And this first one was a doozy! Here's the Prologue:
April 17, 2006
HIS BROWN EYES WERE OPEN, THE SHOCK OF BEING STABBED STILL reflected in his dilated pupils. Sharise pushed his naked, lifeless body off of her, and he tumbled heavily from the bed to the floor, landing on his back. Fxxk, she thought, breathing heavily, I got to get out of here. No. Take your time, don’t panic. It’s two in the morning, no one will miss him for a while. She leaned up on one arm so she could look over the side of the bed at his body, the blood pooling beneath him on the cheap mustard-colored motel carpet. Fxxking bastard. You got what you deserved, you piece of shit. Turning away from him, she looked down at her own blood-soaked body, and the wave of nausea came without warning. She retched over the side of the bed, adding a final indignity to his corpse. Shaking, she pushed herself to the far side of the bed and swung her feet to the floor, hoping she could stand, hoping the nausea would retreat. She steadied herself by bracing her hand against the wall, and slowly felt her way to the bathroom, where she found the light switch and the toilet just as she vomited again, grabbing her cornrows with her right hand to protect them from the insides of her stomach and the murky waters of the bowl. As she heaved and gagged, her mind drifted back to when she was little and her momma would sit next to her when she was sick, comforting her through the ordeal. God, she could use her momma now, but it had been four years and there was no going back now. When there was nothing left to come up, Sharise lay on the cold tiled floor, her body trembling, not wanting to budge from where she was. Finally, the reality of what she had done began to settle in, and she knew she had to move. She dragged herself into the shower, where she watched his blood swirl down the drain, and desperately tried to come up with a plan. Her fingerprints would be all over him and the room, not to mention they’d probably be able to get her DNA from the vomit, which she had no intention of cleaning up. She had been arrested enough to know that Homicide would find a match in the system before their coffee even cooled. So not only would she have to somehow disappear, she had to avoid getting arrested for the rest of her life; not likely in her line of work, and especially since her mug shot would be plastered all over the place. She found her dress in the far corner of the room and put it on sans underwear, which she’d left in the bathroom, soaked with his blood. She sat on the edge of the bed and zipped up her thigh-high faux suede boots. She looked in the mirror, dug her lipstick out of her purse, and reapplied it. The only other makeup she carried was mascara, but she decided to forego reapplying that for now. Why the hell had this white boy picked her, anyway? She found his wallet still in his pants pocket. William E. Townsend, Jr., age twenty-eight, according to his license. Great, she thought as she rifled through the wallet, one of those guys who carried no cash. Besides the fifty dollars he had already given her, he only had another thirty dollars in his wallet, not even enough to pay for what he wanted. She grabbed the money and his Bank of America ATM card. Then she found his phone, flipped it open, and scrolled through his contacts. Stupid motherfxxker. There, under the name “BOA,” was his ATM PIN number. That should be good for three hundred, she figured. Taking the keys to his BMW out of his front pants pocket, she looked at his phone again. Two forty-five. She wasn’t exactly sure where they were, but she knew it wasn’t too far from Atlantic City; maybe she could still grab a change of clothes and get to Philly before daylight. She could ditch the car there and hop a train to New York. It was a long shot, but she couldn’t think of any better options. Studying the scene, she tried to figure out if she should take the knife with her or not. It’s not like it mattered if they found it. They sure as hell were going to be able to put her in the room if she ever got caught. Might as well take it, she reasoned, just in case. She walked over to where he was lying. His face was already pale, the blood that had provided the color now in a puddle under him. His hands still clutched the knife protruding from his chest. She unclenched his hands to pull the knife out, then rinsed it off in the sink before stuffing it in her purse. Time to go. She turned off all the lights and hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door. With a little luck, she’d be in New York before they found his body. Maybe if she was really lucky, it would never make it beyond the local news. She took a deep breath and headed out the door.
Yes, the McCain and Swisher legal team has taken the case for a young lady known as Sharise...Once the body of Bill Alexander is found, there is enough evidence in the motel room to arrest Samuel Emanuel Barnes for the murder. But right at the start, Ms. McCain brings a motion for the assigned judged to recuse himself... Citing he was homophobic... Wow! McCain starts each and every case with a major issue to be addressed and moves on from there to prove exactly what she intended to prove. Her client's innocence. This character, along with her partner, a former FBI Agent who was removed from office on a false claim... Is quite a pair!
The thing about the case against Sharise is that the father of the victim is a successful highly influential political officer and has his goals to move higher and higher... And a murder case about his son is NOT what he wants to deal with! Thus begins the lies...
ARON TINSLEY STUDIED HIS CLIENT’S COMPUTER. HE MISSED HIS days as a hacker, something he had started doing when he was fifteen. While the prospect of five years in prison for hacking into the NRA’s emails had been a convincing enticement to get on the straight and narrow, it was still hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that at twenty-two he was now a white hat doing IT security. While his boss was a decent guy, a former hacker himself, and it did have the advantage of a regular paycheck, it meant his days were mostly filled with boring stuff. Still, every once in a while, he came across something that provided him with the same thrill as hacking. Today was one of those days. Up until about 6:00 p.m. last night, Aaron hadn’t even known where Westfield, New Jersey was. But his boss had called him with what he said was a “special assignment” for a guy by the name of Charles Parsons who was having computer problems. Must be real special, Aaron had thought if they were willing to pay him double time to go out on a Sunday. Surveying his surroundings, Aaron had no idea how much Parsons’s house was worth, but it was easily the biggest house he had ever been in. The home office he was working in probably had more square footage than Aaron’s entire one-bedroom apartment in Queens. As he searched deeper through the mostly unseen files on his client’s laptop, he had to admit that he was enjoying the hunt. He examined the computer’s registry, trying to find the hidden program he had begun to suspect was buried in the software code. Whoever had done this was a real pro. He was almost envious. “I need to get on my computer. Are you almost done?” Charles Parsons asked, startling Aaron. Aaron had been so engrossed in his search he was surprised to see Parsons standing in the middle of the room. Parsons, who was well tanned even though it was early April, appeared to be around six feet, with broad shoulders. Aaron couldn’t even hazard a guess at his age, but his wrinkle-free face, contrasted with a shock of wavy gray hair, left the impression that Parsons was well acquainted with a plastic surgeon. Catching Parsons’s annoyed stare, Aaron realized that he was still grinning in admiration for the cleverness of the hacker. “What are you smiling at?” Parsons snapped. Aaron willed his face into seriousness. “Sorry. Um, can we go talk in another room?” he said. “What the fuck are you babbling about?” Parsons shot back. Aaron powered down the laptop, closed it, and took Parsons by the arm, escorting him out of the office. “Mr. Parsons, please let’s go into your kitchen.” “What the hell is going on?” Parsons said, yanking his arm from Aaron’s grasp as they left the room. “I asked you to check to see if I have a virus, and you’re acting like my computer has the bubonic plague.” Aaron sat on one of the stools in front of the marble island in Parsons’s massive, well-appointed kitchen. “That’s actually not a bad analogy,” he offered, nodding his head. “Yeah, you have a virus, which it looks like you picked up from some porn website. That’s easy enough to fix. Unfortunately, you have a much bigger problem. How long have you been running the encryption software?” “Why? What’s that got to do with anything?” Parsons asked, his eyes narrowing as he gazed suspiciously at Aaron. “I’m not sure yet, but I think that may have a rootkit embedded in it. Which means your laptop, and probably any other computers you use that are running the same software on them, are infected with the same rootkit.” “What the fxxk is a rootkit?” Aaron shook his head from side to side. “In layman’s terms, it’s a program that allows whoever installed it to monitor everything you do on your computer.” “Wait, are you saying someone can see what websites I visited?” Parsons said, cocking his head to the side and rubbing his forefinger across his lips, his tone suddenly less defiant. “Yes, but . . .” Aaron hesitated. “Well, it’s much worse than that. It means that whoever is watching can record every keystroke you make. So that if you go to a website where you have a password, they can steal your password and lock you out. I think they’ve also taken over the microphone and camera to watch and listen to you. That’s why I wanted to speak to you in here.” Parsons’s stare conveyed disbelief. “Watch me? From my computer? You can’t be fxxking serious?” “Yeah,” Aaron nodded. “Unfortunately, I am.” “What’s that got to do with my encryption software?” “As best I can tell, the rootkit is embedded in it. So if you have the same software on your desktop, or any other computers, you probably have it on those as well.” Parsons’s blank stare conveyed his failure to grasp the full impact of what Aaron was telling him. “Look,” Aaron said, speaking slowly now, “if this is what I think it is, it means that as long as you’ve had this software on your computer, whoever’s responsible for it has seen everything you’ve done. Every email, every transaction, every download—everything.” “But everything’s encrypted. That’s the whole purpose of the software. So only people with . . .” He stopped mid-sentence, panic spreading across his face with the realization that the encryption software was compromised. “Whoever this is, they can see everything?” “Yeah, most likely,” Aaron repeated. “No. No, that can’t be possible,” Parsons said, his face suddenly ashen. “When did you have it installed?” Aaron asked, enjoying the sudden shift in power as he watched Parsons’s desperation grow. Who knows, he thought. Maybe if I play this right and fix the problem, Parsons might pay me something extra under the table. “Um, I don’t know—about a year and a half ago, I guess,” he replied. “And where did you get it?” Aaron said. “I mean, it’s not something you bought at Staples.” “Some friends recommended it.” When he saw Aaron’s skeptical look, he got defensive. “I trust these guys. We do some business together and the business they’re in requires secrecy, like mine. They said this software was the best.” “Any changes to it since then?” “I got a new laptop about a year ago.” “Anything else?” Aaron asked. “Yeah, about six months or so ago the guy who designed and installed the software came back and installed an update saying they needed to patch some potential security issue.” “Bingo,” Aaron said, the final piece of the puzzle finally dropping into place. “It looks like whoever designed it built in a little something extra when they installed the update, because as good as it is as encryption software, it’s even a better rootkit.” “I need this fixed now,” Parsons said, growing angry. “I need access to my data. If someone has been watching me for six months, I need to secure things before someone steals my information.” Aaron didn’t feel like incurring Parsons’s wrath by telling him it was probably too late. The hacker had access for six months. Plus, they either already knew Aaron had been reviewing the computer’s registry and that he had likely uncovered the rootkit, or they’d know soon enough. Not to mention that the only way to retrieve the encrypted data was to use the infected software. As Aaron weighed the options, he couldn’t help but admire how thoroughly this mystery designer had fxxked his client. “You understand,” Aaron started cautiously, “there are basically two pieces to the encryption software: One encrypts any emails you send and receive, the second encrypts any data that you’re storing so no one can read it unless they have the same software.” Parsons nodded. “Here’s the problem,” Aaron said slowly. “I’m assuming you encrypted and downloaded a lot of data you don’t want anyone else to see.” Aaron didn’t wait for Parsons’s response—his face told him the answer. “Assuming that’s true, you can’t access the information without unencrypting it, which requires you to use the program. So what we need to do is get you off the Internet so whoever is running this thing will lose access to your computer. Then we need to unencrypt all your data and get a brand-new laptop.” Parsons’s head was bouncing like a bobblehead toy. “This can’t be happening! Motherfxxker!” he spat out, then started grabbing things and throwing them against the blue tiled walls. He started with the fruit in a ceramic bowl on the island, then the bowl, then anything he could get his hands on—a glass, a coffee mug. He finally stopped, his breath coming in short staccato bursts as he wrapped his hands behind his head, holding it as if trying to keep it from exploding. He looked at Aaron with the look of a cornered wild animal. “I need that data. I have to make sure . . .” He stopped. “There’s a lot of important financial information that I’ve downloaded. I can’t let that fall into the wrong hands.” Aaron scratched his head. “Where’s the data now?” “I have it on four external hard drives.” Aaron took a deep breath. “As I said, the easiest thing to do is get you offline, connect your hard drives, open and unencrypt the data on them, move it unencrypted to a new computer or hard drive, and then resave it using new encryption software.” “Can I do that on my own?” “How good are you on a computer?” He shook his head in disgust. “Can you show me how to do it? There’s a lot of sensitive data, so once you show me, hopefully I can handle it from there.” “Sure. But in the meantime, whoever installed the rootkit has access to your data. So time is of the essence.” Parsons mumbled under his breath. “There may be another solution,” he said. “I have an idea. I’ll call you later. But in the meantime, go get me a new laptop and do whatever you have to do to get some new encryption software, so you’re ready to show me how to do it as soon I need you.” Aaron let himself out through the front door and headed out to his car, happy to be getting out of the house. Any thoughts of making Parsons happy and getting a few extra bucks under the table had evaporated as he’d watched Parsons explode. This was not a guy he wanted to deal with any more than he had to. Get the job done and get out of town. He wasn’t sure what Parsons was thinking when he said he might have another solution, but, by the look on Parsons’s face, Aaron was sure he didn’t want to know. * * * Parsons walked into his bedroom and pulled out the four hard drives, stared at them, now aware that someone else might know everything that was on them. Who the fxxk would do this to him? He didn’t trust his partners, but he couldn’t imagine any of them would risk incurring his wrath by hacking him. He tried to remember the name of the guy who had installed the software and who had recommended him. He needed answers and he needed them now. He picked up the phone and dialed her number. Of all of them, she was the one who had always been loyal to him. “Cass, it’s me. I . . . we have a major problem. I just had an IT guy in here and he tells me our encryption software has some fucking rootworm or something in it.” “What the hell is that?” she asked. Parsons hesitated, weighing what he wanted to tell her to avoid giving her too much information. “It allows someone to see what I’m doing on my computer,” he replied. “Charles, are you serious? This could be devastating.” “Listen to me. I don’t need you to tell me how fxxking bad this could be; I just need you to find the guy who installed this. Do you remember the little shit’s name—McKay or something?” “Mackey,” she said. “Yes, that’s it. Justin Mackey. Tell Max and Carl to find him and bring him to the warehouse in Elizabeth. We need to have a little chat with him.”
I DON’T NEED THIS ON A MONDAY MORNING, ERIN THOUGHT, STANDING at the entrance and scanning the nearly empty diner. This being New Jersey, the diner capital of the world, there hadn’t been a problem finding an open one even at the ungodly hour of four thirty in the morning. After spotting Justin in the far corner, she slowly made her way over and slid into the booth opposite him. Mackey had called in a panic forty-five minutes earlier, telling her that he had to talk to her. Although Mackey might not have been the brightest bulb in the luminary, he had never been an alarmist, so she managed to drag herself out of bed, splash some water on her face, throw on some clothes, and make her way to the Lido Diner. She ordered coffee, too tired to be angry. He looked like hell, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, an indication that he had gotten less sleep than her. His stained T-shirt and jeans looked like he had grabbed them off his bedroom floor. “I’m sorry,” he said before she could ask him anything. “I would never have bothered you at this hour if it wasn’t important,” he said, running his hands through his uncombed hair. “I needed to see you to let you know that I have to disappear for a while.” “Disappear for a while? Justin, what are you talking about?” “I’m not coming to court today, or probably for the rest of the trial. I have to get out of town.” Erin wasn’t sure if it was the coffee kicking in or her client telling her that he was jumping bail, but she was suddenly awake. “Justin, you understand you’re on bail. If you don’t show up not only will the judge revoke your bail, but you’ll be committing a separate crime: bail jumping. I know the trial isn’t going the way you hoped, but even if you’re convicted, I don’t think Judge Fowler will give you more than two or three years tops. And because it’s your first offense, you’ll probably serve less than a year before you get parole. But if you run, you’re really going to piss off the prosecutor and the judge, and assuming at some point you get caught, there’s no telling what sentence you’ll get.” “You don’t understand, Erin. It’s got nothing to do with this case,” he said, nervously looking around the diner. “Despite what I’m charged with, I didn’t design this software. Some guy named Luke, who I’ve never even met, designed all of it. He hired me and I just did what I was told.” Erin motioned for him to lower his voice. Between his emotions and the empty diner, it sounded like he was using a megaphone. “It’s Luke who did this, not me. It’s not my fault.” “Stop! Justin, you’ve got to slow down. You’re not making any sense. Who’s Luke? What does any of this have to do with your case or with you disappearing?” “I’m sorry. I’m just a little rattled.” As he took a sip of his coffee, Erin noticed that his hand was shaking...
One of the worst type of cases to deal with are related to computer fraud. Sadly. Computers can be wonderful--or they can be nightmares for people who know only the surface utilization of this powerful machine. Any computer can be hacked. The benefits of computers far outweigh not using them, but, depending upon how and why some people decide to use equipment, they should never feel so secure that absolutely nobody can get to what is on your system.
For Charles Parsons, it was already too late when he was told, by a hacker working to help people, that his entire system was corrupted and totally visible to whoever had taken over the computer files...
An interesting little twist that is given to readers was that an inside police officer had contacted Erin and shared that he didn't think that the defendant in a recent murder had actually killed the man--Charles Parsons! While the McCabe-Swisher team was nobody's fool, Erin decided to act upon his tip and at least talk to the woman accused. Based upon her story, they decided to take the case... And they had no idea what they really were getting into!
“You okay?”
Mark asked. “I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s just really hard to hold on to the hope that someday who you are or who you love won’t matter to anyone. People just have so much hate."
~~~
“How’d things go in Cape May?” he asked as he stirred the rice one last time and plated it. “Ah, not so great,” she replied, uncertain about how to respond. “Por que?” he asked innocently. She watched as he spooned scampi sauce over the shrimp and rice. “Looks great,” she said, taking the two plates to the table and waiting for him as he washed his hands. “Bon appétit,” he said, taking his seat and picking up his fork. “So what happened?” “Well . . . they think I murdered my client,” she responded with a shrug. His look betrayed his skepticism. “You’re kidding—right?” “Not really,” she answered half-heartedly. “What!” he said, dropping his fork on his plate. “Apparently, from his home security system, we’re seen leaving his house together, and he never returns. According to the medical examiner, his time of death is around the time we were together.” Mark got up, walked over to her side of the table, and gave her a hug. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Thanks,” she said, leaning her head into his chest. “Yeah—I’m okay, I guess. I know he was very much alive when I left, but I will confess it’s disconcerting to know I’m in the crosshairs of the prosecutor’s office.” “What are you going to do?” he asked. She gave him a weak grin. “Eat before it gets cold. It looks really good.” “You seem pretty unfazed about this. Aren’t you concerned?” he asked, going back to his seat. She thought for a moment. “Yeah, I am, but probably not for the reason you might think. I can’t help but think that Senator Townsend is somehow involved, and if he is, I know he’ll do anything to get back at me for defending Sharise. I’m not worried about the truth—just that the truth has never meant much to Townsend and those who do his bidding.” She took a forkful of shrimp and rice. “Thank you for cooking, by the way.” “My pleasure.” “This is delicious,” she said, as she considered how to broach the next difficult subject—their current living arrangement. Back in January, before she had moved in with Mark, she had renewed the lease on her apartment, and it ran for another seven months. “I still have my apartment in Cranford,” she said. “Maybe I should move back there until this blows over. If I’m right about Townsend being involved, I may be in his crosshairs, and I don’t want you to get caught in the middle. He’s dangerous.” This time, he gently placed his fork on the side of his plate. “And you living by yourself is somehow supposed to make me feel better?” he said wearily. “We both know that if someone wants to come after you, one of the ways is through me, even if we’re not living together. Neither of us has forgotten that you saved my life,” he said, referring to an incident when Erin was able to surprise two thugs posing as police officers just as they were about to abduct Mark in an attempt to silence her. “And don’t you dare go to where I think you’re going. You broke up with me once trying to protect me from my own family’s transphobia. Breaking up with me again isn’t going to protect me from crazy people out to get you. We’ve been through this before. You don’t get to make decisions for me—only I do.” She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand, hoping her expression didn’t reveal that she was guilty as charged—that’s exactly what she had been thinking. A little over a year earlier, she had called time on their relationship because Mark’s family had given him such a hard time about dating her. Now, with the exception of his sister, Molly, and her wife, Robin, things were still tense. She already felt guilty enough about his estrangement from his family; the thought that he might also be hurt or killed because of her was horrifying. “Let’s hope this is over with quickly and we never have to worry about it,” she said in a tone that was neither encouraging nor convincing. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I’m sure it will.”
Having the main character, who happens to be a criminal defense lawyer, being charged with murder is, maybe, a step too far. But not for Robyn Gigl! She's already gotten high praise by The New York Times Book Review, who says that this is "A groundbreaking series that is poised to become a definitive one," and all Gigl has done is create main characters that many people choose to...hate..." You know, folks, I would guess that if Jesus was born in these chaotic days, his mother, Mary, would be accused of having sex prior to her marriage to Joseph. And people would never let her forget that she was an unwed mother... After all, she apparently can't identify any man who fathered her son... After 2000+ years, there is still controversy! Why?!
I am loving these books, but not necessarily for Gigl's celebration of LGBTQ characters, but because her legal cases simply blow me away with the reality of what these characters are forced to endure from the people in their family, close friends, or, even strangers who have no interaction with people, except through gossip, disinformation, and simply hate those who are perceived as being different... I think of a passage from The Light of the World which I am also reading at this time. It was Jesus who cried out "Permit the children to come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to them..." The book goes on to say that only Jesus knows the "why" of each issue, so that we who are His children need not be concerned, but just love all of our neighbors...
Which leads to one of the cases that is in Remain Silent. Erin was asked to take on a case regarding a child of 11 who had herself declared that she was a girl. (Yes, this is exactly what had happened in Erin's life, except when she was older). Hannah had a father who had never wanted to be involved with a child, but had financially contributed to her life. When she started telling her mother about her inner feelings, her mother was supportive and had sought Erin's help in dealing with the details. However, a local politician, who is found in the first three books, had taken on transgender activities as a source of political fear mongering and Hannah was caught up in the political rhetoric, that was being fed to her biological, but absent father. Hannah was taken away from her mother and placed legally with her father, a man she had never known! It gets worse...
At the same time, another man who had seen himself as a different sex all of his life, had contacted Erin because of seeing her information in a local news article. He had invited her to share her life and, in turn, talked about his being a closeted trans woman. During that time with Erin, he had received telephone call and had told her, that, perhaps, it was better that she left by another way from his home. It was after Erin left, that he was murdered. And that visit turned into a political nightmare as she was placed in jail based upon circumstantial evidence. During that time in jail, she was physically assaulted by the guards!
You know, folks, I found myself placing the past-president into the villain of these books. One of the reasons was because of a comment that the man never got his own hands dirty, but paid to get whatever he wanted--his final goal was president of the United States. I have never seen such hateful words pouring out in America--for purely political reasons! We've all heard his agitation--his incitement of hate and violence while playing the part of a man who wants to help people. Hearing it--reading it--from the point of view of those who suffer from such damaging rhetoric is startling at first, but, worse, a chilling awareness of just how much the words of one person can ultimately reach across the nation and the world...
This book had a, frankly, welcomed closeout because the individual leading all of the damage was stopped... In reality, too many times an acceptable ending never comes... I am thankful for these books. I have learned much about those who find themselves born into a body that was mixed up in a way that can occur unknowingly. Most of all, I have come to understand the turmoil of the lives they have been forced to live, either by hidden crossdressing, or by acting to legally take charge of something that was clearly a mistake in the first place. Gigl has shown through her books an outstanding sense of love and concern for herself and for those in the same position. If you are worried about all the hate and rhetoric being thrown around purely for political power or hate of others, recognize one thing--only God understands the why and He loves all of us who have opened our minds and hearts to His Love and Truth...
Aside from all of that, these legal thrillers have been extraordinary in the twists and turns that only a fantastic author knows how to weave such tales! The cases are made to teach us, but also to help us learn that Love is the primary goal in interacting with anybody who doesn't act like "we" want them to act...
God Bless
Gabby
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