No Way Out by David Kessler Read Free Book Online Page B

of the Domestic Violence Division at the Ventura County DA’s office, was no less determined than Bridget to nail these “bastards” who beat their wives or girlfriends. But Sarah Jensen was a realist. She was also very ambitious. She knew that unsuccessful prosecutions damaged the reputation of the department, not to mention giving her a poor track record, personally.
    She also knew that failures of prosecutions in such cases, gave right-wing politicians and news editors the chance to accuse the department of a feminist witch-hunt against men in the name of liberal political correctness.
    So Bridget knew that she had to word the sentence carefully to give the impression that it was a winnable case. Whether it actually would be won was up to a lot of people: the prosecutor, the witnesses, the judge, even the jury. But Bridget was determined that the case should go to trial.
    When she eventually looked at the fax, her eyes lit up. She scooped it up and rushed out of the room.

Friday, 12 June 2009 – 10:30
    Elias Claymore’s Mediterranean-style villa stood in landscaped grounds on the sand of Montecito’s most prestigious beach and had breathtaking views of the ocean from nearly every room. Although the coveted syndication deal for his TV show had yet to materialize, he had done well out of his best-selling autobiography, his three follow-up books and the movie about his life.
    To show for it, he had a huge living room with fireplace, bar and ocean view, a beachside kitchen, two beachside bedrooms each with a fireplace and a third at the back. Even the office had an ocean view. There was also a separate guest apartment, a large beachfront deck, a sunset view seaside spa, majestic trees and flowering gardens and 75 feet of private beach front.
    Sitting on a lounging chair on the deck, looking out onto the ocean and thinking about his present surroundings, Elias Claymore realized that crime and repentance had served him well. It was a far cry from the ramshackle hut where he had been born and the rat-infested ‘hood where he had grown up. But how far had he really come?
    “You can take the man out of the ghetto,” the racists had taunted. “But you can’t take the ghetto out of the man.” And much as it pained his troubled conscience, the racists were right on this one, albeit in the most literal sense. For a ghetto is actually a place of retreat where one is surrounded by ones own kind yet constantly under threat from those outside. And right now he felt besieged.
    His mind drifted back to what his life had once been like. He used to think that the pain was all over. He had never forgotten what he had done. But after all these years he thought it would no longer come back to haunt him. Yet, the events of the past week had proved him wrong – and it was like a slow, drawn-out torture.
    He tried to soften the pain by reminding himself what had driven him to do the things he had done and become the man he became. But those memories were even more painful. Like the time he was nine when two white policemen raped his mother before his eyes. He had tried to stop them, but one of them had grabbed him and twisted his arm behind his back, forcing him to watch while the other “pig” had pinned his mother to the ground, ripped her clothes and forced himself into her as she screamed and begged for mercy.
    She had brought up Elias all alone, without the help of a man, for most of Elias’s childhood. She had always been a strong figure in his early years, dishing out the punishment but also protecting him from the bigger kids in the ‘hood. But she couldn’t protect herself from this . And Elias Claymore learned in those few minutes that the mother, who had been like a pillar of support for the entire world as he knew it, was powerless in the face of this invading force in their own home.
    And through his childish eyes, little Elias knew why. She was a woman – and women were weaker than men. He couldn’t expect a woman