Reiner's eyes widened slightly, and then Nolan touched his client's arm. "We've been going for an hour," he told Lenihan. "Before the witness answers, I'd like a ten-minute break."
As they left the room, Sarah whispered to Lenihan, "Nolan doesn't know."
* * *
After their return, Reiner seemed to lean away from Nolan. "Before this lawsuit," he answered the pending question, "I have no memory of connecting the stolen guns to any group or person."
Lenihan gave him a smile of incredulity. "No memory," he repeated. "Not even in connection with the slaughter of Ms. Kilcannon's family."
"That's right."
Lenihan's smile vanished. "Did you," he asked softly, "destroy the record of a communication suggesting that the Liberty Force was reselling those guns at gun shows?"
The witness gave an elaborate shrug. "Why would I?"
"The why is obvious," Lenihan snapped. "Did you destroy such a record, or order it destroyed?"
Reiner stared at the table. "I have no specific recollection of this thing you're asking about."
"Then let's get back to the Eagle's Claw. During its development, did Lexington run tests of its effectiveness?"
"I believe so."
"Were those tests documented?"
"Again, I believe so."
"Did you order those documents destroyed?"
The witness reached for the pitcher of water with exaggerated care. It was as though, Sarah thought, he feared that his hand would tremble. "No," he answered.
Touching Lenihan on the shoulder, Sarah bent her head to him. "Callister," she whispered. "It's time."
Abruptly, Lenihan pointed to the SSA magazine. "Did you review this ad with Mr. Callister?"
"No." Though Reiner's tone remained gruff, he sounded spent. "The ads are my department. Mr. Callister had only been there for six months."
"Did Callister see the ad before the murders?"
"I don't know."
"Did he discuss with you his meeting with President Kilcannon?"
"No."
"Or his opinion regarding the President's request for background checks at gun shows?"
"No."
"Or whether the SSA threatened him with reprisals if he entered such an agreement?"
Watching, Harrison Fancher scowled. "I have no knowledge of that," the witness answered.
"Nor even of what you did, it seems." Lenihan turned to Nolan. "These questions are critical to our case. It's now utterly apparent that Mr. Callister alone can answer them. Either you produce him for deposition, or we'll renew our motion before Judge Bond."
"Based on what?" Nolan's tone was scornful. "The witness's failure to read George Callister's mind, and come up with thoughts which fit your theory? But then abusing the legal process is what this lawsuit's for."
"What it's for," Lenihan rejoined, "is obtaining the occasional truthful answer. However difficult." Turning to Reiner, he asked, "Did you inform Mr. Callister about the documents you destroyed? Or did he ask you to destroy them?"
Reiner stood. "I'm not answering that kind of bullshit question."
Turning to Nolan, Lenihan inclined his head toward Reiner. "Charming guy. He'll do well for you at trial." Smiling, he added mildly, "I don't know about you, John. But were I Mr. Callister, I'd want to clear that up."
TWENTY
That evening, on the Mall, two opposing forces, each numbered in the thousands, gathered to raise their voices for, or against, the President of the United States.
By far the quieter demonstration was a somber candlelight vigil which enveloped the Lincoln Memorial. Flanked by Secret Service agents, Kerry addressed them from the head of the marble steps. Thousands of candles surrounded the deep black pool of the Mall, casting shadows on the demonstrators huddled in the chill of night, or, more haunting, on five thousand life-size cardboard figures of men, women and children murdered with guns. From Kerry's vantage point, the difference was that the cutouts were utterly still.
"In the next hour," Kerry told them, "and every hour until we change our gun laws, four more of us will die."
Pausing, Kerry listened to his words echo through the sound system, carrying to the edges of the pro-gun demonstrators surrounding the Washington Monument, white marble against black sky. "At the other end of the Mall," he said, "the SSA is calling for our defeat. But how do they honor the memory of those who have already died—these silent witnesses to violence whom you commemorate tonight—or the eighty Americans who will die tomorrow, and the day after that, and every day in a toll of death as inexorable as it is unnecessary.
"They offer only this: 'kill someone with a gun, and we'll throw the book at you—up to, and including, the death penalty.' "
In the attentive silence of his listeners, Kerry heard a primal roar issue from the demonstrators centered on the obelisk. "But," he said with quiet force, "we know, all too well, precisely what that means. That two deaths are better than none."
Kerry gazed out at the far end of the Mall where, he knew, Charles Dane was speaking. In a clear voice, he finished softly. "We can do better in this country. And with your help, we will."
* * *
"The President's goal," Charles Dane told his legions, "is to use a coalition of trial lawyers and liberal authoritarians to disarm each and every one of you.
"And how does he plan to do it?" In a show of anger, Dane crashed his fist down on the podium. "By promoting a climate of hate in which you are less than human, a collection of four million twisted souls who love your guns more than your own children . . ."
Protest issued from a thousand throats. "Tell him," Dane called out, "that you love your children enough to defend them. Tell this man that you are the SSA, the defenders of freedom, the largest civil rights group this country has ever seen, the largest gathering of freedom fighters in the history of the planet.
"Our Constitution is the product of the Founding Fathers' steel-gut, iron-jawed, unflinching devotion to a freedom bought with their own blood. And you are their heirs, with the honor and duty of saving that freedom from the tyranny of this illegitimate President, King George in a pin-striped suit . . ."
The outcries commingled anger and derision. Gazing at the shadowy figures, Dane felt a surge of hope that he could defeat his enemy. "Like King George," he called out, "Kerry Kilcannon is waging war on you. But his war is a culture war—a latter-day McCarthyism which denigrates you and everything you hold dear. If you believe that white pride is equal to black pride; that gays are not more equal than straights; and that singling out gun owners is like singling out Jews, then—in the world of our new McCarthy—you're 'politically incorrect.' " Bathed in light, Dane flashed a smile of defiance and disdain. "But true Americans know a simple truth—the Founding Fathers of political incorrectness were the American heroes who signed the Declaration of Independence in defiance of a tyrant.
"You must not be silenced. You, not Kilcannon, are the true voice of America." Dane's own voice became a shout. "And with our voices raised, we must tell America the truth—that this self-styled 'KFK' is the worst threat to our freedoms since we rid the world of Communism, and that we will never be safe until we're rid of him forever . . ."
With the deep roar of the crowd Dane felt transported by his power. He stood, fists upraised, suffused by the seemingly endless sound of their devotion. He remained silent, still, until, like an actor, the drama of his stillness drew them back at last.
"There are only two sides," he told them, "his, and ours. The Senate must choose between us."
* * *
In her efficiency apartment on Capitol Hill, Cassie Rollins watched Dane achieve near rapture on CNN. Yes, she thought, the Senate must choose. She did not look forward to that moment.
TWENTY-ONE
If the purpose of deposing an expert witness was to help him hang himself, Sarah meant to be as helpful as possible to Dr. Frederick Glass.
"Dr. Fred," as he cheerfully called himself, was as chipper as he was conservat
ive, having risen from academic obscurity to prominence as a prolific contrarian who boldly challenged what he labeled "fatuous liberal orthodoxy." With the unflappable good nature of someone well pleased at the attention this had garnered, he proffered his research on topics ranging from the fallacy of affirmative action to the role of the entertainment industry as a purveyor of violence. His view of gun rights was summarized by the title of his seminal book More Guns, Less Death.
"In my opinion," Glass told her emphatically, "the Lexington P-2 has an affirmative social utility."
Dr. Fred, Sarah thought, was a bit too pleased with himself. "And what might that be?"
"It's small enough to be potentially concealable, at least in someone's briefcase. The laws licensing civilians to carry concealed weapons make all of us a whole lot safer."
Contemplating the witness, Sarah was aware of the quiet in Nolan's conference room, the attentiveness on the faces of Nolan and Harry Fancher. "Are you implying, Dr. Glass, that Inez Costello should have been carrying a Lexington P-2? Or that Joan Bowden should have had one in her handbag?"
The expression on Glass's round, cherubic face was unfazed, almost beatific. "That would have been up to them. But, in California, the right to carry concealed weapons is severely restricted. If they weren't, Bowden might have believed that someone—if not his intended victims—would take out a gun and shoot him. In which case, the First Lady's family might well be alive."
Sarah raised her eyebrows. "Because Bowden would have been afraid to fire a weapon? Or because some armed civilian might have drilled him once he did?"
"Either," Glass answered with a shrug. "Or both. Doesn't matter to me—any more, I imagine, than it would have mattered to the victims. If you'll permit me, Ms. Dash, you're caught up in the syndrome of blaming guns for crime." He paused, his manner combining patience with a certain evangelical fervor. "The real blame falls on the entertainment industry—many of whom, ironically enough, are President Kilcannon's principal supporters.
"Until children are six or seven, when they start to distinguish fantasy from reality, TV is very real, and killing is a normal and essential skill in a brutal and frightening world. That's why the Journal of American Medicine concluded that the introduction of television in the 1950s caused a doubling in the homicide rate when those children reached adulthood, and that long-term childhood exposure to TV is a causal factor behind roughly half the homicides committed in America . . ."
"Most of them with guns," Sarah interjected. "Isn't it true that the same rise in homicide rates coincided with a steep increase in handgun ownership?"
Glass shook his head in dismissal. "Have you ever heard of operant conditioning?"
For Sarah, it had become easy to imagine Glass taking over a courtroom. "You're the expert," she answered in an even tone. "Why don't you explain it."
"All right. In the army, we teach new soldiers to fire repetitively at man-shaped silhouettes which pop up again, over and over. Video games which simulate murder have much the same effect. If anything, the AMA has concluded, video games are worse than movies. Which," Glass added with obvious relish, "brings me to John Bowden.
"I've interviewed his parents. As a child, Bowden had unfettered access to television; as a teenager, he repetitively played video games, often well past midnight, which required him to kill his video opponents.
"His parents thought the only harm was to his grades. In my opinion, the ultimate harm was to the six people he murdered."
This opinion, and the implacable certainty with which Dr. Glass delivered it, convinced Sarah of how dangerous he was and, in her mind, how completely irresponsible. "In your opinion, Dr. Glass, were Bowden's repetitious beatings of Joan Bowden also attributable to video games?"
"Violence of any kind is a learned response. It's time for our society to control the purveyance of violent imagery to children, just as we control access to guns, pornography, tobacco, sex, and cars. A failure amplified, in Bowden's case, by society's decision not to jail him even though he was a clear and present danger to his wife. With this litany of failures, why in the world are you sitting here trying to blame a law-abiding manufacturer who didn't even know him?"
With this, Sarah resolved to abandon any pretense of politeness. "Then let's turn to your academic career, and, specifically, to your connection with the subject of guns. How many universities have employed you as a professor?"
As though prepared for this line of inquiry, Glass answered equably, "Five."
"And how many offered you tenure?"
"None. But I was only eligible for tenure at the University of Connecticut."
"Because the others let you go too quickly?"
The witness's smile resembled a grimace. "I'd classify the decision as mutual—their lack of real academic freedom, and my resistance to the prevailing liberal ideology."
Whatever, Sarah thought. Crisply, she asked, "For what reason did Connecticut deny you tenure?"
Glass steepled his fingers. "Their stated reason was that my academic research was 'insufficiently rigorous.' The actual reason was that I voiced forbidden thoughts."
"Such as your suggestion that women's suffrage has led to an increase in crime?"
The witness shrugged. "It's easy, Ms. Dash, to mock a statement isolated from the research which supports it. But it's a demonstrable fact that, since 1920, women's more permissive attitudes toward crime—as reflected in their voting patterns—has relegated crime prevention to a low priority compared to what I call 'the nurturing issues,' matters like education and health care. This has led to greater laxity among our elected officials and, as more women have ascended the bench, our judiciary."
"Then you'll be relieved to know, Dr. Glass, that I'm unlikely to become a judge. But I'm haunted by the concern that Mary Costello's family might have lived if only I'd refrained from voting."
"Don't worry," Glass responded airily. "Under your theory of shared responsibility, there's lots of blame to go around. Including an academic world which refuses to think forbidden thoughts."
"I gather that the Sons of the Second Amendment is more hospitable to forbidden thoughts. Since leaving the University of Connecticut, hasn't the principal financing for your research come from the SSA?"
"Yes. They believe, as I do, that financing is indispensable to competing in the marketplace of ideas. So they've placed me on retainer."
"For how much?"
"Five hundred thousand a year, for the next five years."
"That kind of money," Sarah remarked amiably, "will finance a lot of forbidden thoughts. Let's turn to one of them—your thesis that the more guns Americans own, the less crime we'll have.
"In More Guns, Less Death, you claim that concealed carry laws cause a drop in rape and murder, diverting criminals into property crimes like burglary. Has it ever occurred to you, Doctor, that a serial rapist won't consider stealing a transistor radio to be a fair exchange?"
Glass briskly put down the pencil, a first show of impatience. "What's your point?"
"That the pathology of a rapist is distinct from that of a burglar. Or did your courses in criminology skip that part?"
Glass mustered a renewed aura of dignified scholarship. "All of my education and experience suggests that criminals, by definition, are criminals—people unable to live within the laws. Depending on circumstance and motive, the particular crime may vary."
For the first time, Sarah gave John Nolan a long look of incredulity. Nolan remained impassive. Turning to the witness, Sarah said, "Let's discuss your methodology. On what basis did you conclude that, last year, there were roughly 2.5 million instances where Americans used guns in self-defense?"
"On the basis of a random—and therefore utterly objective—sampling: a telephone survey of five thousand heads of households."
Sarah cocked her head. "In other words, rather than relying on police reports, you relied on total strangers who reported their own behavior."
"Yes." Briefly, Glass ran his fingers
through the stubble of his crew cut. "As experts in the field know, many acts of self-defense go unreported to authorities."
"In your survey, how many respondents reported acts of selfdefense?"
"Fifty-one."
"In other words, slightly over one percent of your respondents. How did you extrapolate 2.5 million acts of self-defense?"
"By applying the one percent of affirmative responses to our total adult population."
Pausing, Sarah smiled. "Do you happen to know how much of 'our total adult population' is considered mentally ill?"
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