After a moment, Gold nodded. "So, let's address how Lara passes your suggestions on to Mary's lawyer. One way is for Lara to hire her own lawyer, and try to set up some joint privilege covering him and Mary's lawyer . . ."
"Too cumbersome," Kerry objected. "Too many people knowing too much."
"Or," Gold continued with a smile, "she could claim to be seeking advice from Mary's lawyer about her lawsuit in the future. Or to be acting as Mary's agent, helping make decisions for a sister too traumatized to cope. Or, under California law, that talking to Mary's lawyer 'furthers the client's interests.' "
"Will any of that work?"
Gold nodded briskly. "All of it, I think. Especially in combination— none of these assertions is mutually exclusive."
Kerry found himself wondering, yet again, how his plans would affect Lara's relationship to Mary. "That leaves conversations between Lara and her sister," he replies. "The most delicate part of all."
" 'Delicate'?"
"Lara's not at all convinced that Mary will take kindly to our directions."
"It's also delicate as a matter of law," Gold cautioned. "But if Lara is a prospective plaintiff, that might create a joint privilege covering both her and Mary. In California, I think you can get by with that. Still, I'd keep those sisterly chats to a minimum."
Nodding, Kerry repressed his sense of foreboding. "We will," he assured his lawyer. "And unless Mary goes along with this, there won't be more than one."
* * *
When Kerry returned to the Oval Office, he called in Clayton Slade. "Did you check those military contracts?" the President asked.
"Yes. Lexington supplies sidearms to the Army. Chiefly for military police."
"Put a stop to it, as soon as possible. Our version of the SSA boycott, a modest attention-getter." Kerry sat back. "Also, I want a report on how long it would take for the Anniston Army Depot to start making M-16s. I'm not in the mood to keep subsidizing companies who think they owe their highest duty to the SSA."
"I'd watch it," Clayton admonished. "The gun folks will say you're abusing your power, and screwing around with national security."
"That," Kerry answered sharply, "depends on how well Anniston can make an M-16. As for abusing my power, I'm simply using it. When companies like Lexington stop making bullets like the Eagle's Claw, I'll use it some other way."
After a moment, Clayton shrugged. "At least we can look into it. Why was Avi Gold here, by the way?"
Kerry smiled fractionally. "To give me legal advice. Of a personal nature."
Clayton folded his arms. "Avi Gold," he said emphatically, "was not here to revise your will."
The President's smile vanished. "True. But if I told you what we talked about, it wouldn't be privileged, would it?"
Clayton studied him. "Have it your way, Kerry. But have a care. For your sake, and for Lara's."
THREE
Shortly before six o'clock in San Francisco, Sarah Dash glanced at her watch.
She was still at the office, and would be for several hours. Four months into her new job as a trial lawyer for the Kilcannon Center for Social Justice, Sarah found it as demanding as her past life at Kenyon and Walker, the city's premier corporate law firm, but far more compelling. Looking back at the last year, Sarah realized, this sea change in her career had been inevitable.
In January, Sarah—despite the resistance of the inner circle at Kenyon and Walker—had taken on the pro bono representation of Mary Ann Tierney. The pregnant teenager, fearful that giving birth to a hydrocephalic child would impair her ability to bear more children, had sought a late term abortion over the opposition of her militant pro-life parents. The televised trial which resulted, pitting parent against child, became a race against time, wherein Sarah sought to invalidate an act of Congress before Mary Ann was forced to deliver. But the trial court ruled against her; only in the United States Court of Appeals, by virtue of a landmark opinion written by Judge Caroline Masters, did Mary Ann prevail. This result, a stunning triumph for Sarah, had nearly caused the Senate to reject President Kilcannon's nomination of Judge Masters as Chief Justice. The fact that the aborted fetus proved to have no cerebral cortex did little to reduce the bitterness.
But for Sarah, the Tierney case proved that, at thirty, she was a gifted and resourceful lawyer. The other lesson came to her more slowly: having acted on her beliefs, she was no longer satisfied to spend her days meeting the needs of corporate clients. The Kilcannon Center was a perfect fit: its San Francisco office needed a lawyer to lead its lawsuits against the gun industry; Sarah believed that, given the SSA's influence over Congress, lawsuits were the only method which might force the industry to reform. From her first day, Sarah had felt emancipated.
And so she remained at her desk, a compact young woman with dark curly hair, liquid brown eyes and, she acknowledged, a social life which could use some work. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would keep her dinner date. Tonight, she would make the legal brief she had drafted all it should be.
But first she had an hour of TV to watch. Like other women her age, she found Lara Costello Kilcannon—only two years older than Sarah herself—a compelling figure. And like almost everyone she knew, Sarah had seen the videotape of the murders. She felt sorrow for the Kilcannons, anger at the weapons used against Lara's family. That her own career had become a war against such weapons made watching Lara Kilcannon irresistible.
Promptly at six o'clock, Sarah switched on her office television.
* * *
In the library of the White House—where, three weeks ago, she and Kerry had disclosed Joan Bowden's problems—Lara faced Cathie Civitch.
With ten seconds until airtime, Cathie gave her a smile meant to be encouraging. But it did nothing to alleviate Lara's tension and betrayed Cathie's own. Despite all of her past success, Cathie no doubt knew that she would be best known for what transpired in this one hour.
In turn, Lara knew that Cathie would be well prepared, and familiar with the viewpoint of the SSA—her questions would be respectful, but probing. Lara had steeped herself in the complex issues surrounding the gun debate, but had not tried to anticipate questions which were personal. Lara's life had been based on self-control and careful planning, but that would not work here. The audience expected self-revelation; the knowledge left her edgy, and a little sick inside.
* * *
Upstairs, in his office, Kerry watched. Lara had insisted on doing this alone.
This, Cathie Civitch said, is the first time Americans have heard from you since the tragedy.
Lara gave a small shrug of the shoulders. I haven't been ready, she said quietly. I wasn't ready to lose my family.
The abruptness of what happened was just so startling—three of the people I loved most were gone, and I hadn't said goodbye, or said the things one needs to say. And Marie . . . Briefly, Lara paused. I just want to hold Marie. And I can't.
Only someone who knew her as well as he, Kerry reflected, would know how much this cost her. And he could do nothing.
* * *
At six-eleven, Frank Fasano left the floor of the Senate and entered his office suite. Macdonald Gage was already there, watching Lara Kilcannon.
"How's she doing?" Fasano asked.
Gage's eyes did not move from the screen. "See for yourself."
Were it in my power, Lara told Cathie Civitch, no one else would ever have to feel as I do.
"Here it comes," Gage said. "This is going to be her cause."
But they do, Lara continued. On the day my family died, eighty-seven more Americans died from gunshot wounds. We don't know their names; we don't see their families on television . . . Abruptly, Lara seemed almost to snap, anger and emotion overtaking her. Since then, how many families have lost a child, a father, a husband, or a wife? And how few of the survivors can even find an outlet for their grief?
They feel helpless. We can try to fix the schools, but we can't educate children they've already lost. Every day we lo
se ten more. And that is not acceptable to me.
In close-up, Lara's eyes were filled with passion. Softly, Fasano said, "This is trouble, Mac. Life in the Senate will be that much harder."
Gage did not turn. "Has the SSA scheduled a meeting?"
"The day after tomorrow," Fasano answered. "I'd like a day to reflect on what we're seeing."
When Charles Dane glanced at his watch, it was nine twenty-seven.
"She's still got another half hour," he murmured to Bill Campton, "to finish poisoning the collective American mind. Imagine what we could do with Barbara Walters and four or five women who'd protected themselves with handguns."
In profile, Campton's smile was wan. "Dream on, Charles."
What, Cathie Civitch was asking, do you think the answers are?
I'll leave the specifics to the President, Lara said, and to Congress. But the fundamental question is, How do we prevent these kinds of tragedies?
Why do we have airport security, Cathie? To prevent armed terrorists from crashing a plane into a building. Because you can't punish a hijacker who's already dead, or save his victims once the plane blows up. Lara leaned forward, her voice forceful now. We have to use our common sense. Do we just keep arming Americans with yet more handguns to protect themselves from other Americans with guns? And how do you know to shoot someone who's carrying a concealed weapon?
Pausing, Lara spoke with remembered sadness. I was a war correspondent, in Kosovo. In a war zone, you somehow manage to accept the murder of the innocent. But America shouldn't become a war zone. The way to protect ourselves in a civil society is to disarm the criminals, not arm ourselves. And if we buy guns out of fear, not choice, how many more accidents or teen suicides will we have, how many more domestic shootings where a gun turns a moment of anger or despair into an irreversible tragedy . . .
"It's the same old line," Dane said. "Guns are the problem, so let's take them all away."
"At the moment she's on a pedestal," Campton opined. "We can't attack her directly—at least right now." For another moment, he studied her, and then looked up at Dane. "Ever wonder what their story is—her and Kilcannon, the way she tried to get to him after he was shot. Was that just dogged journalism? Their whole romance popped up real quick."
If I could bring my mother back, Lara was saying, and the man who shot her, then I'd ask her to choose between punishing her own murderer, or saving other lives by changing the laws which allowed this man to buy this kind of weapon.
I know what my mother would say: We can fill our jails and cemeteries, or we can try to stop the violence . . .
"Too quick," Dane answered simply.
* * *
Twenty-five minutes to go, Kerry thought. So far Lara had maintained her composure.
How, Cathie Civitch asked, is the President coping with this tragedy?
I think he's tried to concentrate on me, rather than himself. Lara's voice became regretful, quiet. I haven't been much help to him, even though I know how terrible he feels.
Civitch leaned forward, hands clasped together. You have a new marriage, a terrible loss, John Bowden's letter blaming your husband for his actions. That would test the strongest marriage.
Lara drew a breath. There are certain things, Cathie, that I have to accept. One is that this man has forever redefined my life. But I will not let him redefine my relationship to the person I love most . . .
Abruptly, Lara stopped, as if hearing herself. You know, she said softly, I don't think I've ever told him that. But I've promised it to myself.
Watching, Kerry felt more grateful for this moment than he ever could have imagined. Perhaps, he allowed himself to hope, Lara might begin rethinking her reservations about starting a family of their own.
Today, Cathie Civitch said, is your mother's birthday.
Tears welled in Lara's eyes. Yes.
Kerry had not known.
* * *
Silent, Chad and Allie Palmer sat in front of their television.
How, Civitch was asking Lara, do you respond to those who say the cause of violence is not guns, but a culture which uses violence as entertainment?
"For Middle America," Palmer observed, "this is the one she's got to answer. No matter what kind of shape she's in."
Pausing, Lara regained her footing. I agree that guns are not the only cause of violence. What guns do is make violence lethal.
If you compare us to Canada, Australia and New Zealand, you see many similarities. Our histories include the conquest of a frontier, and the violent displacement of indigenous people. Our current rates of violent crime are comparable. But our murder rate is exponentially higher, because our murderers use guns. That's why in Japan, which hardly lacks for violent entertainment, a year can go by without anyone under eighteen dying from gun violence.
Certainly, we need to tell the entertainment industry to stop shoving violence down our throats in movies, television, video games, and popular music. But we also need to concern ourselves more deeply with what our children watch and hear, and to tell them that violence is no answer . . .
Allie turned to her husband, her expression pensive. "Lara may be grieving. But she's certainly well prepared."
Briefly, Chad thought of his impassioned speech on the Senate floor, a few days after Kyle's death, defending Caroline Masters. "You can be both," he answered quietly. "Some people may think it's calculating, or just plain cold. The truth is that it keeps you from falling apart."
Silent, Allie took his hand.
* * *
For nearly an hour Sarah had never checked her watch.
Do you ever look back, Civitch asked Lara Kilcannon, and wonder how you might have changed things?
All the time, Lara answered quietly. But not just for Kerry and me, or even for my family.
Well before these murders, Kerry went to the gun industry and asked them to require background checks at gun shows. They refused. Then he went to the president of Lexington Arms, and implored him not to continue putting the wrong guns in the wrong hands. Lara paused, as though suppressing her emotions. I can't help but feel that if they'd listened, my mother, sister and niece would still be living, and the families of three other victims would not be wondering why bullets meant for my sister Mary murdered the people they loved instead . . .
Listening, Sarah could not easily imagine how Lara Kilcannon felt. Or, for that matter, the president of Lexington Arms.
* * *
"Brilliant," Charles Dane murmured. "Now they've both crucified George Callister on national TV. Lexington couldn't get a fair trial anywhere in America."
Campton looked up. "You still think they're setting up a lawsuit?"
"Of course. Except they'll use the sister."
In close-up, Cathie Civitch's face was filled with compassion. As First Lady, you intend to make reducing gun violence your cause. What will you tell the American people?
Lara seemed to gather her thoughts. First, I will ask them to reflect on the over thirty thousand deaths we suffer every year. I will say to them, "Listen to your own heart, your own intellect, your own experience of life, and decide whether you think this is the way our country has to be." I will ask, "What kind of world do you want for your children, or your children's children . . ."
And what, Civitch interjected, would you say to the SSA itself?
I would ask its members why we have this terrible division on guns.
They're being asked to fear us, and they have nothing to fear. I'll never forget watching Charles Dane hold up his hunting rifle at an SSA convention and say, "Kerry Kilcannon will have to pry this rifle out of my cold dead hands." Lara paused, her voice thickening with emotion. I thought about that when I stood by my six-year-old niece's casket, looking into her face as I held her lifeless hand.
Suddenly, she looked into the camera, saying softly, I don't want your hunting rifle, Mr. Dane. Kerry doesn't want it. Americans just want a country where this never happens to another child . . .
Don't do this, Dane silently warned her. It is such a grave mistake.
* * *
Finishing, Lara imagined the faces of those who watched her. "I hope that many more of you will join us. There is so much for us to do, so many lives to save. And the cost of failure is more than anyone should be asked to bear."
For a moment, Cathie Civitch was silent. Then she said simply, "Lara Costello Kilcannon, thank you."
Exhausted, Lara realized that the name still sounded strange to her. But that was who she was now. For her own sake, and Kerry's, she hoped she had done well.
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