The Fifth Justice (Michael Gresham Legal Thrillers Book 10) Read online

  The Fifth Justice

  A Thriller

  John Ellsworth

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 2: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 3: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 4: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 5: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 6: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 7: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 8: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 9: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 10: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 11: Marcel Rainford

  Chapter 12: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 13: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 14: Reno Rivera

  Chapter 15: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 16: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 17: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 18: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 19: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 20: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 21: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 22: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 23: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 24: Detective Davidson

  Chapter 25: Detective Davidson

  Chapter 26: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 27: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 28: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 29: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 30: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 31: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 32: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 33: Marcel and Michael

  Chapter 34: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 35: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 36: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 37: Detective Davidson

  Chapter 38: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 39: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 40: Andrew Constance

  Chapter 41: Andrew Constance

  Chapter 42: Andrew Constance

  Chapter 43: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 44: Reno Rivera

  Chapter 45: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 46: Reno Rivera

  Chapter 47: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 48: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 49: Marcel Rainford

  Chapter 50: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 51: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 52: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 53: Marcel Rainford

  Chapter 54: Dr. Zastrow

  Chapter 55: Chloe Constance

  Chapter 56: Michael Gresham

  Chapter 57: Trial

  Chapter 58: Trial

  Chapter 59: Trial

  Chapter 60: Trial

  Chapter 61: Trial

  Chapter 62: Trial

  Chapter 63: Trial

  Chapter 64: Trial

  Chapter 65: News Stories

  Chapter 66: Chloe Constance

  Also by John Ellsworth

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  About the Author

  Chapter 1: Michael Gresham

  I knew Andrew Constance from a distance as one of his admirers. Andrew was a lawyer’s lawyer, a large, heavyweight fighter kind of build, spiky gray hair, the guy any of us might call to get his take on some aspect of some case that might give us fits. I knew even less about his wife, Chloe Constance. So when Andrew came to my law office and asked whether everything we discussed about Chloe could be held in absolute confidence—meaning, he said, I couldn’t write anything down and I couldn’t have anyone else in the room with us and I couldn’t open a file on Chloe—I told him if that was how he wanted it, so it was. He then revealed why he’d selected me to discuss his problem.

  “The court appointed me to represent a young man on his appeal. I did that. Now, I’m a pretty can-do kind of lawyer, Michael. I found error in the case and, five years down the road, I get the young man’s convictions set aside and a new trial ordered. They had charged him with first degree murder.”

  I raised my hand. “Sorry, Andrew, I don’t handle murder cases anymore. Not unless—”

  “He already has an attorney for trial. I’m not here about that.”

  “Then what?”

  “Your investigator is a man named Marcel Rainford. I respect you, Michael, really do, and even admire you. And this Marcel fellow you’ve got working for you, he’s a man I want on this case. We all need our angels around us and Marcel has wings.”

  I could only smile. “How do you know about my secret weapon, Marcel?”

  “Marcel and I have a mutual friend in Interpol.”

  Interpol, the international police agency. Marcel had worked there at one time.

  I said, “Yes, Marcel is a graduate of Interpol. Hell of an education they must’ve given him there, too. Send him out to take a statement and the guy can talk the birds out of the trees. He’s that good.”

  “I know that. My ulterior motive? I know if I hire you Marcel is part of the package. Isn’t that still the case?”

  “It is.”

  I sat back on one of the two couches in my office, blue leather both, facing each other, a long coffee table in between. Andrew sat across from me. Mrs. Lingscheit brought each of us a coffee doctored to our liking. No sexism here: I’d buy her lunch. Fair’s fair.

  “I can get Marcel in here now, Andrew, if you want him to hear what you have to say.”

  Andrew set his coffee cup back on its saucer. His hand shook; the cup and saucer rattled, and the spoon slipped off the saucer onto the linen mat beneath. He looked up at me and managed a half-smile.

  “Yes, I’d like to meet Marcel now.”

  I lifted my phone and Marcel picked up in his office. “C’mon in, please. I have someone for you to meet.”

  Seconds later, Marcel rapped the door one time and entered. He approached Andrew Constance and stuck out his hand. They traded names and shook hands. It occurred to me that Andrew was hanging onto my investigator for dear life; Marcel meant hope to him.

  Marcel sat down on my side of the table.

  “So, Marcel,” said Andrew in a subdued tone, “you and I share a mutual friend. He said I should speak to you.”

  “Who might that be?” asked Marcel. His eyes never broke off from Andrew’s eyes. He wasted no time in assessing the situation by looking hard into the eyes of the man who wanted him there.

  “Rainey Guilfoyle.”

  “Major Rainey Guilfoyle?”

  “The same.”

  “Are you police, FBI?”

  “I am not. But I once served as an advisor to the U.S. Attorney in a case that required the testimony of the major. I traveled to Europe and took his statement and helped with his testimony. I wasn’t paid to do this; let’s call it a public service.”

  “Okay, sure, Rainey Guilfoyle and I go way back. Is he somehow involved in what we’ll be talking about?”

  “He isn’t. Anyway, I called him and got your name. He’s forgotten my name by now.”

  Marcel stiffened where he sat. “No, you don’t know the folks at Interpol, I’m afraid, Mr. Constance. You and your details live in their database just waiting to be called up even as we sit here now. They have sliced you and diced you and put you on ice as we used to say about new members of our databases.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. Now, having said all of this, I want to tell you, Marcel, that I need you and Michael to help me in the most confidential way possible.”

  “Our work is always confidential. You needn’t say that.”

  “Oh, but I do. I do because the person we’ll be talking about will be nominated to the district court in Chicago. Such an honor is something she treasures. We’ve talked about it and it would be the high point of her life to be a federal
judge.”

  “I get that,” Marcel said. “It would be an honor of the highest degree. Good for her!”

  At that point, Andrew’s face fell and his shoulders drooped. He lifted his coffee cup from its saucer and this time he had the greatest difficulty with his shaky hands getting the cup to his lips.

  “Yes,” I added, “Good for her.”

  He replaced the cup and leaned back, grasping his knee in both hands. “That person is my wife. But we have a problem. My wife has vanished from the face of the earth and I need you to find her.”

  So that was it. It sounded like a missing-person-case differentiated from a jillion others just like it only by the fact the president might nominate our missing person to the U.S. District Court. Yes, there was that. I decided I needed to hear more before asking my very obvious question: why am I needed?

  Marcel beat me to it. “Why come to Michael’s law office, Mr. Constance. It seems you don’t need a lawyer at all. You need an investigator.”

  Constance pursed his lips and nodded several times. “True, true, except.”

  “Except what?”

  “I need Michael to file a Jane Doe lawsuit, a fabrication, so we might use the subpoena power of the court to get certain records that just might be the key to my wife’s whereabouts. So, I do need a lawyer. A top lawyer, and that’s Michael. Someone with a top investigator, and that’s you, Marcel.”

  “Okay. I’m convinced,” Marcel said. He turned. “Boss?”

  “Just a couple more questions. How long has she gone missing?”

  “Two months.”

  “You’ve tried other private resources to find her?”

  “I have. Other investigators, retired FBI, that sort. But they’ve had no success. The White House doesn’t know she’s missing. They want to appoint her before Christmas. I know they’re going to call any day to confirm.”

  “Have you told them she’s gone missing?”

  Andrew paled. “I did not. I know she would want this judgeship more than anything, ever. I didn’t have the heart.”

  “Let me see if I understand. They call from Washington, feel her out about becoming a federal judge, and she disappears? Now they’re going to call any day to see if she still wants it?”

  “That’s the story. So how about it, gentlemen? Will you help?”

  I wanted to do whatever I could for Andrew. “I can have the lawsuit on file by tomorrow morning. Is that soon enough?”

  “Perfect. How much money do I need up front?”

  “How soon do you need your wife back?” It was rhetorical; my point being that a huge effort such as he needed could be very expensive.

  “Like I said, the White House could call any day.”

  “That leaves no time for a lawsuit, even a phony lawsuit, to be of any use.”

  “Michael, let me offer input on the lawyering. You will pick a friendly judge and then get an order allowing fast-track depositions to preserve evidence.”

  “What evidence would that be, Mr. Constance,” Marcel asked.

  “My wife. I know things about her. If we don’t find her in the next few days, then we may never find her.”

  Marcel and I traded a look. My turn.

  “What is it you know about her?” I asked. “Let us know what we’re facing.”

  “Simply this. My wife is a multiple. Besides herself, she is two complete, noisy, competing personalities, either of whom would love to run off with her forever.”

  I was immediately turned off. “I can’t see myself getting into a case where someone is waiting to get on the District Court with significant mental problems. There’s enough of that already in the courts.”

  His face fell. “Look, I’m not asking you to approve of it. I’m only asking you to find her. It might be the judgeship never even comes through. Either way, I’m hiring you to do what lawyers do. Are you going to turn me down over a prejudice about mental problems in people?”

  “I didn’t say that.” But I had, more or less. There was only one right thing to do. “All right, I’m in. It’s none of my concern whether she becomes a judge. I’m just in it to find her. After that, it’s not my issue.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear. So what else do you need to know?”

  “So we’re looking for a wife that may not even know she’s your wife? Is that how this works?” asked Marcel.

  “Afraid so.”

  “Where do we look?”

  “Hospitals. My guess is she’s got herself locked away on some psych unit by now. We‘ll need hospital records. They will be our key resource. Hence, the lawsuit. Your subpoena power will pry records loose from every hospital in Chicago.”

  “Yes, I can do that. But I need a name to attach for my subpoena. Who am I even looking for, by name?”

  “My wife is Chloe.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but who else might she be with? Friends? Foes?”

  “Neither. I believe the next district court judge in Chicago is looking for the man who raped her. Raped her and got her pregnant. She didn’t abort. We’re raising the boy.”

  “And she’s looking for this man why?” asked Marcel.

  Andrew’s face tightened. “She’s going to kill him.”

  “Then we have no time to waste,” Marcel said in his steely voice. “Give me a name.”

  “Reno Rivera.”

  I shot upright as if ejected from the couch by an explosive. “What? That’s the name of the—the—”

  “Yes, that’s the name of the man who assaulted your wife, too, Michael. A long time ago.”

  “Oh, my goddam, mother—” The room was swimming, and I put out a hand to steady myself, touching nothing but air. Marcel leapt up and took my upper arm in his powerful grip. He eased me back down onto the couch. “Easy, boss. We’ll do this thing. I promise.”

  I couldn’t say another word as I could not form a complete thought. It took several minutes and a bottle of water to get it back together.

  We then reviewed what we knew about Reno Rivera, how he’d corrupted our lives. The priest whose church I attended every Sunday fathered Reno. When the son reached his early teens, the priest denounced him. He avoided the boy unless doing so was impossible. It had started out terribly wrong: priests don’t have children. Except Father Bjorn did, and it shamed him. He had violated a laundry list of Vatican no-no’s in his son’s conception. So, the son in his mid-teens raged at the father who only ignored him. The boy grew older, more distant, and gravitated toward the streets. He grew up among gangs that lived by a violent code with their guns and drugs.

  Even as the youngest gangster on the streets, Reno recognized great potential in the teenage skin trade. So he preyed on the weaker kids; he organized them into teenage prostitution rings. But money wasn’t enough. Reno had the bloodlust of the enraged. He murdered young women. He was arrested and needed a top lawyer. The priest told the son he knew such a man. That man would be me, Michael Gresham.

  Reno now had himself a lawyer, and we went to trial. The first trial lasted six days, days in which my wife came to court to cheer me on. I didn’t even see it, but during the trial was when Reno started lusting for Dania.

  After I had delivered a not-guilty verdict for him, Reno repaid me by raping my Dania. Long story short, Reno went to prison for the rape to serve a long sentence. His life as a free man was over. But then Andrew handled Reno’s appeal, got the guilty verdict vacated, set Reno free—and Reno repaid him by raping Chloe, Andrew’s wife. I’d heard stories of the lawyer who got the murderer off and the guy went out that night and murdered someone else. My situation was similar; except Reno hadn’t murdered someone, he raped someone.

  We finished comparing notes, and the room was still. Marcel stood and stretched.

  Andrew broke the silence as he reached to the floor and lifted the briefcase he’d brought along.

  “Here’s payment,” he said and put the briefcase on the table between us. He snapped its clasps and lifted the lid. “Five hundred thous
and dollars in hundreds, no sequential numbers, all from different banks where I hide money for a rainy day.”

  Marcel caught the irony of the comment.

  “We could use Rainey about now,” he said. “Rainey and all of Interpol.”

  “Why?” said our new client. “Why Rainey when we have you?”

  I had recovered enough to follow my visitor’s gaze to Marcel. His eyes were closed. We knew he was making his mental notes and slitting the throat of one Reno Rivera. Marcel was gone.

  I reached across the table and shut the briefcase. I pushed it back to the new client’s side.

  “You won’t be needing to leave this here,” I said. “The opportunity to catch him alone will be payment enough.”

  “That’s kind, but I must pay.” He pushed the briefcase back. I let it lie there between us, a deal made.

  Marcel then left the room without a word. Andrew looked at me and shrugged. “Where’s he off to?”

  “You told him you wanted your wife back. You said Reno’s name. Marcel is off to get her.”

  I stood and rocked forward and back in my shoes.

  Andrew, puzzled, asked, “And I expect you’re going with him? We’ve agreed on it?”

  “I won’t be going to get your wife.”