Chapter 4 - The Prosecutor Becomes the Complainant
I stepped out into the hallway to take the call, pulling the door almost shut behind me.
"Rebecca?" a familiar voice came through the receiver. It was Marcus Vance, the current Chief Deputy District Attorney and an old colleague from my days in the prosecutor's office.
"Marcus," I said. "I assume you're calling about the Gerald Hutchinson file that just landed on your desk."
"Just landed? Rebecca, it's the talk of the precinct," Marcus said, his tone a mix of disbelief and deep gravity. "The arresting officers logged a full felony assault package, complete with eyewitness corroboration, digital video evidence from a bystander, and a direct audio recording of the suspect's statements. And then they realized the victim is your daughter, and the primary witness is a former senior prosecutor."
"Every word in that report is accurate," I said flatly. "I watched him do it. My husband called 911 while I administered first aid. The video speaks for itself."
"Rebecca... your office called me because they want to know how you want to handle conflict of interest recusal," Marcus hesitated. "Given your history with the district, and the fact that—"
"There is no conflict of interest regarding the prosecution of a violent felon," I interrupted, my voice dropping an octave into pure courtroom cadence. "My history with this office means I know exactly how airtight this case is. Gerald Hutchinson committed second-degree child abuse, aggravated battery with a deadly weapon—the belt—and reckless endangerment. He made admissions of guilt in front of a dozen witnesses while his victim lay unconscious on a tile floor."
"He's your father, Bec," Marcus said gently.
"My father lost the right to that title the moment he swung a leather strap at a three-year-old child's head," I replied, my voice hard as granite. "I am not speaking to you right now as his daughter. I am speaking to you as the mother of the victim, and as an officer of the court. If your office drops even one charge down to a misdemeanor to appease suburban family politics, I will personally file an ethics complaint with the state bar and take this straight to the state attorney general's office."
There was a brief, heavy silence on the line. I could hear the rustle of papers in the background.
"Point taken," Marcus said softly. "The arraignment is scheduled for tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. at the municipal courthouse. The booking charge is felony child abuse resulting in bodily injury. We aren't offering bail given the flight risk and the nature of the violent offense."
"Good," I said. "I'll be there."
When I hung up, I turned around to find James standing a few feet away, holding two paper cups of terrible hospital coffee. He handed me one.
"Was that the D.A.?" he asked.
"That was the system starting to grind," I said, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. "Arraignment is tomorrow morning. No bail."
May you like
James let out a slow breath, looking down at his coffee. "Do you think your mother will show up?"
"If she does," I said, staring past him down the gleaming hallway, "she's going to find out what happens when you mistake denial for reality."
