Three Seconds To Rush (Piper Anderson Legacy Mystery Book 1) Page 3

  “What happens to my son if I plead guilty?” The tears were coming too fast to catch so she let them meet at her chin and then fall away. This wasn’t the kind of emotion she could dam up and wrangle. At its core was sheer dread, the idea that she would never hold her child again.

  “I don’t deal much with family or civil cases,” Reid continued. “But once you are convicted of felony child endangerment, it’s not probable your child will be placed back in your care in the near future. Now perhaps after you finish treatment and stay on the straight and narrow for a time, you can likely begin some visitation and possibly get on the road to reunification.”

  She balled her hands into fists and banged them against the table, far louder than he had. “Are you out of your mind? Is everyone crazy here but me? I am not going to admit to something I didn’t do and lose my son. I’m pleading not guilty because I’M. NOT. GUILTY. I thought you’d help me.”

  Reid pulled a file out of his briefcase and sighed deeply. “Read this,” he said, tossing the open report down in front of her. She rolled her eyes, feeling completely ignored, but complied. In the document she saw words that shattered her heart. The description of her son found in the freezing air, abandoned and too cold to even cry. His lips were reportedly rimmed in blue. His shivers so violent they looked like convulsions. Her eyes could take no more. The visions of her suffering child proved too much to bear.

  Farther down the report was the documentation of her own condition. She’d been found stuffed below a dumpster, presumed dead by the original caller who had not been identified. The officer who first arrived at the scene recounted uncovering her lifeless body with a needle still hanging in her skin. She quickly folded the file and slid it back to Reid, who seemed to refuse to sit across from her. That would be far too much commitment, too much intimacy, and he didn’t seem willing.

  “That’s all the jury will see,” he said, more gently now. “I’ve been defending people long enough to know it’s not always about the truth; it’s about what they can prove, and from where I sit the case against you is strong. Massachusetts is inundated with heroin and overdose deaths. It’s an epidemic. When people read that statement, when they hear the eye witnesses who found your son, sitting alone in a shopping cart behind your car with no coat on in below freezing temps while you were down the street getting high and nearly dying, it won’t matter what else is said. That’s all they’ll hear.”

  Tara clutched the desk with both her hands, trying to get the world to stop spinning. Trying to will time to stop until things made sense again. “If I plead not guilty and I win the trial, will I get Wylie back?”

  “That will be played out in civil or family court. But if you are completely acquitted your odds of retaining your parental rights are better. However, the current state of the system means it could be eight to twelve months before you go to trial. And going into the family court system before you have a resolution to your criminal case could be tricky. If you are determined to go to trial, I would encourage you to allow your in-laws to have temporary custody of your son. Don’t rock the boat, and there’s a chance if they’re supportive you won’t need to address a more permanent solution until after you go to trial, but again, I have to reiterate that in my opinion you should consider the plea that will likely be offered to you. Either way you’re not likely to have your son back in the short term. It’s important you understand that.”

  She lost her breath as though someone had just closed their hands around her neck. “Help me, Reid,” she pleaded again, hopping to her feet. “You know me. You know that I wouldn’t do this. Remember when I was nine and Mary Sullivan wanted to go around and collect money from people for that magazine thing? Remember that.”

  “I remember,” Reid admitted but had an air of irrelevance. She waited for the spark to light in his eye, the corners of his mouth to turn up a little. But neither happened.

  “I wouldn’t do it. I said it was wrong to take that money. They were tricking people. I cried my eyes out and no one talked to me for two days. But I was right. That’s who I am. I don’t hurt people. If you can imagine, for just one second, what it would mean if this was all a mistake, all a terrible nightmare, wouldn’t you help me?”

  “The needle was in your arm,” Reid reiterated, unwilling to suspend reality long enough to allow himself to agree with her. She knew that was what was required—he’d have to ignore all the evidence and just believe her. A tall order for an analytical man like Reid.

  “Just for one second, Reid, believe me.” She stared so fiercely into his eyes, refusing to blink. “How would you help me if you knew I hadn’t really done this? If you knew without a doubt I was innocent, wouldn’t you help me?”

  He shook his head as though it took all his energy not to raise his voice. “Innocent isn’t a term I use frequently in my line of work. But if you’re asking me how I’d form a defense, I would scrutinize the police investigation. Sometimes the simplest case can be overturned because of a mistake or oversight. I’d dig into the cops that found you, the witnesses, and anyone else involved and try to undermine their character or credibility. I’d stall. I’d coach you on how to be a sympathetic woman. I’d fight to make sure the jury was made up of people who might fall for that. If I was going to defend you I’d use every tactic I had to get you acquitted.”

  She narrowed her eyes and tipped her head to the side as though he’d just admitted to a crime himself. “That’s not what I asked,” Tara whispered. “I don’t want you to undermine someone else in order to prove my innocence. I don’t want tactics and tricks.”

  “That’s what a defense is.” He chuckled. “That’s what I’ve been doing every day of my career.”

  “But I’m innocent,” she argued, her brows knitting together.

  “Every single client I’ve ever defended from white collar crimes to manslaughter has said the exact same thing. I make sure of it actually. I only want to be told the minimum. I don’t want a confession. And they all know better than to give me one. They say they are innocent, or framed, or crazy and then they actually start to believe it, no matter how much evidence is piled up against them.” His arms were waving animatedly, and she imagined what he looked like in court, pleading someone’s case.

  “Are you good at it?” she asked, raking her eyes over anything on him that seemed familiar, any small characteristic that would remind her of the sweet boy she knew years ago.

  “At my job?” he asked indignantly. “Yes. I’m good at it. But what does that mean really? I’m good at getting guilty people their freedom?”

  “You hate what you do.” Everything else melted away for just a moment. She wasn’t worried about herself or Wylie; there was Reid and the sinking feeling that came from watching his face crumple in pain. He’d done so much for her when they were young, but she always knew when something was wrong.

  “We’re not the same people anymore, Tara. You don’t know me, and I can’t help you.” She took the slightest bit of comfort that at least it pained him to turn her down.

  “Then go,” she whispered, pointing at the door with her tear-soaked chin. “Leaving right now won’t change my plea. I won’t admit to something I didn’t do.”

  He made a move for the door but stopped suddenly. “Why me?” he asked, turning his broad back, like a wall he’d built himself. “Why did you call me? Was it just because you had no one else to call?”

  She thought on it for a moment. “It’s not like I had a list of lawyers in my cell phone,” she admitted. “But I would have called you even if you were a plumber or a taxi driver.”

  “Why?” he asked, turning enough so she could see his profile, which was painted with curiosity.

  “Because I knew you’d come.”

  Chapter 5

  “Good morning,” Judge Mastlison offered, and it seemed too bright and cheery for the situation, in Reid’s opinion. Everyone in the small courtroom replied obediently.

  “I see some familiar faces this mo
rning. Mr. Holliston, it’s been a bit since I’ve seen you in my courtroom.” She looked over her thick glasses that sat low on her nose. Gray curls streaked with a few strands of black sprang up all around her head. “And Miss Umbers, I see you’re back in the rotation for the DA’s office.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Chelsea Umbers answered politely. Her suit was gray and boxy, altogether ill-fitting. “It’s a pleasure to be back in your court.” Her slicked back and pinned up hair never moved as she nodded nervously.

  What only a few people in the room knew was that Chelsea Umbers had been accosted by a defendant after a guilty verdict was read in his case. The college athlete convicted of raping and beating a girl from his dorm had hired one of the most expensive defense attorneys in the state. The defense they made was weak and based mostly on the fact that the man’s baseball career was too promising for him to make such a stupid mistake. Mistake, Chelsea Umbers had scoffed as she annihilated the defense. The only mistake the defendant had made was leaving so much evidence behind.

  With a few quick jumps the freshly convicted athlete had broken across the courtroom and made it to Chelsea before any of the officers could reach him. It was just two punches but they were enough to knock her out cold and fracture her cheek and eye socket. Reid knew, however, the incident had damaged far more than that. The chatter in their circle was that it had destroyed her confidence, rattled her to the core, and was in jeopardy of ending her very promising career. But apparently she’d rallied because Chelsea had been assigned this case.

  “Since we’re all familiar with each other,” the judge continued, “let’s keep this moving along efficiently. Mr. Holliston, you and your defendant have been given a list of the charges, I assume.” She folded her hands, coolly looking up with an air of impatience.

  “We have,” Reid replied dutifully.

  “And the district attorney has provided you with the details of a plea deal in return for your client pleading guilty?” the judge continued, glancing at the documents in front of her.

  He heard a tiny noise escape Tara, and he drew in a breath, begging her silently not to interrupt or disrupt the court. “We have,” he replied again, but this time blowing out an exasperated breath.

  “And how does your client plead?”

  “Not guilty, Your Honor,” Reid said, straightening his back some, knowing this was just the beginning. He could feel Chelsea’s coal black eyes on him from the prosecutor’s table and the judge riffled through a few more pages as she began to speak, an air of concern in her voice.

  “Your client is aware the district attorney is offering a ninety-day drug treatment plan and three years’ probation, deferring all jail time as long as the terms of both are met?”

  “She is aware.” Reid kept his gaze level.

  “And your client understands that upon conviction, these charges require a sentencing of one to ten years in prison?”

  “She is aware of that as well,” Reid said, and then silence closed in around them all as the judge slid her glasses closer to her eyes and read more from the papers in front of her.

  “Your Honor,” Chelsea finally interrupted, “the defendant was in the hospital until this morning. The district attorney’s office would be open to a recess that would allow counsel to discuss the terms of the plea deal.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Reid asserted, straightening his blue striped tie. “My client is fully aware of the information provided and is unwavering in her plea. More time will not change her mind.”

  “What am I missing here?” the judge asked, finally dropping all the documents down and pulling her glasses off completely, waving them as she spoke.

  “My client asserts that she is innocent and would like the opportunity to prove that during a trial. She’s been informed of consequences if she is convicted.”

  “Well that didn’t answer anything,” the judge huffed. “How about you, Miss Umbers? Can you shed any light on the situation?”

  “I, uh,” Chelsea hesitated looking over at Reid as though he were a jerk. “I’ve read through the police reports, the witness statements, as well as the hospital report on the child’s condition. The District Attorney’s office feels the degree of risk, which could have resulted in great bodily harm or death, met the threshold for felony child endangerment. I can’t account for why the defendant is opting to go to trial.”

  “Mr. Holliston,” the judge sighed, “obviously it is your client’s decision on how to plea, and if she has been fully informed of the options, we will move on and the plea will be entered into the court records. However,” she drawled out, now staring at Tara, “I would like to hear it directly from her.”

  “My client,” Reid started but stopped abruptly as the judge raised her hand. He looked down at Tara and gave her a tiny nod.

  “Your Honor,” Tara started but her shaky voice betrayed her. Clearing her throat, she forced the words out. “I didn’t endanger my son, and I didn’t abandon him. I would never do that. I don’t know what happened or how I even ended up in this situation, but I want to find out as much as anyone else because I want my son back. So I won’t plead guilty.”

  The judge nodded but didn’t look impressed or pleased. Chelsea’s voice rang across the court layered with annoyance. “I hope that counsel has informed his client that being high and not remembering is not a defense that will gain acquittal. There is ample precedence for that.”

  “I’m not claiming I don’t remember because I was high,” Tara cut back, but the gavel was hitting the desk, the loud banging eating up her words.

  “Please inform your client not to address the court unless she’s been asked to.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Reid apologized.

  “I’ll be honest,” the judge cut back, “I’d like to understand why your defendant believes acquittal is possible, considering the information in these documents.”

  “I’m not sure the exact information you are referring to,” Reid lied.

  “The needle in her arm,” Chelsea huffed. “The baby in the hospital.”

  “Easy, Miss Umber,” the judge cautioned.

  “There was no investigation,” Reid asserted, stuffing both his hands confidently in his pocket. “My client woke in the hospital and informed anyone who would listen that she was not a drug user. She was clear with the officer who came to read her her rights and gave the same story with the social worker. Yet as far as I know there was no investigation. Where is the security footage from the grocery store? Her record is clean; she’s never had a drug violation or history of drug treatment.”

  “She had heroin in her system,” Chelsea argued as though this was all nonsense. “Are we trying this case right now, because I was under the impression this was an arraignment.”

  “Please don’t make me regret welcoming you back so warmly,” the judge said, though there was still some kindness in her voice. “I’ve heard enough. If the defendant has made her plea, let’s discuss bond and trial date.”

  Before Reid could interject, Chelsea stepped out from behind the large desk and launched into her point. “Considering the charges—”

  Reid interrupted with a firm voice. “My client is not a flight risk. She has no passport, a car that doesn’t look like it could make it out of the city limits, and no contacts with anyone outside of the state.”

  “Everyone can be a flight risk,” Chelsea replied flatly.

  “She wants her son back, and she’s determined to follow the correct channels to make sure that happens,” Reid argued.

  “The district attorney’s office would, at a minimum, require she not have care, custody, or control of any child under the age of seventeen.” Chelsea had a bite at the end of her words. She was back in the game.

  “The court agrees,” Judge Mastlison said with the strike of her gavel. “One thousand dollar bond, and let’s set a date for this trial.”

  “I’d like to petition for an expedited trial date,” Reid said, knowing again how this would
be perceived and wishing this day would just end. He couldn’t wait to be shifting the gears in his car as he sped toward his quiet house.

  “Why?” Chelsea asked rather unprofessionally, but he couldn’t really blame her. “You just determined that you intend to build a case where today there is none. Now you want less time to do it? With all due respect, Your Honor,” she turned her attention back to the judge as she spoke. “I’m concerned this could be grounds for an appeal after conviction citing ineffective assistance of counsel.”

  “It’s a little early to be calling me incompetent,” Reid fired back, not sparing a glance in Chelsea’s direction. This was turning a little more personal than he’d planned, but it happened sometimes. It was actually nice to hear Chelsea with a little fire in her voice again. She hadn’t deserved what happened to her.

  The gavel slammed down hard again. “All right, back to your corners. Mr. Holliston, you should know the earliest I see to set the trial date is sixty days from now. I’ll grant it, but I don’t want to see you in here asking for an extension. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “Understood,” Reid assured her. “The sooner the better.” It was a good thing he wasn’t under oath right now because the Bible he’d have to lay his hand on would burst into flames.

  “Anything else?” the judge asked, her gavel hovering ominously over the desk. Both Reid and Chelsea replied that there would be nothing more today.

  “You’ll both be notified about motion and plea deadlines as well as expert witness and evidence disclosures. Court adjourned.”

  Chapter 6

  “You didn’t need to pay my bail,” Tara edged out nervously, rocking back and forth on her heels as she tightened her arms and tried to stay warm.