The Lawyer’s Plea: James Acker Legal Thriller Read online

  THE LAWYER’S PLEA

  James Acker Legal Thriller

  FREYA ATWOOD

  Contents

  Two Exciting Gifts Await You

  Before You Start Reading…

  About the book

  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

  Extended Story

  Also by Freya Atwood

  Preview: The Deceiving Jury

  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

  When a young woman dies in a brutal case of murder, everyone wants the killer dead. But James Jacker, a lawless lawyer, believes he might be innocent…

  After the murder of his daughter, Lawyer James Acker spiraled out of control. But there’s one thing keeping him sane: fighting for justice. And once James finds out about the case, he decides he’ll defend Daryl, the main suspect, even if it means reliving the most painful moments of his life.

  But things get complicated. Defending Daryl won’t be so easy, not when he hides a dark secret from him, and not when the case nearly falls apart.

  Chapter 1

  My eyes shot open and I sat straight up in bed, just in time to hear a low rumbling of thunder shake through my room like it was trying to tear down the walls around me. The covers were already thrown across the floor, my breathing was stagnated and heavy, and there was a cold trickle of sweat coating my body and soaking through the sheets right beneath me.

  I ignored the way my body shuddered as I listened to the sounds of thunder rumbling across the sky, soon followed by a crack of lightning that briefly lit my room before sending it back into darkness.

  I wanted to believe it was the storm that woke me. I’ve always been a light sleeper, so it was an easy enough lie to swallow. But another moment of lucidity, of sitting in darkness and listening to the rain lash against my bedroom window, and the dream I was having began to seep back into my subconscious...

  … there had been a room. It was one of those crappy highway motel suites that always overcharge and underdeliver. That stink of mold and the mixed odor of hundreds of other people who have slept there at one point in time. There had been a man, a boy really, laying in the bed, sleeping and out to the world like he didn’t have a care. There had been another man too, me, wading into the dark room, as quiet as a mouse in the night, careful not to be seen or heard.

  Then it was all flashes.

  Fear in the young man’s bright green eyes as he sat up in bed and realized what was about to happen. His red-hair fell down by his ears, and looked like a blazing fire on top of his head as he screamed and then started to cry. He begged me for forgiveness as he wept. Someone else screaming in the background... the voice of a little girl. I ignore it as I laugh. I cackle manically as my hands move for his throat and squeeze. I smile as I watch the life drain from his eyes. And when his body falls limp, I say a silent prayer in thanks and collapse to my knees, body shaking at what I have just done. And as to the little girl that I could hear screaming? That never stops.

  It was a dream that I was used to by now. As familiar to me as the single mattress bed that I slept in, or the crappy apartment above an old diner that I rented, or the piece of trash, gas-guzzling car that I drove. It was a dream that I had far too often and, as much as I wished it would go away, I knew there was little chance of that happening.

  Another crack of lightning shook the apartment and I jumped from the bed as if I was being shot at. I was finding it harder and harder to sleep at night now -- for the past five years, it had been a long and slow drive off the edge of a cliff. I wasn’t quite at the edge yet, but I could see it fast approaching. Sometimes, I even considered hitting the gas and getting there sooner.

  The idea of going back to sleep didn’t appeal to me one little bit. Fully awake now, I pushed myself to my feet with a resigned groan and stumbled across the small bedroom and toward the door into the even smaller living room, headed from there to the tiny kitchen.

  I was glad for the darkness. My apartment wasn’t anything to write home about. Well, it wasn’t even really a home. More of a space for me to sleep at night while trying to forget about the life that I used to live, before it all went downhill. A single bedroom. A bathroom as small as a closet. A kitchen that looked like a stye. A living room that didn’t even have a television... or a couch. Drug addicts didn’t live like this.

  I stumbled into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water from the tap. My body was still coated in a cold sweat and as I drank down the warm water, I did what I could to forget the dream I’d just had. Or rather, I tried to forget what the dream meant.

  It was the eyes that I couldn’t get out of my mind. Bright green, wide like dinner plates, filled with fear. Terror. The knowledge that I was going to be the last thing that they saw before it was all over. And even worse than that was the resignation in them. Almost like he knew that he deserved what he was getting, that this had to happen, and he was simply trying to accept it...

  My body shuddered as a wave of guilt flooded over me. It was just a dream, I said to myself. Just a dream. And it was too. But still, the guilt remained.

  I quickly finished the water and hurried from the kitchen. Another crack of lightning as if I was being chased and then I was back in my crappy bedroom. I stood by the door, staring at the uncomfortable bed, trying to will myself to climb back in and try for some more sleep. But then my eyes strayed to my phone on the bedside table.

  I don’t know how I knew, but I could sense it about to ring. It’s funny how that happens. It was almost a sixth sense. Even more so because before I saw who was calling, I knew who it was going to be.
And sure enough, the phone lit up, the name flashed across the screen, and I smiled to myself like I’d done some great thing as I walked across and picked the phone up.

  “Yallo,” I grumbled into the mouthpiece.

  “James,” the familiar voice of my younger brother, Elliot, growled on the other end. “I didn’t wake you?”

  “Do you care if you did?”

  “Not really,” he said back with little emotion.

  A beat followed. It was awkward and tense, and one that I was only too used to by now. It happened every time that Elliot and I spoke, as if he was constantly waiting for me to admit to something that we both knew I never would do.

  Another rumble of thunder in the distance, sounding now like it was slowly moving away. At least that was one problem solved.

  “What do you want?” I eventually prompted. “Unless you just called to make sure that the storm wasn’t scaring me? A nice gesture, Elliot, but I’m forty-seven, I don’t need –"

  “I need to see you,” he cut me off, tone serious. “Sooner, rather than later, if you can manage it.”

  “Alright... and what’s it for?”

  “Are you free tomorrow?” he said. “I can come meet you -- I'm on nights, right now. So, I’ve got the time.”

  I sighed. “Tomorrow...?” I was free. But I almost always was now. “What do you want to see me about --”

  “It’s important,” he pressed. “We can do breakfast -- you still eat breakfast, don’t you?”

  My brother and I had a terse relationship. But that was putting it lightly. Growing up, Elliot had been a drug addict. A pretty bad one, at that. He was the kind of drug addict that you’d make sure to keep your valuables away from because if you took your eye off them for even a second, he’d steal them, pawn them, and then shoot whatever he could get his hands on up his arm.

  But things change. Elliot managed to get his act together, get clean and then even join the police academy. He was a detective now, a respected member of the community that any brother should be proud of. And I was too. I just wished I could say he felt the same way about me.

  Not that I deserved it.

  “James?” Elliot pressed as the silence stretched out. “Are you there?”

  I hesitated as I glanced outside, just in time to see the sky light up again from a crack of lightning. “How ‘bout tonight?” I checked the time. It was still reasonably early.

  “I’m at work.”

  “So what? I know your fat ass is just bumming around the station anyway, right?” I chuckled. “Pretending to look busy.”

  A beat, and I could just about picture the glower he was throwing back at me. “It’s really not a good --”

  “Perfect.” I was already moving through my room, looking over the floor for clothes to throw on.

  “James,” he sighed. “It’s not that urgent, it can wait for --”

  “No, no,” I said. “Don’t sell yourself short. You called me, so it must be important.” A beat. “I can be there in ten.”

  Another pause. “Fine,” he eventually relented. “But make it quick. As I said, I’m working,” and then he hung up the phone.

  The storm seemed to end the moment that I hung up. No more thunder. No more lightning. No more rain. Just me standing in the middle of my room, blanketed in darkness, the dream I’d just had slowly dissipating from my memory like water through a sieve.

  I was glad for the distraction. And although I really didn’t want to go into the police station -- too many judgmental eyes there, too many people who knew about my past -- I didn’t want to stay here either. I eyed my bed a final time and shuddered at the thought of climbing back in and subjecting myself to those dreams a second time tonight.

  Guilt again. These days, it seemed to follow me everywhere I went.

  I gave my head a shake and pulled myself from the bed. From there, it was just a few moments of rummaging across the floor until I found some not-so-dirty clothes to throw on. This was Florida, as warm and muggy a state as there was, so most people wore shorts and Hawaiian shirts like frat boys on Spring Break. But for me, old habits die hard and I opted for a pair of gray slacks, a button-down shirt and tie, and a light coat that was more for the rain than anything.

  And then I was out of the room, out of my apartment, and out of my head. At least for one more night.

  I didn’t know what my brother wanted to talk to me about, but it couldn’t be any worse than what I’d just left behind. Nothing was worse than that.

  Chapter 2

  You wouldn’t know that Elliot and I were brothers just by looking at us. Where I’m tall and skinny, he was short and chunky. Where my hair is light-brown and curly, his is blonde and shaved down to a military-style crew cut. Where my face is bare, he had a thick mustache that sat a little too straight. And where my features are symmetrical and proportioned, he was unlucky enough to get our dad’s long nose and our mum’s biggish, round eyes, and our grandfather’s cauliflower ears. We were brothers, but no one ever made that connection until we told them.

  Unfortunately for his sake, he also dressed about as different from me as was possible. I was a lawyer, and had been for well over twenty years now. Back in my heyday too, back when things had been easier, I always wore a suit and tie with a jacket and oxford-styled shoes, always dressed to look my best regardless of the situation or the Floridian weather. Even now, I still managed it, although it felt false to me, like I was trying to prove that I was someone who I wasn’t.

  Elliot was wearing shorts. And his shirt was a short-sleeved linen button-down, undone a little too low to his chest so as to show off a thick smattering of black chest hair. But if that didn’t do it for you, then the sweat pits stains that he had under his arms just might. He spied me walking into the station and waved me over, those sweat pits flashing the entire room.

  “Elliot,” I greeted as I made for him.

  “James,” he said stiffly as I pulled up just where he was standing.

  It was the reception area of the local police precinct. The time was near midnight now, so it was more or less empty save for some drunk teenagers, one or two drug-addled low lives, and a couple of tired-looking rent-a-cops who just wanted to go home.

  “So. You rang?” I asked sarcastically.

  Elliot hesitated as he looked me over. It was a look that I knew well by now, one brimming with equal parts pity and worry. He pitied what I had become, and he worried where I was going because of it. I knew the look because it was one that I used to fix on him constantly; back before he got clean, and back when I was the breadwinner.

  “Are you doing okay?” he asked as he bit into his lip. “You look... like absolute shit.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I rolled my eyes. “Tell me what you really think.”

  “I can’t help it.” He then grinned. “I’m a detective. When the clues are this obvious, it doesn’t help anybody to ignore them. People get hurt that way.”

  “Clues?”

  “Bags under your eyes.” He held out a thumb as if he was about to start compiling a list... which is exactly what he did. “The way those clothes are hanging off you, I’d say you’re a good ten pounds underweight -- speaking of the clothes, those look like they’ve never been ironed. And finally, a pasty skin complexion that has no business being in Florida --”

  “Alright,” I snapped. “I look like shit. I get it. But I’m not about to be judged by a grown man wearing shorts.”

  “It’s Florida,” he said.

  “You’re a cop,” I said.

  “And you’re a lawyer,” he responded matter-of-factly.

  I groaned and rubbed at my eyes. There was a time when me and my brother were close. If you looked close enough too, you could still catch glimpses of it when we spoke to one another. The odd joke here. A knowing smile there. There was love there, only now it was buried so deep in the muck that it was nearly impossible to see.

  It was the last five years that had seen a change to our relationship, a change
brought on entirely by me, a change that had us acting more like acquaintances than relatives.

  What he had said was true too. I am a lawyer. But it was the way he had said it that irked me, like I used to be one and now I was just pretending.