A Case For Conners

Chapter 15

Chapter 14: The Prey

"So you can't remember anything at all?" asked Lawrence, moving to avoid his nacho projectile. "Before the hospital, I mean."

"Not a thing," he said. "I ended up on the streets for about half a year or so. Then I got into Bill's company."

She eyed him carefully.

"You had to be in a gang, huh?"

His eyes widened in shock and worry.

"I… I mean… I didn't…"

"It's ok," she said, closing her eyes. "I know you probably didn't want to, and I get that you were scared, just trying to do what you could. I can't blame you for that."

"How did you know I ran with a gang?"

"Logic," she said. "You have a hatred for crime. I see that when you work out your puzzles. Sure, you like the ones that provoke thought and are interesting… but when it comes down to it, you're in this for the people. Oh sure, you're no guidance counselor, but you do care… in your own way."

"I'm surprised you can see that," he said. "I wasn't even sure I knew why I do what I do… I just knew it was what I wanted. What about you? What makes Lawrence a cop?"

"Sergeant detective," she said, mocking his importance of title. "My sister and I were always close growing up, and mom did everything she could for us."

"Your dad?" asked Conners, knowing the answer.

"Jerry's a gambler… a bad one. He lost the house and all our money before he left us. Mom, Janice and I managed to get back on our feet and make a living as best we could, but I just wanted to do more. I wanted to help people who couldn't help themselves and get answers for people that didn't have them. I think the worst thing would be to have someone you love die, without knowing why or who did it."

"That's why you were attracted to homicide," he said.

"Yeah."

"You ever talk to your dad?"

"Jerry found us a little while ago. I wouldn't care if he crashed and burned again, but Janice and mom love him."

"Janice is your sister?"

"My twin actually. We were always close but with very different views. I decided to take criminals down and get answers for people. She decided to help the criminals and became a therapist for cons."

"Must be an awkward dinner table."

"You'd think so, but we're actually still good. After all, we both are trying to help people, just in different ways."

"I just never got that," said Conners. "I mean, sure I like to help, but that dedication to others is something that I just don't understand. Bill had that though. He called it God."

"You don't believe in God?" she asked.

"You do? I thought most cops were atheists."

"A lot of them. I have to understand that there's more out there than this. That just makes sense. If this is it, then the universe just isn't right. If it isn't right, then there's no reason to try and make it better."

"So, you're a Christian out of necessity?" he asked, confused.

"No," she said, laughing. "It may have started like that, but once you actually find God, everything changes. It's like you live your life blind and once God helps you see, you can't go back to being blind."

"I don't really get it. Bill said it was like humans were born with a brain disease and meeting God gave you a new brain or something."

"That's not a bad way to put it," she said thoughtfully.

"But there's nothing wrong with my brain, and I certainly don't want a new one. I like my brain… it's smart."

"You don't understand…" she said, grabbing his hand. "You're going about it wrong. You're trying to find a scientific reason for God to exist, but God doesn't work like that. If God proved he existed to nonbelievers, then they would be forced to follow him unless they were just self-destructive."

"I don't follow you."

"Ok, so if you knew he existed, you would know he's all-powerful right?"

"Right."

"So then, you would follow him if you knew he was real?"

"Yeah… I see. So, he wants people to come to him because we love him or something, right?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds insane to me. I think the new brain you got was defective."

"Sounded insane to me too. Don't worry, I'll pester you about it for a long time."

"Joy, can we chat about the Richard's case?" Conners asked, feeling the casadia he'd eaten travel through his system unsettlingly fast.

"Fine," she said. "You thought about what I said?"

"Here's what I was thinking. If you could get me into that evidence room, I can swap the gun for this one and gain Richard's trust. Then, I just record her saying something about killing Bill or her empire or whatever and I'm set. Turn the b***h in and get paid."

"Or you could use the our murder suspect as a witness and not tamper with police evidence."

"I told you, Richards would know I'd done it and she'll clam up on me. I only have this one shot and I don't want to mess this up."

"So you have jack s**t, and you want to tamper with evidence in the hopes of getting illegal evidence?"

"Better than your plan. What, you really think that one guy is enough to steamroll her into jail?"

"No; but maybe the word of a hitman, a police sergeant, her lieutenant and a citywide hero of a private detective should give a jury a little sway in our direction."

"No attorney would take that case."

"My sister and I should be able to swing a judge our way. I'm sure I can get the lieutenant to find us a good lawyer."

"She'll have a team of defense attorneys, we'll need more. I have a taxi driver who would probably be willing to get a bunch of his friends to testify that she threatened them for a racket if I asked."

"You really ok with lying to get her put away?"

"Not really, but it's better than letting her roam free. If this is how we have to swing this to get that b***h put away, then I suppose we should go for this."

Lawrence nodded solemnly, standing up.

"Well, I have some phone calls to make, and a lieutenant who needs to be reminded of my years of service. Good luck on your end. Call me if something goes wrong or you need help."

Conners groaned and called up Richard's number. If he was going to do this, he might as well get paid.

"Michael, dear," said Richards sounding fair closer to sane. "Are you done?"

"It's done. Your guy won't be charged with anything… at least not for this."

"Very good. I'll wire the money to your account, as several small donations of course."

"Good, can I get back home now?"

"Only if you really can't stand to see me again," she said, sarcastically. "I can always use a good little boy like you."

"You have my number."

He hung up on her. This was the way to get her off guard. She thought he was on her side. The last thing she would suspect was this cloak and dagger trick of his.

He dialed Paul Boston's cell phone number.

"Ah Detective," said Boston. "To what do I owe the sincere pleasure?"

"I need a favor. It'd be mutually beneficial. I'm sure you've heard of Kelsey Richards…"

For the next two weeks Conners was busy. He spoke to the taxi drivers at dispatch and Joe got them to swear that Richards had been robbing them. Boston opened his money and legal resources to them and Conners even got a few of the over-worked office workers to agree to testify against some of her shady transactions.

After they were set, Lawrence arrested Richards on a list of charges a mile long. Conners had intentionally stayed away. This was part of their plan, to keep her unaware of what was happening until the court date.

The day itself came much sooner than he expected, and he opened the doors and immediately locked eyes with Bill's killer. Richards had certainly prepared for this. She'd worn a white suit with a beige top and a pearl necklace to seem pure and clean.

She'd put on mascara and started crying to make her tears more visible. This was a classic maneuver. Crying women always swayed a jury. Her dark hair was carefully moved into a state of disarray. She looked distressed and put upon, and Conners was having trouble telling if it was a trick or she was honestly still crazy.

"How is she?" asked Lawrence.

"She thinks there's no way she can lose."

"Good, she'll be off guard."

"Kelsey Richards," said the judge, Aston Pillard. "You stand accused of racketeering, extortion, corruption and running an organized crime syndicate. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty! This is insane!"

Richards played the distressed woman card well, but it was a mistake. The lieutenant had chosen his judge well. Pillard was a classic sexist, and believed women were corrupted by the chance to be in power. Richards' frantic denial would just harden his distrust of her. It was a small lean in the overall case, but it meant their lawyers would have the upper hand in the case.

"The Prosecuting Attorney has the floor for opening statements."

"Thank you," said Ricky Mitts, the District Attorney who was heading the charges. "Let me say that I do not wish to blindly convict people. That isn't what we are doing here ladies and gentlemen…"

Conners barely paid attention to the words either attorney spoke. His attention was on Richards, and hers was on him. They were sizing each other up. All day long, throughout the several testimonies, the objections and judge Pillard's stern voice as he shot down everything Richards' team put forward; she was trying to find out how she would kill him.

Lawrence was called up to testify and she smiled at him gently before heading up the stand. Conners saw the suspicion cross Richards' mind. He shrugged at her without speaking. She couldn't do anything to hurt them right now anyway. On the off-chance that she wasn't convicted, then they may have a problem.

"You can go back to your seat," Mitts told Lawrence. "Finally, we call Michael Conners to the stand."

I cannot show that anything is wrong, he thought. I must appear to be here only by requirement. Nothing that I say or do can give away how fragile this plan is. I need to be my usual asshole persona.

"Excuse me," he said indignantly. "My title is Detective Michael J. Conners. I worked damn hard to earn it and I did request the full use."

"Very well," said judge Pillard. "If you would be so kind as to grace us with your presence on the stand."

"Only because you were so kind as to ask."

Conners flopped down into the chair they provided for him sideways, with his legs dangling over the armrest.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"Not possible."

"Excuse me?"

"First off, I'm not sure where God and I sit right now," he said, as the jury snickered. "I mean I think I'm like the disobedient teen who keeps insisting daddy doesn't know everything. Even if we were good, no one can really tell the whole truth, can they? I mean, I surely don't know everything about everything… although it's not for lack of trying."

"Detective," said judge Pillard irritated. "We have been here for a very long time, and have already had recess. If you could be kind enough to simply answer the question."

"Fine. I'll tell the truth to best of my abilities."

"That's as good as we're going to get I think," said the judge.

"Detective Michael J. Conners," said Mitts. "You are in private practice?"

"Currently, yeah."

"Explain that, please."

"I worked in private investigation for about a two years. Then, lost my head and joined the blue-footed boobies."

"I'm sorry?"

"Cops. It's what I call them to excuse my calling them a bunch of b…"

"I see," said Mitts quickly. "And how long were you employed by the central police force?"

"For around a month, then I went back to working for myself."

"And do you consult with the central police force, while still being in your own employment?"

"Frequently. I believe I have solved some several dozen cases since I started working in investigation, and the majority of those were in conjunction with the boobies."

Mitts groaned and rubbed his temples.

"And what is your record for solved cases?"

"Can't say I know the exact number, I lost count ages ago. But I've never failed to solve a case, and it's never taken more than a week for me to work one out."

"What, would you say, you contribute to the police force that their own officers cannot provide?"

"I am very, very good. I am able to see things and put a scene together better than their forensic teams. I have a multitude of skills that would normally require a full team to perform, and I can think better and faster than any police officer they have."

"I remind you to be factual, and not speculative with your information, detective."

"That is factual. If there were someone as good as me, I would know and they wouldn't need me anymore. Believe me, they don't put up with me because they like me or because I'm a good person. They do it because I'm the best case worker they have ever seen… with the possible rivalry of Sergeant Jessica Lawrence, of course."

"Very well. So would it be fair to say your experience is relatively vast?"

"Objection!" shouted Richards' lawyer. "Leading the witness."

"Sustained," the judge told her for the first time in this case. "Rephrase the question."

"No need," said Conners. "It wouldn't be fair to say my experience is relatively vast. My experience is so far beyond that, that just saying vast is actually a little insulting. I was hand trained by one of the best detectives who ever lived and was faster than him in thought process."

"Very well. Now, how do you know the defendant?"

"She murdered my boss and tried to buy me off to steal police evidence for her."

"What proof do you have?"

"I dragged William Scott's body out of a fire that had been started at our office. The police arson report will confirm the fire was not natural or electrical. He'd been killed by a shot to the head prior to the fire. I found a note in his shirt pocket leading me to the defendant's office."

"And what did you do with this information?"

"I went to the address where she confronted me and boasted her crime to me. Angry, I left and explained what happened to Sergeant Lawrence. At the time, there was no further proof so we could not get a warrant or act on it."

"So, you went on with your life?"

"For a time. Eventually, she had me kidnapped off the streets. I think we have the security tape from the bank confirming it."

Mitts showed the tape to the jury and it was truly off-putting to see. He was stabbed in the neck by the man with the syringe and then thrown into a windowless van, which sped off into the night.

"What happened after you were taken, detective?"

"She approached me and asked me to steal police evidence in a case against one of her men. She expected I had time to get over the death of my boss."

"And that is when you figured you could help get her charged for what she did to Mr. Scott and yourself?"

"Yes. Not to mention everyone else."

"Thank you, detective."

"Your witness," said the judge to Richard's Lawyer.

"Detective Michael J. Conners. You said you were employed by the central police force for a month?"

"Around a month. I don't remember the exact dates."

"And how did you come to leave their employment?"

"There was a disagreement between the lieutenant, Mr. Guston, and myself. We disagreed on the treatment of a suspect in a case, and I figured I was better off not have to take cases I didn't like. I believe it has a few hundred thousand views on youtube."

"So, your temper got the better of you and you decided to lash out however you could?"

"Objection," said Conners lazily. "Leading."

"I… Objection," said Mitts meekly.

"Sustained, rephrase your question."

"Were you unable to contain yourself?" asked the attorney, still trying to make Conners look bad in the question.

The problem with this was that the jury was loving his attitude and that meant they would favor him in whatever he said.

"Well there is a lot of me to contain. I mean I am just bursting at the seams with intellect and smartassory. I can't just turn it on and off like a switch. So, no I couldn't just be quiet. I thought about becoming a lawyer because of that, honestly."

"Right… And did you…"

"I mean seriously," interrupted Conners. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Mr. Conners…"

"Detective Michael J. Conners, we just went over that."

"Detective," said the judge. "Behave yourself as much as you are able, or I will have to hold you in contempt of court."

Conners actually shut himself up, resisting the urge to make a joke about a female bailiff.

"Moving on," said Richard's lawyer. "So, you have no proof whatsoever that my client murdered your boss?"

"I have her handwritten note that was found in his dead hand."

"A note surely anyone could've written."

"But that handwriting analysis would confirm came from her."

"Detective," said the judge. "Do you have this note present?"

"I do," said Conners, pulling it from his coat pocket.

"And do we have a sample of Miss Richard's handwriting?"

She handed the judge another sheet and Pillard spent several minutes pouring over both notes.

"Well," he said. "I may not be an expert, but I see several pieces of evidence that do prove these notes were written by the same person. The curve on the T and the S for a start."

"So, you have the proof her handwritten note was in his hand when he died," said Conners.

"Is there any evidence that the note isn't an older one? After all, the late Mr. Scott and my client were once married."

"The paper and ink are relatively fresh," Conners dully explained. "We did pull Bill's phone records from before he died. Your client's number is nowhere to be found within the past year."

"And lastly," said Richards' lawyer. "Beyond that tape of someone abducting you off the street, do you have any proof that my client was involved?"

"You know, just because I don't walk around with a camera on my head doesn't mean my life doesn't actually happen."

More laughter from the jury.

"Please answer the question."

"No lasting evidence pointing to your client, no."

"No further questions, your honor."

Conners was excused, and left the courthouse altogether. It hadn't been a great testimony, but it was likely to catch the jury's attention. Stacking Lawrence's, the lieutenant's, several taxi drivers' and Mr. Boston's testimony atop his; and the chances were pretty good she'd get convicted.

He spent the rest of the late day smoking and playing with a tennis ball. It wasn't normal for him to feel this… morose when finishing a case. Granted there was no real mystery in this. He hadn't really put together a puzzle or question that answered anything… He'd just helped put a bad woman in jail… hopefully anyway.

"Well old man," he said to Bill's urn. "Hope that counts for something… I don't know if your God exists or not… but I hope if he does you're enjoying yourself. I hope for you heaven does exist."

There was a soft knock at his door and he opened it lazily to see Lawrence standing there. She'd changed into a casual pair of sweat pants and t-shirt. Her hair was relaxed and she seemed tired.

"Hey," he said simply.

It was odd, but despite the fact that she was plainer than normal, he found this suiting. It was about her as she was. Not that she normally wore fancy clothes, but this was just amplifying the beauty she always carried, instead of trying to draw attention to what she was wearing.

"Hey yourself," she said, walking in. "They convicted her… It didn't take them thirty minutes to reach a decision."

"Ah," he said, sitting down. "Lawrence… did we do the right thing?"

She walked over to him, looking at him with a soft expression.

"Scoot over," she said, sitting next to him. "I think as much as it was possible, we did the right thing. I learned that as a cop, the law often can't do the right thing. I think that's why God gave you to us… I mean anytime I don't know what to do… I go to you. You can do what we can't, and we help you."

"If I'm your moral compass then you're fucked."

She laughed, saying, "You're more like a back pocket solution. I think we did the right thing… I mean, Richards was a cold b***h and wasn't going to stop… and I don't know that we would've gotten her if we went by the book. She's like the mob can be… just untouchable."

"I guess," he said. "Thanks for all your help… You didn't have to help me deal with Bill's killer."

"I know," she said. "But I wanted to. Even outside of helping people… I like being there for you, you know?'

"Yeah. I like helping you too."

"I'm starved. Can you order us some take out?"

"You just barge in my house and demand pizza?" he asked, smiling.

"You opened the door. I didn't barge shit."

"Still my house, you should pay."

"You are a horrible host."

They laughed and joked together… letting the exhaustion of the day just wash out.