FanStory.com - Unfinshed Brushstrokes

The courthouse was bustling with activity. Lawyers hurried through the halls, meeting with clients and potential witnesses and preparing to present their cases. Fortunately, Judge Doyle could pick and choose the cases on his docket, and today, he planned a short day.

Checking his watch, John Doyle stood staring out the window. He'd had an enjoyable evening with Margaret, but unfortunately, it was time for him to find greener pastures. Her son's case would make that transition much easier. He was prepared to throw the book at the young man. He smirked, imagining the headlines — "Judge Doyle: Tough on Crime, Tougher on Privilege." Of course, he would drop hints to the press about possibly running for the Supreme Court in the fall.

A soft tap at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in."

A petite court clerk entered the judge's chambers. She wore her brown hair swept up in a bun, a tailored blue suit, and wedged heels designed to make her appear taller. She was nervous whenever she had to enter the Judge's chambers, but today was the worst.

"Sir, there's been a last-minute change to your schedule today." She expected his reaction, but her knees still knocked together when it came. She wanted to bolt and run but remained frozen where she stood.

His voice boomed! "Nonsense!"

Doyle looked in the floor-length mirror and adjusted his robe. He lowered his voice to a normal speaking level. "I made no such authorization. I've got a round of golf at the Country Club with some very important donors for my upcoming campaign."

"I know, sir, but —" The court clerk expected the Judge to be furious, but she was just trying to do her job.

"No, buts! Cancel whatever it is and reschedule." Without waiting for her answer, he opened the door to the courtroom.

She stammered, "It's someone from the FBI." as the door slammed in her face.

*****

The bailiff led a disheveled Trevor into the courtroom from a side door. As he stood at the defendant's table, his hands were handcuffed in front of him. He scanned the room, first focusing on his mother in the back row of the courtroom. He had hoped she wouldn't be here. Even he knew this would not be his finest hour.

Expecting the family attorney, Mr. John Kingsley, his mouth dropped open as a young man joined him at the table. Trevor whispered, "Who are you? Where's Kingsley?"

Fenton Dawson could count on one hand how many times he'd been in a courtroom, and those had been minor infractions. He couldn't fathom how this case had landed in his lap. Trying not to show his nervousness, he turned to Trevor with a smile. "I'm your lawyer."

Trevor hissed. "Is this a joke? You aren't John Kingsley."

"Umm — Mr. Kingsley — couldn't make it."

Trevor's eyes widened in shock and anger. "Have you ever even been in a courtroom?"

"I assure you I have. Not one quite like this, but I've passed all the required exams, and I am a certified law attorney."

"Good for you, but you're not my attorney." Trevor snarled.

"I'm afraid I am, at least for the day. The court appointed me, so that's that." He tried to look official as Judge Doyle entered the courtroom.

Doyle surveyed the room, temporarily stopping on Margaret, then moving to the defendant. He thought he'd feel some remorse for what he was about to do, but instead, his mind thought of the cold Manhattans he'd be drinking on the golf course. He pounded the gavel to get everyone's attention.

The Bailiff stood and addressed the court, "All Rise! The Court of General Sessions Seventeenth Judicial Circuit is now in session. The Honorable John Doyle is presiding."

The judge waited for everyone to be seated and then nodded to the bailiff. "Please proceed."

The bailiff stepped forward and read the document in his hand. "The court will now hear the case of the State versus Trevor Ashley. The charges are possession of a controlled substance with intent to deliver and the first-degree murder of Manuel "Snap" Rodriguez."

Trevor's eyes widened in shock as he heard the murder charges. "The drug dealer?"

Margaret gasped from her seat as her face paled. Eleanor hovered behind the judge, unable to understand how her family had gotten to this point. In an inconspicuous corner near a coat rack, a man in a black Stetson leaned against the wall, mentally taking notes.

Satisfied with the reaction, Doyle continued, "Mr. Dawson, how does your client plead?"

The young lawyer stood, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He cleared his throat. "Your Honor, my client pleads not guilty to all charges. We request bail and a fair trial."

Trevor, in a state of shock, tugged on Dawson's arm, whispering furiously, "Murder? I don't know what's going on, but I'm not pleading to any murder charge."

Judge Doyle watched Trevor, knowing the boy was sweating bullets beneath that tough facade he was projecting. He slammed his gavel down.

Trevor's head snapped toward the Judge. Furious, he took a deep breath, deciding to make his move now, or his chance would be gone. "Your Honor, you know there is more to this than meets the eye. Sometimes, the truth isn't what it seems, like behind closed doors."

Doyle's eyes flickered with a brief, uncharacteristic look of concern. He shifted in his seat, trying to keep his composure. Margaret's loud gasp caught his attention.

Not thrilled with the sudden turn of events, Eleanor decided to stir the pot. She tugged on the Judge's tie, tightening it around his neck. She whispered in his ear, "Maybe you should rethink this."

Unsure if he'd heard a voice or if his conscience was bothering him, Doyle glanced behind him. Not seeing anyone, he scowled as he loosened his tie. Pounding the gavel, he directed his words to the defendant. "This is not the time for cryptic statements, young man. Do you have anything relevant to say about your case?"

Trevor stared at the judge. "Relevance is in the eye of the beholder, Your Honor. Some truths can be quite — personal and intimate, wouldn't you agree?"

The judge's knuckles whitened as he gripped the gavel. Eleanor flicked the judge's pen off the bench. It clattered to the floor, followed by a stack of folders. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. The judge's face turned a crimson red. The court clerk scrambled to retrieve them.

Fighting to remain in control, he met Trevor's stare. "I warn you to stick to the facts of this case. We are here to discuss your charges, nothing more."

Feeling a little braver, Trevor leaned across the table as he spoke. "I'd be happy to discuss the facts, Your Honor. My mother would prefer a private session, but I'm open to talking here."

Doyle repeatedly slammed the gavel against the bench. "Any further attempts at irrelevant commentary will result in contempt charges, young man. Proceed with the case, Ms. Carter."

The prosecutor, Elizabeth Carter, was a sharp and confident woman. Having found some amusement in the judge's distress, she stood and addressed the court. "Your Honor, the state requests that bail be denied. Mr. Ashley poses a significant flight risk due to the serious nature of the charges, particularly the murder charge."

Trevor clenched his fists, his anger barely contained. Eleanor didn't like what she was hearing. The energy from her thoughts made the hands on the clock spin widely. Staring at the clock, Doyle knew he'd had enough, and a stiff drink was called for.

Pounding his gavel on the bench, he stared at the spinning clock as he addressed the courtroom. "This court will take a brief recess to consider the arguments presented. We will reconvene in fifteen minutes."

With one abrupt slam of the gavel, he stood and hurried off the podium to his chambers, leaving the courtroom abuzz with whispers. Having seen enough, Garth strolled out of the courtroom to one of the waiting elevators.

*****

As the courtroom adjourned, Dawson turned to Trevor with fire in his eyes. "What the hell was that, Trevor? Are you trying to get yourself locked up? They want to put you behind bars and throw away the key."

"Relax. I'm letting Doyle know he isn't holding all the cards."

"You think all the mumble-jumble you spilled meant something to him?"

"I do! We've got some leverage, and I was letting him know it."

Dawson ran his fingers through his hair. "I have no idea what you think you accomplished, but in my opinion, you are certifiable. I'm dropping this case back into Kingsley's lap."

"What kind of attorney are you? Going to tuck your tail and run?"

"Man, I might be new at this, but I know you can't blackmail a judge and get away with it. You're playing with fire."

Trevor laughed. "Ball's in Doyle's court. He's got the hose to put out the fire. If not, he can kiss his career expectations goodbye."

"While you rot in jail!"

*****

Judge Doyle collapsed into his chair, running his hand over his face. He pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and grabbed the Jack Daniel's bottle and a glass. His hand trembled as he poured the drink. Slamming it, he poured another one and let his head rest on the back of his chair.

"Hello, John."

He hadn't heard the door open, so his eyes flared wide with surprise when he heard a woman's voice. Standing in front of his desk was a beautiful woman radiating a quiet strength and timeless beauty. Her eyes, a piercing shade of green, seemed to hold centuries of wisdom and secrets. Silver-streaked hair cascaded in soft waves around her face, framing high cheekbones and a gentle smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Doyle jumped out of his chair, stammering, "Who are you? How'd you get in here?"

He reached for the security button, but Eleanor's hand stopped him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." A coldness shot through his body.

Doyle removed his hand and backed away, assessing the woman before him. On second thought, maybe he'd like to tango with her.

"You don't recognize me? I'm Eleanor, Margaret's sister. You know, the woman you've been sleeping with?"

Doyle reached for his drink and slammed it. "You can't be. She's dead."

"Looks like I'm still kicking, my friend. Maybe you should have sent someone a bit more thorough to do the job."

"What job? Your murder? I mean, her murder." His face paled. Doyle didn't like being on the other side of the coin. "There's no evidence pointing at me. Why would there be? I am a prominent judge in this town."

"You've got a lot of skeletons in your closet. Trust me, I've met a few of them." Eleanor giggled at her joke.

"I don't know who you are or what you want, but you need to get out of here."

"I told you who I am. My name is Eleanor Bennett. And right now, I want to chat about my nephew, Trevor Ashley."

"Why do you care about him? He's a druggie with no future."

"He's misguided, but he's got a marvelous mind with figures. He could be someone if he were on the right track."

"Are we talking about the same kid? The one out there trying to blackmail me in front of an entire courtroom? His train left the track a long time ago."

"You're wrong! But aren't you the pot calling the kettle black? It's not exactly becoming for a man in your position — married, aiming for the Supreme Court — to be entangled in such — scandalous affairs and murder."

Doyle's eyes narrowed. "You have no proof. Besides, who'd believe a dead woman? I don't know how you're doing it, but you're just a figment of my imagination. You're not real."

Eleanor chuckled and moved closer, running her finger down his cheek and under his chin. "You'd be surprised what people will believe when they are desperate. I'm very good at causing inconveniences, like a clock spinning, your pen and paper falling, and, my favorite, tightening your tie around your neck. Imagine what I could do if I really tried."

Doyle swallowed hard, running his fingers across his throat. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to understand the gravity of your actions, Judge Doyle. Trevor deserves a fair trial. Margaret deserves to know the truth. And your wife —"

"Leave my wife out of this." Doyle shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet Eleanor's stare. "You have no right to —"

"How many times has someone said that to you while you nonchalantly destroyed their lives?" Eleanor laughed. "I personally would have told you that you had no right to take my life."

Doyle snarled, "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to drop the murder charge against Trevor. I want you to ensure he gets a fair trial. And I want you to leave Margaret out of your schemes. You've hurt her enough."

He hesitated, knowing he had little choice. "Fine. I'll do what you've asked concerning your nephew, but this changes nothing between Margaret and me. She's an albatross around my neck. It's over." He poured another drink, searching for the courage he wasn't feeling. "Take it or leave it."

Eleanor's gaze remained steady, unmoved by Doyle's attempt at bravado. "You are mistaken. This changes everything."

With a final look, Eleanor turned and walked toward the door. Before opening it, she paused and glanced back at Doyle. "Until we meet again."

As the door closed, he buzzed the court clerk. "Cancel court and my meeting at the country club. I'm not feeling well."

Disconnecting that call, he dialed another number. When the person at the other end answered, Doyle said, "I've got another job for you. Margaret's becoming a problem. I want you to have her daughter, Megan, disappear."

Not trusting him, Eleanor had made herself invisible and sat on the edge of his desk, listening. Her face hardened as she thought — "So that's how you want to play the game?"