Read The Price of Justice Online
Authors: Marti Green
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Police Procedurals, #Women Sleuths, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Crime, #Murder, #Thrillers, #Legal
The Price of Justice
ALSO BY MARTI GREEN
The Innocent Prisoners Project series
Unintended Consequences
Presumption of Guilt
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Marti Green
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503945036
ISBN-10: 1503945030
Cover design by Cyanotype Book Architects
Dedicated to Jason and Andrew. How lucky I am to have you for my sons.
C
ONTENTS
I think the first duty of society is justice.
—Alexander Hamilton
C
HAPTER
1
W
in Melton finished his phone call with his girlfriend, Sienna, and headed to the family room, where his parents were waiting for him. He’d known Sienna only three months, but he already missed her after one week apart. It seemed an eternity until the remaining three weeks of Princeton’s semester break were over and they could be together again. They’d spoken every night, and that helped a bit to ease the separation. Is this love? he wondered. All he knew was that he’d never felt this way before.
He entered the already darkened family room and joined his mother and father for their weekly movie night. Every Sunday evening, unless he was away at school, the family gathered for the shared viewing. The tradition had started when he was five years old and the movie of choice was an animated one. As he grew older, they fell into a pattern of always choosing a classic film, each one taking turns in picking the title.
“Where’s Grandmama?” Win asked.
“Lying down. She has a bit of a headache,” Win’s father, Donald, answered.
Win was a carbon copy of his father, or so people said. Both stood a bit over six feet, with the same dark hair and deep blue eyes. Both were lean but muscled. Although he resembled his father, Win thought he was most like his grandmother, the strong-willed matriarch of the family. He was sorry she wasn’t feeling well and thought about going to check on her before they started the movie. But his parents had already waited for him to finish up his call, so he took his seat.
“How’s Sienna?” his mother, Lucy, asked.
“Good.”
“Will we get to meet her soon?”
“I suppose.” It wasn’t that his feelings weren’t strong enough for him to introduce her to his parents. He just wasn’t ready for the inevitable parental scrutiny that would follow. “Pass the popcorn, please.” That was another family tradition, started when he was five. A huge bowl of freshly popped popcorn, still warm, always accompanied the film.
Donald pressed the remote control, and the DVD of
Casablanca
began. Tonight’s film had been his mother’s choice. The opening credits had barely finished when their housekeeper entered the room, apologizing for her interruption, a note of alarm in her voice.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Melton, but two detectives are here. They’re asking to see Winston.”
Donald stopped the DVD and flipped on a light, then swiveled his chair toward his son. “Do you know what this is about?”
Win felt a knot in his stomach. “Haven’t a clue. Can you get rid of them, Mary?”
“They’re very insistent.”
“Go see what they want,” Lucy said. “Then hurry back.”
Win stood up and followed Mary into the foyer, where two plain-clothed men, both middle-aged, both mildly overweight, waited. Win’s back stiffened, and the knot in his stomach tightened when he saw the grim look on their faces.
“Are you Winston Melton?” asked the one with bushy hair.
Win nodded.
The man flashed his badge from the Seventeenth Precinct. “You’re going to have to come with us.”
“What’s this about?”
The other detective whipped out a pair of handcuffs, grabbed Win, and spun him around, then slapped the cuffs on his wrists. “Winston Melton, you’re being charged with the murder of Carly Sobol. You have the right to—”
The buzzing in Win’s ears drowned out the man’s voice. He tried to still his heartbeat. “No, no, no,” he kept repeating to himself, unaware that he was actually screaming the words. His parents came running, followed seconds later by Win’s grandmother, her hair disheveled and her pants wrinkled.
“Remove those immediately,” Amelia Melton demanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“Sorry, ma’am. Winston is coming with us. He’s under arrest.”
Lucy Melton’s hand flew to her mouth and, as her knees buckled, Donald grabbed her arm.
Amelia strode up to the man holding Win. “You are not taking him anywhere. You’ve made a mistake.”
“Take that up with the judge when he’s arraigned. But he’s coming with us. Now, step back, please.”
Amelia didn’t budge. Lucy and Donald seemed to be frozen in their spots. “I want the name of your supervisor.”
“Captain Henderson.”
“Don’t move. I’m going to call him now.”
Win listened to the exchange as though he were a mere observer, watching a play unfold.
Grandmama will stop these men. She can make this sinking feeling in my stomach disappear. She can make them remove these handcuffs, apologize to me, go away. Far, far away. Grandmama will make everything all right.
Only she couldn’t.
C
HAPTER
2
SEVEN YEARS LATER
E
arl Sanders sat across the table from his lawyer, ready to confess to the rape and murder of seventeen-year-old Carly Sobol. He’d spent the night rolling over in his cot in the six-by-nine-foot cell that had been his home for the past six years, trying to make up his mind. In four weeks, the State of Georgia would stick a needle in his body and administer three drugs that would end his pathetic existence. He’d never done anything good in his life. Maybe this was his one chance to make something right.
“So, why did you want to see me, Earl?” Patrick Dowling asked.
He despised his name. It was just one more thing he hated about his life. “I need you to do something. Something important.”
“I’ve told you. There are no more appeals left.”
Earl knew his lawyer held him in disdain. He’d been appointed by the court and was probably paid some paltry fee for defending a client he knew was guilty. Guilty of a spree of rapes and murders all over the South. Georgia was just the state where he’d been caught. Caught red-handed as they say, crouched over the body of Lydia Cruikshank with his hands around her neck. Careless of him, not to hear the door open. Or the footsteps walk across the floor. Guess he’d been caught up in the rush of the act. And it always did give him a rush, a flood of excitement that nothing else could equal. He’d been no match for the girl’s daddy, a big man with his muscles bursting out of his shirt. The man had nearly killed him on the spot and probably would have if he weren’t a police officer.
“That’s not it. I want to fix a wrong.”
Dowling looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“There’s a girl in Florida I did. Someone else is doing time for her. Waiting for his own needle. But he didn’t kill her. I did, and I want you to tell his lawyer.”
For the first time, his attorney showed some interest. He took out a notepad and pencil. “What’s her name, and where did it happen?”
“Carly Sobol. Palm Beach, Florida. There was a forest behind her high school. I did her there.”
Dowling stared at him, speechless. Probably struck by his matter-of-factness, Earl figured. Well, too bad. He was matter-of-fact about his killings. He’d needed to do them, and he did. And now he’d pay for them. He was matter-of-fact about that, too. From the time he’d started, he’d always been careful. Used a condom, wore gloves, even tucked his hair under a hairnet, the kind restaurant cooks wore. Never left anything behind. If the Georgia girl’s daddy hadn’t passed by the house on his rounds and decided to stop inside to take a leak, he would’ve gotten away with her, too.
Yet, even being careful, he always knew it would end this way. Knew from the time he was little. His mother said he was born with the devil in him, and he guessed that was true. She must have cried a bucket of tears because of him over the years. She didn’t deserve that. Her life was hard enough. Maybe now, with him gone, it would go easier for her.
“Who was convicted in your place?” Dowling asked.
“Guy by the name of Winston Melton.”
Dowling’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”
Earl knew that name would get him. Everyone knew about the Melton family. Even he did. It had amused him when he read the news accounts of Melton’s arrest, then his conviction. Even his family’s billions couldn’t keep him off of death row. What a laugh! “Of course I’m serious.”
“Holy shit!”
Earl could see Dowling’s eyes light up with the knowledge that this would make him a household name, maybe move up his status in lawyer circles. Bring him big-time clients with deep pockets. Get him out of the cesspool of representing clients like Earl. Well, he didn’t mind. Dowling had done a passable job with him, even though he knew he was guilty. It was okay if he got some good out of representing a lost cause like him.
He sat back in his chair. Yes, he’d struggled with his decision, but he could see now it was the right thing to do. In fact, it was probably the first unselfish act in all of his short and miserable life.