“First, they’re going to argue that Norman is outright innocent, or at least not guilty, that the prosecution has nothing more than circumstantial evidence and cannot possibly meet its burden of proof that Norman is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. The prosecution has no eyewitnesses. It has found no weapons. Two of the three murders involved deviant sexual behavior for which Norman has no demonstrable propensity or pattern in his life. Further, in the current climate, there is no lack of people who are over-the-top angry with our governmental leaders. Finally, as to Senator Wells, the defense will no doubt point to her reckless social life to suggest any number of candidates who may have killed her.
“Second, if the jury comes in with a guilty verdict, the defense will then pursue its alternative plea of NGI, not guilty by reason of insanity.
“Third, and clearly this is going to be most controversial, the defense is going to introduce an affirmative defense that these murders were justifiable or excusable.”
Brooks despairingly cupped his forehead between his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Candace. Slow down. What in the hell is this? If Norman committed these acts, then he obviously sought out and hunted these victims down in cold blood. They weren’t attacking or threatening to attack him or his family in the Norman home. The three victims weren’t doing anything to Norman, or to his family. There’s no possible justification or excuse here.” He raised his head and stared Jones down.
Brooks was intimidating when he wanted to be. Jones looked away, slightly bowed but not broken. She kept right on going. “That’s not how the defense sees it, Judge. The argument they are advancing in their papers is that the government officials had not been doing their job. Rather, they’d been turning the other cheek to repay bribes they had been receiving in the form of campaign contributions and the like. In essence, their argument is that the corrupt conduct of our governmental representatives is threatening the very fabric of our society and that it had to be stopped. A message had to be sent.”
It didn’t take long for the dam to burst. Brooks let fly. “That’s utter nonsense, Candace. Maybe okay for David Kelley and Boston Legal, but not for my courtroom. Norman didn’t act—if he acted at all—out of the legally required imminent fear of physical harm to himself or his family. The notion that Norman acted out of concern for the public interest is … poppycock, rubbish. Way beyond anything permitted under the legal doctrine of justifiable or excusable homicide. At least as the law exists today. This is judicially absurd. I have no obligation to allow anything like that to reach the jury. And you can bet I’m not going to.” He came to an abrupt halt, satisfied that he had demonstrated that no such nonsense would be permitted in his courtroom.
“Judge, you’re preaching to the choir. I don’t disagree. Don’t shoot me. Please. I’m just the messenger here. However, that said, while you may be on sound judicial ground in what you’re saying, your social footing is another matter. When you come up for reelection, you’ll be accountable to the public. And public sentiment for this kind of thinking right now is running high. Very high.”
Brooks softened. To the extent he was ever soft. His next remarks were delivered a little more quietly. And a little more slowly. “I know, I know. I’ve been seeing it in the papers and on the television every day. More and more every day. But that doesn’t mean I like it. Or that I have to agree with it. I’m going to have to give this some real thought before I let any of this hogwash reach the jury.”
Brooks’s tirade was over. He was back in command. He wanted to talk briefly about the alternative not-guilty-by-reason-of-insanity defense. Pled at the outset of a case, as it was here, NGI would only be considered in a second phase of the trial if the defendant was found guilty in the first phase. “Let’s shift to NGI, Candace. We’ve just gone through an extensive hearing in which I ruled that Norman is competent to stand trial. Given that counsel submitted Norman was competent based on the medical examinations, it would have been irrational for me to rule otherwise. How can NGI be credibly pursued here if the jury finds Norman guilty?”
“I know you’re just testing me with that question, Judge. The fact that you found Norman competent to stand trial now is not incompatible with the notion that he was not mentally capable of distinguishing between right and wrong at the time of the murders. Did I pass?”
“Okay, okay. Don’t be a wiseacre. I needed to make sure I can rely on what you’re saying to me in your memo and in this meeting. Especially about this possible justifiable homicide defense.”
“That’s the big picture, Judge. Would you like to turn now to the specific motions each side has filed for hearing at the final status conference?”
“Can’t. I’m out of time. I’ll have to play those motions by ear when they are argued at the final status conference. We’re done for now.” Brooks reached over to another stack of documents on his desk.
“Judge, can I have just one more moment?”
“Speak.”
“I recognize you don’t want to allow the defense to argue justifiable or excusable homicide. However, I think the defense may have an indirect way of getting there even if you rule out such a defense.”
“Spit it out. Other work awaits.”
“You may well be on solid ground preventing the assertion of a defense based on justifiable or excusable homicide, but I think it will likely be reversible error on appeal if you cut the defense off from raising much the same arguments to the jury as a matter of refuting the prosecution’s burden of proof of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“What are you talking about? What in the hell has this mumbo-jumbo got to do with burden of proof?”
“Your Honor, I suspect the defense will also raise this in the context of showing how many other people had motive, means, and opportunity to commit these crimes. It’s not a big leap from such an argument of reasonable doubt to the argument of justifiable homicide the defense wants to make.”
“Geez, Candace,” he said, hating to give any legal ground to anyone. “You’ve got a point. I’m going to have to give this a lot more thought.” Brooks didn’t like this justifiable homicide business one bit. He also didn’t like the increasing number of people marching up and down in front of the courthouse every day with all those signs saying the country should be giving Norman a medal rather than a trial. He wondered what it was going to look like out there by the time the trial started. What’s our political system coming to? What’s this country coming to?
CHAPTER 52
Wednesday, July 15, 11:30 a.m.
LOTELLO’S INSTINCTS HAD BEEN correct. He had been up all night, barely getting through the copy of Wells’s calendar in time to get the kids up and off to school. He was exhausted. No workout for him this morning. He called in and left word that he was under the weather and would not be in today. And then set his alarm to allow a little sleep.
A few hours later, after a poached egg, a little rice, some seaweed and tofu, all in a soothing cup of hot packaged miso soup, he was feeling somewhat rejuvenated. He shook his head and smiled at the thought of how much flak he’d catch down at the precinct if the guys saw what he was eating. Hey, it’s my comfort food when I’m stressed. No one else’s damn business. And besides, it helps offset the guilt about the ice cream I had last night with the kids.
Lotello’s problem now was to figure out what to do with this calendar bombshell that had mysteriously been dropped in his lap. He had no idea where to start. Who gave this to me, Beth? And why? Is it authentic or pure fabrication? I can’t be certain, but it sure seems authentic. An awful lot of work for someone to go to if it was a fabrication. Authentic or fabricated, what do I do with all the apparent leads worth pursuing? And when do I have to turn it over to the DA?
Lotello knew the proper thing was to promptly turn this document over to the DA. Get this monkey off his back. Before it could get him into a ton of trouble.
Lotello wanted to make sure the possible leads he had identified in the calendar would be properly and fu
lly pursued. He knew the case had turned into a political hot potato, a cause célèbre. Left to the proper authorities, Lotello wasn’t sure what would happen to the calendar, especially in light of the apparent off-color nature of many of Wells’s entries. If they actually were her entries.
Lotello thought he could pursue many of the leads on his own. That wasn’t what was bothering him. The mere existence of this document, and its shadowy delivery to him, might have an impact on the case. If any of this came to light.
Concealing his unauthorized possession of the calendar and its delivery to him was fraught with uncertainties. If the leads turned out to be meaningless, could he just sit on the little black book? Maybe the defense was entitled to it no matter what. He knew the “correct” thing was to turn the calendar over to Reilly and let him determine if he was obliged to share it with the defense. If he didn’t turn the document over immediately, and then subsequently concluded that one or more of its entries was important, how would he then pass the information along?
Given that Judge Williams had killed the subpoena of the original calendar, and his related search warrant, it was likely that the calendar itself was off-limits in the case no matter what. However, that had nothing to do with the admissibility of whatever any leads in the calendar might turn up. I have to assume that whatever I find, if relevant to the case, will somehow be admitted. But what about any DNA or fingerprints on the copy I have that will never be discovered if I don’t turn it in?
This is all becoming too much for me, Beth. I feel like I’m getting in way over my head. I just know I can’t turn this calendar over to anyone right now. Hope I’m doing the right thing. Not on the way to getting myself into a boatload of trouble. The only thing I do know is that this has to be on me alone. I have to keep Jeremy out of this mess.
CHAPTER 53
Wednesday, July 15, 4:00 p.m.
THOMAS RESTON THOMAS III broke from tradition. His father and his father’s father had been cops as long as he could remember. They loved what they did. Everyone thought young Thomas would grow up to be a cop too. It was just what the men in his family did. But from the time he was in junior high school, what Thomas really wanted was to be … a spy. He was going to go to school and then join the CIA as soon as they would have him. He had no interest in protecting society from run-of-the-mill criminals. What Thomas wanted to do was protect the country from those who wished to harm it.
Twenty-five years and twelve different postings abroad later, Thomas was back home. He had learned his trade and plied it well, but a bad heart had forced him into early retirement. His government pension and benefits were all he really needed to live comfortably, but he was bored. Then he was presented with another opportunity to serve. The Committee to Reelect the President, CRP, needed a chief intelligence and security officer. He was offered the position and jumped at it.
* * *
REYES WAS NOT AT all happy with what Tuttle had asked him to do, but he knew Thomas was the perfect man for the job. He would get it done, and there would be no loose ends. Cut precisely from the same cloth as those who had organized the Watergate break-in, Thomas would readily fall on his sword if anything misfired. Before anyone could ever trace the source of the assignment.
* * *
“THANKS FOR THE INVITE, Manny. The old golf game’s not what it used to be, but I still love it. Congressional is an incredible track. Not a club I thought I’d ever have a chance to play. I wish there was some way I could reciprocate.”
“My pleasure, Tommy. It was good to spend some time together. We’ll do it again. In the meantime, I may have something that you could do for us.”
“Us? Name it.”
“Have you been following the Cliff Norman story?”
“You mean the nutcase who’s been running around bumping off our government officials because they supposedly messed up his life? Or whatever?”
“The very same. He’s about to go on trial for murder. Word has it that his PD is going to float a rather controversial defense for Norman: that the murders he committed were justified because the public officials he took out had turned their backs on our country and weren’t doing their jobs.”
“No way. You’re shitting me, right?”
“Wish I were.”
“What can I do to help?”
“We need to stop this defense from being asserted. In the current climate, our government really can’t stand for this concept to gain any further traction. We were thinking that you might take the lead in preventing this theory from being raised.”
“Norman may have fallen on some hard times, sure, but looking to blame our government for his problems is a complete cop-out. Totally unacceptable. But where do I come in?”
“Do you know Bernie Abrams?”
“The PD? Not personally, no. But I know who you mean.”
“He’s the key, Tom. If he puts the kibosh on this defense, it won’t be used.”
“I see. So what’s the problem? We just go see him. Tell him what his government needs him to do.”
“It’s not that easy, Tommy. Abrams is not you or me. You and I know our government comes first. Period. As far as Abrams is concerned, his only responsibility is to do whatever he can to get his client off. He couldn’t care less if it causes our government any difficulty. We were thinking that you might come up with some idea to persuade Abrams to back off this defense. To stick with other, more conventional defenses that don’t pose the same kind of downside for our government.”
“Manny, I’m your man. You know that. Tell me what you need me to do. I’ll do it.”
“Abrams is a proud man and very set in his ways. We’re not going to be able to reason with him. He won’t be persuaded that his priorities are not right. What we need is some kind of hook that might leave him no choice but to play this as we want.”
“You have any thoughts what that hook might be?”
“Abrams has a granddaughter who is the light of his life. She’s in law school at Georgetown. She recently interviewed with us for an internship. I got the distinct impression that she’s not as squeaky clean as her grandfather. Or her grandfather would want her to be. She was way too touchy-feely when she was here. Just exuding availability. If you get my drift. We were hoping that you might come up with something to reach Abrams through his granddaughter.”
“Yeah, I like it. It does sound like there might be an opening there. Manny, I appreciate your bringing this to me. I’ll look into it. Leave it with me. I won’t disappoint. I’ll get back to you.”
“That’s great, Tommy. There’s no need for you to get back to me. This should come from you. There are those who thought you might not be the right person for this task. They will be watching. They won’t forget your loyalty and service if you pull this off. That goes double for POTUS and me.”
“Enough said. I’ll take care of it.”
“I knew we could count on you, Tommy. Today was fun, but I’ve got a president who’s expecting me in his office in a few minutes. Can’t keep him waiting.”
“For sure! Thanks again for the golf today. Really enjoyed it. I won’t let you and the others down.”
“I enjoyed it too. We’ll do it again soon.”
Reyes was off and running back to his office. He was frustrated by the more than five hours out of his day it had taken him to manipulate Thomas. But he knew Thomas was thrilled by the attention and would be just what the doctor—or in this case, the president—ordered. However, Reyes also felt terribly troubled by the wheels he had just set in motion. And that was before he would come to learn the full consequences of his actions.
CHAPTER 54
Friday, July 17, 10:00 p.m.
THE LAST FEW DAYS since plowing through Wells’s calendar had been tough on Lotello. It was like working two jobs. He was working his official caseload during the day, pursuing calendar leads in the evening, and taking care of Charlie and Maddie in between.
He had started with four possible leads. One of
them had evaporated almost as quickly as it had surfaced. The guy had a solid alibi. Two other possibilities had required considerable effort because their potential alibis weren’t as clear cut. Nevertheless, at the end of the day, those leads fizzled out as well. The fourth lead, however, showed signs of promise.
Blaine Hollister had made his money in Louisiana oil. As his wealth grew, he became ensconced in national politics, but strictly behind the scenes. Hollister was what one referred to as a kingmaker. But not a king. One of Hollister’s homes was just outside D.C. He used that home as a base when pushing his various political causes.
Hollister and his wife married late in life and had no kids. After she died from cancer, he began spending more time in Washington, pursuing his behind-the-scenes political interests. Over the years, however, his political views underwent a major shift.
Early on, Hollister was a staunch supporter of country and government and opposed anyone and anything that wasn’t fully apple pie, motherhood, and the American flag. Recently, however, he had become increasingly disenchanted with the government, more and more put off, and occasionally outspoken, about its shortcomings and its failure to get the job done—at least as he perceived it.
According to Wells’s calendar, Hollister had met with Wells on several occasions a few months before her death. Five times to be exact. At first, the calendar entries were nondescript, simply mentioning Hollister’s name on a given date at a given time. Three weeks before her death, Wells met with Hollister a fourth time. This entry bore a notation, probably after the fact: “Becoming too extreme.” The last entry, just one week before her death, also included a negative remark, again probably after the fact: “That’s it. No more.”
By themselves, these annotations could have meant just about anything. They could have been professional. They could have been personal. Especially, in light of the rumors about Wells’s personal life. However, given what Lotello had learned about Hollister’s views, he was intrigued by these final two entries.
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