Dan Decker's Blog, page 21
April 14, 2021
Max Damage: Chapter 3
Don’t kill him!” Jason said immediately, his voice calm but loud as it cut through the hissing smoke. “Whatever you want, don’t kill the kid. If you’re here for me, just take me and go.”
The guard was down on his belly now with his shotgun out. But he had lost the advantage. The smart thing would be to drop the gun and put his hands on his head, hoping the men didn’t want to leave behind dead cops.
The guard fired.
The shotgun blast went into the chest of the first man, knocking him back but not taking him out. He was thrust into the windshield of the bus, cracking it as he landed.
He stood. Several of the BBs had grazed his neck and face, cutting into the fabric of the mask, but he appeared to be fine because he had taken the brunt of it in his chest.
Armored vest.
Across from Jason, Smith hid his face in his hands and curled up in a ball on the floor.
The guard had waited too long—probably because it was the first time he’d ever shot anybody—and both men sent a hail of lead into him. He too wore an armored vest, but it did not matter. The masked men weren’t shooting BBs.
The guard no longer moved when the shooting stopped.
Jason’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent. It was a shame about the kid. Even if Jason had convinced the kid to act sooner, he probably still would have gone down.
Jason would have aimed for the head if he had been in the guard’s situation, but that would’ve been instinct more than intentional thought.
The kid had followed his training, and it had gotten him killed.
The first masked man cursed as he ran his hands down his chest, freeing BBs from his clothing. There was no blood except for a little on his neck.
“The pig shot me. He almost killed me.”
“Are you dead?” asked the other in a condescending tone. “This is why you have an armored vest.”
The first didn’t respond.
The second man’s voice seemed familiar to Jason, but he was unable to place it.
He knew it. He’d spoken with the man.
The face just wasn’t coming.
This is about me.
The inmate across from Jason was in tears, trying his best to keep from making noise. Despite his earlier treatment of his fellow inmate, Jason now felt bad for Smith.
If they only want me…
“Get his keys,” said the second man.
“That’s gonna leave a bruise.”
“Would you rather it was a gaping hole? Get those keys.”
The first man muttered something but still didn’t move until the second thrust the butt of his rifle into his gut.
“Now.”
It came back to Jason.
The name of the man. He hadn’t spoken with the man in years.
Ron Nansen.
He worked for Phil Taft.
For a sudden moment, Jason was no longer on the bus, but he was back in a warehouse with the two men. Phil had laughed. Ron had joined in. Jason had laughed too but felt no mirth.
Both were hard. Both were men Jason had spent months hunting. Once he had located them, it had been almost a year before he had finally infiltrated their criminal organization.
Last Jason had heard, Phil Taft was dead, but the circumstances were fishy enough he’d assumed it was a setup made to give Taft a clean break after his near brush with the FBI.
If Nansen was here, Jason expected Taft was not far away. Taft would not be here on site, Jason was certain of that. He usually made his people do the risky things.
The man was untouchable.
This was why Jason had gotten close and had tried to bring him down, hoping it would propel his career forward in the Bureau.
The first man finally moved, dropping his hand from his bruised chest and kneeling to search the guard for the keys. When he found them, he opened the door to the hold.
Buy your copy now!
April 13, 2021
Max Damage: Chapter 2
The bus rolled to a stop as Jason Maxfield brought up his cuffed hands and used one finger to itch under his chin. He had missed a spot when shaving earlier, and that always bothered him. He had been a fastidious groomer in another life. It was bad enough he had to wear an orange jumpsuit, but it was an insult to injury that the razor they gave him was so dull it could barely cut his whiskers. He liked to look his best. That was not possible these days. Even when he had a hearing with the parole board.
The hearing had not gone well, but he had not expected it to. His attorney had prepared Jason for the fact that the little incident six months back would keep him from getting out anytime soon. The parole board had taken the opportunity to lay into him today, criticizing him for everything he had done wrong in his life.
They don’t like to see a former Fed at their fancy hearings.
The inmate across from Jason kept his eyes anywhere but on Jason.
Smart fella, Jason thought, glad his reputation had made it over to the other cellblocks. He had to be on his guard at all times because of his past law enforcement experience. Because of his attorney’s persistence and constant motions, Jason’s first six months in prison had been spent in solitary confinement for his own protection, but he had eventually been released into the general population when his attorney had run out of things he could do. By that time, all the prisoners had known who he was, what he had allegedly done, and how long he had before he got out.
As the bus driver put the vehicle in gear and pressed the gas pedal, Jason let his body roll with the motion. There had been a time in his life when he had focused on going against the flow, swimming upstream to make a name for himself, but now he just went with things.
It had been nice to get out, even if it was just for a meeting with the cantankerous parole board. It was good to have a reminder of the real world that he was no longer part of and would not be for quite some time, judging by how things had gone today.
Anything to break up the monotony of prison.
The bus lurched.
The driver hit the brakes. Wheels squealed.
Something slammed into the bus.
Jason rocked with the movement but did not look up, thinking it had just been an accident.
It hardly concerned him.
After the police had come and done their thing, they would soon be on their way. Or, if it turned out they were going to be stuck here for a while, another transport would come and take them away. Either way, nothing to do with Jason.
Jason’s eyes settled on the inmate across from him, making the man squirm under his stare, still not meeting Jason’s eyes. After a long moment, Jason turned his head and looked out the window to the city beyond.
It had been seven years since he had been sentenced to ten. Three more to go unless he could get out on parole. Today had been his first hearing, and he had blown it. It had been his intention to be a model prisoner, but that had not been possible, especially for a former Fed.
His attorney had done his best, but Jason had gone in expecting nothing and had received nothing.
One of the guards and the driver got out. The other guard stood from where he had sat on a bench, holding his shotgun pointed in the direction of the other prisoner and Jason Maxfield as if he expected them to do something.
“Hey Maxfield, I don’t want any trouble, hear me?”
Jason didn’t glance at the guard or bother to answer. The inmate across from him glanced at Jason’s face and shrunk back. Jason frowned at the man. It was important to keep up appearances. There was one rule in here that everybody understood.
Fear.
If they feared him, he would be left alone. That was what he wanted. He wanted to do his time and get out. One year from now, three years from now, it did not really much matter.
“I’m talking to you, Maxfield.” The guard’s voice was agitated now. “Do you understand?”
“I heard you.” Jason still didn’t look his way. He could sense the man was unnerved by the lack of respect, but Jason did not care. The man knew better than to push him.
“You either, Smith. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
Jason stared at the man across from him with unblinking eyes. The man swallowed. He was in a different cellblock. They had never run into each other until today, something the man was probably reminding himself of while trying to avoid Jason’s gaze.
“Smith.” Jason spoke so quietly that it was a wonder the man heard.
The man went pale and tried to move away, but the chains on his feet kept him secured. He looked around, almost as if thinking about asking the guard to move him, but he must have thought better of it because he remained silent.
Jason continued to study the man as he made a conscious effort not to look at Jason. Their eyes made contact when he finally did.
Jason tilted up the corners of his mouth in a mocking smile.
If Smith had been white before, he looked like a ghost now. He had just opened his mouth when a skidding noise at the front of the bus drew their attention.
A smoke grenade bounced across the floor.
Buy your copy now!Max Damage: Chapter 1
The bus rolled to a stop as Jason Maxfield brought up his cuffed hands and used one finger to itch under his chin. He had missed a spot when shaving earlier, and that always bothered him. He had been a fastidious groomer in another life. It was bad enough he had to wear an orange jumpsuit, but it was an insult to injury that the razor they gave him was so dull it could barely cut his whiskers. He liked to look his best. That was not possible these days. Even when he had a hearing with the parole board.
The hearing had not gone well, but he had not expected it to. His attorney had prepared Jason for the fact that the little incident six months back would keep him from getting out anytime soon. The parole board had taken the opportunity to lay into him today, criticizing him for everything he had done wrong in his life.
They don’t like to see a former Fed at their fancy hearings.
The inmate across from Jason kept his eyes anywhere but on Jason.
Smart fella, Jason thought, glad his reputation had made it over to the other cellblocks. He had to be on his guard at all times because of his past law enforcement experience. Because of his attorney’s persistence and constant motions, Jason’s first six months in prison had been spent in solitary confinement for his own protection, but he had eventually been released into the general population when his attorney had run out of things he could do. By that time, all the prisoners had known who he was, what he had allegedly done, and how long he had before he got out.
As the bus driver put the vehicle in gear and pressed the gas pedal, Jason let his body roll with the motion. There had been a time in his life when he had focused on going against the flow, swimming upstream to make a name for himself, but now he just went with things.
It had been nice to get out, even if it was just for a meeting with the cantankerous parole board. It was good to have a reminder of the real world that he was no longer part of and would not be for quite some time, judging by how things had gone today.
Anything to break up the monotony of prison.
The bus lurched.
The driver hit the brakes. Wheels squealed.
Something slammed into the bus.
Jason rocked with the movement but did not look up, thinking it had just been an accident.
It hardly concerned him.
After the police had come and done their thing, they would soon be on their way. Or, if it turned out they were going to be stuck here for a while, another transport would come and take them away. Either way, nothing to do with Jason.
Jason’s eyes settled on the inmate across from him, making the man squirm under his stare, still not meeting Jason’s eyes. After a long moment, Jason turned his head and looked out the window to the city beyond.
It had been seven years since he had been sentenced to ten. Three more to go unless he could get out on parole. Today had been his first hearing, and he had blown it. It had been his intention to be a model prisoner, but that had not been possible, especially for a former Fed.
His attorney had done his best, but Jason had gone in expecting nothing and had received nothing.
One of the guards and the driver got out. The other guard stood from where he had sat on a bench, holding his shotgun pointed in the direction of the other prisoner and Jason Maxfield as if he expected them to do something.
“Hey Maxfield, I don’t want any trouble, hear me?”
Jason didn’t glance at the guard or bother to answer. The inmate across from him glanced at Jason’s face and shrunk back. Jason frowned at the man. It was important to keep up appearances. There was one rule in here that everybody understood.
Fear.
If they feared him, he would be left alone. That was what he wanted. He wanted to do his time and get out. One year from now, three years from now, it did not really much matter.
“I’m talking to you, Maxfield.” The guard’s voice was agitated now. “Do you understand?”
“I heard you.” Jason still didn’t look his way. He could sense the man was unnerved by the lack of respect, but Jason did not care. The man knew better than to push him.
“You either, Smith. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
Jason stared at the man across from him with unblinking eyes. The man swallowed. He was in a different cellblock. They had never run into each other until today, something the man was probably reminding himself of while trying to avoid Jason’s gaze.
“Smith.” Jason spoke so quietly that it was a wonder the man heard.
The man went pale and tried to move away, but the chains on his feet kept him secured. He looked around, almost as if thinking about asking the guard to move him, but he must have thought better of it because he remained silent.
Jason continued to study the man as he made a conscious effort not to look at Jason. Their eyes made contact when he finally did.
Jason tilted up the corners of his mouth in a mocking smile.
If Smith had been white before, he looked like a ghost now. He had just opened his mouth when a skidding noise at the front of the bus drew their attention.
A smoke grenade bounced across the floor.
Buy your copy now!Max Damage: A new novel
Former Fed Jason Maxfield is seven years into a ten-year prison sentence. With his hopes of an early release dashed by the parole board, he resigns himself to serving his sentence.
But his day is about to get much worse.
HIS PRISON TRANSPORT IS STORMED BY ARMED MEN WHO THREATEN HIS FAMILY.Armed men storm the bus. Jason’s old adversary leads them. He threatens Jason’s ex-wife before knocking him unconscious. Not only that, but the daughter whose name he doesn’t even know is also at risk.
Jason regains consciousness and realizes his choice is simple: he can return to prison or he can use the key his enemy left lying within reach to free himself.
HE HAS NO CHOICE BUT TO RUN.He takes the second option, desperate to get to his ex-wife and daughter before his sinister adversary can find them.
Can Jason do the impossible?
What price is he willing to pay?
Buy your copy today to find out!
Buy your copy now!Sneak Peek
Jason didn’t glance at the guard or bother to answer. The inmate across from him glanced at Jason’s face and shrunk back. Jason frowned at the man. It was important to keep up appearances. There was one rule in here that everybody understood.
Fear.
If they feared him, he would be left alone. That was what he wanted. He wanted to do his time and get out. One year from now, three years from now, it did not really much matter.
“I’m talking to you, Maxfield.” The guard’s voice was agitated now. “Do you understand?”
“I heard you.” Jason still didn’t look his way. He could sense the man was unnerved by the lack of respect, but Jason did not care. The man knew better than to push him.
“You either, Smith. Got it?”
“Yes sir.”
Jason stared at the man across from him with unblinking eyes. The man swallowed. He was in a different cellblock. They had never run into each other until today, something the man was probably reminding himself of while trying to avoid Jason’s gaze.
“Smith.” Jason spoke so quietly that it was a wonder the man heard.
The man went pale and tried to move away, but the chains on his feet kept him secured. He looked around, almost as if thinking about asking the guard to move him, but he must have thought better of it because he remained silent.
Jason continued to study the man as he made a conscious effort not to look at Jason. Their eyes made contact when he finally did.
Jason tilted up the corners of his mouth in a mocking smile.
If Smith had been white before, he looked like a ghost now. He had just opened his mouth when a skidding noise at the front of the bus drew their attention.
A smoke grenade bounced across the floor.
Buy your copy now!March 23, 2021
The Victim’s Wife – Chapter 4
I sat in my chair after the call with Penny, uncertain what to make of the bizarre encounter with the strange woman.
I just wanted to tell her that I was not going to take the case, but something held me back. I didn’t need to perform any self-introspection to know what it was.
It was the question of who killed Max that I needed to answer. It was an interesting case, if Penny had correctly represented it to me.
What are the chances of that?
I could not think about it much longer because I still had to get that motion filed. I dismissed the matter from my mind and focused instead on my motion. I had just over two hours.
It took every last minute to complete the research and put out a final draft. In the end, I managed to get it filed with the court at precisely 4:59 PM.
I ground my teeth when I noticed a glaring typo on the first page as I was closing down the file on my computer.
Fifteen minutes more and I would have found that, I thought, angrily wishing that I had not agreed to let Penny into my office in the first place.
I walked out of my office while stretching, intending to talk with Ellie, a ritual I usually observed after meeting a deadline. It was not until I saw her empty desk that I remembered she was out sick, and Denise had filled in for her today.
Denise had already left, so I walked around the office, wondering if anybody else was around for a chat, but both of my partners’ doors were shut, and everybody else had gone home.
An unusual occurrence so early in the day.
Ellie usually worked as late as me. Perhaps this was something that occurred all the time, and I had just not noticed because I mainly worked with her, occasionally pulling in a paralegal when I needed additional help.
I had more work to do, but I needed to eat. I had skipped lunch to get the motion done, only to have Penny barge in and steal the time I desperately needed to make sure that I’d got everything done right.
If there’s one typo on the first page, I thought, there are others. This is not up to my usual standard.
I went out, picking up a sandwich at the drive-through at Jimmy John’s before returning to my office to eat. While I inhaled my sandwich, I logged into my computer and did some internet searches.
It did not take me long to find a story about the case.
The victim’s full name was Max Marcus Moyer, and the accused’s full name was Mason Charles Harwood.
Mason Harwood, I leaned back in my chair and wondered if I should even get involved in this case. You pose an intriguing problem, Mason Harwood.
I had never come across a case where the true killer was pulling somebody’s strings behind the scenes, and the person who did the deed was merely a patsy.
Assuming Penny is telling the truth.
I closed down the internet browser and opened up some other paperwork I needed to get done by the end of the week. I tried to work on that but couldn’t get the question out of my mind.
Penny had given me a question, a nagging riddle.
I had to find the answer.
Could somebody else be responsible for Max’s death aside from Mason Harwood?
I drummed my fingers on my desk, slid my keys into my pocket, and went for a drive.
Buy your copy today!March 22, 2021
The Victim’s Wife – Chapter 3
I waited for the front office door to shut before I dared to move. I had been tempted to take the case without any further research for the money alone. In all my years of practice, I had never had a prospective client offer to pay more than I asked, let alone suggest they would pay double my rate. She didn’t even know my rate when she suggested it.
On rare occasions when I had obtained a successful result, a client might pay a bonus, but most seemed to feel like I had been fairly compensated, even though I had changed their life by keeping them out of prison.
I knew the value of my services and made sure to price my fees accordingly, so I didn’t particularly care if somebody wasn’t grateful at the end. And there was always the problem of those who were found guilty.
Those clients were never happy.
I let out a low whistle, thinking of the opportunity this represented. It’s not like I was hurting for money myself, but it was a current matter of contention between my other two partners.
It might smooth things over if I could bring in a little boon like this. There would be a lot of ground to cover during the initial phase of Penny’s case. The additional fees could certainly help out the partnership.
It might well mean that there still is a partnership two months from now.
Perhaps things for my partner Tony would have changed by then. It had been a long time since he had successfully brought one of his personal injury cases to a close, but he had a number he was working, and always seemed to be taking more. If he were to collect tomorrow everything that he could potentially earn, it would be well over two million dollars in fees for the firm. Things didn’t usually work out that way, and most of his cases still had months on the legal treadmill, if not years.
Give it a month or two. Who knows what the financial scene will look like then?
Maybe Tony would have a massive windfall that would make my other partner, Veronica, rethink her plan to leave our partnership.
It was tempting to call Penny back and tell her that I’d take the case, but a little voice in the back of my head said that things were never cut and dry, and this had the potential to be a big mess.
The very fact Penny was willing to pay so much money was a red flag.
I had learned the hard way with past clients to take a magnifying glass to something that seemed too good to be true. In a complicated case with one client, they had given me a video that purported to prove they were somewhere else the night they had been charged with armed robbery.
My investigator had discovered that the video timestamp had been doctored.
Luckily, things had not gotten too far, so I didn’t get egg on my face by trying to submit it as evidence. We ended up doing a plea bargain. I’d never been so happy to watch a client walk into prison.
Penny Moyer had shown up unannounced and asked me to hunt down a pet theory of hers with precious little for evidence.
I shook my head. What would she expect if I let her pay double my normal fee? Would she think I would be at her beck and call whenever she wanted?
The more I thought about it, the more things did not sit right for some reason I could not explain.
Even though I had a motion with a fast-approaching deadline, it was difficult to turn my attention back to it. All my brain wanted to do was to focus on the puzzle right in front of me.
Penny Moyer and the death of her husband presented an enigma.
Perhaps she wanted it that way, I mused, thinking about her entrance and how I had suspected her tears were fake.
While I had been surprised at her request, I supposed I should not have been.
She appeared to be wealthy. Rich people thought money could solve their problems, even if they asked for something unusual. This was a case with fleas on it.
It’s not like I need the work right now, I thought, opening up my motion but leaving it untouched on the computer screen in front of me.
Judging by her fastidious appearance, Penny was an organized person. She came across as goal-oriented, even a bit wily. She recognized that she would have to plunk somebody she controlled into the middle of it to get it resolved in the way she wanted.
What if there’s something to her theory?
I chuckled darkly.
Or maybe she’s the murderer. Maybe she tried to frame Vivian for conspiracy, but the police missed it, and she still wants Vivian to go to prison.
That could also explain what little I knew about the case.
It would be difficult to get the information I needed to make a proper assessment.
I would not get access to the prosecution’s evidence while sitting on the outside. The prosecution had no obligation to disclose information to me, and Mason’s attorney wouldn’t see the point of involving me.
He didn’t need somebody backseat driving.
I needed to be in the middle if I was going to get to the bottom of this. I didn’t want to sit on the sidelines.
My phone rang. It was Denise.
“What do you need?” I asked with more than a note of impatience in my voice.
I was frustrated that I still had not yet gotten back to the motion and had instead wasted time thinking about Penny’s case.
I repressed a sigh.
I was taking it out on Denise again.
“Penny Moyer is on the phone,” Denise said as if walking on broken glass. “Would you like to speak with her?” Perhaps Denise had recognized that I had been irritated she had sent Penny through in the first place because she continued. “I can tell her you’re busy and take a message if you like. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what you’d want me to do, so I figured I would just check with you first.”
I almost instructed Denise to do just that, but I’d already wasted ten minutes thinking about the case anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to learn what Penny wanted, assuming I kept the call brief.
“Go ahead and send her through,” I said, less gruffly than before. “Don’t take offense if I’ve been a little harsh. I just have a lot on my plate.”
“No problem,” Denise said, “Penny is coming through now.”
There was a click.
“Thank you, Mr. Turner, for taking my call,” Penny said right away, “I recognize you’re busy and that I’ve already taken up a lot of your time.”
“What can I help with?” I asked more brusquely than I intended.
“I just wanted to make another plea for you to take this case. As I walked out, I got the sense you didn’t think I was serious or that perhaps I might have nefarious reasons for my actions. I can assure you that I had nothing to do with the death of my husband.”
The statement took me off guard because it was exactly what I had just been thinking. I didn’t quite know how to respond.
“I have not yet made any decisions,” I said as diplomatically as I could, “but I am concerned I would not be able to adequately represent your interests, especially as the trial against Mason Harwood proceeds.”
Penny didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll sign whatever you want me to sign, waiving upfront any type of malpractice claims. I just want you to handle this because I know you do good work. You have an interest in justice, don’t you?”
I didn’t answer, assuming the answer was obvious and that it was a rhetorical question.
“Justice is not always possible within the confines of our legal system,” Penny continued, “and I get that, but you have a better record of obtaining it than others. I did my research on you before I came in.”
Why so much flattery? I wondered. Why has she singled me out? If what she said was true, I was finally starting to develop the reputation I’d been hoping for.
She is just telling me what I want to hear.
Justice was important to me.
I wanted to make sure that everybody knew it, but at the end of the day, it sometimes wasn’t practical to get real justice. It was one of the unfortunate truths of working in an imperfect system.
The guilty often went unpunished. The innocent sometimes went to prison.
And then, of course, there’s always a question of what is justice anyway?
Having a reputation for getting justice was just as good as having a reputation for winning.
I hoped to have both. I had not won every case, but I had won enough.
“Don’t you see that you are the only one qualified to figure out the truth? I read about that case you handled last year, the one where the roommate’s head was blown off. The roommate was accused, but it was actually his mother.”
My pulse skipped a beat. It was not public knowledge that I had solved that case, primarily because my client had wanted to go to jail for his mother.
I had kept that from happening.
I didn’t think he could bring a malpractice claim against me for getting him off, but it was not something I wanted to risk.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I said calmly. “I just proved my client was not the murderer, that’s all.”
“But if you read between the lines, it is obvious you’re the one who put together that it was his mother. The prosecution didn’t figure it out. The other defense attorneys couldn’t find the truth. Unlike the other lawyers I researched, you care about truth and bring it to light more often than anybody else in the papers. I have read all the news stories about you.”
“Which is it?” I asked. “Did you read the stories or speak with a client?”
She was unperturbed. “Both, Mr. Turner. I need you. Anyhow, this is not the reason why I called. I have something else for you to mull over. I am confident that once you have thought this through, you are going to take the case. You’re a smart man. I need a smart man to get me through.”
“What is it?” I looked at the clock, a pang of anxiety shooting through me.
“A couple of weeks ago, when Max came home from the office, he told me that he had seen something that gave him pause. Vivian had got into the same car as Ronald Berg.”
“Who’s that?”
“Ron is another partner. Vivian brought him on as a partner a few years back.”
“What is strange about that? It sounds like they know each other. It seems like ordinary behavior if you ask me.”
“It was late at night, for one thing. Max described their behavior as flirty. Ron opened the car door for her. I wasn’t there, so I can’t give you my opinion, but Max said that he was quite confident the two were in a relationship.” She finished as if this were significant in some way.
“Is it your theory that Ronald and Vivian conspired to provoke Mason into killing Max?”
“No. I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying it’s strange that the two were together. Max has an instinct for these sorts of things, so I’m sure his assessment is correct.” There was a pause and a gasp. “Max had an instinct.” Another lengthy pause. “He seemed to know when people were in relationships. Sometimes it seemed like he almost knew when two people were going to get together. He just told me there was something funny going on between the two of them. It is just a little strange, so I wanted you to know while you think about my case.”
“Thank you for calling to let me know. I will keep this in mind.” I didn’t see the relevance of this information without additional context, particularly in my review, but I wasn’t going to argue about it anymore.
“I don’t think I’m being clear enough with you, Mr. Turner,” Penny said, apparently sensing my ambivalence, “technically speaking, in the corporate hierarchy, Vivian reports to Ron. They have an internal policy that prevents bosses and employees from fraternizing with one another. Do you see what I mean?”
“I get it,” I said, trying to sound as if I recognized that this was important information, “you are suggesting that they were in violation of a company policy.”
“But do you see the significance?”
“Please tell me what you think is significant.”
“She was willing to break company policy. If she is willing to do that, what else is she willing to do?”
I didn’t have a direct response, mainly because I didn’t see this in the same light as her, but there was no sense arguing about it. Most executives felt that they were an exception to company policy.
“I will take this all into consideration,” I said as if this were vital information to my understanding of the situation even though I disagreed, at least on the point about breaking company policy. Most companies had so many policies that you could pick any employee and find at least half a dozen policies that they were currently violating.
I sometimes wondered if companies did this to make it easier to fire employees they didn’t like. Penny was trying to say that this was an indication that Vivian was a lawbreaker, but I wasn’t going to go there, not with so little information.
“Why do I get the feeling that you are just being polite so I will get off the phone?” Penny asked.
“Before you came into my office, I was hard at work on a motion that I must file before 5:00 PM. You have now delayed me twice, no offense. While I am interested in your case, I do have another responsibility to a client I must handle.”
“I see.” There was a brief pause after she acknowledged this. “Another thought just occurred to me. I might know of a way to get you more involved directly in the case. I don’t know what you’ll think of this, but you could see if Mason would be interested in having you represent him.”
“What?” The way she said this made me think that this had been her plan all along. I didn’t believe for a second she had just thought of it.
The one question I had wanted to ask Penny but had not was why she was so interested in Mason. It seemed like she was more concerned about Mason than the death of her husband.
“Yeah, that could work,” she said as if she had not heard me. It sounded rehearsed. “He is after all being represented by a public defender right now.”
“He probably does not have the money—”
“Oh, he has the money, he has plenty of money. He just doesn’t feel like there’s a reason to fight the charges against him. Last I heard, he was contemplating a confession.”
“Are you in contact with him?”
“That would be a great idea,” she said as if she had not heard me. “If you represented him, I could still pay you as a consultant, of course—”
I cut her off. “If I represented Mason, I would have a conflict of interest representing you as well in a similar matter. That would not be possible without a signed consent and waiver from him, but it still might not be ethical. Even if it didn’t run afoul of the professional rules, I wouldn’t do it anyway.”
“Perhaps I could pay his fees then. That way you could keep me abreast—”
“If you paid for his legal representation, he would be my client, not you. I would have absolutely no responsibilities or duties towards you. In other words, I couldn’t tell you what was going on.”
“But—”
I cut her off.
“Let’s hypothetically say that Mason hires me to represent him. I would focus solely on him and his welfare. Even if you paid his legal fees, I would not report to you any of the information I found. You would have no input into the case. You would know absolutely nothing unless you read it in the papers. If I believed the case needed to go a direction that was adverse to you or your interests, I would do it without even thinking about it.”
“I understand,” but judging by the way she said this, it did not sound like she did. “I recognize you would not be my attorney. But you represent the best possible hope of Vivian going to jail. That is what I want. I don’t care how that is obtained.”
Vivian going to jail.
That’s what this is really about.
It’s not the death of her husband. She has an ax to grind and is determined to scratch her itch.
“We can’t expect his court-appointed defense attorney to nail Vivian to the wall,” Penny said with disdain.
I bristled under the collar. I had good friends who were public defenders. They were underpaid and overworked.
“Many court-appointed attorneys do an excellent job. If you are implying—”
“I wasn’t implying anything,” she said soothingly in a patronizing voice.
I leaned back in my chair and pulled the receiver away from my ear while I gathered my thoughts. I had not realized I’d been pushing it so hard against my face.
“How do you know so much about this guy Mason?” I asked.
Penny hesitated. There was something to the pause that I could not quite read.
“I went to see him in jail early this morning and again when he got out on bond just a few hours ago.”
Of course, you did.
“All right,” I said as if it were an everyday occurrence for the victim’s wife to visit her husband’s murderer the next day. Of everything she had said, it was this last statement that bothered me most. I hoped I covered up my surprise, so she was not aware of just how much I was taken off guard.
“You went to his arraignment?” I asked, trying to keep my voice free from emotion while assessing her reaction as I tried to puzzle out the connection between her and the suspect.
“Yup, it was this morning. I posted his bail because he didn’t have enough liquid assets. He’s going to pay me back by the end of the week.”
I sputtered. “You what?”
This just keeps getting better and better.
“I posted his bail.” She spoke as if it was not a big deal. It would’ve been okay if she was his wife or perhaps his girlfriend, but she was the victim’s wife.
“Are you in a relationship with Mason?” I asked, wishing we were still face-to-face so I could get a better read on her reaction.
Penny didn’t hesitate. “No. I just want to get Vivian so badly that I’m willing to bail him out. He might have killed Max, but he is not the murderer.”
“Okay,” I said as if accepting her explanation, which I did not. “Are you sure there is not a plausible explanation as to why this guy killed your husband?”
“I know what you’re implying, and I won’t even dignify that with a response. That woman murdered my husband. You mark my words. When you start digging into this case, you’re going to figure that out.” She paused. “Justice, Mr. Turner, I want justice. Let me know when you’ve decided.”
She hung up.
Buy your copy today!March 20, 2021
The Victim’s Wife – Chapter 2
I studied the woman, trying to decide if she was crazy or if there was some other reason to explain her apparent nonsensical statement. Perhaps she was just saying this for dramatic effect to get my attention, or maybe she was just so grief-stricken that she didn’t understand what she was saying. Or, more likely, she was just so angry at her husband’s death that she was looking for anything to explain what had happened.
Whatever the reason, she had piqued my interest.
I glanced at my watch and reminded myself that I still had some research to finish for my motion that was due at the end of the day.
Whenever I was presented with an interesting puzzle, it was easy for me to get distracted. This was something I knew about myself, so I took steps to mitigate it.
A few possibilities could explain her wild claim. A conspiracy, a murder for hire plot, or something else along those lines.
I assumed the question I wanted to ask her was evident on my face, but she appeared too distraught to notice my confusion.
“Who murdered your husband if it wasn’t his killer?” I asked slowly, watching for any cues that she might have a mental issue that was not readily apparent.
It’s always the simplest explanation that makes the most sense, I reminded myself.
“It was one of my husband’s business partners, Vivian Fuger.”
I leaned back in my chair and put my hands behind my head, never taking my eyes off her.
“What makes you think this?” I asked, willing to ask her a few more questions before telling her that I wasn’t the solution to her problem.
“They have had trouble running the business for some time now. The man who actually killed him was another business partner.”
I frowned. “Is it your belief that your husband’s partners conspired to kill him?”
“No, not at all. It’s difficult to explain, but Vivian, she kinda has a way with people, you know what I mean?”
“I don’t. It might help if you explain.”
“She is a skilled manipulator and can get people to do things for her, and sometimes they don’t realize what they are doing.”
I thought I now understood. “Are you suggesting your husband was killed because she somehow manipulated the other man into doing it?”
The woman nodded vigorously. “Yes. She is behind this, not him.” She paused for a moment. “Mason. Mason Harwood. That’s the man who killed my husband. The poor fool probably didn’t know what he was walking into when he entered my husband’s office.”
The tears seemed to be drying up now, and I started to wonder if maybe this wasn’t just an act. I had known people who could cry on demand.
Most were former clients.
I didn’t trust a single one of them.
I waited for her to elaborate, but she did not.
What do I have to do, play twenty questions to get her to talk to me?
I hesitated, trying to avoid glancing at my watch while reminding myself that she had been through a terrible ordeal and her behavior was in line with what one might expect. The silence became awkward, so I moved to fill it, going against my instincts to just wait her out.
“How do you believe that this guy, Mason Harwood, was manipulated by the other partner, Vivian Fuger, was it?”
“Yeah, that’s her name. I don’t know. I’m just confident that she had something to do with it. She can get under people’s skin, make them think things that aren’t rational. She then gets them to do her bidding.”
“I’m not sure I see exactly where you’re going with this, at least for how it involves me. Let’s say for the sake of the argument that everything you’re telling me is true, and we assume that Vivian did, in fact, provoke Mason to kill your husband. What do you expect me to do about it?” I gave her a moment for the question to sink in. “You could try to bring a civil action against her, but you need a different type of attorney. I do have a partner who might be able to help you. He typically practices personal injury, but this could be up his alley. I can introduce you.”
“Money? You think I’m here for money?” Her voice choked as she spoke. “I do not need money, Mr. Turner. I want my husband’s true murderer to go to jail. That is what I need. Vivian must be held accountable for her actions.”
It appeared my message was not sinking in. “I understand how you feel, but what would you like me to do? Do you want to hire me as a consultant so I can tell you my thoughts on the criminal trial as it proceeds against Mason Harwood?”
“I was hoping you could tell me my options.”
The wheels in my brain were starting to move. This was a fascinating problem, to be sure. I liked puzzles that held my attention because they were challenging to solve. I glanced at my watch and saw that we had already been talking for ten minutes.
Five more minutes, and then I must put her off, at least until this evening.
“I came here because I saw your billboards,” she continued before I had a chance to speak up. “I know who you are, Mitch Turner. I’ve spoken with a past client. I know you do good work. You’re not just looking to make money. You want to make sure that justice is done. Please help me find justice.”
I arched an eyebrow. I was about to ask who she had talked to, but she went on before I got a chance.
“You think outside the box. That’s what I need.”
I was not used to such flattery from potential clients. I leaned back in my chair. The flattery was affecting me, just as she intended. I put my hands behind my head and let out a long breath, trying to think how I could insert myself into the situation to benefit her.
“I understand, I think, but I still don’t see what I can do to help you come to a resolution on this. I can’t prosecute a case against Vivian. I can’t enter as a third-party on a criminal case. If you’d like, I can give you the name of my private investigator. He could look into this. Perhaps he could turn up some evidence to back up your theory so you could take it to the police. If you have evidence in hand, they will be more likely to listen.”
She slammed her hand down on my desk. “I need you to do this. You have a way of getting to the truth when others don’t. You believe other people’s stories even if they’re crazy. How much is it going to cost me? Money will not be a problem.”
Crazy. That word stuck out to me. Maybe I do know the client. Something tickled the back of my mind.
I thought of a recent case where a witness claimed that a ghost had killed the victim. It had not turned out that way, of course, but I had not dismissed the idea out of hand and had looked into it, eventually tracking down the real murderer.
“I am not gonna mince words,” I said. “You are presenting me with an interesting situation.”
The first glimmer of hope crossed her face since entering my office. She saw an opportunity and was going to do her best to capitalize on it.
“This is why I came to you. Money is no obstacle. Tell me how much you want. I will give it to you right now.”
“Who did you speak to about me?”
“I would rather not say, Mr. Turner. I’m convinced that you are going to find the truth and that nobody else will. Please help me.”
I glanced at my watch, it was a couple of minutes past the time allotment that I had set aside for this discussion, but we were about to wrap up, so I didn’t mind we had gone over.
“I’m not willing to commit to anything quite yet. How about we do this before we go down the rabbit hole? I will spend one hour of my own time to determine if there is any merit to your claim. I will call you back if I find it.
“After that, we will talk options. I must warn you, for something like this, I’m going to require a hefty retainer. It could get costly.”
“I await your call.” She pulled a card out of her purse and put it on my desk. “My name is Penny Moyer. Please don’t wait too long. Vivian will do everything she can to destroy any evidence left behind by this little charade of hers. I assure you that I will make it worth your while.” She studied me. “I’ll pay double your normal rate.”
I tried my best to keep my face straight, but I was not sure I managed to do it as she walked out the door.
March 19, 2021
The Victim’s Wife – Chapter 1
My phone rang.
When I saw it was my receptionist’s line, I picked up the receiver and cradled it under my chin while continuing to type. I was working on a motion that had to be filed with the court before 5:00 PM.
It took me a moment before I remembered the temporary employee’s name.
“What do you need, Denise?” I asked while continuing to type to the end of the sentence I was working on.
“I know you’re really busy right now, Mitch,” Denise said, “but we just had a woman walk in who seems like she might be a good fit for you. She’s looking for a criminal defense attorney.”
I frowned, wishing Ellie had not called in sick. Ellie would’ve known how to handle this. She wouldn’t have bothered me because she would have known the importance of my current deadline. Instead, I was forced to suffer with an untrained temp. Denise seemed like a capable person, but I didn’t have time to deal with this today.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding myself that I tended to get snippy with people when I was working on a deadline.
I can’t complain about Ellie taking the day anyway, I thought, she’s here every day. I could not remember the last time she had taken a day off. It was long overdue.
Denise doesn’t need me snapping at her.
I let out a long breath, mentally counting to ten. Ellie would have known to schedule an appointment for the potential client to come back later.
I glanced at my watch, looked at my motion, and hesitated, unsure if I had time to take even fifteen minutes to meet with this person.
On the other end of the line, I heard Denise turn her swivel chair away from the prospective client, cupping a hand around the receiver of the phone.
“She’s in tears,” Denise whispered. “I think she needs some real help.”
If Denise was hoping to convince me, she was going about it the wrong way. The last thing I needed right now was some random walk-in bubbling over with grief while I had a motion that I was concerned about getting filed.
“Did she say what it was about?” I finally asked, trying to keep the irritation from showing in my voice but only half succeeding.
“No, she didn’t.”
I hesitated, wondering if I even wanted to take on another case at the moment. I had a full docket, so to speak, more work than I really needed. I supposed it was a good thing that I was so busy that I had the option of turning down cases.
A sob came through the phone, and my heart wrenched.
Why did I have to hear her cry?
My instinct had been to tell Denise to send the person to somebody else, but that gut-wrenching sound was going to haunt me the rest of the afternoon unless I did something about it.
I glanced at my watch again, and even though it was a significant motion that I still had not thoroughly researched, I knew now that my only way out was to meet with the woman and handle it from there. My conscience would not allow me to do otherwise at this point.
“Mitch, are you there?” Denise asked.
“Send her in. I’ll talk to her for a minute.”
“Just one moment,” Denise chirped.
I miss Ellie.
My door opened as I hung up the phone.
Denise practically bounced into my office. The young college kid was in her freshman year but determined to become an attorney. She probably felt like she was doing some good right now.
I forced the irritation off my face, hoping that Denise had not noticed as I stood and went around to the other side of my desk while extending a hand to the woman who had just entered.
“Welcome, have a seat,” I said, nodding to my guest chairs. She was a short woman, probably just a few inches above five feet. She had dark brown hair and a tan complexion. She was pretty and had only a few years on me. I wouldn’t put her past forty-five.
The woman took my hand. It was moist as if she was nervous about meeting with me. She had taken control of the sobs, but her face was puffy. She did not look entirely comfortable and, after making brief eye contact, focused her attention on my office.
I released her hand and walked around to the front of my desk, turning off my computer screen so she would have my full attention. I repressed a sigh as the motion I had been working on disappeared.
Fifteen minutes, I thought to myself. I have to resolve this in fifteen minutes or less.
I pulled out a fresh notepad from within a desk drawer and put a blue ballpoint pen on the paper before clasping my hands in front of me.
She stared at the back of my computer, a faraway look on her face as she battled with her emotions.
“How can I help?” I asked after the silence had started to become awkward. The woman looked like she was tearing up again. I was trying to bypass that so that I could get this over with. She had not looked at me once after taking a seat.
When she finally did, I was afraid the dam was about to burst.
“My husband is dead,” she barely managed to get the words out without breaking up.
I was taken aback. It was the last thing I had expected her to say. I had thought she would tell me that her husband had been arrested. Or that her son was in jail. Or something like that.
“I’m sorry that happened,” I said as sympathetically as I could. Did this woman understand that I was a criminal defense attorney? If Denise hadn’t been a temp, I would have sat her down and had a discussion. “When did that happen?”
“He was killed late last night. He was at work.”
I hesitated, uncertain how I fit into the picture or what I should say next. I regretted letting her into my office. If she had come on behalf of an incarcerated family member, looking for me to represent them in a pending criminal matter, it would have been a perfunctory conversation. I could have sent her on her way after only a few minutes of discussion.
The woman was now staring at the back of my computer again. I was starting to become impatient, which I did my best to fight, but my motion was waiting. I had professional responsibilities to fulfill.
“I am sorry, ma’am,” I said as cautiously as I could, “but I believe you might be mistaken. Are you aware that I am a criminal defense attorney? Based on what you have told me, you should be looking to speak with a prosecutor.”
“I spoke with her this morning, and she didn’t believe me.”
Her?
I knew of only one female prosecutor that would have been assigned this case. Every other senior prosecutor over there was male, a fact the local newspaper pointed out frequently.
Cindy Seakowics. A former flame from more than a decade ago.
“What did you tell… her?” I had almost said Cindy.
“I told her that my husband’s murderer is not the man who killed him.”
I hesitated, wondering if my ears were playing tricks on me. I ran through what she had said in my head, just to make sure I understood.
“Are you telling me the person that killed your husband is not the murderer?”
“Yes, Mr. Turner, that is exactly what I am telling you.
Buy your copy today!March 11, 2021
The victim’s wife – a mitch turner legal thriller
A MYSTERIOUS WIDOW…
Criminal defense attorney Mitch Turner loves a challenge and is always determined to see that justice is done. He also has more cases than he can handle, but when the mysterious and grief-stricken Penny Moyer enters his office one afternoon, right as he is in the middle of working on a tight deadline, the story she tells intrigues him.
With her husband murdered just the night before and his business associate Mason Harwood now charged for the crime, Penny is convinced Mason was set up for the job by the manipulative Vivian Fuger, another business partner.
A MANIPULATIVE BUSINESS PARTNER…
With little to go on other than Penny’s hunch, Mitch is intrigued enough to look into the case, tempted by her offer to pay double his usual fee. But as he digs deep into the murk of her allegations, it becomes clear that all is not as it seems, and the identity of the true villain is shrouded in secrecy.
MITCH TURNER’S SEARCH FOR JUSTICE.
Now Mitch’s good name and his solid reputation could be on the line as a finely tuned plot is carefully untwined. He knows that one mistake or one wrong decision could spell disaster for him and his firm, but the will to see justice done is too powerful to ignore.
Can Mitch uncover the real killer and save himself from ridicule? Or has he finally encountered a mind that is more capable than his own?
Pick up your copy today to find out!
Sneak Peek
“She’s in tears,” Denise whispered. “I think she needs some real help.”
If Denise was hoping to convince me, she was going about it the wrong way. The last thing I needed right now was some random walk-in bubbling over with grief while I had a motion that I was concerned about getting filed.
“Did she say what it was about?” I finally asked, trying to keep the irritation from showing in my voice but only half succeeding.
“No, she didn’t.”
I hesitated, wondering if I even wanted to take on another case at the moment. I had a full docket, so to speak, more work than I really needed. I supposed it was a good thing that I was so busy that I had the option of turning down cases.
A sob came through the phone, and my heart wrenched.
Why did I have to hear her cry?
My instinct had been to tell Denise to send the person to somebody else, but that gut-wrenching sound was going to haunt me the rest of the afternoon unless I did something about it.
I glanced at my watch again, and even though it was a significant motion that I still had not thoroughly researched, I knew now that my only way out was to meet with the woman and handle it from there. My conscience would not allow me to do otherwise at this point.
“Mitch, are you there?” Denise asked.
“Send her in. I’ll talk to her for a minute.”
Buy your copy today!February 26, 2021
For Justice – Sample CHAPTER 3
After Ms. Franzen left, I leaned back in my chair and looked at all the notes I had taken.
Money can’t buy time.
I had tried several times during the interview to convince her to seek a continuance to give me time to prepare properly, but every time I did, she was adamant that the case had to go forward. I had finally decided to leave it for the time being. I would meet with my client to see if I could convince him.
He was in charge, not her.
I let out a low sigh and swiveled on my chair to look out my window. She had pled for justice; that was where she had got me.
I would have to pull late nights and work all weekend to make sure Jimmy had some form of reasonable representation.
I rubbed my head, wondering if I was insane to step into a mess like this one week before trial. Perhaps I needed to talk to a therapist. They could probably explain my actions better than I could.
My next phone call was to the public defender’s office. Jimmy was currently represented by an attorney named Wyatt Custer. After a quick conversation with an operator, she connected me to Wyatt’s telephone.
“How can I help you?” Wyatt asked after I had introduced myself, and we had exchanged a few pleasantries.
I paused, uncertain of what to say.
Despite Ms. Franzen’s insistence that Wyatt had not done anything on the case, that was unlikely. If I were him, I would have been prepared for the case several weeks in advance, using the final days to hone my presentation.
Most public defenders I knew were very busy and under-appreciated. Wyatt might be underprepared, but it was unlikely he was unprepared.
I had to handle the situation delicately; otherwise, Wyatt might be upset that all his efforts had come to naught.
“I have been hired to represent Jimmy Franzen in his upcoming murder trial,” I said, deciding to just come straight out with it.
I could’ve heard a pin drop on the other side of the phone.
“Come again?” Wyatt asked in a neutral tone that didn’t give me any information as to how he was receiving the news.
“I’m sorry to be talking to you about this so late in the case—”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day!”
It was my turn to be shocked and a little disturbed.
Maybe my client’s mother was right, and Wyatt had done nothing to prepare.
If it were me, I would’ve been furious to have a case ripped out from underneath me at the eleventh hour.
It also does not bode well if he is this excited about kicking this case to the curb. Maybe there is a reason he was trying to plead it out.
“I hope this doesn’t catch you off guard,” I said, persisting with my planned statements on the off chance I was misreading his response. Maybe he was being sarcastic.
“No, no, no, that’s quite all right.” There was no doubt about it now. The man was ecstatic. “I’m happy to help you in any way I can. I’ll get the file sent over to you immediately.”
I licked my lips. “Have there been any recent developments in the case that I should be aware of?”
“No, my client—excuse me—your client has refused even to consider a plea bargain. The evidence against him is solid. The prosecution has two witnesses who are the crux of the case, and they’ve got their ducks in order. They refused to talk with my investigator, and our preliminary research into them has turned up nothing.”
Preliminary?
That investigation should have been over weeks ago.
“Send me what you’ve got. I’ll take a look.” I was just about to end the conversation when another thought occurred to me. “Who is the prosecutor?”
“Just one sec, let me look.” It was another bad sign he didn’t know it off the top of his head. This was a murder trial after all, not some kid picked up for shoplifting. “Here it is. Cindy Seakowics.”
I felt like I had just been punched in the stomach. She was my ex-girlfriend from undergrad.
“Good luck,” Wyatt said, not bothering to hide a gleeful chuckle, “you’re going to need it.”
I must have said goodbye, but I couldn’t remember for sure.
I imagined him cheering after he got off the phone, and for a moment, it was almost like I could hear it. I checked to make sure the call had indeed disconnected before slumping back in my chair.
What have I done?
If I had known Cindy Seakowics was on the case, I would’ve sent Ms. Franzen packing, justice or no.
It wasn’t that I was afraid to go up against an ex-girlfriend. I just had enough on my plate without adding that on top.
Way too late for that now.
I gritted my teeth.
For justice.
Pick up your copy today!
