The Justice Game

87

After nearly an hour of voir dire, Kelly and Jason stepped into the hallway to consult with their clients. They huddled for a few minutes; then Kelly pulled Jason aside, out of earshot of the others.

“We’ll go with it,” Kelly told him.

Jason took a deep breath, and Kelly’s heart went out to him. Though Jason hadn’t shared any details about his conversations with his clients, it was obvious that Melissa Davids was not happy.

“Thanks,” Jason said.

“Let me go to the feds with you,” Kelly said. It was an offer she had already made, and Jason had already refused.

Jason shook his head. “Part of the deal was that I go alone. There’s no use destroying more lives than we have to.”

He had the same determined look in his eyes that he did on Friday night when they met at the Hilton. Jason had told Kelly about the attack in the parking lot and the way Luthor had blackmailed him in the case. Jason said that he had decided not to call Chief Poole to the stand. He suggested that he and Kelly settle the case. If they couldn’t agree on a settlement, Jason would move for a mistrial based on his own misconduct. Either way-settlement or not-he was going to blow the whistle on himself and go to the authorities.

Later on Friday night, after her ocean swim, Kelly had reconciled herself to the fact that her past would be exposed. The one thing Luthor had demanded of her was that she refuse to settle. But her client’s best interest now demanded settlement-it was either that or face a mistrial motion from Jason that would undoubtedly be granted. Afterward, they would all be back at square one.

But Jason had no authority to settle unless he could get his client to go along.

Over the weekend, a slightly different plan evolved, fueled by the objective thinking of Brad Carson. Why not submit the case to the shadow jury? That way, both sides could get a fair resolution and they could still nail Justice Inc. for trying to blackmail the litigants in the real case.

As the plan unfolded, Kelly began to trust Jason and decided to tell him in confidence about Luthor’s e-mails to her. She had offered to go the authorities with him, but Jason had been adamant that he wouldn’t settle the case if she did.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Jason insisted now, as the two lawyers stood alone in the hallway. “I kept two jurors on the panel who I knew would hurt my case. You didn’t do anything to hurt yours. Luthor wasn’t sabotaging your case; he was helping it. Why ruin your career too?”

“But he was trying to manipulate it from both sides. His e-mails to me are still a crime.”

“We’ve been over this, Kelly. Your duty is to your client. The terms of settlement I offered include you not going to the authorities unless your testimony is later deemed necessary to convict Robert Sherwood and Justice Inc.”

He was right; they had gone over this ad nauseam last night. On this point, Jason would not budge. Kelly didn’t understand why he was so adamant about protecting her, but she couldn’t really fight it. The agreed-upon resolution was in the best interest of her client.

“Okay,” she said with a sigh.

“I’ll let everyone know we have a deal,” Jason said.

They shook hands, and Kelly thanked him. He nodded grimly.

Even in the best case, his reputation would be shattered. His green eyes had gone from piercing to resolved, the look of a martyr heading into the Coliseum. He seemed so much older to Kelly than when they had started the case. She felt a little ashamed at the way she had initially judged him and belittled him.

“You tried a good case,” she said.

“Not half as good as you.”

Kelly’s dad arrived at the hotel a few minutes later, and another round of introductions followed. The plan now was for Blake and Kelly to head back to the Virginia Beach courthouse and chat with reporters while the jury deliberated. They would be joined there by Melissa Davids, who would provide the media with plenty of ammunition from her side. Brad and Jason thought it would seem a little suspicious if every participant in the trial suddenly disappeared for the entire afternoon.

The shadow jury would be monitored by Kelly’s dad, Bella, and Case McAllister. It was never explicitly stated, but everyone knew what Jason would be doing. It was time to turn state’s evidence and cut a deal.

Kelly decided to stop at her hotel on the way to the courthouse. She wasn’t looking forward to another round of fending off reporters, especially when she needed to be careful not to say something inappropriate during jury deliberations. She figured she could spend a few minutes packing her stuff and watching the news coverage. She could grab a sandwich and eat lunch while driving to court.

She parked in the 31st Street garage, on the fourth floor. By now she knew the routine-she would walk down two flights of stairs and cross over the street on the covered concrete bridge that connected the parking garage to the hotel.

She reached the stairwell at about the same time as a man from another spot on the fourth floor. He looked vaguely familiar-maybe one of the other regulars at the Hilton? He was wearing jeans, a Windbreaker, and a baseball cap with a ponytail hanging out the back.

A Windbreaker? It was pushing ninety-five degrees.

Kelly walked down the first flight of steps as quickly as her high heels would allow. The man followed close behind, literally breathing down her neck. If she kicked off her heels, she could surely out-sprint him. The man must have tipped the scales at 250.

As she turned the corner to head down the next flight, he reached out and grabbed her arm. She gasped as he drew her next to him, face-to-face, a gun suddenly in her ribs.

“Not a word,” he hissed.

He yanked her toward the door that opened to the third level of the garage as a car came skidding around the corner. The back door flew open.

Kelly screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Shut up!” The gunman threw her in the backseat and climbed in behind her, catching her as she scrambled to get out the other side. The driver took off even before the door closed behind the beast beside her. The man’s bulk pinned Kelly against the door on her side, muffling her screams.

He whipped his gun across her face and she felt her cheekbone crack.

“Shut her up!” yelled the driver.

The ponytailed man forced her face up against the side door, wrenching her arms behind her back so he could handcuff them. Once she was cuffed, he bore down on her with his full weight until she stopped squirming. She felt a needle in her neck and the world started spinning.

The driver pulled into a parking spot and popped the trunk. Kelly tried to yell again, but her tongue wouldn’t cooperate. Her attackers were fading, spinning, zooming in and out of focus.

Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she quit fighting it, her assailants’ words lost in a blur of scrambled noise and jumbled thoughts.

Rafael Johansen paid the cashier at the exit to the parking garage. He calmly made a left on Atlantic and another left on Laskin Road. Jason and Kelly had surprised him. Jason in particular. The little jerk had mustered the guts to defy Luthor and sacrifice his own reputation.

The stupid kid had no way of knowing it would cost him his life.

Johansen called Robert Sherwood and detected a hint of panic in the great man’s voice. Things had not exactly gone according to plan on the Crawford case.

Johansen ended the call, checked his rearview mirror, and took a left into the deserted parking lot of the Surf and Sand movie theater. The yellowed signage on the large marquee still displayed its final message: Goodbye Surf and Sand. We will miss you. Love, the staff.

Last week, the locals had told Johansen the place had been sitting vacant for the past eighteen months. The doors had been locked and chained.

Johansen had scoped out the place two days ago. The parking lot was shielded by tall marsh grass and a wildlife area protected by the Chesapeake Bay Preservation Act. The theater was only a mile or so from the Hilton, set back from Laskin Road and bordered by the marsh on every side except the west end of the parking lot, which abutted the Purple Cow parking lot. Earlier today, using a bolt cutter and a crowbar, Johansen had pried open one of the back doors of the theater.

He parked the car behind the building and took a final glance around. The car could only be seen from the marsh.

Johansen opened the trunk, and a partner from his investigative firm, a large weight lifter named Tony Morris, lifted Kelly out and carried her into the abandoned theater building. Except for Johansen’s flashlight, the place was pitch black.

They duct-taped Kelly to a seat in the front row directly in front of the big screen, gagged her with a cloth, and left to abduct their second victim.

“How long before she comes out of it?” Johansen asked.

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Just in time for the feature show.”