Hand of Justice (Mara Brent Legal Thriller Series Book 3) Read online

  I gave him a noncommittal smile, then gathered my notes and faced the jurors.

  “The defendant, Michael Harvey, stands charged with seven counts of first-degree murder. We allege that Mr. Harvey committed the unlawful, premeditated killing of Christopher Sutter, Jennifer Sutter, their daughter Skylar Sutter, her friend Benjamin Watson, Kevin Sutter, Patricia Sutter, and Mark O’Brien. Based on Detective Cruz’s testimony, that of the medical examiner, and the eyewitness accounts, I ask that you find probable cause and return a true bill on all seven counts. Thank you.”

  The jurors had no more questions for me. I left them to their work.

  Jody Doehler was nowhere as I exited the courtroom. I wanted to remind him not to gossip about what happened here today. Instead, Sam found me.

  “You worried?” he said, smiling.

  “Not in the slightest,” I said. “But Jody needs work before trial.”

  “He’ll be all right,” Sam said. “He’s a good kid. Wants to do the right thing.”

  “Well, he all but admitted hating Mickey. Weaver will use that to discredit him.”

  “She can try,” Sam said. “We’ve got him dead to rights on the phone forensics. The threats to Skylar that two other witnesses heard. The physical evidence …”

  I put my hands up in surrender. “You win!”

  Just then, my phone buzzed with Will’s ringtone. Even Sam knew that one by now. He put a light hand on my arm by way of a goodbye, then left me to take the call.

  “Hey, guy!” I said. I plugged the other ear with my finger and tried to find a quieter space down the hall.

  “Did they get him yet?” Will asked. “Did they indict him? I saw on the news …”

  “Will,” I said. “Remember, you’re supposed to let me worry about this case. You’re on vacation. How was Mount Vernon?”

  “It made me uncomfortable,” he said. “George Washington’s body was right there.”

  “Well, he’s buried, Will,” I said. Though I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d diverted him from the grisly ins and outs of the Sutter Seven. Now, my son spent twenty minutes explaining his theory on the last days of George Washington’s life and how his medical care had likely killed him.

  It was good to hear his voice, though. The familiar rhythms and cadences. His mind worked faster than most. Sometimes too fast. I walked the two blocks back to my office as Will explained the brief history of bloodletting. I waved hello to Caro as I passed her desk, phone still to my ear. She laughed quietly, knowing who was on the other end.

  I kicked my shoes off and curled my legs under me, sinking into my leather chair as Will segued to the Battle of Yorktown.

  “Dad said he’ll take me,” he said.

  “To the battlefield?” I asked.

  “To a ton of them. There’s a program, a junior archeologist’s thing. It starts in two weeks. Dad thinks he can get me enrolled.”

  I sat up in my chair. Will was due to come home in two weeks. I realized then a large part of this conversation was Will’s way of asking me a question that made him uncomfortable.

  “You’d have to stay in D.C. until August,” I said.

  “August 27th,” he said.

  “Is that what you want, buddy?” I asked.

  “I miss you,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “I miss you too. But if you’re having fun …”

  “Aunt Kat said she’d call you. I said I wanted to talk to you myself.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said. “Honey, we’re all still figuring this out as we go. I’m so proud of you.”

  “I think it’ll be okay,” he said. “I don’t have an appointment with Dr. Paul until September. I have enough medication refills until then. Registration for next school year is on the 28th. Open house is the 31st.”

  “Sounds like you’ve done some planning,” I said. I knew it was more than that. Will could probably tell me the school holidays and half days all the way through high school. He was just about to enter the fifth grade.

  “I have summer reading,” he said. “But there’s a library near Dad’s office.”

  “It’s okay, Will,” I said.

  “You have to pay the summer tax bill,” he said. “When you paid the mortgage, they won’t keep that in escrow anymore.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s due September 14th. I marked it on the calendar.”

  “Take it to the township,” he said. “If you pay it online, they charge you a fee.”

  “Good to know,” I said, my heart full to bursting. “I’ll be fine, buddy. I’m going to miss you like crazy. But if you’re having fun. If you have a plan …”

  “Dad wants to talk to you,” he said.

  “I’m sure he does. I’ll call him later tonight.”

  Then Will moved to moon rocks. Jason had taken him to the Air and Space Museum six times already.

  The phone call lasted for more than an hour. I shut my office door and finished some motions after that. At almost five o’clock on the dot, Kenya knocked and let herself in.

  “They’re back already,” she said, holding a piece of paper in her hand. “The court clerk called, but we didn’t want to interrupt. Caro said Will called.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “He’s going to stay in D.C. a few weeks longer.”

  Kenya’s face fell. “You okay with that?”

  “Oh, I hate it. I miss him like crazy. But he’s doing great and I love him.”

  “Me too.” She winked, stepping further into my office. “Grand jury indicted. Seven counts. First degree. We’ve got a ballgame, Mara.”

  She put the indictment on my desk.

  “Trial in early November,” she said. “It’s gonna come up fast.”

  I read the victims’ names again off the indictment. Christopher Sutter. Jennifer Sutter. Skylar Sutter. Ben Watson. Kevin Sutter. Patty Sutter. Mark O'Brien.

  “The full slate, Mara,” Kenya said. “Death penalty.”

  I nodded. “Have Caro get Elise Weaver on the phone. No plea deals.”

  Kenya slapped her palm against the door frame. “Take that, Weaver the Cleaver. We’re going to have to start calling you Brent the ... uh ... Torment?”

  “Needs work,” I said, not looking up from the note I was writing.

  “Gimme time,” Kenya said, laughing as she shut the door behind her.

  18

  Summer without Will felt strange. I’d never noticed how big my house was. It echoed. I missed his footsteps over my head in the spare room he used to build his Lego sets. I missed hearing constant chatter and random observations. Will-isms, Kat called them. Like his out-of-the blue comment when some political cartoonist drew a map, making it look like Michigan’s Upper Peninsula belonged to Canada or Wisconsin. His teachers told me he rarely talked in school. Jason and I always felt he made up for it at home. It could be exhausting and delightful all at once.

  Our nightly FaceTime helped a bit, but Will was usually distracted. He was better when he could talk to me while doing a dozen other things. When forced to sit there one on one, he got uncomfortable.

  The Sutter trial prep kept me busy, of course. I had virtually no communication with Elise Weaver since the grand jury indictment. She’d left an associate in town and left, promising to move back to Waynetown the month before trial.

  In late August, two days before Will was set to return, I finally got Ben Watson’s family to meet with me. They put their house up for sale a few days after Ben’s funeral. I’d heard they were staying with a family in North Carolina. When they came back to close on their house, I got a tip from the realtor. They weren’t happy about it, but the threat of a subpoena can work magic with some. We met at my office.

  Gina Watson had eighties hair, parted down the middle and feathered. Ben Sr. was thickly bearded, wearing a flannel shirt and work boots. Today was a working day for them. They told me several times about the moving truck they had to meet at the Stow-N-Go they rented off I-75.

  “You’re not putting eith
er of us on the stand, are you?” Gina said, panic in her eyes.

  “I haven’t decided that yet,” I said. “There were just a few things I wanted to clear up with you. Also answer any questions you have about the trial process. It can be daunting. My office will of course arrange for you to have a liaison available. If it comes to it, you’ll be allowed to present victim impact statements to the judge.”

  “I can’t do that,” Gina blurted. “I can’t get up in front of all those people and tell them things that are personal. Ben was my son. He was murdered. How do they think it’s impacted me?”

  “We can cross that bridge when we get to it,” I said. “And you will not be asked to speak if you’re uncomfortable. It’s completely understandable if you don’t want to.”

  “He did this?” Ben asked. “This Mickey Harvey? You’re sure?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “But what I wanted to prepare you for is one of the reasons why. At least, our theory.”

  “Are they gonna blame Benny?” Gina said. “He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Mr. Harvey’s defense lawyer is going to be very aggressive,” I said. “She may call one of you to testify.”

  “For him?” Ben said. “For the guy that killed Benny? What could she probably ask us?”

  “Well, I can go over that with you a little today. It’s kind of why I wanted to meet. So you’d know what to expect.”

  “Please,” Ben said. “I’m dying to hear this.”

  “Well, were Ben and Skylar Sutter close friends?”

  “Sure,” Gina said. “They met at school. College. Not high school. Benny went to private school.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Would you say they were best friends?”

  “He talked to her all the time,” Ben Sr. said. “She came to the house. They studied.”

  “What I think ... that is, what we assume Mickey’s lawyer is going to say, is that Mickey had the wrong idea about Skylar’s relationship with your son.”

  “What kind of idea?” Gina asked.

  “She means were they dating,” Ben said. “Did Skylar’s piece-of-crap boyfriend kill her and Benny because he thought they were sleeping together?”

  “Well,” I said. “In a nutshell, yes.”

  “What difference could that possibly make!” Gina cried.

  “I’m trying to put Mickey away for first-degree murder,” I said. “If the jury can be convinced Mickey acted out of the heat of passion, as they say, they might go for a lesser charge. Second-degree murder. That’s why I’m certain his lawyer is going to go down that route. It’s pretty much a textbook defense tactic. So, I need you to know it’s coming.”

  “I appreciate that,” Gina said.

  Ben Sr. kept a harder look in his eyes. “And you have to prove she’s wrong,” he said.

  “I do, yes,” I said.

  “Good!” Gina said.

  “Gina,” Ben said, exasperated. “What this lady is telling us is that she’s going to have to air Ben’s business in court. She’s gonna ask one of us to tell the jury that Benny was ... that he didn’t go for girls. So they understand Benny and Sky Sutter weren’t dating.”

  “You’re going to make us look bad.” Gina nearly screamed it.

  “What? No,” I said.

  “Gina, calm down,” her husband cautioned.

  “You think we kicked him out?” Gina said.

  “I think no such thing,” I said. “I know family is complicated.”

  “Gina,” Ben said. “I think I can handle this. Why don’t you go wait in the car?”

  She got up. She didn’t utter a word of protest. Gina Watson merely turned on her heel and marched out of my office, leaving me alone with Ben Sr.

  His nostrils flared as he let out a breath.

  “She’s not handling things well,” he said.

  “I understand, Mr. Watson. I cannot begin to imagine …”

  “Our son’s sexuality wasn’t an issue for us at all,” he said. “So if someone’s telling you otherwise, they’re wrong. Sure, we struggled at first. Mostly out of worry. People are brutal in this world. We wanted to know that he could take care of himself. That he’d be okay …”

  His voice broke on the last word. Then Ben Watson buried his face in his hands and began to cry. I realized then it’s why he sent his wife away. And why she went. They could barely handle their own emotions. They weren’t able to comfort each other. Not yet.

  I reached for the box of tissues I kept on my desk and moved it closer to him.

  “Take your time,” I said. “Can I get you anything? If you need a minute …”

  Ben put a hand up. He took a tissue, wiped his eyes and righted himself.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “It just hits you sometimes. A wallop. It takes your breath from you.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Mickey Harvey knew Ben was gay. But not everyone did. So if he or his lawyer are trying to say Mickey was jealous my Benny and Skylar Sutter were dating, he’s lying. Mickey was a bigot, just like his old man.”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “I’ve witnessed a little of that firsthand with Ed Harvey.”

  “A bigot and a cheat,” Ben went on. “I’m not ashamed of my son. But he wasn’t out to everybody. He was still on that journey. So it’s not that I care who knows about it. It’s that I knew Benny wasn’t ready to tell everybody. I know he’s gone. It’s just hard not to feel like I’ve still got to protect him.”

  “Yes,” I said. “My son is still young. Only ten. But I imagine I’ll feel the need to take care of him as long as I live. I think that doesn’t go away.”

  “I’ve heard that line. You know the one. Where there’s a word if you lose your spouse. You’re a widow. There’s a word if you lose your parents. You’re an orphan. But there isn’t a word for when you lose your kids. I think that’s because it’s unspeakable.”

  I could offer him no other comfort besides a nod. The depth of Ben Watson’s grief clawed at him. And at me.

  “I need to ask you. Elise Weaver might, if she calls you to the stand …”

  “You want to know why Ben was living with Sky at the end,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “He was twenty-three years old, Ms. Brent. I didn’t kick my son out of my house. Is that what somebody else said?”

  I felt protective of Luke Sutter too. I didn’t need either of them confronting each other over what might have been a misunderstanding. It would likely all come out.

  “It is,” I said.

  “One of the Sutters, I take it,” he said. “Chris and Jenny were sooo big-hearted. Taking my kid in when his redneck family couldn’t deal. Is that the line of crap they’re peddling?”

  This was bad. At the same time, I could almost understand it. No matter the why, this man’s son was dead simply because he was in the orbit of Skylar Sutter and her family.

  “It’s a bunch of petty BS is what it is,” he said. “The Sutters brought this on themselves. I told you, Ed Harvey and that kid ... they’re worthless oxygen thieves. But this is about money. Some old Sutter grandpa ticked off some old Harvey grandpa and now they can’t get along even to this day. They had to make a big damn deal about Skylar dating that boy. I wouldn’t have been happy either, but any fool could see the more they pushed, the more she wanted to be with him. Then when he started beating on her, they did nothing. They didn’t help her.”

  “Mr. Watson, did Ben ever tell you if he witnessed violence between Skylar and Mickey? Was he afraid for her?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But she was no better than her parents. Always flaunting what she had that Ben didn’t. Fancy car. Fancy clothes. I got laid off last year. I was trying to help put Benny through school, but it got tough. So the Sutters swooped in. He enjoyed being there over being at our place because they had air conditioning. He said it was quieter. That’s why he moved out.”

  “Okay,” I said. “And thank you for telling me that. I hate that I have to pry. And I hate that it m
ight at times feel like your son is the one on trial. I’ll do what I can to keep that from happening.”

  “I get it,” he said. “And I get you don’t want me airing my dirty laundry about the Sutters in front of the jury.”

  “I only want you to answer the questions you’re asked ... if you’re asked them ... truthfully.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “The truth. Sure. You make that S.O.B. Mickey Harvey fry for this. I’m counting on you. I’ll do my part if I’m asked. So will Gina. But you mark my words, those aren’t quality people out there on that farm. The town thinks they’re damn martyrs now. It makes me sick. But if I gotta go along with it to make sure my kid’s murderer gets the needle, you can be damn sure I will.”

  As he got up, I had a sense of déjà vu. Ben Watson Sr. seemed to hate the Sutters as much as Dev Francis, Patty Sutter’s daughter, did. I just hoped the pair of them could keep their anger in check. If Elise Weaver caught wind of it, she’d use it to skewer them all.

  19

  Three days before the start of the school year, I had my boy home. I made things as normal as I could for him. Big transitions, too much fanfare, and he would retreat into himself. So, to commemorate his homecoming, we simply did the normal thing we always did the weekend before his first day of school. We went to the clothing store near the mall that sold the only pair of pants he liked. Track pants with two stripes down the side. Elastic, not drawstrings. A thin layer of fleece on the inside. I could count on him to go up exactly one size each year so far.

  He picked a black pair of pants with a red stripe, a blue pair with a white stripe, and a gray pair with a black stripe. I bought two of each and we were off to the shirts.

  “I missed you,” I said as he was looking through a stack of v-neck tees. We couldn’t have tags. If I left it up to him, he’d get all blue ones, regardless if they matched the pants.

  “I missed you too, Mama,” he said. I held up two fingers as he picked the blue one he liked the best.