Sometimes, the bad guy gets away.
Sometimes, the bad guy's holding the scales of justice.
Sometimes, the bad guy's holding the scales of justice.
Final Testimony by Travis Richardson
Hatcher flashed
his badge when the metal detector squealed.
A sheriff’s
deputy exchanged his Glock for a ticket, and didn’t notice the backup strapped
to his ankle.
Minutes later, Hatcher
took a seat on the witness stand, trading glares with the defendant, Bradley
Turner. He’d risked everything to bring this miscreant to justice. Today was his
second day on the stand and probably his final testimony as an official cop.
According to his lieutenant, IA planned to take his badge and gun after the
trial.
The judge called
the court back into session, reminding Hatcher he was still under oath.
Martin Dies,
Turner’s bloated attorney, stood. He wore a Rolex that equaled two years of
Hatcher’s salary. “Detective Hatcher, we heard yesterday from the prosecution
about how you harassed and hunted my client, accusing him of murders he didn’t
commit.”
“Objection!” DA Cathy
Martinez stood, stress lines carved across her face.
Hatcher knew she
and her assistant, Gary-something, had little faith that he could withstand
cross-examination. He’d show them.
“Turner’s a
murderer,” Hatcher said before Martinez could continue. “No question.”
“Overruled,” the
judge said.
“Do you have
evidence to support your claim?” Dies asked.
“I found plenty
in his house. Knives, restraints, bloody clothes from several victims. It was a
glimpse into hell.” Hatcher stole a glance at the jury. They were enthralled at
the details.
“Did you have a
search warrant when you entered Mr. Turner’s property?” Dies asked.
“Didn’t have
time. There could’ve been a girl inside,” Hatcher said.
“Didn’t have
time? Aren’t there procedures to ensure that malfeasance on the part of the law
doesn’t occur?”
“I had probable
cause. Lives were at stake.”
“Was anybody
else with you when you trespassed onto the property?”
“I didn’t
trespass, and I entered alone.” Hatcher wanted to add: that’s what makes me effective.
“No witnesses saw
you enter?” Dies continued.
“Correct.”
“So you could’ve
planted evidence without anybody watching?”
Blood flushed
Hatcher’s cheeks. Dies was trying to make him into Mark Fuhrman. “I did not. I
found what I found. Secured the scene and called it in.”
“Says you. What
qualifies you to break into a citizen’s home without their consent?” Dies said.
“He’s a murd—”
“Mr. Hatcher, I
asked what qualifies you to break—”
“I’ve been an
officer of the law for twenty-three years. I’ve received several commendations—”
“We heard all
that yesterday.” Dies gave a dismissive wave. “Isn’t it true that you are
currently under investigation by Internal Affairs for stealing drugs from the evidence
room and using them for your own consumption?”
Martinez
objected and the two lawyers argued before the judge overruled.
“You may answer
the question,” the judge instructed.
Hatcher heard
the whispering swish of water from the plumbing in the overheard ceiling, a
cough in the hallway. Everybody was watching him. He felt their stares boring
into him, trying to examine a soul they could never understand.
There was no
right answer, except to perjure himself, which would only make things worse.
Narcotics gave him the edge. Drove him harder than anybody else on the force to
find the sociopath.
Three sleepless
months. It wrecked everything in his life – an estranged wife with a
restraining order and a daughter who denied his existence – but he caught Turner.
The handsome trust fund alpha could have any woman, yet he preferred to abduct,
torture, and kill runaways. American Psycho without a job. Idle time and money.
Turner beamed a
malignant, triumphant grin.
Hatcher cleared
his throat, then said, “I’m not allowed to discuss the current investigation.”
“Really?” Dies
acted confused. “If you stole drugs from police, how can we trust you?”
“Objection.
Assumes facts not in evidence, badgering the witness….” Martinez went on.
Hatcher tuned her
out. He glanced at the jury box. There were a few worried and confused faces, others
seemed amused. A couple of hard, angry glares met his eyes. He knew that look:
total mistrust of cops. Now they had ammunition to hang a jury or worse, declare
innocence.
His body trembled.
This was the end of everything. He fucked up too much this time. He’d be
imprisoned by year’s end, while this sadistic murderer walked the streets
inflicting more harm. All because of money-grubbing whore lawyers like Dies.
This couldn’t
happen. He slipped his hand into his pocket, palming a pill. Feigning a yawn, he
dry-swallowed the speed. Seconds later, his heart slammed against his chest. His
smile matched Turner’s. He had the chemical courage to see this through.
“Detective
Hatcher,” Dies resumed after the objection was sustained. “Can you tell the
jury if you’ve flunked a drug test in the past year?” He held up a piece of
paper.
Hatcher knew
what it was. The test that revealed a cocktail of speed and coke in his system.
How did Dies get it? Evil money greased a wheel somewhere.
At the
prosecution table, defeat clouded Gary-something’s face. He whispered into Martinez’s
ear.
She nodded gravely.
Were they thinking of offering a plea bargain? No way. He'd sacrificed too much for that.
She nodded gravely.
Were they thinking of offering a plea bargain? No way. He'd sacrificed too much for that.
“Detective Hatcher,
would you like me to repeat the question?”
Hatcher studied Dies’
piggish face. “How do you live with yourself representing murderous filth?”
“Your Honor.” Dies
looked like a man dealing with a child’s tantrum.
The judge banged
the gavel. “I’ll remind the witness to only answer….”
Hatcher drew
from his ankle holster and blew a hole in Dies’ head. He placed a quick bead on
Turner, his mouth in the shape of an O. Two in the chest knocked the bastard to
the floor.
Pandemonium filled the courtroom as jurors, lawyers, and the audience scrambled to the doors. A “whoop-whoop” filled the room as the judge tripped an alarm.
Hatcher swiveled to the deputy sheriff who had pulled his weapon. “No need to kill anybody if you haven’t before.” He smiled at the young, trembling deputy. “I’ve got it from here.”
Pandemonium filled the courtroom as jurors, lawyers, and the audience scrambled to the doors. A “whoop-whoop” filled the room as the judge tripped an alarm.
Hatcher swiveled to the deputy sheriff who had pulled his weapon. “No need to kill anybody if you haven’t before.” He smiled at the young, trembling deputy. “I’ve got it from here.”
Hatcher raised the pistol to his own temple and glanced at Bradley dying alone in a pool of blood. “Justice served.”
