Sunday 21 October 2012
Henry Chadwick, attorney at law, had requested time alone with his client, teenager Cody Seaborn. The boy had attacked a female detective and spouted some sort of information that Chadwick feared had incriminated him in regards to the Missy Fairmont stalking investigation. It was already known by law enforcement that Seaborn had murdered his uncle, Detective Russ Seaborn, but they hadn’t established how involved Cody was with the rest of the plan.
Missy Fairmont had reported to the police that she was the victim of a stalker, which was all part of an elaborate plan to murder her husband, wealthy businessman William Fairmont. From the information that Chadwick had been able to gather, the police were leaning towards the wife as the planner, and his client as a manipulated teen who was dragged into the conspiracy. He would now need to reconsider his defence plan with his client’s outburst, and that meant that hours and hours of work he’d already put into the kid’s defence was in vain.
‘You set this up, Hunt. You were a bastard when I worked with you, and you’re still a bastard now. I’ll have your badge for this,’ Chadwick snarled.
Brian Hunt, detective in charge of the investigation, snorted.
‘Henry, you were melodramatic when I worked with you, and you’re still melodramatic now. This,’ he gestured at the boy and then at Detective Sue Lennard, ‘was not a set up. You were required to take a phone call; my partner here did not antagonise your client. However, your client assaulted a detective who had to act in self-defence. The footage of that incident will help to demonstrate the prosecution’s case against your client if it’s shown in court. So, Henry, I suggest that you give him some good advice. We’ll leave you to it.’ Hunt didn’t wait for Chadwick’s reply; instead he, Lennard, and Officer Andy Ricketsen left the interview room.
Chadwick slammed his hand down on the table, the action and resulting sound startled Cody Seaborn. He flinched and repositioned the ice pack that was, hopefully, reducing any further inflammation of his nose. The attorney inhaled and meditatively exhaled longer than Cody thought was humanly possible to breathe out.
‘It is my professional legal opinion, Mr. Seaborn, that you inform the police of the full extent of your involvement in the Fairmont . . . affair. Tell them everything and hope to God that you get . . . just tell them everything.’
Cody slid his chair closer to Henry and leaned towards his attorney. Chadwick could feel and smell the boy’s breath on his face, and the close proximity unnerved the older man.
‘Mr. Chadwick, you are my attorney and therefore, you do as I instruct.’ Cody reached out and took hold of Henry’s tie, pulling the knot tight enough to restrict his breathing.
‘Take your hand off of me, Seaborn.’ Henry struggled to audibly speak. Cody pulled the knot tighter.
‘You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Chadwick. You are going to get me released. You are going to defend me at the trial, and you are going to make the jury believe that Missy Fairmont was the mastermind.’
He pushed Chadwick backwards, releasing the man from his suffocating hold. Chadwick ripped at the knot of his tie, yanking the fabric loose and shoving it into the inner breast pocket of his Armani suit jacket. Never in his career had a client threatened Henry Chadwick, and he had defended a number of dubious and notorious people. Cody Seaborn frightened him; there was no question about that. He’d have to seriously consider his options in the next few minutes.
Henry stood up and moved closer to the door, placing his hand on the handle ready for a quick exit.
‘I don’t think that will happen, Mr. Seaborn. I don’t like to be threatened by my clients so, in the interests of my personal safety and your defence, I’m now declining to represent you. I’ll inform Detective Hunt, and I’m sure he’ll be more than helpful in contacting the public defenders office for you.’
Seaborn, enraged by Chadwick’s speech, launched himself over the table before Henry could pull down on the handle.
In the minute that it took for the detectives to run from the observation room to the interview room, Cody Seaborn had exploded. The sight that faced them as they entered the room and attempted to restrain the teenager horrified Hunt. Chadwick’s blood painted the immediate area around the door and little was left recognisable as Chadwick’s head. Seaborn had pounded his attorney’s head into the floor. Blood gurgled in Henry’s throat as he took his last gasp of air.
When a small team of police officers had restrained the animalistic Seaborn, Hunt looked him squarely in the eye.
‘While we may struggle to find enough evidence that points to you being the instigator in the Fairmont case, we’ve got you for the murder of Henry Chadwick. And Seaborn, one more thing . . .’ Hunt paused to make sure he had the teenager’s full attention, ‘justice will be served.’
. . . The end . . .