Balance of Power

by Richard North Patterson

  "A loophole within a loophole," Fasano interjected dryly.

  Impervious, Dane went on. "Gun shows occur on a weekend. Applying a seventy-two-hour background check would unfairly impede their business. Instead, we'll require that any background check at gun shows be completed within minutes . . ."

  "That's impossible," Fasano interrupted. "We don't have the database, or the technology. But I suppose that's the point."

  Dane chose not to answer. "Our bill," he continued, "would only become applicable to gun shows when ninety-nine percent of all records regarding felonies, violent misdemeanors, and domestic violence are entered into the system."

  Fasano glanced at Landon, who listened without expression, and then back at Dane. "You recall Kilcannon's speech, I suppose. He pointed out that the records are nowhere near that, and proposed to allocate millions to fixing it. How much do you propose to allocate?"

  "Zero," Dane answered calmly. "That's for the states to fund."

  Fasano paused, reining in his irritation. "In the Senate," he observed, "we hold cynicism to a certain standard. In its higher forms it's not quite so transparent."

  Dane folded his arms. "Your moderates and Yankees can vote for this, and not be punished. We'll even help you by objecting to it. If your goal is to help us, and keep your Cassie Rollinses in line, that should be enough for you."

  "What's enough for me," Fasano snapped, "is something more than transcendent bullshit.

  "Give me your proposal, Charles. And I'll tell our staffers to add some things you actually don't like, such as some money to fund this instant background check of guns. Then you can oppose it with more sincerity."

  "If you pass it," Dane objected, "it could look like we're losing power."

  Turning to Landon, Fasano said in his weariest tone, "I imagine, Kelsey, that you've followed my train of thought."

  "I believe so," Landon answered, and then faced Dane again. "You want Frank to push through tort reform, immunizing Lexington and you, while he stalls Kilcannon's gun bill until public sentiment cools off. What Frank's saying to you, Charles, is that Kilcannon and Hampton are making that more difficult. So he needs another element . . ."

  "Specifically," Fasano interjected, "a gun safety law of our own. Something plausible enough for our moderates to vote for, but which doesn't give Kilcannon anything close to what he wants.

  "If we come up with a suitable bill, I'll schedule it ahead of the vote on tort reform. That will give our moderates some real cover, and make gun immunity an easier vote. And once Kilcannon vetoes it, we can claim he's an extremist."

  To Fasano, Dane looked both dubious and intrigued. "And if he doesn't?"

  "He will," Fasano answered. "I know the man, and I'll make sure he does."

  FOUR

  Trapped in a conference room on the twenty-seventh floor of Embarcadero Three, one of five floors inhabited by her former firm, Sarah watched John Nolan interrogate Homicide Inspector Charles Monk.

  To Sarah, the deposition process was familiar: a court reporter swore in the witness and then, sitting at the end of the conference table, recorded the questions and answers on a stenotype machine, providing a transcript which could be used for cross-examination of the witness at trial. But even more important, a deposition nailed down the witness to a story. Sarah had seen cases won or lost in a single deposition and, plainly, that was Nolan's purpose here.

  He had chosen—quite deliberately, Sarah knew—to sit with his back to the distractions offered Monk and Sarah through the tall glass windows of the conference room: a sweeping panorama of the San Francisco Bay on a sparkling day in late October, complete with a view of Alcatraz, a small flotilla of sailboats, and, at the moment, a Maersk freighter cruising slowly toward the Oakland harbor. But Sarah's focus was on Nolan. His deceptive air of calm could seduce a witness into carelessness, and his questions were unconstrained by the rules of evidence—hearsay, for example—which applied at trial. In a deposition there was no judge; only the witness's lawyer—if present—could direct him not to answer a question. Without judicial supervision, the rules were roughly those of a knife fight—anything goes. In such a forum John Nolan was particularly lethal.

  This witness had no lawyer. A black man of intimidating height and bulk, Monk leaned over the table with his hands folded in front of him, his face impassive and, to Sarah, unimpressed. She had only a sketchy notion of what he might say: in San Francisco a homicide inspector was a busy man, and Monk had been too overworked to talk to Sarah and, she could only hope, to Nolan. In silence, she watched as Nolan began boring in.

  "Did the President," he asked, "ever request police protection for Joan Bowden or her family?"

  Briefly, Monk searched his memory. "Not to my knowledge, no."

  "What is your impression of the private security firm that the President selected to protect them?"

  " 'Impression,' " Sarah echoed. "As to what? Their table manners?"

  Nolan did not condescend to look at her. "What is your impression," Nolan asked Monk, "of the firm's ability to adequately protect Joan Bowden from harm?"

  "Objection," Sarah said. "Lack of foundation. There's nothing in the record to suggest that the witness has a basis in knowledge for answering the question."

  Still Nolan did not turn to her. Calmly, he told the witness, "You may answer."

  Monk gave a lazy shrug. "Rent-a-cops are all over the map. From my investigation of the background of the two men killed at the airport, they had no experience in law enforcement or the military. Just the kind of perfunctory training they need to get a license."

  "Would you have entrusted your family to these two men?"

  "Me?" Monk answered with a flicker of irony. "I'd have done the job myself. But then the President doesn't have that luxury, does he."

  Nolan's face, an expressionless mask, betrayed no irritation. "Would you have selected these two men to protect your wife and children?"

  Monk frowned, plainly reluctant to answer. "No," he said at length. "I would not have."

  For the first time, the hint of a smile appeared in Nolan's eyes. "In the course of your inquiry into the murders, Inspector Monk, did you inquire into Bowden's background?"

  "To some extent. Understand, we knew he was the murderer, and he was way too dead to prosecute. So our principal worry was ensuring that he didn't have accomplices. We found no evidence of that."

  "Did you determine motive?"

  "We couldn't interview him, obviously." Pausing, Monk added with some reluctance, "The President did provide us with a letter."

  Nolan reached into a manila folder, and withdrew a copy of a page torn from a spiral notebook. Even at a distance, a glimpse of Bowden's jagged scrawl made Sarah's skin crawl.

  In the same phlegmatic voice, Nolan told the court reporter, "I have a one-page document, which I wish you to mark as 'Lexington Exhibit Three,' " and then slid copies across the marble conference table to Sarah and Fancher's associate. Though she had read the text before, Sarah found herself transfixed.

  "Is this a copy of that letter?" Nolan inquired of Monk.

  "Yes."

  "And did you determine that Mr. Bowden's motive for the killings was his hatred of the President and First Lady and, specifically, their exposure of him as a spousal abuser on national television?"

  Sarah looked up. "Objection," she said at once. "The letter speaks for itself, and Inspector Monk never spoke to Mr. Bowden."

  "That's correct," Monk said promptly, and placed one large finger on the letter. "All I know is what's in here. To our knowledge, Bowden never told anyone what he was planning, or why."

  "But you're not aware of any other motive."

  " 'Other'?" Sarah inquired with mild derision, "than that his wife left him, kept him from seeing his child, and twice brought charges relating to spousal abuse? Or do you mean other than that Bowden had an obvious propensity for violence?"

  For the first time, Nolan faced her. In a tone of cold politeness, he said, "In your
inexperience, Ms. Dash, you may have overlooked that what you just favored us with was a speech, not an objection—the effect of which was to coach the witness. It's my prerogative to ask the question I wish to ask."

  This was a test, Sarah knew, Nolan's initial effort at intimidation. But it also told her that she had succeeded in angering him, and in disrupting the rhythm he had hoped to establish with Monk. "I apologize," she answered with a smile. "In my inexperience, I expected your questions to make sense."

  Nolan stared at her across the table. Stirring with apparent impatience, Monk told him, "I don't know why the man did what he did. But there's a lot of reasons he could have."

  Silent, Nolan gazed down at the outline of his examination—to mask his irritation, Sarah suspected. She found it a pleasant moment.

  At length, Nolan looked up. "In your investigation," he asked, "did you determine whether Bowden had any connection to Lexington Arms?"

  " 'Determine'?" Sarah inquired. "Or even attempt to determine?"

  This time Nolan ignored her. In a chill voice, he instructed the witness, "You may answer."

  "That wasn't something we focused on," Monk responded.

  Sarah suppressed a smile. "Did you find a connection?" Nolan persisted.

  "No."

  "Was Lexington involved, in any way, in the sale of the P-2 to Mr. Nolan?"

  " 'In any way'?" Sarah repeated in a quizzical tone. "They made the gun. They advertised the gun. I don't understand the question."

  "I could try to explain it," Nolan retorted caustically. "But only God can grant understanding." To Monk, he said in a testy tone, "You can answer the question, Inspector. Without reference, if possible, to Ms. Dash's repeated intercessions."

  "If what you mean," Monk answered, "is did Lexington sell the gun to Bowden, I don't know who sold it to him."

  Sarah's sense of satisfaction vanished. Monk's amendment went to the heart of the problem with Mary's case, as Nolan would be quick to see. Leaning back, Nolan placed one finger to his lips. "Is it correct, Inspector Monk, that Mr. Bowden took a round-trip to Las Vegas and back one day before the murders?"

  "It is."

  "What, if you know, was the purpose of his trip?"

  Monk glanced at Sarah—a hint, she believed, as to where his sympathies lay. Carefully, he answered, "We believe to attend a gun show."

  "On what do you base that belief?"

  "Several things." Briefly, Monk stopped to organize his thoughts. "First, before he left for Las Vegas, police had searched his house in response to his wife's complaint, and found no guns. Second, there was a gun show in Las Vegas at which P-2s were sold. Third, among his personal effects was a copy of the SSA Defender magazine, with an advertisement for the P-2 next to one for the gun show."

  "Do you have any other basis," Nolan persisted, "for assuming that the purpose of Bowden's trip was to attend a gun show?"

  Awaiting the answer, Sarah tensed. Monk hesitated, and then said flatly, "No."

  "Do you have any information, Inspector, as to Mr. Bowden's movements in Las Vegas?"

  "We do not."

  Almost imperceptibly, Nolan leaned forward, closing the distance between lawyer and witness. "Did you discover any evidence that, in fact, Mr. Bowden attended the show?"

  "We did not."

  "What efforts, if any, did you make to determine whether he was there?"

  Monk pondered his answer. "They were limited, I'd have to say. One problem is that gun shows don't seem to keep records of who attends, and a lot of guns are bought for cash. The point seems to be to conceal the identity of anyone who doesn't want to purchase a weapon through a licensed dealer."

  Exactly, Sarah thought. But the reason Bowden had gone to the show—as he so obviously had—was the reason that this would be difficult to prove under the rigorous evidentiary standards of a trial. And if she and Lenihan could not prove it, their case was at an end—as Nolan, his air of calm restored, well knew. "Did you," Nolan asked, "inquire of anyone connected with the gun show?"

  Monk nodded. "The promoter, and the employees who actually collected money from the people going in. We showed them a picture of Bowden, and asked if they'd seen him. Nobody remembered."

  Or wanted to remember, Sarah was certain. The last thing the promoter needed was John Bowden as a customer. "Our focus," Monk added, "wasn't on the gun show, but whether Bowden had acted alone. So we didn't take it any further, and I'm not even sure we'd have known where to start. There were thousands of people at the show, and hundreds of sellers—most of them unlicensed."

  With this, Monk had encapsulated plaintiff 's dilemma. That Lexington claimed—to Sarah's utter disbelief—to have had no record of where they had originally shipped the murder weapon made this even worse; the journey of the P-2 into Bowden's hands was, from beginning to end, a mystery. "In short," Nolan said, "Bowden could have bought the gun on the street, in California."

  Monk shrugged. "We can't rule that out."

  "Or even through a dealer who decided not to run a background check."

  Sitting straighter, Monk stared at him, as though Nolan had pushed him a little too far. "The P-2," he answered, "is banned in California. So you're talking about a licensed dealer breaking at least two laws.

  "I can't cite statistics, Mr. Nolan. But I can tell you that a fair number of P-2s are used in homicides in San Francisco—drug dealers seem to like them. And the point of origin for most of them are sales in Arizona or Nevada."

  Silently, Sarah gave Monk a word of thanks. Nolan sat back, stung. "But you don't have figures, you say. So your 'evidence' for that last statement is anecdotal."

  "Yes."

  "Have you ever discussed that 'evidence' with anyone from Lexington?"

  "No."

  "So as far as you know, even if there is a problem, Lexington's unaware of it."

  Monk paused, choosing his words with care. "Mr. Nolan," he answered, "they claim to have lost the record of who they shipped the gun to. I don't know what those people know, or if they care. Do you?"

  "Know?" Sarah inquired with a smile. "Or care?"

  Briefly, Nolan turned to her. "Très amusant," he murmured with disdain, and then fixed his stare on Monk. "In sum, Inspector, you can't tell me how this murderer got this gun."

  "No."

  "Yet in plaintiff's complaint, counsel asserts that the two ads you mentioned caused Mr. Bowden to buy the gun. Given that you can't tell where he got the gun, or from whom, are you aware of any facts which support that allegation?"

  "As I said, we found the SSA publication among his effects, and he went to Las Vegas. There's nothing to tell us that he had any other reason than buying the P-2."

  "Really?" Nolan paused with raised eyebrows. "Did you check out any of the casinos?"

  "No."

  "Then let's stick to the facts at hand. You mention The Defender magazine. Did you find other gun-related magazines in Bowden's room?"

  "Yes."

  "How many?"

  Monk paused to consider this. "Maybe twenty. I didn't count them."

  "Did any advertise this gun show in Las Vegas?"

  "One did, I recall. It had a listing of gun shows in September."

  "All right," Nolan said in a more comfortable tone. "You mentioned The Defender magazine. Was Bowden a subscriber?"

  "No."

  "Or a member of the SSA?"

  "No."

  "Do you know where he got the magazine?"

  "No."

  "Do you, in fact, even know whether he read it?"

  Monk stared at him across the table. "Only by inference. The advertisements as much as said that the P-2 is good for killing people, and that's what Bowden did. That gun sure isn't good for anything else."

  "Do you," Nolan repeated tightly, "know whether or not John Bowden read The Defender magazine you found?"

  Monk gazed at Nolan with a dispassion which somehow conveyed dislike. "No," he answered softly. "Not for a fact."

  "So you don't know�
�because you can't know—whether he saw that ad."

  Monk sat back. "Under the rules of common sense, Mr. Nolan, I do know. Like you know. Just not under the rules of evidence."

  Silent, Nolan considered him, and then, smiling faintly, turned to Sarah. "Your witness, Ms. Dash. I think that's all I need."

  FIVE

  When Kerry had first fallen in love with Lara Costello, there were moments when he had felt consumed by the wonder of being with her—her quick grin, the way she turned her head to look at him, and, a rarity in his life, the sense of understanding and of being understood, of being seen for who he was. After a time, there was no thought he feared to express, no emotion he feared to share with her. Seeing her after several days spent apart, he would feel a fresh jolt of excitement, and then the gentler, deeper sensation of being whole. Kerry had been a lonely boy, who gave his trust to few; his trust, once given, was deep, his loyalty complete. But the harsh world of politics had reinforced his instinct that trust, like love, could be painful and fraught with risk. So that Lara became at once a refuge and so central to his life that it began to scare him.