Burden of Proof

BURDEN OF PROOF A RAIN CITY LEGAL THRILLER STEPHEN PENNER Published by Inkubator Books www.inkubatorbooks.com Copyright © 2023 by Stephen Penner Stephen Penner has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work. ISBN (eBook): 978-1-83756-134-6 ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-83756-135-3 ISBN (Hardback): 978-1-83756-136-0 BURDEN OF PROOF is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. CONTENTS Inkubator Books Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Epilogue Inkubator Newsletter We hope you enjoyed this book About the Author JOIN THE INKUBATOR MAILING LIST You will be the first to learn about new releases plus the many FREE and discounted Kindle books we offer! bit.ly/3fPBwVA 1 “All rise for the jury!” Attorney Daniel Raine was already standing before the bailiff bellowed the exhortation. Everyone in the courtroom knew the jury was about to come in. That was the reason they had assembled there in the first place: to receive the jury’s verdict after a weeks-long trial. Raine turned to his client, the one who would take the brunt of that verdict if it wasn’t favorable. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “You ready, Patrick?” Patrick shrugged the hand off his shoulder. “Don’t touch me, man.” He was a young man, tall and lean, dressed in a tight suit he got on sale at the mall. “And I told you, it’s Pat, not Patrick. The jury made their decision, so you can stop calling me ‘Patrick’ all the time to make them like me or whatever.” Raine didn’t suppose that tactic had worked anyway. He didn’t like Patrick much himself. Raine put on a tight smile and turned his attention back to the proceedings unfolding in the courtroom. He hated taking verdicts. The result was so important for everyone involved, yet the procedure of telling those same people that result was so drawn out. Even after seventeen-plus years as an attorney, he still felt a queasy twinge in his stomach whenever it was time to read the verdict. And the décor in the courtroom didn’t help any. Someone had decided to combine black and white checkerboard marble flooring with carved mahogany for the jury box, judge’s bench, and counsel tables. “Please be seated,” the judge instructed everyone once the jurors had completed the process of filing out of the jury room and into the jury box. Raine and his client complied, as did everyone else in the courtroom. Judge Elaine Hightower was perched above everyone on the mahogany bench, her bailiff and court reporter tucked into built-in cubicles immediately beneath her flowing robes and harsh countenance. She had short white hair, smooth brown skin, and a pair of clear-framed reading glasses perched on her nose. Hightower had been a judge longer than Raine had been a lawyer, and was starting to show it. She definitely acted it. She hadn’t rotated out of that courtroom in a decade and treated those who entered like props in her own personal legal drama. Except for the jurors. The jurors were her audience, and she treated them as the honored guests Raine supposed they sort of were. “Will the presiding juror please stand?” Hightower addressed the jury box. Juror number 7 stood up. He was a middle-aged man with a protruding stomach and receding hairline. Raine hadn’t liked him very much during jury selection, but there had been worse potential jurors to eliminate with his limited number of strikes. That he had been elected foreperson was not a good sign for Patrick. “Has the jury reached a verdict?” the judge asked. Again, formality over function. Of course they had reached a verdict. That was what they had told the bailiff an hour earlier. That was what the bailiff had told Raine and the county prosecutor when he called and instructed them to reassemble in the courtroom. That verdict was the entire reason everyone in the courtroom was there, nauseated by both the disorienting décor and the unbearable drawing out of the result of the trial. Yes, they had a verdict. “Yes, Your Honor,” juror number 7 answered. “Please hand the verdict forms to the bailiff,” Judge Hightower instructed. The bailiff climbed out of his box and marched to the jury box, chin raised in accordance with the solemnity of the proceeding. He accepted the forms from the juror, then returned to his corral and handed them up to the judge. “Those bastards better have found me not guilty,” Patrick whispered. It seemed like it was more to himself than to Raine, so Raine didn’t bother replying. Their relationship was about to end anyway. “The defendant will stand for the reading of the verdicts,” Judge Hightower instructed. Patrick stood up sharply and raised his face defiantly to the judge. Raine pushed himself to his feet and glanced over at the jury. They were all looking away from the defense table. That wasn’t a good sign either. Hightower adjusted her reading glasses and held the verdict forms at arm’s length to read them aloud. “In the King County Superior Court, Seattle Division,” she began, prolonging the nausea by reading every last word on the document before the one word—or, as Raine hoped, two words—everyone cared about. “The State of Washington versus Patrick Emmanuel McCollum. Case number CR-1-04598-3. Verdict Form, Count One.” Raine took a deep breath and exhaled it out again. He really hated this part of his job. “We, the jury,”