Tattered Justice

By John Foxjohn

A District Attorney's political motives rush a high profile murder case to trial.

Kayla Nugent, a Houston criminal defense attorney, knows money can buy many things—but it can't buy love or friendship, and it shouldn't buy justice.

When a best-selling romance author is murdered, the DA charges Kayla’s former best friend with the murder. The decision forces Kayla to face a past that ripped her life to shreds, and defend the one person she’d rather see in jail.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Foxjohn
• Release date: Jun 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301960507

John Foxjohn

The Pineywoods of East Texas have produced many things, including award winning and best-selling author John Foxjohn. Known as the master of pace, Foxjohn is considered a rising star in publishing. Not only has Foxjohn published books in six different genres, but three different ones have become best-sellers. In 2014, Foxjohn's romantic suspense, Law of Silence, received the prestigious WMP Award of Excellence for the best book of 2014. Despite the book sales and accolades, Foxjohn says, "I'm just a country boy at heart. "I was born and raised so far back in the woods that they had to pump sunshine to us." With little to do but hunt and fish, Foxjohn's environment created an atmosphere that fostered imagination and dreams, something he would excel at. At the tender age of seventeen, he quit high school and joined the army. Foxjohn's six years would see him graduate from jump school, Ranger school, and become the youngest sergeant in peacetime army. A tour of Viet Nam and Germany highlighted an extremely successful stint for Foxjohn. After an honorable discharge, Foxjohn followed that up with ten years in law enforcement, including a long tour as a homicide detective. Fulfilling a promise to his dying mother, Foxjohn graduated from college and began a new adventure of teaching and coaching football. Foxjohn had another of his childhood dreams left to accomplish. When he was twelve, he read a book about Crazy Horse. He said then that one day he would write a book about the fabled Lakota war chief. After retiring, Foxjohn became a writer, and the first book he wrote was an historical fiction titled The People's Warrior: a book about Crazy Horse. Today Foxjohn spends an enormous amount of time traveling in Texas and across the country, signing books and talking and teaching writing groups about the craft of writing.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Michelle McCrery’s fingers choked the life out of the phone. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her lips trembled. Please don’t do this. Please.

She jumped when her grandfather clock chimed. The New York accent on the other end of the line resounded in her head like an echo. Michelle, we have to. You simply can’t let this woman get away with this. We won’t let her get away with it.

With her body trembling, Michelle rose and stumbled toward the window. Darkness greeted her.

Are you there? the voice of Stephanie Pate, Michelle’s editor, asked.

Michelle gulped and nodded. When Stephanie asked the question again, Michelle realized she hadn’t answered. Please. You don’t know what this woman’s capable of. If you go forward with this lawsuit, there’s no telling what she’ll do.

If you’re afraid, we’ll get a restraining order against her.

Michelle blundered back to the chair behind her desk and collapsed. Her fingers tightened on the phone. She wanted to shout, but couldn’t. She caught her breath as a board downstairs creaked. What was that? she managed to mutter into the phone.

What was what? Michelle, tell me what’s going on there.

Chills surged up Michelle’s back. I thought I heard something downstairs.

Michelle, get a grip on yourself. You’re scared. That’s all it is. We served her today with the papers. The lawsuit is out of your hands. Even if I wanted to let this go, the publisher would not.

The stairs creaked and Michelle forgot the conversation. Someone was in her house. She sank lower in her seat. Stephanie was speaking on the phone, and she tried to respond, but the noise continued upward. Her throat constricted as if someone choked her. She couldn’t respond.

Stephanie Pate, senior editor for Durst and Dunlap Publishing in New York, sprang from her seat, phone in her left hand. Michelle. What’s going on there? Answer me.

Michelle didn’t answer, only her labored breathing.

Michelle. As she paced the floor in her office, a weak voice on the other end asked, Loren, is that you? Why are you in my house?

An explosion made Stephanie drop the phone.

***

Kayla Nugent’s buzzing phone didn’t surprise her, but she hadn’t expected it this soon. She sucked in the vanilla scent of her office but it didn’t help. Moments passed before she picked the phone up. Edward Harken’s voice on the other end also didn’t surprise her. His words did. Taylor McMasters wants you in his office in ten minutes.

The phone died with a click. No other words—short, simple and to the point, the end of the conversation and her career. She hadn’t known what to expect, but hadn’t thought she would 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 fought back tears. She’d failed her father as a daughter and now as an attorney. She touched the Deason trial transcript, but didn’t bother to open it. She’d read over it and 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 it 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 the eight 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 on two occasions—hiring them and firing them.

When she exited the elevator on the sixth floor, everything appeared the same—a large reception area covered with navy carpet, comfortable chairs, pictures lining the walls, a desk occupied by a secretary, and four offices with the solid oak doors closed.

Kayla adjusted her beige jacket over her white blouse. She took a deep breath and stood straight. Her pulse throbbed at the temples and her hands shook, but she’d not give them the satisfaction of begging or groveling. She didn’t know what she’d do from this point on in her life, had never considered that they would fire her, but she’d 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 in the office 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 clouded. 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 lost your first case.

She didn’t know if he’d asked a question or made a statement, and nodded. What was this? Were they planning to crucify her before they fired her? She wished they’d just get it over.

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’s 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 face Bedford. 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’ve known.

Her head snapped up. Sir, I would have known. 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 puffed on his cigar and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. Why do you think we hired you at this firm?

His question threw her for a loop. 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. Jarred Nugent and I go way back, and I considered him a close 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. Couldn’t they just get it over with?

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’re 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’s the client?

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 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 cheating 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.

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 don’t have time for chit-chat. I need you in Houston in five hours.

Five hours. Something must be bad wrong. Estes had never done this and he didn’t he believe he could get to Houston in five hours. He needed the money and sure hated to lose this one. 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 had decided to work for him.

She’d become the mother he never had, even though at times, it was a pain in the butt.

She had his coat waiting for him when he hurried out. We need to hurry, she said as he shrugged his arms in 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 is up.

He nodded as he swerved to avoid a car that changed lanes in front of him and slowed down. Must be. He pays well, though.

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 about a good woman.

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.

***

When Kayla 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 bitch in five years and didn’t want to now.

Her stomach turned 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 b—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. He doesn’t like her choice, but his daughter gets what she wants.

Mc Masters took out another cigar and lit it. Again, smoke rose as he sucked to get it going.

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

McMasters jabbed his cigar out—looked at it in the ashtray and jerked his head up. Dammit young lady. Do you know how much those cigars cost me and you keep making me put them out.

She would have smiled under normal circumstances, but these weren’t normal. She could not defend this woman.

Bedford said, 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. Any judge 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 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, plodding toward the door. McMasters stopped her with her hand on the doorknob. One last thing.

She turned to face him.

Don’t screw this up.

Chapter 2

When someone shook his shoulder, Darren’s eyes popped open. The co-pilot stood over him frowning. We’ve landed and Mr. Estes’ limo is waiting for you.

Rubbing the sleep out, he sucked in the lavender scent on the plane, He couldn’t believe he’d slept through the landing. He rose and stretched his back. It wouldn’t be in his best interest to keep Estes waiting. He didn’t like the pompous ass, but he did like his money. At this point in his life, he didn’t have a choice. The co-pilot spun away and strode toward the exit without a backward glance.

Humid heat blasted Darren as he trooped down the plane’s carpeted stairs. He removed his coat, flopped it over his arm, and trudged to the waiting car. The decked-out driver, who held the door open, let his gaze travel over Darren’s rumpled clothes with a disapproving scowl, but never said a word.

Darren could care less what the driver—or Estes, for that matter—thought of his clothes. He did what Estes commanded—arrived in five hours. It ate deep in his marrow that he had regressed so far to let people like Estes order him around—be at their command.

When his cell phone rang, he checked the caller ID and his heart sank. He closed his eyes for a moment before answering the phone. How are you, Bub?

Kevin, his son, said, I’m okay. Where are you?

He remembered his son’s baseball game and his heart sank lower. I’m in Houston. Just arrived on a case.

The voice on the other end, barely audible, asked, You won’t make it tomorrow, will you?

Although Kevin didn’t say again, he meant it, stabbing at Darren’s conscience even more. His son’s tone emphasized that he had not only failed as a man, but as a father, too.

When they hung up, he stared at the phone for a long time with Kevin’s last words ringing in his head. At least Michael will be there.

His son didn’t purposely throw up his stepfather’s involvement in the boy’s life, but his words accomplished the goal regardless. Darren had to fight the jealousy that eroded his insides because he couldn’t give his son what the stepfather did in material possessions or emotional support. He loved Kevin with all his heart and wanted things to be different.

Could he find a flight back to Chicago and his son—make it back in time for the baseball game? He could, but at the same time, couldn’t. He was a slave to Estes and his money. He told himself he’d make it up to Kevin, but he also reminded himself of all the other times he’d said the same thing.

He put his cell phone back in his pocket when the limo pulled into a private parking garage in downtown Houston. Darren didn’t even know where he was.

The driver hustled around, flinging open the door. Mr. Estes and his party are waiting in the main conference room on the fifth floor. Sir, I’d suggest you not keep them waiting.

He heard the threat in this statement but didn’t know why. Hadn’t he dropped every damn thing and rushed here dressed like a vagabond?

He bit back a retort. It wasn’t the driver’s fault. The man was a slave same as him.

***

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—if she had to go into court and defend it. Her father could have, but not her.

Even if she had the experience, she wasn’t objective enough to handle it. Attorneys couldn’t afford to let personal feelings get in their way. They had to defend their client with everything in their soul. Her father had said that many times. 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 a shocked expression when Kayla passed her desk. She opened her door, but stopped. Someone, probably Sarah Jane, had shoved all her pictures and diplomas that had hung on the wall into boxes. Kayla didn’t blame her. In Sarah Jane’s shoes, she’d have done the same thing. She should get Sarah to put the boxes in the corner—no need to unpack. They hadn’t fired her—yet.

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 took a deep breath. She needed to know how the police was planning 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 and entered. Kayla, I’m so sorry. I’ll get everything back in order.

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

Sarah nodded. Think it’ll be James Satterwhite?

Kayla massaged her temples. More than likely. He’s the big gun they bring out on these type 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.

Anger rose in her. Why don’t you have a seat?

Hughes ignored her jab and straightened his Armani. I wanted to tell you that everyone knows what’s going on. I know you’re going to ask me to assist you, but before you do, don’t. I won’t be your flunky. They should have assigned me to this. They will, too—when you fall on your face. You are way out of your league.

Stunned at his arrogance, she couldn’t speak. By the time she found her voice, he rose and marched out, closing the door behind him. He left her with words she wanted to say, should say, but she didn’t act fast enough. Deep down, she knew she would have taken it, anyway. He was right. She was out of her league, and if he wanted to deal with Loren Estes, she’d gladly turn that woman over to him.

Sarah Jane eased back in. James Satterwhite is the lead investigator and he said he’d be in his office in about an hour.

Kayla nodded. Would you see if Marvin Bank is busy? If he isn’t, I’d like to speak with him.

Sarah frowned. You’d like to speak with him now?

Kayla glanced up. Yes, please. She wished her father was still alive, could give her some advice on this one, but he’d say, What are your alternatives? That was what he always said. But her alternatives were bleak.

Marvin Bank interrupted her thoughts and closed the door when she asked him to have a seat. Quiet and unassuming, his appearance was opposite that of most of the attorneys in the firm. Great with paperwork and research, a good legal mind, and good at reading people, but he didn’t handle himself well in the courtroom. The partners had stopped assigning him as lead council except for mundane cases.

He stared at the floor, but spoke first. I know why you wanted to see me and I’ll help you any way I can. He looked up. John Shearson would be good to assist you. Also, Lance Murphy.

Kayla steepled her fingers. Did you think I asked you in here for a recommendation on whom to assist me?

He tilted his head and used a finger to lift his sagging glasses. You didn’t?

Kayla rose and glided around the desk, sitting on the corner, smoothing her skirt. No, I didn’t. I asked you in here because I’d like you to assist me.

His eyes widened and he pointed at himself. Me? He said it like that was the most foreign thing he could think of. You want me to assist you? Why?

You and I can work together without our egos getting in the way, and I respect your judgment. If this goes to trial—I don’t know yet what the police have or if there’ll be charges filed—I’ll need your help on jury selection.

Where do you want me to start?

I’m going to the police department to speak to the lead investigator. See what you can find on Michelle McCrery.

***

An hour later, Kayla knocked on James Satterwhite’s office door. When she entered, he reclined behind his desk looking at photos. He glanced up, put the photos in an envelope and indicated for her to have a seat.

Large and rawboned, ruggedly handsome, Satterwhite exuded confidence. Most people considered him the best investigator on HPD and that was the reason they assigned him difficult or high profile cases. They’d met the first time five years ago when he investigated her ex-husband’s suicide. She knew from that experience and what she’d heard since then that he did a thorough job of investigating.

He leaned forward in his chair. I assume you will be representing Loren Estes.

His tone surprised her. Their conversations had always had mutual respect and professional demeanor, but now, he seemed almost hostile. Yes, if there’s anything to represent, I’ll handle it. Have you spoken with Ms. Estes yet?

Nope. She lawyered up the moment we tried.

Kayla took a deep breath. At least Loren did that right, but something wasn’t right here. I hope we can keep it that way. I don’t want her talking to anyone unless I’m present. Please respect that.

He smirked. Oh, we will, but I think she’ll get her chance.

Surely, you don’t suspect Ms. Estes of this murder?

He slid open a drawer and propped his