This guy didn’t look at all like the other agents David had encountered. “Are you with the FBI?”
“No, I’m with another branch of the government,” he said, without any further explanation. “Where are the computer files you downloaded?”
David took a deep breath. “I’d like to wait until my dad and my lawyer get here before answering any questions.”
“I’m sure they’ll be here shortly, but I suggest you answer my questions if you don’t want to spend a very long time in jail. You know, there are guys in prison who look forward to the arrival of fresh-faced kids like yourself.” He squinted his eyes at David. “They always look forward to the arrival of fresh meat.”
David’s mouth suddenly went dry and he tried to remove the top of the Coke bottle to take a sip, but his hands were shaking too much. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just copied the files onto microchips like I’m supposed to and then sent them to my contacts.”
“Give me their names and addresses.”
“I don’t know their names. I only know their code names. I just deliver the microchips to where I’m supposed to. I don’t know what happens after that.”
Schwartz pushed a pad of paper in front of David, pulled a pen from his suit pocket, and placed it on the pad of paper. “Why don’t you just write down their code names and the locations you delivered the microchips to and we’ll see what we find?”
David wrote down the code names of his six contacts. He paused at the end, unsure whether to tell him about the microchip he had given to the professor at the university. He decided not to.
“Where’s the computer you used to make the microchips?” Schwartz asked.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. “His lawyer’s here,” an FBI agent said as he opened the door.
“David, don’t say another word,” Greg Blackwood said when he entered the room.
David saw his father in the doorway behind Greg. “Dad!” He scrambled from his chair and ran to hug him.
“What is he being charged with?” Greg asked.
“Nothing, yet,” Schwartz answered. “But you’ll find out all of the charges at his arraignment.”
Schwartz rose from his chair and left the room, closing the door behind him. “Find that computer,” he said to the two agents who were waiting outside.
* * *
Robert headed into the C&D lounge about twenty after six that evening, but there was hardly anyone there. It was called the C&D lounge because the student council sold fresh coffee and doughnuts there to raise money. Unfortunately, they had already closed up operations for the day so Robert, who hadn’t had supper yet, was forced to purchase something from one of the vending machines. The Best Before date on the package had faded to the point of being unreadable which caused Robert some concern, but not enough to forego what was inside the package. He flopped down on one of the couches in the lounge.
A few minutes later, a couple of students wandered in. “Are you here for the calculus study group?” one of them asked Robert.
“I guess so,” he answered.
Shortly thereafter, a few more students arrived, but Vanessa still hadn’t shown. Robert seriously considered bailing.
“Sorry I’m late,” Vanessa said as she raced into the lounge along with another student. She was about to sit beside Robert on the couch, but when she saw who it was, she decided to sit on the couch facing him.
“Okay, we’re here to try to form a study group for second-year calculus,” she said. “We’re not planning to do any studying here tonight, just come up with some days and times when we can get together. I’ve already spoken to a few of you about your availability and it appears that Monday and Thursday evenings work best, starting at six-thirty. Can everyone make it at those times?”
“Can we start at seven instead of six-thirty?” Robert asked. “I won’t have time to grab supper if we start that early.”
There was a murmuring of agreement to start at seven.
“And can we make sure we’re done on Thursdays by eight-thirty?” Robert asked again. “I play Magic starting at nine.”
Everyone nodded their agreement.
“Okay, does anyone else have any constraints?” Vanessa asked the group, although she was looking directly at Robert when she asked. No one else had any time constraints. “Okay, we’ll have our first study group meeting this Thursday at seven here in the lounge. See you then.”
Everyone started gathering their belongings and heading out. Robert headed over to speak to Vanessa. “I’d like to apologize again for any misunderstanding earlier today.”
“That’s okay. I guess I was partly to blame for thinking you had an ulterior motive. I’ve always been a little suspicious of people – not sure why.” Vanessa continued loading stuff into her backpack. “But I have to ask you one more thing.”
“Shoot,” Robert said.
“What the hell is Magic?”
“You’ve never heard of it? Magic: The Gathering – it’s a trading card game.”
“You are such a nerd,” Vanessa said, shaking her head.
“Well, after our study group session on Thursday, you can come to our game and give it a try. I’ll even loan you some of my Magic cards. What do you say?”
She looked at him and smiled. “Okay.”
Robert watched her as she walked out of the lounge. He found her intriguing.
*** Chapter 13 ***
Laura paced back and forth in her living room. It had been several hours since she’d spoken with Henry and she hadn’t received any further updates. She had called Henry several times and left voice-mails, each time apologizing for letting Todd take David into custody, but in her heart she still felt it was the right thing to do. She just wished he would call her back and let her explain things.
Suddenly her phone rang and she grabbed it before it even finished the first ring.
It was Lou, her editor. “We’re going to run your first story about the JFK assassination in tomorrow’s paper – the one about the misidentification of the gun.”
“I haven’t finished going through all of the files yet,” Laura protested. “I think there’s more there.”
“I’m counting on that. We’re going to publish it as a series of articles. The first story will be about the gun. It will tie in nicely with the picture of the kid they just arrested.”
“We don’t even know if the two stories are related. I don’t think he knows anything. He’s just someone who stumbled into a mess of trouble.”
“Yeah, I figured that. But he’s now the face of this story – a fresh-faced kid going up against a government that’s trying to hide something.”
“He’s not even American,” Laura said. “He’s Canadian.”
“Even better – tomorrow we’re going to run the picture along with your story. The next day we’ll run your story about how they discredited the witnesses who said they heard a shot come from the grassy knoll.”
“That’s all I’ve got so far.”
“Then you better get cracking. We’ve got to stay ahead of this story.” He hung up before Laura could offer any more objections.
Laura headed back over to her desk and began searching through the digitized records, concentrating on those recently added to the National Archives. After about an hour, she came across a statement from a man named Gordon Arnold who claimed to have filmed the President’s motorcade that day as it made its way through Dealey Plaza. He said two policemen had confiscated his film as evidence shortly after the incident. Laura searched the database for any other records under that name, but didn’t get any hits. If the statement from Mr. Arnold was correct, there was no record of his film ever being logged into evidence.
The best photographic evidence of the assassination was the now famous Zapruder film, but there were accusations that the Zapruder film had been altered – and they were right. When he sold the film to Life Magazine, Zapruder had requested that the frame showing the President’s head being blown
apart be withheld from the public because he thought it would be too upsetting.
Even the version that was shown to the Warren Commission was not complete. Frames 208 to 211 were missing, a splice was visible in frames 207 and 212, frames 314 and 315 were switched, and frame 284 was a repeat of frame 283. In reply to a 1965 inquiry, the FBI's J. Edgar Hoover indicated frames 314 and 315 were switched due to a printing error. In 1967, Life Magazine released a statement that four frames of the camera original (208–211) had been accidentally destroyed, and the adjacent frames damaged by a lab technician. Conspiracy theorists had suggested some frames had been altered to create confusion as to whether the final shot had really come from behind the President.
Laura continued her search and found a statement from Beverly Oliver who also claimed to have been filming that day. She said she had been contacted at work and turned over her film to two FBI or Secret Service agents who promised they would return it to her within ten days, but she never heard from them again. Using cross referencing, Laura figured out that Beverly Oliver was better known as the “Babushka Lady”, who is shown in the Zapruder film as filming the motorcade from a different angle. Once again, there was no record of her film ever being logged into evidence.
If there was a common theme to this whole case, it was that evidence seemed to have a habit of disappearing.
Laura was interrupted when her phone rang. “Hello,” she said, hoping it was Henry finally returning her call.
“Hi, it’s Sam.” Samantha was Laura’s best friend and had been since childhood. They were like two peas in a pod and never too far apart. After high school, Laura had enrolled at Ohio State because Sam had been accepted there, and when Laura got a job at the Chicago Tribune, Sam found a job there as well within a few months. “I didn’t see you at work today. Are you sick?”
“No – just working from home.”
Sam immediately sensed that Laura wasn’t telling the whole story. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just hoping this call was from Henry.”
Sam knew all about Henry. She had been there when Laura had met him at the bar at the Chicago airport. She had initially thought it was a bad idea for them to hook up but since then, she had come to see how good they were together. “Why? What’s going on? Did you guys have a fight?”
“No, not really. He’s just pissed because I let Todd arrest his son.”
“What? Holy shit! I need details, girl. I’m on my way over.”
“I’m fine. You don’t have to come over.”
“I was just about to leave work anyway. I’m on my way.”
* * *
It seemed like no time at all until Sam was at her door. “Okay, spill it,” she said as she waltzed by Laura and headed straight to the kitchen. Sam was tall and thin with naturally blond hair, a rarity since most women’s blond hair simply matched the colour on the bottle from which it came. She had gone through a slew of boyfriends over the years, something that was starting to concern her now that she was over thirty-five. She had never met “the one”, so she was starting to doubt he even existed.
Sam pulled two wine glasses from the cabinet, grabbed a half-full bottle of white wine from the fridge, and filled their glasses almost to the rims.
“There’s not much to tell,” Laura said as she took a healthy sip from her wine glass.
Sam looked unconvinced. “Bullshit.”
Laura explained how David was in some kind of trouble and had come by her place looking for his father. Henry had told her to take care of him until he arrived, but then Todd had shown up to arrest him.
“How did Todd know he was here?”
“I don’t know,” Laura said. “Henry asked the same question.” She took another sip of wine. “I think he might be a bit jealous of Todd.”
“Well, duh.”
“What do you mean?”
“How could he not be jealous of Todd? He’s your old boyfriend and he hangs around you all the time. And he’s got a body that any woman with a pulse would want to do in an instant.”
“He’s not around that much,” Laura protested. “We’re just friends and he’s helping me with some research for a story.”
Sam shook her head in disbelief. “He always seems to be helping you with something. Face it – the guy’s still got a thing for you. The big question is whether you’ve still got a thing for him.”
“Absolutely not,” Laura said. She was tired of playing defense and decided a little offence was called for. “And when you said any woman with a pulse would want to do Todd, does that include you?”
“Because we’re friends, I’m not going to answer that.”
They glared at each other until Sam looked away.
“Look,” Sam said. “All I’m saying is that if you’re really interested in patching things up with Henry, you’re going to have to give up whatever’s going on between you and Todd.”
Laura finished her wine in one big gulp. Sometimes best friends were a big pain in the ass. But sometimes they were the only ones willing to tell you what you really needed to hear. “Will you help me patch things up with Henry?”
“Of course I will,” Sam said as she gave Laura a hug. “So, if you’re going to end things with Todd, does that mean that I could…”
Laura broke their hug. “Don’t even think about it.”
Sam could not hide her grin. “Too soon?”
*** Chapter 14 ***
Laura quietly slipped into the back of the courtroom and scanned the room looking for Henry. She had arrived early hoping to talk to him before David’s case was called. She deliberately sat away from the other reporters in the room and placed her coat on the seat beside her to hold it for him. But it was actually Todd who plopped down beside her.
“We have to talk,” Laura whispered to him. “It’s probably best that we not sit together. I’ll find you after the proceedings.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Todd whispered back. “What’s up?”
“Not now,” Laura said as she waved him away.
But it was too late. Henry walked into the courtroom at that exact moment and saw them together. You could almost hear the grinding of his teeth as his jaw clenched.
* * *
“Accused is to be remanded into custody. Bail set at ten thousand dollars,” Judge Raymond Prowse said as he slammed down his gavel. He was presiding over arraignment court and had already quickly ruled on several cases that morning. This court was not for a formal trial; it was simply where the prosecution specified the charges being laid, the defendant entered an initial plea, and bail was set. It was also the first opportunity for the defense to challenge whether there were enough grounds to even lay charges.
Judge Prowse was a seasoned veteran so the steady stream of assault, burglary and drug charges that he’d encountered so far that day were hardly challenging his legal mind. “Next case,” the judge said.
“David Charles Shaw,” the bailiff announced.
“What are the charges?” the judge asked without looking up.
“Charges are for Unauthorized Computer Access, Theft and Possession of Stolen Property, Illegal Entry and Resisting Arrest,” the prosecutor said.
The judge looked over his glasses at the fresh-faced kid who stood before him facing these charges. Something didn’t seem right. “How does the defendant plead?”
“Not guilty,” Mike Nethercott said. Mike was a criminal lawyer with the firm’s Chicago office – in fact, the only criminal lawyer in the firm as they didn’t practice much criminal law at all. He was in his mid-twenties and the shuffling of the papers in his hand showed his nervousness.
Beside him stood Greg Blackwood. Greg was a civil litigator and didn’t practice any criminal law whatsoever, but his many years of experience had taught him how to handle himself in a courtroom. “We’d like to dispute these charges, Your Honour,” Greg said. “We have a sworn statement from FBI agent Todd Knight that our client turned himself in voluntarily.”
“Objection,” the Prosecutor said. “Mr. Blackwood is a Canadian and is not licensed to practice law in the United States. He may not be familiar with how we do things on this side of the border and since we want to ensure that the defendant is given a fair trial, we request that Mr. Blackwood not be allowed to represent Mr. Shaw in this matter.”
“Your Honour, I thank the Prosecutor for his concern about my client, but I have been practicing law for over twenty years. I have just written the Bar exams for the state of Illinois and I expect to be licensed shortly. Mr. Nethercott is lead counsel. I am simply here as an advisor.”
The judge looked closely at Mr. Blackwood and had an immediate sense that this man knew the law. “Overruled,” the judge said. “Mr. Blackwood, you will not be allowed to represent Mr. Shaw at trial until you are licensed by the state, but I think we can allow you to act in an advisory capacity at this stage.”
The judge turned his focus to the Prosecutor. “Is it true Mr. Shaw turned himself in voluntarily?”
“Technically, yes,” the Prosecutor said. “But the defendant snuck across the border and has been evading arrest on both sides of the border.”
“My client came across the border on a bus along with the rest of his Team Canada teammates,” Greg said, “and played a soccer game in front of a few thousand fans. In fact, he had his picture appear in the sports pages of the Chicago Tribune.” Greg held up the newspaper so the judge could see the picture. “I’d hardly describe that as a person who snuck across the border and resisting arrest, Your Honour.”
“I would tend to agree,” the judge said.
“Our Customs and Border Protection Agency shows no record of Mr. Shaw entering the United States,” the Prosecutor said.
“If the prosecution wants, I can obtain statements from his coaches and the rest of his teammates that my client was on that bus,” Greg said.
The Second Shooter Page 8
