape of Lindy and Bobby.
“Members of the jury, you are all by now very familiar with this video clip. And you have listened to it carefully. But there’s something here I would like you to play very close attention to.”
I advance the tape to the mark I want.
“Go to hell, you creep!” shouts Lindy.
“Since Lindy is in the middle of a heated argument with Bobby Timmins, it would be reasonable to assume that this comment is directed at Bobby.”
I bring up a separate audio file.
“Now, this is the same recording, except Bobby’s voice has been stripped out to reveal what can be heard underneath.”
I hit play and the jury hears Cory Simpson knocking on the door and calling out, “Are you okay, LC?” Then Lindy screams her reply: “Go to hell, you creep!”
I turn to the jury.
“Members of the jury, this comment you just heard from Lindy was not directed to Bobby at all. Lindy was addressing our witness here, Cory Simpson.”
The jury members are stunned.
“You will notice there is no more sound coming from the door. And within seconds, the recording stops.”
I turn once more to address Simpson.
“Mr. Simpson, why did you stop the recording?”
“I didn’t.”
“Mr. Simpson, perhaps there was a time when you had a friendly relationship with Lindy Coleman. But not recently. You obviously made her feel very uncomfortable. Why else would she call you a creep? It seems she could not stand to be anywhere near you. Isn’t that right, Mr. Simpson?”
His face is red; his breathing rapid, shallow.
“I put it to you, Mr. Simpson that you became so enraged at Lindy’s open and clear contempt for you that you decided to teach her a lesson once and for all. Just like your post says.”
“That was just talk,” he says indignantly.
“Maybe, but what you did next was not, was it Mr. Simpson?”
His whole mouth now twitches with pent-up rage. His brow is beaded with sweat.
“You waited until Bobby had left. You watched him leave through your peephole, then you went straight into Lindy Coleman’s apartment to confront her. But you made sure it would not be recorded, didn’t you, Mr. Simpson?’
“That’s a lie! All of it!” he cries.
“You had to teach Lindy Coleman a lesson, once and for all!”
“Objection. He’s badgering the witness, Your Honor.” Lawrence is on his feet again, but his heart is not entirely invested in the protest.
“Overruled.”
“You went into her apartment and strangled her.”
“No. No. I did not! I wasn’t going to kill her! I loved her! I just wanted to talk!”
The gallery gasps as one.
I hand out another sheet.
“This, Your Honor, is more fresh evidence here. We retrieved a sample of Mr. Simpson’s saliva from a soda can he tossed into the bin outside this court and had it tested.”
I position myself in the center of the floor and turn to the jury.
“As this report shows, Mr. Simpson’s DNA is a match for the unknown DNA found on Lindy Coleman’s computer and neck.”
“I didn’t mean to kill her!!” Simpson screams.
In an instant the courtroom falls dead silent. Everyone present is trying desperately to process what they just heard.
“That may be so, Mr. Simpson. But kill her you did.”
I catch Lawrence in the corner of my eye. The snap has gone out of him. It’s almost sluggish the way he pulls himself to his feet. Defeat doesn’t look good on him. He addresses the judge with a mix of deflation and purpose.
“Your Honor, I move to drop all charges against Bobby Timmins, and to charge Cory Simpson with murder,” he says.
“Most certainly, counsellor.”
As two officers move in to cuff Simpson, Judge Fernandez addresses Bobby.
“Mr. Timmins, I can only offer my sincerest apologies for the pain and trauma that you have been put through. You are free to go.”
A cheer erupts in the gallery. It’s now a hive of excitement. As the crowd shuffles towards the door, I notice one figure standing still in the tide.
It’s Claire, staring at me with a gentle smile. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I think she just might be a little proud of me.
THE END
Thank you so much for buying and reading Code of Justice. I really hope you enjoyed the ride. If you did, check out Force of Justice, my new Brad Madison novel. And rest assured, the next book of the series is in the works, so stay tuned for more. In the meantime, it would be great if you could give Code of Justice a review and rating (preferably good!) on Amazon, Goodreads or elsewhere.
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All the best,
JJ
