Beyond Justice (6 page)

"Of course."

The next few words were difficult to utter.  "How do I go about making a claim?"

A pause.  She muffled the receiver with her hand and I vaguely heard her murmuring.  Then she was back.  "You’re going to need to come into the office."

"Can I bring a copy of the death certificates or do you need the originals?"

"Either is fine.  You’ve got to come in right away.  Okay?"

"I suppose."  Why so urgent?

"Like today?"

"I can be there in an hour."

"Good.  We’ll see you then."

___________________

The first stop was my cubicle.  I hoped to avoid all the sympathetic wishes and concerned faces.  To my surprise, no one in my department approached me.  Instead, they turned their heads and pretended they hadn’t seen me.  That worked just fine for me. 

I was stunned to find my cubicle completely empty, save for a cardboard box and a sheet of paper on my desk where my computer and monitor used to sit.  It was a memo on the firm’s letterhead and simply said:

___________________

"What the hell is this?"

"Sam, please.  Have a seat."  Fred sat stone faced at his desk, hands folded.  He seemed calm, but I could see the apprehension in his eyes. 

"I will not have a seat!  Tell me why I’m being canned."

He sighed, glanced around the room. "This isn’t really open for discuss—"

"Dammit, Fred. I just lost my wife, my daughter.  My son’s in a coma.  I need the medical insurance."

"You’re an at-will employee in the state of Califor—"

"Cut the crap!"

"Do you have all your personal effects?" 

I answered by stabbing my index finger down at the cardboard moving box.  "It was George, wasn’t it?"

"His decision, yes."

I always knew George was looking for the perfect opportunity to get rid of me.  I never imagined he would sink this low.  "Look at my record, Fred.  I've performed on par—no, above par, won bigger settlements than any of my peers, never took time off without authorization.  I was up for partner.  Sure, I took more than my allotted bereavement days, but I had tons of vacation and sick days banked."

He held his hands up.  "It wasn’t that either."

I kicked his desk.  The sound echoed down the hall and into the main lobby from Fred’s door, which I only then remembered was open.  We remained silent for a moment.  He lowered his voice and motioned for me to shut the door.

"Listen to me, Sam.  What you do on your own time is none of our business.  But what you do with the firm's computer on the firm’s time, is."

"What, paying bills online?  Updating my Netflix queue?  iTunes?  For that, I’m getting the ax?"

"Come on, Sam," he hissed and leaned forward.  "You know what I’m talking about.  Your
private
hobbies."

"No way.  None of that was mine."

"We have regulations about that sort of thing."

"I came forward with it!"

He shifted in his chair, tugged on his collar as if it had suddenly shrunk. "Do you have any idea what kind of liability you’ve exposed the firm to?  Child pornography on a company computer?  What if a client saw that?  This is automatic grounds for termination."

Anger boiled within me, threatened to blow like Mount St. Helen’s.  I’m not a violent man, but I became keenly aware of my potential.  "Okay Fred, Listen" I said, curbing my temper.  "Go ahead and investigate all you want, but I need to make those insurance claims."

"The investigation's concluded.  And I’m sorry, but your benefits have been terminated as well."

"No, wait.  You don’t understand—"

"I think we’re done, now," Fred said, shutting a folder on his desk with a polyurethane smile.  He handed me a slip and a pen.  "Need you to sign this exit form.  Section Two states that the reason for your termination has been explained to you."

I snatched it out of his hands, threw it aside.  "This is insane.  I have never—!"

"It’s final.  Nothing I can do about it.  Anything you’d like to say for the record before we conclude?"

Only two words.  Which I shouted repeatedly as I leapt over his desk, tackled him to the floor and grabbed his throat, shaking his head like a rattle. 

Until someone called security.

___________________

Shock is too mild a word to describe my state as I walked back to my car, escorted by a pair of security guards.  I didn’t particularly love this job, but it had always been a stable part of my life.  I slammed the trunk shut and when I looked up, I saw my best friend standing there.

"Mike, listen," I said, hoping to find my old buddy and only ally rushing to my side.

He only shook his head.  "What the hell, Sam?  What the bleeding hell?"  The look on his face, disappointment and disgust.  If this was one of his damned pranks, I’d have to thoroughly kick his ass.

"How could I what, get fired?" I said.  "Does everyone know why?"

The side of his mouth began to twitch.  His eyes were molten lava.  "All this time, you pretend to be my friend, a decent guy."

"I never downloaded any of that stuff!  What kind of sick—?"

"All this time, you made me believe that I was the screw-up, that I was morally bankrupt, while you, the almighty, the self-righteous, can’t-do-wrong, Samuel Hudson..."

"Just stop for a sec—"

"You sick sonofabitch!"  This was no prank.  Mike got right into my face, his voice hissing.  "They’re investigating me too.  Because I
was
your friend."

"Come on, Man!  You know I wouldn’t download that stuff!"  With open hands, I stepped forward.  But he recoiled, as if I carried the Hantavirus.

"Wouldn't you?  Man, I don't even know you anymore."

"Don't be saying that, Mike.  All these years, you've known me.  Do you—"

"Keep the hell away from me and my family!"

"No.  No, Wait.  Just listen to me."

"To think, I let you stay under my roof.  With my wife, my kids!"

"Mike!" 

But he was off.  And for good measure, he turned and flipped me the bird.  A gust of Santa Anna put a bitter taste in my open mouth, causing me to choke on the dryness.

I leaned back against my car, let out a long breath, shut my eyes and waited for the jackhammer in my chest to slow down. 

Then it was quiet. 

Nothing but the wind blowing, dry leaves scraping against the asphalt, and a car rumbling through the parking deck.

My neck ached.  Best if I went home and slept it off.  Then I realized, My God!  I’m losing all my medical benefits along with my salary.  Things couldn’t possibly get worse.

But they did.

"Mister Hudson?"

I opened my eyes.  Before me stood Detectives Pearson and Batey.   Pearson's hand rested on her hip, right above her gun.  I groaned and rubbed my neck.  "You’ve got to be kidding."

"You need to come down to the station with us, now."

"Why?"

Batey turned me around, directed my hands up against my car and began patting me down.  A crowd had gathered by the balcony.  George stood amongst them with his arms folded over his chest, watching the whole thing.

Pearson’s words echoed in my head, becoming more distant as she spoke. 
"Samuel Hudson, you’re under arrest for the murder of Bethany M.  Hudson and Jennifer Lawrence Hudson..."

Chapter Ten

I sat alone in an interrogation room at the Sherriff's station in Poway and remained silent.  How could this have happened?  Had to be a mistake. 

After twenty minutes in a creaky wooden chair, staring at the wall clock and the one-way mirror, I breathed a sigh of relief when Detective Pearson finally entered the room.  I gave her a reluctant smile.  "The cuffs really aren’t necessary."

Instead of a PDA, she held a yellow legal pad and pen in hand.  She sat at the opposite side of the table, scribbling notes.  "There’s one question that stands out."

I didn’t answer.

"Why your own family?"

It took all my self control not to react the way I felt: violent.  I took a deep breath and stared into her glassy eyes.  "Shouldn’t I have an attorney present?"

"You
are
an attorney."

"I mean, a
criminal
defense lawyer."

"I can’t advise you on that," she said.  "You’re certainly entitled as per your rights, but that’s up to you."

I thought of calling someone from criminal back at work, but they all watched me get arrested.  No way would the senior partners allow anyone to represent me.  First the child pornography, now murder charges.  They’d do best to distance themselves from me as much as possible.

"Do
you
think I should have a lawyer?"  I was testing her.  Criminal wasn’t my field, but anyone who watched
Law & Orde
r knew this much.

"I can’t give you legal advice.  You want to talk to us with or without a lawyer, that’s your choice.  But your resistance won’t reflect well."

"I need to make a phone call."

"You’re certainly entitled to that as well.  Meanwhile, you’re looking at two counts of Murder One at the very least.  Rape of a minor, aggravated assault, we’re talking special circumstances—"

"This is insane."

"This is a capital.  But with a confession I might be able to talk with the D.A. and get you a deal.  Get it down to life without parole.  Without a full trial, you’d save the tax payers of San Diego County a lot—"

"What are you, on crack?"  An ironic laugh escaped my lips.

Pearson tossed her paper and pen on the desk and leaned forward with her hands pressed firmly into the gray Formica.  "Something amusing?"

"Only this joke you call law enforcement."

"I'm just trying to make things easier."  Our eyes locked.  She sat down again, tying to look unperturbed.  "For everyone."  She wouldn’t look at me now.

"So is this the part where you smash a wine bottle and stick the jagged edge into my face and say, ‘Don’t be foolish, vee have vays of making you schpeak?"

"Scumbag."

"I'd like to make that phone call now."

"You’ll get that, when I say so." She continued to write.  A minute passed with no sound save for the scratching of her pen.

"You
know
this is wrong.  Why are you doing this?"

"You don’t get to ask the questions here," she said, her eyes never leaving the form.

"Ms. Pearson."

She didn’t look up.

"Detective."

That approach didn’t bear fruit either.

Slamming my bound fists onto the table I shouted, "Dammit, young lady, you look at me when I’m talking to you!"

That worked.  Two seconds from Chernobyl, she lowered her pen and stood up slowly. "I will look at you when and if it suits me, you low-life, bottom-feeding—"

"All right, you’re crazy."

"I know your type.  I’ve known you all my life."

"Get me that phone."

"That’ll only happen when—"

"Now!"

She squinted with her left eye.  I thought for sure she would pistol whip me.  Instead, she gathered her things, turned around and stepped outside.  The door swung shut.  The mini-blinds rattled.  I sat alone for another forty minutes, watching the clock’s minute hands blaze like a snail towards 11:30 AM.  My stomach rumbled, but I was too upset to even think about food.