Tattered Justice

  Tattered Justice

  by John Foxjohn

  Published by L&L Dreamspell

  Spring, Texas

  Visit us on the web at www.lldreamspell.com

  Copyright 2010 by John Foxjohn

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover and Interior Design by L & L Dreamspell

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.

  This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people is a coincidence. Places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

  ISBN- 978-1-60318-163-1

  Published by L & L Dreamspell

  Produced in the United States of America

  Visit us on the web at www.lldreamspell.com

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many authors who write fiction use what they call a “literary license.” To me, this means they normally pay little attention to facts.

  I am not one of these authors—even though my novels are fictional, I do go out of my way to research and get facts. That is to a certain degree. One of my writing heroes once said, “I will never let facts get in the way of a good story.”

  As I said, I attempt to incorporate realism into my work, but I won’t allow that to intrude on my story.

  In Tattered Justice, I did the research for the novel—interviewed professionals and sat through court cases to get the information needed to make this novel as factual as possible. I need to thank the professionals who gave freely of their time to help me:

  Art Bauereiss, assistant district attorney for Angelina County

  Deputy Paul Love, bailiff for Angelina County courts

  Debora Lee, stenographer for Judge Paul White

  Ryan Deaton, criminal defense attorney in Lufkin, Tx.

  Al Charanza, criminal defense attorney in Lufkin, Tx.

  Janet Reynolds-Cassels, criminal defense attorney in Lufkin, Tx.

  Judge Paul White, district judge in Angelina County

  Judge Barry Bryan, district judge in Angelina County

  If there are mistakes in this novel, I can assure you that those mistakes didn’t come from the group above. If there are any, they are mine.

  I have to thank my fans who continuously demand that I keep writing, and one of my biggest fears is disappointing the people who read my work. I am not going to disappoint you with Tattered Justice.

  Last, as always, I have to thank Beth and Andy. Without you two, none of this could be possible.

  ONE

  The phone died with a click in the Houston law office. No other words—short, simple and to the point. Taylor McMasters had summoned her to his office. End of the conversation and her career. Kayla Nugent had expected a phone call, but hadn’t thought she’d get the death penalty.

  In a fog, she rose from her chair, crossed her arms, and stared at the picture of her father on her desk. She’d failed as a daughter and now as an attorney. Her fingers slid over the cold plastic cover of the Deason trial transcript, but she didn’t bother to open it. Kayla already knew it word for word.

  “Might as well get it over with,” she said to the empty office. When she opened her door, silence greeted her. The third floor of the building, usually a hub of noise, conversations, clicking computer keys, and ringing phones, held a vigil in her honor.

  Everyone knew about the meeting before she received the call. This kind of news spread through the office like a grassfire during a drought. Sarah Jane, Kayla’s administrative assistant, wiped her eyes and averted her gaze.

  Kayla didn’t stop to say anything to her or anyone else. She trudged to the elevator and hit the top floor button. The doors shut and a low whine carried her upward. Once before, she’d taken this trip—eight years before when she interviewed for her job. In all the years she’d worked for the law firm of McMasters, Sullivan, and Bedford, four attorneys had made this trip twice. All four had a brief visit to the sixth floor then returned to clean out their offices. Taylor McMasters, the firm’s CEO, only encountered the attorneys working under him on two occasions—hiring them and firing them.

  When Kayla exited the elevator on the sixth floor, she adjusted the beige jacket over her white blouse, took a deep breath, and stood straight. Her pulse throbbed at the temples and her hands shook, but she would not give them the satisfaction of begging or groveling. She didn’t know what she would do from this point on in her life, had never considered that they would fire her, but she would at least go out as her father would have.

  The secretary didn’t say a word. She just pointed to McMasters’ office door. Kayla hesitated, not knowing if she should knock or enter. She chose to enter.

  She froze in the doorway. She didn’t know what to expect—perhaps McMasters behind his desk, a short, formal sentence: “You’re fired. Clean out your office and get out.”

  McMasters did sit behind his desk, but why did it take Homer Sullivan, Ralph Bedford, and Edward Harkens to fire her? She’d spoken with Sullivan and Bedford a couple of times, but never in a formal setting. All assignments and performance reviews went through Edward Harkens, rumored as the next partner in the firm.

  McMasters’ intense blue eyes shone from beneath clouds of white brows, matching a shock of hair. He indicated a chair. “Have a seat, Kayla.” His voice twanged like a guitar out of tune.

  She took a deep breath. “I’d prefer to stand, sir.”

  His lips thinned and the intense eyes darkened. “I said sit.”

  Kayla debated a moment, but sat, back straight, hands in her lap.

  McMasters indicated for the others to sit without removing his gaze from Kayla. “You finally lost a case.”

  She wasn’t sure McMasters had asked her a question or made a statement, and nodded. What was this? Did they plan to crucify her before they fired her? She wished they’d just get it over with.

  McMasters leaned back. “Deason has retained another attorney and plans to appeal, of course. Word is his new attorney will file a motion for ineffective counsel. Deason claims he insisted on testifying on his own behalf, but you refused to let him. Is this true?”

  Kayla glanced at the others out of the corner of her eye. Neither McMasters nor the others seemed that upset with the jury verdict, and this surprised her. If they didn’t call her up here to fire her for that, why were they firing her? She straightened her skirt. “I didn’t refuse to let him testify. As you know, sir, that is not in my realm as an attorney. I strongly advised him against it and told him that if he testified and perjured himself on the stand, I was duty bound by law to inform the court.”

  McMasters leaned forward, opened a drawer, took out a cigar and clipped the end. When he had it going with smoke spiraling to the ceiling, he pointed it at Kayla. “So he confessed to you.”

  “Yes, sir, he did.”

  “Good call on that one,” Bedford said.

  Surprised, Kayla turned to Bedford. She knew she’d made the right call, but why were the partners admitting it? “Thank you, sir.”

  Kayla glanced at the floor as Bedford continued, taking his compliment back. “You know if you hadn’t said anything, no one but you and he would have known.”

  Her head snapped up. “Sir, I would’ve known, and it isn’t ethical.” Her father had taught her since the time she could talk that too many attorneys get so caught up in winning or losing, they forget the ethics they swore to uphold. Then they were no better than the person they defended.

  Her attention shifted to McMasters when he said, “Kayla.”

  He puffe
d on his cigar and drummed his fingers on the chair arm. “Why do you think we hired you at this firm?”

  His question threw her for a loop. She knew exactly why they’d hired her. She looked him straight in the eye. “Sir, you hired me because of my father.”

  McMasters stabbed his cigar out in the ashtray on the corner of his desk, then folded his arms. “Jared Nugent and I go way back, and I considered him a friend. He was without a doubt the best criminal defense attorney I ever saw in my life, and I have seen quite a few over my fifty-five years as an attorney. Although he was a friend, my first obligation has always been to my own firm and our clients. I’d never hire an attorney in this firm as a favor to anyone.”

  She blinked. Why hadn’t they told her why they were firing her? She knew what he meant. He’d hired her on her abilities. Now, he fired her for the same reason.

  “Kayla, have you read the newspaper or watched the news in the last day or so?” Sullivan asked.

  Her brows creased at the top of her nose. “No, sir. I’ve been rather busy.”

  “Have you heard of Michelle McCrery, the author?” Sullivan asked.

  Still confused, Kayla nodded, then answered. “She’s a best-selling romance author.” In fact, McCrery was Kayla’s favorite author, and she read her books anytime she had a chance.

  Sullivan nodded. “Someone murdered her last night.”

  “Murdered!”

  Sullivan tapped on his chin with an index finger. “The police are questioning a suspect. The suspect and her father have contacted us. We are assigning you to this case.”

  She tried to stop her mouth from falling open. She wanted to show no emotion, but knew she’d failed when McMasters chuckled. “Not everyone we summon up here is fired.”

  She blinked. “Ah—who—I mean.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “Who is the suspect?”

  “Lawrence Estes’ daughter, Loren Estes.”

  Kayla’s chin dropped to her chest and she closed her eyes. Why couldn’t they have just fired me?

  When she opened her eyes, all the partners stared at her. She wanted to shout that they couldn’t do that to her. Anything—anyone but Loren Estes. She hadn’t seen that woman in five years and didn’t want to now.

  Her stomach churned and she thought she’d become ill in the office in front of the partners. Too many memories associated with Loren Estes—Kayla’s divorce and then her ex’s suicide.

  As far as she was concerned, the police could throw Loren Estes under the jail. Good riddance.

  “Is there a problem?” Sullivan asked.

  She hesitated for what seemed like hours. She took a deep breath. “I don’t think I’m the one who should represent this bi—woman. We know each other too well.”

  McMasters leaned back in his seat. “Lawrence Estes is this firm’s oldest client. His retainer is enough to pay the yearly salary of five attorneys. His daughter specifically demanded that you represent her. Her father does not like her choice, but Loren gets what she wants.”

  McMasters took out another cigar and lit it. Again, smoke rose as he sucked to get it going, discharging an odor of burning dirty socks.

  He didn’t need to tell her that. Loren Estes got what she wanted—no matter who she hurt. Kayla threw her last ante into the pot. “Sir, if this goes to trial, no judge would let me represent her. I’ve never defended a capital case.”

  McMasters pointed his cigar at her. “You aced your certification test and I don’t know anyone besides you who has. I passed myself, but I didn’t ace it. Besides that, you have assisted in four capital cases. You’re wrong. All judges in the state of Texas will approve you as lead defense council.”

  McMasters stood, placed his hands on the desk, and leaned forward. “Loren, her father, and a private investigator they’ve retained from Chicago will be here in five hours to meet with you. In that time, you need to find someone to assist you. Who—that’s your choice.”

  Arguing with them would not help. She rose and plodded toward the door. McMasters stopped her when her hand circled the doorknob. “One last thing.”

  She turned to face him.

  “Don’t screw this up.”

  TWO

  When Mrs. Ambrose Miller left Darren Duval’s office, he leaned back in his seat, put his feet on the desk and closed his eyes. He needed a nap in the worst way. He’d followed a husband all night—taking pictures, recording times and places. Now that his client had paid him and he’d turned over the evidence, he could relax.

  He groaned when his secretary buzzed him. He leaned forward enough to hit the intercom and flopped back. “Uh-huh.”

  “Darren, I know you need a nap, and I wouldn’t bother you, but—”

  “Then why are you?” he said without opening his eyes.

  He opened one eye as she hesitated. “Lawrence Estes is on the phone.”

  He shot upright—all thought of a nap gone. “Put him through.”

  He put his hand over the phone waiting for it to beep. He’d worked for Estes on several occasions. The man paid extremely well, plus he liked to give large bonuses when the job was done. His last bonus was half Darren’s yearly salary.

  When the phone buzzed, he snatched it up. “Mr. Estes, it’s good to hear from you.”

  “Duval, I need you in Houston in five hours.”

  Darren scratched his temple. Five hours? Something must be bad wrong. Estes had never done this before and Darren didn’t believe he could get to Houston that quickly. He needed the money and sure hated to lose this one. “Mmm, sir, I can check with the airlines but it may not be possible to get there in five hours. Besides the trip, I’d need to go home and pack.”

  “Forget the packing. I’ll give you enough expenses to buy all the clothes you want. My jet will land at O’Hare in fifteen minutes. Get on it. My limousine will be waiting for you in Houston.”

  Darren scratched his head and didn’t respond to the dead phone. He stood and stretched his back, then hit the intercom. “Liz, I need to be at the airport in fifteen minutes. Going to Houston.”

  “Let’s go then. We need the money.”

  He smiled and shook his head as he strode for the door. Liz had worked for him for several years and handled everything including the finances. Years before on his first case as a private investigator, she’d hired him to investigate the death of her husband. When he’d finished, she’d decided to work for him.

  She had his coat waiting for him when he rushed out. “We need to hurry,” she said as he shrugged his arms into the coat and followed her. Her short piston strides triggered him to increase his long ones to keep up. It always amazed him at the robust energy that little seventy-year old woman had.

  “What’s going on in Houston?” she asked as they whipped out of the parking lot with him driving his Toyota Corolla.

  He shrugged. “Actually, Estes never said. Just wants me there in five hours. He sent his jet and told me he’d give me money for clothes.”

  “Hmm,” she said as she held on with a death grip. “He’s never done that before. Bet something important’s up.”

  He nodded as he swerved to avoid a car that changed lanes in front of him and slowed down.

  “You be careful. This sounds dangerous.”

  When they parked, he bent and kissed her on the cheek. “You worry too much.”

  She hugged him and stepped back with hands on hips. “That’s ’cause you take too many chances. If you had a wife, you wouldn’t take so many. You need to find a good woman and settle down.”

  “Yes, mom.” He smiled at their old routine.

  As he headed up the stairs to the plane, Liz yelled after him. “Get some sleep on the way there.”

  He figured that would be easier than finding a good woman.

  * * * *

  In a daze, Kayla shuffled out of McMasters’ office. She didn’t want to do this—couldn’t do it. No way did she have the experience or skill to defend a case of this magnitude.

  Even if she had th
e experience, she wasn’t objective enough. Attorneys couldn’t afford to let personal feelings get in their way. They had to defend their client with everything in their soul. She didn’t think she could put half of what she’d need into a defense for that woman. She simply didn’t care whether the police charged her or a court convicted her. Would she stand and cheer if the jury sentenced this woman to prison or worse?

  Sarah Jane, her assistant, stared at her with shock when Kayla passed her desk, opened her door, but stopped. Someone, probably her assistant, had shoved all her pictures and diplomas that had hung on the wall into boxes. Kayla didn’t blame her. She would have done the same thing.

  She shut her door and slumped into her chair. Just a matter of time. If the police charged Loren Estes and she bungled it, or failed, she was gone. She didn’t doubt that for a moment. Her old friend and enemy had placed her in a no-win situation. Had she done it on purpose? Probably.

  She lowered her head and massaged her temples for several minutes, then took a deep breath. She needed to know how the police planned to proceed before the meeting. She also needed to find someone to assist her. That wouldn’t be easy, either.

  Her hand trembled as she picked up the phone and called Sarah Jane. “Sarah, would you come in, please?”

  Moments later, downcast, Sarah opened the door and entered. “Kayla, I’m so sorry. I’ll get everything back in order.”

  Kayla forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it. I need you to call the Houston police department and find out who’s heading the McCrery investigation. Make me an appointment to talk to him or her as soon as possible.”

  Sarah nodded. “Think it’ll be Cameron Satterwhite?”

  “More than likely. He’s the big gun they bring in on capital or high profile cases.”

  Sarah left the door open on her way out. Moments later, Kayla glanced up to find Grayson Hughes leaning against her doorjamb. When they made eye contact, he straightened and sauntered in, sitting without an invitation.

  Her stomach tightened and she clenched her jaws. “Why don’t you sit?”