A Time for Justice: A Legal Thriller (Bill Harvey Book 4) Read online

  “What about the length of time? Surely five years is too long to claim any impact from the hypnotherapy sessions? The statue of limitations would have expired.”

  “He claims that he has only just come out from under the ‘spell’ and has just realized what’s happening.” Bill shakes his head. “There was one case in Germany, in the mid-1800s, where the woman claimed the hypnotic spell lasted seven years. That went to court, and the therapist was found to be guilty of controlling her actions.”

  “Wow.”

  “Most recently, there was a court settlement for a school principal who conducted hypnosis on his students, and some of those students later died tragically. He entered a plea deal for a misdemeanor, unlawful practice of therapeutic medicine, but wasn’t charged for any of the deaths.”

  “That’s heartbreaking. I wouldn’t wish the loss of a child on my worst enemy.”

  “May those children rest in peace.” Bill closes his eyes and nods.

  Kate does the same. “Rest in peace. But that means there’s a recent precedence for this?”

  “The parents of the deceased children took the school board to the civil court for damages. The school board decided not to test the case in court, and agreed to a settlement.” Bill looks down at his drink. “And then there’s the Svengali defense, to add to it all. It’s a tactic that purports that the defendant is a pawn in the game for an influential mastermind. Kevin could be pushing for that by saying that I was unlawfully influencing his actions to conduct his criminal activity and benefit from it.”

  “He’s calling you a mastermind? He doesn’t have a chance.” Kate laughs.

  Bill doesn’t.

  “If all his illegal operations have been shut down, he must have a lot of time on his hands. Maybe that’s why he’s coming at you? He’s just looking for some excitement.” She studies the concerned look on his face. “He can’t have enough evidence to prove that you’re responsible? How would he even prove it?”

  “I guess we’ll see over the coming weeks, but I had heard that he takes annual brain scans – due to the history of brain tumors in his family. His proof is supposedly built around the fact that there was a change in the brain scans after the hypnotherapy sessions, and that change has continued to this day. Everything else is going to be his word against mine.”

  “Is that enough?”

  “Unfortunately for us, the standard of proof is very different in a civil case. He only needs to build a case that has “the preponderance of the evidence”, which essentially means that it was more likely than not that something occurred in a certain way.”

  “Could you do it? If you wanted to, could you exert that sort of control with hypnotherapy?”

  “Possibly.” His fingers tighten their grip on the cup. Although he loves coffee, right now, he would prefer his cup contained whiskey. “It would need to be very a very well-thought-out plan, and include a number of triggers in the therapy, but yes, it’s possible that someone could exert that sort of control.”

  Kate leans forward again, sighing as she rubs her fingers on the outside of her skirt. She’s used to her boss being focused on work, she’s used to most of their conversations being about their current case, but today feels different. There’s a stiffness in his movements and a tension in his shoulders that she hasn’t seen before.

  “Have you responded?” She nibbles at the short nail on her index finger, the nerves becoming too much for her.

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you going to respond at all?”

  “I have to. He has too much evidence to risk him going to court alone.”

  “So you’re going to file a general denial?”

  “I can’t. I can’t deny what he’s saying – only that I hold no responsibility for it. There’s little denial in my case. Yes, he came for hypnotherapy sessions. Yes, those sessions may have changed his brain patterns, the same way meditation changes the brain – that I can’t deny. I can’t say that the complaint is not verified. And a general denial will limit my defense in court. Without discovery of all his evidence, I don’t know what I’m defending against.”

  “You could lodge a demurrer – say that you have no case to answer with a legal requirement.”

  “And that would admit that everything he’s saying is true. I can’t do that either.”

  “So how will you respond?”

  “With a motion to strike. I have to argue that what he’s claiming can’t be legal – it’s got to be an irrelevant matter. I can’t be held legally responsible for his actions, even after a session of hypnotherapy. He was totally in control of his actions. Hypnotherapy is not about controlling someone; it’s about guiding them into their subconscious.” Bill’s jaw clenches. “And even if in those lucid moments of his, I am legally responsible, then he has had the option to correct them in his sane moments. He can’t claim that I’ve had an undue influence over his actions. That can’t be a legal defense.”

  “And if it’s legal?” Kate asks.

  “Then we’re going to court, and I get to test my foolishness.”

  “But surely you don’t have $100,000,000?”

  “I wish.” He shakes his head. “But that’s not his target – he wants to take me for all I’m worth. He knows that I’ve done alright over the last few years, and he wants all that money.”

  “So you think he would settle?”

  “I assume he would settle for a lesser amount, but I won’t. This is about money for Kevin Wu. That’s what he’s coming at me for. It’s a pre-emptive strike – him lining his pockets before something, or someone, hits him big. He’s building a defense against something else.”

  “Do you know what for? What are they pressing him on?”

  “I don’t know yet, but it must be big.” Bill swirls his coffee cup before taking the last swig. “And if it’s big enough, it won’t take long to find out what it is.”

  “Why don’t you just go and talk to him? Sort it out man-to-man?”

  “Because Kevin Wu is one of the most dangerous men in the Chinese-American population here in L.A. He’s ruthless, cunning, and brutally callous. If I come within a mile of him right now, I’ll come off second best. This guy isn’t going to play nice.”

  Kate bites her nail again. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to do what I always do, Kate.” He looks at his friend. “I’m going to fight.”

  Chapter 4

  Finding food is easier tonight.

  The moonlight trickles through the small gap he made last year; he dug a hole on the outside and placed a piece of glass at the top end of the room, near the door, just so she could get to see more sunlight. She gave him the biggest hug that day.

  She can’t sleep tonight, not that she wants to. She likes the night.

  The day is too bright, too noisy with all the birds outside. And there’s nothing to do during the day, only work through the puzzles and books that he leaves for her. Every month, he leaves a new puzzle book – this month it’s Sudoku. It challenges her mind, taking her away from the trapped life that she leads in the underground.

  Ever since she received her first number game book, joy floods through her when she sees a new puzzle book. This month, he smiled broadly when she jumped up and down with delight, holding the book to her chest.

  For her, there’s no disputing the numbers. There are no mistakes. It’s either right or wrong. She loves that consistency.

  But importantly, the number books remind her of her dear grandmother; the time her gran spent tutoring her after school every day, sitting patiently next to her, watching as she learned day-to-day. When she lived at home, she barely saw her parents, but her grandmother was always a constant, caring presence in her life.

  Under the guise of the moonlight, she feels her way through the night and finds the bag of food, reaching in to pull out the loaf of white bread. Pulling out the first slice, she presses it into her fingers. A small sigh of pleasure escapes her mouth when she finds
that it’s still so fresh and soft.

  By the time he comes next, the bread will be stale. Hard. Moldy. Almost like eating cardboard.

  She eases her teeth into the soft bread for the first bite – small, slow and deliberate.

  Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, she feels the softness of the morsel of bread, bringing a sweet rush of joy through her body. It tastes so delightful, so moist. The piece of bread cushions between her teeth, lightly being chewed between hums of satisfaction.

  Her shoulders relax, and all the tension disappears from her body. Like a wonder drug, the bread makes her feel high, contented, and totally calm within the first bite.

  Over the years, she has learned to savor the feeling that fresh bread brings.

  When she was younger, when she first came to the basement, with nothing else to do, she would eat the loaf of bread in the first two days. She would eat it fast, like she had done for the entirety of her young life.

  But as the years slowly ticked past, she learned her own life lessons. She learned that the slower she eats the bread, the more she relishes it. The longer she takes for each mouthful, the longer she can enjoy the magical moment.

  Sometimes, he even brings apples. Those are her favorite days.

  Once, he even bought two bags of apples. She almost cried she was so happy. When he brings fresh fruit, it takes all her willpower not to eat it all on the first day. She’ll stare at the bag, almost like it’s calling out to her. Occasionally, she lets herself go and binges on the fruit. She becomes almost dizzy with the hit of gratification.

  Once the first slice of bread has been slowly consumed, she climbs up on her camping bed and peers up through the small window. Angling the right way, she can see the moon in all its glory – shining bright and full through the clear sky.

  Using a piece of wood that she carved years ago, she scratches another circle into the wooden wall at the end of the stairs. Another full moon. A big, beautiful part of life, shining down brightly on the earth, covering the world in a gentle, kind glow.

  With a smile on her face, she sits back on the end of her bed, careful not to tip the camping bed over. Looking around at her small place in life, at the dirty concrete floor, at the cold hard walls, and at the old wooden stairs that lead to the door, she wonders what the world is like out there. What’s the food like? How much bread is out there? An endless supply? How amazing the bread must be? Could people even have fresh bread every day of the year?

  Hugging her knees to her chest, she smiles.

  Life is good.

  She has food, shelter, books, and puzzles.

  The thought of staying in the basement crosses her mind. Maybe this is all life has to give. Maybe this is the best life she can hope for. That’s what he says. That’s what he tells her.

  And maybe he’s right.

  She does like it here.

  Life does make her happy.

  But there’s a feeling inside her – a growing sense of fear.

  Sometimes, she can remember what it feels like to be outside. Remember what it’s like to be around other people. Sometimes, in her dreams, she gets fleeting moments that remind her of family, of friends, of another world.

  In those moments, she knows that she has to leave, and that has always been her plan. Time used to be on her side.

  But the thought of a new man coming into her world makes her grip her knees tighter. She can’t bear the thought of a new man taking her away. She can’t bear the thought of what he’ll do to her. Her hands begin to shake as she thinks about the horrid possibilities.

  She will run.

  It will break his heart, but she will run.

  For her own safety, she has to run.

  The time has come to break free.

  Chapter 5

  The innocent world buzzes around the two people standing next to the Lake Forest skate park, a coffee in each of their right hands.

  Looking out of place in the buzzing hip area, Bill Harvey stands tall; a fitted suit amongst the loose T-shirts, long shorts, and long socks. Not only does his dress sense look out of place, but he also feels like dishing out life advice to every young person that whizzes past him.

  The morning sun beats down on the concrete structure of curves, twists, and jumps, as sweat begins to bead on Bill’s brow.

  LAPD Detective Stacey Oates looks quite at home in the area, and she feels it too. There are two places that the thirty-year-old feels at peace – flying around on her skateboard, and chasing down criminals. Just not at the same time.

  With an arm full of tattoos, usually covered during working hours, long black hair, and toned tanned limbs, Oates could be mistaken for a twenty-something bum with no job.

  But whoever thought that would do so at their own peril.

  Oates takes a long sip of her coffee, adjusts her cap, passes the coffee to Bill, drops her skateboard down, and then roars into the skate park with speed. She hits the concrete with her left foot, stopping, propping, and then launching herself off the steepest slope in the park. With a sudden burst of speed, when she reaches the other side of the jump, she springs into the air. Bill grimaces as he watches her land. One wrong step, one wrong position, and no amount of beauty products would cover that damage.

  Not that Detective Stacey Oates would mind. Beauty products aren’t her thing.

  Once she has roared around the track, hitting hollies, flips, and grinds, she cruises back to Bill with a poise that he could never hope to equal on a piece of wood with four wheels.

  “I know that this isn’t just a friendly visit. I know what you came here to ask me.” Stacey grunts, sliding up next to him. “So hurry up and get those words out of your mouth.”

  “If you know what I’m going to ask, why don’t you just answer it?” Bill hands the coffee back to the slightly puffed woman.

  “Because you haven’t asked it.” She smiles. Her black hair is pulled back tightly, almost like she wants nothing to do with it. It has betrayed her many times; men see her feminine locks and immediately think she’s an easy target, think that she’s soft.

  That would be their mistake.

  Bill Harvey knows that. He’s been in the boxing ring with her.

  “What have you got on Kevin Wu?”

  He remembers the left hook that she landed on his chin in the ring. Clean, fast, and dangerous.

  Three years ago, at a bar with a group of LAPD detectives, a visiting Japanese police officer challenged him to a Sake drinking contest. Whoever lost had to step into the ring with Oates for one round of boxing, with their hands tied behind their back, ducking and weaving from her gruesome gloves for three minutes.

  As he spent his youth near a boxing gym, Bill managed to last two minutes, but she threw a perfect combo – left jab, left jab, short right uppercut, and finished with a short left hook. It landed square on his chin and instantly floored him. The detectives went wild, but they all patted him on the back after he stepped out – no officer had ever lasted more than thirty seconds against the tall former underage boxing champion.

  That performance also earned the respect of LAPD Cold Case Homicide Special Section Detective Stacey Oates, and the lines of communication have been open ever since.

  “Come on, Bill. It’s my day off. I come out here to escape the job, not to be hounded about it.”

  “This is important, Stacey. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  She draws a long breath and stares at the man she respects. “Alright. We’re close to Kevin Wu. Really close. Five years ago, he was the prime suspect in the disappearance, and likely murder, of Tiffany Lee, Monty Lee’s daughter. The department was sure it was him – everyone was sure it was him. The lead detective was sure, the captain was sure, the victim’s father was sure, but the problem came with the DA’s office. They said we didn’t have enough evidence to charge him, and unless we were able to get a confession out of him, then he would be walking away.”

  “And no confession came?”

  �
��None. We brought him in, but he lawyered up very quickly and didn’t say a word to us. Not a word.” Stacey draws a long sip of her coffee and then flicks her skateboard up into her arms.

  “And now?”

  “We got a tip off a month ago. A woman called our department and stated that they saw Kevin Wu and a girl exiting a car near the entrance to Deb Parks Rd in Montecito Heights, at the gates leading into the Ernest E. Debs Regional Park.”

  “What did they claim to see?”

  “A car pull up to the entrance of the park, and Wu step out of the passenger seat. Then he took a girl from the trunk of the sedan. He grabbed her by the shirt on her shoulder and walked out of sight.”

  “Identification of the driver?”

  “It’s shady.” She grimaces as she watches a teenage boy crash into the concrete not far from them. “The anonymous tip-off stated that they thought it may have been Kevin’s old muscle, Terrance Marshall, but they couldn’t confirm it.”

  “I know Terrance Marshall. I’ve defended him before.”

  The teen brushes himself off, winks at Stacey, and then continues skating. Stacey rolls her eyes as she looks back at Bill.

  “Wu drags the girl off into the park, and two hours later, he returns to the car without the girl, and the car drives away.”

  “A body?”

  “We’ve already spent two days looking for it and found nothing. The problem is that the reserve is massive, and they only saw them at the entrance of the park at the time.”

  “So he could have buried her anywhere in the reserve?”

  “Or he may not have buried her at all. She might not even be dead. He could say that he was just talking to her and she escaped into the reserve and ran away. All we have at this stage is a possibly unreliable tip-off from an anonymous source, and unfortunately, without the body, he has a defense against a murder charge. We could go for kidnapping, but we want murder one. We have to find a body before we press ahead. We’ve got a forensic team scheduled to look through the reserve in a few months, searching for clues around the area that she was taken from the car.”