Read Online Sawyer, Meryl by A Kiss in the Dark - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: A Kiss in the Dark
Ads: Link
whole judicial system. He was probably right. It
certainly made a lot of criminal attorneys rich, defending felons who kept
cycling through the system.
"A case came in at the end of the month about the time I
thought Royce was due home. A man had been killed in an automobile accident.
The survivor claimed the dead man had been driving, but the police suspected
the survivor—who'd failed a sobriety test—had actually been at the wheel.
"The evidence was iffy. The question was whether or not to
charge Terence Winston, a local celebrity with a column in the Examiner and
a heavyweight in liberal political circles."
"Didn't you know he was Royce's father?"
"No. We'd been walking along the beach when I'd asked her
name. Between the noise of the surf and my bad ear, I didn't pick up what she
said exactly. I thought her name was Royce Annston, but she must have said
Royce Anne Winston.
"The case was a challenge. Even if we could have proved
Winston was driving, a good defense attorney could have gotten the drunk
driving charge dropped. The police used a breath analyzer and got a reading
that was barely over the legal limit."
"They should have used a blood analysis, particularly since
there was a death involved."
"Hell, they were unusually sloppy all the way around. They
mopped up the accident scene in an hour."
"Typical," Paul said, then took a sip of his lukewarm beer,
thinking. Crime scenes were taped for days, every bit of evidence examined
carefully. But on the street nothing was more important than maintaining
the flow of traffic. Too often those crime scenes were released prematurely.
"I persuaded the filing deputy—a wimp who must have gotten
his law degree mail order—to file charges. Winston was a local celebrity. So
what? Why should he get away with anything? Still, the charge would have been
tough to prove. The car had burst into flames. What evidence wasn't charred was
destroyed by water when the fire department arrived."
"Didn't you talk to Royce during all this?"
"I called, but didn't get any answer. The accounts in the
paper never mentioned her name, just that he had a daughter and his wife was
dead." Mitch shook his head. "At the preliminary hearing I saw Royce
again. Only one other person ever looked at me with so much hatred."
The scars on Mitch's cheek were barely visible in the dim light.
Paul knew someone hated Mitch a helluva lot more than Royce. But in all the
years Paul had known Mitch, he'd never discussed who had tried to kill him. All
Paul knew was someone had attacked Mitch. He suspected it was a woman, but he
couldn't say why exactly. Just a hunch.
"Winston had an old friend—some probate attorney-— represent
him. I annihilated him at the prelim hearing without half trying." Mitch
shoved the half-eaten pizza out of his way. "Winston was so stricken,
Royce had to help him walk out of the courtroom when the judge ruled there was
sufficient evidence to go to trial."
"The next morning I picked up the paper. Royce's father had
blown his brains out. He'd been depressed since his wife died and couldn't face
a trial."
"Christ," Paul said. He'd been away, trying to put his
life back together after leaving the police force. He'd returned shortly after
this happened. It had been another six months before he'd rejoined the living.
Mitch never burdened him with his own problems during that time.
"Half the city showed up at the funeral. When Royce saw me,
she went ballistic."
"I suppose you can't blame her."
"No. I'd insisted on prosecuting out of blind ambition. I
admitted it to her at the funeral. It was a spotlight case that would have made
my career. Instead the press was in an uproar and every politician in the city
wanted blood."
"But the press didn't fry you. I wasn't so out of it that I
wouldn't have remembered them attacking you."
"True, the media went after the system and yammered for weeks
about evidence ignored in drug cases that are plea-bargained while we'd
crucified an
certainly made a lot of criminal attorneys rich, defending felons who kept
cycling through the system.
"A case came in at the end of the month about the time I
thought Royce was due home. A man had been killed in an automobile accident.
The survivor claimed the dead man had been driving, but the police suspected
the survivor—who'd failed a sobriety test—had actually been at the wheel.
"The evidence was iffy. The question was whether or not to
charge Terence Winston, a local celebrity with a column in the Examiner and
a heavyweight in liberal political circles."
"Didn't you know he was Royce's father?"
"No. We'd been walking along the beach when I'd asked her
name. Between the noise of the surf and my bad ear, I didn't pick up what she
said exactly. I thought her name was Royce Annston, but she must have said
Royce Anne Winston.
"The case was a challenge. Even if we could have proved
Winston was driving, a good defense attorney could have gotten the drunk
driving charge dropped. The police used a breath analyzer and got a reading
that was barely over the legal limit."
"They should have used a blood analysis, particularly since
there was a death involved."
"Hell, they were unusually sloppy all the way around. They
mopped up the accident scene in an hour."
"Typical," Paul said, then took a sip of his lukewarm beer,
thinking. Crime scenes were taped for days, every bit of evidence examined
carefully. But on the street nothing was more important than maintaining
the flow of traffic. Too often those crime scenes were released prematurely.
"I persuaded the filing deputy—a wimp who must have gotten
his law degree mail order—to file charges. Winston was a local celebrity. So
what? Why should he get away with anything? Still, the charge would have been
tough to prove. The car had burst into flames. What evidence wasn't charred was
destroyed by water when the fire department arrived."
"Didn't you talk to Royce during all this?"
"I called, but didn't get any answer. The accounts in the
paper never mentioned her name, just that he had a daughter and his wife was
dead." Mitch shook his head. "At the preliminary hearing I saw Royce
again. Only one other person ever looked at me with so much hatred."
The scars on Mitch's cheek were barely visible in the dim light.
Paul knew someone hated Mitch a helluva lot more than Royce. But in all the
years Paul had known Mitch, he'd never discussed who had tried to kill him. All
Paul knew was someone had attacked Mitch. He suspected it was a woman, but he
couldn't say why exactly. Just a hunch.
"Winston had an old friend—some probate attorney-— represent
him. I annihilated him at the prelim hearing without half trying." Mitch
shoved the half-eaten pizza out of his way. "Winston was so stricken,
Royce had to help him walk out of the courtroom when the judge ruled there was
sufficient evidence to go to trial."
"The next morning I picked up the paper. Royce's father had
blown his brains out. He'd been depressed since his wife died and couldn't face
a trial."
"Christ," Paul said. He'd been away, trying to put his
life back together after leaving the police force. He'd returned shortly after
this happened. It had been another six months before he'd rejoined the living.
Mitch never burdened him with his own problems during that time.
"Half the city showed up at the funeral. When Royce saw me,
she went ballistic."
"I suppose you can't blame her."
"No. I'd insisted on prosecuting out of blind ambition. I
admitted it to her at the funeral. It was a spotlight case that would have made
my career. Instead the press was in an uproar and every politician in the city
wanted blood."
"But the press didn't fry you. I wasn't so out of it that I
wouldn't have remembered them attacking you."
"True, the media went after the system and yammered for weeks
about evidence ignored in drug cases that are plea-bargained while we'd
crucified an
Similar Books
