TEARS OF RAGE

Chapter 45

"A certified package just arrived by messenger, and it requires your signature."

Weatherby gave a nod of consent and gestured for her to bring him the package.

After he signed the courier's receipt of delivery, his clerk left his chambers.

When she made her departure, he opened the package.

Inside he found a box of expensive French chocolates and a note was written on indistinguishable notebook paper.

As he was about to dismiss it as just another gesture of condolence, made by one of his friends or colleagues, judge Weatherby found the written note odd.

Once he opened it and began reading, it was as if everything began to become submerged in quicksand.

He had a hard time breathing. His heart was racing.

And his ears began to ring as if he were listening to a dial tone on a disconnected telephone.

The note simply read:

'There is a place called the Vertigo Cafe', in East Atlanta.

It's the second shop from the corner of McClendon Avenue, in Candler Park.

If you want to find real peace during this time of uncertainty, it would be to your benefit to be there at 8 pm. tonight. Come alone. After eight-thirty this opportunity becomes as you might say: null and void.

Everyone deserves a second chance in life...

This is yours. Don't blow it.

Judge Weatherby read that letter three times, before ripping it to pieces.

No doubt in his mind had written it.

He had committed each word to memory, like the verse of a broken record; playing over and over in his mind.

'Everyone deserves a second chance in life...

This is yours. Don't blow it.

Don't blow it... Don't blow it...'

As the bustle of life continued to play its symphony of sounds beyond his window, he could imagine Lemario Mitchell somewhere in the city, watching his movements.

The thought of being killed had him contemplating ways to get the cops involved.

At least to give him and his daughter some protection, he mused in fear.

However, prison and public condemnation did not present any measure of assurance, to salvage the situation.

A knock at the door pulled him out of his spell of anxiety.

"What is it?" he called out, fighting to maintain his composure.

"I apologize for the disturbance, Your Honor, but ADA Brad Riner, with the DeKalb County prosecutor's office, is insisting upon seeing you. He claims that it's very important that he speak with you."

"Did he say what it was about?"

"No, Your Honor. He wouldn't tell me."

With a deep sigh of frustration, he gave his consent.

"Send him in," he stated, unsure of what Brad Riner had to speak to him about.

"And cancel my caseload for the rest of the day, Janine. I can't deal with it, right now," he added, his voice thick with the weight of emotional hardship.

"Yes sir," she replied, with a slight nod of sympathy.

With his world percolating to a point of disaster, he did not feel at liberty to dismiss anything that could prove to be detrimental to his safety and welfare.

When Brad Riner was lead into his chambers, he had the frazzled look of a man on the verge of collapse.

His clothes were rumpled. His hair was cut, but it was clear that it had not seen a comb in some time.

He had bags under his eyes.

"Good afternoon, Your Honor. I apologize for disturbing you like this, but I have reason to believe that Lemario Mitchell is responsible for the death of your wife, sir."

Judge Weatherby offered Brad a seat without speaking.

His expression did not betray the skip of his heartbeat.

"Would you care to explain that sort of accusation? Do you have any proof of this?"

"Okay. I know that this sounds insane, but trust me... My brother was killed during the Kennesaw Bank and Trust heist, in which this kid was alleged to be involved.

So, I've been following this thing since it happened."

Brad took a breath to gather his argument of facts.

Judge Weatherby remained quiet, listening.

"I was in the courtroom the day that he threatened you and your family, Your Honor." he continued. "I don't know what happened, that allowed this man to get released on bond, but within a matter of hours after his release, your wife was murdered in her home. Now, I know that it sounds too circumstantial on the surface, but I spoke to the man that claims that he and Mitchell were both accomplices in the crime. This guy had the motive and intent to come after you.

And as long as he is allowed to roam the streets of Atlanta, this city is not safe, sir."

Even when assumptions of guilt may appear accurate, allegations without proof are like myths about a lost city of Atlantis. In the eyes of the law, it's nonexistent.

And, judge Weatherby was forced to stand firm on the legal argument that they did not have anything to establish probable cause, to uphold an arrest warrant.

"I've gone over this a thousand times, in my mind." He confided. "But, the fact of the matter is, we have nothing to hold him on. There was no weapon found in his possession. No forensic evidence, to tie him to the crime. Nothing." Weatherby stated. "All we have is a man who we now know, based upon his own admission, was involved in the bank heist, accusing Lemario Mitchell of being an accomplice in the crime. You know just as well as I do that's not enough to hold him."

Brad Riner leaned closer to the edge of Weatherby's desk, his eyes intense with desperation.

The thought of not having Lemario Mitchell be held accountable for killing his brother was driving him mad.

"What if I were to get some evidence, to prove that he was a part of that bank heist... Would you issue an arrest warrant?"

"Listen, Counselor... I can understand how you feel, but you've got to leave this to the investigators. If he's guilty, it will come out."

Brad Riner rose from his seat with a smirk of disapproval.

"I'm not about to leave this for the feds to fuck up..." he huffed, "Did you know that Kenny Mathis was murdered by Shonda Williams' brother, yesterday?"

When Brad Riner stormed out of the court chambers, he had the posture of a man on a mission.

Federal district court judge Johnathan Weatherby watched him leave with a look of empathy etched upon his face.

No one knew as well as he did how dangerous Lemario Mitchell was...

But, there was no one that he could confide his secret to.

Somehow he had allowed himself to get snared waist-deep in crime and corruption...

And it was beginning to feel as though he were bogged down in quicksand.