Murder For Revenge

Ross must have seen all the blood drain from my face, because he asked Caro to fetch a doctor. Properly terrified, she fled. Then he did something really weird. He leaned over the bed, but instead of kissing me, he put his lips against my ear.

“You know what I thought about on those night-time walks with Caroline?” he whispered. “Why settle for the mother when I can have it all? That’s what I want. And, for once in my life, I’m going to get it. The way I see it, you’re yesterday’s news, someone else’s history. VanDam made you over. Now I’ll do the same with Caro. Face it, Perse. You’re dangerous. I mean, you pulled the trigger on your own husband. How many women could do that, hmm? Not many, I imagine. It takes a cold, calculating mind; a certain cruelty. Lying next to you, who could sleep? I figure if you did it to him, one day, you could do it to me.”

Why did his words fill me with so much dread? Because they expressed precisely the same pity and contempt I had harboured for Willie.

“By the way, if you haven’t guessed by now, that was acid in your Evian.” He meant LSD, of course. One of the drugs of my lost youth. “I thought maybe you’d kill yourself in the fall, but, no, like Caro said, you’re too damn tough. So here you are.” He pulled away for a moment to check my horrified expression. Then, to my dismay, he put his lips back against my ear and continued his horrific whispering.

“So I seduced her, and, hey, what d’you know, she was ripe for it. Like mother, like daughter.” A little laugh, evil as sin. Sick with shock, I tried to turn my head away, but his hand held me fast. The smell of him, which only yesterday was intoxicating, now made me want to gag. “My God, what a juicy morsel she is!”

The doctor burst into the room and Ross stepped quickly back. The doctor, working on me, had his hands full. He couldn’t see what I saw, and if he had, it would hardly mean a thing to him: Ross taking Caro’s hand as she came back through the door. Ross kissing her shining hair, her red, curving lips, making me shiver so hard that the doctor became concerned all over again.

“I think you’d better leave now,” he told them curtly. “She needs to rest.”

No! I screamed in my mind. Caro, don’t leave me! But, of course, what I meant was: Don’t leave with him’. Don’t believe his lies! But it was too late. And now I realised that it had always been too late.

Tears in my eyes, I looked for Caro and Ross. But they were gone.

Phillip Margolin

Phillip Margolin has been compared by admiring reviewers to both Scott Turow and John Grisham-in other words, he is a writer capable of adding that chill edge of darkness to the hot legal thriller. Among his best-selling novels are ‘The Burning Man’, ‘Gone but Not Forgotten’, and ‘After Dark’. As a criminal defence attorney himself, he’s had more than his share of headline-grabbing murder cases and has argued before the Supreme Court. It is difficult to understand how he can keep topping himself-whether before a jury or his growing legion of fans-but so far he has managed never to disappoint.

In this exquisite little tale, a relieved career criminal knows he has an alibi to die for-one that puts him far from the scene of the murder of which he is accused. There is no meticulously thought-out courtroom scene here, as the protagonist has figured out a better way to handle the situation.

Angie’s Delight

Larry Hoffman was so nervous that he actually bounced in place while the guard unlocked the door that led from the jail into the contact visiting room. His future depended on the person who was waiting on the other side of the thick metal door. Would he see some wet-behind-the-ears, recent law-school grad, who would use his case for practice, or would he meet a wily old veteran who knew what it would take to save his ass? When you were down on your luck, the gods decided whether you lived or died. In Larry’s case, the particular god in question was the clerk who assigned lawyers from the court-appointment list.

Larry heard a metallic snap, and the guard stepped back so his prisoner could enter the concrete-block room. Larry froze in the doorway for a moment. Then, a shudder passed through his undernourished five-nine frame, as he exhaled with relief. Seated at the circular table that took up most of the narrow room was a man in his forties attired in a gray three-piece suit that looked expensive. The man smiled confidently. His hair was sandy blond and a thick, well-groomed moustache covered his upper lip. When he stood, Larry could see that he was well over six feet tall and he was impressed by the lawyer’s trim, athletic physique. The man in whose hands Larry’s life rested looked relaxed, like someone who had been around the block, like someone who knew the ropes, like someone who would not be buffaloed by a belligerent DA or a prosecution-prone, defendant-eating judge.

“Mr. Hoffman,” the lawyer said in a pleasant baritone, “I’m Noah Levine and I’ve been appointed to represent you.”

Larry grasped the lawyer’s hand, the way he would have gripped a log had he been cast into the sea without a life jacket. Levine’s handshake was solid.

“Sit down, Mr. Hoffman,” Levine said with an easy smile.

“Thanks for comin’ over so fast. They told me I wouldn’t see no one until this afternoon.”

“You are charged with murder, Mr. Hoffman. There is no time to waste.”

All right!! Larry thought gleefully, I have me a tiger.

“Larry… May I call you Larry?”

“Yeah. That’s cool.”

“Larry, before I talk to you about the facts of your case, I want to explain the attorney-client relationship. Have you ever been in jail before?”

“Oh, yeah. This is my, uh, let’s see… the third time.”

“And you’ve had a lawyer before?”

“Twice. They were both jerks. All they wanted me to do was plead guilty.”

“Well, Larry, we aren’t pleading to anything,” Levine told him confidently. He wore steel-rimmed glasses. Behind the lenses were steely blue eyes. “We are going to take names and kick ass.”

Larry gri

“Now, Larry, I don’t know what your other lawyers told you, but with me, anything you say is confidential. If you tell me you killed fifty people and they’re buried in your backyard, that stays between us.”

“Hey, I didn’t kill nobody.”

“What I’m saying is, if you did, I couldn’t give a shit, because I’m your attorney, Larry, and my mission in life is to clear you of this accusation of murder.”

“That accusation is false. I did not off the dude.”

“I don’t have any of the police reports, yet, but didn’t the papers say that there were witnesses?”

“That was from the day before when I kicked O’Malley’s ass.”

“Yes. There was a fight.”

“There wasn’t no fight. I smacked the motherfucker around with a lead pipe to let him know I meant business. He never even threw a punch.”

“And this was in front of witnesses?”

“Damn straight. It was a lesson. I wanted those other little shits to know what would happen if they tried to keep my money.”

“What money was this?” Levine asked.

Larry paused. He looked a little nervous.

“This stays between us?”

“It would be unethical for me to tell anyone anything you tell me in confidence. If I were to tell even my wife, I could face disbarment.”

Larry’s head bobbed up and down. “Okay, then. The, uh, money… It was from selling my dope. Those motherfuckers are my dealers. Tyrone, Kaufman, and that fucker O’Malley. He was holding back. Tyrone, he told me. So, when they came over to pay me, I knew O’Malley would be short and I smacked him around to make my point.”