Justice for all, p.1
Justice For All, page 1
Justice For All
Daniel Pike Legal Thriller Series, Volume 8
WILLIAM BERNHARDT
Published by Babylon Books, 2024.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Praise for William Bernhardt and the Daniel Pike Legal Thriller Series
Part 1: Children and Art
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part 2: East is East and West is West
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part 3: Court of Many Colors
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
Part 4: Children Will Listen
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Afterword
About the Author
Also by William Bernhardt
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Praise for William Bernhardt and the Daniel Pike Legal Thriller Series
“As a fan of William Bernhardt, I've been reading Ben Kincaid adventures for years. When the Daniel Pike books dropped, I became an instant fan due to the interesting themes, legal challenges and fascinating characters. Now, like peanut butter getting into chocolate, two great things have come together . . . . Bernhardt has elevated both characters into an Avengers level event that thriller fans will love!”
RJ Johnson, author of Dreamslinger (for Partners in Crime)
“A man on the run... a woman on the run... in a thriller that hits the ground running... then running faster... then absolutely flying. And you're flying, too, flying through the pages with one of the masters of the modern thriller at the controls. William Bernhardt knows when to soar and when to dive, when to make you sweat and when to let you breathe, when to throw this flying machine into a barrel roll that will absolutely shock you and when to bring you home safe and satisfied.”
William Martin, New York Times-bestselling author of The Lincoln Letter and December ’41 (for Plot/Counterplot
“William Bernhardt returns with a stunning piece of fiction . . . .In a story that mixes fiction with the deadliest realities, Bernhardt provides readers with a novel unlike any I have read in a long while. With graphic depictions told in a highly realistic fashion, William Bernhardt proves why he is at the top of his game and eager to share his skills with readers!”
Book Reviews to Ponder, canadamatt (for Plot/Counterplot
“Exposed has everything I love in a thriller: intricate plot twists, an ensemble of brilliant heroines, and jaw-dropping drama both in and out of the courtroom. William Bernhardt knows how to make the law come alive.”
Tess Gerritsen, New York Times-bestselling author of the Rizzoli & Isles thrillers
“Splitsville is a winner—well-written, with fully developed characters and a narrative thrust that keeps you turning the pages.”
Gary Braver, bestselling author of Tunnel Vision
“Final Verdict is a must read with a brilliant main character and surprises and twists that keep you turning pages. One of the best novels I’ve read in a while.”
Alicia Dean, award-winning author of The Northland Crime Chronicles
“Judge and Jury is a fast-paced, well-crafted story that challenges each major character to adapt to escalating attacks that threaten the very existence of their unique law firm.”
Rick Ludwig, author of Soul of a Sleuth
“I could not put Trial by Blood down. The plot is riveting . . . .This book is special.”
Nikki Hanna, author of Capture Life
“Once started, it is hard to let [The Last Chance Lawyer] go, since the characters are inviting, engaging and complicated . . . .You will enjoy it.”
Chicago Daily Law Bulletin
“Thrillingly interwoven plots are Bernhardt’s forte, a talent he once again demonstrates full-blown in his latest superb thriller.”
Booklist (for Dark Justice)
“William Bernhardt is a born stylist, and his writing through the years has aged like a fine wine . . . .”
Steve Berry, bestselling author of The Kaiser’s Web
“Bernhardt is the undisputed master of the courtroom drama.”
Library Journal
Copyright
Copyright © 2024 by William Bernhardt
Cover design by Maria Novilla Saravia
Interior design by Lara Bernhardt
Illustrations by Ian Seo
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Dedication
This one’s for the dreamers . . .
like Jerry Siegel, Joe Shuster, and Bill Finger
Epigraph
“It’s not so much do what you like
as it is that you like what you do.”
Stephen Sondheim, Sunday in the Park with George
Part 1: Children and Art
Chapter 1
Mickey Mouse might be beloved by children all around the world, but Lydia Franchini hated the rodent enough to kill him. Hack him into tiny gray bits. Serve him as pâté. Better yet, serve him to Pluto as pâté. In a dog dish. Then she could go to work on the damn duck. Roast mallard flambé with cherry jus and Lyonnaise potatoes. That sounded about right.
Lydia collapsed into a chair, one hand pressed against her forehead. Okay, when you started fantasizing about the grisly dismemberment of the world’s most beloved characters, it might be time to take a breather.
This had been one of the toughest weeks of her life. On Tuesday, her idiotic husband lost his balance while making toast and fell face-first on the kitchen floor. Four stitches. Her oldest daughter went into the hospital with a perforated colon. Her taxes were twice what she expected them to be and the driver’s-side window in her ancient Ford Expedition was lowered and stuck. In Florida. Where the sun shines all day every day. Unrelentingly. She couldn’t protect herself from the sun with an executioner’s hood. That window was an invitation to skin lesions.
Some days she regretted retiring. Granted, twenty-two years in Yonkers was long enough for anyone. Her parents were snowbirds, fleeing upstate New York for Kissimmee. It only made sense for her to follow. An only child should keep an eye on her elderly parents. Except she found her pension impossible to live on, even with a working spouse, leading to this miserable job in the Baggage Claim office for terminals A and B at Orlando International Airport.
Roger passed through the door with the hangdog expression he bore most of the time. “Brace yourself for the worst.”
She briefly wondered what could be worse. When she thought of something, she immediately stopped thinking about it, because it was too terrifying to contemplate.
“I always do,” she replied. “Something new happening?”
“Schedule change. Festival starts the twenty-seventh now.”
“Food & Wine?”
“Except earlier.”
Sadly, she knew exactly what he was talking about. Disney World. Because when you worked at MCO (Orlando International), it was all about the mouse. EPCOT’s festivals were a major draw. Kids thought EPCOT was boring, but since opening day it had been the universal favorite of dads, since it had no roller coasters and allowed them to pretend the educational content justified the gigantic cost of the vacation. Time passed. EPCOT got a roller coaster, added characters, and lost most of the educational content. They replaced the science with food and liquor, which turned out to be a better draw.
Lydia stared stone-faced at the wall. “Mobs of tourists will pour in.”
“Mobs of drunken tourists will pour out.”
“Carrying more crap than they can shove into their bags. Creating more work for us. Damnable mouse.”
“The mouse isn’t the problem. It’s the people who scalp him and put his ears on their heads.”
“I think I may have reached the end of my tenure at this position, Roger.”
“Say it ain’t so. How would I get through the day without you?”
“You’d manage.”
“Come on. There are worse jobs.”
“Are there, though? America loses two million suitcases a year, and I think at least half of them arrive here. I babysit them till their owners sober up and realize they left the bag with their Collector’s Edition Lego Cinderella’s Castle with the TSA. If they don’t show for three months, their bags get sent to Scottsboro for auction. The airline makes a bundle reselling other people’s junk, Louis Vuitton bags and Prada shoes. Do we get a cut? Of course not. All we get is paperwork.”
Roger snuffled. “I don’t mind the paperwork.”
Lydia didn’t hear him. “Half the people who come in to complain haven’t waited for the carousels to stop spinning. And when did everyone start packing like they had a private audience with the queen? Just stick a pair of jeans and some T-shirts in your carryon bag. You don’t need the entire Sephora counter or overpriced dresses from Anthropologie to go to a theme park.”
“Remember the lady who wanted to pack her desk? In pieces?”
“She was a writer. Claimed she couldn’t work unless she sat at that very desk. With her writing blanket. And her writing cat.”
“Did she pack the cat with the desk?”
“Probably. She was bonkers.”
“She was a writer. They’re all bonkers. Got any gummies?”
“Sorry, no. You’re out?”
“Took my last one a little while ago. But I’ve got five hours till I can go home.”
Lydia did have some, but her supply was low and she didn’t want to share. Took Florida forever to legalize cannabis. She wasn’t going to give it away. Technically, it was for her anxiety, but she’d never get through the day without those chewy sugary mind-melters. “Need to stop by the store on the way home.”
“Me too. After payday. They don’t give those babies away.”
Roger used too much. She did a little, the occasional micro-dose, just enough to take the edge off. Roger overindulged and she’d had to cover for him on more than one occasion. She knew her limits. If she took too much, her thinking got muddled. Foggy. And if she took far too much, she started imagining things, like dramatic confrontations with killer mice and . . . and . . .
How long had that suitcase been sitting by the door?
Did someone bring it in? Was she so tired or so busy that she missed a delivery?
After several years here, she could ID luggage the way NASCAR enthusiasts can ID cars or TCM fans can ID movie actresses. That was a blue hardshell Gonex bag, a savvy choice for someone who could travel light. Even overseas, that bag fit into overhead compartments. And it contained a compression packing cube that allowed people to squeeze in more clothes without wrinkling them. If she ever went anywhere, that’s the bag she’d want.
She glanced at Roger. He was paying no attention, apparently focused on a wolf spider crawling across the ceiling. Marijuana. Wonderful drug.
Where did the blue bag come from? Normally, long after each carousel stopped spinning, one of the skycaps brought her the leftovers. Occasionally the airline or luggage handler made an error, but by far, the biggest cause of lost luggage was morons racing through the terminal after too many drinks. TSA PreCheck or CLEAR might be great for seasoned travelers, but some people didn’t need to be rushing.
The blue bag remained at the side of the room, glaring at her. Okay, maybe it wasn’t glaring, since it didn’t have eyes. But it was definitely in the room.
Taunting her. Laughing at her.
Daring her to come close.
“Roger?”
He didn’t answer. The spider consumed all his attention.
It was a suitcase. She looked at them all day long.
But this one was different. She didn’t know why. She had a feeling. Which sounded like the dumbest thing in the world. People don’t get feelings about suitcases. Do they?
She took a step closer.
The suitcase stayed where it was.
She took another step.
She felt like an idiot. She was approaching this lost luggage like it was rampaging lion. But where had it come from? Something weird was going on.
When she was maybe two feet away, she detected the odor. She didn’t recognize it, but she smelled it, insinuative and nauseating, strong and wrong. A sudden warmth permeated her body. Was she about to faint? She’d never hear the end of it from her husband if she had to get stitches too. She knelt, reached out to steady herself . . .
. . . and laid a hand on the suitcase. Which felt like every other suitcase she’d ever touched. What the hell did she expect? This was Orlando International, not a Stephen King novel.
She picked up the suitcase. It was light. Couldn’t be much inside.
But there was something. She could hear it rolling around. It didn’t come close to filling the bag, so it thudded from side to side.
What was it?
Roger couldn’t care less, so she decided to find out for herself.
She crouched down. The suitcase wasn’t locked. All she had to do was pop the latches and the lid would spring open. It violated protocol and privacy, she felt it was justified in this instance. “I’m opening this.”
“Should you scan it first?”
“No one’s trying to get it on an airplane. You think terrorists want to bring down the Lost Luggage hegemony?”
Roger smiled slightly. “You know what my momma used to say?”
“How could I possibly know what your mother used to say?”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
Whatever. She used her thumb and forefinger to pop the latches.
The contents spilled out and rolled several feet across the floor, leaving a wet trail in its wake.
Lydia’s scream was so frenzied that everyone within earshot froze like they’d been dipped in liquid nitrogen. The screaming went on so long that when it finally stopped, most people assumed the screamer had died.
Chapter 2
Dan knew he should focus on the counterfeiting case, especially now, when the cross-examination of the primary opposing witness was imminent. But all he could think about were his sneakers.
Funny, he reflected, how some of life’s biggest decisions are made gradually, as if you’re feeling your way down a long hallway in the dark. Only later, when you recount the story in retrospect, does it become a coherent purposeful narrative in which you made intelligent steps toward a clear goal . . .
That seemed to be the story of his life. First he was a hotshot big-firm defense attorney for the city’s pond scum. Then he joined the Last Chance Lawyer firm and defended needy clients who deserved representation. Then the LCL boss, Ben Kincaid, asked him to run the whole outfit, and he did for a time. Not very well.
Now he was back in the courtroom while his pregnant wife ran LCL. And if he couldn’t impugn the integrity of the man on the witness stand, his client was going down hard. So he needed to stop thinking about his shoes . . .
For years, Dan had favored Air Jordans in the courtroom, preferably black and black-soled kicks that could pass as dress shoes if no one looked too carefully. But now that he was launching Dan 2.0—actually, Dan 3.0—he felt it was time to evolve. Air Jordans are great sneakers, but they’re not the only great sneakers. Sean Wotherspoon’s Air Max sneaks and some of the Adidas lines were beautifully designed. He loved his latest, the AJ3 Off Noir. After deliberating for about half an hour this morning, he chose the Noir, but he still wasn’t sure he’d made the right selection. What if one of the jurors didn’t like them? What if the judge didn’t like them? What if he should be thinking about his case rather than his sneakers?
His client, Adam Lopez, had been a part-time cashier at a local big-box lawn-and-garden store. He was arrested for violating the US federal code provision prohibiting the “uttering of counterfeit US currency” after fake hundreds appeared in the company safe—shortly after Adam started working there.
He sat at the defense table beside his client. “How are you feeling?”
Adam was a young, thin, quiet man. He’d graduated high school and was trying to make enough cash to go to college. He wanted to study environmental sciences and protect the planet from climate change and other existential threats. But he would never get the chance if his life was derailed by a ten-year prison sentence. “I’m feeling like I’d rather be anywhere else in the world.”
“Have you figured out why Gordon Doyle is accusing you of something you didn’t do?”
“No. I never did anything to him. But he’s didn’t like me. Not from the first day I worked there. Practically ran me down in his shiny new Dodge Charger outside the courthouse this morning.”
“Doyle’s been working in the same store for more than a decade. He’ll probably be there for several more. You, by contrast, have a promising future ahead of you.” He pondered a moment. “Tell me something about your boss that most people don’t know.”
