Chapter One
Chicago,
Wednesday, February 18,
2:00 p.m.
„You’ve got company, Kristen.“ Owen Madden pointed toward the window to the street where a man stood in a heavy winter coat, his head tilted in question.
Kristen Mayhew gave him a brief nod and he entered the diner where she’d escaped the enraged protests inside the courtroom and the barrage of questions from the press outside its doors. She stared into her soup as her boss, ExecutiveAssistantState’s Attorney John Alden sat on the stool beside her. „Coffee, please,“ he said and Owen got him a cup.
„How did you know I was here?“ she asked, very quietly.
„Lois told me that this is where you come for lunch.“
And breakfast and dinner, too, Kristen thought. If it didn’t come in a microwavable carton, it came from Owen’s. John’s secretary knew her habits well.
„The local station interrupted programming for the verdict and reaction,“ John said. „But you held your own with the press. Even that Richardson woman.“
Kristen bit the inside of her cheek, anger roiling at the memory of the platinum blond’s microphone in her face. She’d so wanted to shove that microphone up Zoe Richardson’s… „She wanted to know if there would be ‘repercussions’ in your office because of this loss.“
„You know this is not a performance issue. You’ve got the best conviction record in the office.“ John shivered. „Damn, I’m cold. You want to tell me what happened in there?“
Kristen pulled the pins from the twist that held her hair in severe check, a raging headache the price of curl control. There was enough compressed energy in her bobby pins to fuel downtown Chicago for a year. Her hair sprang free and she knew she was now Little Orphan Annie. With eyes. And no dog named Sandy. And certainly no Daddy Warbucks watching over her. Kristen was on her own.
She massaged her head wearily. „They hung. Eleven guilties, one innocent. Juror three. Bought lock, stock, barrel, and soul by the money of wealthy industrialist, Jacob Conti.“ She singsonged the last, the press’s description of Angelo Conti’s father. The man she knew had corrupted the system and denied a grieving family justice.
John’s eyes darkened abruptly and his jaw tightened. „You’re sure?“
She remembered the way the man who sat in chair number three wouldn’t meet her eyes when the jury filed back in after four days of deliberations. How the other jury members looked at him with such contempt. „Sure I’m sure. He’s got a young family, lots of bills. He’s a prime target for a man like Jacob Conti. We all knew Conti was prepared to do anything to get his son off. Can I prove Juror Three took money from Conti in exchange for a hung jury?“ She shook her head. „No, I can’t.“
John’s fist clenched on the countertop. „So we’ve basically got nothing.“
Kristen shrugged. Exhaustion was beginning to set in. One too many sleepless nights before the culmination of a critical trial. And she knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight either. She knew that as soon as she laid her head on her pillow she’d hear the tortured cries of Paula Garcia’s young husband as the jury disbanded and Jacob Conti’s son walked away a free man. At least until they could try him again. „I’ll get started tracking Juror Three’s spending habits. Sooner or later he’ll spend the money to pay off his bills. It’s just a matter of time.“
„And in the meantime?“
„I’ll start a new trial. Angelo Conti will go back to Northwestern and resume his drinking and Thomas Garcia will go back to his empty apartment and stare at an empty crib.“
John sighed. „You did your best, Kristen. Sometimes that’s all we can do. If only…“
„If only he’d wrapped his Mercedes around a tree and not Paula Garcia,“ Kristen said bitterly. „If only he hadn’t been so drunk that pulling Paula Garcia from her wrecked car and beating her to death with a tire iron to keep her quiet seemed like a good idea.“ She was shaking now, a combination of exhaustion and grief for the woman and the unborn child that had died with her. „If only Jacob Conti was more concerned about teaching his son responsibility than keeping him out of prison.“
„If only Jacob Conti had taught his son responsibility before giving him the keys to a hundred-thousand-dollar sports car. Kristen, go home. You look like shit.“
Her laugh was wobbly. „You sure know how to charm a girl.“
He didn’t smile back. „I’m serious. You look like you’re about to drop right off your feet. I need you back here tomorrow ready to go again.“