Burden of Proof Read online

  Hanover Investigations

  Book One

  Burden of Proof

  By

  Esther Mitchell

  This work is copyrighted as of 2004 by Esther Mitchell

  3rd Edition

  Hanover Investigations

  Book One: Burden of Proof

  COMING SOON

  Book Two: Silent Night

  Book Three: Probable Cause

  Book Four: Painted Target

  Book Five: Stolen Moments

  Book Six: Shelter Me

  Other Books By ESTHER MITCHELL

  Underground

  Book One: Tamia

  Book Two: Mind Killer

  Book Three: Terminal Hunter

  Book Four: Hero's Hope

  Book Five: Vengeful Heart

  From Desert Breeze Publishing:

  Legends of Tirum

  Book One: Daughter of Ashes

  Book Two: Phoenix Rising

  Book Three: Spirit Mage

  Book Four: Mistress of Cats

  Book Five: Sister of Dragons

  Book Six: Child of Fallen Waters

  Project Prometheus

  Book One: In Her Name

  Book Two: Hope of Heaven

  Book Three: Shadow Walker

  Book Four: Blood Debt

  Guardians, Inc: Witch Hollow

  Book One: Sight Unseen

  Book Two: Up In Flames

  Esther Mitchell

  637 S. Cynthia Avenue

  Tucson AZ 85710

  http://www.esthermitchell.com

  Copyright © 2004 by ESTHER MITCHELL

  Published in the United States of America

  Publication Date: April 3, 2017

  KDP ISBN:9781521133323

  Cover Artist: Nikita Gordyn

  Cover Art Copyright by Esther Mitchell © 2007

  All rights reserved. Subject to all terms and conditions of Kindle Direct Publishing, as permitted by agreement with Amazon Kindle Direct, and as laid forth by applicable Copyright and Intellectual Property Rights.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.

  Acknowledgment and Warning

  PLEASE NOTE: THIS IS A TRIGGER WARNING.

  This book contains indirect references to assault and rape. If you have sensitivities to these issues, please exercise caution when reading this book.

  A portion of proceeds from sales of this book gets donated to women's shelters and domestic abuse/rape abuse education programs.

  If you, or someone you love, have been the victim of domestic violence or sexual assault, please get help. You are not alone. Domestic violence and sexual assaults are among the largest number of unreported crimes in the world. Break the silence, and help take back the night.

  For help inside the USA, please contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233 or

  RAINN at 1-800-656-4673.

  Get involved, and help take violence out of our homes, and rapists off the streets. Contact your local shelters and domestic crisis organizations.

  Together, we all make a difference.

  Chapter One

  June 3, 2010

  5:30 PM

  With a weary sigh, Chelsea Hanover pressed slim fingers to her throbbing head and willed her raging migraine to disappear. She didn't have time for this. Philip Myers went to trial for armed robbery and assault in less than three days, and she'd yet to find a single loophole in the prosecution's case.

  Pushing her fingers through her long, copper-colored curls, she scowled at the files spread open on her desk.

  "Damn it, Jerry!"

  She told him this case was a bad idea. Never mind the partners forbade him to take it. Being Jerry, he naturally ignored her advice and the instructions of two of the firm's senior partners, and -- no surprise -- the case blew up in his face.

  Chelsea's stomach heaved, and she could hear her sister's chastising voice, reminding her stress could kill her. Sally was convinced her younger sister's problems would be solved if Chelsea just slowed down. The thought made her ill.

  Or maybe she was ill because she'd consumed nothing except half a cup of coffee and a stale doughnut since six this morning. The mere thought of food brought a protesting heave from her knotted stomach.

  Just what she needed to end up a hellish Thursday. A bodily mutiny.

  What she needed, Chelsea conceded, as her vision blurred from exhaustion, was some kind of evidence that put Myers elsewhere at the time of the robbery. Lacking that, she reached for her trusty bottle of aspirin. She grimaced as she washed several down with a gulp of cold coffee.

  A rap at the frosted-glass office door rescued her from the sea of paperwork on her desk.

  "Come in."

  The door opened, and Gene Marshall poked his balding head through the opening. "Got a minute, Chelsea?"

  A warm smile tugged at her lips. Gene wasn't just her boss. He was her mentor and adoptive uncle, and one of the very few men she trusted.

  "Sure, Gene. I'm just going over the Myers case one last time."

  His frown reminded her none of the senior partners were happy with Jerry Merrick's decision to take on the case in the first place. If it failed, it would make the entire firm look bad.

  From what she saw, it would fail. Miserably.

  "Give it back to Merrick," Gene growled, shutting the door behind himself. "You're working too hard on an airtight loss. The partners have had a meeting, and we've decided to let Jerry sink or swim on his own. If he pulls it off, great. If not, it gives him his third strike and gets him tossed out on his ear. We should have done it a long time ago."

  Chelsea's brow furrowed. "Why are you telling me this, Gene?"

  He shrugged. "I know you, kiddo. You'll feel guilty if it fails. Which it probably will."

  A wry smile tugged at her lips. "Is that what you came in here for? A pep talk?"

  He paused, his expression uncomfortable. "Actually, no. A big case just landed in the firm's lap, and the partners agree. We want you to handle it."

  The knot in her stomach tightened. Was Gene actually trying to sell her on a case with flattery? He knew that crap was lost on her. The one and only time he'd tried and succeeded before now ended up being a very messy kidnapping case she almost lost, even though her client was actually innocent. "What kind of case?"

  "A big one." Gene skimmed a file across the mess on her desk. "Murder One."

  Chelsea's blood froze in her veins. First degree murder? Dear God, he wasn't suggesting that she, a junior partner, handle another capital case, was he?

  "You're kidding."

  He sighed. "Unfortunately, no. I know you said you didn't want any more capital cases after the Brantley kidnapping, but this case is just too important, and you have the best track record of all the junior partners."

  Resignation flooded her. The partners handpicked her for this case, so she didn't have much of a choice. She might as well hear him out. "What's the story?"

  "I'm not entirely sure. The woman's name is Marlene Cavarella. They arrested her this afternoon, and details are still sketchy. According to Eleanor, she was incoherent when she called."

  "Incoherent?" Chelsea thumbed the edge of the file and shot a curious glanced at Gene. "How?"

  "From crying, not intoxication. Eleanor said she was pretty close to hysterical, on the phone. Lucky us, to be the family law firm."

  "That seems odd for someone facing a Murder One charge." Chelsea's brow furrowed as something he said sank in. "Cavarella? As in Dominic Cavarella,
of Cavarella Enterprises?"

  "Yeah." Gene settled his five-foot-ten-inch frame into one of the plush leather chairs opposite her. "Small world, huh? We handle all their corporate legalities."

  Chelsea nodded absently. She handled three of the well-known advertising agency's legal disputes over the past two years, herself. She even met "The Big Man," as Gene called him, once. Dominic Cavarella struck her not as awe-inspiring, but downright intimidating. He made her skin crawl. She frowned. She had way too much experience with powerful men to ever trust one.

  "So who is Marlene?"

  Gene laughed in disbelief. "You really need to get out more, kiddo! Marlene's the Big Man's wife."

  Chelsea's head snapped up, even as she opened the file he'd tossed her. "Cavarella's wife? Who's the victim?"

  Even as she asked, the answer stared up at her from the open file in her hands. Chelsea's breath rushed out on a quiet curse. "She offed her husband?"

  "Sam Spade, I presume," Gene intoned wryly, but nodded. "Yeah, the victim was Cavarella himself. According to the police, there were sixty-four separate stab wounds to his chest and upper abdomen. The detective I spoke with said he figures Cavarella was dead long before she stopped hacking at him."

  Chelsea winced at his indelicate choice of words. Gene wasn't one to sugarcoat. "So why me?"

  Gene's expression was sympathetic as he rose to his feet. "She asked specifically for you. I figure she heard her husband talk about your handling of the past couple of corporate cases. It's not likely she'd distinguish between cases."

  Chelsea sighed as she closed the file. "Exactly what do you expect me to do? The woman was literally caught red-handed, if these reports are to be believed."

  "The question is: are they?" He shrugged. "Check it out. Talk to her, at least. She claims she's innocent, and the firm trusts your judgment enough to give you free rein either way you go. If you feel the case isn't worth the risk after you've talked with her, we'll simply farm it out to the Public Defender."

  She sighed, pressing her fingers to her forehead again. "All right, Gene. I'll head over there first thing in the morning. Where's she being held?"

  "Allegheny County Jail, at least until the arraignment."

  She nodded as she rose to her feet. "Got it. Do we have any idea who the District Attorney's picked for the case, yet?"

  Gene's grimace stopped her halfway up, and ice trickled through her. Prosecutors never bothered Gene; he didn't look at them with the same distaste many defense attorneys did.

  "Gene? What is it?"

  "More like 'who'," he muttered as he met her eyes. "Rumor has it Martin's giving the case to the Executioner."

  The blood drained from her head so fast it made her dizzy, and she sank back into her chair as an image flashed before her eyes of dark blond hair, clean-cut good looks, and green eyes so intense they could pierce her to the soul from a yard away. She could barely draw a breath as she croaked out a single word. "Blakely."

  Gene nodded glumly. "From what I hear, that man's been looking for a rematch ever since you trumped him at the Fairman trial, two years ago."

  She managed a wan smile. "I didn't trump him -- the evidence did. Chad was innocent. Even the Executive Assistant District Attorney can't be right all the time."

  Gene snorted a laugh. "So far, you're the only one who's managed to prove that theory. His record for convictions was spotless, until you came along. Damn him, and his absolute devotion to the law." A rueful smile flickered across his face, then. "Unfortunately, it works all too well for him."

  Chelsea's heart stuck in her throat as she recalled the first and only time she faced Justin Blakely in court. It was the first time she was terrified since Rob tore away her innocence, and her sense of safety, in college. The idea of being in the same courtroom with another Blakely, and one fed with a silver spoon so like Rob's, made her physically ill. She kept seeing the judge who turned her personal horror into living Hell. When she saw Justin, the first day, the sensation slammed into her, and rocked her clear off her game. No one knew how close to losing that case she came. No one knew how much his soul-piercing gaze rattled her. God, how would she ever face him again?

  "You okay, kiddo?" Gene's worried voice broke through her thoughts, banishing Justin's face from her mind. She nodded. She could do this. She wasn't a thunderstruck rookie, anymore. Her record was even more impressive than Blakely's. After all, she hadn't lost a case, yet.

  Gene, halfway to the door, turned to give her another concerned glance. "You look like hell, Chelsea. You're only twenty-four, for God's sake. You need to slow down. Do yourself a favor, and get some rest before you tackle this one. The D.A.'s office is having a psychologist sent over from Western Psychiatric tomorrow afternoon, to see if Marlene's even fit to stand trial. Save yourself the aggravation. Wait until Monday."

  Anger hardened Chelsea's resolve. Psychiatrists, she could do without. They were all alike, trying to convince people the worst terrors were all in their heads. Trying to tell frightened, traumatized women they were crazy to feel afraid.

  "No. If she's as upset as you say, Mrs. Cavarella will be too fragile to withstand psychological analysis. I want to get her side of the story before the state's headshrinkers get to her."

  Gene sighed in resignation. "All right, then. Good luck."

  As Chelsea turned to shove the Myers case into a file box and gather up her tape recorder and legal pads, she swallowed back a grimace. Between the little information in the file, and the roiling sensation in her gut, Chelsea feared she needed a good bit more than just luck. She needed a miracle.

  Chapter Two

  Friday, June 4

  9:30 AM

  "I'm telling you, I didn't kill my husband!"

  Justin Blakely, Allegheny County Executive Assistant District Attorney, traded skeptical glances with Detective George Talbot, and anger slashed through him. He was less convinced of Marlene Cavarella's innocence, if that was possible, than he had been when she was booked yesterday afternoon.

  "Mrs. Cavarella," he cut her off as he rose from his seat to pace about the room, "you were found with the murder weapon and the body, covered in your husband's blood. Do you really expect us to believe you had nothing to do with what happened to him?"

  Huge blue eyes filled with tears, and a dark head Justin was certain came straight from a bottle dropped into her hands as she sobbed brokenly. Marlene Cavarella was one hell of an actress, he acknowledged sourly, but all the tears in the world weren't going to sway him.

  "Oh, cut it out!" He slapped his hands down on the metal table. She jumped, her eyes wide in fear. Justin frowned. What the hell? "The waterworks aren't helping your case, lady."

  "Find Officer Martin Kopinski," she implored Talbot, turning her broken gaze on the veteran detective. "He'll tell you. I'd never k-kill my hus...band."

  A low curse of frustration left Justin and he plowed one hand through his hair as she started sobbing again. He was just about to launch into a full-blown tirade when an icy voice broke in.

  "Well, I guess some things never change. Still resorting to scare tactics, Counselor?"

  Justin's glare snapped to the doorway. He froze as he locked gazes with the new arrival, those electric-blue eyes like a sucker punch to the chest, knocking the wind from him. Her!

  She was slim, but curvy, encased in a conservative powder-gray business suit and spectator pumps that still managed to show off enough of her long, shapely legs he was sure that outfit should be illegal. Coppery hair fell in a riot of curls over her shoulders, and one fine-boned hand clutched a dark leather briefcase so tightly he was surprised it didn't shake with the strain.

  But her eyes were what held Justin spellbound. They were eyes he fantasized about since the Fairman trial, two years ago. He never expected to see them, or her, again. Especially not like this. Lightning blue, and currently glaring back at him as if he was the most vile creature on Earth.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped, scowling to c
over his runaway pulse.

  Her answering laugh was mocking.

  "Why doesn't it surprise me you've already forgotten I'm a defense attorney, Mr. Blakely? Naturally you'd want to forget about Chad Fairman, and the one smudge on your spotless record, wouldn't you?" She snorted derisively. "Of course, you tried this very same tactic on that poor kid, whose only crime was running away from an abusive parent."

  He stared at her, thunderstruck by the suffusion of passionate rage on her classically beautiful features. He could have argued, turned her words back on her. He could have admitted he'd been unable to forget the Fairman case, unable to forget her, for all the trying he'd done in the past two years. Damn, but she was beautiful when she was furious. Even as the thought crossed his mind, a sharp retort sprang defensively to his lips.

  "Well, if it isn't the crusading Counselor Hanover. What brings you to the lock-up? Finally get arrested for contempt of court?"

  *****

  Chelsea watched the smug little smile tug at Blakely's lips, and the anger she held under tight control since walking in to find him bullying her client erupted.

  "I'm Marlene Cavarella's attorney." Her glare raked over both men like striking lightning. "You gentlemen should have waited for me. Mrs. Cavarella isn't required to answer a single question without legal counsel present, and you," she fixed her scathing gaze on Justin's bland expression, "should have known better than to badger my client. Or are you Blakelys all above the law you cherish so damned much?"

  Justin snapped upright, contempt flaring in his green eyes at her accusation. He glared at her for a long moment, and then bit out a sharp bark of laughter, startling the bewildered-looking woman seated at the table.