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  Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  Carol Stream, Illinois

  Praise for Randy Singer

  “As a lawyer, Randy Singer has lived the drama of the gun issue as it plays out in the courtroom. In The Justice Game, he brings that drama to life in a riveting story that captures the passions of both sides of the American gun debate.”

  Dennis Henigan

  vice president for law and policy at the Brady Center to Prevent Gun Violence and author of Lethal Logic: Exploding the Myths that Paralyze American Gun Policy

  “A great read! In The Justice Game, Randy Singer has crafted a fast-paced, suspenseful ride through our legal system. This entertaining story will draw you in from the opening scene. And, as a good book should, it will make you question and consider your own views of gun control.”

  Alan Gura

  attorney, constitutional law, who successfully argued landmark Supreme Court gun rights case District of Columbia v. Heller (2008)

  “Encore! Randy Singer does it again with another intense, thought-provoking novel that leaves his reader wanting more. The Justice Game invokes readers to question long-held opinions and consider the difficult aspects concerning weapon control.”

  Misty Bernall

  mother of slain Columbine student Cassie Bernall and author of She Said Yes

  “What a page turner! In The Justice Game, Singer captured me from page one with brilliant storytelling and a gutsy message about gun rights in our country. Just when I thought his stories couldn’t get any better, this book is even better than his last. Do not miss this read!”

  Aaron Norris

  television and film producer/director

  “Singer hooks readers from the opening courtroom scene of this tasty thriller, then spurs them through a fast trot across a storyline that just keeps delivering.”

  Publishers Weekly

  on By Reason of Insanity

  “At the center of the heart-pounding action are the moral dilemmas that have become Singer’s stock-in-trade. . . .an exciting thriller.”

  Booklist

  on By Reason of Insanity

  “In this gripping, obsessively readable legal thriller, Singer proves himself to be the Christian John Grisham. . . .”

  Publishers Weekly

  on False Witness

  “[Singer] delivers a fresh approach to the legal thriller, with subtle characterizations and nuanced presentations of ethical issues.”

  Booklist

  starred review, on Dying Declaration

  “Singer . . . hits pay dirt again with this taut, intelligent thriller. . . . [Dying Declaration] is a groundbreaking book for the Christian market. . . . Singer is clearly an up-and-coming novelist to watch.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “Singer delivers Grisham-like plotting buttressed by a worldview that clarifies the dilemmas that bombard us daily. Don’t miss this book.”

  Hugh Hewitt

  author, columnist and radio host of the nationally syndicated Hugh Hewitt Show on Dying Declaration

  “Realistic and riveting, Directed Verdict is a compelling story about the persecuted church and those who fight for global religious freedom.”

  Jay Sekulow

  chief counsel, American Center for Law and Justice

  Visit Tyndale’s exciting Web site at www.tyndale.com

  Visit Randy Singer’s Web site at www.randysinger.net

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  The Justice Game

  Copyright © 2009 by Randy Singer. All rights reserved.

  Cover photograph copyright © by Matthew Antrobus/Getty Images. All rights reserved.

  Author photo copyright © 2008 by Don Monteaux. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Dean H. Renninger

  Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc.,

  7680 Goddard St., Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920,

  www.alivecommunications.com.

  Some Scripture quotations are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®.

  Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

  Some Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007 by Tyndale House Foundation.

  Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  Some Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®, copyright 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers.

  Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Singer, Randy (Randy D.)

  The justice game / Randy Singer.p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-4143-1634-5 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-1-4143-3329-8 (Mobipocket)

  ISBN 978-1-4143-3331-1 (Palm)

  ISBN 978-1-4143-3330-4 (Sony)

  Special Copyright Notice

  The text of this book is an eBook file intended for one reader only. It may be used by that reader on computers and devices that he or she owns and uses. It may not be transmitted in whole or part to others except as stated above.

  Up to 500 words of this work may be quoted without written permission of publisher, provided it is not part of a compilation of works nor more than 5 percent of the book or work in which it is being quoted. The full title, author's name, and copyright line shall be included. No more than 500 words of this work may be posted on a web site or sent electronically to other users. In all uses of quoted material from this book, the full copyright line shall appear in a readable type size where the text appears. The author's name shall not be used in the title of a web site or in the advertising of the site. The author's name may not be used on the cover of any other book in which a portion of this material is quoted without written permission of Tyndale House Publishers.

  Quotes in excess of 500 words, use of the text as part of a compilation, use of text that is greater than 5 percent of the book in which it will be quoted, or other permission requests shall be directed in writing to Tyndale House Publishers, Permissions Dept. 351 Executive Drive, Carol Stream, IL 60188.

  This book is dedicated to the memory of Karen Farley.

  Author’s Note

  This one is personal.

  On December 16, 1988, a sixteen-year-old student named Nicholas Elliot took a semi-automatic handgun to Atlantic Shores Christian School and opened fire. He shot and killed a teacher named Karen Farley and wounded an assistant principal, then burst into a trailer where a Bible class was meeting. When he attempted to open fire on the students huddled in the back corner of the trailer, the gun jammed. The Bible teacher, Hutch Matteson, tackled Elliot and prevented the kind of tragedy that hit Columbine High School in Colorado several years later.

  Atlantic Shores was the school where my wife taught. It was the school my kids attended (though they were not there that day).

  And when I learned that Elliot had purchased the gun illegally from a gun store in Isle of Wight County through a transaction referred to as a “straw purchase,” I represented the family of Karen Farley in an unprecedented lawsuit against the gun store.

  The verdict shocked everyone.

  That trial was seventeen years ago—my baptism by fire into the nation
al gun debate.

  With this book, seventeen years later, I willingly wade back in… wiser (I hope), more cautious, and with a better understanding of both sides. My goal is not to make converts (at least, not in the Second Amendment sense) but to fairly present both perspectives and let the reader decide.

  I tried to create compelling characters on both sides of the debate. In fact, I was so determined to be balanced that I did something I’ve never done before and, as far as I know, no other novelist has ever done either.

  I asked my readers to determine the verdict for this book.

  We put together an online video showing a news report about the fictional case at the heart of this book and portions of the closing arguments for both lawyers. We asked readers to watch the video and render a verdict. The verdict in this story reflects the verdict of a majority of my readers.

  Thanks for taking this journey with me. In a very real sense, you are always the jury. And just like in my real trials, I’ve got a few butterflies as I submit my case to you.

  For The Justice Game, the jury is out.…

  Part I: Wrongful Death

  1

  Rachel Crawford closed her eyes while the show’s makeup artist, a spunky woman named Carmen, did a quick touch-up.

  “The sun looks good on you,” Carmen said. “The Diva’s fake ’n bake turns her orange.”

  “The Diva” was WDXR prime-time anchor Lisa Roberts. Lisa treated the staff like dirt and was easy to hate. Five foot ten with long, skinny legs, Lisa always complained about how much weight the camera added to her figure. Her chair had to be adjusted higher than everyone else’s, the camera always had to be positioned to capture her left side (exposing a mole on her left cheek that she considered sexy), and her water had to be cold with just the right amount of ice.

  “Maybe my next report will be on tanning beds,” Rachel said. Carmen removed the makeup cape, and Rachel checked herself out in the mirror.

  She was no Lisa. A little shorter, heavier, with more of a girl-next-door look. But Rachel had one thing Lisa didn’t—it was the reason for her glow.

  “I hear tanning beds cause cancer,” Carmen said, perking up with the thought. “Not just skin cancer, either—liver, thyroid, all kinds of nasty stuff.”

  Rachel did a subtle sideways twist, so casual that Carmen didn’t notice. The blouse Rachel wore fit loosely—not so much as to be obvious, but just loose enough. She would have a few more weeks before her secret was out.

  As a new reporter for the WDXR I-team, Rachel had been working on a piece about the effect of cell phones on pregnant women. In two weeks, she would break her own exciting news on air as part of that piece. For at least one night, Lisa wouldn’t be the center of attention. Tonight, however, she had a very different story to cover.

  “Thanks, Carmen,” Rachel said. She scooped up her pad and water bottle and headed toward the door. “This water’s way too warm,” she said, mocking Lisa’s perfect diction. Carmen cackled.

  “Plus, it goes straight to my hips,” Carmen shot back, cocking her chin in the air as she gave Rachel a dismissive little shake of the head.

  Rachel smiled and left the makeup room, settling into investigative reporter mode. Most of tonight’s report was already on tape. Things had gone well during the 5 p.m. newscast. What could possibly go wrong at six?

  She loved her job. Yet she loved the thought of being a mother even more. She wanted to do both—part-time I-team reporter and full-time mom. But that was a conversation for another day.

  * * *

  Rachel fiddled with her earpiece, listening to the show’s producer give Lisa Roberts and Manuel Sanchez, Lisa’s co-anchor, instructions about the next few segments. Rachel sat up as straight as possible, though she would still be a few inches shorter than Lisa, and smiled at the camera. The show’s producer started the countdown. Lisa didn’t change her scowl until the man said zero, triggering a magical transformation from spoiled Diva to devoted and caring newswoman.

  “Over three thousand international college students come to Virginia Beach each summer to work in the resort city,” Lisa said, reading the prompter. “An unlucky few end up being victims of the sinister human trafficking industry. I-team reporter Rachel Crawford has the details.”

  Lisa held her pose as they transitioned to the I-team tape. She might be hard to stomach, but she was a pro. Lisa’s cover-girl looks and unshakable poise would soon carry her beyond the Norfolk market, away from the place Lisa scornfully referred to as a “dead-end Navy town,” the place Rachel loved and called home.

  Rachel watched the report for about the fortieth time and allowed herself a brief moment of pride. The segment started with a few shots of The Surf, a popular Virginia Beach hangout, with a voice-over from Rachel about the way international student workers helped keep the place afloat. They had video of two Eastern European women tending bar, waiting tables, even taking out the trash. The camera angles had been carefully selected so the viewers could never quite get a good look at the students’ faces. The tape cut to Rachel, standing in front of the bar, a serious tilt to her head.

  “But a few of these girls, who talked to WDXR under condition of anonymity, said there was a dark side to their summer at the Beach.”

  The next shot featured Rachel interviewing one of the workers. The editors had blocked out the student’s face and digitally altered her voice. She talked about the owner of The Surf—Larry Jamison—the man who had promised the girls jobs and paid for them to come to America.

  “If you didn’t become one of ‘Larry’s girls,’ you could never get out of debt, no matter how hard you worked. Plus, there were threats.”

  As Rachel explained the scam, a Web site appeared on-screen. The girl’s images were distorted but it was obviously a porn site, one that Rachel had traced back to Larry Jamison.

  “We asked Mr. Jamison about these charges,” Rachel said on the tape. “He refused to be interviewed for this report.”

  In a few seconds, they would be live again. Rachel checked her earpiece and turned toward Lisa. She heard a pop that startled her—it might have been a few pops—something like firecrackers, coming from the other side of the studio’s soundproof door. She glanced at the doors but nobody else seemed bothered by it.

  “Five seconds,” said a voice in her ear. “Four, three, two, one…”

  A cameraman pointed to Lisa, and she turned toward Rachel. “Those girls you interviewed seemed so vulnerable,” Lisa said. “Did they understand they could press charges against this guy?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel noticed a flash of commotion at the back of the studio. Like a pro, she stayed focused on Lisa, explaining why the girls were not willing to come forward.

  “Hey!” someone yelled. “He’s got a gun!”

  Shots rang out as Rachel swiveled toward the voices, blinded by the bright lights bearing down on her. She heard more shots, screams of panic and pain—pandemonium in the studio. “Get down!” someone shouted.

  There was cursing and a third barrage of shots as Rachel dove to the floor, crawling quickly behind the anchor desk—a fancy acrylic fixture that certainly wouldn’t stop a bullet. Overhead, the suspended “on-air” monitor blinked off. In the chaos, Rachel looked over to see Lisa, wide-eyed with fear, her fist to her mouth, shaking with a silent sob.

  For a moment, everything was still.

  2

  Rachel huddled behind the desk, paralyzed by fear. Her breath came in short, staccato bursts, miniature explosions into the deafening silence. She pressed both hands against her face, half praying, half listening—shaking with terror.

  She heard footsteps and heavy breathing.

  She gasped when she caught the gunman in her peripheral vision, towering over her—Larry Jamison, the target of her I-team report. The man was wild-eyed, his gray hair disheveled, his face red and stubbled. He pointed a flat black pistol at her that looked like a chopped-off version of a weapon from a Rambo movie. He hit the magazine release
and jammed a second magazine into the gun as the first one hit the floor.

  “You’re the one,” Jamison hissed, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her to her feet. He pressed the barrel into the small of her back. From behind, he wrapped his left arm around her neck and wrenched her close. Rachel could smell sweat and alcohol, his putrid breath moist on her ear.

  “Everybody at your posts!” he demanded. “I want this show live in two minutes or this sweet thing dies.”

  Trembling, Rachel scanned the studio. One of the cameramen, a gentle giant Rachel had spoken with on many occasions, lay next to his camera, blood pooling from his chest. She noticed a young female camera operator hunched in a corner. The control booth had been deserted. She couldn’t see Lisa and Manuel—they must have crawled to the other side of the anchor desk.

  “Get back to your camera!” Jamison shouted at the woman in the corner. He fired several rounds into the wall above her head. Sparks flew and she screamed, scrambling to her station. “Two minutes,” Jamison repeated. “I’m talking to one of my partners on my Bluetooth right now. He’s waiting for the television signal.”

  Rachel fought for breath as Jamison squeezed his left arm tighter around her neck, dragging her toward the end of the anchor desk where Lisa and Manuel sat huddled together on the floor. Jamison pointed his gun at Lisa. “Looky here.”

  He laughed as she stared at him in horror. “Get back behind your desk. We’ve got a show to put on.”

  Trembling and sobbing, Lisa stood. She backed slowly away from Jamison, climbing into her anchor seat.

  “Good girl,” he said. He pointed his gun at Manuel and squeezed Rachel’s windpipe tighter with his left arm. The room was beginning to spin.

  “We’re not on the air yet,” he hissed, his frustration showing. “Somebody get in that control room.”

  Manuel glanced quickly at the booth. “They’re gone.”