Kristina attempted to make small talk. “Are you one of the detectives on Hazenberg’s case?”
“Yes,” the detective said without breaking stride. “I’m Emily Graham. My partner Tobias Novak is the lead detective on the investigation.” She did not pause to shake their hands, or even offer a smile.
Detectives Graham and Novak. Hal stored their names in his brain. With a little luck, he’d be cross-examining this woman and her partner on the stand.
They reached their destination, a nondescript door marked Interview Room. Hal turned to Graham. Hal felt a moment of terror as he realized Graham was going to enter the room with them.
He blocked her. “We’re going to need total privacy. I’m sure you understand. Attorney-client privilege—”
Graham’s eyes flashed. “I’m aware of the rules.”
“Good,” Hal said. He glanced at the door as Graham unlocked it, and felt his pulse kick up a notch. “Thank you.” A moment later, they were inside.
The room looked almost identical to the one in which they’d met Yancey Sheridan less than an hour earlier. Hazenberg sat in a similar small, uncomfortable chair at a similar small, pockmarked table. He looked at Hal and Kristina as the door closed loudly behind them.
“Who are you?”
The words weren’t spoken like a challenge. More like a polite inquiry. Hazenberg’s voice was calm, almost placid, which also described his whole demeanor. He was a tall man, in his early or mid forties. Light skin, light brown hair, glasses. He looked nondescript, ordinary. He also looked relaxed. Maybe even a little amused.
He did not seem to Hal like a man facing a first-degree murder charge that would likely end with an execution by lethal injection—and he certainly didn’t seem like the kind of guy who chops off another man’s dick and balls.
It was a bit unnerving.
“My name is Hal Nolan. This is my partner Kristina Nolan. We’re here to defend you.”
“I already have a lawyer. He’s on his way.”
“On his way?” Hal said, feigning surprise. “While you’re in here alone? What is he doing? Enjoying a nice continental breakfast while you sit here in handcuffs?”
Hazenberg lifted his arms to show that his wrists, unlike Sheridan’s, were free. “The two detectives took off the handcuffs after they brought me in here. But point taken.”
Hal inwardly cursed himself for not noticing Hazenberg’s unrestrained wrists. No more mistakes. “I’m just surprised your lawyer wasn’t with you when the police brought you in. We would have been.”
“Why?” Hazenberg smirked, and Hal felt the distinct impression that the man thought they were fools. “For moral support?”
“Well no,” Hal said. “I mean, it’s more than that. We—”
Kristina leaned forward. Seeing her expression—utterly serious—Hal stopped talking.
“We would have observed the arrest,” she said. “With luck, we might have seen some evidence of police negligence or misconduct, something we could use to claim the police violated your rights. Not having a lawyer present during the arrest is a missed opportunity.”
Hazenberg’s smirk vanished.
“No offense,” Hal said, “but I don’t think you can afford to miss too many opportunities right now. Do you?”
Hazenberg seemed to regard them with more respect. “Lockwood is supposed to be the best. He’s an expert on criminal defense.”
“Yes, he is,” Hal said. “And if you were hosting a cable news talk show, then without a doubt, he would be a better choice than Kristina and me. But you are not the host of a cable news talk show. You are a man facing death row in the city of Philadelphia. You don’t need a criminal defense expert. You need top-tier, local Philly lawyers who know every corner of the Criminal Justice Center, have been to dinner with the judges, and who have relationships with the prosecutors at the DA’s office. That’s us.”
He was stretching the truth, and probably violating numerous attorney advertising regulations, but it sounded good to him. Evidently it sounded good to Hazenberg, too. They had his full attention.
“Lockwood offered to represent me for free. He said he’d make back the money with a book deal. Can you match that?”
Hal hesitated. In the long-term, publicity from a trial like this one would be just as helpful to his firm as legal fees—maybe even more so. But Hal didn’t have the luxury of thinking long-term. The firm had a serious cash flow problem right now. He and Kristina couldn’t afford to take on this case free-of-charge. They simply did not have the money to fund a trial of this magnitude.
But Kristina didn’t know that. He’d kept her in the dark about the firm’s money problems. He glanced at her, hoping she was not about to agree to Hazenberg’s request and unwittingly ruin them.
“We can’t do that,” she said.
Hal exhaled with relief.
“Do you know how a lawyer sells a book about a trial?” Kristina said.
“No.” Hazenberg looked interested.
“By taking big risks, big gambles, so that the story is exciting, a roller coaster ride for his future book readers. By maximizing courtroom theatrics so that the book translates easily to a screenplay and a movie deal. By losing and then appealing and then appealing again, so he has a three-act structure with an inspiring comeback at the climax. Does any of that sound like it’s in your best interest?”
“Not really.”
“On the other hand, true working lawyers—like Hal and me—aren’t thinking about books. We’re lawyers because we love to go to trial and win. And to do that, we have to charge a fee.”
Hazenberg nodded. “And what is your fee?”
Kristina turned to Hal. The money man. If she only knew….
“Including expenses?” he said. “We’ll need a retainer of $50,000 to start, and the total amount will likely exceed that. I’m just being honest and upfront with you. We’re going to need to hire investigators, send for lab work, the DA’s office is going to hit us with a lot of motions and briefs that we will need to respond to. It’s going to be a significant undertaking.”
“Likely to exceed $50,000 by how much?” Hazenberg frowned.
“You can’t put a price on freedom, can you?” Kristina said. Her pretty smile diffused the tension. Hazenberg seemed to relax.
“No,” he said. “I guess you can’t.”
The door behind Hal crashed open. Hal’s heart jumped into his throat. He spun in his chair.
Detective Graham stormed into the room flanked by two uniformed officers. All three cops looked furious.
And standing immediately behind those cops was a man wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit and a look of disgust. A man whose face Hal recognized from TV.
Oh crap.
One of the officers yanked Hal out of his chair. He saw hands grasp his wife’s arm and urge her to her feet.
“Nice stunt,” Graham said. “But it’s over. I’m going to personally ask the DA’s office to seek sanctions against you for unprofessional conduct. Maybe even charge you with obstruction of justice.”
Hal deflated. They had come so close to sealing the deal with Hazenberg, but now it was over. They looked like amateurs. Worse—they looked like frauds. We are frauds.
So why stop now?
He struggled out of the uniformed cop’s grip and leaned over the table, getting as close to Hazenberg as he could. “This is what they want. You see that, right? The detectives don’t want us on your side. They’d prefer you to stick with Lockwood. Why do you think that is?”
The cop yanked him back. This time, the grip around his arm was painfully tight. Hal knew if he didn’t cooperate, the handcuffs would come out next.
And he could only imagine the cost of fighting an unprofessional conduct claim before the State Bar, or worse, defending against criminal claims at trial for obstruction of justice. It would be the end of everything.
Detective Graham glared at Hazenberg. “Your lawyer is here, Mr. Hazenberg. Your real one.�
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The two uniformed cops started to drag Hal and Kristina toward the door.
“Not anymore,” Hazenberg said. “I’m represented by Hal and Kristina Nolan now. I suggest you let go of my lawyers, or you’ll be the ones facing charges.”
Hal and Kristina exchanged a glance. They’d done it.
11
Jessie liked meeting Emily Graham for lunch, but given their hectic schedules, that usually meant grabbing a slice of pizza or a ordering a cheesesteak from a food truck on the side of the road. When Graham asked if she wanted to meet at Marathon Grill—a restaurant with table service and an actual kitchen—Jessie should have known something was up.
She spotted her friend at a table near the back, beside the windows. It was a four-person table, nice and roomy, and Jessie wondered how Graham had managed to get them seated there when the place would surely be packed with people within the next few minutes as the lunch crowd appeared. Graham stood up and they hugged.
“I already ordered you a coffee,” Graham said as they sat down.
“Will you marry me?”
“I think you’re already spoken for.”
A waitress appeared with the promised coffee, as well as an iced tea for Graham. Jessie brought the coffee cup to her face, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the aroma before taking a sip. It was hot and tasted great.
“I don’t remember the last time we had a real lunch together. What’s the occasion?” Jessie said.
“Does there need to be one?”
“I hope this isn’t about my bachelorette party. I mean, I’m glad you’re taking your maid of honor duties seriously, but you’re really overthinking it.”
“First of all,” Graham said. “I take everything seriously.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“Secondly, I am not overthinking your bachelorette party. Forget about what you want. It needs to be good for my sake—I don’t want to suffer the shame of throwing a bad one.”
“Yeah, that would be hard to live down.”
“And third, that’s not why I suggested lunch.”
Jessie smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. It was amazing to think that there had been a day when the two of them had not gotten along. The first time they met, while working together on a school shooting case, they’d barely tolerated each other.
The waitress came back to take their orders. Jessie decided to be healthy—to some extent—and ordered a grilled chicken Cobb salad. Graham asked for a Caesar salad. The waitress smiled and took the menus away.
“Why did you suggest lunch?” Jessie said.
“Insurance.”
Jessie shook her head. “You’re losing me, Detective.”
“I heard a rumor Warren was going to put another prosecutor on the Hazenberg case so the trial wouldn’t interfere with your wedding. You’re not going to ask for the case?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Is it a hard decision?”
Jessie set down her coffee cup. “Well, I do have a wedding coming up. Don’t I owe it to Leary to give it the attention it deserves? Don’t I owe it to myself? It’s kind of a big, life-altering event.”
“See, this is what I was worried about.”
Jessie could tell by the earnest look on Graham’s face that the detective did not mean to be insensitive, so she pushed down the spike of anger she felt at the unspoken suggestion that Jessie’s wedding was less important than Graham’s homicide case.
And the truth was, her anger was as much directed at herself as it was toward Graham, since she had been struggling with the same question in her own mind ever since her meeting with Warren. The truth was, she wanted to be the prosecutor on the Hazenberg trial. It was the kind of trial prosecutors lived for. But she also wanted to do the right thing for Leary, and for herself. She didn’t want to make a mistake she’d regret for the rest of her life.
“Emily, if I’m putting my future daughter to bed and she looks up at me with innocent eyes and asks me to tell her all about my wedding, do I really want the answer to be that I barely remember it because I was busy building a case against a guy who cut off another guy’s genitals?”
Graham moved her straw around her glass. “Maybe your future daughter would respect that.”
“I haven’t made up my mind. But if I do pass on the case, Warren will just assign another prosecutor. It’s not that big a deal.”
A muscle seemed to move in Graham’s throat, a sign of the woman’s agitation. “Jessie, Oscar Hazenberg is really bad. I know we both deal with really bad people on a daily basis. You can get numb to it—I certainly have gotten numb to a lot of it. The other day, Toby was telling me that his old partner even had a Bingo card so he could keep track of all the awful shit he encountered on the job. But even with all of that, Hazenberg is … something else. You haven’t met him. You didn’t see the crime scene—”
“Warren showed me pictures.”
“You weren’t there. Novak had to leave the building to get fresh air or he might have puked. I’m not sure how long my stomach would’ve held out either, to be honest. It’s not something you ever want to see—someone’s most personal body parts ripped out like that. Try to imagine the kind of person capable of that.”
“A rage-filled monster,” Jessie said. “I get it.”
Graham leaned back in her seat. “See … that’s the thing. Oscar Hazenberg doesn’t come off as full of rage, or a monster. On the surface, he’s just … a guy. Just a man you would exchange pleasantries with at the grocery store. He’s the worst kind of bad guy—the kind who looks like a good guy ninety-nine percent of the time, when in the other one percent of the time, he’ll shove a knife between your legs and start carving.”
The waitress brought their lunches at this inopportune moment, scrunching her face at Graham’s words. She set down their salads and made a quick retreat. Jessie might have laughed at the awkward moment, but the turmoil inside her prevented that.
“You’re a prosecutor,” Graham said, emphasizing the words. “Leary needs to understand that you’re not just going to put your career to the side because he bought you a ring. I can’t take the risk of another lawyer handling this case.”
“I’ll take that under consideration.”
Graham moved her salad around her plate, but didn’t eat it. “I haven’t even told you about his defense attorneys.”
“I heard he retained Stanley Lockwood.”
“He did. But then he dumped Lockwood when a couple of sleazy local defense attorneys conned their way into the Roundhouse to talk to him.”
This unexpected news caught Jessie’s attention. “Who?”
“Oh, so now you’re interested? What about your future daughter and all that?”
“Don’t be a jerk, Emily.”
“I’m just pointing it out. You love this stuff.” The detective shook her head and smiled grimly. “Their names are Hal and Kristina Nolan. Heard of them?”
The Nolans? “I’ve faced them in a few trials.”
“Are they any good?”
She had to think about that. “They’re not as good as Stanley Lockwood. But they know their way around a courtroom. And they can be … tricky … as you saw.”
“See? That’s why I need you on this case. Because I know you could have handled Lockwood, and I know you can handle these Nolan clowns.”
“I’m not that special, Emily. Trust me.”
“I disagree, and even though he’s trying to be thoughtful, Warren does, too. But it doesn’t sound like you want to listen to us.”
Jessie lifted her fork and turned her attention to the salad, although her appetite had diminished as the conversation continued. “Can we please talk about something else?”
“I’m not ready to stop talking about Hazenberg yet.”
Jessie felt a rush of frustration. “I don’t think there’s anything left to say.”
“Not by you or me, but I asked someone else to join us.” Graham turned toward the
restaurant’s entrance. Jessie followed her gaze. A woman had entered—tall, pretty, but with a forlorn look.
“Emily, this is not fair.”
“Just hear her out,” Graham said. “Five minutes. Please.”
“What if someone here recognizes her from the news?”
“She’s willing to take that chance.”
The woman took the chair next to Graham and across from Jessie. The lunch crowd had swelled, and the place was now loud with the noises of conversation and eating, but to Jessie, all of the movement and sound seemed muted when the woman sat down. Jessie found herself fascinated by the woman’s face. It seemed etched with emotion. Pain. Loss. Fear.
“I guess you know who I am.” The woman’s voice was quiet, but not timid. There was a note of determination, which was also visible in her direct stare.
“Maxine Hazenberg,” Jessie said. “I’m Jessica Black. I’m an assistant DA—”
“Detective Graham says you’re the best.”
“Well—”
“But that you might not take this case. That you might leave it to somebody else.”
“Your husband’s case has not been assigned to a prosecutor yet.”
“Do you know that he told me he did it?”
Jessie felt a lump in her throat. She forced herself to swallow. “Yes. I did hear about that. What he said probably won’t be admissible in court, though. There’s a rule called spousal privilege.”
“I know about spousal privilege. So does Oscar. That’s how he knew he could sit me down and force me to listen to every detail—and I mean every detail—of how he killed Kent. He told me Kent refused to take his clothes off at first, but he did what Oscar said when he saw the knife. Like a … compliant lamb, he said. He told me how Kent begged for his life. He said the first few knife thrusts were like punches. Kent bled like a pig, he said, all over the floor. He told me how there was more resistance sawing through the … the scrotum than the penis, which … which he said surprised him. Kent was still alive when Oscar tried to show him his own testicles, but Oscar said Kent’s eyes wouldn’t focus and were full of … of tears. He said the last words out of Kent’s mouth were that he….” Maxine’s voice hitched. She paused for a second, took a breath. “His last words were that I meant nothing to him. That I was just a woman he had sex with.”
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