by E. M. Shea
Rich sighed. “Honestly, I’m not sure why I did things the way that I did. Maybe I wanted to project the air of some kind of gangster.”
Mouth slightly agape, it took a moment for Dani to respond. “A gangster … with membership at a country club?”
“I know,” Rich admitted sheepishly. “Dumb. And the thing is—any one of these kids could have gotten a prescription for this stuff from a doctor if they had wanted.”
“True, but trust me, the prosecution will be treating this as though you were selling them street drugs. Not to mention the obvious danger of taking a prescription drug that you don’t actually need. Adderall in particular has been in a lot of headlines lately for that very reason.”
Rich stopped pacing long enough to shoot Dani a borderline panic-stricken glance. “So am I totally screwed?”
“I wouldn’t go there just yet.” Dani replied, trying to straddle the fine line of providing reassurance without crossing over into false hope. “We have a lot more ground to cover, but now that the details are starting to come together, I do have some ideas.”
Rich managed a shaky smile. “Leland did say you’re the best lawyer I could possibly have on my side.”
Dani smiled in return, but only for a moment. Because as her eyes dropped back down to the file, there was one detail in particular that jumped out, siphoning every last remnant of joy from her veins and leaving only a sense of dread in its wake:
Prosecution Witnesses
Blah blah blah
Blah blah blah
Blah blah blah
Sergeant Nick Bellamy, Cedarsville Police Department
Blah blah blah
Blah blah blah …
BLEH!
Chapter Eleven
Nick sat solidly in the witness chair, projecting a calm exterior to the jury just off to his left, while inwardly struggling to contain his rising angst. No cop liked languishing in court, regardless of how much they personally had riding on a case. It meant chunks of valuable time—hours that could stretch into days—spent sitting in an uncomfortable chair, taking even more uncomfortable questions, and all the while being forced to miss out on the crime-busting action that was inevitably happening outside the courtroom’s four walls.
But today as he sat in court, he was in a particularly foul mood. Because less than 20 feet away, the woman who had begun to consume his thoughts, whose touch set his pulse racing and had pretty much set everything else throbbing in high gear … yeah, that woman was about to confront him. And for what? For doing his goddamn job and trying to get a drug pusher off the street? He wasn’t the first witness to be called in the case, and he wouldn’t be the last, but he was pretty damn sure he would win the prize for most annoyed.
As if reading his mind, Dani looked up from the defense table and held his stark gaze for several moments before looking back down at a set of papers stacked in front of her. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, with several loose tendrils falling softly against the collar of her light-gray blazer and peach blouse. Nick watched as she patted the shoulder of Rich who sat beside her, his jaw tightening. Don’t touch that oily muskrat, he silently growled to himself. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from jumping back to two nights ago when she had been touching … and caressing … and kissing … him instead. It had started innocently enough. An exchange of text messages initiated by Dani as she asked how his hike with the boys went. Then his suggestion that they meet up for a drink. A beer for him, a post-apple-martini club soda with lime for her. And then his place for an hour, or two, or was it three?—of exploring each other’s bodies and discovering new pleasurable buttons to push. And press. And lick. Oh, and his favorite part? That had to be the post-coital moment when Dani snuggled her face into his chest as he stroked her hair, announcing with forced nonchalance: “Um, by the way, I’ll be seeing you in court on Thursday for that country club case. You know, the illegal prescription drug sale thing.” Kiss, kiss, hug, hug.
And now, just as she had unceremoniously predicted, here they were. Eyes narrowed to slits, Nick watched as Rich leaned over and whispered into Dani’s ear. Nodding, she smiled and whispered something back. Nick grasped the arms of the wooden chair so hard that he risked plying his fingers with splinters. He only released his grip when the judge announced the start of questioning.
Dani approached the witness bench, nodding to the judge before turning her steely focus on Nick. He visibly bristled, and Dani had yet to pose a question. But she just looked so … intense. And not the I-want-to-lick-every-inch-of-your-body intensity that he had welcomed the other night. No, this was the I’m-ready-to-go-to-battle intensity that made his balls feel like they were about to be stuffed into a nutcracker.
“Sergeant Bellamy, you were the instigating officer in the investigation at Cedarsville Country Club that led to the defendant’s arrest, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And on what basis did you begin this investigation?”
“I received a tip from one of the parents of a student who he was selling drugs to.”
“He being Rich Pearlman?”
“Yes.”
“Can you please point to him for the jury?”
Nick sighed but nevertheless complied, pointing to Rich and wishing there was an automatic dart on the end of his index finger.
“And the parent who shared this tip about drugs being sold to students. It was Marcus Goodman, is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Did you know that Mr. Goodman had a falling out with the defendant, Rich Perlman, two years ago over a business deal gone bad?”
“I don’t see what that has to do with—”
“Objection, your Honor!” the lead prosecutor exclaimed as she shot up from the prosecution table. “This is irrelevant in regard to the present charges against the defendant.”
“It reveals a possible motive for making a false accusation, your Honor,” Dani quickly countered. “And I intend to show that the information Marcus Goodman relayed to the police was, in fact, inaccurate.”
“I’ll allow it,” the judge said.
Dani turned back to Nick. For a moment, their eyes met, and he almost felt as though she was trying to convey something along the lines of: Hey, don’t take it personally. Except that he did. Because it was.
“As I started to say, Sergeant Bellamy, Marcus Goodman had made verbal threats at the time to the defendant about getting even, quote, one way or another.” Dani turned to the jury as she held up a piece of paper. “It’s all here in a complaint that was filed by the defendant at the time that the threat was made.” She then swiveled back to face the judge. “Your Honor, I’d like to submit this as evidence.”
As the bailiff walked towards her to collect the document, Dani turned back to Nick. “Were you aware of this complaint before deciding to bring the state police in to investigate further?”
“No, I was not,” Nick replied tersely.
“Wouldn’t you agree that this was a lack of due diligence on your part?”
Nick shifted in his chair, feeling as though every nerve ending in his body was being seared with a white-hot poker. And adding to his smoldering anger? That the same woman with whom he had now twice shared a heated tryst was still stoking the embers—only this time in a courtroom of his peers, and definitely not for his pleasure.
“Please answer the question,” the judge intervened sternly.
“Absolutely not. Like I already said, the two are unrelated. Marcus Goodman came to us with specific details about the defendant illegally offering Adderall pills to his son in exchange for money.”
Dani faced him again, her mouth moving as she posed another question, the volume of her words unable to rise above the incessant ringing in his ears. Either his blood pressure had just spiked, or he had found a way to deliberately drown out her voice. Or both. As the courtroom grew blurry, the judge’s gavel smacked the bench. Now that he heard.
“Sergeant Bellamy,” t
he judge began, his voice steady but bordering on impatient. “Did you not hear the question, or are you deliberately refusing to answer?”
Nick snapped to attention. The last thing he needed was to be found in contempt of court and hauled off himself in handcuffs. “I’m sorry, your Honor. I didn’t hear the question.”
“Very well. Counselor, can you please repeat your line of inquiry.”
Dani nodded to the judge, then turned to Nick. This time, he didn’t see any “let’s just get through this together” pleading in her eyes, but more like an “I got you now, sucker” stare. Or at least that’s how it felt on his end. Yeah, yeah, yeah, she was just doing her job, so maybe the knives flying off of her pupils were unintentional. But one thing he did know for certain? It was going to be one of the longest afternoons in his life. And in his thoughts, the naked Dani was about to be replaced with the naked truth: there was no way they could have a future together. Or for that matter, a present. Nick grimaced, but it was an inevitable conclusion. That’s right … this is MY final judgement … and I’m sticking to it.
Chapter Twelve
Nick pointed to his empty tumbler glass as the burly, heavily tattooed bartender at the Black Dog Pub sized up the situation. He nodded, then grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the shelf and filled the glass up to the halfway point. Pulling the bottle back, he studied Nick’s glum exterior for several moments, then poured another shot into the glass.
“Thanks, Jack,” Nick said as he stared introspectively at the amber liquid before taking a swig.
“Rough day at the office?” Jack asked, knowing well that the “office” in Nick’s case ranged from a mundane traffic stop to an armed robbery in progress, and more or less everything else law-enforcement-related in between.
“You might say that.”
Jack nodded but said nothing more. As the owner slash bartender of the nearest watering hole to the Cedarsville Police Department, he knew the drill. Get the guys and gals in uniform their drinks—pronto—and be prepared to listen. Or occasionally weigh in with advice—but only when asked. And so far today, Nick had made no such request. It was Saturday afternoon, and he realized he should be doing something, anything, more constructive than drowning his dark thoughts in a tumbler of whiskey. But given that he was still smarting from the shellacking he took at the hands of Dani in court two days ago, a little alcohol therapy seemed entirely warranted in his opinion.
With a thud, a body landed in the seat next to Nick.
“Yo, Jack, my man,” Gus effused, making up for Nick’s lackluster demeanor with energy enough for both of them. “I’ll have my regular.”
“One Shirley Temple with extra cherries and a pretty pink umbrella,” Jack bellowed, sending Gus into a hearty, chair-shaking guffaw.
“Did I ever tell you I grew up on a farm?” Gus asked as he turned to Nick.
“Only about a hundred times. And you’re bringing this up again because …?”
Gus gave a thumbs-up as Jack plunked down a pint of Guinness on the counter. “Well, let’s just say I witnessed a lot of castrations as a kid. Cattle, sheep, pretty much anything with four legs.” He shook his head. “They were back up and walking a hell of a lot sooner than any of us humans would have been under the circumstances, but still. Those poor bastards.”
Nick took a sip of whiskey, then studied Gus’s surprisingly straight face for several moments. He couldn’t imagine that the official hot dog eating champion of the Southern New England Summer Festival for three years in a row was about to announce a foray into veganism, but stranger things had been known to happen. “Point being?”
Gus took a long slurp of his Guinness, slamming the pint back down on the counter with about two ounces left. “No point. It’s just something that came to mind today after I heard how your day in court went.”
Given that they were on opposite shifts the last couple of days, Nick had been spared any of Gus’s unique brand of insight. But he should have known it was coming. “Really? And what did you hear?”
“That your girlfriend made mincemeat out of your private parts.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Nick snapped back. “And she was just doing what defense lawyers do.”
Gus shot his arms up in the air like a perpetrator in quick surrender. “Just telling you what I heard second-hand. I wasn’t there myself.”
“Wish I could say the same,” Nick grumbled.
“Is it true that all your work on this investigation went down the drain?”
“Perlman didn’t get off entirely, if that’s you mean. But yeah, it wasn’t what we were pushing for. The D.A. was asking for a felony conviction, but he got away with a misdemeanor.”
“Jail time?”
“Nope. Five-hundred dollar fine.”
Gus shook his head. “Man! How in the hell did that happen?”
“She just chipped away at everything.”
“She being the chick that you’re banging?” As Nick shot Gus a stern glare, he quickly added, “Sorry—I needed some clarification, and you don’t want me calling her your girlfriend.”
“You can call her Dani.”
“Right. Anyways, chipped away at what—the actual evidence?”
Nick nodded. “And the legal justification for the investigation itself. A lot of technicality stuff, but that’s how you start to sow doubt in the mind of jurors.”
“I don’t know, Sarge. It’s not like you to play fast and loose with the facts. I’m sure you must have had things buttoned up good before you went on the witness stand.”
“I did—or at least I thought I did. So here’s an example of what I mean. We had a written statement from Marcus Goodman saying that he found a half dozen Adderall pills in his son’s bedroom, and the son told him that this Pearlman guy sold them to him at the country club. In the statement, he also said his son told him that Pearlman was selling to other kids at the club. And this was the crux of what set off the whole investigation.”
“And she poked a hole in that?”
“Yup. She played a recording where Goodman repeated the story for the state police once the investigation was underway, but this time he said it was a dozen pills—not half—that he found in his son’s bedroom.”
“Ugh.”
“Yeah, no kidding. I don’t think he was deliberately lying. Or maybe he was just trying to up the ante once the staties were on the case. It’s not like they typically get involved when it’s small potatoes. But regardless, it didn’t look good. And it was just one thing after another like that. Mostly little stupid stuff that other lawyers would probably miss.”
“But not her.”
“Nope, not her. Oh—and my favorite part was when she had this lowlife up on the stand, and he was crying about how pathetic his life is. Wife dumped him, business went under, yada yada yada.”
“What did that have to do with anything?”
“She was trying to make the case that he was in a deep depression and therefore not in sound mind when he sold the pills.”
Gus rolled his eyes, then signaled to Jack that reinforcements were needed. “So what happens now?”
“The creep gets on with his life like nothing happened.”
“I meant with you. Unless you were talking in the third person.”
Nick managed a weary grin. “What happens with me?”
“And Dani. You still plan to see her, right?”
Nick waited for Jack to finish refilling his whiskey before answering. “I don’t know.”
“Seriously? I thought you were really starting to dig her.”
“I was. But we’re just … it’s like we’re on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to our beliefs about criminals. I think they should pay for what they’ve done. She thinks they should pay her law firm to get themselves off the hook.”
“I’m sure she thinks a lot of her clients aren’t criminals though, right?”
“Whose side are you on, anyways?”
“I’m on the side of
Doctor Love Rocket!”
Nick’s patience was wearing thin. “Who?”
“Don’t you watch cable TV? Doctor Love Rocket. He’s on every Wednesday. Let’s blast off to happily ever after. That’s his motto, by the way—not me personally inviting you to live happily ever—”
“Yeah, I get it.”
“I swear he goes out of his way to find the most annoying couples that no one on the planet is going to root for, but still brings them on and has them unload their whiny problems so that he can fix things and make it all better.”
“Well, he’s got you watching, right?”
“Good point.” Gus paused to take several more gulps of his beer. “Anyways, I was just thinking that if you have fun with her and enjoy her company—and like I said before, she’s hot—then can’t you just avoid talking about your careers?”
Nick sighed. “Easier said then done given that we’re both kind of married to our jobs.”
“Well, that’s just not healthy. You really need to figure out who you are without that badge on.”
Nick did such a sharp double-take that it left a stabbing crick in his neck. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Gus looked serious for all of three seconds, then let out a whooping laugh as he slapped Nick on the back. “Don’t you remember when we had that stress management counselor come by to give a talk after Mike’s heart attack? That was one of the gems she shared.”
Mike was a 20-year veteran with the force who nonetheless was only 42 years old when he collapsed on the job due to a serious heart attack. Fortunately, he was with his partner when it happened and was quickly transported to the hospital where he made a full recovery. Still, there was a growing concern amongst the brass that a number of officers were “over internalizing” some of the more negative aspects of the job. At least, that was the term that the counselor had used at the time. But Nick wasn’t convinced—not then, and not now. Sure, he felt terrible about Mike’s plight and was beyond relieved once he knew that he was out of woods—especially given that he was the father of two young kids. But despite some of the shitty things Mike had witnessed as a cop, he was actually a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Did he compartmentalize the more depressing aspects of the job in order to not go batshit crazy in other areas of his life? Of course he did. They all did. But he had also lost his father at age 47 to a heart attack, so as far as Nick was concerned, there was a strong genetic component to explain what had happened. When he had mentioned his theory to the counselor at the time, she had nodded sympathetically, then told him he was in denial. But that was then, and this was now. Which meant Nick had a much more pressing issue to contend with—literally. Because now he had to decide whether the days of pressing the flesh with Dani were over for good.
