Edge of Reason Ch. 01

She swallowed some of the liquid and waited. It was coming. It was all too familiar -- the feeling of nausea and distaste. She scrunched up her face, waiting for the reverse peristalsis to run its course. Heather got on her knees, doubled over and emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet. She waited for a few minutes before a second wave came and she violently retched again.

For some inexplicable reason, it felt like she had purged her soul. The bitterness that festered within her was gone, for the time being. She washed her face of any remnants and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Was there any hope for her? The answer might lie in the file she took from Judge Giles.

Before going to sleep, she marked her digital calender for an appointment with Natasha Belvedere the next day.

* *

How is one supposed to look when everything has been taken away from them?

Heather had seen it all in the confines of the court. Some bawled, some fainted, some even tried to jump over the railing in a futile attempt to hurt her when she showed them what real world "justice" looks like.

Natasha Belvedere looked different. She sat in the dingy little room in Bedford Hills Correctional Facility with grilled trellis on all sides. The orange outfit looked alien on her. She looked nothing like someone capable of thinking of murder, let alone carrying it out.

Heather sat down on the other side of the table. Her client looked at one obscure spot on the dirty table. She did not even blink, focusing all her attention at that point. Heather took a quick glance around to see the guards looking on through the grills.

"Mrs Belvedere," she began slowly. "My name is Heather Franklin and I'm your lawyer."

The woman on the opposite side still looked down. Heather lowered her gaze and saw her listless eyes still staring intently. Neither of them spoke for a good ten minutes.

"I'm sorry, Ms Franklin," Natasha said. Heather was not sure she heard right.

"I beg your pardon."

"I'm sorry to waste your time, Ms Franklin," Natasha said. "I'm sure you'd rather be fighting worthier cases than this."

"Why would you think so?" Heather asked.

"I think you know the answer to that one," Natasha replied grimly. "So how did they choose you? Did you draw the short straw or something?"

"I'm not a public defender, Mrs Belvedere. I'm a counsel at a law firm."

"Call me Natasha," her client insisted. "Are you aware that you will not make any money from this case?"

"I know," Heather nodded. "I'm doing it pro bono."

"Thanks," Natasha said softly. "I'll make your job easier, Heather. I'll plead guilty to whatever the prosecutor offers. I don't care if I have to spend the rest of my life here, or even if I get the needle."

"Why would you say that?" Heather blurted out, stunned.

"Heather," Natasha began. "Did you look into me? If you did, you would know I have no one and nowhere to go back to."

"Do you really want the death sentence?"

"It's only a formality. I died a long time ago. It's time I stop pretending otherwise," came the placid reply. "I might as well have shot myself too."

"Natasha," began Heather. "I am deeply sorry for what happened to your son. I won't even pretend to imagine the magnitude of grief you must feel. All I ask is that you take a moment to think it through."

"I just offered you a way to dump this case fast and get on with your life," Natasha said. "Take it while you still can. You don't owe me anything, Heather."

"Why don't we take it one step at a time?" Heather said warily. "Let's think of your bail hearing and we'll go from there."

"Why are you pressing this?" Natasha asked.

"Because..." began Heather, unable to think of an ending. Natasha looked at her with a lop-sided smile.

"It's okay, Heather. I know you came in hoping to play the hero and save me from the big bad prosecutor, but I've already made my peace."

"Why don't you want to fight?"

"Heather," started Natasha. "You need something to fight for first. If Cody was at home, waiting for me, I would fight. I would fight and fight until the bitter end. But..."

Natasha's sentence was lost in a series of choked sobs and incoherent syllables. She looked down and squeezed out of her throat.

"Cody, I'm so sorry. I should have protected you. I should have been there for you. I failed you. Baby, I'm so sorry."

Heather watched as the woman opposite her clenched her eyes shut. Inside her, an ocean of tears formed, but she could not bring herself to cry. Natasha sat, reliving every bit of pain she felt when she first saw her son's body.

"Can I ask you a question, Heather?"

"Go ahead."

"How likely is it that I will get the death sentence?"

"Very unlikely," Heather stated. "Given the circumstances of this case, you don't need to worry about that."

"Can you please tell them I asked for it?" Natasha beseeched. "If it is at all possible."

"Why do you want to die?" Heather asked, shaking her auburn hair. "Do you think this is a way of punishing yourself for not saving Cody?"

There was complete silence. Natasha studied the resolute face on the other side of the table. Heather took a deep breath.

"Cody would not have wanted his mother to want to die. No matter what. Think about that."

The grieving mother sat, motionless in the face of her lawyer.

"I will pick you up for the bail hearing."

Heather signalled to the guards to open the door. She left and walked to her car briskly. Once inside, she took a few minutes to think of what she was doing. None of it made sense to her. It was not who she was.

Even though she did not know what she was going to do, she was inexplicably more resolute than ever to do it.

* *

"Yes, I am Natasha Belvedere's lawyer."

The prosecution attorneys kept gaping. Seth Watkins' eyes, in particular, had taken the diameter of dinner plates.

"As you know, you have a duty to turn over all the relevant evidence regarding this case," Heather went on in her businesslike tone. "I have made a list of other ancillary evidence I will need to prepare a defence. If even one of them is missing, I will file a case of prosecutorial misconduct and make sure you end up on the six 'o'clock news. Are we clear?"

The younger prosecutor took the list and left the room. Seth sat behind his ornate desk, patting his fingers idly on the polished rosewood. Numerous awards decorated his walls culminating in a summa cum laude degree from Columbia. He eyed her with contempt.

"Well, well, Heather. It would appear we finally have the chance to go up against each other," drawled Seth. "Did Natasha Belvedere suddenly inherit some money?"

"It's called pro bono work, you hack. Look it up once you've finished shagging your ego."

"Such language," tutted Seth. "That too from an officer of the court. What is the world coming to when we have the best and brightest queuing up to defend murderers?"

"As I recall, you wanted my job quite badly," said Heather with a derisive smile. "I still remember the priceless expression on your face when the firm chose me over you to fill in the vacant associate position."

Seth chuckled and leaned back on his plush recliner. His beach blonde hair was cropped short, leaving a fair amount of forehead before his cold blue eyes. Those eyes darted around excitedly, not betraying the razor sharp mind behind them. His rugged features had a few layers of tan.

"Rub it in while you can," Seth gloated. "We'll see who has the last laugh once the verdict is read out. Lawyers like you sicken me, Heather."

"And yet, you're the one threatening a grieving mother with life without parole. Don't you find that offensive?"

"Natasha Belvedere executed a man in cold blood and she hopes to get away by hiring a flashy lawyer? I find that offensive."

"Good sound byte, Seth," Heather laughed. "Might as well save it for the media for when you announce you're running for DA."

"You think I'm doing this for the cameras?"

"Of course you are," Heather spat out. "You personally took a case of a woman with no money to hire a decent lawyer, intent on putting her in jail when you should have dropped the charges. All for the sake of your shameless self-promotion. You are a hyena, Seth, munching on the bones of someone too weak to defend herself."

Seth's lips curled into an ugly smile. His features hardened and his eyes flashed fire. Undeterred, Heather went on.

"You thought you were going to get a weak, gutless public defender. Someone you could wipe the floor with," Heather went on vehemently. "Well, guess what? Now you're going to have to pick on someone your own size."

"Have you even read the file, Heather?" said Seth calmly. "I don't care who you are, you can't win with those facts."

"But I can win with the truth, and the truth is very different to the facts."

"You think you'll win by pounding on the sympathy drum?" Seth mocked. "Oh please don't hurt her. She lost her only son. Best of luck with that."

Heather felt an upwelling of bile. The bitterness rose to her throat as she surveyed the smug, self-assured ADA before her settling his paperwork.

"I'll have someone send over the evidence to your office later today," said Seth, not looking up. "The bail hearing is on Friday. After which I'll wipe that smile off your face at trial."

Heather turned to leave. She was almost at the door when Seth spoke up again.

"Oh and Heather. I will be sure to discreetly let your superiors at the firm know you have taken such a long-winded free case which will take up valuable time you could have used making them more money," he said. "They'll still let you handle this case, right?"

"For your sake, you'd better hope they don't."

* *

Heather carefully placed the boxes of evidence in her study. She yawned and contemplated getting started on the defence. Her eyes had dark circles around them, leading to cavernous bags. Working for the city's most powerful law firm was taking its toll.

One of the boxes was from the Lance Whittaker trial. It had the offending warrant and test reports, all useless in retrospect. Under a pile of papers rested a small CD. Heather took it out. The description confirmed her doubts. It contained the tapes Lance Whittaker made with Cody Belvedere.

She lit up a fine blend and began sifting through the evidence. The more she read, the more it became apparent to her that the prosecution had an iron-clad case.

Ballistics matched the bullet recovered from Lance's cranium to Natasha's personal .22 calibre. Her fingerprints were on the handle and trigger of the gun. There was a copious amount of gun shot residue on her hands. The murder happened at the mouth of an alley in Windsor Terrace at ten in the morning. The alley led to a bar where Lance was a regular customer. Some construction workers were taking a break nearby and had a full view of the shooting.

The final nail in the coffin was that Natasha showed no remorse after the action. She didn't rage or shoot anyone else. The report said she dropped the gun and quietly walked away. The police found her sitting on a swing in Prospect Park. All through her arrest and subsequent incarceration, she didn't say a word.

The ashtray was littered with burn out stumps. Impatiently, Heather tossed her empty pack in the trash and took out a new one. The more she perused the case files, the less chance she saw of making a case of it.

Her eyes fleetingly rested on the tape. It was the one piece of evidence she had not taken a look at.

She exhaled a puff of smoke before resuming her search. She looked through her firm's databases for anything she could use. One of the things Heather had learnt was that the most obscure cases could be turned into binding precedents.

After an hour, Heather had compiled a list of judgements which she would look at more closely later. The long day weighed on her. She yawned again, stretching her limbs. Maybe somewhere within that stack of work product lurked the miracle she was looking for.

Her eyes wandered to that CD again. Inwardly, she cringed even thinking about what was on it. It was evidence, but not the kind she needed.

Heather drooped on her desk, shaking herself awake. The paperwork looked as futile as when she started the evening. Her tired brain needed a break.

"I need a fresh pair of eyes," she mused, getting up from the chair. "I'll take them to work tomorrow."

She turned off the lights and was at the doorway when a glint caught her eye. It was the reflective surface of the CD. There was something about that disk that wouldn't let go. Without turning on the lights, Heather walked to her desk and picked up the CD. She twirled it in her hand, watching shards of moonlight reflect onto the wall.

There was an eerie feeling of foreboding when she inserted the disk into her player. She took her place on the recliner and lit up a smoke while the 70 inch flat screen flickered to life. The video started with an empty room.

A man carried a boy in his arms and brought him into the room. He took care to position the hand held camera at a good angle before turning his attentions back to his helpless victim.

Heather's eyes burnt, her muscles tightened and a bitter feeling engulfed her as she watched. The boy screamed so much. His voice became hoarse from it after some time. He passed out eventually, but his horrific ordeal went on. She leaned forward, watching in sheer, grotesque amazement.

Cody Belvedere's face came into focus. The pain was too much for him. His eyes opened again and he mouthed silently. Try as she might, Heather could not make out the words. The sight of his cherubic face bathed in tears and scars made Heather's cold heart beat faster.

Then came the blood. So much blood.

Heather could not tear her eyes away from the macabre soap opera as much as she wanted to. Her head hurt and pulse became erratic. A fresh wave of nausea swept over her.

At last, it happened.

Heather felt an alien wetness under her eye. It was a feeling she had long forgotten. She brushed her fingertips over her cheek and tasted it. It was the salty taste of grief. The last time a tear had crept past her was when her mother died. Since then, Heather had resolutely abstained from crying.

It was how she got through the day and slept through the night.

She let her fingertip intercept another lonely tear-drop. This time, she held it to her eyes and looked at the ephemeral liquid closely. It looked so normal and transparent, as if hiding the weight of emotion behind it. Heather watched the droplet trickle down her forearm and lose its way into nothingness. Not nothingness, because it reminded a private part of her that she was still capable of tears.

It felt so strange to her. Her trembling fingers turned off the screen. She held her head in her hands, clutching tufts of auburn hair. Her entirety felt numb and the images from the screen danced before her eyes.

Cody Belvedere's face came in vivid technicolour. His messy hair, his pleading expression at first which gave way to an expression of helplessness. His eyes were the most haunting. Heather kept seeing flashes of those crystalline green irises, so inhumanly robbed of their innocence.

There was a stirring in her stomach. She got off the chair and rushed to the sink before vomiting into it. No drugs were needed this time. She puked over and over until all that came were dry heaves.

She held onto the porcelain sink for support and caught her breath. She would not dare go to sleep that night. Instead, she looked in the mirror, trying to figure out the person on the other side. That person had a stoic expression set on her face.

The message was clear. Silently, Heather Franklin turned on the lights and resumed reviewing the evidence sent over.

* *

"Case number 32699, the state of New York versus Natasha Belvedere on the charge of-"

"Waive reading, your Honour," said Heather. "I ask that you release my client on her own recognizance pending trial."

"You have to be joking," said Seth, straightening his tie. "She executed someone in broad daylight and you want here back out there?"

Judge Giles leaned back on the leather chair, mulling over the facts. His hands were tied by precedent.

"She is a danger to society, your Honour. You can't possibly let her go. Look, she hasn't even come for her own bail hearing."

"She hasn't come because she is in the hospital, you lowlife," snarled Heather. "She tried to hang herself in her cell last night. The guards intervened just in time and rushed her to the prison doctor. She is still unconscious."

Seth took a few seconds to digest the news. Heather's cheeks flushed and her temper flared. Every hair on her body bristled.

"You charged a helpless woman with first degree murder. She can't survive in prison, your Honour. She almost died and all he wants is to keep her there so she can be successful next time."

"That's a lie," replied Seth. "Your Honour, notwithstanding what happened, we still can't let a cold-blooded murderer back on the street. You have to consider the safety of the general public."

"Your Honour, Natasha Belvedere has no prior criminal record. She is not a flight risk. She is not a threat to society. In fact, the only person she is a threat to is herself. It is an indecent hypocrisy of our justice system that we have her locked up."

"All right, calm down both of you," admonished Giles. He turned his gaze to Heather.

"Is there anyone who can vouch for your client?"

"I can," said Heather steadfastly. "I have had opportunity to meet her and I can say with confidence that she is not the monster the prosecution wants you to believe she is. Right now, she is a broken shell of a human being who wants nothing more than to hide from what she did."

"Do you agree to be personally accountable for your client's actions hereafter?"

"I do," she replied. "As an officer of the court, I give that assurance."

"Your Honour," spoke up Seth. "I would ask that you look at the facts in their totality. She took her gun and shot an unarmed man in the head. I understand that she might have done so in retaliation for what happened to her child, but we cannot set a precedent of killers out free because they thought their murders were justifiable."

"I am not releasing her on her own recognizance," said Giles. He turned his attention back to Heather.

"Bail is set at a hundred thousand dollars. We'll schedule a date for conferencing."

Seth Watkins stood impassively. A scowl was painted across his face.

"For now, I suggest the two of you get started on your cases."

"Your Honour, at this time I would like to give notice of our affirmative defence," said Heather. "We plead not guilty by reason of temporary insanity."

Seth looked like he had been punched in the gut. He quickly mouthed some instructions to his second chair. They began settling their papers. Giles moved his glasses up his nose.

"Ms Franklin, may I see you in private for a moment?"

Heather walked past an unhappy prosecution team and made her way to the judge's chambers. Giles settled down and motioned for her to close the door.

"How is she?" he asked tersely.

"Last I heard, the doctors said she was stable. They will contact me when she regains consciousness."

"How are you handling this?"

"I'm fine," shrugged Heather nonchalantly.

"Are you sure? You lost your cool back there. I've seen you fight cases before, but you've never been off balance. Is there something about this case?"

"I don't know, what do you think?" she retorted caustically. "You dumped this on my lap and now you don't seem happy with how I'm handling this."