The senator made no attempt to answer. With the same quiet, Kerry said, "I need your help, Hank."
Sipping Scotch, Westerly pursed his lips, his wrinkled face a blueprint of unhappiness. "I'd like to, Mr. President. Believe me. But I just don't know that I can."
Kerry felt all compunction vanish. "Then let's consider your life this side of heaven. If you want anything—a dam, a road, or that federal building with your name on it—I can make it happen, or not. If you want me to campaign for you, or just raise money, I will—or I won't.
"I plan to be here for another seven years. That's a long time to spend in purgatory. Assuming, of course, that you make it to the end." The quiet of Kerry's voice held no hint of mercy. "Life is choices, Hank. You get to choose what scares you most."
* * *
But the most unpleasant meeting in this sequence was made so by its absence of humanity.
In Kerry's informed estimate, Jack Slezak of Michigan was crude and amoral, a politician whose sole interest was to amass power, and to eliminate all rivals by whatever means at hand. Kerry disliked him on instinct and on principle. As part of Slezak's complex calculus of survival, he had become an advocate of gun rights, judging that this could help him with a core of voters who usually voted Republican without offending his blue-collar base, many of whom owned guns. A similar calculus had led him to support Vice President Dick Mason over Kerry in the Michigan primary and, Kerry was certain, had inspired a scurrilous last-minute round of phone-banking—casting Kerry as irreligious and antiunion—which had contributed to his narrow defeat. Though it was early evening when Slezak came to the Oval Office, Kerry did not offer him a drink.
"I need your vote against gun immunity," Kerry said. "Simple as that."
Beneath Slezak's swept-back reddish hair, his shrewd green eyes peered back at Kerry from a broad Tartar face, all planes and angles, which, Kerry had always suspected, originated when Genghis Khan and his hordes had swept across some vulnerable part of Eastern Europe, pausing to rape the village females. "Not so simple," Slezak said without deference. "I'm up for reelection next year. What do I gain by crossing the SSA?"
The answer, Kerry knew, was the President's help in raising campaign money from sources to whom Jack Slezak was anathema. But for Kerry the knowledge that this was what Slezak expected, despite his efforts to deny Kerry the office they now sat in, demanded a different response. "My forbearance," Kerry said. "You think I'm only concerned with the next election. In the last election, I lost your primary—thanks in large measure to you. Now you're facing a primary against Jeannie Griswold, and if you lose, you're gone for good. This election, it's pretty much up to me."
Slezak's face took on an adamantine cast of someone who would not be moved. "Michigan's my state, not yours. I thought we settled that the last time."
Kerry shook his head. "No," he answered. "All we settled the last time is that I want you gone. And if you screw me on this, some other folks are going to share my vision. One thing is sure—the response will be a lot more elegant, and far better deserved, than a round of sleazy phone-banking."
Slezak folded his arms. "Like what?"
"Any number of things. But I'll give you a clue to one—keep an eye on Leo Weller."
Slezak's eyes hardened. "Those asbestos ads."
Kerry smiled. "You've already heard. But, of course, you don't have asbestos mines in Michigan. So let me explain what this is about for you.
"A twelve-year-old boy in Detroit was shooting baskets on a playground when a teenage neighbor shot him in the spine. Now the boy's a quadriplegic for however long he lives.
"The shooter bought his gun from a dirty dealer who didn't bother with background checks, despite the fact that the guns he sold kept popping up in crimes. The dealer's chief supplier, a gun company in Southern California, kept shipping him guns even after they knew that. One of their guns left this boy paralyzed.
"His mother sued. This bill you're thinking about supporting would wipe out her lawsuit and immunize that same company and the crooked leader." Pausing, Kerry leaned forward. "Vote for it, Jack, and I'll make you a promise.
"Two weeks before your primary against Jeannie Griswold, the trial lawyers are going to put that boy and his mother all over the airwaves. I won't have a thing to do with it. But what I will do is raise millions of dollars for Jeannie, and then campaign against you wherever it hurts the most.
"You'll lose, and I'll get Jeannie Griswold in your place." Kerry's voice was cool, indifferent. "My only problem is that I don't much care what you decide."
THIRTEEN
Because of what she knew, the deposition of Dr. Larry Walters held a tension that Sarah alone could feel.
John Nolan sat across from her, set to cross-examine. But not until he finished would Sarah hand him a revised witness list which now included Norman Conn, and a notice of deposition for a federal prisoner named George Johnson. For the next several hours, Nolan would question her expert witness without knowing that his answers were the foundation for the lethal damage which—she fervently hoped—Conn and Johnson would visit on Nolan's defense.
As unaware of this as Nolan, Walters exuded a calm precision. His wire-rimmed glasses and careful speech suggested the academic he had become, a Ph.D. in criminology who published extensively on the phenomenon of gun violence in America. But in a past career he had been a firearms expert who had served as a senior administrator for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. This was enough to induce caution in John Nolan but not, to Sarah's satisfaction, the deep wariness he would feel had he known of her surprises. For the moment, knowing what Walters would say was more than enough to give her pleasure.
* * *
"The Lexington Patriot-2," Walters told Nolan, "is a weapon of war."
Combined with his tone, the simple statement caused Harrison Fancher to lean closer, Nolan to hunch in a defensive yet determined posture. "On what do you base that statement?"
Referring to the document before him, Walters marshalled his thoughts, presenting them without inflection or emotion. "Begin with how Lexington describes the P-2 in its manual. It describes a weapon with a 'militaristic combat sling' which facilitates 'spray firing.' It depicts the P-2 being used in 'hip-fire mode at shortest range.' It represents that its design facilitates 'rapid sustained fire impossible with most handguns' . . ."
"Why," Nolan interrupted, "might not a gun fancier enjoy the P-2 simply for its advanced design?"
Walters looked up from the manual with raised eyebrows. " 'Advanced design'? Its sights are crude, it weighs too much, and it's unwieldy to shoot. In short, this gun is not designed for any serious recreational purpose. Nor am I aware of any instance when the P-2 has been used for household self-defense. What it is good for—as this manual suggests—is shooting multiple human targets during rapid sustained fire." Pausing, Walters finished, " 'Advanced' is in the eye of the beholder. But as a matter of 'design,' Mr. Bowden applied the Patriot-2 to its only useful purpose."
"On what do you base that opinion?"
"Among other things, I reviewed the tape of the murders." Glancing toward a video screen at the head of the conference table, Walters said mildly, "Unless you'd prefer otherwise, I'm prepared to walk you through it."
With reluctance, Nolan's eyes followed Walters's to the screen. Picking up a remote control, Walters pressed a button.
On the screen, John Bowden knelt near a baggage carousel, facing his unwitting victims. He pulled the P-2 from the Lego box, slinging it over his shoulder, his eyes vacant.
As a bullet tore through Inez Costello's throat, Walters froze the picture.
"That's the First Lady's mother, of course. In terms of the gun's 'design,' a lucky shot. What follows, as you will see, hews more closely to the P-2's design function."
Once more, the picture came to life.
"No," Joan Bowden screamed.
As Sarah flinched, she heard five rapid percussive pops. Henry Serrano fell; then the young blonde
student from Stanford, Laura Blanchard; then the second guard, David Walsh. Nolan's eyes became slits. "All five shots," Walters explained, "were meant for his wife. Instead, Bowden killed three strangers."
Frozen, the picture captured Mary Costello, scrambling on the carousel. "That," Walters continued, "was when he turned his attention to the plaintiff."
Mary Costello jerked into motion, crawling inside the mouth of the baggage tunnel as more bullets struck metal. Sarah's mouth felt dry. "Fifteen feet," Walters observed dispassionately. "Three shots. And still he couldn't hit her.
"And so he turned to his wife again."
Joan Bowden appeared, and then a bullet destroyed her lower face.
This time Walters's click of the remote made Sarah wince. "Note," he said, "the damage done by the Eagle's Claw. Note further that Bowden now has fired ten of them, and that the score stands at two intended victims, three random deaths, and five outright misses.
Sarah looked away. The film and Walters's eerie commentary had reduced the others to silence. "The next death," he opined, "is where the design of the gun, its forty-bullet magazine, and the design of the bullet itself meet in deadly confluence."
With a click of the remote, Marie Costello stared in horror at her mother's ruined face. Then she turned away, eyes shut, doll clutched to her chest.
"With a ten-bullet magazine," Walters observed, "this little girl lives."
The picture cut to Bowden. "Stop," a man cried out.
The gun jerked in Bowden's hand. "In my opinion," Walters said blandly, "he didn't mean to shoot. But the trigger of the P-2 can pull at the slightest twitch. As designed."
Marie lay amidst the shattered china pieces of her doll. Gaping in horror, Bowden put the gun to his head.
Walters stopped the tape. "This is the twelfth shot," he concluded. "A not uncommon end to a domestic violence murder. Except that four people died at random, and one intended victim escaped. The plaintiff."
On the screen, blood and cerebral matter spewed from Bowden's head. "Let's take ten minutes," Nolan said. Perhaps, Sarah thought with a certain bleak amusement, he felt the worst was over.
* * *
"Picking up your inquiry on design," Walters said when the break was done, "Bowden got close because the gun was concealable. The sling enabled him to fire rapidly but randomly, resulting in accidental victims. The magazine gave him an eleventh bullet, and the hair trigger caused him to fire it at Marie. Who died because the Eagle's Claw is designed to kill.
"Another gun, another bullet, and a ten-clip magazine—or any one of those things—and that murdered child would still be with us." Pausing, he gave the slightest shrug. "As for the others, Mr. Nolan, you're free to argue that three of them died at random. But in my opinion, they all died by design."
"By Bowden's design," Nolan corrected tartly. "Wouldn't you agree that the design of a gun is neutral in itself, and that the responsibility for a murder rests with the murderer, and not the manufacturer?"
"Agree?" Once more Walters arched his eyebrows. "No. Not even if you don't impute responsibility for designing a weapon of death."
"On what do you base that assertion?"
"Lexington markets to criminals. You're aware of the SSA magazine which was found in Bowden's possession?"
Nolan held up a hand. "Is any part of your opinion, Dr. Walters, based on your belief that Mr. Bowden relied on that advertising in acquiring the P-2? Or even, to a certainty, that he read it?"
Walters hesitated. "No," he answered. "Not at this time. Though it's certainly reasonable to infer that Bowden saw it."
"Perhaps to you," Nolan said dismissively.
"Perhaps to me," Walters answered agreeably. "Certainly to Lexington. That's why they've worked so hard to place the P-2 in movies and TV crime shows, often in the hands of criminals. Which is appropriate— police don't use this gun."
Sarah suppressed a smile. But Nolan was doing what he must—getting Walters to detail the opinions he would render at a trial, however harmful. "What other evidence," Nolan persisted, "do you have which suggests that Lexington 'markets to criminals'?"
"The same evidence Lexington does. Start with the fact that the increase of gun violence in America coincides with the rise of the handgun. Rarely do hunting rifles show up in crimes, and even the shotgun is statistically insignificant . . ."
"Every manufacturer in America," Nolan interjected, "makes handguns. Does that mean they're marketing to criminals?"
Walters's eyes grew cold. "If they are, Mr. Nolan, they're nowhere near as successful as your client.
"According to the ATF, the P-2 is the number one semiautomatic handgun used in crimes. So criminals have gotten the message, and so has Lexington. Which accounts for the nature of the ad you imply that Bowden never saw.
"That brings me to a second fact: because California has background checks, thirty percent of guns used in crimes in California come from out of state. Again, the P-2 is the number one semiautomatic crime gun in California. A disproportionate number of those guns originate with sales in Arizona and Nevada. As Lexington surely knows, it sells more guns in Nevada than the local traffic will bear—the so-called flooding phenomenon.
"If Lexington doesn't believe some of those guns get passed to secondary buyers at gun shows in Nevada, it's because it doesn't want to. But, again, their ad suggests that they know this very well."
Having a good expert, Sarah reflected, is akin to driving a Rolls Royce; you can just sit back and enjoy the ride. "And then," Walters went on, "there's the question of stolen guns.
"It's an epidemic—roughly five hundred thousand thefts a year. The most prominent thieves are gun traffickers and survivalists: selling a stolen gun jacks up their profit margin to one hundred percent. And according to the ATF, the most popular stolen semiautomatic handgun is the Lexington P-2.
"The best place for thieves and survivalists to sell weapons is at gun shows. There are potentially thousands of customers, unrestricted by any fear of background checks. In this case, Lexington chose to promote the sale of P-2s at gun shows, ostensibly by licensed dealers." Pausing, Walters gazed keenly at John Nolan. "But Lexington also knows, because it has to know, that gun shows are an important secondary market which keeps its product moving."
Nolan stared at him. "Are you aware of any evidence," he demanded, "that John Bowden's gun is linked to traffickers or survivalists?"
"No," the expert answered. "But that makes my point about Lexington's refusal to require background checks of gun-show promoters. Because we may never know.
"But there's one thing we do know. If Bowden went to that gun show and the promoter had required a background check, he couldn't have bought that gun."
Nolan hesitated. Then, to Sarah's silent satisfaction, he asked a question rooted in his ignorance of the ambush which awaited him. "But that's all speculation, isn't it? Survivalists, traffickers, stolen guns, whether Bowden saw this ad, even what Lexington actually knows about the purported use of its guns in crimes—none of it, in this case, has been established as fact."
"Not at this time," Walters answered calmly. Even Nolan's coffee, Sarah reflected, was tasting unusually good.
* * *
After lunch, Fancher commenced his questioning on behalf of the SSA.
"Why," Fancher asked aggressively, "did you leave the ATF?"
Walters folded his hands. "Because your client gutted its effectiveness."
"Explain that, if you will."
"Gladly. Through its allies in Congress, the SSA confined unannounced inspections of gun dealers to one a year—even for dealers the ATF believes are failing to run background checks. They reduced most violations to misdemeanors. They reduced the number of inspectors. They made sure that all records of background checks are destroyed within a day. They threatened to have their allies further reduce our budget if we fought this systemic war on our enforcement.
"Even that wasn't enough. Unlike tobacco, guns can be made safer. But the SSA opposed
laws requiring safety locks, or even safe gun storage, and other steps to prevent thousands of suicides and accidental deaths. All to further the Second Amendment."
Fancher's tone became cutting. "Are you suggesting, Dr. Walters, that the SSA has no right to advocate gun ownership for law-abiding Americans, unfettered by the intrusiveness of the federal government?"
"Then the SSA should be prouder of its best work." Walters's tone held the first hint of emotion. "For several years, the Centers for Disease Control kept figures on the frequency, costs and causes of gun violence in America. Then, again acting through its allies in Congress, the SSA cut off all funding for gun-related research. It's catch-22: your client blocks the development of empirical evidence to support laws like President Kilcannon's proposal, and then argues that no evidence exists."
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