by John Bowers
“Are you looking out for yourself today, Mr. Tullis?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“You said a guy’s gotta look out for himself. Is that what you’re doing now?”
“I don’t follow.”
“You admitted that you lied in court twelve years ago. How do we know you aren’t lying today?”
Tullis shrugged. “Because I’m not getting anything out of it this time.”
“Mr. Crawford didn’t offer you anything for your testimony?”
“No. What can he do? You’re the only one with the power to reduce my sentence.”
“So you’re back in jail again?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you in for?”
“What does it matter? I’m telling you the truth.”
Victoria looked up at the judge.
“Your Honor?”
Van Wert leaned over the side of the bench.
“Mr. Tullis, answer the questions as asked or I’ll add a few more months to your sentence. Do we understand each other?”
Tullis looked up at her with raised eyebrows and a grin.
“Yes, Ma’am!” To Victoria, he said, “I’m doing time for burglary.”
Van Wert leaned back. Victoria resumed cross-examination.
“If you aren’t receiving anything for your testimony today, then why are you here? Just to get out of jail for a day?”
“No. Well, that’s a bonus, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Please explain it to us, then.”
“I’m a lot older now. I’ve had years to think about things. And I feel like crap that I did that to Mr. Frie. I saved six months of my life, but he lost twelve years of his. I may not be the most upstanding citizen on the planet, but I feel bad about that.”
“And you just want to clear it up, once and for all?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“What is Wallace Frie to you?”
“Nothing. Just another dude in lockup.”
“You’re not friends?”
“No. I don’t even know him, really. I’ve never talked to him since twelve years ago. Don’t know anything about him.”
“You don’t know if he’s innocent or guilty of the murder charge?”
“No idea. I don’t know if he was guilty the last time, either. All I do know is that I didn’t tell the truth about what he said.”
Victoria stared at him a moment, tapping the palm of her hand on the railing around the witness box. Finally she turned back to her table.
“No further questions.”
“Mr. Crawford, call your next witness.”
*
Crawford called two more witnesses Victoria had already interviewed. Clyde van der Beek and Lanny Filmore both testified to Frie’s character and offered glowing reports of his honesty. Neither had seen him in possession of a gun and, when prompted, declared they didn’t believe the gun belonged to him.
Victoria cross-examined.
“Mr. van der Beek, how well do you know the defendant?”
“I’ve only known him a few months, but I think I’ve got a pretty good feel for him.”
“Is it possible that Mr. Frie conned you? Handed you a snow job?”
“Yeah, it’s possible, but I’ve been around the block once and I can usually spot a con artist.”
“I’m sure you can, but the truth is that we never really know another person. Do you agree?”
“Well…”
“I mean, we know what we can observe, and we know what they tell us, but we don’t live inside their heads, so we can’t really know what they’re thinking, can we?”
“Maybe… I guess not.”
“You’ve run across a lot of scam artists?”
“Yeah. Plenty.”
“And you’ve gotten pretty good at spotting them?”
“Yeah, I think I have.”
“But you’re not God, are you? You can still be fooled?”
“I guess so.”
“So it is possible…I’m not saying likely, but it is possible…that Wallace Frie snowed you into believing he’s innocent, is it not?”
Van der Beek heaved an unhappy sigh.
“Outside of both suns rising in the west, I guess anything is possible.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’m not.”
“All right, here’s a theory for you: let’s assume that, when Mr. Frie gets paroled out of prison, he has murder on his mind, the murder of Lloyd Randal.”
“Okay…”
“He knows that he will be a prime suspect after he commits that murder, and that everyone at the halfway house will be interrogated. Make sense so far?”
“Yeah.”
“So it’s in his best interest—Mr. Frie’s best interest—to lay the groundwork ahead of time. He goes out of his way to appear honest and hard-working. He goes out of his way to convince you and every other resident of the halfway house that he was framed for his previous crime, or at least that he believes he was framed. Then he commits the murder and sits back to wait for his plan to work. We come and investigate, we interview you and the others at the halfway house, and you all proclaim his honesty and innocence and goodwill. Does that make any sense to you?”
Van der Beek stared at her for a long, thoughtful moment. He didn’t reply.
“Mr. van der Beek?”
“Okay, I guess it’s possible. I mean, that could happen, theoretically.”
“Thank you.”
“But there’s one problem.”
“And what is that?”
“Well, I’ve wondered about this and it makes no sense to me. If Wally killed that man, and he knew his room would be searched, then why did he keep the gun? They said they found it under his bed, but if it was me, I would have ditched that gun before I got home. I would have thrown it into the garbage truck.”
Victoria gazed at him for ten seconds.
Then she smiled.
“No further questions, your Honor.”
Victoria sat down. Anderson Gabel’s face looked like a storm cloud. He scribbled something on a pad and slid it down to her end of the table.
Why did you let him get away with that?!!!
Victoria scribbled on the bottom of the same pad and slid it back to him.
Because I don’t know the answer. Do you?
She watched while Gabel read it, but he sat back in his chair and didn’t reply. He didn’t even look in her direction.
“Call your next witness, Mr. Crawford.”
“The defense calls Omar Jackson to the stand.”
Omar Jackson, Wallace Frie’s partner on the sanitation rig, told exactly the same story he had told Victoria and Hitlin when they interviewed him. Wallace Frie was not only innocent, but was almost childlike in his personality. He repeated how Frie had wept when he heard about a hoverbus crash that killed fourteen kids. He repeated what Frie had told him about being framed at his first trial.
Then Victoria got her chance.
“Mr. Jackson! I believe we’ve met before.”
“Yes, we have. You said you were going to call me as a witness.”
Victoria smiled. “I said I might call you, but I obviously decided not to.”
“Doesn’t matter. I got to tell my story anyway.”
“Yes you did. You worked with Wallace Frie for how long?”
“A little over three months.”
“And you think you know him pretty well?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Did he ever mention to you that he knew where Lloyd Randal lived?”
Jackson’s expression darkened.
“Yes.”
“How did he know Agent Randal’s address? Did you point it out to him?”
“No, I never told him. He just knew it.”
“Do you have any idea how he learned that address?”
“No. He might have known it for years, but I never asked him.”
“Did you find it strange that
he knew the address of the man who he said had framed him?”
“No. I never thought much about it.”
“How many homes do you collect garbage for?”
“I don’t know. Hundreds. We work a four-day week with a different route every day.”
“Did Mr. Frie volunteer any knowledge about who lived in all the other homes you serviced? Or any of them?”
“No.”
“Did Mr. Frie own a gun?”
“No.”
“How do you know that? Did you ask him?”
“No! Why would I? The subject never came up.”
“So Mr. Frie could have owned, or been in possession of, a gun without your knowledge?”
Omar Jackson grimaced. He shrugged.
“I suppose it’s possible.”
“Do you own a gun, Mr. Jackson?”
“Yeah. Several.”
“Did you ever tell Mr. Frie about those weapons?”
“No.”
“And he never told you about his?”
“No.”
“Is it likely that, if Mr. Frie was planning to commit a murder, he would confide to you that he had a gun?”
“Probably not.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
Victoria sat down. Judge van Wert turned to Crawford.
“How many more witnesses do you plan to call, counselor?”
“I have three more, your Honor.”
“And how long will they take?”
“Uh…maybe thirty or forty minutes each. Plus whatever time Miss Cross needs for cross-examination.”
“Okay, it’s four-fifteen and I have some things I need to do before the end of the day. Court will resume tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. The jury is reminded not to discuss the case among themselves, or with anyone else. If I hear of even a hint of misconduct, I will be handing out jail sentences. Is everyone clear on that?”
Her icy blue eyes pinned the jurors to their chairs. They stared back like frightened children.
She banged the gavel.
“Court is adjourned.”
*
Everyone from the U.F. Attorney’s office rode the lift back to the 75th floor.
“I’m stunned,” Nancy Swift exclaimed. “This trial is almost over! After only one day.”
“Sometimes they go like that,” Victoria said.
“I’m still bothered,” Anderson Gabel said.
“About what?”
“That witness, what was his name? He asked why Frie didn’t ditch the gun.”
“Clyde van der Beek. What about him?”
“You let him ask a question. You never let a witness ask a question.”
“Actually it was more of an observation. I had no idea what he was going to ask.”
Gabel spun on her.
“Which is why you never let the witness ask a fucking question! What were you thinking?”
Victoria’s eyes expanded as she faced his rage.
“Well, gee, Andy, I don’t know. Maybe you would like to finish the trial?”
“No…”
“You guys handed it to me, you said I was the best, you said it was a slam-dunk. Now you’re second-guessing me? What the fuck, Andy? You finish the goddamn trial!”
“Look, I just—”
The lift stopped and the door slid open. Victoria stomped out and headed for her office.
Thirty seconds later, Gary Fraites stepped inside her office and closed the door. She glared at him.
“Easy, there, Vic. I come in peace.” He smiled to disarm her.
She sat panting for a moment, too angry to think. Gradually her rage began to fade.
“Sorry, Gary. Just between you and me, I’m not fully convinced that Frie is guilty. Van der Beek’s question is a valid one. Why didn’t Frie ditch the weapon?”
“Criminals do stupid shit,” Fraites said. “That’s why they’re criminals in the first place, because most of them are stupid. Hell, even the smart ones are stupid.”
She nodded.
“How many times have you heard of a wanted felon getting caught over a traffic stop?” Fraites asked. “The criminal mentality is disdainful of all law, all authority. They ignore even the little rules, the ones that will get them caught. Happens all the time.”
“Yeah, I know. Right now I’m just really pissed at Andy for jacking me up like that.”
“He was out of line. I’ll talk to him.”
“No. Don’t. Let it die here. He’s only got a few more months before he’s fully retired and I don’t want any conflict. His health isn’t all that good, anyway.”
Fraites sighed.
“As you wish. What are you going to do about Frie?”
“I will continue to prosecute him right up to the moment that I no longer believe in his guilt.”
“When will that be?”
“Probably never. From all the witness testimony, he’s a complex person and has a good heart, but the physical evidence is irrefutable. I can’t ignore that.”
“Good. Looks like it’ll be over tomorrow, so you can put it behind you. Go home and get some rest. You’ve done your part, now we let Crawford finish up and hand it to the jury. One way or another, it’ll be off your desk in a day or two.”
Victoria forced a smile.
“Thanks, Gary. That won’t break my heart.”
Her desk comm buzzed.
“Miss Cross, some holo V reporters would like to speak to you. They say you dodged them downstairs.”
“I didn’t dodge anybody, I just didn’t see them.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Send them to my office.”
Victoria hated talking to the press, especially now, when Nick Walker was floating around and might see her on the news. But it came with the job, and Nick wasn’t a valid concern, so she granted the interview.
“I really can’t discuss the case with you,” she told them. “I don’t believe in trying cases in the press.”
“But you’ve already presented your case,” said Lucy Yap, one of the reporters. “Surely it can’t hurt to talk to us?”
Victoria gazed at her a moment, then sighed.
“What do you want to know?”
Chapter 30
Centauri Arms – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Victoria was still smoldering when she reached her apartment building. Andy Gabel had been her boss before Gary Fraites transferred in and she had loved working for him. She’d won six trials in a row before suffering a loss, and Gabel had been impressed. He complimented her on her clear head, her professionalism, and her knowledge of the law. From that time forward, he had never once questioned her judgment.
Until now.
So what had changed? What the hell was wrong with him?
She understood that the Frie case was personal for Gabel—he had convicted Frie the first time around—but these were new charges. Aside from the allegations that Frie had threatened to murder Randal, the two cases had nothing in common except the defendant. It wasn’t like she was trying to reverse Frie’s original conviction.
Still angry, she whipped off her clothing and slipped into her workout gear. Maybe an hour in the gym would sweat out her anger.
Two people were using the gym when she arrived. She didn’t know them, but had seen them before and knew they lived in the building. She waved with a smile and then ignored them as she began her workout. She spent the first thirty minutes doing simple stuff (simple as in uncomplicated, not necessarily easy)—sit-ups, pullups, and box jumps, five sets each. By the time she finished, she was sweating freely and her respiratory system was getting a workout.
After a short break, she moved to the barbells, five sets each of back squats, front squats, and hang cleans. Finished with those, she took another break, wiping her face with a towel. The physical exertion left her feeling a little buzzed and a calm settled over her. She sucked water from a squeeze bottle and sat on a press bench for a couple of minutes with her eyes closed, letting the stress drain out
of her.
She glanced at her watch.
She’d been at it for forty minutes, and could easily do another twenty. She did five sets of squats with twenty-pound dumbbells, then returned to the barbells for a few deadlifts. Starting to tire, she set the weight to one-eighty instead of two hundred pounds. She would do five sets of deadlifts and call it a day. She still had work waiting upstairs.
Except for her breathing and the rattle of equipment, the gym was quiet. As always, it smelled of plastic, leather, and stale sweat. With the barbell at the desired weight, she turned to face it with her feet planted, then, keeping her back straight, dipped her knees and gripped the bar with both hands. She flexed her fingers until she had the grip she wanted, then rose and pulled the bar up with her. She brought it up to waist level, arms and shoulders burning, then dropped it. The weights hit the floor and bounced with a satisfying ring, and she heaved a deep breath.
One down, four to go…
The lights went out.
Oh shit!
Victoria swung around. The door was fifty feet away, with a number of obstacles between her and the exit. Her first instinct was that the building had suffered a power failure, but a glow from beyond the open doorway signaled that lights were on in the outside corridor.
Her annoyance gave way to sharp anxiety—the lights hadn’t gone off by themselves. Someone else was in the gym.
She cast around, but the interior of the gym was dark as a tomb; the people she had seen earlier had apparently left, though she hadn’t noticed. She took a step back, panting, trying to think. The back of her ankle bumped into the barbell, almost tripping her, and she stopped. She dropped to one knee and placed both hands on the floor, like a runner on starting blocks. She had no idea what was happening or what she should do, but now remembered Officer Benedict’s warning earlier in the afternoon. She had been so pissed off that she forgot it as she was walking home, and now…
Was Jerry Whistler in the gym? Had he come after her?
She had left her gun in the apartment.
Shit!
Fighting an overwhelming urge to panic, Victoria forced herself to relax and think. She could see nothing moving, could hear nothing. The door remained open, but she saw no one there either. She sat where she was for thirty seconds, trying to quiet her breathing so she could hear better. If someone was inside the gym, he was either barefoot or wearing silent soles. She tilted her head right and left, hoping to pick up ambient sounds, but heard nothing unusual.