Rage Factor by Chris Rogers Read Free Book Online Page A

Flannigan.”
    “Some of us have to be.”
    Such unanswerable questions were part of the reason Dixie no longer sat in the prosecutor’s chair. She believed in justice, not law. She believed the negative emotions that triggered crimes were common to all humans—greed, lust, frustration, anger, fear—and that criminals could be lumped into three classes. Third-class criminals were ordinary people pushed too far. They genuinely regretted their mistakes; given a second chance, they could usually reestablish themselves as worthwhile citizens. Second-class criminals were low-life scum indoctrinated early with the wrong values; occasionally, second-class criminals were “rehabilitated” by the system. But there was one sort of monster that no amount of punishment or counseling would change. Lawrence Riley Coombs was such a monster. A verdict of “not guilty” today would be tantamount to issuing Coombs a license to assault and rape.
    A hush swept through the courtroom as the door opened to the judge’s chambers.
    “All rise,” droned the bailiff.
    Judge Engleton took his seat behind the bench. As the jury filed into the room, Dixie tried to read their faces. Drawing only blanks, she turned her attention to the prosecutor’s table. Brenda Benson scuffed her chair around for a better view of the jury.
    “Brenda’s aged since this trial started,” Dixie whispered. Her friend’s lithe body looked ten pounds thinner under asmart gray suit. If Coombs walked, she knew, Brenda would take it as a personal failure.
    Stepping forward in the jury box, the forewoman handed a folded sheet of paper to the bailiff, who gave it to the judge. The judge donned a pair of reading glasses, unfolded the page, looked at it without a flicker of change in his solemn demeanor, then passed it to the court clerk. The clerk faced the defendant and cleared his throat.
    “On the charge of assault, we find the defendant, Lawrence Riley Coombs, not guilty. On the charge of rape, we find the defendant not guilty.”
    On the wave of silence that filled the courtroom, someone moaned.
    “They did it,” Belle said softly. “They let the bastard off.”
    Reporters rushed to capture the defendant’s reaction. Defense counsel looked as stunned as the prosecutors.
    Seeing Brenda’s stricken expression, Dixie knew what her friend was feeling—like being kicked in the stomach. Disbelief—
she hadn’t heard right, the jury had made a mistake, the judge would grant a mistrial.
Then guilt—
how could I let this happen? What did I do wrong?
    Murmuring a hasty departure to Belle, Dixie waded into the throng, swinging her crutch past Regan Salles and Clarissa Thomas—huddled together with the witness coordinator, faces pasty with shock, no doubt worrying about reprisal from Coombs. He wasn’t the type to let bygones be.
    Dixie placed a steadying hand on Brenda’s arm. “You’ll get another crack at him.”
    “How many more women will he assault before one is brave enough to turn him in?” Blinking rapidly, as if fighting an emotional torrent, the prosecutor fished a piece of nicotine chewing gum from her pocket and fumbled the wrapper off. Her words came slow, fierce, and deliberate. “Regan Salles was beaten so badly she’ll never have children. She almost died, Dixie. The next woman very likely
will
die. Lookwhat he did to you. Of all the reptiles I’ve watched slither out of this courthouse and back into society, Lawrence Coombs really scares me.”
    Dixie searched her soul for a crumb of reassurance; Brenda’s assessment was exactly right. Future victims would see Coombs’ acquittal as proof that their own testimony would go unheard. He could stack up conquests like firewood.
    A reporter approached, but Brenda’s angry stare turned him away. She slapped a stack of files into her briefcase. “I blew it. I totally blew it.”
    “You did everything you could. Sometimes the system works, sometimes it doesn’t.”
    “The system
never
works