The Joy of Revenge

CHAPTER 139 K iki’s Appearance
Joy
As we parked in front of Lisa’s office, Cristos reminded me to keep Lisa distracted while he hacked into her phone and to place a bug on her desk.
And since he was also going to hack into her laptop using a small gadget he bought off a friend enlisted in the military, I needed to keep Lisa occupied so she wouldn’t suspect.
I did some breathing exercises to calm my nerves before exiting Cristos’ Range Rover. I was going to look Lisa dead in the eyes and act as if had no clue something had happened to her husband. I needed to act cool.
He Inside, we found Chef seated on one of the leather sofas, casually reading a newspaper. was wearing a white long sleeve shirt, a hideous multi-colored argyle vest, khaki slacks, and brown loafers. To complete his look, he had gold rimmed eyeglasses on and his gray hair was slicked back, neatly tied at the back of his head.
I resisted the urge to laugh. His outfit was a stark contrast to his usual angry wrestler look.
ng on her
We ignored him and went straight to Lisa who was seated in front of her desk, typing
laptop.
“Chip… Virtue… What brings you two here?” Lisa greeted us enthusiastically. She was wearing a black high waist pencil cut midi skirt which accentuated her small waist and a peach-colored silk blouse. Her hair was styled in a high bun showing off her high cheekbones. She undoubtedly looked cheerful… as if a heavy burden had been lifted off her
chest.
The nervousness I had felt before entering her office quickly dissipated. I smiled brightly at her, placing a small pink paper bag on top of her desk.
“Please, have a seat.” She gestured at the two chairs in front of her desk. “I believe
congratulations are in order. I heard about your engagement on social media, Virtue… and of course, the opening of your new store.”
this
“Thank you, Lisa. By the way, is for you. A twilly scarf for your bag,” I said before sitting down in one of the two chairs while Cristos sat in the other. He waved at Lisa, then gestured to his phone, making it look like he was taking care of something important. Lisa smiled at him, nodding her head in understanding.
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The Joy of Revenge
CHAPTER 140 Thirty-six Complaints
Liam
F ucking New Salem Tribune. That ugly b itch Sarah Hughes was at it again and Lisa… she was so preoccupied she didn’t even pull it down.
“Sure, let’s put all our cards on the table,” the Sheriff said to the Martin’s at
Lincoln Murphy was awfully handsome for an attorney and looked like he had money. No doubt the crooks he represented paid a pretty penny for his services.
He was
wearing a nicely tailored suit and smelled like expensive cologne, unlike the distict attorney, who was old and smelled like worn socks.
The Sheriff extended his hand to the young attorney as he introduced himself.
“Lincoln Murphy, I’m Nathan Combs, the sheriff of New Salem. Please, take a seat.” He
gestured for all of us to sit down while he went through the folder he was carrying. “There
has been a development on the Theodore Cohen case that we would like to discuss.”
I took a seat in between Jack and the district attorney, right across the table from the Martins. I nodded my head at Thomas Martin in greeting while he did the same.

“There’s a development on the case aside from my aunt’s note? Is this about Joy Taylor?” Norma Martin asked, a hopeful sound in her voice. I looked at her with an incredulous look
on my face.
She knows about the conversation Lisa had with Pete?
“What? No. What does Joy Taylor have to do with this?” The Sheriff asked.
“My client is under the impression a woman named Joy Taylor is, uhm, responsible for the recent murders in New Salem, Sheriff,” Lincoln Murphy explained with a puzzled expression on his face. Of course. He was new in town and didn’t know anything about Joy Taylor.
“Norma, I don’t know what prescription drug you’re on, but the new development has nothing to do with Joy Taylor,” I stressed as Sheriff Combs took a seat beside Jack.
“I’m sorry, but who is this Joy Taylor and why would she want to murder people?” Lincoln Murphy asked.
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CHAPTER 140 Thirty-six Complaints.
“Joy Taylor was raped and brutally assaulted right here in New Salem almost ten years ago,” I answered. “But I assure everyone, she has nothing to do with my father’s death.”
“Alright, Lincoln Murphy said skeptically, his face scrunched up, looking utterly confused.” So let’s get down to business then. What have you discovered, Sheriff Combs?”
“We recently found the body of Lindsay Hartman at the hospital parking lot. According to the medical examiner, her cause of death is consistent with suicide.” Norma Martin gasped
as soon as she heard the news.
“Aunt Lindsay is dead? The Tribune wasn’t making that story up?” She squeaked. The Sheriff nodded his head. “That’s not possible. She was planning to sit on the beach and sip mojitos all day long.” Norma’s eyes quickly filled with tears. “It can’t be possible.”
She lowered her face, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief her ex-husband
gave
her.
The Sheriff, knowing Norma and her aunt were close, gave her a moment to compose herself before he continued.
“The medical examiner found a note in Lindsay Hartman’s pocket. In the note, she confesses to murdering Theodore Cohen. What I want to know is what motive could she possibly have had that would drive her to kill Theodore?” The Sheriff asked.
“Have you
read the article of The New Salem Tribune, Sheriff?” Lincoln Murphy asked. The Sheriff shook his head. “To summarize everything, Lindsay Hartman believed Theodore Cohen killed her fiancé in cold blood… and that, Sheriff, is motive. According to the article, there was bad blood between Hartman’s fiancé and the Cohens regarding a piece of land. Apparently, the Cohens were using a certain property without the knowledge of the owner, certain Joseph Summers. When Joseph Summers discovered this, a witness stated Joseph went to confront the Cohens, however he never came back alive.” He opened his briefcase and slid a photograph of a man with a bullet wound right between his eyes. “My client, Norma Martin, attests to the fact that the day before Lindsay Hartman’s fiancé was found dead, then Mayor Robert Cohen was able to acquire the land.” He paused and took a newspaper clipping from his briefcase, placing it beside the photograph. “Sheriff, do you remember this man? It says here in this newspaper clipping you were still a young deputy at the time and that the bullets match a Ruger P90 Series. I saw a video of your father, Mayor Cohen, doing an interview with one of the news outlets here in North Dakota and he said his most beloved gun was a Ruger P90 series.”
“That’s all speculation, counsel,” the district attorney said, hoping to end Lincoln Murphy’s narration of the past.
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54%
I never knew my father killed someone. I never thought he could. He always had the Sheriff and his deputies do his dirty work.
I remember the day my father found out what I did to Joy Taylor. I saw the disappointment in his eyes when he learned we left Joy breathing.
No wonder… he was a cold-blooded murderer in his youth.
‘Speculation, huh? The police never found the gun and Theodore Cohen didn’t have one single witness to corroborate his alibi. But of course, the Sheriff here, being under the tutelage of Robert Cohen, couldn’t just bite the hand that fed him,” Lincoln Murphy said, chuckling. “Norma Martin here says her aunt kept a diary of what happened thirty years ago. How about we go to Lindsay Hartman’s house and find that diary. It’ll probably shed more light on what really happened thirty years ago and how the Ol’ Barn ended up in Cohen hands when that land used to be owned by a Joseph Summers.” He paused dramatically, then, unexpectedly, he raised his eyes and looked straight at me. “If I’m not mistaken,
Sheriff, I read a news article about the disappearance of a young Joan Summers. They must
-be related.”
I scowled at him. He obviously did his research.
He was probably one of the people who thought Cohens were scu m of the earth. Nah… he
was a defense attorney. He probably liked the fact I was s cu m of the earth.
“Counsel, let’s stick to the facts, please. Besides, Theodore Cohen isn’t the suspect here. Your clients are,” the Sheriff said, showing a document to Lincoln Murphy. “Your client, Norma Martin, sent five hundred thousand dollars to Lindsay Hartman the same day Theodore Cohen died. What I see is a conspiracy to commit murder.”
“What I see is a loan being repaid. These are text messages between my client and her aunt,” Lincoln Murphy said, showing the Sheriff a sheet of paper. “Let’s face it, neither Norma nor Ford had any motive to kill Theodore Cohen unlike Lindsay Hartman. You see, Sheriff Combs, revenge has no expiration date. Lindsay Hartman bided her time and when an opportunity finally presented itself, she took it. have records showing the former mayor never had himself admitted at St. Elizabeth Hospital, until recently, and he would always go to Bismarck to have himself checked by his doctor there. It seems he was avoiding St.
Elizabeth’s.”
“See?” Ford Martin exclaimed, standing up from his chair. “I’m not a murderer.” He lifted his cuffed wrists and gestured at Jack to remove them while his attorney tried to get him to sit back down. “If you can kindly remove these handcuffs, I’d appreciate it. I promise not to sue
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just as long as you release me from jail… now.” When Jack didn’t move, Ford shoved his handcuffs in Jack’s face. “Uncuff me!”
“Now hold on, Ford,” the Sheriff said. “Sit your a ss back down. I’m not finished yet.” He rummaged through the contents of the folder and slid several photographs in front of the Martins and their attorney. “These were taken from your phone, Ford.” Then, he took a document from the folder. “I also got this from the hospital CEO through the hospital’s medical-legal officer who were both so willing to supply me with information. It says here you have thirty-six complaints regarding sexual harassment which the hospital believes Lindsay Hartman disregarded because you and her were related.”
“Non-consensual po rnography and sexual misconduct is a Class B misdemeanor which carries a sentence of up to one hundred eighty days jail time and a two thousand dollar fine. But Ford, you will be facing thirty-six counts,” the district attorney said. “That means a maximum of eighteen years in jail. If the judge is forgiving, he’ll probably bring it down to 15 years. However, you will have to serve eighty-five percent of your sentence before you become eligible for parole. That’s about thirteen years.”
“What is this?” Norma asked angrily. “You can’t get my son on murder charges, so you’re going to use this? Sexual misconduct? Ford is a handsome, rich, bright young man. Any woman would be privileged to be with him. Those women are lying.”
“I’m sorry, gentlemen. I’d like to apologize for my client’s outburst,” Lincoln Murphy said apologetically, picking up the document with all thirty-six complaints. “It says here my client was blackmailing several of these women using the videos he took. That’s a Class B Felony in the state, Ford… The maximum sentence is ten years if proven guilty.”
I thought Lincoln Murphy would cave and we could start negotiating terms, but he rummaged through his briefcase, taking out another sheet of paper and sliding it to the
district attorney.
“This is a sworn statement from the hospital director given to me by the medical-legal officer. It says here all the women who filed a complaint against my client were withdrawn, including the women who said they were being blackmailed by Ford Martin. They stated the videos were taken with their consent and Ford never threatened to expose these videos,” he said, smugly. “So, if there aren’t any other charges, I need you to release my client.”
I rubbed my forehead to help ease the anger I was feeling. I saw Thomas Martin grinning from ear to ear like he just won the jackpot.
Not so fast, Thomas. If I can’t get the pharmacy through peaceful, negotiations, I will just have to
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