A Far Justice

by Richard Herman

  She arched an eyebrow. “Not that I’m aware.”

  “That pig Sutherland has called Scullanois as a witness.” His rage was barely under control. She had only seen him this upset once before when a reporter had described him as ‘a very rich but very silly human being.’

  She considered the implications. “Brilliant,” she finally murmured. “He can’t refuse to appear if asked.”

  “I won’t allow it,” Chrestien announced.

  “It will be an embarrassment whether he appears or not. Hank will …”

  “Hank?” Chrestien said, interrupting her, his anger hard and cold as ice.

  All her alarms were in full play. She knew what Chrestien was capable of doing when anger ruled his good judgment, and damage control was in order. “Everyone calls him Hank as it seems to make him smaller and friendlier, much less of a threat. I mustn’t underestimate him again.”

  “Must I repeat myself? I don’t want Scullanois on the stand. I can hear the question, ‘Monsieur Scullanois, France identified the defendant to the court and provided the evidence against him. Yet your government never received a formal request from the United Nations or the court to do so. Why the secret involvement?”

  “Your worry matches mine,” she said in a low voice. “American lawyers have a much-used phrase, ‘Never ask a question unless you know the answer.’ I suspect Sutherland can impeach Scullanois’ testimony if he hears anything less than the truth.”

  “That’s why he must not testify,” Chrestien said, much calmer now. He ran through the lineup of allies. “Of course,” he breathed, very relieved. “Bouchard is the presiding judge and will never allow it.”

  “Sutherland will immediately appeal that decision.”

  “And the Appeals Division will rule for Bouchard,” Chrestien added.

  “Sutherland is very persistent,” Denise said. “He can appeal that decision to the presidency of the court. I’m not sure how they will rule but Relieu hates Scullanois.”

  “Alphonse Relieu is a fool,” Chrestien muttered. “Fortunately, he can be manipulated.”

  “In most cases,” Denise replied.

  “Are you sleeping with him?” Chrestien asked.

  She was shocked. “Of course not!”

  “Why aren’t you?”

  THIRTEEN

  The Hague

  The telephone call came at exactly nine o’clock Saturday morning. “Professor Sutherland,” a woman said, “Justice Bouchard wishes to speak to you and Madam Du Milan at eleven this morning.”

  Hank recognized the voice. It was Bouchard’s icy receptionist and he decided a little payback was in order. “I’m so sorry. I have a previous engagement.”

  The gasp on the other end of the line was very audible. “Perhaps you don’t understand the seriousness of Justice Bouchard’s request.”

  “I assure you I do,” Hank replied. “But it would be unthinkable for me to cancel at such a late moment. I’m quite sure Justice Bouchard will understand. Of course, I will be available anytime Monday.” He broke the connection and smiled. He was in his hotel room comfortably settled on a couch reading two briefs Melwin had given him. Outside, a cold wind was blowing off the North Sea, driving a spiteful rain. It was no day to be out and about. He sipped at his coffee and the phone rang again.

  It was the receptionist. “Please Professor Sutherland, I cannot tell Justice Bouchard that you are not available.”

  Hank let out a very loud sigh. “I can be there at four this afternoon.”

  “Please, sir,” she pleaded. “You don’t know Justice Bouchard.”

  Hank was now certain she had a serious problem. He did a slow mental count to five. “This will be most inconvenient but I will be there.”

  The relief in her voice was plain to hear. “Thank you, sir.”

  Hank presented himself in Bouchard’s outer office at exactly eleven o’clock. The receptionist glanced at the surveillance camera mounted high in a corner niche and gave him a hopeful look, willing him to understand that Bouchard demanded a certain level of disrespect on her part. “Please be seated,” she said. “Justice Bouchard will be a few moments.” Hank glanced at his watch and cocked an eyebrow. “Thank you,” she murmured. He definitely had a friend at court. Exactly twenty minutes later, Denise walked in and they were immediately escorted into Bouchard’s inner sanctum. Without waiting for permission, Hank sat down. Bouchard glared at him, his face red and puffy.

  “What can I do for you?” Hank asked.

  The angry jurist threw the witness notification at him. “The court does not call foreign ministers as witnesses. This is unacceptable. Withdraw your request.”

  Hank pitched his voice low and soft. “No.”

  The simple word hung in the air, and, for a moment, Hank was sure Bouchard was having a heart attack. “You seem to misunderstand me,” Bouchard rasped. “As a matter of principle, the court does not …”

  Hank interrupted him. “There is no misunderstanding. Scullanois is on our witness list and going to stay there.”

  “Then I will remove you as defense counsel.”

  “A very unwise move at this late date,” Hank replied. “And I believe that particular prerogative falls to the three judges serving as presidency.” He paused to let that sink in. He leaned forward and spoke in a confidential tone. “The patience of my President is not unlimited.”

  “You will not threaten me!” Bouchard shouted.

  Denise played peacemaker. “I had a similar misunderstanding with Professor Sutherland. I can assure you that it was not intended as a threat.”

  Hank played it straight. “No, of course not.” But from the look on Bouchard’s face, he had made his point.

  “What is the purpose of calling Minister Scullanois?” Bouchard asked.

  “Probative value,” Hank answered.

  “You must be more specific,” Bouchard said.

  “To what end?” Hank replied. “We both know that you are going to deny my request to call Scullanois.”

  “That is correct,” Bouchard said. He signed the notification’s transmittal cover with a flourish and marked it as denied. “Of course, you may appeal my decision.”

  “Of course,” Hank said. “By the way, when will President Relieu name the two other judges hearing the case?”

  “That decision has not yet been made,” Bouchard replied.

  Denise turned and touched his arm. “President Relieu is worried the pressure of publicity could compromise the judges’ objectivity.”

  “Of course,” Hank replied, not believing a word of it.

  “That will be all,” Bouchard said. Hank rose to leave and followed Denise out of the office, leaving Bouchard fuming at his desk.

  “I seem to have ruined his weekend,” Hank said.

  “And mine as well,” Denise said. “May we talk?”

  Hank grinned. “My place or yours.” He paused. “I love that line.” They walked in silence to his office where Aly and Melwin were anxiously waiting. Hank motioned for Melwin to join them and asked Aly to make coffee.

  Denise came right to the point. “You know Tyler is guilty so what is to be gained by calling Scullanois as a witness?”

  Hank notched one up for his side. “I think you know why.”

  “It will be most revealing,” Melwin said, playing the game.

  “You’ve upset Justice Bouchard unnecessarily,” she told them.

  Hank relaxed into his chair and leveled with her. “This is nothing compared to what’s coming when the trial starts. If Bouchard’s got heart problems, you’ll want his doctor and a defibrillator handy.”

  “Need I remind you,” she said, “that we are all officers of the court and not antagonists.”

  Hank smiled. “Of course not.”

  She returned his smile. “Perhaps dinner tonight?”

  Hank was amazed that he actually considered it for a moment. “Perhaps after the trial?”

  She smiled. “Until then.” She swept out of the of
fice, leaving a faint trace of her trademark perfume behind.

  “A very wise move,” Melwin said.

  “I wonder if she can cook,” Hank mused. “And she does smell nice.”

  “She assumes you want to call Scullanois as a witness to discredit Armiston,” Melwin said.

  “But she can’t be sure, which stresses the system. By the way, Bouchard won’t allow the court to call Scullanois.”

  “You can appeal it,” Melwin told him. “But the appeals division will uphold Bouchard. Then you can appeal it to the presidency.”

  “Why? They might override Bouchard and allow us to actually get Scullanois on the stand.”

  Melwin understood perfectly.

  Gus searched his cell looking for a hidden camera. But he couldn’t find one. Okay, there’s got to be one. But where? Frustrated, he gave up and flopped down on his bunk. He grabbed the remote control and cycled through the four channels the prison piped into his TV set.

  Then it hit him. It’s the TV! He chastised himself for being so slow. He stretched out and nodded off to sleep. The phone rang, jolting him awake. He padded across his cell and picked it up. “You have a visitor,” a guard told him. “A Mrs. Suzanne Westcot.”

  Max’s wife! he thought. “After visiting hours?” The guard didn’t answer and broke the connection. Gus glanced at his watch and frowned. She’s got a lot of clout.

  Gus’s favorite guard walked through the open door. He looked very pleased with himself and smiled as a young woman squeezed by him. She was dressed in a warm-up suit, her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she looked all of eighteen. “Suzanne Westcot,” she announced, extending her right hand.

  Gus shook her hand, surprised by the strength in her grip. It must be the tennis, he decided. “My pleasure, Mrs. Westcot.”

  “Please, its Suzanne. Max asked me to drop in and get acquainted. Can we discuss Clare?”

  “Of course, but we are being monitored.”

  Suzanne’s face froze and she picked up the phone. “I need to speak to Superintendent Blier. Immediately.” She waited, her foot tapping rapidly. “Hans,” she sang, “please turn off all your wretched monitoring devices in Colonel Tyler’s cell.” She gave a curt nod. “Thank you.” She hung up. “There now, we should be able to talk in few moments.”

  “Do you really think he’ll do it?” Gus asked.

  “Of course.” She hesitated for a moment, obviously concerned. “You need to call your daughter.” She opened a percom that was a duplicate of Hank’s. “Please contact Michelle Tyler. I believe she’s at the Mayo Clinic.”

  “Dialing,” a man’s voice said. Tyler’s daughter answered almost immediately and Suzanne handed the percom to Gus.

  “How’s it going, Pumpkin?” Gus asked.

  “Oh Dad, Mom’s taken a turn for the worse. I haven’t called because I was hoping she would rally, but she hasn’t and the doctors aren’t hopeful at all. There’s a new procedure developed by Westcot Pharmaceuticals they want to try. But it’s very risky.”

  Gus looked at Suzanne. “What’s the procedure?”

  “It’s a stem cell-based gene replacement regime that’s been in development for some time. But it involves a series of operations. Max pulled out all the stops after he talked to you last October, but no one really knows if it will work.” She let it sink in. “Or what the side effects are.”

  “And Clare will be your guinea pig.” Suzanne gave a little nod. Gus spoke to his daughter. “How does Clare feel about it?”

  “She knows the operations will be painful but wants to do it. Dad, there’s nothing left. I think we should try it. They’ll need your written permission.”

  “Okay, let’s do it.” They spoke for a few more moments before hanging up.

  Suzanne stood up. “The Superintendent’s staff will help us with the paperwork.”

  Gus was impressed. “On a Saturday night?”

  “Hans has been most helpful.” She almost asked Gus if he wanted her to stay the night but thought better of it. It was an answer she wasn’t prepared to hear. Again, she extended her hand. “Max says not to worry,” she whispered. “If you need anything, call me.” She pressed a business card into his hand. “Anytime.”

  FOURTEEN

  The Hague

  Aly was waiting with a fresh pot of coffee when Hank arrived at his office Monday morning. She took one look at him and poured a mug to the brim. “Jason is back,” she said handing him the coffee.

  “I need to speak to him soonest.”

  She held her bombshell for last. “Dad had a visitor Saturday night. Suzanne Westcot.”

  The name worked faster than any shot of caffeine. “Max Westcot’s wife! What’s she doing here?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Hank escaped into his office and tore off the page of the countdown calendar on the wall. The number twenty-four shouted at him as if it were a ticking time bomb ready to explode. He sat down and called up his E-mail. There were over one hundred messages and he was still at it when Jason knocked on the office door. “Any news on Cannon?”

  Jason shook his head. Hank motioned Jason to a chair and buzzed for Aly and Melwin to join them. “Okay folks, after meeting with Bouchard on Saturday, I’m willing to bet half my sex life that the verdict’s already in.”

  “From what I hear, that’s not much of a wager,” Melwin replied.

  Hank ignored him. “We’ve got twenty-four days to find a lever to make the judges change their minds. Otherwise, I’m going to blow the court apart.”

  Melwin looked very distressed. “I hope that won’t be necessary. I’ll try to find the lever you need.”

  Hank didn’t look convinced. “How’s Gus doing?”

  “We spent most of Sunday with him,” Jason replied. “He seemed in good enough spirits. Suzanne Westcot told him about an experimental stem cell-based gene replacement regime, and they’re going to try it on Mom.”

  “Hopefully, that will do some good. You and Aly keep his morale up. Also, do whatever you can to find Cannon. He’s critical.”

  “I’ve talked to General Hammerly about it,” Jason replied. “He said he would look into it but didn’t sound very encouraging. I’ll chase some of my contacts down.”

  “Twist whatever arms need abusing,” Hank said. “Alex, you and I need to talk. Let’s go to work, folks.” He waited until they were alone.

  Hank turned his percom towards the Irishman. “Alex, I want you to take the lead and open the trial.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “Not at all. Think of me as the bête noir. I’m the pit bull for the defense, the hired killer while you’re the brains, the European intellectual, flawed in a way every man can identify with. You’re also a recognized supporter of the court while I’m the brash American cowboy. You handle all the legal issues and I’ll handle the witnesses. We’ll flip for the closing statement.”

  “You might have told me sooner. It will be devilish hard with only twenty-four days remaining.”

  Hank placed his percom on his desk and turned it on. “Alex, me lad, it’s time you met Cassandra. Cassandra, can you and the boys help Alex here?”

  “Most assuredly,” Cassandra answered over the percom’s loudspeaker.

  “I didn’t know you had a loudspeaker,” Hank said.

  “Well, a girl has to have a few secrets, doesn’t she?” Her voice had a definite Irish lilt.

  “Good evening.”

  Gus looked up from the book he was reading and saw Therese Derwent standing in the doorway of his cell. She was holding two plastic carrier bags.

  “Dinner,” was all she said. He jumped up as she sat the bags on the small table. “Superintendent Blier would only allow one bottle of wine.” She spread the contents out. “I kept thinking about what you said about sharing dinner with your family.”

  He almost asked if dinner had anything to do with Suzanne Westcot’s visit but thought better of it. The psychiatrist gave him a sweet smile. “And no, this
has nothing to do with your Saturday night guest.”

  “Can you read minds?”

  “Not at all, but the entire staff is talking about the way she had Superintendent Blier jumping through hoops.”

  “Her husband is one of the most influential men in the States.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know. I heard she was very pretty. And very young.” She finished arranging the table. “Come. Open the wine.” They sat and made small talk as they ate. Much to his surprise, he relaxed and felt the blinding tension ease. Finally, they were finished. “You seem in a much better mood,” she said.

  “Yeah, I am. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Will you need help sleeping tonight?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “It amazes me where you find the strength,” she said. “Most would crumble under similar circumstances but you seem to grow stronger.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he lied.

  She smiled at him as she cleared the table and packed the bags. “What a lovely compliment.” Then she was gone.

  Gus closed the door and stretched out on his bunk. I’m out’a here. He rolled over and went to sleep.

  Hank’s countdown calendar showed twelve days to go when R. Garrison Cooper stormed into Denise’s office with Natividad Gomez in close tow. He came right to the point. “Madam Prosecutor, you don’t really need my client’s testimony in court.”

  Denise spun her chair around and looked at Natividad across the expanse of her black lacquered desk. There were tears in Natividad’s eyes and she felt sorry for her.