The verdict, p.1
The Verdict, page 1
THE VERDICT
Mitch Turner Legal Thrillers #4
DAN DECKER
Grim Archer Media
Copyright © 2022 by Daniel A. Decker.
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Published by Grim Archer Media, a publishing imprint of Xander Revolutions LC.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For my family.
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The Killer's Club
Free Short Story
Books by Dan Decker
Author’s Note
About the Author
1
My watch vibrated, indicating that I’d just received a text message. I’d been expecting a text from somebody else, so I was surprised it was a message from Barbara Sampson, my ex-girlfriend.
“Mitch, you have a second?”
I was so overcome with the satisfaction of successfully wrapping up my most recent case, the trial of Candy Carlisle, that it didn’t immediately occur to me to wonder what Barbara wanted.
I responded back. “Sure.”
Has she finally dumped that slimeball Thomas Guyton? I wondered.
A group of nearby reporters was heading toward me. I turned away because I wasn’t in the mood to speak with them.
“Can you come?” Barbara included an address I didn’t recognize in her message.
I frowned as I studied the address, wondering where it was.
“I’ll be right there.”
“Hurry.”
My pulse started pounding when I thought about her stalker.
I increased my pace.
It took me a moment to remember the man’s name.
I’d learned it from Detective Stephanie Gray but had never done anything with it because my law partner Veronica had handled the restraining order.
Clyde Montague.
Was Montague at it again?
Barbara was still on speed dial in my car, so I tried calling as soon as I got inside, but she didn’t answer.
I sped through the busy streets of Chicago, headed toward the address she’d given me, pushing the maneuverability of my Porsche as I spun around a turn and floored the gas while keeping a lookout for cops. I gave it a couple of minutes and then tried calling again.
She still didn’t pick up.
“Why’d she reach out, Mitch?” I asked as I parked at the address she’d given me.
It was an apartment building, but it was not her apartment building.
A fresh wave of concern rushed over me.
Perhaps if she’d texted me at a different moment, I might have immediately recognized the urgency of her message. The one consolation I had was that it hadn’t taken me long to figure out she might be in trouble.
I’d thought she’d sent me the address of a restaurant or someplace like that.
I hadn’t expected an apartment building. I considered calling her again but figured she might not pick up.
“I’m here,” I texted. “Where are you?”
Her response was immediate.
“I’m on the eighth floor. Room 813. I have to buzz you in at the door downstairs.”
I soon stood at the front door, buzzing room 813.
I expected Barbara to say something, but she didn’t. She just released the locking mechanism, allowing me to enter the building.
I usually preferred to take the stairs whenever I could, so I didn’t even think about it when I came to a stairwell and rushed up. It wasn’t until I was on the sixth floor landing that I realized taking the elevator might have been faster. I was sprinting up the stairs, so perhaps it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. I wasn’t yet winded, and the adrenaline pumping through my veins could only help. I just had two more levels to go, so I didn’t bother to find an elevator.
I didn’t know what I’d be facing when I got there, but my instincts told me I’d need every faculty at my disposal to deal with whatever was waiting for me on the eighth floor. I was also glad for the physical exertion because my mind was working better than it had all day.
Barbara’s refusal to say anything at the door spoke volumes. Even though I didn’t know what I’d find, I instinctively knew I was walking into a situation for which I was ill-prepared.
What could it be? I wondered, trying to avoid speculation even as my mind took me to impossibly horrible places.
I finally arrived on the eighth-floor landing but stopped before walking out in the hallway.
Something told me that this could change my relationship with Barbara forever. I inhaled deeply, holding it for the count of ten before exhaling.
Everything’s fine. She just wants to get back together. That’s it.
I couldn’t believe the lie.
Something was wrong.
The little I already knew about the situation screamed something terrible had happened. Every footstep down the hallway increased my trepidation. I stopped at door 813 and knocked.
Nobody answered.
I knocked again, checking the number with the text message on my phone to make sure I had the right place.
It’s 813, just like she said.
Barbara opened the door as I reached for the doorbell, letting the chain catch so I could only see her face.
“Mitch.”
Her voice was so quiet it was barely audible. I wouldn’t have known she’d even spoken if I hadn’t seen her lips move.
“Barbara, what’s going on?”
“Something’s happened.” She glanced to either side as if afraid somebody might be eavesdropping on our conversation. I could appreciate her desire for confidentiality.
“Open the door. I’ll come in.”
Barbara shook her head. “You can’t. You can’t get involved… in this.”
My eyes narrowed. “Involved in what?”
Barbara closed her eyes, and she shook her head again. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
“What’s going on, Barbara?”
“It’s Thomas Guyton. He’s dead.”
2
A little tension went out of me. I could understand now why she was so worked up. It was difficult to deal with the loss of a loved one, even if it was Thomas Guyton.
Truth be told, I wasn’t actually surprised something had happened to Thomas.
Bad things happened to drug dealers.
During my work on the Candy Carlisle case, I’d learned her drug distributor was Marc Guyton.
He was a dangerous man. This was why it had taken me so long to get Candy Carlisle to tell the truth about everything that had happened with her and her husband, making it difficult to resolve her case.
Detective Stephanie Gray had arrested Marc Guyton while I was wrapping up the Candy Carlisle trial.
Marc Guyton was now sitting in jail. He wouldn’t get out for a long time. No way would a judge give him bail.
Was Thomas Guyton murdered? I wondered. Was this revenge on me? Does Marc Guyton know I led the police to his door?
“I’m so sorry to hear about that,” I said, assuming she’d just gotten word and was having difficulty dealing with her emotions.
Tears poured down Barbara’s face.
I stepped closer.
Why wouldn’t she open the door so I could comfort her? Surely, she wouldn’t reject a hug from an ex-boyfriend in a time of crisis.
I’d be careful not t
To be fair, I didn’t actually know Thomas Guyton was a drug dealer. I did know he was currently under investigation. I also knew he was related to a drug dealer and that I’d never liked Thomas to begin with.
It wasn’t because he was dating Barbara.
I suspected he was involved in a similar line of work as his cousin, if not the exact same one, because I assumed the drug business ran in the family.
“How did it happen?” I asked, trying to show as much concern and empathy as I could, even though I had difficulty summoning it for the guy himself.
I was sure the guy had it coming.
“I don’t think you understand me,” Barbara said slowly, jerking her head back into the apartment.
There was a very long pause.
“Barbara?”
“It’s here. His body.”
That stopped me cold.
3
“Do you mean he’s had a heart attack?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t what I thought. I was uncertain of how much more I wanted to know. It suddenly felt like a mistake to have come without first making contact on the phone to get more information.
But that was the problem.
I had tried calling her.
She hadn’t answered, so I’d risked a speeding ticket to get here.
On the way over, my instincts had repeatedly told me something horrible had happened to Barbara, cutting through my euphoria at having successfully resolved a case. A part of me had been foolishly relieved to learn it was the death of her boyfriend, assuming Thomas Guyton was dead somewhere other than right on the other side of the door.
Stupid, I thought, figuring something out that should have been obvious from the beginning.
She’s in his apartment right now.
It was a mark of how distracted I was that I hadn’t thought of this until now.
Barbara shook her head. “I went to shower. We just got back from playing tennis. I had someplace I needed to be, so he was letting me get ready here since we were already downtown. I didn’t want to head all the way to my apartment only to turn around again. When I came out, he was… dead.”
“How do you know it’s not a heart attack?” I asked. It wasn’t good that I had to draw this information from her one question at a time.
It told me more than I wanted to know. I was hoping my guess was wrong and that she’d called to request a personal favor, not because she wanted to make use of my professional capabilities.
“He’s been shot, Mitch.”
Barbara’s voice was so quiet I stepped forward to make sure I’d heard her correctly.
“Come again?”
“I’m not repeating it,” she hissed. “You heard me the first time.”
“Are you sure he’s dead?”
She gave me a look. “Positive.”
“Have you called the police?”
Barbara shook her head. “No. It looks bad, Mitch. It looks real bad.”
I took in a deep breath, my thoughts moving faster than they had just a moment before.
I’d expected Barbara might have some difficulty I could help with, most likely something to do with her stalker.
I’d never imagined something like this.
How could Barbara have gotten mixed up in a murder?
It’s because of Thomas Guyton, I thought.
I tried to step out of the emotions I still felt for Barbara to look at the situation as a defense attorney.
Everything I thought I’d known about the situation had suddenly been turned on its head. I didn’t know if Barbara was right to have called me instead of the police, but she had, and now I had to deal with it.
What is the correct approach?
My instincts told me to get Barbara out of there, but I knew that would be wrong.
Barbara couldn’t hide from this.
“Is the murder weapon in there?”
“Yes, it’s beside him on the floor.” She shook her head, her eyes closing in frustration. “I shouldn’t have called, Mitch. How about you forget I ever did? Just leave. I’ll figure it out.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“How many times was he shot?”
Maybe it would be obvious to the police when they showed up that this was a hit, and Barbara would be cleared.
She didn’t respond.
“I’m going to need to know more if I’m going to help you, Barbara.” I took a step closer and opened my mouth to suggest she let me in, but then realized that would be the wrong thing to do.
I wouldn’t have been about to make a mistake like that if I weren’t so emotionally involved with Barbara, I thought chidingly. I’d have to be extra careful with every decision to ensure I didn’t let my own emotions get in the way of common sense.
I didn’t know if Barbara would want me to handle this case for her—it would be foolish to represent her, even if she wanted me to do it—but the last thing I should do was contaminate the crime scene. It was already bad enough that I was out here in the hallway.
“Mitch. Go. I’ll sort this out.”
Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that.
On my way up into the apartment building, I’d noticed security cameras all over the place, something I checked just out of habit, not because I’d expected to find this awaiting me.
That was the first thing the police would check once they learned about Thomas Guyton’s dead body.
There was no way for me to back away.
No, I had to look at the situation as an attorney and had to make the right decisions—
I had to make reasonable decisions.
Whatever that meant.
“Barbara. I’m gonna get you through this, but I need you to listen. I need you to understand why we’re going to do what we’re doing.”
She was crying, and she wasn’t listening.
“We have to call the cops, Barbara.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s the last thing we should do. I don’t even know why I texted you. I came out and saw him on the floor and just panicked. I couldn’t think. I could hardly breathe. I didn’t know what else to do. I texted without thinking. Clearly, that was a mistake.”
“Barbara, we have to think this through. There are cameras all over the place. There is no way to hide your presence. When they discover Thomas Guyton’s body, they’ll also learn you were here. These are two facts we can’t avoid. Since we can’t get around them, we have to work with them. We have to tell your story with these facts.”
There’s also no way to hide my presence, I thought, but didn’t add.
Barbara just stared at me.
“You have to trust me. I’ve had clients in situations like this, and I’ve usually been able to improve things. I can’t promise anything, but we have to take the cards we have and play them the best we can. If we don’t, it will look bad if they charge you for his death.”
I’d intentionally chosen to use the word death instead of murder.
“What am I gonna do, Mitch? I can’t help how this looks. I know I didn’t kill him, but it’s been set up as if I did.”
“There’s a reason you texted me and didn’t call the police. That was your instincts talking. You immediately recognized you could’ve been framed. You knew what they’d say. So you figured you’d try to get ahead of it or at least take control of how the situation unfolds by bringing me into it. That was a good move.”
I didn’t know if it was, but I needed to say something to comfort her.
“But now you’re telling me to call the police?”
I nodded, holding her eyes. “Yes, we have to get in front of this. There’s no way to hide, so we must explain the situation as best we can. You’ll have to tell them the truth.”
I didn’t think she’d have a problem doing this. I’d never thought she was dishonest, but this was a tough situation, and she’d certainly be tempted to hide anything she thought wasn’t favorable.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Barbara asked in a tiny voice. “I thought maybe you could…” She trailed off and didn’t finish what she’d been about to say.
Does she want me to help her just walk away? I wondered.
I recoiled at the thought, though if I were to do it for anybody, I’d do it for her. But I didn’t even consider the notion as I studied her desperate face.
She’s not rational, I thought. I have to remember that. I also need to remember she can be unpredictable when she’s like this.
Tears flowed again, and she looked at me as if I were the only person who could save her. I felt terrible for not telling her what she wanted to hear. It was clear she’d expected that I could get her out of the apartment, hoping to somehow leave this all behind. Or, failing that, she wanted me to do something else.
