by John Bowers
“So you felt justified in killing her?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Had you ever heard the term ‘live and let live’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Had you ever heard of the concept of religious freedom?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Those didn’t mean anything to you?”
“Yes, sir, they did, only…”
“Only what?”
“To me, religious freedom meant we were free to live the way we chose. Live and let live applied to people who left us alone. Patsy wasn’t leaving us alone; she was actively leading Maggie astray.”
“And that merited her the death penalty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did you feel that way?”
“It’s how I was raised. The church taught that we should live separate from everyone else. We weren’t to try to influence them and we were to resist any attempt they made to influence us. It was okay to interact with them on a professional level, but we kept our personal lives to ourselves.”
“You resisted Patsy’s attempt to influence Maggie by killing her?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were taught that it was okay to kill?”
“Not in so many words, but the implication was clear. There were lots of stories in the Old Testament that justified it.”
“Thank you. Mr. Downing, which church do you belong to?”
“I was raised in the Groaner cult.”
“OBJECTION!”
Judge Moore shook his head.
“Not this time, Mr. Simpson. I can’t say it and you can’t say it, but the witness can say it about himself. Overruled.”
Godney smirked. He continued with the witness.
“Who is the leader of your church?”
“Father Groening.”
“Is Father Groening in the courtroom today?”
“Yes, sir. He’s right over there.” Nicodemus pointed.
“Let the record reflect that the witness identified the defendant, Antiochus Groening.”
Judge Moore nodded. “So ordered.”
Groening had been sitting at the defense table looking like a cornered animal. His cheeks flamed red above the whiskers. Now he cleared his throat with an audible rumble.
“Nicodemus, what are you doing!” he growled. “You’re betraying your people. You’re betraying ALMIGHTY GAWD!”
Godney glared at him, then spun to face the judge.
“Your Honor—”
“Relax, Mr. Godney. I got this.”
Moore adjusted his half-moon glasses and glared at Groening.
“The defendant will refrain from comment during the testimony. Is that clear?”
Groening, still glaring at the witness, made no reply.
“Mr. Groening, is that clear?” Moore demanded.
Now Groening glared at the judge.
“I am not Mister Groening! My title is—”
“I don’t care what you choose to call yourself. In this courtroom you are the defendant, and you are on my turf. You will obey my instructions or face the consequences. Now, do you understand or not?”
Groening chuckled.
“What are you going to do, lock me up?”
“I can do a lot more than that. Maybe you fancy bread and water for the next thirty days? Or sixty? Maybe even ninety?”
Groening scowled and stared at his hands, which were clasped on top of the defense table. He didn’t reply.
Moore nodded at Godney.
“Proceed.”
“Thank you, your Honor.
“Mr. Downing, did Father Groening ever say that it was okay to kill people?”
“Again, not in so many words. But he frequently quoted scriptures that did.”
“Which scriptures?”
“I can’t give you chapter and verse, but several times in the Old Testament, the Hebrews were ordered to wipe out entire populations and take their land. Father used to say that it was a mercy to kill them, that the outside world was sinful and filled with misery, and they would be better off dead.”
“Is that why Father Groening started a revolution a few years ago that spread war across half the planet?”
“Objection. My client hasn’t been charged with that and it’s outside the scope of this proceeding.”
Judge Moore grimaced. He popped another chocolate.
“Sustained. Mr. Godney, confine your questions to the matter at hand.”
“Yes, your Honor.
“Mr. Downing, were you in the quarry north of Millennium Village on January 16?”
“Yes, I was.”
“And what was the occasion?”
“It was my cousin’s execution.”
“Execution?”
“Yes. She was sentenced to be stoned to death.”
“Do you know what led up to that sentence?”
“Yes. Maggie had a crush on Marshal Walker, and wanted to marry him.”
“She wanted to marry him? Even though he wasn’t of her faith?”
“That’s right. She wanted to get out of the church, and she thought if she married Walker that would do it.”
“So what happened?”’
“She and Patsy were talking to Walker when I killed Patsy. Father Groening heard about it, and heard that she had a thing for Walker. Based on that, he decided she had been given every opportunity to repent of her sinful ways, so he convened the council.”
“The council?”
“The Council of Elders. When something really important needs to be decided, he convenes them to pass judgment.”
“Did they pass judgment on Maggie?”
“Yes, sir. I tried to stop them, but by the time I reached the Village they had already voted.”
“And when was this?”
“The day before the stoning.”
“That would be January 15.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When did you learn that Maggie had been sentenced to death?”
“I knew it as soon as I got there and found out they had voted. But it wasn’t announced until the next morning at Sunday services.”
“You were present?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened next?”
“The entire congregation turned out, except for the small children. We all marched up to the quarry where the stones were already piled up.”
“Was Father Groening there?”
“Yes. He instructed the assembly how to proceed.”
“What happened?”
“The people lined up and got ready to stone Maggie. Then my grandmother tried to stop it.”
“Your grandmother?”
“Drusilla Downing. She got in front of Maggie and accused Father Groening of fathering a child out of wedlock.”
“Which child did he father?”
“Maggie’s dad, Ezekiel Downing.”
“Maggie’s dad? Groening’s illegitimate son was Maggie’s father?”
“According to Grammaw, yes.”
“Which would make Maggie…”
“Father Groening’s granddaughter.”
The spectators stirred again.
Godney milked it.
“So you are telling this Court that the defendant, Father Groening, sentenced his own granddaughter to be stoned until dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did your grandmother succeed in stopping the event?”
“No. Father tried to talk her down, but she wasn’t having it. She insisted that, if Maggie had to be stoned, then so did she. Because her sin was worse.”
“Her sin being what?”
“Committing fornication before marriage.”
“What happened next?”
“People started throwing rocks. Grammaw got hit, and Maggie was hit, too. At that point I realized they were both going to die if I didn’t do something. I had a gun with me and I fired it in the air.”
“Did that stop the stoning?”
“Yes. Temporar
ily, anyway. I don’t know how long I could have held them off. I was getting ready to shoot somebody if I had to, but…”
“But what?”
“That’s when Marshal Walker showed up. Once he got there, it was over.”
“But you—you’re the one who actually saved the day.”
“I guess so.”
“Before the stoning began, did you hear Father Groening give the order to stone Maggie to death?”
“Yes. So did about four hundred other people.”
Godney nodded.
“Thank you. Mr. Downing, were you promised anything to testify here this morning?”
“No, sir.”
“Not even a reduction in sentence?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
Monte Simpson hurried toward his podium.
“Good morning, Mr. Downing.”
“Mmph.”
“Did Father Groening order you to shoot and kill the deputy U.F. Marshal?”
“Objection. Outside the scope.”
Moore clucked and shook his head.
“Sorry, Mr. Godney, but you opened the door. Overruled.”
Simpson repeated the question. Downing shook his head.
“No, sir.”
“You had no instructions to kill the deputy, but you still thought it was okay?”
“I wasn’t trying to kill the deputy. I was trying to kill the Marshal.”
“Stipulated. You killed the deputy by mistake. The question stands—you had no instructions to commit that murder, yet you thought it was acceptable?”
“Yes, sir. We had been taught the principle of an eye for an eye.”
“Did Father Groening instruct you to shoot the girl, Patsy Morehead?”
“No, sir. Not directly.”
“Did you see Father Groening cast any stones?”
“No, sir.”
“You testified that Father Groening convened the Council of Elders to pass judgment on your cousin, is that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Were you present at that council meeting?”
“No, sir. The council always meets in closed session.”
“Do you know if Father Groening voted for stoning?”
“From what I’ve heard, Father Groening never votes. He’s more like a prosecutor—he presents the case and the council decides.”
“If that’s the case, then why is Father Groening on trial? Shouldn’t we be trying the council instead?”
“Objection. How can the witness answer that, your Honor? He isn’t an attorney and he certainly isn’t a U.F. Attorney.”
“Sustained. Try again, Mr. Simpson.”
“Withdraw the question, your Honor. Nothing further.”
Moore excused the witness and turned to Godney.
“How much time do you need for your next witness?”
“Hard to say, your Honor. I’m guessing an hour at least.”
“Then let’s break for lunch. Court will resume at one-thirty.”
75th Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Victoria was working on a discovery motion when she got Godney’s message that Nick Walker had left the courtroom. She released a quiet sigh and felt her nerves settle a little. Just knowing that Nick was in the building was stressful, and the risk of running into him made it worse. If he had left the building, that eliminated the latter possibility.
The truth was, if she was being honest, she actually wanted to see Nick again. Hearing his voice in the Semper Fi had hammered home the fact that she still loved him. She wanted to see him, talk to him, touch him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him, pull him tight, absorb him into her pores. She wanted to cry and sob and apologize yet again for hurting him, and somehow make it right. She wanted to take him to bed, hold him, cuddle him, take him inside her.
With every cell in her body.
But that was her heart talking…
Her head knew better.
She had already been through the agony of losing him, the hardest part being that she knew there was nothing she could do or say or promise that would change it. Coming to grips with the reality had been the hardest thing she ever did, and running into him again would just bring it all back. She didn’t need that. Her life was far from perfect, but it was pretty damn good all the same, and she had no room for further emotional turmoil.
She shook her head to remove such thoughts and finished her motion. Ten minutes later she headed for the lift.
The courtrooms were just four levels below her office. It was often faster to take the stairs, and Victoria liked the extra physical exertion, but today she took the lift instead. In addition to the motion she needed to file, she also carried a stack of notes she planned to use when Maggie Downing was on the stand. With so much going on and so much work waiting, her head was running in several directions as she exited the lift. When the door opened, she almost got trampled by six men in rich suits whom she recognized as Federation auditors who worked on the 74th floor. They were all talking at once and a couple smelled as if they had drunk their lunch early; she had to turn sideways to get out of the lift before they filled it, and when she got clear, her back was to the corridor.
With a sigh of frustration, she spun around and headed for her destination, the office of Judge van Wert’s law clerk. She was scanning the motion one last time as she rounded the corner and didn’t see the man in front of her. She plowed into him and almost dropped her materials, but managed to hang onto everything.
It’s always embarrassing to run over someone because you aren’t looking, and Victoria felt a natural mortification at doing such a thoughtless, stupid thing. Her mortification turned to horror when she realized the man in front of her was wearing a leather vest…
And a cowboy hat.
And guns.
Shit!
“’Scuse me!” she whispered, and ducked her head.
He spun around to see who had hit him. Victoria scuttled past him on his other side before he could get a look at her…
…and ducked into a ladies room that, thankfully, was perfectly located for her escape. She got through the door without being challenged, and only hoped that he hadn’t seen or identified her. She stood with her back against the tiled wall, red-faced and shaking. Cursing herself. Panting. Almost sobbing.
Jesus Christ, are you still in high school? Get a grip, Cross!
She forced herself to breathe deeply, stood perfectly still until her trembling subsided. She glanced at her watch, then stared at the restroom door. Was he still out there? Who was he talking to? Why hadn’t he left the goddamn building?
Still rattled, she slipped into a stall and sat down, locking the door behind her. She didn’t need the facilities, but did need a moment to recuperate. Her nerves, very close to shot, were singing. Her mouth felt dry. Her face felt hot.
She could smell him. The leather vest, that musky cologne he used to wear…and apparently still did. She closed her eyes as memories flooded back. Memories from ten years ago, memories she had no business revisiting. He was part of her past and needed to stay there. He had a life, a career, another woman…the last thing he needed was to be reminded of the woman who had betrayed him. That’s how he thought of her, she knew—the woman who broke his heart.
She lowered her head and covered her eyes with a hand. Deep breaths. Long, deep breaths. Get calm. Get it under control. Grow the fuck up!
Five minutes crawled by.
Ten.
She left the stall and splashed cold water on her face. Her breathing had returned to normal. It had been a close call. This time, before leaving the ladies room, she pushed the door open a crack and peered out.
The corridor was clear.
He might still be in the building, but at least he was out of sight. She stepped out and hurried to the clerk’s office, filed her brief, and headed back to the lift. She made it without further incident.
***<
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U.F. Attorney Gary Fraites had lunch in the 70th floor commissary. He returned to his desk a few minutes after one and settled in with a sigh. It was a big week around the office, with two high-profile cases running back to back. The Groening trial was finally under way and should be done in a couple of days. Jury selection for the Frie case would begin on Monday. Fraites rarely ever tried cases himself anymore; with all the hotshot young talent he had on staff, he didn’t have to. He missed it up to a point. Except for sporting events, the courtroom was just about the last arena left in the universe for non-violent combat. Generally speaking, nobody ever died, nor was any blood spilled, but it was no less deadly for that. The stakes were always high for someone, be it a victim or a perp, and lives could be lost if things went sideways.
In a word, the courtroom was pressure. Stress. Fraites had seen enough of it, had lived it for years, and didn’t need any more. He still pulled strings behind the curtain, but no longer had to deal with the sleepless nights or dread the consequences of what he might be forgetting. These days he viewed the proceedings as a spectator, and it was most entertaining. He had sat in court through most of the Wilson Fong trial and it had been a treat to watch Victoria Cross at work. She was a true professional, probably the best prosecutor he had ever worked with.
He was looking forward to next Monday.
He logged onto his terminal and checked his to-do list. He made a few notes on a pad and was about to start work when he heard a tap at his door.
He looked up.
Anderson Gabel stepped inside with a tentative smile.
“Got a minute?”
“Sure, Andy. Come on in.”
Gabel nodded and gently closed the door. He approached the desk and settled into a chair facing it. Fraites watched and waited for him to speak. Gabel got right to the point.
“Got a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
Gabel avoided his eyes, frowning at the desk.
“Does Vic seem okay to you?”
“Yeah, I guess so. What do you mean?”
“I mean…has she been acting a little off balance lately?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. But you’ve known her a lot longer than I have.”
Gabel grimaced.
“I’m probably speaking out of turn, but I’m a little concerned.”