Losing Faith

by Adam Mitzner

  Before Aaron can answer, two guards are upon him.

  “Time’s up,” one of them says.

  They are not gentle. One spins Aaron as if he’s a piece of furniture and then the other pushes him square in the back so that he’ll start to walk. He turns around for a brief moment to capture a last look at his wife, and he sees that she is sobbing.

  AARON SPENDS THE NIGHT alone in a cell in the MCC. He doesn’t sleep at all, which gives him plenty of hours to think through the last few months.

  When Sam Rosenthal first announced he was Faith’s killer, Aaron thought it was exactly what Donnelly said—a stunt, by which the old man was trying to spare Aaron. But alone, thinking it through, it makes much more sense.

  Aaron has one great advantage over everyone else—the FBI, Victoria Donnelly, Rachel, and even Cynthia—because he knows that he did not kill Faith.

  And if not him, then who?

  Garkov or Stuart Christensen. One of them makes the most sense. They both had motive, and because they both knew about the affair, it made perfect sense for either one of them to use Faith’s cell phone to throw suspicion onto Aaron.

  But it also makes perfect sense that when he left Faith in Central Park, with her nomination in peril, she reached out to Sam Rosenthal to fix things. She must have misdialed, calling Aaron’s office number out of habit, as she had so many times during the Matthews trial. His number differed from Rosenthal’s only by the last digit being a two instead of a one. If Faith had gotten Aaron’s voice mail, hung up, and redialed Rosenthal . . . everything would have played out differently. But instead she must have hit zero and asked the firm’s receptionist to redirect her call to its intended recipient.

  For the balance of three minutes and three seconds, Faith Nichols must have explained her dilemma to Rosenthal, seeking his help, either to control his partner or to smooth things with Senator Kheel.

  The wrong number was apparently not Faith’s only mistake, however. She made a much graver error in failing to realize that Rosenthal would conclude that it was easier to fix his problems by killing her than to try to salvage her nomination.

  62

  Aaron’s wearing the orange jumpsuit that brands him a convict and is shackled by the hands and feet as he’s led back to the courtroom the following morning. The first thing he notices when the side door opens is that none other than Fitz is sitting at counsel table, with Victoria Donnelly in the seat next to him. Sam Rosenthal sits at the defense table, a vacant chair separating him and Rachel London.

  The gallery is empty. Judge Siskind must have closed the courtroom, because Aaron can’t imagine that anything short of a judicial order could keep Cynthia away. Not to mention the press.

  At the MCC, Aaron had been cut off from all news, and he was brought into the courthouse through an internal passageway, thereby avoiding the media. Nevertheless, he’s sure that there must be an all-out frenzy in front of the building. It’s not every day that one well-respected lawyer confesses to the murder of a federal judge for which another well-respected lawyer has just been found guilty.

  As Aaron takes his place between Rosenthal and Rachel, Sam offers him the saddest-looking smile Aaron’s ever seen. He places his hand on Aaron’s shoulder, but before either of them can say anything, they are interrupted by three loud knocks on the door frame leading to the judge’s chambers.

  “All rise,” the court officer announces.

  Judge Siskind approaches the bench with a sense of purpose. A step behind her are two younger women. The black-haired woman who gave the stenographer her chair the previous day sits below the bench, in the same position she occupied during the trial. The other must be Judge Siskind’s second law clerk, who to Aaron’s recollection never set foot in the courtroom during the trial. She takes a seat in the unoccupied jury box, no doubt anxious to see the show that’s about to begin.

  “Please be seated,” Judge Siskind says after she sits down. “I’ve closed the courtroom today because I thought it was best to avoid any unwanted commotion. However, there is a stenographer present, and it is not my intention to seal today’s transcript. That means this hearing will be a matter of public record.” She looks up. “Counsel, please state your appearances.”

  The prosecution team stands. “Good morning, Your Honor. Thomas J. Fitzpatrick, United States attorney for the Southern District of New York, for the United States.” Fitz apparently sees no need to mention Donnelly because after introducing himself, he sits down.

  Rosenthal stands and says, “Samuel Rosenthal of the law firm Cromwell Altman Rosenthal and White. Because I’m obviously conflicted, my partner Rachel London is with me. With the court’s permission, she will represent Mr. Littman in these proceedings.”

  “Is it your intention to represent yourself, Mr. Rosenthal?” Judge Siskind asks.

  “It is,” he says calmly, and then sits down.

  “Thank you,” Judge Siskind says. “What I’m going to do today is hear from Mr. Rosenthal. At this point, Mr. Rosenthal, all I want you to do is set forth whatever evidence you have to support your claim that you, and not Mr. Littman, murdered Judge Faith Nichols. After you’ve laid that out, we can talk about how to present the evidence so that the prosecution has an opportunity to cross-examine. I realize that’s a bit unorthodox but . . . well, let’s be frank, this is an unusual situation.”

  Rosenthal bends over to the leather duffel bag beside him on the floor. Aaron didn’t see it when he entered the courtroom, but he watches intently as Rosenthal pulls out a white plastic trash bag with red string ties. Then Rosenthal methodically opens the bag and withdraws its contents, holding it carefully on the ends to avoid contaminating it.

  It’s his cane. A different one from the cane that rests beside him now, but Aaron realizes at once that this is the weapon that Rosenthal used to kill Faith.

  Rosenthal stands and holds the cane in front of him, as if it’s a trophy he’s just won.

  “This is the murder weapon, Your Honor,” he says in an expressionless voice. “It still has blood and other evidence that will prove it was used to kill Judge Nichols. And while I fully appreciate the fact that my fingerprints on it will not be persuasive, any number of people can confirm that it is my cane, and that I used it on a regular basis prior to the murder.”

  He gently lays the cane on defense counsel table. Apparently he sees no reason to say anything further, because he then sits.

  As if a baton has been passed, Rachel rises. “Your Honor . . . at this time, the defense requests that you grant judgment notwithstanding the verdict, pursuant to Rule Thirty-Three of the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure, and release Mr. Littman from custody.”

  Aaron has tried to keep his expectations in check, but now his spirits are buoyed. This seems to be more than enough to convince Judge Siskind, and even Fitz, that he did not kill Faith. Of course, until his ankles and wrists are no longer chained together, he will not feel free.

  “Mr. Fitzpatrick,” Judge Siskind says, “while I know you’re going to want to have the cane examined by experts, and someone will need to confirm that the wounds suffered by Judge Nichols could have been caused by a beating with a cane, and that this type of assault could have been committed by someone of Mr. Rosenthal’s age, size, and strength . . . let’s for the moment assume that all of that is proven to be correct. Would you like the opportunity to cross-examine Mr. Rosenthal now or do you want to wait until after the tests have been completed?”

  Fitz looks shaken, and Aaron can’t help but enjoy the moment. Just how the hell is Fitz going to explain this to the moneymen backing his campaign for mayor?

  “Your Honor,” the U.S. attorney says as he slowly comes to his feet, “I have known Mr. Rosenthal for more than thirty years. And I’ve known Mr. Littman for nearly as long. Let me say, before responding to the court’s question, that this is a very sad day. It was a sad day for me personally wh
en we made the decision to arrest Mr. Littman. But I believed that my office acted in the best interests of justice in bringing this case and in securing Mr. Littman’s conviction.”

  Fitz breaks eye contact with Judge Siskind and looks across the courtroom at the defense counsel’s table. “I suppose, like everyone else in this room, I want to know why, Sam? Why did you do it? Why did you even let Aaron stand trial? Why are you coming forward now when you had every opportunity in the world to do it sooner?”

  “Do you want me to put Mr. Rosenthal under oath?” Judge Siskind asks.

  “No, we can do that later,” Fitz says. “I just want the answers now.”

  “Mr. Rosenthal?” Judge Siskind says.

  Rosenthal smiles at Aaron, his way of saying that it’s over. He must believe that Fitz is willing to admit they tried and convicted the wrong man, and accept Rosenthal as Faith’s murderer.

  Samuel Rosenthal comes to his feet. “Your Honor . . . Fitz . . . Aaron Littman is the closest thing I have to a child . . . or any family, for that matter,” he says. “Yes, I should have confessed the moment Aaron was arrested. It was . . . nothing but hubris on my part to believe that I could obtain his acquittal and not have to face the consequences of what I’d done.”

  Aaron hangs his head. Despite never lifting a finger, he has never before felt so responsible for Faith’s murder.

  63

  Fitz holds a press conference on the courthouse steps immediately after the court appearance, in which he uses the word justice at least seven times. He tries his best to spin the recent turn of events as a triumph for his office, emphasizing that now the public will have no doubt that Judge Nichols’s killer is securely behind bars. He further points out that it was at his request that Aaron Littman was released on his own recognizance, and that Samuel Rosenthal has been taken into custody, charged with second-degree murder.

  It is a performance Aaron has no interest in seeing. He and Cynthia leave the courtroom out the other exit. Although reporters shout at him as he enters the street, he pushes by them without saying a word.

  Freedom. Aaron’s prayers over the last two months have been answered. For the rest of his life, he will be able to come and go as he pleases.

  Rachel has accompanied them out of the courthouse, but when Aaron and Cynthia climb into the back of the Lincoln Town Car that Rachel arranged to meet them at the court, she stops short.

  “You two should go on ahead,” she says. “Take some time together alone to celebrate.”

  Aaron steps back out of the car, so he can talk to Rachel without being overheard by the press, which has by now converged on them. He leans over and whispers in her ear, “I can never thank you enough, Rachel.”

  ”You can thank me by being happy,” she says.

  “Only if you do the same.”

  They hold each other’s gaze for a moment. He knows that Rachel wanted more from him but hopes that she realizes that they will both be happier following different paths.

  She smiles, and in doing so answers Aaron’s concerns. He doesn’t have to worry about her, she’s telling him, she’s going to be just fine.

  “Deal,” she says, and then kisses him on the cheek.

  LINDSAY AND SAMANTHA ARE weeping when Aaron and Cynthia arrive home. It reminds Aaron of the final scene in It’s a Wonderful Life. He’s surrounded by the people he loves, and they love him.

  It’s an ingrained part of criminal practice, to see how such small things can bring down the high and mighty to depths where even the least fortunate wouldn’t change places with them. Were it not for Sam Rosenthal’s surrender, Aaron would now be behind bars, a disgrace to his family and friends. And instead he’s free, basking in his family’s love.

  Aaron knows full well that he does not deserve this good fortune. Nonetheless, he will accept it in the hope that someday he might be worthy.

  THE FORENSIC TESTS COME back a few days later and confirm everything Rosenthal said they would. The blood on the cane matches Faith’s, her wounds are consistent with a beating from the cane, and the experts have concluded that Rosenthal is easily strong enough to have done the deed. There are no fingerprints other than Rosenthal’s, and the blood spatter is so pervasive that it’s not possible that any evidence was wiped away after the crime.

  The same day the test results come back, Judge Siskind issues an eight-page written opinion granting the defense’s motion. Ever the stickler, she explains that Rule 33 can be invoked only when the evidence presented at trial was insufficient to support the jury’s verdict, and that was not true with regard to the evidence considered by the jury in this case. However, she finds that under Rule 29, Aaron is entitled to a new trial, based on the recently discovered evidence. She gives the prosecution ten days to file for a new trial or dismiss the charges.

  Two hours later, the U.S. Attorney’s Office issues a press release stating that Aaron Littman will not be retried.

  It’s finally over.

  64

  Moments after the government announces that Aaron Litt­man is no longer a murderer, people who shunned him while he was under indictment begin texting, calling, and e-mailing their exhortations that they never believed the charges were true.

  Among the first of those calls is one from Clint Broden.

  “Nicolai wanted to call himself,” Broden says without any hint of recognition of the ridiculousness of the entire gesture, “but given his circumstances, I couldn’t allow it, of course. I told him that you, of all people, would certainly understand. He wanted to congratulate you and asked that I tell you that it seems you are less of a categorical imperative guy after all.”

  Not surprising given that he’s a terrorist, a murderer, and a blackmailer, Garkov is also a first-rate prick right up until the end. Aaron is tempted to say just that to Broden but decides that there’s no point. Aaron’s confident Nicolai Garkov will see prison soon enough, either for the crimes of which he stands accused or something else he hasn’t done yet.

  “Thanks for the call, Clint,” Aaron replies, careful not to wish Broden any luck in his upcoming defense of Nicolai Garkov.

  Like Nicolai Garkov, others, especially some members of the press, have recognized that Rosenthal’s confession demonstrates that Aaron’s entire defense consisted of perjured testimony. There is simply no way to ascribe motive to Rosenthal’s crime without concluding that he was protecting Aaron from disclosure of his affair with Judge Nichols.

  Aaron’s well aware of the collateral consequences of the conduct he’s engaged in, and yet he believes that this time there will not be any negative fallout for Cynthia or Rachel for their perjury. Fitz has too good a political ear for that. Any further prosecution only keeps in the public eye that he indicted and tried the wrong man for the underlying crime.

  THE PRISON’S ORANGE JUMPSUIT hangs off Sam Rosenthal’s slight frame when he enters the MCC visitors’ room. Even in the short time he’s been here, Rosenthal appears to have lost weight and looks frail, reminding Aaron of the days after Sam’s accident a decade ago.

  Rosenthal makes his way to Aaron, relying on a metal cane with a four-pronged base, like they issue in hospitals. He isn’t shackled at all, perhaps because he’s already so unsteady.

  More out of habit than irony, Aaron has taken a seat at the same table where Rosenthal was sitting when Aaron entered this room the day after his own arrest. As then, the room is empty, but for the guards who stand at its perimeter.

  “I was hoping it was you,” Rosenthal says. “The guards don’t say who’s visiting, just that you have a visitor.”

  Aaron nods. Of course he knows this.

  “You want to hear something funny?”

  Aaron is hard-pressed to imagine what Rosenthal could say that would amount to humor at a moment like this.

  “Sure,” Aaron says.

  “I can’t get out of my mind this image of Gordon W
hite laughing his ass off. All he ever wanted in life was to have his name before mine.”

  Gordon White has been dead for more than twenty years, and he exists primarily as the final name on the Cromwell Altman masthead. Rosenthal may be correct that White will move up to third position, but it’s more likely both their names will be jettisoned, and the firm will simply rebrand itself as Cromwell Altman. Aaron wonders if this is the saddest stroke of all for Rosenthal, even worse than dying in prison. To have his name taken off his life’s work.

  “I’m going to resign from the firm,” Aaron says. “In fact, right after I leave here I’m going to make it official before the COC.”

  Aaron expects to be asked about who will take over the firm, but instead Rosenthal says, “And do what?”

  “Cynthia was offered a teaching position at the University of Virginia. They say that I can have one too if I want. Guest lecturer or something.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rosenthal says with a smile. “I’m not going to try to talk you out of teaching again.”

  Aaron smiles too, remembering that day in Justice Rellington’s chambers all those years ago. “I don’t know. I think I might want some time to do nothing. Just think about everything that’s happened.”

  Rosenthal’s smile runs away, replaced by an expression of profound sadness. For a moment, Aaron is tempted to provide some comfort, but then he stops short, recognizing that it’s wholly appropriate for Sam Rosenthal to suffer for what he’s done.

  “When she called me that night,” Rosenthal begins, even though Aaron hasn’t asked him to explain, “she said she’d just seen you. She told me about the affair, and I pretended as if I didn’t already know. I told her that I could still save her nomination, but only if she stepped aside on Garkov. She kept saying that she was sure it was all going to come out and how she wanted to do it in her own way. She was going to reveal everything the next day in court. She said she was calling me so that I could tell Senator Kheel, so he didn’t feel blindsided, but I think the real reason she was calling me was so I could tell you. In fact, the last thing she said on the phone was ‘Tell Aaron not to hate me.’”