The Deceiving Jury: A Legal Thriller Read online

  THE DECEIVING JURY

  A Legal Thriller

  FREYA ATWOOD

  Contents

  Two Exciting Gifts Await You

  Before You Start Reading…

  About the book

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Extended Story

  Also by Freya Atwood

  Preview: The Determined Lawyer

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  About the Author

  Two Exciting Gifts Await You

  Thank you for purchasing my book! It means so much to me and it strongly encourages me to keep writing.

  As a gift for your loyalty, I have written a book for you called “The Price of Justice”. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get it for free by clicking this link here.

  And let me not forget about a second gift that you can get for free on Amazon!

  “Pursuit of Justice” is available for all of you by clicking this link here.

  Freya Atwood

  Before You Start Reading…

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  About the book

  The star of Hollywood is found dead and this lawyer is the only one who can find the truth.

  Lawyer Penelope Moore has just scored her biggest case. But she definitely didn’t anticipate having to defend the main suspect for the murder of the biggest Hollywood star. Neither did she anticipate the fame that follows…

  But someone is desperately trying to stop her. And when she gets attacked inside her own house, the man who saves her suddenly disappears without a trace…

  Prologue

  ALAS!

  I got there. As soon as I swerved my tires into the empty parking lot, I slumped my head onto the leather-quilted steering wheel and heaved a sigh of relief.

  I’ve lived in Los Angeles almost all my life, but it baffled me why I felt like an angry immigrant setting out on Los Angeles roads for the first time that night. For fifteen healthy minutes, the cars ahead of me didn’t move an inch, and I couldn’t stop imagining what got their hands glued to their steering wheels even after the traffic light went green. Calm down. It could be one of those annoying holdups caused by actors on set. Hell. What else was I to expect in this city; the entertainment capital of the world?

  I leaned on my iridescent blue Nissan Versa, shoveled my hair backward, and squinted in the direction of the apartment a few feet away. I was on Vermont Avenue in downtown Los Angeles, paying a surprise visit to my newest client, Joan Carlos. She’s seventeen but doesn’t look like it. She’s smart, but fronting my finest wares as a trained lawyer, I never stopped acting smarter. Still, her icy blue eyes always screamed innocence and raw conviction. She didn’t do it.

  My eyes glinted when her shadow first stepped into the ambiance of the incandescent bulbs in the sitting room. I saw it clearly from the half-closed window, and then she yanked the entrance door open. I snaked behind my car, perfectly concealing my entire perimeter. I wasn’t seen. She wore a yellow crop top and denim shorts that exposed her thick thighs. It was 8:00 pm, and I hadn’t seen her before—around that time of the day—in anything else other than her multicolored lightweight floral nighties. She was still combing the basement with a fine-toothed gaze when it happened.

  Out of the blue, he wrapped his hands around her from behind, resting them on her erected chest region. One to the left and the other to the right, he squeezed her girls roughly. She didn’t put up an iota of resistance, not even a frown; instead, she bit her lips gently and veered backward. His dark cracked lips whispered into her ears, and she cued in. My eyeballs swerved sidewards in awe as she finally slumped into his robust arms. He pulled her inside and banged the door shut. What the hell?

  She lied. He lied. They all lied. Baldheaded. Plump. Jim Green is her stepfather and her prosecutor. In two days, he’d lead his counsel as a prosecutor to try her for the murder of his wife—the murder of her mother. The same Joan he just cuddled and pulled inside. The same Joan I’d be defending in front of the fierce Judge Lincoln Cordon in two days. The same Joan who sees her stepfather as a monster but just melted into his arms before my very eyes.

  I was still fighting to recuperate from the shock and perhaps try to see more meanings to it apart from the one running in my head when my phone rang. I’m sure it wasn’t loud enough to be heard by the two inside.

  “Hi,” a coarse male baritone spoke under his breath.

  “Hello…uhm, who’s this?” I asked.

  “There you go! It’s been ages, attorney Penelope Moore,” he teased. His voice sent chills down my spine and it rang with a tone of familiarity. Did I know him?

  “Uhm. What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to sieve out the stammer in my tone.

  “You see a hedge between keeping friendships green. I gave you three decades, and now I sound like history. Poor you!”

  I had no idea who owned the voice on the phone nor what he was up to. But, God knows if it didn’t wake old feelings. Feelings of fear, helplesness; all so familiar, all not that long ago. Not from him, not from anyone, not that night. Not when I had what seemed like the most complicated cases in downtown Los Angeles on my desk.

  “Listen. I’m a very busy person, and I think we can save our time if you kindly tell me who you are and what you want. Don’t I deserve to know that?” My voice was louder than intended.

  “Of course you do. But, you think I’m gonna be that fair to us!”

  Shit! Did he just say ‘us’? I wanted to hang up the phone and tell him to get a car key and drive his butts to hell, but that didn’t sound civilized either. Was I getting a temper? Maybe. The looming mess got me acting all worked up. I wanted him to spit what he had stuck down his throat. If not that, why else would he call me this time of night?

  “What do you want?” I asked subtly, trying to grab the door handle of my car. I was sick of hiding like some kid lost in a weird Halloween costume, playing hide-and-seek.

  He laughed hysterically. “It seems you’ve forgotten that an old fox is not easily snared. But, there’s no need to panic, Ms. Barrister. Besides, you’ve got more
worrying cases to betroth your attention to, maybe like the one keeping you outside till now…”

  I was already inside the car. I lowered the phone and quickly wound down the window glass, looking all around. Does he know where I am? Holding the steering wheel firm, my hands shuddered, and I felt crumbs of anxiety brimming my being. What the hell is going on?

  “It won’t end well if you try messing with me. Are you stalking me?” I yelped.

  “Stalking? I think that’s too unserious. What if I’m doing more?” he responded as a-matter-of-factly.

  “Whatever you are doing, don’t ever forget that if you dare play games with me, I’ll fish you out with my last penny and you’ll pay for it…all of it. What the hell do you want from me?”

  “Barking dogs rarely bite, Penelope Moore, and I know you more than you feel you know your empathetic self. What’s wrong with a friend calling to remind you that a loveless life is a living death?”

  Gosh. Really? Is that what all of this is about? I had no idea why the son of a bitch felt I needed love. I never cared about his claims of knowing me inside out, but if he truly did, then he’d have known that love was the least of my worries. It was the monster I dreaded with every shard of my being.

  “What the hell do you want from me? I …”

  “Save your threats and agree, for the law is costly, “ he cut me off, waited for a few seconds, and continued. “It’s been thirty good years and enough to kill the monster in you, no matter what stuff it’s made of. It’s me, and just like the full moon on the eve of the summer night, I’m back for you, Jennifer Alvarez.”

  My heart skipped, and my tiny eyeballs dilated in terror. I felt adrenaline trudge through my frigid veins as my throat tightened. I’d never have said a word even if I wanted to. I wanted to, but couldn’t. For thirty good years, the past I dearly loathed and ran away from finally came alive and reached towards me, about to hug me like a nemesis. He was why I dreaded fame. He was why I turned the horse that was my career midstream. He was why I succumbed to voluntary white-collar criminal defense and litigations.

  Jennifer Alvarez. Only he addresses me with that name. The thought of him got my eyes glassy, and my heart ebbed with silent curses. Maybe he’s back to finish what he started with this movie-star-turned-lawyer! I thought I had killed him.

  Chapter 1

  THE WEAK BREEZE THAT DRONED THE ATMOSPHERE WAS WATERY. But, the sun didn’t suffer defeat. It was 8:00 am, and the familiar double parallel light rays from the hanging sun had already made their way to the sitting room, shading a glow on the leather sofa.

  My stomach grinned and grumbled as I took a few steps. God knows I had forgotten that the delivery man had dropped me a package before I entered the bathroom. Maybe that was because it happened at the speed of light. It woke my troubled heart with excitement that the college lads and lasses doing the deliveries recently were unbelievably smart and sleek. Who knows if he wasn’t lurking around my apartment waiting for me to order. Even Fristo; my parrot, knows that I order Chinese food first thing on Friday morning.

  Thursday made it officially two years since I learned how to make myself a coffee, but I handled it like I was born to make coffees; a talent that the wings of fame overshadowed. It was an achievement. Of course, what is life without good coffee?

  I retrieved the package from the kitchen and made it for the living room, nodding as I walked past the upholsteries as if hitting greetings on people perched on them. But, there was no one. My tiny but smart three-bedroom apartment housed only two heads; myself and my parrot, Fristo. I loved it that way. It felt secure.

  I peeped at the wall clock and then at the TV. It was 8:10 am, just a few minutes to the beginning of ‘The Juror’; a legal thriller series I slowly got magnetized to, but I couldn’t say what was the meat of my growing addiction to the series. Probably my snail-paced law career, and the idea that it could turn into something big one day. Keyword: one day.

  I was about to unwrap the package after a few sips from my coffee mug when my phone rang. Who the hell is it? Fridays are off days. I’m wretched at making guesses, but I had to guess who’d groom the guts to phone me on a Friday morning. I stole a stare into the phone before placing it by my ear. It was my boss, Michael Perron.

  “Good morning and happy weekend, Penelope,” his sonorous baritone said, blending with the weak breeze hovering around.

  “Yeah, good morning Michael. It’s clear that the morning is good, but it seems someone’s planning to abduct the ‘happy’ out of the weekend,” I said.

  He chuckled. “Yeah. I know I’m breaking the rules, but after a hectic week, I don’t think it’s out of place to find out how you’re recuperating. Got over the sore yet?”

  I shrugged, for I couldn’t tell if I truly got myself back after the eventful week. “My hopes are high, but this isn’t easy on me, Michael,” I said.

  I heard him let out a deep breath after waiting for a few seconds. “It’s never easy, Penelope. For fifteen years I’ve been on this boat, and I’m not indifferent. Clients differ, and so do their cases and the type of emotional trauma you’re dished.”

  “But, Michael, even a squatter in the dirty nooks of this goddamn city can see that all of this is pissing me off. How come no one told me that even helping people doesn’t come easy? I honestly have no idea what path to slump into…”

  He chuckled, and then a faint clang was heard on his end. “We all felt the same at the toddler levels of our careers. Judge Floyd Perez felt the same. Justice Lincoln Cordon felt the same. I felt the same, Penelope,” he said, his baritone dwindling into something subtler. “I know,” I paused, sighing and pressing my forehead against the wall. This felt so bad. “What do I do?” I asked, completely perturbed.

  “This is a storm to measure your tolerance. I can see it. But, I’m afraid you will never do it if you keep being bothered about getting into the faces of people out there. You can do this, and all it starts with is getting into your ride without scanning for stalking paparazzi before making a move. Penelope, begin with what you have before you.”

  His words were pure bliss, but I couldn’t let the pint of glow within me leap beyond my face. I needed to get his latter sentence right.

  “You mean what I’ve got on my desk?” I asked, my ears perked up in anticipation.

  “Yeah. What you’ve got left. And, whatever you might be influenced to let go.”

  I got exactly where he was headed and had to notify him of the goose chase ahead.

  “Michael, I don’t seem to see myself going back to my vomit. Just let the damn cat out of the bag. Go ahead, tell me this is about Joan Carlos’ case and then watch me swear by Christ that I’ll never take up that case again.”

  I sensed it in his voice. I’ve known Michael for four years and could tell when he was up to something. He knew that I got pushed to the wall and had made up my mind. That was the first time in my career I withdrew from a case on the grounds of lying and deception on the side of my client; Joan Carlos. If she thinks I don’t deserve the truth, then she doesn’t deserve my help.

  “Down the hills and by the riversides in faraway Mexico, fishing with my aged but strong grandfather, he shared a lot of stunning life modules, and that’s what I’d like to say to you. You don’t help people because they deserve your help, but you help people because they need help. But …” he said, breaking, perhaps, to take a breath to have another sip of coffee.

  “This isn’t about Joan Carlos,” he finally landed.

  He gave up on me. Yeah, he did. For four years, he’d never fail in his attempts to have me consider or reconsider a case. I thought he was out to school me on a thousand ‘whys’ I should help Joan, but that was far from it.

  “Not about Joan Carlos? What is it then?”

  “Mali James.”

  I dropped my coffee mug, stood up, and trudged away from the table, my phone still placed by my ears.

  “Mali James? What’s with her?”

  “This could ad
d the dream luxe and adornment to your career, Penelope.”

  Shit! “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Perron & Shielder. 9:30. Don’t be late.”