Between Dreams and Nightmares E-Book

David P. Warren

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Amanda has it all: a successful career, a loving husband and a stable life. Until one day, when it all comes undone in an avalanche of murder, blackmail and an all-in search for big money that can't be found.

When Amanda discovers her husband, Brian, having an affair, she wants to end their marriage. But when Brian and his lover are murdered, detectives seeking to catch the killer think that Amanda may have a pretty good motive.

An experienced lawyer who cut corners to make money, Brian was an opportunist who pushed all limits to move forward in his career. Soon, Amanda discovers that someone wanted his husband silenced, and a huge amount of money is missing - money which whereabouts he has taken to his grave.

Racing against time and on the run from people who think Amanda is key to finding the missing money, Amanda is determined to find out the truth. But with seemingly nobody to trust, can she figure out who killed Brian and his lover and find the missing money?

Expect the unexpected and find out in Between Dreams And Nightmares, a riveting thriller from author David P. Warren.

This book contains adult content and is not recommended for readers under the age of 18.

Leseprobe

BETWEEN DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES

WHEN THE ILLUSIONS COME UNDONE

DAVID P. WARREN

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

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About the Author

Copyright (C) 2022 David P. Warren

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

Dedicated to Leandra Nicole Funkhouser

A co-worker and a true friend who brought light to the world and will be missed.

ONE

June 7

8:45 a.m.

The windowless room was small enough to make a New York studio apartment seem spacious. Amanda waited at a round, wooden table, just large enough for one suspect and two police officers to sit too close together. She looked at the mirror on the wall and she could feel the eyes on her from the other side. They were watching her every move, studying her behavior, analyzing her nervousness, and speculating about her guilt. She had been waiting in this box less than fifteen minutes and she could already feel the beads of perspiration congregating on her forehead. No wonder people confessed to things in these kinds of places. After intense questioning by detectives determined to make a case and the overwhelming bleakness of the confined quarters, Amanda could already understand how one would say and do most anything to get out of here. She was under a microscope and being watched by the unseen eyes of strangers whose agenda was to get to her. Another hour of this and she might confess to kidnapping the Lindbergh baby and whoever else was missing.

She did her best to stop shaking, but she couldn’t control it. Her world was upside down. Amanda had never been in this kind of a threatening environment. She had never been a suspect in a murder investigation. Nor had she ever had a dead husband before. The accumulated horrors that had taken over her life surrounded her in this little room.

Amanda’s slightly upturned nose, liquid blue eyes, delicate chin and shoulder-length brown hair completed an image that was girl next door, but there was something else--an aristocratic bearing that came from no one in her family. Until this moment, her attributes included an abundance of poise in almost any situation. Today, that poise was long gone. She could feel the blood pulsing through her veins. Her heart thumped loud enough to bring Edgar Allen Poe back to life and she was attempting to suppress the flight or fight reaction that had taken hold. She wanted to run for the door.

She stared at the door to the small room, willing it to open and let her out. Was it really necessary to drag her here? And on her fortieth birthday? Maybe it was because she was a suspect; the wife was always a suspect. Unseen eyes would watch to see if she would crack under the intimidation of this place and the accusatory questioning about to take place.

After what seemed like an interminable amount of time passed, the door opened slowly. As they stepped into the room, Amanda immediately recognized the two detectives. She had seen them at the hospital twice in the past three weeks, both times under horrific circumstances. One of the detectives, a tall, lanky man in his mid-forties, entered. He was followed by a well-coifed woman about Amanda’s age. She had big brown eyes that seemed to penetrate their target; eyes that came in handy during interrogations. With black hair she wore at shoulder length, she was an attractive woman with a no-nonsense persona. The tall, lanky man wore a dark suit with a solid-blue tie. He had a moustache and tousled brown hair that was on its way to grey. He featured the look of someone who had seen a lot of these rooms and was annoyed to be visiting one more. They took the two empty chairs and looked at Amanda, for a time saying nothing; studying her, perhaps to see if she would feel compelled to fill the silence as nervous people often did. Amanda stayed quiet, trying hard not to appear nervous, which wasn’t working.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Harmon. I trust you remember us?” Detective Asner asked.

“I do. You are Detective Asner, and your partner is Detective Weston,” she replied without hesitation.

He nodded and said, “Thanks for coming down, today. We have some questions for you in connection with the death of your husband.”

“Why do I have to be here, in this interrogation box?” Amanda asked, hearing herself sound much more confident than she felt. “I don’t understand why you couldn’t ask me what you need to know in my living room.” She hesitated a moment and then asked, “Am I a real suspect in my husband’s death? Do you think I did it? Do I need a lawyer?” Her now dead husband had been a criminal defense lawyer, and she already knew the answer to both questions, but she desperately wanted some reassurance that these detectives didn’t really believe she could have killed Brian.

Asner leaned back in his chair and offered his interpretation of a comforting smile. “It’s just normal procedure to ask questions of everyone who knew the victim. Especially someone who lived with him and knew him well. They often know pertinent facts that help us solve the crime.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself.

Amanda’s eyes were wide as she asked, “Once again, am I a suspect?”

Detective Kim Weston leaned forward in her chair and fastened her penetrating brown eyes on Amanda’s. She spoke evenly and cordially. “At this point, everyone and no one is a suspect, Ms. Harmon. And everyone who might have killed your husband will be considered, examined and eliminated one by one.”

“That’s not very comforting, detective. I just lost my husband of sixteen years and I’m not feeling particularly strong at this moment. I really need a little help with all this.” Tears appeared in her eyes as she tried to speak without falling apart.

After a moment, Detective Weston gave her a nod and said, “We understand that you have been through a great deal, Ms. Harmon.” She shared an empathetic smile, and said, “We are trying to sort through the evidence as quickly as possible. I know that sometimes it can sound a little detached and clinical, but we need to get critical facts so that we can figure out who killed your husband. With your help, we can assure you that we will find that person and they will stand trial.”

Amanda looked at Kim Weston a moment and then over at Dean Asner, who frowned like he was short on patience and wanted to get back to the task at hand. “A little understanding would help, detectives. I can barely function at this moment and you’re treating me like I am a criminal.”

Asner wore an expression that said he didn’t have the time or inclination to coddle her. “Look, Ms. Harmon, we just need to get a little information. We’re sorry we have to do it right after the loss of your husband, but we need to find a killer quickly and we know you want that too.” Amanda looked at him silently. After a time, he asked, “You know that your husband dealt with people who had criminal records, correct?”

“He was a criminal defense attorney, so yes, of course.”

“Are you aware of clients or former clients who threatened him?”

“From time to time that happened. As you might expect, some of these guys were unhappy when they lost their cases and had to go to prison. So periodically, someone would make a threat against Brian.”

“Any recent threats?” Detective Weston asked.

“Let me think a minute.” She drew a deep breath. They wanted her to identify suspects, but she really didn’t know much about the list of accused criminals that comprised Brian’s client list. She considered the question, then replied, “I know one client was angry because he decided he didn’t like the plea deal he entered into last year. And then some guy called the house and said he was going to get my husband for representing scumbags. I don’t know who he was. I just hung up on the guy.”

“Who was the client unhappy with his plea deal?” Detective Weston asked.

“Not sure.” She paused a moment and then added, “His name was something like Waggoner. You should find a name like that in my husband’s files.”

“Any other explicit threats that you remember in the last couple of years?”

Amanda squeezed her hands together to keep them from shaking. She took a few moments to replay the question in her mind and then replied, “Not that I can think of at this moment.”

Asner put his hands together in front of him and nodded. There was a moment of quiet and then he asked, “So, let’s deal with the hard stuff. You were having serious problems in your relationship with your husband, correct?” He studied her reaction.

“Yes, we had separated.” Amanda offered, her distress evident.

“You must have been extremely angry with your husband. I mean, he gave you lots of reason to be angry, right?”

“There were a lot of emotions. We had been together for a long time.” She looked first at Asner and then at Weston. “I don’t like how this feels,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t say more until I speak with an attorney.”

Detective Kim Weston studied her a moment and then said, “Well, you have that right, of course. If that’s what you need.”

Amanda looked at her in disbelief. “I just lost my whole life, and you drag me down here to question me in this,” she looked around the room and then added, “hole in the wall. And I feel like you’re convinced that I was the one who killed him.”

Kim Weston’s brown eyes still studied Amanda as she replied. “We are gathering information. We understand that this process makes people nervous, and you are entitled to an attorney if you think you need one, but our job is to talk to everyone who has information. You are not accused of anything Ms. Harmon, but what we do involves eliminating suspects. As soon as we have enough information, we want to disqualify you as a potential suspect and move to others who are more likely.”

Amanda took a moment to calm herself before she replied. “Okay, I understand. I just want to go home and try to put what’s left of my life back together.” She paused a moment and then looked back at Asner. After a moment she said, “Yes, detective, you know that my husband and I had serious problems. He cheated on me.”

“You must have been extremely angry,” Kim Weston said.

Amanda found herself nodding. “Yes. Angry, disappointed and sad.”

“And it wasn’t the first time, was it?”

She stared back at the detective, wondering if they already knew the answer. “No, it wasn’t the first time.” The words came out angry and she couldn’t decide if she was angry at Brian’s conduct or the detectives making her relive it.

“How many other times were there?” Dean Asner asked, leaning in as he spoke.

She studied him, assessing, and trying desperately to keep her emotions under control. She looked over at Weston who was watching her. They waited and let her deal with the uncomfortable silence for a time, and then Detective Kim Weston used even tones to say, “You need to answer these questions if you want to be eliminated as a suspect.” She shrugged and added, “You can see that we are asking you about facts that could supply a motive.” Amanda stared at her for a time, remaining silent. Kim Weston said, “Ms. Harmon, we are going to find out about everything with or without your cooperation. If you hide pertinent facts, it will affect your credibility and possibly our ability to rule you out.”

Amanda contemplated the uncomfortable position that left her with two bad choices.

After a time, she drew a deep breath and said, “One other occasion that I know of.”

“When?”

Amanda looked at Asner and then back to Weston. “About two years ago. He had an affair with a legal assistant that lasted three months. It was a painful time in our lives, but we made it through.”

“Who was the woman he got involved with, Ms. Harmon?”

“Do we really need to dredge that up again?” Amanda asked, her voice almost pleading.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean Asner replied and waited.

Amanda shook her head before responding, “Alexandra Carr.”

“Do you know where she is these days?” Asner asked.

“No. She left the firm in the wake of what happened, and I haven’t heard of her since.”

“We’re sorry for having to ask these personal questions, Ms. Harmon,” Detective Weston offered. Then she added, “And then there was your husband’s other affair that you learned about in the last few weeks.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Where were you on the night of May 28, between 6:00 p.m. and midnight?” Asner interjected.

This was the big one. Everything else was just the set-up. It all came down to whether she had a sufficient alibi. She considered the fact that Brian would have told her not to answer police questions like this without counsel, but she was all in at this point. She glanced at the mirror, wondering who might be watching from the other side. She looked at Asner and said, “I was at work until about 7:00 and then I went back to my friend’s house. I was there all night until I got the call about Brian and went to the hospital.”

He nodded. “This friend is Barbara Gibbs, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Was Ms. Gibbs with you from about 7:00 p.m. on?” Asner asked, studying her expression.

“No,” Amanda said feeling vulnerable. “She had a work meeting and didn’t get back home until about 9:00.”

“Were you both in the house from 9:00 p.m. on until you left for the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Can anyone attest to the fact that you were at Ms. Gibbs’ house between 7:00 and 9:00? Did anyone see you?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Did you talk to anyone on the phone?”

“No.”

Asner nodded, weighing this information, and asked, “You were staying with Ms. Gibbs since you learned that your husband had cheated on you?”

“Yes.”

“And you had no intention of getting back together with your husband?”

Her eyes began to water as she said, “No.”

“But you did want some kind of revenge for his betrayal, right?” Asner posed.

Amanda looked at him. “I wouldn’t call it revenge. I mean, you know that Barbara helped me by approaching the woman Brian was sleeping with, but our motive was to make things unpleasant for her and Brian and maybe to get her to stop the affair, not to hurt her.”

“Your husband betrayed you and you wanted to get even with him, right?”

Anger took over Amanda’s expression. “He was an asshole. He wrecked our marriage. I was angry at him and endlessly sad, but I did not kill him. I didn’t even want him dead, I just wanted him out of my life.”

Asner nodded, considering her response. There was an extended silence and then he said, “You confronted your husband about his affair shortly before he was killed?”

“I confronted him, yeah.”

“What did you tell him?”

Amanda was quiet for a time and then said, “I told him that I thought we were going to be one of those forever couples. I told him that I had been stupid to give him a second chance to betray me. And I told him that I was moving out.”

“What was his response?”

“He said that he thought we had been over for a while.”

“Then what?”

“I left. Then I called him and arranged a meeting at his office to divide our money and possessions.”

“And when you met, did you talk about his actions?”

“Yeah. I told him that he had betrayed me and destroyed everything we built.”

“What was his response?”

She stared straight ahead and choked up as she answered. “He said that she was his future.”

“Did either of you say anything else?”

She nodded. “As I was leaving, I told him that I didn’t forgive him for what he had done to us, but I didn’t wish bad things for him in the future.” She drew a breath and then added, “I think those were the last words I ever said to him.”

Detective Weston nodded, and then said, “We have reviewed your husband’s case files and I have collected about two dozen names that I want to run by you. We need you to tell us what you know about them and whether they have ever been the source of any known threat to you or your husband.”

“Okay. I don’t know anything about most of his clients, but I’ll tell you if I recognize any of the names.”

Detective Weston read a list of twelve names that they had somehow selected from Brian’s files. Amanda shook her head as each name was mentioned. About fifteen names later, she said. “That one is familiar. Brian mentioned Michael Waggoner, I told you that.”

“Okay,” Weston replied. “Let’s finish the list and then we’ll talk about the names you know. She read the remaining names.

“There was one other name on your list that is familiar. He mentioned Craig Jackson as some kind of a bad guy, but I don’t remember any details. None of the other names are familiar,” she replied with a shrug.

“Can you provide any more details about Waggoner? Anything else you remember about the threat or what he said?”

Amanda considered for a moment. “No.”

“Is there anyone else you can think of who might come after your husband? Anyone with a reason to be angry at him, or to want something from him?”

“Maybe the husband of the woman Brian was sleeping with, Derek Miller,” Amanda replied.

“Anyone else who comes to mind?”

“I’m sorry,” Amanda replied. “I don’t have anything more.” The detectives were studying her closely, looking for a tell or for something she was trying not to reveal.

As the questions kept coming, one after another, some with the force of a punch, Amanda tried to reassure herself that she would make it through this. That she would walk out of here with her freedom if she just held on for a little longer. She left her thoughts and returned to the moment.

Kim Weston studied her for a few moments and exchanged glances with Dean Asner. “Do you own a gun?”

“No.”

“Did your husband?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“What is your blood type?”

“What?”

“Your blood type. What is it?”

Amanda looked at them curiously. “O positive. Why?”

Detective Weston ignored the question and asked, “Have you suffered any recent wounds or injuries?”

“No.”

“What was your husband’s blood type?”

“B negative.”

Kim Weston nodded and said, “There was blood at the scene that wasn’t your husband’s. It was O positive, and it was about twelve feet away from where your husband was found when the first responders arrived. So, we know that whoever was there was wounded, and it was probably a gunshot wound.” She let that statement settle and then said, “It looks like your husband shot someone at about the same time your husband was shot, but whoever the other person was managed to walk away and there were no guns found at the scene.”

“None?”

“Right, which means the other person took Brian’s gun as well as the one he or she came with.”

“Is there evidence to help identify this other person?”

“Not yet, we checked hospitals and clinics to see if anyone with a gunshot wound showed up for treatment within twenty-four hours after your husband’s death, but we have not identified anyone so far.”

“So maybe it was not a serious wound?”

“Maybe it was a superficial wound,” Kim Weston said nodding, “Or maybe this person has more underground places he can go for treatment. People involved in crimes don’t like to go to hospitals or doctors with gunshot wounds because they know doctors are required to report it.”

“Does this information give you any ideas about who could have been might have been in a shootout with your husband?”

“No. I’ve never even known Brian to possess a gun.”

“We would like you to give us a DNA sample. We are going to collect them from others as well, because it will help us determine who was in the room at time your husband died and eliminate others as suspects. Is that agreeable or do you want us to get a court order?”

“I’ll do it if I get a copy of the findings of the test. Otherwise, you can go get an order.”

“That’s agreeable.”

Asner picked up the phone in the small room. “Sandi, could you bring in the swab kit?”

He hung up and then a tall woman with a radiant smile came into the room. “Hello, Ms. Harmon. I’m just going to take a small saliva sample from the inside of your mouth, okay?”

Amanda nodded, and then opened her mouth as the swab was inserted and moved against her cheek. The woman put the swab in a tube and then said, “Thank you, Ms. Harmon.” She gave a nod to the detectives and then walked out of the room.

Kim Weston looked at Amanda and said, “Okay, Ms. Harmon, thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch when we have additional questions.”

“That’s fine, detectives. Please talk to me at home in the future.” She looked around the small room. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“We understand your concerns,” Asner said, without agreeing to the request. “We’ll keep them in mind,” Asner added, as Amanda stood to leave. She swallowed hard and walked from the room.

Amanda made her way out of the police department and into the southern California morning sunshine. It was a little before 10:00 a.m. and she was exhausted. She took a deep breath of the morning air and tried to push away the anxiety of being questioned as a murder suspect, so that she could focus on the destruction of the life she had known for so long and the death of the man she knew like no other. She felt drained. And now she would go home to an empty house and obsess about everything, endlessly; Brian’s murder, whether the police believed she killed him, and the other woman—the affair and her death. As she climbed into her car, her head hurt. Her blood pressure had to be off the charts. She could feel blood pulsating through her veins. She desperately needed help to get through this and she knew exactly where she could get it; her two best friends had never let her down and they would be here for her now.

After Amanda left the room, Asner looked at his partner and asked, “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. She was certainly screwed over by this guy,” Weston replied. “But I don’t think she killed him based on what we know already.”

“She had a pretty good motive,” Asner said thoughtfully. “Her husband was chasing skirts well past the warning stage.”

“Yeah, maybe. But lots of women get cheated on and they don’t kill the asshole. I mean, they can just leave.”

“Do you speak from experience?” he asked grinning.

“Screw you, Dean, and yes, I do. I was engaged to a guy I had been going out with for a year. Then I found out he was doing a co-worker.”

“Really?” he asked. “How did you find out?”

“A friend saw them together and told me. I confronted him and he admitted it. The point is, he was an asshole, but I didn’t kill him.”

“I get it,” Dean Asner said. “And maybe Amanda Harmon didn’t either. When we get the DNA analysis, we can probably rule her in or out with respect to the murder. Then we can cut her loose and the FBI gets their shot at her. Maybe she’s not a murderer. Maybe she’s just an accessory in an extortion plan.”

Kim Weston shrugged. “Maybe, but other than a little curiosity, we have no horse in that race. That little nightmare belongs exclusively to the feds.”

TWO

(Three Weeks Earlier)

May 16

11:45 a.m.

Brian Harmon walked from the back of the courtroom to the defense counsel table. He was accompanied by a thirty-five-year-old man in an ill-fitting suit. A mid-fifties man with greying hair and a bored expression moved to the other counsel table.

As they took their positions, Judge Victor Savage gave a nod to the court clerk, who stood and announced, “This is the arraignment in the matter of the People of the State of California v. Matthew Carter. Will counsel please provide appearances for the record?”

“Assistant District Attorney John Thurmond for the People, Your Honor.” His monotone reinforced the perception that he could hardly wait to do something else.

“Brian Harmon for Mr. Matthew Carter. Mr. Carter is also present, Your Honor.” Brian had appeared in front of Judge Savage for over fifteen years, and they had once served on a panel addressing mandatory and discretionary sentencing together. Savage was known as a tough sentencing judge but was fair in the way he conducted trials.

The judge was in his late fifties and had white hair combed straight back over his head. He looked at each attorney over black-rimmed glasses perched half-way down his nose. “Mr. Carter is charged with three counts of fraud, one of mail fraud and one of money laundering. How does your client plead, Mr. Harmon?”

“Not guilty to all charges, Your Honor.”

“Jury demanded?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“And your estimate is two weeks for trial?”

“Correct,” Brian replied. Thurmond said nothing.

“We are setting trials about 120 days out at this point as the calendar is a little crowded. So, we are talking September 17. Does that date work for counsel?”

“Your Honor, I will be engaged in another trial that date. Can we kick it back one more week?” Thurmond asked.

“That would mean September 24. Does that work for you as well, Mr. Harmon?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Trial is set for September 24. Get the case resolved in the interim. Do we have bail issues?”

“Serious crimes, Your Honor. We want bail set at $250,000.”

“Mr. Harmon, your response?”

“Mr. Carter has resided in this community for over fifteen years. He runs a business that is ongoing. He is not a flight risk. We request that he be released OR.”

“Your Honor,” Thurmond responded, now up in arms, “this is far too serious a case for OR release. We cannot be assured he will appear and…”

Judge Savage nodded and interrupted by saying. “I agree that serious crimes are charged, but Mr. Carter has ongoing ties to the community, and I don’t see a major flight risk here. Bail is set at $50,000. Anything else?”

“No, Your Honor,” Thurmond said.

“Not at the moment, Your Honor, although we will be back if the prosecution withholds anything from discovery. We are getting indications that may occur.”

“Understood, Mr. Harmon, but I am not going to guess whether discovery compliance will occur at some later date. We will save that issue for another day when there aren’t just indications but actually something to fight about. Good-bye, gentlemen, have a good day. The court stands in recess for fifteen minutes.”

Thurmond picked up his file and said, “I’ve got another appearance down the hall. We’ll talk about this case in the next day or two, okay?”

Brian gave Thurmond a nod as he ran out the door. Brian turned to his client and said, “Okay, Matt, that’s it for today. My office will be in touch with you to schedule a meeting once we receive discovery from the prosecution. Should be a couple of weeks. At that point we’ll see the strength of their evidence against you.”

“All right. I’ll see you then.”

“You got your bond taken care of yet?”

“Yeah. All set. Wise Guy Bonds will post it and I have arranged to pay them what they need.”

“One more thing; my fee needs to be fully paid at our next meeting, okay?”

“I understand, I’m just not sure where I will get…”

Brian raised a hand. “I don’t get involved in that part. You’ll work it out. I just want you to be aware that I can’t continue representing you unless you can pay the fee up front.” Brian had been stiffed on fees in his early days, so he made sure that didn’t happen anymore. Clients who might go to jail needed to pay in advance. If they lost and got sentenced, their motivation to pony up fees went away quickly.

“I understand,” Matt Carter replied with an expression that said he was not happy, but Brian knew that squeezing him for the fee would work. He would beg, borrow or steal the money and pay Brian when they next met. As long as it wasn’t counterfeit, Brian would ask no questions about what Carter had to do for the money.

As Matt Carter walked away, Brian turned his attention back to his file. He slid the file into his brief case, and then looked up to see the court clerk wave him over. He walked to her desk and she said, “Judge Savage wants to talk to you. Go ahead into chambers.” His surprise must have shown, because she followed her response with, “Don’t worry, he said it’s not about your case.”

“Okay,” Brian replied, and walked past the bailiff’s desk and through the door behind the courtroom bench. He turned right into the hallway and walked a few feet until he came to a sign on his left that said, “Judge Savage.”

He tapped on the open door and Victor Savage stood up behind his desk and said, “Come in, Brian. Take a seat.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Brian sat down in a visitor chair across from Judge Savage’s desk and waited.

The judge had shed his robe. He wore a white shirt, a blue striped tie and a worried expression. He took his seat and studied Brian for a time. After an awkward silence, Judge Savage narrowed his eyes said, “Brian, you are here because I have some faith in your ability to do your job.” He paused and then added, “I need to talk to you because I’m faced with a,” he paused and then said, “disconcerting situation.”

“Yes, judge. What can I do for you?”

“Not here,” the judge replied curtly. “We need to talk somewhere else; away from the courthouse.”

“Okay, when and where?” Brian asked. “Do you want to come to my office or my house?”

Judge Savage shook his head. “No. I reserved us a private meeting room at the Waterman Club tonight. Can you meet me there at 7:00 p.m.?”

“Yes, sure,” Brian offered, wondering what this was all about.

The judge recited an address and then said, “See you tonight,” standing to make clear that this meeting was over. “Just give them my name at reception and they will take you to the meeting room.”

“See you then,” Brian said. He stood and walked from the judge’s chambers without further exchange, nervously wondering what this was all about. Judges maintain distance from the lawyers who practice in their courtrooms; they don’t go fishing together and they don’t request clandestine meetings with those lawyers. At least he had never heard of those events occurring through this point in his career.

Brian considered what this might be about. It struck him that the judge might have something on him that required confidentiality. Clients had accused Brian of overcharging from time to time. He had two of those complaints pending and a third alleging that he had taken more than his share of a settlement, but those complaints had been filed with the California State Bar Association and were handled by California State Bar judges, not Superior Court judges. This was something else and it was unsettling. The judge knew something about what Brian was doing that could only be discussed confidentially. A couple of possibilities that came to mind. One was the overbilling issue; sometimes he added a few hours to bills that he hadn’t actually worked. Or it could be his other ways of picking up extra money; doubling or tripling his fees for defendants who needed immediate help and had no room to bargain. Some of the guys who were likely guilty, but desperately wanted to stay out of prison had sums of money stored in back rooms and under floorboards. Overcharging these guys was dangerous because some of them were capable of anything. On the other hand, they were great targets because they would defraud, steal, or do whatever it took to find the cash they needed. The drug defendants were the best because they were always flush with cash, and they had enemies that they couldn’t afford to visit in a prison. They would pay most anything to have him work their cases.

It was possible that one of these clients had approached Judge Savage through another attorney. Maybe the judge wanted to give Brian the opportunity to explain some allegations made against him before something else was turned over to the California State Bar Association to investigate. If that was the plan, then he would need to have explanations at the ready. He would agree to make amends or to do whatever it took to put any complaint to rest. One thing was certain; he could not afford to have the State Bar looking too closely at his practice, so whatever the judge had learned that was a problem, Brian planned to do everything it took to make it go away. As he drove back to the office, he found himself increasingly nervous about the meeting. It was hard to prepare answers when he didn’t know the questions.

May 16

2:50 p.m.

Brian dialed and waited impatiently while four rings made him think there would be no answer. When he expected to hear her voice mail recording kick in, Amanda picked up the phone and replied. “Hi, Brian.”

“Hi. I just wanted to tell you that I expect to be late tonight. Maybe eleven or so.”

“That seems to happen a lot these days,” she said.

“I can’t help it. I’m busy.”

Amanda was quiet for a time and then said, “Okay. I’ll probably be asleep.”

“Okay. See you in the morning,” he said curtly, and he was gone.

As she put down the phone, Amanda stared out the window from her fifteenth-floor office at nothing, contemplating the wreckage that was her marriage. Brian didn’t even make a pretense anymore. There was no effort to support her or even to be with her. She was some kind of scheduling annoyance that he tolerated. It had been a long time since things were really good, but now they were at an all-time low. She knew he was screwing someone else again; she could feel it. With some regularity his cell went unanswered in the middle of the afternoon. She would call his office and his staff would say he was ‘out of the office,’ but they weren’t able to say where. And these unexplained disappearances were accompanied by late nights, two or three times a week. It wasn’t hard to figure out. It had been that way two years ago, when he had taken up with Alexandra Carr. She had learned about it by way of an anonymous phone call from the legal assistant’s coworker, who was apparently distraught by the favoritism shown to the woman Brian was fucking. What had she said? Something like ‘you don’t know me Ms. Harmon but I work in your husband’s office, and I thought you should know that he is sleeping with someone who works here. I’m really sorry, but I thought you should know.’

Amanda questioned Brian when he arrived home that night and he had lied to her repeatedly. Ultimately, she told him she knew that he was fucking a woman at work and that there was a witness to his actions who had called her. When Amanda named the woman Brian was sleeping with, she saw the truth of it in his eyes. Three hours after the discussion began, he admitted that it was true and told her that the affair had gone on for three months. He professed that he was sorry and swore that it would never happen again; that was his solemn vow. He was so sorry that he had hurt her. And on and on until she slowly relented, agreeing to give him another chance to prove that a leopard can change his spots. After that, their relationship had been better for several months and, little by little, she began to trust him. Then it all started over. He was somewhere else again; at appointments with clients who could only meet after five, at a bar with other clients who bought him drinks while they paid him to keep them out of prison, or he was simply too busy to come home because he had to work late.

Here it was again, or still. Maybe it never ended, she couldn’t really be sure. Amanda felt deep disappointment. Not just in her marriage, but in herself. She was an auditor, and a good one. She was analytical and she did not procrastinate; at least most of the time. She had been duped by his seemingly genuine repentance. When the signs of betrayal returned, it had simply been easier to avoid the stress and the pain of living through it all again. For too long, she had just let it slide, deciding that looking the other way and feigning ignorance was better than facing the fallout that was inevitable once the issue surfaced.

Amanda was angry. Her self-esteem had suffered for too long as she looked away while her husband pursued other women. She needed to confront the domestic disaster that was her relationship with Brian at some point, and maybe this should be the time. She walked to the break room and made a cup of coffee. While the coffee maker gurgled as it spit out a cup, she made her decision. She was not going to continue sitting on the sidelines while Brian decimated their vows. Her prolonged inaction reinforced his behavior. Clearly, he was getting away with whatever he wanted, so where was the incentive to stop?

By five o’clock she had come up with a plan. This was the night she would do something about it. She would follow him and see what he was up to while he was theoretically working long hours. Then, she would confront him with whatever she found, and she would no longer accept his meaningless apologies or his empty promises. After that, she didn’t know what she would do with her life, but there was going to be an ending. Perhaps she would find a small apartment in a different part of town so she could start over. She would find a new anonymity and a heavy weight would be lifted from her shoulders. She felt a sad emptiness as she considered that her marriage had been on the downslope for some time. It had just been so much easier not to deal with that part of her life; ironically, the part that had once been the most important part of her life. They had once been so happy. It was as if the happiness and contentment had been slowly draining from her marriage while she looked the other way. It was like the air escaping from a balloon, gradually and almost imperceptibly, until one day a few months back she had woken up feeling deserted and alone, no longer able to deny that there was another woman; that he was doing it again.

She had responded by taking refuge in work, longer hours, and more files. That had helped for a time. But when she came home to an empty house, it was no refuge at all. It was just a means of killing time rather than facing daunting realities that would likely change her life. She had avoided confrontation long enough. She had to do something about this if she hoped to emerge from this relationship with any remaining self-esteem.

Amanda’s anxiety increased as she looked out the window at the busy street below. People were commuting home, to spouses and families that awaited. She had known those warm feelings in the past. Hopefully, the commuters below recognized what they had and were grateful. Joni Mitchell’s lyrics seemed so fitting. ‘You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone—pave paradise and put up a parking lot.’ Amanda’s long-postponed moment of truth was at hand. She needed to know for sure if her instincts were correct. If they were, life was about to change in very big ways.

May 16

6:35 p.m.

After considering every possible complaint that his clients could have leveled against him, Brian still couldn’t decide who Judge Savage was going to confront him about. The truth was that he had a number of unhappy clients, most of whom had complaints about his charges or time he hadn’t actually spent on their case. Although he had no idea which client or clients had approached the judge, he was pretty sure that this private meeting had to be based on his overcharging practices. Maybe a number of his clients who had consolidated their efforts to come after him? But those claims were the province of the California Bar Association, which investigated and conducted hearings about the alleged misconduct of its members. Maybe Judge Savage was going to give him some kind of a heads-up; or maybe the judge had an angle of his own.

Brian’s assistant had already gone home as he walked out of the office and into the parking structure. He made his way to the reserved space where his Mercedes Roadster waited. In a few moments, he was out of the parking structure and on the busy streets of the city. Between the high volume of cars on the streets as commuters made their way home from the downtown Los Angeles area and the traffic lights every two hundred feet that further inhibited movement, no one was going anywhere fast. Fortunately, Brian didn’t have far to go to find the exclusive Waterman Club. Brian had been invited to the Club a couple of times over the years but declined whenever possible. It was stuffy and pretentious. You could barely speak the name of the place without a pinky finger in the air.

Brian slowly made his way down Flower Street, then turned into the Club’s parking deck and deposited the car and the keys with a young attendant in a green jacket, who gave him a nod and a claim ticket. Brian left the parking structure and made his way to the non-descript building exterior with the giant ‘W’ near the front door. A uniformed doorman stood by to open doors for arrivals and departures and do necessary favors for members.

If you had an invite that allowed you to walk through that exclusive front door, a large lobby featuring heavy leather and dark wood awaited. Moving into the building from the lobby, a series of paneled rooms with high ceilings appeared, each with massive chandeliers, and multiple seating areas with brown leather couches and armchairs. The place was cavernous. The atmosphere included the smell of cigar smoke and old money that hung in the air and never seemed to dissipate. It had been accumulating for over a century and was an expected part of the ambiance. The rooms were populated with well-dressed men scattered around in seating areas that had been oriented for privacy, talking about their deals of the moment. Here members discussed and planned massive stock purchases, plant closures and company acquisitions.

As Brian made his way towards a large lectern where a hostess halted the unrecognized, screening non-members who made it this far, a mid-thirties woman in a black evening dress approached him and said, “How can we help you, sir?” She considered him with a half-smile, as she waited for an explanation that would justify his presence.

“I’m Brian Harmon. I have a meeting with Judge Savage this evening.”

She nodded almost imperceptibly and displayed a momentary smile. “Yes, sir. Please follow me.”

Brian followed her out of the massive room and two adjoining rooms, at which point they proceeded through a door and down a wide hallway and made a left turn. The place seemed to go on forever. Five doors down the hallway, the woman stopped at a door marked “The Sinclair Room,” and knocked.

“Come in,” the judge’s voice called out. The woman opened the door and announced, “Mr. Harmon is here for your meeting, Your Honor.”

“Please, send him in.” The woman held the door open, turned to Brian, gave him a nod and waved him into the room. As he entered the room, she silently disappeared.

“Good evening, Your Honor.”

In the room were four leather armchairs arranged around a marble coffee table and a marble credenza that ran the length of the room. “Hello, Brian. Please have a seat.” Judge Savage turned his attention to several crystal decanters waiting on the credenza. “How about a drink?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ve got some nice Macallan twelve-year-old Scotch today.”

“Definitely good stuff,” Brian replied.

Judge Savage walked to the credenza and poured two glasses, handing one to Brian.

Brian took a sip and then looked at the judge. “Excellent,” he offered with a smile. He paused a moment and then said, “I’m curious about why we are here. How can I help you, Your Honor?”

Judge Savage sat down but didn’t speak. In the silence, Brian was expecting to be hit with nasty anecdotes about his behaviors from disillusioned clients, but it didn’t happen. He watched Judge Savage’s expression change and suddenly realized that the judge was embarrassed and groping for words. The judge ran a hand over his brow and through his thinning hair, and then began, “I am talking to you today as my counsel. Do you agree to that relationship? I want to make sure the attorney-client privilege protects this discussion.”

The judge planned to hire him? Brian tried not to let the shock show in his expression as he replied, “Yes judge, I agree.”

Judge Savage nodded and then said, “I made a mistake, Brian. A big one. Last year I took a payment from someone after giving a reduced sentence.”

Brian was stunned a second time and tried hard not to show it. If anyone else had told him that Judge Savage took a bribe, he simply would have said it wasn’t possible. “Who got the reduced sentence?”

“His name is Ray Rawlings. He was found guilty of grand theft by false pretenses.”

“An embezzler?”

“Yeah, he stole half a million dollars from his employer over two years.”

“Doesn’t seem too controversial so far.”

“I set aside the jury verdict, ordered significant evidence suppressed and then he

pleaded to petty larceny.”

Brian wore a confused expression. “Why?”

“The evidence was questionable, and this guy was connected at the highest levels of the federal government. I was contacted by the representative of a U. S. senator. I agreed to suppress critical evidence and he agreed to take a plea that got him probation. Part of the deal was that the whole five hundred thousand be returned to the employer and the money was returned. Two days later, an envelope containing fifty thousand in cash was delivered to me.”

“Was giving you money part of the deal?”

“No. It was never even discussed.” The judge looked up at the ceiling for a moment and shook his head. “But I never gave it back.”

Brian nodded thoughtfully. After a time, he said, “As a practical matter, it seems like a done deal. Why is it a problem now?”

The judge shook his head unhappily. “Because they want me to do it again for someone else. This time for a guy named Frank Nolan, who is accused of spousal abuse. They want this guy to get a top-secret clearance and it’s not going to happen if he’s convicted of physically abusing his spouse.” He considered Brian with disgust in his expression. “I got myself into some real shit here, Brian. The same senior advisor contacted me and told me that I needed to take care of this. This time I told him I wouldn’t do it. That’s when it all hit the fan. The guy made mention of the former occasion and how that could become a problem for me if I didn’t help this time.”

“Wow,” Brian replied. “So, they gave you unexpected money last time hoping you would accept it because it gave them blackmail leverage.” The judge nodded but remained silent. Brian considered a moment and then asked, “Do you think he’s serious about the blackmail? About exposing what happened?”

“As a heart attack.” He leaned back in his chair. “I told them I was not going to do it. There was a long silence and then the voice on the phone said that they would think about that—whoever ‘they’ are. Yesterday I got a call back from the same guy telling me that it was in my best interest to do the right thing. I was given a week to change my mind or all of the facts surrounding Rawlings, including the money delivered to me, would become public knowledge.” The judge’s eyes narrowed, and he wore an angry look. He drew a deep breath and then shook his head. He looked at Brian and said, “I’m not going to be blackmailed, so it looks like I will need a defense attorney as well as a new career. That’s why I asked for this meeting with you.”

“Do you know who the caller is?” Brian asked.

“Yeah, I have his name and did a little research. He’s a top-level aide to a U. S. senator,” the judge replied.

Brian considered this for a time and then said, “Maybe there’s a way to prevent this from happening. What if I talk to this guy and try to negotiate some resolution that doesn’t involve you altering anyone’s sentence?” Judge Savage regarded him thoughtfully. Brian added, “Maybe there is an agreement we can reach short of taking your scalp to resolve this matter. I’m not sure it serves anyone’s interests if all of this becomes public, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah, maybe. So, what would we offer them?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Brian replied. “We’ll see if we can get some insight into what they want. Let’s find a way to shut this down.”

Judge Savage reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. Handing the envelope to Brian, he said, “The contact information for the guy we’ve been talking about is in here. Have your office send me your client agreement for my review and signature.”

“Shall do, judge. I will get on this tomorrow and let you know what I find out.” He took one more sip of the exquisite whiskey, then he stood and said, “Talk to you tomorrow, judge.”

Savage nodded and said, “Thanks for your help with this. This is need to know only, even within your office, okay?”

“Agreed, Your Honor.” Brian stuffed the envelope in his breast pocket and tried to remember the way out of this maze. His concern was short-lived. When he stepped into the hallway, a young man was waiting to escort him out.

“Mr. Harmon, please follow me.”

This crazy Club had people standing around in hallways just in case they were needed. It was how the aristocracy lived and the judge came from one of those families. The young man deposited Brian at the front door and turned away without further interaction. Brian made his way out of the building and past the uniformed doorman. He walked to the parking structure and gave his ticket to the waiting valet, who promptly delivered his car.

Brian made his way onto the downtown streets thinking about what the judge had told him. His overriding emotion was elation because the meeting had not been about his transgressions. As he drove, Brian came up with an idea that might turn the judge’s situation into a big win for the judge and for Brian. He was in the catbird seat. He had inside information and the senator’s people had no idea who he was. This could be an opportunity to make some real money while he assisted the judge.

It was a good day, and a little celebration was in order. He pushed a button on his phone. On the second ring a woman’s voice answered.

“Hi,” she said, sounding pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t think I would hear from you today.”

“I didn’t either, but I’ve been thinking about you. Okay if I come over?”

“Sure. The sooner the better.”

“I don’t want to waste a moment. Can you meet me at the door; maybe already naked?”

There was a soft chuckle and then she replied, “I’ll see you shortly.”