Thaddeus Murfee sat solemnly at the worn-out desk in his dimly lit apartment, the city lights casting erratic shadows on the walls. A cup of cold coffee sat by his side, its aroma faded away. In front of him lay a curious book titled The Redemption Manuscript by Archibald Stinnet. The name was a facade, an alias for the true author - his client, Marcus Jensen.
With a determined grip, Thaddeus picked up the book, using his right hand, and placed it firmly on the desk. The weight of the book’s significance wasn’t lost on him. The keys to a malicious setup and possibly, Marcus’ freedom, lay inside. But this was much more than that. That day the book had won the National Book Award. While its authored was penned up on California's Death Row.
As he continued reading, Thaddeus gasped in surprise. A name jumped out at him – Steven Springer. The same Steven Springer he had come across in the past. The pieces clicked into place. Springer, the very man who had been in Marcus' life, who once professed love and care for him, was the puppet responsible for Marcus' downfall. His speed across the page increased. Now—here it came, so predictable—the Tijuana Cartel had forced Springer to frame Marcus, right? He closed the book and made fresh coffee.
He returned with a white Navy mug with the USS Spadefish on the side. His father’s submarine in World War II.
Thaddeus hesitated for a brief moment, but a resolute spirit took over. He opened the book with his left hand, turning to its first page of the last chapter. The opening lines held a poignant personal touch, making it apparent that Marcus had penned the book. As he flipped through the pages with growing anticipation, Thaddeus searched for the section detailing the man who'd framed Marcus.
As he read, his blood turned off warm then became cool, and now colder and the world realized who Marcus was claiming had framed him.
For he had pointed his finger directly at none other than Thaddeus himself. This explained why, for the last six hours, his phone had been ringing off the hook, going straight to voicemail until it filled up, and now going off into space, he supposed. While he had been reading, he had told himself the calls were from reporters and officials wanting a statement from Marcus. But that hadn't been it at all. It was Thaddeus whose statement they wanted. Demanded now.
He bowed his head down and continued reading. Any moment now, his own lawyer would be calling him.
So would the FBI, as the underlying murder was of a federal agent, an Assistant US Attorney.
It took both hands to get the coffee cup to his tips, shaking as he was, only to find out he couldn’t swallow.
Then his cell phone with its private number beeped. “Shep calling,” said Siri. “Shall I get rid of his dumbass too, Thaddeus?”
Thaddeus jumped for the phone and pressed the big green button.
“Shep, have you read?"
