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NAIM HAD BEEN TRYING to reach David Thurman, since he saw his face on the corner of the newspaper. Watching the noon news, he finally had his answer as to why he couldn’t reach the murderer. He grabbed a notepad off of the end table and started scribbling notes. Capturing all of the different threads covered by the newscaster regarding Thurman’s arrest had marked up the lawyers mental drawing board.
Then, he was caught by surprise.
Ladies and gentleman, start your engines.
“This afternoon, from the E. Barrett Prettyman U.S. Courthouse in Judiciary Square, an exclusive live chat with Shai Brown, the man set to prosecute Judge Weston’s and Senator Elberg’s killer.”
On the screen, Naim saw a black prosecutor, and thought they’d assigned a black face to litigate on behalf of the United State considering David Thurman was represented by a black defense attorney. That was cute.
“Handsome for a prosecutor,” Brandy said, igniting the spark of anger that had consumed him.
On the TV: “With the assistant United States attorney today is Judge Weston’s son, Marquis Weston. Mr. Weston, everyone in America and around the world are wondering how’s your mother?”
“She’s currently in stable condition, after three surgeries. She’s going to need facial reconstruction.”
“We’re sorry to hear that and send her our warmest regards,” the reporter said, turning his attention to AUSA Brown. “Normally. You don’t go on the record before a case as big as this one—why today?”
“Because striking details regarding this case has come to light, and I must make an appeal for Washington to be alert and vigilant.” The reporter nodded, and he went on. “We do have the man in the ATM surveillance footage in custody; however, we also have a pattern brewing. I can definitively inform the public that Senator Jacob Elberg has been murdered in his home, and his wife, like Judge Weston’s, was brutally assaulted but not killed. Timeline details are in question, but we’re working with the possibility of a serial killer. Or a team of them.”
“It’s being reported that David Thurman, the man in custody has hired, recently pardoned New York attorney, Naim Butler to represent him.”
“He has.”
“Are you worried about that? He’s a UPenn and Yale, Baker and Keefe man.”
AUSA Brown snickered, “And an ex-con. He’s never led any case, much less one of the death penalty kind. He’s unworthy....”
“Oh, boy. How wrong you are, my fried of the court,” Naim said, smiling. “Underestimating my abilities is his first loss.” Picking up his cell phone he texted, Maria Sethmeyer, informing her to meet him at the B&K D.C. HQ. It was time to ratchet up the stakes for a D.C. showdown.
The reporter asked, “So you’re prosecuting this as a federal crime? What about MPD investigators. Will this be a DC war?”
“No war. They’re investigating. My office is prosecuting.”
“How wrong you are, Mr. AUSA Shai Brown. Your little comment calling me worthless,” Naim said, looking deeply into the tv screen, “was an act of war.”
“Wait,” Brandy said. “He didn’t call you worthless.”
“That’s what I heard,” he said, smiling. “And I is sticking to that, using it for fuel to crush, Mr. Shai Brown.” He chuckled insanely.