Beneath the Palisade (12 page)

He knew regardless of how well he pleaded for leniency, the decision had already been made. Based on the judge’s reactions and comments during the trial, he held out little hope their client would be given a break.

The judge asked the prosecution for their final thoughts, and the courtroom fell silent.

As expected, Naomi Hendricks, the dowdy and incredibly plain lead prosecutor, whined about her disgust for Jasper and the financial plague he’d inflicted on the good folks who just happened to be voting members of the constituency that elected her boss.

This is a big flash in a very small career, Naomi. Enjoy!

He was brought back to the moment when the prosecution, in the hopes of squashing any notion the judge may have had for not imposing the maximum sentence, produced for the court a handful of Jasper’s victims.

“You robbed us of our retirement,” a man said, trembling with emotion. “Instead of spending our final years enjoying….”

Harper was forced to stare down at the table while the man speaking struggled to gain control.

“… the wife and I are working full time. We have nothing left.”

Spectators in the courtroom reacted noisily as the man walked back to his seat. The next victim was called up, and Harper winced when he saw her rise and walk to the podium using a walker.
Oh God, this is going to be a bad one.

“Twenty-five years ago—” The woman stopped and pulled a hankie out from the sleeve of her lavender sweater. “I’m sorry. Twenty-five years ago my husband invested with Jasper Flynn, only months before—” She stopped to blow her nose. “Months before he passed away from lung cancer. When he died, Flynn…”

Like the previous victim, this woman was debilitated by emotion and anger.
Oh please make this end.

“…he placed his arm around me and promised me everything was safe with him. And it wasn’t. It’s all gone! I hope you never see the light of day,” the woman shouted over to Flynn before a deputy helped her back to her seat.

“Mr. Callahan, is there anything you’d like to say on behalf of your client?” the judge asked, raising an eyebrow as if to say “proceed at your own risk.”

Harper sucked in a deep breath, adjusted his tie, and stood. Taking a minute to collect his thoughts after the drama he had just witnessed, he began, “Your honor, Jasper Flynn comes before you today understanding the crimes he was convicted of committing require punishment. Mr. Flynn’s intentions have always been to help his clients, his friends, financially prosper.”

He was forced to pause while the courtroom exploded with a wave of angry response. The judge, after a few moments, silenced the boos and hisses with his gavel.

“Mr. Flynn did not act out of malice,” he continued when he thought it safe. “His actions were those of a desperate man in fear of failing those closest to him. We respectfully request your honor to keep Mr. Flynn’s intentions in mind when imposing sentence.”

He gulped as he paused to weather an even stronger tone of dissatisfaction that swept over the courtroom, a reaction to his portrayal of Jasper as anything other than a monster. He made eye contact with Jasper’s detractors before turning to face his client directly. He wanted to remind the judge of the human side of this man, not the convict.

“This is a husband,” Harper forged on, undeterred by the mood of the spectators, “a father, a loyal friend who acted with the best interests of his loved ones in mind. The economy was crashing, and Jasper panicked—not for himself but for his clients, his friends.”

He stared down at his notes. At least for his part, he was making some ground. The reaction to his last few statements was mere grumblings. He paused for a few more beats to emphasize his point. “It’s likely difficult for those who lost money to remember Jasper is more than just a financial advisor whose choices cost them dearly. I ask those people to consider how far they would go to protect their loved ones from the catastrophes relating to the financial meltdown the rest of the country battled.”

He squeezed Jasper’s arm in a sign of solidarity before sitting back down.

“Nicely done,” Duncan whispered.

I don’t know what more I could have said. We’re definitely not the home team.
Taking a deep breath, he waited for the finale to begin.

“Mr. Flynn, will you please rise,” the judge commanded when the courtroom had calmed.

Harper, along with the entire defense team, rose alongside Jasper, acting as literal and figurative supports for their client.

“Is there anything you’d like to say before I sentence you?” The judge sat with his arms folded in front of him.

Jasper cleared his throat and addressed the court. “I understand the anger in this room. I truly hope someday these fine people will know why I did what I did.”

His opening statement triggered a flood of rage. Again, the judge was forced to use his gavel to silence the many who cried out in anger.

“Nothing I can say will change anything,” he continued, his voice burdened with emotion. “I know the people in this courtroom won’t believe it when I tell them how deeply sorry I am this has—”

“Why should they believe you?” the judge snapped back. “All you’ve done to them is lie and spend their money.”

The judge’s terse response caught Harper by surprise. It appeared to shake Jasper to his core, but somehow he found the courage to continue.

“I just wanted to apologize, your honor.”

“Why?” Judge Morrison shot back, this time with even more conviction.

Jasper began to weave back and forth. Harper closed the gap between them in the event he started to go down.

“Why should anyone believe anything you have to say? You cheated people out of millions and you spent their money, and I think you’ve taken up enough of our time today.”

Harper stared forward in astonishment as Judge Morrison swiftly sentenced Jasper to twenty-five years for his crimes. The judge went on to encourage the victims to consider seeking remuneration via civil action.

Bye-bye, Jasper!

Out of the corner of his eye, Harper saw his client crumble.

“I’m sorry.” He took hold of Jasper’s arm and held him up until the court officers could take over. Flynn was devastated. His worst fears had been realized.

This is your fault, Phyllis. Your greed drove your husband off the deep end. And the worst thing, you can’t even find it in your heart to be here for him. You’re the lowest of low.

Once Jasper was out of the courtroom, Harper led the defense team over to shake hands with the prosecution and exchanged pleasantries like “you did what you could” and “nice work, counselors.”

That was a special kind of awful! Get me the hell out of here!

Picking up his briefcase, he left the courtroom and was immediately inundated with questions from the press. He did his best to hide his lack of empathy for his client while addressing the numerous inquiries about Jasper’s sentence. Brent kept him moving through the crowd. Duncan and Arthur were nowhere in sight.

Out on the steps of the courthouse, he ran into a virtual roadblock of reporters.

“How do you feel about the sentence?”

“Do you plan on appealing?”

“As you can imagine, I’m very disappointed in the outcome.” He thought carefully about his next choice of words. “Jasper is a victim of the economy, and I would have hoped….”

Distracted by a flurry of activity to his left, he scanned the crowd for its source. He first spotted Phyllis charging up the steps, shoving people out of her way, and then, to his horror, the gun pointed directly at him.

Putting his hand up as if it would somehow protect him, he hollered out, “No, Phyllis! No—”

Chapter 5

E
MPTYING
the mop bucket into the drain under the dishwasher, Alex returned it to the little room off the kitchen that housed a beat-up washer, dryer, and cleaning supplies. Until the weather turned warmer and stayed warm, the Lip Smacker, a café located just outside of Castle Danger on Highway 62, would open for breakfast and lunch only. The weekday hours available to work while he completed his senior year of high school were from two thirty to four each day. Audrey Pakenpooch, the owner, did whatever she could to work around his school schedule. When the season hit, he worked around her schedule. Audrey felt, and at times acted, like his mother. It was special to him that she had known his mom while she was still alive.

Before punching out, he hauled the garbage he’d bagged earlier and left lined up along the wall to the dumpster behind the diner. Business was slow, making garbage detail a snap.

Outside, he noticed the warm afternoon air was starting to chill. Winter was reluctant to leave the North Shore. This year, winter had been stubborn as hell.

Grabbing his letter jacket from the tiny break room, he punched out, locked the back door, and climbed into Zits, his beat-up orange Jetta. Colin, his best friend, had christened the car Zits because of the little brown hail dents covering it. Old Zits was reliable, about the only good thing anyone could say about his ride.

Okay, Zits, what are we gonna do now?

The last thing he wanted to do was go home.
Anything but that!
At some point he knew he’d have to, but the longer he waited, the better the chances his dad would be passed out on the couch in front of the television. These last several weeks had been rough. Dad had been laid off from the taconite processing plant in Silver Bay, and when he wasn’t working, he was drinking. Alex had to be careful during these drinking binges or risk pissing Dad off. When Dad was pissed, his belt came off.
Bastard!
His old man seemed to resent him more and more as he got older.

Make it through graduation, and then… I’ll have options. Hey, I know what I can do. I’ll head over to Norbert’s.

He parked Zits in the busy parking lot of the convenience store and strolled in, waving at Norbert, who never ventured far from the cash register.

“Hey there, young fella,” Norbert greeted him with a wave back.

“Hi, Norbert. I’m going to check out your magazines.”

“Be my guest. I put out a few new ones yesterday. I’ll sell you the girlie one you’ve been hiding behind if you promise not to tell your dad.”

“Thanks, but I’m good.”

He was grateful Norbert had put the reading section in the back corner by the fishing lures. He could spend a good deal of time here unnoticed. Glancing up and down the rows of magazines and paperbacks, he quickly spotted what he had been looking for, and he was in luck—one of the new ones Norbert had mentioned happened to be his favorite:
Men’s Physique
.

He’d discovered it last year when he was desperate to add some much-needed fuel to his fantasy pool.
Men’s Physique
was filled to the brim with pictures of handsome guys in various stages of undress. One past issue featured a picture of a naked dude stepping into the shower. His muscled butt had captivated Alex for hours and hours. So much so that that page of the display magazine was showing wear.

This month’s edition didn’t disappoint. A feature on rodeo stars and what they do to stay in shape caused his jeans to tighten.

I’m going to have a man like this someday if it kills me.

Engrossed by a picture of a blond cowboy smiling down from the saddle, he was startled when he discovered someone standing next to him.
Where the hell did you come from?
Unsure of what to do, he placed the magazine back in its spot and took out, only because it was close by, the latest
Birds and Blooms
. The stranger snapped up his copy of
Men’s Physique
. When it became obvious the man was not going anywhere soon, Alex stuffed the stupid nature magazine back in the rack and headed for the door, frustrated to have his fantasy time halted.

“You leaving already, Alex?” Norbert asked as he handed change over to Mrs. Crawford, Bud Crawford’s widow.

“Catch ya later, Norbert.”

Stepping into the parking lot, he contemplated driving over to the Pamida in Two Harbors but, with gas prices on the rise, thought better of it. He walked over to his car, but before he had a chance to get in, he was surprised to see the same man who had stood so close to him at the magazine rack, headed in his direction. Although he hadn’t had the courage to look at the man’s face, he recognized the burgundy jacket he was wearing. The guy smiled at him as he crossed in front of Zits and walked over to a dark blue Range Rover.

I wonder how old he is? Maybe thirty-five, tops? He’s still in pretty good shape.

He climbed into his car and chanced another glance in the direction of the Rover. The man seated behind the wheel smiled. Alex could feel his face flush. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. Curious and faced with going home as his only other option, he pretended to organize some papers lying on the seat next to him to buy some time to figure out what was up. When he thought enough time had passed, he looked up. The guy was still there, still smiling. He smiled back. The man rolled down his window and motioned for Alex to do the same.

Okay, I’ll play along.