“The trial is going just fine,” she replied, “but we have to talk about me. That is, about me staying on as your attorney.”
“What are you saying?” he asked in alarm. “Are you saying you want to quit on me?”
“No, of course not,” she assured him. “But there was a story concerning me that came out in one of the tabloids yesterday, and it has to do with—”
“I know about that,” he said, interrupting.
“And I know how you feel about abortion.”
“So?”
“So, if you’re uncomfortable being represented by me, now that you know, I’d understand.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” he said. “We never talked about it, but I always figured you were pro-choice, being so career-minded and all.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
He shrugged. “If you can be pro-choice, and still believe that I’m innocent, why should it bother me?”
“And you’re absolutely certain you want me to stay on as your attorney?”
“Of course,” he said. “You’re my attorney. I don’t want any other. I won’t accept any other.”
“And what if the people who are paying your bills want it otherwise?”
“Do they?” he asked.
“It’s possible,” she said carefully. “They’re pretty conservative, and what with the publicity from the article and all, they might be motivated to remove me.”
“Well, they may be paying my bills—and don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate that—but they’re not sitting in my seat,” he reasoned. “When they are, then they can pick whatever attorney they want.”
At exactly two o’clock, Dana walked into Paul Cotter’s office. Charles Ramsey was there, as she had expected, but absent from the room was the third member of the executive committee, Elton Grace.
“Why don’t we get started,” Cotter suggested, as he and Charles took two of the chairs around the Oriental coffee table, and he gestured her to another.
“Aren’t we waiting for Elton?” Dana inquired.
“No,” the managing partner replied. “I’m afraid he wasn’t able to join us today. He hoped you’d understand.”
“I see,” she said, thinking that she understood much better than he realized.
“However,” Cotter continued, “Charles and I have discussed the entire situation at length, and we are both of the opinion that we should go ahead and make the changes that you and I discussed on Friday.”
“You think that would be in the best interests of the client, do you?” she asked politely.
“Yes, we do,” he confirmed in a fatherly tone. “We also happen to think it would be in your best interests, as well, my dear. Removing you from the limelight should make the media far less intrusive on your life.”
“I see,” Dana said again.
“I know you wanted to see this case through to the bitter end, but believe me when I say this is not any kind of failure on your part. Your work has been exemplary. Charles has said so repeatedly. And we know you did not intend your personal life to interfere with your professional responsibilities.”
“No, I didn’t,” she said. “And I don’t believe it has—or that it would.”
“I know you’re disappointed,” Cotter said, “but you’ll just have to trust that the old fogies know best on this one.”
Dana looked the managing partner directly in the eye. “I’m afraid not, Paul,” she said. “I’m afraid I can’t trust you on this one at all.”
“I beg your pardon?” Cotter was clearly taken aback. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”
“You heard me,” she said. “I don’t believe you are acting in the best interests of the client.”
“Come now, you’re hardly in a position to—”
“Who’s paying for Corey Latham’s defense?” she asked, cutting him off.
“I don’t see as that’s particularly relevant to this conversation,” he replied.
“Back in March, you said we were taking the case as a favor to a friend,” she said calmly. “I’m the attorney of record, and as such, I think I have a right to know who the friend is who’s paying for the defense of my client.”
“Actually, the money is coming from various places,” Cotter said. “A good part of it came from the Reverend Jonathan Heal, through his national congregation.”
“That was only a quarter of a million. What about the rest?”
The two men exchanged glances. “How did you know the amount?” Ramsey asked.
“Oh, I know all kinds of things, Charles,” she replied. She turned back to Cotter. “Where’s the big money coming from?”
“Well, if you really must know, a sizable amount of it is being donated by the Coalition for Conservative Causes.”
“That’s Roger Roark’s group, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And is he the friend you mentioned?”
“We’ve known each other for a long time.”
“And was there any condition attached to his checkbook that gave him any special influence, either over you, or over the outcome of the case?”
“Certainly not.”
With a sigh, Dana opened her briefcase, took out a micro-cassette player, set it on the coffee table, and pushed the button.
“Okay, we’re going to shell out at least a million bucks for this Latham kid’s defense. How are you going to guarantee us a conviction?” a voice on the tape asked. “Are you going to fix the jury?”
“No, but something almost as good,” Cotter’s own voice replied. “I’m going to put a green attorney in charge, a female junior partner with limited capital crime experience. And I’ll have Charles keeping an eye on her, ready to step in, just in case.”
Dana hit the button, stopping the tape. “Would you like to reconsider your answer?” she suggested.
Cotter’s face went white. “Where did you get that?” he demanded.
“Is that what really matters here, where I got it?” Dana asked. “It seems to me that what matters is the two of you, knee-deep in ethical violations, perhaps even criminal acts.”
“Oh, come now,” Ramsey declared.
“If I were you,” Dana continued, ignoring him, “what I’d be worrying about is what would happen if the bar association ever got hold of this tape. I’d worry about Craig Jessup’s report on your little attempt at jury tampering. I’d worry about the repercussions if your colossal conflict of interest ever ended up in the newspapers. In fact, the only thing I wouldn’t worry about, if I were you, is the Hill House bombing trial, because Joan Wills and I have that very well in hand.” She returned the tape player to her briefcase and stood up. “By the way, there are three complete copies of this information, all in safe hands,” she added. “And instructions for what to do should any unforeseen accident befall either me or Craig Jessup. Have I made myself clear?”
Ramsey just glared at her.
“You’ve made yourself perfectly clear,” Cotter told her, unable to keep a hint of admiration from his voice. “Go ahead, finish your trial. If Latham is convicted, all of this will have been for naught. This firm will not be handling his appeal. If he’s acquitted, we’ll have a rather irate benefactor in Roger Roark, but then he’ll hardly be in a position to argue. Do we understand each other?”
Paul Cotter was smooth indeed. Dana nodded. “We do,” she said.
Starting at seven o’clock, after Corey reported that Elise had not shown up at the jail for the second straight day, Dana began to call the Lathams’ number every hour on the hour, each time getting no answer. Finally, at eleven o’clock, she climbed into her Camry and drove over to West Dravus. There was always a chance, she supposed, that the young woman was in some kind of trouble.
The house was dark, and the front yard was deserted, the small contingent of media people that still camped in her rosebushes having called it a night.
Dana parked across the street and sat for a moment, contemplating whether to get o
ut, in case Elise might be inside, sick or injured or in need of some kind of assistance. She had just decided, as long as she had come all the way over here, to go knock on the door, when a black BMW pulled up to the curb.
A man climbed out and walked around to the passenger side. Elise slid out of the car with a small suitcase, and Dana watched as the two walked up the path to the front door. In the glow of the streetlight, there was no mistaking the long embrace. Then Elise went inside, and the man got back in the BMW and drove away. Dana wished she were anywhere but in her car, on this street, seeing what she had just seen. The question was, what was she going to tell Corey?
She needn’t have worried. He seemed much relieved when she called him the next morning.
“About Elise,” Dana began, not yet sure of the words she would use.
“I know,” he said with a chuckle. “I just talked to her. I should have remembered. She gets PMS real bad, sometimes, and when she does, she can’t even get out of bed. It can last for days. I don’t know how she can stand it, myself.”
“Well, I’m glad you got it all straightened out,” Dana murmured, keeping her voice carefully neutral. After all, who was she to pass judgment on anyone else’s actions?
TWENTY-FOUR
Dozens of freshly painted posters and hundreds of angry protesters, demanding her removal from the Latham case, greeted Dana’s arrival at the courthouse.
“Traitor,” they screamed from behind the barricades.
“Satan’s servant!”
“Baby butcher!”
News networks, anticipating the moment, turned their cameras full on her and thrust their microphones in her face.
“Tell us about the abortion, Ms. McAuliffe,” they demanded.
“Are you going to resign from the case?”
“Just ignore them, ma’am,” Guff suggested, as he escorted her from the police car to the portico. “Ignore them all.”
Dana gritted her teeth, and looked straight ahead. All she had to do was get through the rest of the trial, she told herself, and secure an acquittal for Corey. If she could just concentrate on the trial, everything else would somehow take care of itself.
The captain of Corey’s submarine was the first to take the stand on Monday. His testimony was brief and essentially uncontested, his purpose to establish the mood of the defendant during the months following his return from sea.
“For the first few weeks after Lieutenant Latham returned to shore, he seemed to be depressed and distracted and frequently short-tempered,” the officer testified. “It was necessary for me to speak to him several times about his performance.”
“How long did this last?” Dana inquired.
“I’d say it was somewhere around the end of November when I noticed that he seemed to have regained his composure and settled down. I assumed he had come to terms with whatever matter had set him off.”
Tom Sheridan came next.
“Can you tell us how long you’ve known the defendant?” Dana asked during the course of his testimony.
“Let me see now, I met Corey and Elise shortly after they were married,” the pastor of the Puget Sound Methodist Church replied in his resonant pulpit voice. “Which I suppose means I’ve known him almost a year and a half.”
“And how often would you say you saw Corey during that year and a half?”
“During the time when he was home from sea, I saw him at least several times a week.”
“What, if any, opinion did you form about the kind of person he was?”
“I found him to be a thoughtful, caring, deeply committed human being,” Sheridan said.
“Committed to what, sir?” Dana inquired.
“Committed to people,” the pastor replied. “He was a regular participant in our program to feed the homeless. Whenever he wasn’t on duty at the base, he was available to anyone in the congregation who needed assistance, in everything from carpentry to transportation. People sought him out, just to talk, because he was always willing to listen. He helped organize a volunteer care program for children during church services. And if anyone were ill, he’d go fetch medicine or bring soup or run errands. Anything he could do to help.”
“In November of last year, did you have occasion to meet with Corey and Elise Latham?”
“Yes, I did,” the minister verified. “We met on a number of occasions.”
“And will you tell the court about the nature of those meetings?”
“The Lathams requested counseling to deal with the loss of a child. We met twice a week for the better part of a month.”
“The loss of a child, Reverend Sheridan?” Dana questioned.
“Yes,” he said. “While Corey was at sea, Elise had opted to abort their baby. They were both having a difficult time dealing with the emotional consequences of that act, especially Corey.”
“Can you describe for the jury his demeanor at that time?”
“He was distraught, he was despondent, he was angry, he felt betrayed. All the normal things one would feel under the circumstances.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Brian said. “The witness is offering a conclusion by characterizing the behavior of the defendant as normal.”
“Sustained,” Bendali said.
“Let me rephrase the question,” Dana said. “Reverend Sheridan, have you ever counseled any other people who were in a situation similar to that of Corey and Elise Latham?”
“Yes, I have,” the minister replied. “Over the past twenty-five years, I’d say I’ve counseled somewhere between fifteen and twenty couples.”
“And based on your experience as a counselor, can you point to any common behavioral characteristics among people who have lost a child?”
“Yes, I can,” he said. “They all went through periods of being distraught, despondent, and angry. And depending on the particular circumstances, some of them felt betrayed.”
“So when you characterized Corey Latham’s behavior as normal, what you meant was that it was consistent with the behavior of other people you have counseled who have lost a child, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“All right, Reverend,” Dana continued smoothly, “did you ever detect a characteristic in any of the people you counseled that could be described as a tendency toward violence?”
“I would have to say no.”
“Would you know how to identify such a tendency?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask how you would know?”
“For five years, early in my career, I was a prison chaplain at the state penitentiary in Walla Walla. I know what violence is, what signs to look for, and how to identify them.”
“So, if I were to ask whether you saw any indication that Corey Latham was so distressed by his wife’s abortion and subsequent deception that he would have resorted to blowing apart a building full of people, what would you say?”
“I saw no such indication,” Sheridan declared. “In fact, I would say the opposite.”
“Will you explain that?”
“Instead of seeing Corey take his anger out on others, I saw him take it inside himself. I think he blamed himself for the abortion. There was nothing in anything he said or did that indicated that he blamed either Elise or the clinic.”
“But there has been testimony in this court that Corey did in fact have at least one loud, potentially physical argument with his wife.”
“People argue, Ms. McAuliffe,” the minister said. “Sometimes, they even shout and throw things. In my experience, that’s just venting frustration. In many cases, it’s necessary for the health and well-being of a relationship. But it’s a far cry from premeditated violence.”
“In the course of your counseling the Lathams, did you have occasion to recommend to Corey that he join a support group?”
“I did. It’s not an official church group, but several members of our congregation belong to it. It’s specifically for people who are grieving the loss of a child. I think they do good work, so I
’m happy to make referrals.”
“And you referred Corey Latham to this group?”
“Yes, I did,” the minister confirmed. “I thought he would benefit from the opportunity to verbalize his feelings among people who would understand what he was going through and be able to help him adjust.”
“And to your knowledge, did he attend any of the group’s meetings?”
“To my knowledge, he was going to the meetings at least once each week, right up until the time he was arrested.”
“Thank you,” Dana said. “That’s all I have.”
“Reverend Sheridan,” Brian inquired, “is the fact that you saw no indication of violence in the defendant a guarantee that he did not bomb Hill House?”
“Well, no, it’s not a guarantee. It’s simply an evaluation.”
“And, sir, isn’t the real reason you referred the defendant to the support group because you were unable to help him reconcile his anger in counseling?”
“No,” Sheridan said. “He was making great strides in counseling. I referred him to the support group because he was ready to take the next step.”
“Not because he was having so much trouble dealing with his anger that he was taking it out on his wife?”
“No,” the minister said. “There was no evidence of that. As I said, in times of stress, Corey seemed to me to turn inward, not outward.”
“And you’re an expert on behavior?”
“No, Mr. Ayres,” Tom Sheridan suggested mildly, “just an observer.”
“Where’s Charles?” Joan Wills inquired as Brian finished his cross-examination, and the judge announced the lunch break.
“He isn’t going to be with us anymore,” Dana said smoothly. “Cotter said something about another case that required his attention.”
Craig Jessup slipped into the courtroom just before the afternoon session was about to begin.
“Have a minute?” he asked Dana.
“Sure,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Does the name Tom Kirby ring any bells with you?”
Inexplicably, Dana felt the hair rise at the back of her neck and her heart begin to race. “Why do you ask?” she said, somehow knowing, with a sinking heart, that she knew the answer before she heard it.
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