Due Process by Scott Pratt

Author:Scott Pratt [Pratt, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781944083021
Publisher: Phoenix Flying LLC
Published: 2018-05-03T07:00:00+00:00

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 6

Jack, Charlie and I walked into Mike Armstrong’s office at 9:00 a.m. sharp on Friday. He’d been reluctant to meet with us, but when I told him I had something important he needed to see, he finally relented.

His office was a pig sty. It was dusty, there were boxes and files piled haphazardly all over the room. Nothing hung from the eggshell white walls, not even a law degree. The place smelled of stale coffee and there was an almost nauseating aroma emanating from a trash can next to his desk. It had to be some kind of rotting animal flesh. Unfinished chicken he’d eaten at his desk and thrown away, maybe? Whatever it was, I had to say something about it.

“Something’s dead in here,” I said after I introduced Jack and Charlie and we all sat down.

“Really? What do you mean?”

“Do you have a problem with your sense of smell?” I said.

“I have a condition called congenital anosmia. I was born without a sense of smell. That’s why I look like I’m starving to death. I can’t smell, so food doesn’t have the same taste for me that it does for others. I just don’t enjoy it.”

“I think you didn’t enjoy some chicken or fish or cat food and you tossed it in that can,” I said. “Can I get it out of here?”

“Sure, go ahead if it bothers you,” Armstrong said.

I picked the can up and took it out to his secretary.

“This stinks to high heaven,” I said.

“I’m his secretary, not his maid,” she said.

“Would you mind, please? We’re trying to have a meeting.”

She gave me the stink eye, one that matched the odor emanating from the trash can, and jerked the can out of my hand. She plugged her nose and strutted away.

I walked back in and sat down. Armstrong had a mole on his forehead that was extremely distracting, he was butt ugly, a totally unattractive political candidate, and yet somehow, he’d managed to get the county commission to appoint him to finish out Tanner Jarrett’s term when Tanner resigned and moved to Washington. I didn’t get it, but when it came to the behind-closed-doors workings of the Washington County Commission, a lot of things didn’t make sense.

“I don’t have much time,” Armstrong said.

“I’m sure you’re busy,” I said. “This won’t take long.”

I asked Jack to take out his phone and play the video of Sheila Self’s arrival at the party, her performance, and her premature exit.

“You’re about to play me a video?” Armstrong said.

“It was taken by a witness who was at the party.”

“You won’t get it in if we go to trial,” he said.

“Why? The witness is willing to testify to what she saw and that she took the video herself. She’ll authenticate it. It’s admissible and it blows your entire case out of the water.”

“I don’t want to see it,” Armstrong said.

“Why not?” I said. “Don’t you want to know what really happened?”

“I know what happened. I have a statement from my victim.

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