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Lying in Judgment - a courtroom thriller by Gary Corbin
Lying in Judgment Book launch
Gary Corbin's Bookstore
Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: Double Diamond Publishing
ISBN-10: 0692642689
Pages: 368
Copyright: Feb 27, 2016
ISBN-13: 9780692642689
Price: $4.00 (eBook)
Peter Robertson serves on a jury trying a man for the murder that he committed.
Literary Lightbox finalist, 2016, and Bookworks.com Book of the Week, July 11-17, 2016!
Peter Robertson, 33, discovers his wife is cheating on him. Following her suspected boyfriend one night, he erupts into a rage, beats him and leaves him to die – or so he thought. Soon he discovers that he has killed the wrong man – a perfect stranger.
Six months later, impaneled on a jury, he realizes he realizes that the murder being tried is the one he committed. After wrestling with his conscience, he works hard to convince the jury to acquit the accused man. But the prosecution’s case is strong as the accused man had both motive and opportunity to commit the murder. As the pressure builds, Peter begins to slip up and reveal things that only the murderer would know – and Christine, a pretty and intelligent alternate juror, suspects something is amiss.
Meanwhile, Peter’s wife leaves him, his mother suffers a series of debilitating strokes, and his best friend and employee, accused of sexual harassment, needs Peter’s help that he’s too preoccupied to give. As jurors one by one declare their intention to convict, Peter’s conscience eats away at him and he careens toward nervous breakdown, revealing details about the crime that had not been disclosed in court.
“Lying in Judgment” is a gripping courtroom thriller about a good man’s search for redemption for his one unfortunate mistake, pitted against society’s search for justice.
Lying in Judgment available now on Amazon, Smashwords, and at your favorite retailers
Genre: Legal Thriller, 368 pages
ISBN: 978-0692642689
Excerpt
The prosecutor, Malcom Baldwin, stepped in front of the prosecution table and faced the jury. His face gleamed with perspiration, and he seemed to teeter on the long legs inside his baggy slacks. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have been asked to consider the evidence of a man’s guilt or innocence of the highest crime in our judicial system: first degree murder.”
Peter’s head felt light. Murder. He inhaled warm, stuffy air through his mouth in short breaths.
Baldwin remained fixed in his spot in front of the jury. “The state will show by evidence and testimony that Alvin Dark was murdered on the night of November 17 of last year.”
November 17! The same day that...
“The state will prove that the defendant, Raul Vasquez, intentionally and with premeditation, committed that murder.”
November 17. November 17! Peter sat on his hands to stop them from shaking.
“Forensics experts will testify that Mr. Dark died from being beaten viciously with a blunt object, after having been driven off the road, his car smashed and rolled into a ditch.” Baldwin’s eyes hovered over the jury, then settled on Peter.
Peter’s heart split in half. He choked a little, and recovered by taking long, noisy breaths through his nose. He wanted to shout, Look away! But the prosecutor’s gaze remained glued to him, squirming in his chair.
Finally Baldwin obeyed Peter’s silent plea. His eyes swept the jury. “Witnesses will testify that Mr. Vasquez followed Mr. Dark in his car from the restaurant at which they both worked. Mr. Dark tried to speed away, but Mr. Vasquez kept up the chase.”
November 17. Chased in a car from a restaurant. Please, let the similarities end there.
“Mr. Vasquez collided his vehicle into Alvin Dark’s,” Baldwin said. “He then beat him with a blunt instrument, and left him there to die a slow, painful death, until his discovery several hours later by passers-by.”
Peter bent over in his seat. His gut felt queasy, like when his sister made him ride the Tilt-a-Whirl at the Rose Festival too many times. His pulse pounded in his ears. Sweat dripped from his neck, armpits, everywhere. A few jurors gave him questioning looks, but the judge and lawyers seemed not to notice. He dabbed his face and neck with a handkerchief and mouthed to Christine, “It’s so hot!” She mimed a “whew!” and returned her attention to Baldwin.
“The state will show that Mr. Vasquez had both motive and opportunity to kill Alvin Dark.” Baldwin tapped a pen on his notepad, checked his outline again, and wiped sweat from his forehead and upper lip with his forefinger.
“Witnesses will testify that Mr. Dark and Mr. Vasquez competed for the same woman’s affections. Mr. Vasquez, the odd man out of this love triangle, acted with jealous rage toward his rival, and went so far as to get Mr. Dark fired from his job a few nights before the murder.”
Vasquez sat rigid in his chair, his hands flat on the desk. His cheap blue suit seemed one size too small, his tie an inch too wide. He presented every bit the image of a man who could lose control in a moment of rage, and let events take their own cruel path.
Peter winced. Sounded familiar, actually.
“As to opportunity, witnesses will testify that Mr. Vasquez and Mr. Dark were both at Florentino’s Restaurant that night.”
The queasiness in his gut reached a boil. November 17... Florentino’s...
“Witnesses will testify that Mr. Dark came to Florentino’s on the night he was murdered,” Baldwin said. “Mr. Dark spoke with the restaurant’s dinner hostess, the object of his affections, and Mr. Vasquez saw them together.”
At the mention of the woman, Vasquez stole a glance into the seats behind the prosecution. A petite woman in a white tea-length dress ducked her head under a white broad-brimmed hat. A classy lady. Someone worth fighting for. Maybe killing for–
Peter shuddered.
The woman in the hat, he guessed, was the hostess – like Marcia, loved by two men. Her waifish presence lent a certain fragility to her elegant bearing. But there the comparison ended. Marcia’s confidence and independence gave her a spirited energy that complemented Peter’s low-key style. Her initiative and sense of adventure sparked him, and his strength and patience calmed her. Once upon a time, they made a good team.
But then she left him, and he’d turned into an impetuous, temperamental–
No. Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. He relaxed, closed his eyes, and cleared his mind. Listen. Just listen. He drew a deep breath and reopened his eyes. Straight ahead sat Raul Vasquez, his square jaw clamped shut, bewilderment on his face. Exactly how he’d feel in the same position.
“Further testimony will show,” Baldwin said, “that Mr. Vasquez followed Alvin Dark out of the restaurant, and the two quarreled in the parking lot. Then, Alvin Dark, the murder victim, drove away in an easily identified car – a red Camaro.”
Red Camaro! Breathing became almost impossible. He shut his eyes again, but the vision of that night returned: a red Camaro racing down an isolated, dark road...
Baldwin’s booming baritone intruded on his vision. “Witnesses will testify that Mr. Vasquez followed his victim in hot pursuit for several miles. Mr. Dark attempted to elude him – unsuccessfully, as it turns out.”
He pursued the Camaro with determination up the winding country road, his anger building as he drove…
“Forensic evidence will show that the defendant cornered his victim on a remote, unlit, gravel road.”
Peter shivered in spite of the heat. Images flooded over him – memories his mind had repressed. Until now.
“He then intentionally collided his vehicle into the side of Mr. Dark’s Camaro.”
Metal crunched... glass smashed... a dark metal rod crashed into his attacker’s face, his skull, his hands and body...
Baldwin’s voice rose. “Then he took a blunt instrument and beat his victim’s head and body mercilessly, leaving him to die a slow, painful death.”
Peter’s eyes shot open, only to find the D.A. glaring again at him. He turned away, teeth clenched. If only he could take back his snap decision to strike that man, or to follow him in the first place. But the man had struck first–not only physically but emotionally, by stealing his wife.
Or so he’d thought then. He knew better now.
The wrong man. All these months, he’d been afraid to know the man’s identity, afraid to discover whether the man had survived, afraid that knowing would render waking up from this nightmare impossible.
He buried his face in his hands. Sweat flowed from every pore. His breaths came in tiny, quick bursts.
The man he chased that night, confronted, fought – and apparently, killed – was Alvin Dark.
Now he sat in judgment of the man accused of that very same murder. His murder.
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