An Innocent Man
CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Drama
Language: maybe?
Violence: yes
Nudity: no
Sex: implied assault
Other: none
Author's Note:
Finally! A little insight into... who the hell IS this guy?
An Innocent Man
==#==
Laurel was about to set her phone in the charger when it buzzed in her hand. Startled, she didn't check the caller ID before answering. "Hello?"
"Laurel Lance." The voice was obviously modulated, its tone artificially deep.
"Who is this?" she demanded.
"My name is Hunter. I have reason to believe that Peter Declan is innocent."
"How did you get this number?"
"You are a public defender, Ms. Lance."
That did nothing to explain how he got her private number. Had she given it to a client recently? Perhaps Emily Nocenti.
The voice continued. "Camille Declan worked for a company owned by Jason Brodeur. Brodeur is powerful enough to have her murdered and her husband framed."
"But why would he? There's no evidence."
"If I find evidence, I will need your help to clear Peter Declan's name."
"Why do you care so much about exonerating him?"
Silence.
Laurel frowned at the phone after a moment. "Hello?"
"I will contact you again when I have the evidence." He clicked off.
Laurel blew out a pent breath. She shook her head and set the phone down. She briefly considered getting a new one, but... Peter Declan had claimed innocence all along, even in the face of clear evidence. Could it be true? Even if there was a sliver of a doubt, it could save a man's life.
At 11:00 PM, her phone rang again. Laurel muted the TV and went to look at the caller ID. Blocked. She picked it up. "Hello?"
The inhuman voice was back. "I have proof that Peter Declan is innocent. Meet me in an hour at the alley on Way Street, across from the deli."
"Wait, who are you, really-?" She was talking to dead air. Meet a strange man in an alley at midnight? Or woman - the voice-changer could mask gender.
Laurel shook her head and paced. She couldn't just ignore this, write it off as some crank call. A man's life could be at stake. Could she, in good conscience, ignore this? No.
But there was no reason to be stupid about it, either. She brought up the phone and dialed.
==#==
The Hunter lay in wait, in the dark recesses of the alley. One sentry light over a door had been judiciously removed to provide adequate darkness. There was a fire escape to the north, a back alley to the west. Dumpsters and a raised delivery platform gave good cover.
The Hunter shifted his weight slowly from one foot to the other, suppressing the urge to pace. He did finally remove the burner phone from inside his jacket to glance at the screen.
He chewed his lip and dialled. "You're late," he growled as soon as she picked up.
"I'm sorry, I can't meet with you now. Leave the evidence in the alley."
What? The Hunter snarled.
"I'll have someone pick it up."
Someone? Who?
He was about to demand answers when the point was suddenly moot. A car blocked off the mouth of the alley, and a floodlight beamed into the dark space. "This is the SCPD. If anyone is in there, show yourself."
The Hunter mashed the disconnect button, jammed the phone into a back pocket. He dropped the evidence on the ground, then faded back to one of his escape routes.
A large shadow covered the alleyway, making the police officer an easy target as he entered. A flashlight beam played across the dark crevasses, perhaps painting the Hunter's sleeve before he slipped around the corner.
"SCPD! Hold it!" The cop ran after him, but the Hunter was long gone by the time he got to the corner.
==#==
"Are you sure it was this Hood Guy?" Lance asked Malone.
"Hood Guy, guy in a hoodie..." He shrugged. "Honestly, I barely caught a glimpse of him."
"All right, when forensics is done checking this stuff out, we'll have a look at it." Quentin got out his cell to let his daughter know.
==#==
The next day, he, Laurel, and a tech guy gathered in an interview room to review the evidence. "Everything came back clean," the tech guy told them. "The folder has records from Brodeur Chemical plant. Not only do they detail the hazardous waste that clearly wasn't reported to the EPA, there's a handwritten note about an employee named Camille that had to be 'taken care of.'"
Laurel's eyes widened. "That's Peter Declan's wife. Jason Brodeur did murder her and frame him!"
"What's this thing here?" Detective Lance indicated an oblong plastic lozenge.
"At first we were worried it was a bomb..." The tech broke off with a sheepish duck of his head. "Uh, but it turned out to be a digital recording device."
"Well, play it."
The tech glanced at Laurel. "Are you sure you want to hear it? It's not pretty."
"Yes," she insisted. "I'm a public defender, I hear all sorts of things that are 'not pretty.'"
He hit a button on the thing, and a burst of noise came out. It resolved into the sound of a man screaming.
"Matthew Istook," growled a second voice, garbled by a scrambler.
"Who are y-?"
"You killed Camille Declan."
"I don't know what you're talk- AGH!"
"You murdered her - confess!"
There was more screaming, the volume causing the noise to be distorted.
"And you framed Peter Declan." In contrast, the scrambled voice remained even, emotionless... inhuman.
"I didn't... AGH! Okay, okay, I did it! But it wasn't my idea! I-I-I... My boss, Jason Brodeur, he told me to! I had to do it! She was going to go to the EPA!"
Mercifully, the recording ended there.
"Well," Lance said dryly, "there's your confession." His mouth twisted as if tasting something bitter.
Laurel swallowed. "Doesn't he realize this isn't admissible in a court of law?"
"I don't think these papers were 'legally' obtained, either."
Laurel shook her head, turned away. She paced a few steps. "Still," she said after a moment. "It's enough to get a stay of execution for Peter Declan."
"Well, I need to send some guys to find this Istook fellow," her father said, heading for the door.
"Why? You can't question him based on this."
Lance turned back. "If this is the Hood Guy- and it sounds like his thing- then Matt Istook is most likely dead."
==#==
The riot was a nightmare. Laurel had gone to speak to Peter Declan, to deliver the good news about his stay of execution. And to see if he had any information that could corroborate the facts that pointed to Jason Brodeur having Camille murdered.
It turned out that Peter had seen copies of the toxic waste records - before the annotations were added. "That's what Camille and I were arguing about," he said. "I was afraid she'd lose her job..." But there had been no records at Declan's house. The murderer had made them disappear.
Laurel wasn't sure they could build a case on this tenuous evidence. Jason Brodeur must have had a lot more confidence in her if he'd staged a riot just to get Declan - and her - knifed.
The prison kept the outside world safe from its violent offenders, but inside, it was a death trap. Laurel had her self-defense skills, but against so many... The guard had wanted to stay put, to hide and hope the interview room kept them secure. It didn't.
Another guard appeared, led them through the gauntlet. Laurel didn't have time to question the ski mask, the voice modulator, not until later, when she was safe. When the EMT was checking the bruises on her neck, the bump on her head.
She'd fought, kept stray attackers at bay as the masked man cleared the way with brutal efficiency.
It only took one man a brief second of opportunity to blindside her, get her on the ground, start to choke the strength out of her.
Then the masked man grabbed her attacker, turned the tables, began to brutally beat him to death.
Laurel had never seen another human being killed before her eyes. The man had become an animal. She found her broken voice and cried for him to stop. Her breath caught in her throat as the killer turned his eyes on her. Pale, soulless eyes.
She didn't think she'd ever forget them.
Then they were outside, in a cordon of police officers, guards, EMTs. Laurel and Peter Declan were caught in the safety of this net while their rescuer vanished.
"Laurel?"
She blinked and looked up, trying to shake off the lethargy of shock. "Tommy? What...?" The intensity of his blue eyes took her breath away. "What are you doing here?"
"It's all over the news," he said, coming closer. "I had to see if you were all right." His brow wrinkled as he took in her injuries, her soiled and rent clothing. "Are you...? Did they...?" He swallowed.
"No," she reassured him swiftly. "I'm fine."
"Can I take you home?" He looked at the EMT. "She can go home, can't she?"
The woman shrugged. "She's pretty banged up, but there's no sign of concussion. She'll be fine."
Tommy tugged at Laurel's hand. She stood and felt pulled to him, as if magnetized. She buried her face in his chest, inhaled the smell of him, his cologne, his leather jacket. His arms closed comfortingly around her.
They got into his car and he drove them downtown, towards his apartment. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked again in the silence, after she'd told him the highlights of the story.
"Yeah... yeah, I'm just... feeling a little beat up," she said with a tinge of wry humor. She didn't want to make it into a big deal. She didn't want it to be a big deal. She'd survived! She was alive. It was over.
Tommy said, "I'd kill anybody who tried to hurt you."
Laurel felt a chill, her mind veering towards that scene... those inhuman eyes, the vision of one man killing another over her. "Tommy, promise me you won't become a killer, like that guy... whoever he is."
At first, he didn't reply. Laurel felt a twinge of nerves. Then he smiled, and there was that Tommy Merlyn she'd known and loved all these years. "I won't," he said warmly. "You know me, I'd faint at the sight of blood."
If she didn't believe him, Laurel chose to let it go for now. She knew Tommy. He wasn't like that.
==X==