Corrupt Justice Read online

“Sounds like you’re attempting to threaten me, Alicia.”

  “No threats, only a warning.” Her eyes narrowed. “There’s a storm coming your way. And it’s going to be an almighty one.”

  “Now, now.” Baron rested his hand on Carson’s arm, calming her. “This isn’t the time or the place for an argument about our jobs or the roles we play. If the girl doesn’t take the deal, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to make those arguments.”

  Hunter didn’t offer a response.

  “She’s a cold-blooded killer.” Carson’s teeth were clenched together. She looked angry, but she held no fear for Hunter. He was used to being hated. “And she’ll go down for this crime.”

  “Did you come to make sure the job was finished?” Chicago PD detective John Yates fumed as he crossed the street, keys in hand, ready to enter his car, parked behind Hunter’s. Yates walked to the door of his car and opened it, and while a safe distance away from the lawyer, he continued. “Is that why you’re here, Hunter? You’re happy now? Going to drink some champagne after this?”

  “The only funeral I’d be happy to go to is yours.” Hunter turned and stood up straight.

  “You’ll have to wait a long time. I’ve taken up running. It’ll add years to my life.”

  “Your poor wife. She must be so disappointed.”

  “This isn’t a place for jokes.” Yates slammed his door closed, strutting closer until he was standing next to Carson. Yates only came up to Hunter’s chin, but they would qualify for the same weight division in a boxing match. With a double chin squashed into an old suit, Yates loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, alleviating the feeling of being strangled. “How dare you come here. This is a place for those grieving about what your client did eight months ago. Show some respect.”

  “Sidney McCann was in my life for more than three decades.” Hunter stood tall, engulfing Yates under his shadow. “I came to say goodbye and show respect to a man that tried to turn his life around, which is more than I can say for you.”

  Yates caught the eye of Carson, who turned quickly and walked away. She walked down the sidewalk, towards her car, blending into the crowd of people dressed in black.

  “Don’t you dare discredit a good cop’s memory.” Yates gritted his teeth, chin up, before he followed Carson, jogging to catch up to her. Carson stopped and talked to Yates; their conversation animated, but out of earshot. There was tension in the air, an unease amongst the older cops; McCann’s shady past leaving its mark on many.

  “Tex, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this.” Baron kept his voice low, resting his hand on Hunter’s arm. “You need to be careful with this case. You need to keep your head down and stay out of the papers. The CPD already hates you, but defending the killer of a murdered cop is next level. You have a homeless African American girl charged with his murder, and all the evidence is against you. The odds aren’t in her favor. And I’m sure I don’t have to warn you about what’s to come. Just… keep things quiet.”

  “I can’t do that, Pradesh.”

  “I thought that would be your answer.” The prosecutor sighed, shaking his head, before looking around at all the people snarling at the defense lawyer as they walked past. “But if you don’t keep your head down, then I can guarantee that every cop in this city is about to make your life a living hell.”

  Chapter 3

  Nina Aisha sat on the edge of the lower bunk bed, legs dangling over the side.

  It was firm, almost like concrete, but it was a bed, at least. Comfortable enough to lay on, although she hadn’t slept much in the past few days. She enjoyed the pillow the most. Although it was lumpy, although it was old, she thought it was pure luxury. There were many times in her life when a used towel was the most comfortable item she could find to rest her head on.

  Winters were always the worst. She feared when the leaves started to change, when the days started to shorten, when the morning air started to chill her lungs. Those days meant she had to find a place to stay, a way to save herself from freezing to death.

  That meant going to see the men.

  Her body was the only thing she owned, the only thing she truly had, and to sell it for a bed was soul crushing, but it was better than facing the frozen streets, better than being exposed in the cold nights of a Chicago winter.

  When she was fifteen, a cop introduced her to Mr. Bishop, a math teacher at a different school, and she trusted him. He was a respectable man, a person in authority, someone she thought she could believe. She saw the comfort in his life, security in his apartment, the complete opposite of her world. That he lived alone at fifty-five was the first alarm bell. That he walked around the house naked on the first weekend she stayed there was the second alarm bell. Those nights, those long nights when he did whatever he wanted, were the worse. They were the ones that almost broke her.

  But if there was one thing she had learned, one thing that she knew, it was to fight, to never give up, never let the terrors get to her. Being passed from foster family to foster family for more than a decade, she counted twenty homes in total, taught her the ability to adapt.

  “Just going to sit there all day?” Denise Rodman, Nina’s cellmate, looked down at her.

  Nina didn’t respond. The years had taught her to keep her mouth shut.

  Before she was dragged into prison, handcuffed and beaten, she had been told by a friend to trust no one on the inside. It was a dog eat dog world, and those that seemed to be caring, those that seemed to have her interests in mind, were the ones to really watch out for, because as soon as her defenses were down, as soon as they had the chance, they would pounce.

  Her first five days in prison had already been a terrifying experience, especially the cell. There wasn’t much light to speak of, the mold had started growing in the corner, and the smell was overbearing. The walls were cold, not only in color, but in emotion. This was a place painted in despair, desolation and despondency.

  “One of those types, huh?” Denise was African American, in her fifties, and her wide body wobbled as she talked. She had tattoos down one arm, scars on her neck, and a black eye to match. Her black hair was cropped short, her clothes were dirty, and the prison uniform barely fit her frame. At six-foot-one and two-hundred-and-twenty pounds, there weren’t many uniform sizes bigger. “Don’t think I haven’t seen girls like you before.” Denise moved next to her, the firm mattress sinking under her weight. “I’ve seen lots of girls just like you in here. Your type comes and goes all the time. Let me guess, Daddy abused you?”

  “Didn’t know my dad. He died when I was young.”

  “Oh, would you look at that—the girl can talk!” She laughed, and her entire body shook. She stood up leaning over the top of Nina, showing her dominance, her arm resting on the bunk above. “I didn’t know my dad either. Mom died when I was twelve, been in and out of places like this ever since.”

  “My mom died on the same day as my father. So did my brother.”

  “What of?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody ever told me.”

  Denise stared at Nina. The girl was beautiful, no doubt about that, but pain was etched on her face. Her dirty black hair, her green eyes, her smooth skin. If she was cleaned up, she could have that sweet cheerleader look. She was the perfect candidate for a Hollywood make-over movie, the sort where the pretty girls take her under their wing.

  “What’d they get you for?” Denise’s voice calmed. She didn’t often get to show her caring side anymore. When they took her children away from her, she stopped trying to care, stopped trying to feel, but there was something maternal that she was always drawn back to.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Murder.”

  “Well, the first time they locked me up, I didn’t do it either.” Denise shook her head. “They got me for breaking and entering. The second time was me, I was guilty, and the third time, they said I stole a car, but I didn’t do it. This time though, I
did it. Stabbed my boyfriend right through the stomach, but I’m pleading self-defense. He should’ve died, but somehow that abusive bastard survived. Lucky for me, it’s assault and nothing more.” She rolled her tongue around her mouth. “Who do they reckon you killed?”

  “A cop.”

  “Ha!” She slapped her leg. “Good on you. One less for us to worry about. When’s the trial?”

  “Soon.”

  “Don’t say much, eh?”

  Nina nodded.

  In truth, she wanted to say so much. She wanted to tell Denise about her last two years in and out of youth shelters, how she had no family, how she trusted no one. How she still had the picture of her mother in her pocket—her only possession of any worth—how she still remembered how her mother held her, how she still heard her voice at night.

  But she had learned to keep her mouth shut.

  “Well, little lady, stay close to me. There are dangerous things in here. You’ll see things that you never thought you’d see, but if you stay close to me, I’ll look after you in here.”

  “Really?”

  “Just stay close. If you’re a cop killer, then there’ll be people after you. Don’t even trust the guards. Those cops will want to make you pay, and they have the power to do it.” She reached out and held Nina’s hand, gripping it tight. “I won’t let them do to you what they did to me.”

  Nina looked up; optimism stretched across her face.

  For the first time in a long time, she had met someone she could trust.

  Maybe.

  Chapter 4

  Sitting in the small meeting room, surrounded by unsympathetic concrete walls, almost close enough to feel like they were closing in on him, Tex Hunter stared at the young woman for an extended period. Nina Aisha flinched under the stare, not because she was guilty, not because she had something to fear, but because nerves filled her entire body. Growing up without a stable home could do that to a young woman.

  Upon request, the assigned public defender, Eliza Lang, threw the case to Hunter, no questions asked. She had enough on her plate, more than enough criminal cases to review before adding the case of a homeless street kid to her pile. She was happy to file all the paperwork to move the case across to a defense lawyer who offered to take it off her hands.

  Hunter had met with Nina Aisha twice already, although briefly, and the newspapers had run with the headlines, however, this was the first time they could sit down and discuss the best way to move forward.

  “I’m doing this case pro-bono, which means that I’ve taken on your case for free.” Hunter sat in the prison meeting room, elbows on the table. The prison meeting room was cramped, space was at a premium, and the air was stuffy. There were no windows, only one door, and not much air flow to speak of.

  The confidential meeting place felt empty—not empty in the sense that the table and two chairs didn’t fill the room, they did, but empty in the sense that this was a place without hope, without faith, and without any optimism for the future.

  “What makes you a better person than the last one? She seemed nice.”

  “I’m not a better person, not by any stretch of the imagination. Eliza Lang is a good woman, a great woman in fact, but she’s also a very busy person. She’s processing more cases at the moment than I usually process in six months. Your case is only one of many, many cases on her desk.” Hunter leaned forward. “Whether or not I’m a good person is not the issue. The issue is what sort of defense I will provide you, and I can tell you that it will be a very, very good defense. Usually, my fees run into the hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

  “Then why do my case for free?”

  He stared at her. “Do you recognize me?”

  She nodded.

  “Sidney McCann was one of the detectives that first arrested my father, he was one of six men that put him away for the murder of eight girls. I stood in my living room, at ten years old, and watched those six detectives punch my father repeatedly, blood pouring from my father’s nose, before McCann put the handcuffs on him. That image, that picture of my father being beaten ferociously, has never left me. Nor has the name Sidney McCann.”

  She nodded again.

  According to her file, Nina Aisha had an American mother and a Nigerian-born father. They had died when she was three-years-old, along with her older brother. The report didn’t mention how they died, only that she was put into the system as an orphan. There was a large burn mark on her left shoulder, and the first photo in the file, at five years old, showed she had large features, but after she hit her teenage years, she had grown into them.

  The girl was skinny, only two months past her eighteenth birthday, and despite her light black skin, she had freckles on her face. There was no doubt the girl was attractive and growing up in the system didn’t change that.

  “What makes this case harder than most is that Sidney McCann was a retired cop. Now, he wasn’t a nice guy, not by any stretch of the imagination, and he was the most corrupt cop that you will find. But that doesn’t mean anything to the other men and women in uniform now. They’re a family, and they’ll protect their own. I never liked McCann, not many people did, but there still could be a conflict of interest if challenged, due to my father’s arrest. I need you to sign this wavier, if I’m going to represent you.”

  She stared at the piece of paper that was slid across to her. There were five pages in front of her. She read the pages quickly, running her fingers over the lines, but she didn’t take much in. She couldn’t. In the last few days, she had already taken in so much.

  She picked up a pen in her left hand, held it awkwardly, and focused as she etched her name slowly onto the last line on the paper.

  “I need to know everything that you know about this, Nina.” Hunter’s voice was calm. “I want you to close your eyes and take a deep breath. We’ve got time, and I’m here to listen to you. I want to help you, but I need you to be honest about this. Here, with me, is a safe place.”

  “I don’t know where to start.” She took a large breath and exhaled. The tension eased from her shoulders, and the muscles in her face relaxed. She sat still, staring at nothing, but then ran her finger along the edge of the table. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Take your time. I told you this in our first meeting, but I’m going to tell you again, to make sure that you understand.” Hunter tried hard to appear calm. “We’re covered by the attorney-client privilege. This is your privilege to refuse to disclose any confidential communications between you and me. Also, I cannot be compelled to disclose matters conveyed in confidence. Nina, do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’ve read the police file and the report of the murder many times already.” He flicked open the folder in front of him. “And I know what you’ve said to them, here’s the transcript, but I need you to tell me what occurred in your own words. I want to know where you were that night, what happened, and when you were there.”

  “I saw this guy.” She pointed to the photo of the deceased on the first page of Hunter’s file. She stopped and bit her lip. It wasn’t the first dead person she’d seen, but it was the first time she had been accused of murder. “I was in Chinatown, looking for food. I was on the street begging—”

  “Begging?”

  “With my hat out.” She looked at the wall. “I’ve been staying in a shelter, and I haven’t been able to find work. That night,” she drew a long breath. “I hadn’t eaten anything for more than a day. I didn’t have any money and I was hungry. I thought about stealing food… this conversation is covered by the attorney-client privilege, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” Hunter waited. “Go on.”

  “I was begging and this guy gives me a ten, and he talks to me for a bit. He was real nice. Then he leaves and about thirty minutes later, he comes back with a sandwich. Subway. I was wary at first, guys usually want something more, but he was genuinely nice and wanted to help me. It was like he knew me, and it was the
best sandwich I’d ever had. We talked for a while, he said he wanted to leave the world a better place, and he talked about how he was trying to redeem himself for his past sins. Then he started to say sorry.”

  “What was he saying sorry for?”

  “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me, but once he started, he just kept saying sorry. He just kept saying it over and over. He wouldn’t shut-up.” She ran her hand over her dark hair. “And then he called me Antonina.”

  “Antonina?”

  “That’s my full name, but no one ever calls me that. No one. I think the only place it’s recorded is on my school records. Apparently, he knew me, but I didn’t recognize him, so I figured that he must’ve been the one that put Mr. Bishop in contact with me. That’s the only way he could’ve known my full name—he must’ve seen it on the school records. He must’ve referred me to Mr. Bishop.”

  “And who is Mr. Bishop?”

  “He was a teacher.” She crossed her arms across her chest and started to rock back and forth. “He saw me in my math class, and took me out to talk. He knew all about my past, I didn’t have to tell him anything. And I love math, you see, and he was the highest-level math teacher. He was very good at math.”

  She didn’t continue but Hunter waited. He could see the girl needed time to say what she needed to say. After two minutes of silence, Nina worked up the courage to continue.

  “I was staying with a foster parent at the time, and she was horrible to me. Horrible. I wouldn’t get any food for days, her house stunk, and she used to yell so much. She was only looking after me because of the money the state gave her. She had five foster kids, and never gave us anything, despite the state paying her every week.” She blinked back tears. “And then Mr. Bishop offers to take me in, look after me, and feed me, because he says that he can see potential in my math skills. Says I could go to college one day.” She paused again. “I can still go to college, can’t I? Even if I get a criminal record?”