by John Bowers
“Approach the witness, your Honor?”
Moore nodded. Victoria stepped up to the witness box. Maggie sensed her presence and threw herself forward, her arms around Victoria’s neck. She wept uncontrollably.
Judge Moore cleared his throat, as if embarrassed.
“I think a recess is in order. Court will resume in thirty minutes.”
*
Victoria and Godney led Maggie Downing into a conference room across the hall. Maggie managed to pull herself together, but still looked distressed. Godney brought her some water and some damp paper towels to clean her face. After a few minutes she had returned more or less to normal.
“Do we even need her to continue?” Godney asked. “There’s no jury and that last outburst must have made an impression on the judge. Maybe we leave it at that.”
Victoria shook her head.
“We need to get Maggie’s version of the stoning on record. Without it, an appellate court wouldn’t have all the facts they need to make a decent ruling.”
“You think Simpson will appeal?”
“If his client asks him to, yes.”
Victoria glanced at her watch. It was almost ten o’clock, and with cross examination, Maggie would probably be on the stand at least another hour. She pulled out her phone and called Doug Hitlin.
“Sorry, but this testimony is running longer than I expected. I can meet you at noon, if that’s okay.”
Hitlin’s reply sounded light-hearted.
“No problem. I’ll just have an extra beer while I wait.”
“Thanks, Doug. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Who was that?” Godney asked after she disconnected.
“My secret lover.”
Godney’s eyes sprang wide.
“Really?”
“No.” Victoria laughed. “We’d better get back inside. Don’t want to antagonize the judge.”
*
Maggie took the stand again. Victoria walked her through the events that led up to her stoning, including the heart-stopping suspense of waiting to hear the Council of Elders’ judgment.
“When did you find out you had been judged incorrigible?” Victoria asked.
“On Sunday morning. Father announced it at Sunday services, and they took me to the quarry right away.”
“Were you present at the council meeting?”
“No.”
“Your very life was on the line, in the hands of six old men, but you never got to speak up for yourself?”
“No.”
“Did anyone present a defense for you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Did you ever get to speak on your own behalf?”
Maggie sniffed. “Just before the stoning started, I was asked if I had any last words.”
“At the quarry?”
“Yes.”
“With the rocks already piled up and people waiting to throw them.”
“Yes.”
“So you weren’t allowed to defend yourself, but you were permitted to speak your last words before they murdered you.”
“Objection. I think calling the incident a murder is overstating things a little.”
Victoria spun to stare at Simpson.
“Really? Is that what you really think? This girl was dragged from her home, imprisoned in a church basement, judged in absentia by what I can only describe as a kangaroo court, and sentenced to death without a word spoken in her defense. Only by the grace of her cousin and the U.F. Marshal is she alive today, and you don’t call it murder? What would you call it?”
“The victim is still alive,” Simpson replied. “She wasn’t murdered.”
Judge Moore interrupted Victoria before she could launch again.
“The defendant is charged with attempted murder, Mr. Simpson. The fact that she’s still alive is the only reason your client isn’t charged with homicide. Overruled.”
The rest of the testimony went fairly quickly. Victoria walked the witness through the actual events at the quarry, which squared almost exactly with Drusilla Downing’s testimony. At ten minutes to eleven, she turned the witness over to the defense.
Monte Simpson approached Maggie with all the confidence of a man walking through a minefield. The girl sat silent and stared at him.
“Miss Downing, how long have you been affiliated with the Congregation of God?”
“All my life.”
“All your life. And you’re, what, seventeen years old?”
“Almost.”
“So, you’ve lived in the COG community for almost seventeen years.”
“Yes.”
“During those almost seventeen years, did you know the rules of conduct that were expected of you?”
“Yes.”
“And you knew the consequences of breaking those rules?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you broke them anyway.”
Victoria shot to her feet.
“Objection! Is defense counsel trying to blame the victim for her own attempted murder?”
Simpson recoiled as if he’d been slapped.
“What? No! Your Honor, I’m simply trying to establish—”
“Overruled. Mr. Simpson, tread carefully.”
“Yes, your Honor. I was just trying to—”
“I don’t care what you’re trying to do. Just don’t blame the victim.”
Simpson looked both subdued and annoyed as he returned to the witness.
“Miss Downing, please be assured that I feel terrible about what happened to you. I have no wish to add to your anguish. Do you understand?”
Maggie nodded. “If you say so.”
Simpson nodded. It was the best he could expect from her.
“Would you say that, based on the church teachings, you were rebellious?”
The redhead stared at him a moment, then nodded.
“I guess so. I just didn’t—”
“Thank you. So, when you started wearing makeup and clothing that was not, by church standards, appropriate, you were knowingly in violation of church decorum?”
“Decorum? I don’t know that word.”
“It means the same thing as ‘standard’. You were violating church standards. Is that accurate?”
“Yes, I guess so.”
“You guess so? You either were aware or you were not. Were you aware of this?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. You never dressed like that, or wore makeup, around other church members, is that right?”
“Yes. Except for my family.”
“And how did your family react to your behavior?”
“They were on my case about it. All the time.”
“So you knew it was wrong.”
“No, I didn’t think it was wrong at all. I still don’t.”
“Let me rephrase that: you knew it was considered wrong by your church.”
“Yes.”
“You knew that, ultimately, you could be sentenced to death by stoning, and yet you did what you did anyway.”
“Yes.”
Simpson nodded and strolled a few feet away, his expression suggesting he was contemplating the fate of the universe. He turned back.
“So, to recap—you knew the rules, you knew the potential consequences, yet you knowingly and willingly broke the rules. What they did to you was wrong, but don’t you think you had at least a small part in all this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you broke the rules you had agreed to and therefore have to bear some responsibility for what happened.”
“Objection—”
Maggie interrupted, leaving Victoria standing with her mouth open.
“I didn’t agree to anything!” she burst out. “I was born into it. It was beaten into me from the time I was little. Nobody ever asked me what I wanted, nobody ever asked me to agree, they just dictated the rules and I had to live by them. So, no, I don’t think I have any responsibility! All I wanted was to live my own
life without all the rules and punishments. What is so wrong about that?”
Simpson stared at her.
Victoria sat down.
Judge Moore leaned forward.
“Was there an objection on the table, counselor?”
Victoria shook her head.
“No, your Honor.”
“Very well. Mr. Simpson, proceed.”
Simpson stared at the witness for another fifteen seconds, then managed a weak smile.
“Nothing further.”
“Redirect?”
“No, your Honor.”
Judge Moore nodded.
“Very well. The witness is excused.” He glanced at the clock. “We’re going to recess for lunch now. Court will resume at one-thirty.”
Maggie Downing left the courtroom. Godney and Victoria put their heads together.
“I have a full afternoon, Brian. Do you need me for anything else?”
“I don’t think so. Thanks for taking Maggie. She responded to you much better than she would have to me.”
“Happy to help. I have to get ready for Frie next week, so my time will be tight the rest of the week. However, if you need me…”
“Will do.”
“And I’d like to be here when the judge rules, if that’s possible.”
“I’ll try to give you a heads-up. Thanks again.”
Chapter 22
The Semper Fi – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Doug Hitlin was sitting at the same table where Victoria usually sat, a half-empty beer mug and a microwaved sandwich in front of him. Victoria settled in across from him with a smile.
“Sorry you had to wait so long.”
“No problem. I don’t have anything else pending right at the moment.”
Alvin Kopshevar approached the table with a grin.
“Morning, Vic. Or is it afternoon now?”
“Hi, Kopycat.”
“Can I get you something?”
“Hot pastrami and a mineral water.”
“You got it.”
Kopshevar walked away. Hitlin took another bite of his sandwich.
“The food here is pretty decent. Don’t often get that in a public house.”
“I eat here at least once a week,” she replied.
“You all done with court for the day?”
“Yes. We have the rest of the day for interviews. How many of them do we have?”
“I talked to several people and a few are willing to talk. Two at NCF, one at the sanitation company, and two at the halfway house.”
“How many of those can we get to today?”
“We can probably talk to the men at the halfway house without an appointment, but I’ll have to call the others to set something up.”
“Maybe we can catch some of them after work today.”
Hitlin nodded. He pulled out his pocket phone and placed several calls. Victoria’s food came and, working on her pastrami sandwich, she sat silent until he finished. Finally he put the phone away and reached for his beer mug.
“We lucked out,” he said. “The guy from sanitation isn’t working this afternoon, so we can stop in to see him anytime. Same with the guys at the halfway house. The NCF people will meet us after work.”
“Perfect.” Victoria took another bite of pastrami. “What do you know about them?”
“I ran preliminary backgrounds on them. Couple of them have minor records, but the others are clean.”
“So they would make good witnesses?”
“Presumably. Assuming they’re willing to testify.” Hitlin pushed his sandwich plate away. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you looking for?”
“Just information. Wallace Frie has got the best defense attorney on this planet, and he’s going to fight me to the finish. If I’m going to convict his client, I need to know everything he does, hopefully before he knows it.”
“Who’s the defense attorney?”
“Hayes Crawford.”
Hitlin whistled.
“Shit! I’ve heard he’s ruthless.”
“He is. I’ve faced him three times and lost twice. I can’t afford to miss a single detail.”
“Well, hopefully you won’t. Want me to go with you?”
“I’m counting on it. But let me take the lead. I’ll ask all the questions.”
“Sure, no problem. I wouldn’t know what to ask anyway.”
Victoria finished her lunch and paid for both of them. They left the Semper Fi and took Hitlin’s car. Twenty minutes later they arrived at an older, shabby neighborhood on the east end of town. The house looked very much like all the others around it except it had been painted more recently and the lawn looked well cared for.
They stepped out of the car and approached the house. Two men were sitting outside on a bench; both were middle-aged, but their clothing looked clean and their eyes were clear. Victoria wondered if they were responsible for the lawn. Keeping the place up was probably one of the conditions of living there.
One of them sat up straight and lifted his chin.
“Help you folks?” he asked.
“Yes, I hope so. We’re looking for…” Victoria stopped. She glanced at Hitlin.
“Clyde van der Beek,” he said. “And Lanny Filmore.”
The man stood up and extended his hand.
“I’m Lanny. You Mr. Hitlin?”
Doug Hitlin nodded and accepted his hand.
“This is Victoria Cross. She’s actually the one who needs to talk to you.”
Lanny Filmore shook Victoria’s hand as well.
“Clyde is in the house. You want to talk to us both together, or one at a time?”
“I think one at a time is best. Is there someplace we can chat?”
The second man stood up.
“You can talk here. I’ll go inside for a while.”
“Thank you.”
A moment later, they were alone with Filmore. He was in his late forties with a face ravaged by life, but seemed otherwise normal. He offered them a seat on the bench, but Victoria declined. Filmore sat down and rested his back against the side of the house.
“What can I do for you?”
“I understand you’re acquainted with Wallace Frie?”
Filmore nodded. A look of sadness crept into his eyes.
“Yeah, I’ve known him since October. That’s when he moved in here.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
Filmore didn’t answer right away. He gazed up at her.
“Is this about his murder trial?”
“Yes. I’ve been assigned to prosecute him.”
“Well, Ma’am, I know you have a job to do, but I’m not sure I want to help you put him away.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“If Wallace Frie ever murdered anyone, then I’m the Pope’s husband.”
“You think he’s innocent?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Mr. Filmore, my job is not to asteroid anyone, but to follow the evidence. Right now the evidence against Mr. Frie looks very bad. If you have information that mitigates that in any way, then I would like to hear it.”
“Miss Cross, I’ve been around the court system a time or two, and in my experience, most prosecutors aren’t interested in ‘mitigating evidence’. They want a conviction, come hell or high altitude. They will do anything and promise anything to get it.”
“I’m not most prosecutors. I don’t know if you follow the news, but less than two weeks ago I convicted a Colonial prosecutor for doing exactly what you describe. He used his cases for political gain and I nailed him for misconduct. What I’m telling you is that I’m only interested in justice. I want the wrong people in prison and the right people on the street, no matter who they are, no matter what the charges. So if you have something that can help Wallace Frie, I won’t try to bury it. That is a solemn promise.”
Filmore glanced at Hitlin, as if for confirmation. Hitlin nodded.
Filmore turned back to Victoria.
“What do you want to know?”
“Would you say that you know Mr. Frie very well?”
“Yeah. As well as you can know someone after only three or four months.”
“And how would you describe his character?”
“A straight arrow. Honest and hard-working. That’s the Wallace Frie that I know.”
“You’re aware of his smuggling conviction?”
“Sure. Everyone here has some kind of criminal past.”
“Did he ever talk about that?”
“Yep. Told me he was framed. He swore he had nothing to do with any illegal weapons.”
“And you believed him.”
“I did. I do.”
“But don’t guilty men always proclaim their innocence?”
“To people like you, sure. But here, we’ve already been through the process, so there’s no reason to lie about it anymore. I was guilty as hell when I was convicted, and so was everyone else here. But Wallace still claims he was innocent.”
“What was your crime?”
“Receiving stolen property.”
“And you were guilty?”
“As sin.”
“So you have a pretty good feel for when other men are innocent or guilty?”
“I think so, yeah. Like I said, Wallace had no reason to lie to me, had nothing to gain by it. Some people are just pathological liars and won’t tell you the truth even at gunpoint, but Wallace isn’t like that. He’s the real deal.”
“Okay, let’s assume for the moment that you’re right, that Mr. Frie was innocent of the smuggling charges. He still spent twelve years in prison, ostensibly for a crime he didn’t commit. I’ve heard that prison changes people. If Frie thought he’d been framed, maybe he decided to get even with the man who did it.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Did he tell you who he thought framed him?”
“Yeah. Lloyd Randal.”
“The ACBI agent.”
“Yup. According to him, Randal planted the weapon on him when he was arrested, beat him up, then lied and said Wallace resisted arrest.”
“Mr. Frie contends that he didn’t resist arrest?”
“That’s right. He also said his employers lied about him being a trouble maker.”
“If that’s true, there must have been someone else involved. Randal couldn’t have falsified the employee records. That would require a conspiracy.”