Lust for Revenge

By Judith Blevins and Carroll Multz

When a bullet shattered the window of his second story office and lodged in the ceiling above his desk, Corbin Middleton knew being a prosecuting attorney would invite revenge from those he convicted. Those receiving prison sentences had time—much too much time—to consider how they would exact their perceived pound of flesh and even the score.

Follow the riveting story of how dodging fate impacted the life of a man dedicated to seeking truth and justice and what price he paid as champion of the people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BHC Press/Open Window
• Release date: Aug 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386940227

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lust for Revenge

Copyright © 2018 Judith Blevins & Carroll Multz

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by BHC Press

under the Open Window imprint

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018946354

Softcover ISBN: 978-1-947727-69-4

Visit the publisher at:

www.bhcpress.com

Also available in softcover

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This novel is dedicated to:

The unsung heroes—

the champions of the people

and defenders of truth and justice.

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A prosecuting attorney is damned if he doesn’t get a conviction and damned if he does. In previous novels we pointed out that it is a no-win situation for a prosecuting attorney because every time he or she goes to trial one side will be upset with the outcome. If there is no conviction, the victim and his or her family and friends will be on a rant, and if there is, the defendant and his or her family and friends will be on a rant. Ultimately, everyone will want the prosecuting attorney’s head on a platter.

The lust for revenge seems to be more pronounced when there is a conviction and the accused is no longer an accused but a branded criminal. If the sentence includes imprisonment, the convict has nothing but time on his or her hands—time to formulate a plan to avenge the perceived injustice. More often than not the whipping boy is the prosecuting attorney.

Both of us were connected with the criminal justice system for a combined total of almost three quarters of a century. Not all the threats were veiled and many tested our mettle. It is one thing to be threatened personally and still another when the threat is directed at your family. Lust for Revenge is pure fiction including purely contrived persons and events. Even the locations for much of the novel are non-existent parts of Colorado. However, the events are not as farfetched as they seem. Those contemplating a career as a prosecuting attorney may want to rethink their career path after they read Lust for Revenge. Do your job right and you may be ripe for what happened to Corbin Middleton in the novel.

Our special thanks to Gary and Shirley Carr, Margie Vollmer Rabdau, and as always, to BHC Press, for making our novel what it is.

He who seeks vengeance must dig two graves—

one for his enemy and one for himself.

~ Confucius ~

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I IMMEDIATELY DUCK under my desk when a loud bang followed by the shattering of glass convinces me that I’m being shot at. I’m familiar with the ping of a bullet from having been a target while running a grand jury investigating organized crime before coming to Ballard. The slug lodges in the ceiling spraying plaster across the top of my desk. What the hell…?

I’m still under my desk when Reggie Jamison pushes my office door open and rushes in with my secretary, Miranda Erickson, on his heels. Hey, boss, my lead investigator shouts, What the hell was that? You all right?

Stay back! I shout. Looks like someone is using me for target practice. I crawl out from under my desk and make my way through the open door. By now the office is abuzz as a result of all the commotion. After a few moments, when we feel it’s safe, Reggie and I hasten into an adjoining office and look out the window. We watch as a white van hits a parked car in its haste to exit the parking lot. The van then speeds away dragging what appears to be its bumper that no doubt was dislodged in the collision.

I could swear I saw the same van several days ago and again this morning when I came to work, Reggie says. It was parked in the back of the lot facing your windows. At the time I thought it strange that someone would be sitting in the van with the engine running. Guess I should’ve written down the license number or at least have checked it out.

Did you get a look at who was in the van?

The sole occupant was wearing white coveralls and a white baseball-type cap. I assumed he was a painter working on the remodel of the courthouse. I didn’t get a look at his face.

I turn from the window, and call to my secretary, Miranda, get someone from the BPD over here ASAP. Looks like what happened was not an accident and that my office was targeted for some inexplicable reason. I then say to Reggie, There have been some strange things happening at my home this past week that perhaps I should have reported.

● ● ● ● ●

Corbin, Detective Brandon Greenwald says, as he enters the office along with several of the Ballard Police Department (BPD) detectives, hear someone shot out one of your windows. Any idea who might have done it?

Well, I say, as I brush some ceiling plaster from my hair, with our recent grand jury probe, it could be anyone connected with the drug cartel. It may have been done to scare us off or just someone shooting at the pigeons.

Or sitting ducks, Reggie says

As Reggie and I lead Detectives Brandon Greenwald, Terri Brennan and Joe Holland to the crime scene, we are soon joined by Glen Wylie, another of our DA investigators. I overhear him ask Miranda, who is standing in the doorway, Which defense attorney did our boss throw outta the window this time?

Greenwald, check his weapon and administer the breathalyzer on Wylie, I say.

Guess we know he had something other than milk to drink for breakfast, Greenwald replies.

I’m ushered out of my office, and along with the rest of my employees, we wait in the conference room while the detectives process the crime scene. Approximately one-half hour later, Greenwald returns to where we’re waiting holding a plastic bag containing the slug that was retrieved from the ceiling. Looks like a .30-30 caliber weapon was used by the shooter.

In the interim, several more detectives swarm the parking lot surveilling the area and the damaged vehicle which, as it turns out, belongs to one of the court clerks.

When I’m allowed to reenter my office, Jamison and Wylie help me clean up the mess made by the shattered glass.

I’ve called the janitor to find something to cover the window until the glass can be replaced, Miranda says. Do you want to use another office in the interim? she asks.

No, I’ll be all right, I respond. I’ll get to enjoy the autumn breeze without having to go outside.

Greenwald barges into the midst of our sweeping up broken shards of glass. He holds up a plastic evidence bag. The shell casing found in the parking lot confirms the slug came from a .30-30, he says. It was a no-brainer. We used a laser to track the trajectory of the slug through the broken window.

● ● ● ● ●

When the janitor brings in a sheet of plywood to plug the hole in the window, we move back into the conference room where we’re soon joined by Ballard’s chief of police, Earl Dillard. Greenwald stays. Brennan and Holland leave.

Looks like Miranda is going to need a giant fly swatter to beat off the media, Dillard says. The corridor is already swarming with reporters.

And here I thought they were just part of your entourage, I say kiddingly. Our Ballard chiefs of police have a way of making the headlines. In a town of fifty-thousand, give or take a few, our chiefs have become quite the celebrities.

Dillard crosses his arms on the conference table and leans in toward me. Mamma always said, it’s better to be a big duck in a little pond than a little duck in a big pond. Anyway, look who’s talking. Did you arrange the shooting to upstage me?

I wish that were the case, and your mamma is indeed a wise woman—too bad some of her wisdom didn’t rub off on you, I say. Up to now, I’ve taken the whole thing pretty lightly, thinking it was just some nutcase taking potshots at the windows. Drawing the attention of the chief of police and the press corps makes me rethink the situation. Usually, I’m calm during a crisis and only grow nervous after it’s all over.

At least for the moment, Dillard takes the lead. It’s apparent that he’s considering the shooting a serious matter. Greenwald, armed with pen and pad, is poised to take notes. The reality finally sets in; I’m filing an official police report. I shudder when it occurs to me that maybe I was the intended target after all. Then again it shouldn’t come as a surprise that there are a number of people out there who have an axe to grind.

Corbin, where were you when the shot was fired? Dillard asks.

Sitting at my desk working on the Cumberland trial. I instinctively glance in the direction of my office.

Were you anywhere near the window shortly before this happened?

No, I had my office door closed and had been seated at my desk for quite some time before it happened.

You mentioned you were working on the Cumberland case. You don’t suppose Aldo Cumberland had anything to do with the shooting, do you?

Now that you mention it, that thought did cross my mind. Cumberland came by my home the weekend after the grand jury returned its indictment on the racketeering charges. I perceived that visit to be a veiled threat.

Why didn’t you report it? Dillard asks in a scolding manner.

I didn’t want to dignify his covert threats or give him the satisfaction that his visit disturbed me.

Uh-huh. What did he say?

It’s not what he said as much as what he didn’t say. Remember, threats come with the territory. I’ve learned a long time ago not to be thin skinned.

A .30-30 can pierce skin even as tough as yours, Dillard says.

Touché, I counter.

Okay, but what did he say? Before I can respond, Dillard turns to Greenwald, who is feverishly taking notes, and says, Consider this an internal report. When you write it up, make it a barebones reporting of the shooting incident.

Greenwald nods.

Dillard looks at me waiting for a response.

Thanks, Chief. What Aldo Cumberland said was, ‘I’m not a vindictive man but if I were…’ He finished the statement by telling me the times my son and daughter got on the school bus in the morning and the times they returned in the late afternoon.

Obviously, more than a veiled threat.

Exactly! After a moment, I continue, Perhaps I should tell you about some strange happenings on the home front.

Shoot.

Poor choice of words considering the circumstances, wouldn’t you say, Chief?

You make a good point. No pun intended.

This past week our family has been awakened several times by our dog barking. Sparky seldom barks at night and we were perplexed about what was upsetting him. On one occasion, Mona went to the window and looked out. She said she saw some kind of light colored vehicle drive slowly past our house. Mona also said she has had a number of hang-up calls recently—more than usual.

Other than the light color, was she able to describe the vehicle further?

She said it looked like some kind of delivery van.

Like the one that was involved in the hit and run in the courthouse parking lot earlier today?

Similar I would imagine.

Don’t suppose she got the license number, did she?

Said the lights on the van were off and it was so dark outside, she wasn’t even sure what color the van was.

After a moment of silence, Dillard looks at his watch. I have a budget meeting to attend with the city council. I’d better get to getting. Turning to Greenwald, he says, Find out if there are any other suspects. And to me, Corbin, let me know what you want my department to do. Starting tonight, I’ll increase the patrol in your neighborhood.

Thanks, Chief, I’d appreciate that.

"Glen Wylie also excuses himself. Only Greenwald and Jamison remain.

You don’t mind if I start where the chief left off, do you? Greenwald asks.

Not at all, I respond.