An Engineered Injustice

by William L. Myers Jr.

  Now the crowd is really buzzing. And the judge is stunned. If defense attorneys rarely offer witnesses at preliminary hearings, they never put on the defendant.

  Judge Johnson stares down from the bench at Vaughn, who doesn’t flinch. She slowly shakes her head. “All right. We’ll have that recess, and when we come back, the defendant will be at bat.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Eddy Coburn is sitting on the witness stand, and everyone seems to be holding their breaths. The bailiff has Eddy state his name, raise his hand, and take the oath.

  “Your witness,” the judge tells Vaughn.

  “Mr. Coburn, would you begin by telling the jury where you live?”

  Eddy looks confused. “Uh, jail?”

  The remark draws some chuckles from the gallery, and the judge’s staff, too. Vaughn smiles and asks Eddy where he lived before he was arrested, and with whom.

  “I lived in North Jersey with Kate. That’s my wife.”

  “Is she in court today?”

  “Yes,” Eddy says, nodding toward the gallery. “She has Emma.”

  “Emma is your newborn?”

  A sad expression crosses Eddy’s face. “Yes.”

  “Who are Kate and Emma sitting with?”

  “With the rest of the family. Her parents. My parents, and sisters—”

  “And my own parents—your aunt and uncle?”

  “Yes, we’re cousins,” says Eddy.

  “More like brothers.” A statement, not a question, from Vaughn.

  “Objection,” says Christina. “Touching as it is, this family reunion is irrelevant.”

  “Move on,” says the judge.

  Vaughn nods and gets to it. “Mr. Coburn, were you the engineer driving Amtrak Train 174 on Monday, June the sixteenth of this year, when it crashed into a TracVac just after the Torresdale curve?”

  “I was.”

  “Did you yourself suffer physical injuries as a result of the crash?”

  “Swelling of the brain, head and face lacerations, ruptured spleen, and a broken leg.”

  “Please tell the court, and everyone, what happened during that run—the whole run, through the time of the crash.”

  “Objection.” Christina, still sitting, leans across the prosecution table. “He’s already told the NTSB that he doesn’t remember what happened after the train rounded the curve. He’s not competent to testify to anything that happened after that point.”

  Judge Johnson turns to Vaughn, who says, “He remembers now.”

  The comment draws moans from the gallery. They’re all thinking, How convenient.

  Christina rolls her eyes. “You must be kidding.”

  Judge Johnson arches her eyebrows. “For real?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Vaughn answers. Then, turning back to the witness stand, he tells Eddy to continue.

  “We left 30th Street a little after noon. About ten minutes later, I called Kate.”

  Vaughn raises a hand to stop him. “Wasn’t it against Amtrak procedures to make a call from the locomotive? Even to have your cell phone on?”

  “Yes. I broke the rules. There had been some break-ins in our neighborhood, and I was worried. Kate was eight months pregnant at the time. I had a burner . . . a prepaid cell phone to talk with her on in case of emergency. I just wanted to see that she was all right.”

  “Where did you get the prepaid cell phone?”

  “Reggie Frye gave it to me.”

  “Who is Reggie Frye?”

  “He’s an engineer—or was an engineer. He works in the track department now. We were talking one day, and I told him about the break-ins. He said I should have a burner phone. He told me lots of engineers have them. That way, if something happens during a run and supervision asks to see your cell to make sure you weren’t on it, you can just show them your company phone and it’ll be clean. He gave me his own burner phone that day and told me he’d buy himself another one.”

  “What about the inward-facing cameras? Weren’t you concerned you’d be recorded using the burner phone?”

  “No. The cameras weren’t supposed to be turned on for another three months.”

  Vaughn pauses, then asks, “Isn’t Reggie Frye the track foreman who was in charge of the TracVac your train crashed into?”

  The question triggers memories in the gallery and causes a stir.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  “No. I haven’t talked to him since that day he gave me the phone.”

  “Did you know that Reggie Frye lost his job as an engineer because he twice tested positive for alcohol, and that he’d have been fired outright from Amtrak except that he was being protected by someone high up in the company?”

  “Objection.” It’s Christina Wesley. “There’s no evidence on the record of any of that. And it’s hearsay, at best.”

  “Sustained.”

  Vaughn pauses, then asks, “Is Jack Bunting someone pretty high up at Amtrak?”

  “Objection—”

  “Sustained,” says Judge Johnson even before Christina finishes. “Stay focused, Mr. Coburn. No detours.”

  Vaughn says, “Yes, Your Honor. Eddy, tell us about the second call. The one that continued up until the time of the crash.”

  Eddy Coburn takes a deep breath, and everyone leans forward in their seats.

  “It was between five and ten minutes after I hung up with Kate. I was approaching the curve when the phone rang. I assumed it was Kate again, so I didn’t look at the screen to see the number. But it wasn’t Kate. It was a man’s voice. He said I was dead—”

  “Be exact. What precisely did he say?”

  “He said . . . he said, ‘You’re a dead man.’ And I said, ‘Who the hell is this?’ And then he said, ‘Bang, bang. Motherfucker. Bang, bang.’” Eddy looks sheepishly at the judge. “I’m sorry for the language. That’s what the caller said.”

  “You say he used the words ‘bang, bang’?”

  “He said it twice. The second time with a lot of emphasis.”

  “And then?”

  Eddy raises his hand to his chest. “He started shooting at the train.”

  Christina Wesley leaps to her feet. “Objection! Objection!”

  “What’s the nature of your objection?” asks the judge.

  “It’s just too much. First, he suddenly remembers the accident. And now he’s being shot at? It’s beyond incredible.”

  “That may be, Ms. Wesley,” the judge says, “but it’s his story, and if he wants to lock himself into it at a preliminary hearing, he has the right to do so. Of course,” she adds, turning to Vaughn, “whether that is a wise thing to do is another question. Mr. Coburn, are you sure you want to continue with this?”

  “Absolutely,” Vaughn says.

  Judge Johnson dismisses him with a wave of her hand: So be it.

  “Tell us,” Vaughn says, “about the shooting, and what you did.”

  “Well, as soon as he said the ‘bang-bang’ thing, the first shot hit the windshield. It was right in front of me. It was like a loud smack, and the windshield cracked. I jumped up out of my seat, and as soon as I did, another shot hit the windshield. So I threw myself down on the floor to wait it out.”

  “Wait it out?”

  “Yes. Since the bullets were hitting the windshield in front of me, I knew the shooter had to be ahead of the train somewhere, and not too far away. At eighty miles an hour, I knew I’d pass him quickly. And I knew there was nothing on the track ahead. Just the curve, followed by a long straightaway. At least that’s what I thought.”

  “Why did you think that? Explain it to the court.”

  “Well, my track was in service, and there were no speed restrictions or notices of work being done. The track should’ve been clear.”

  “Okay. So you know you’re being shot at, you believe there’s nothing on the track ahead, and you decide to lie low inside the engine. What happens?”

  “The shots keep coming. I hear the bullets h
it the windshield. Smack. Smack. Smack.”

  “And then what?”

  Eddy’s gaze turns inward. “And then . . . nothing. I mean, the train hit the TracVac, obviously, and I must’ve been thrown around pretty hard inside the locomotive, but I don’t remember any of that. At first, I didn’t even remember that second phone call, or the shooting, until . . .” Eddy pauses here for dramatic effect, as Vaughn instructed him to do. “Until I saw the video. From the inward-facing camera.”

  “Objection!” Christina is on her feet again. “What video? There is no video from inside the train.”

  “That’s what my client thought, too,” says Vaughn.

  “And Mr. Cruise testified to it,” the judge says.

  “Yes, he did,” Vaughn agrees. “Because that’s what he was told by Jack Bunting—the same person who claimed he didn’t find my client’s cell phone the first time he went onto the engine but somehow did find it the second time.”

  “What did I say about speeches, Mr. Coburn? Now, please tell me what’s going on with regard to this video.”

  “It turns out that the inward-facing camera was on, and it did record Mr. Coburn. I showed him the video this morning, before trial, in his holding cell.”

  “And when did you come into possession of this video?” asks the judge.

  “Late last night. A memory stick containing copy of the video was hand-delivered to me at my apartment—”

  “By whom?”

  “I don’t know. The messenger didn’t say when he dropped it off. Just told me that it was a video I’d want to see right away. I pressed him for more information, but he rode off on his bike.”

  “If that’s the case, then the video can’t be authenticated and can’t be admitted, or watched by the court,” says Christina Wesley. “I object.”

  “But it can be authenticated, by the defendant,” Vaughn counters. “He can positively say it shows him on the locomotive leading up to the crash. And it corroborates what he’s just told Your Honor about what happened. As a backup, I’m having Mr. Bunting served at 30th Street Station with a subpoena to appear tomorrow. Though, legally, I think it’s unnecessary.”

  Of course, Vaughn knows Bunting won’t be there to receive the subpoena.

  Judge Johnson sits back in her chair and thinks. Vaughn can feel the excitement in the gallery behind him. Everyone, he knows, is chomping at the bit to see the video, itching to learn whether Eddy’s fantastic tale about being shot at could be true.

  The judge leans forward. “All right, Mr. Coburn. I’m going to let you play the video. I’ll decide what to do with it afterward.” She directs the bailiff to turn on the court’s video system, and he positions the large flat-screen TV so that it faces the attorneys and the gallery behind them. She will watch the video on her own small screen. Her staff will watch on two other small screens positioned on the desks below the bench.

  “While they’re setting up, we’ll take a short break.”

  The judge leaves the bench and exits the courtroom through a side door. After she leaves, Vaughn turns around to the gallery and acknowledges the members of his and Eddy’s family, who nod back, smile, and give him the thumbs-up. Finally, they all believe, Eddy is going to be vindicated, and this nightmare will be over.

  Vaughn also looks to Geoffrey Day and Benjamin Balzac. Day looks like he’s going to be ill. Balzac’s eyes burn with fury. Behind the attorneys, James Nunzio’s face is expressionless, and neither he nor Johnny G. acknowledges Vaughn when he glances their way. That troubles Vaughn, as does the fact that they are still sitting behind the prosecution.

  Is it possible that, even now, even knowing what he does, Jimmy Nutzo is still out for Eddy’s blood? Could he be involved in Laurie Mitzner’s disappearance?

  When the equipment is set up and the judge is back on the bench, she gives Vaughn the signal to play the video. It runs just under twelve minutes from start to finish, and the whole time, everyone is glued to their screens. In the gallery, everyone from seasoned reporters to Vaughn and Eddy’s family members to crash victims sits on the edge of their seats.

  The video shows Eddy throughout the run. It shows him sitting in the engineer’s chair, periodically pushing the red button known as the “dead-man’s switch” with his left hand, operating the throttle, looking ahead. It shows him placing the first call, to Kate. It shows him receiving the second call. It shows his mouth moving, and although there’s no sound, his lips are easily read: “Who the fuck is this?” The video shows Eddy listening for a moment, then flinching and leaping out of his seat, then throwing himself to the floor. It plays on for another fifteen seconds or so. And then it goes black.

  When the video stops, no one moves for a long time, or so it seems to Vaughn. A sea change has come over the hearing—he feels it, and he’s certain everyone else does, too. He looks at the judge, her clerks, the court reporter, and the bailiff, and he sees they are all studying Eddy. He imagines they are asking themselves whether the system hasn’t gotten it all wrong. Maybe Eddy is as much a victim here as the other people injured and killed in the crash.

  Christina rises. “Your Honor, I renew my objection. The video doesn’t show anyone shooting at the train. It doesn’t show any bullets entering the train. It doesn’t show pieces of glass being blown into the cab from the windshield, and there were no bullets found inside the locomotive. Not by the NTSB. Not by Amtrak. The video shows nothing corroborating the defendant’s story that he was shot at. And its origin is suspect. I move the court to deny its admission.”

  Vaughn would like nothing more than to throttle Christina Wesley. A rush of heat pushes its way up through his shirt collar, and he knows his neck and face are turning red. Instead, he breathes deeply, looks down, and waits for the judge to make her ruling. He begins counting to ten. When he gets to eight, Regina Johnson leans forward on her seat.

  “I’m going to reserve ruling on the admissibility of the video until all of the evidence is in. Mr. Coburn, you may continue with your witness.”

  Vaughn finishes with a short series of questions in response to which Eddy confirms that the video does indeed show what happened during the ill-fated run, and that seeing the video is what triggered his memory of the two phone calls and shots fired. Then Vaughn thanks Eddy and tells the court he’s finished.

  Judge Johnson turns to Christina. “Your witness.”

  “Your Honor, the defendant’s story is a complete surprise to the prosecution. I was not apprised of it before court today, and it flatly contradicts what the defendant told the NTSB. With the court’s permission, I’d like to reserve my cross until the defense has called all of its witnesses.”

  “A fair request, under the circumstances. Court is adjourned. I will see you all at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. Sharp. Ms. Wesley, after the defense has put on the rest of its witnesses, and you have had a chance to question the defendant, do you plan to present any additional witnesses of your own? How about this Mr. Bunting we’ve been hearing about?”

  Christina pauses. “We, uh . . . we’re looking for him.”

  “And Mr. Frye? The one who gave the extra phone to the defendant?”

  “We’re looking for him, too.”

  Vaughn sees the judge hold the prosecutor’s eyes for a long time, and he can tell that Regina Johnson is starting to smell something rotten.

  “As for you, Mr. Coburn, you put on a good show. That video was gripping, to say the least. But I have no idea who gave it to you, or why they gave it to you, or how they got it. I’m sure the media will have a field day with this video, but given the things that special-effects people can do with digital recordings these days, I wouldn’t be too optimistic, if I were you, that I’m going to accept it into the record. Even if I do, I might not give it much weight. So, if you’re hoping I’m going to buy the idea that your client was actually being shot at, you have a long way to go. And if you’re hoping that I buy into it enough not to hold him over, well, you’ll need more than a Pixar movie
for that. Court dismissed.”

  The judge’s words are a stinging comedown for Vaughn. As high as he was after the video played, he realizes that he’s only started down the path to convincing the court of Eddy’s innocence. And that is precisely what he has to do. The purpose of a preliminary hearing is only to determine whether the prosecution has come up with enough evidence to justify a conviction—if believed by a jury. A defendant’s showing that he has enough contrary evidence in his favor to potentially justify a verdict of not guilty doesn’t justify letting him go. In case of a tie, the defendant is bound over for trial. So the only way Eddy is going to walk is if Regina Johnson comes to believe with certainty what Vaughn knows to be true: that Geoffrey Day and Benjamin Balzac engineered the crash and set up Eddy as their fall guy. And for that, he’s going to need Laurie’s testimony to get the drone video into evidence and tie it to Balzac. Erin’s testimony about Day’s drone and the “bang, bang note” in Day’s drawer is critical as well. Erin’s ready to go, but Laurie has gone AWOL.

  35

  THURSDAY, JULY 31, CONTINUED

  It’s five o’clock and Balzac is back in his office. Coburn’s playing of the video has unnerved him. There’s only one source from which they could have obtained the video: Jack Bunting. And Jack’s not answering his calls. Maybe he’s turned after all.

  Balzac paces his office, pours himself a glass of Bombay Sapphire to soothe his nerves. He tells himself to focus. The video itself is nothing. The judge said as much. And the idea that someone would shoot at a train to deliberately derail it is so far-fetched that no one’s going to swallow Coburn’s tale without irrefutable evidence.

  So what else could Coburn have up his sleeve? He’s gone this far down that road, so he must have more.

  Balzac’s mind zeros in on Geoffrey Day’s associate, Erin Doyle.

  Who knows what kind of evidence that moron Day left lying around for her to find.

  As for Laurie Mitzner, Balzac knows he left no evidence for her to uncover—if he’d had any doubts about that, they were erased when he saw the live feed of Laurie, Doyle, and Coburn rooting around his office and turning up nothing. Still, Laurie is a loose end that has to be tied off. Balzac raises his cell phone to call Royce, but before he’s able to dial, the phone rings. The ringtone is the Empire’s theme music from Star Wars. Darth Vader’s song. Balzac assigned the tune to Royce.