by John Bowers
“Like Miss Cross, I wish I could punish you even more severely, but maybe I don’t have to—where you’re going, I’m sure you will meet any number of people you prosecuted, and they will certainly be happy to see you.”
She banged her gavel one last time.
“Bailiff, take the prisoner into custody. This Court is adjourned.”
As van Wert got to her feet and exited the courtroom, Victoria packed her papers into a satchel and closed her laptop. Thirty feet away, Wilson Fong was sobbing like a little bitch. Victoria felt no particular pleasure, but could not deny a grim satisfaction at the sentence. Wilson Fong had willfully subverted justice for his own personal gain, and no punishment was too great for him.
As she turned to leave the courtroom, reporters were waiting. Before they reached her, she had a brief moment to reflect on the fact that it was the first time she and Judge van Wert had ever agreed on much of anything.
She had no way of knowing it would also be the last.
Chapter 2
75th Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Victoria Cross sat at her desk on the 75th floor of the Federation Building in downtown Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2. As a senior prosecutor she rated an office with a window, but not a corner office—that was reserved for her boss, Gary Fraites.
She didn’t mind. Her last job had been as military prosecutor for the Judge Advocate General on Terra; her office then had been in a basement room of the Polygon in Washington City. By contrast, her present digs were the difference between Heaven and Hell.
She finished entering her trial notes into the computer, sealed it with an electronic signature, and closed the file. Another successful case.
It was late afternoon; outside her window, the rays of Alpha Prime slanted across the city. Rush hour was starting as commuter traffic began to build. She glanced at her watch and debated bailing out early…or should she review the latest case in her E-box? She already had five open cases, all in various stages of investigation or pre-trial maneuvering, but new ones continued to arrive.
With a sigh, she turned to her terminal and pulled up the E-box, but before she could open the new file, she heard a tap at her open door. She wasn’t totally surprised to see Hayes Crawford standing there with a grin on his face.
Hayes Crawford, at fifty-four the richest and most prominent defense attorney on Alpha 2, was something of an icon in the Centauri legal system. His textured grey hair had been treated with a rinse that turned it silver, and in the sunlight it glowed like some prehistoric god’s. His legal skills were legendary—he only took high-profile cases, the kind that made headlines across the galaxy—and usually won, thanks to his stable of bright young paralegals and a squad of dogged investigators.
He also played dirty whenever it suited him.
Victoria had faced him in court twice before, but the Wilson Fong case was the first time she’d beaten him.
“Mr. Crawford!” She pulled her hand back from the terminal and swiveled her chair to face him. “What have I done to warrant this visit?”
Crawford took three steps across the room and extended his hand.
“I just wanted to congratulate you, Miss Cross. You pounded the shit out of my client today.”
Victoria stood and accepted the handshake, then gestured Crawford to a chair and resumed her own.
“Thank you, counselor, but it wasn’t that hard. It doesn’t take much effort to pound the shit out of a turd.”
“Ouch…” Crawford took a chair. “That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. Your client is a first-class steaming pile. I wasn’t kidding about a life sentence—if it was available, I would have lobbied for it.”
Crawford stared at her with a half-smile, not sure if she was joking.
“Well, I certainly admire your passion.”
Crawford adjusted his suit coat and straightened his tie, as if preparing for a vid interview.
“Now that the trial is over, I wonder if I might invite you to dinner this evening. I’ll let you pick the venue.”
Victoria raised an eyebrow at him.
“Looking to expand your harem?”
“What?”
He looked momentarily startled, then had the grace to blush. He’d been married five times and divorced four; his reputation as a philanderer was second only to his rep as a trial attorney.
“Oh, no. No…” He stopped, glanced up at her with a curious eye. “…unless, of course… Well, I mean, I certainly wouldn’t turn you down, but that isn’t why I’m here.”
“Good. Otherwise you wasted a trip.”
He grinned good-naturedly, apparently unoffended. He had a politician’s ego—nothing could shame him.
“No, I just figured that, since we did battle, we should share a meal. Bury the laser-saw.”
“I appreciate that, but I might still need my laser-saw.”
He tilted his head in a half shrug.
“Okay, that’s fine. I understand.”
Victoria stared at him. Waiting. He shifted in his chair.
“Since dinner is off, I’ll just get to it. I figured I would do this over a meal and drinks, but—”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said no. Whatever you were going to propose, the answer is no.”
His grin faded and he stared at her for ten seconds.
“Even if it pays half a million a year?”
Victoria laughed.
“Seriously? You were going to offer me a half million?”
“Well—actually I was going to offer a quarter million, but you are clearly worth twice that, and since you’re playing hard-ball—”
“Mr. Crawford—”
“Hayes, please.”
She hardly blinked. “Mr. Crawford, today I did a really good thing. A really satisfying thing. I argued for the maximum sentence for your piece-of-shit client and I got it. Tonight I can sleep like a baby and wake up happy and refreshed.
“But—if I had to represent that crooked asshole, I would have to drink myself to sleep and wake up with a puking hangover. No amount of money is worth that to me.”
Crawford tilted his head again.
“Even crooked assholes deserve representation, Miss Cross. The Constitution guarantees it.”
“The People of the Federation also deserve it. They have me. The crooked assholes have you.”
She let her lips curl upward at the corners.
“No offense.”
Hayes Crawford got to his feet and stood a moment, his expression suggesting he had another thought to express. He apparently thought better of it. He extended his hand instead.
“Okay, then. Once again, Miss Cross—congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Until we meet again.”
He walked out the door.
Friday, January 29, 0444 (CC)
75th Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
“Nice work, Victoria.”
Victoria was seated in Gary Fraites’ office. Fraites had recently been appointed as United Federation Attorney for Alpha Centauri 2. Seated in another chair facing them both was Anderson Gabel, sixty-one, who had recently stepped down from the same job. Due to his age and health, Gabel planned to retire in a few months, but remained as advisor to Fraites.
Victoria nodded her head at the compliment.
“Thank you. It was a gratifying case.”
“It was nice to see Crawford take a hit for a change.”
Victoria smiled.
“First time I’ve beaten him. Did you know the prick came to my office yesterday and tried to hire me?”
“He did? What did you say?”
“I turned him down. I’ve never trusted men whose first names are actually last names, like Hayes Crawford and Wilson Fong.”
“Or Anderson Gabel?” Gabel grinned at her.
Victoria’s face reddened and she laughed out loud.
/> “Oh my god! I never even thought of that!”
Both men laughed.
“How does next week look?” Fraites asked.
“Wilson Fong is over, but I still have a full card. Those two Trimmer Springs cases are coming up pretty quick and I have three more in the pipeline that I haven’t even looked at.”
Fraites nodded. “The Trimmer Springs cases—isn’t one of those a guilty plea?”
“Yes, but the kid is only seventeen and his attorney is pushing for a reduced sentence. Judge Moore has scheduled a presentencing hearing Tuesday morning.”
“Refresh me on the facts.”
Victoria crossed her legs.
“Nicodemus Downing took a rifle up into the bell tower of a church and shot a deputy U.F. Marshal who wasn’t much older than he was.”
“Ah, I remember now. He was after Nick Walker, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right. The victim, Hugh Povar, was wearing a western outfit that looked a lot like the outfits Walker wears. When Downing took aim, he thought he had Walker in his sights. It was a case of mistaken identity, but the result was still premeditated murder.”
“You going for the max?”’
Victoria frowned, then shook her head.
“I don’t think so. This is a strange, sad situation. Downing’s father was killed in the war and he thinks Walker killed him. He wanted personal revenge. His attorney is arguing that he acted out of grief, but there were eight years between the two killings, so spontaneous grief isn’t going to cut it.
“However…I don’t believe Downing is a threat to society and he clearly feels remorse for what he did. He needs to get more than the minimum, but I don’t think he deserves life in prison.”
“You say he isn’t a threat to society; is he a threat to Walker? Assuming he ever gets back on the street?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve contacted his attorney for a sit-down to talk about that. I’ll reserve judgment until after the meet.”
“What’s the other case?”
“Antiochus Groening, Downing’s religious leader. Walker arrested him for attempted murder in a religious ritual that involved stoning. Turns out the victim was his own granddaughter.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Exactly. There is also evidence of prior stonings in which people died. Some of those cases go back decades, but if we can find witnesses, we can still prosecute. I have Dillon working on the background. In the meantime, I plan to move forward with the attempt murder case and, if Dillon can find sufficient evidence of murder, I’ll file on that later.”
Fraites reached into a drawer and pulled out a case folder. He dropped it on the desk in front of her.
“Before you get buried too deep, you might want to take a look at this.”
Victoria leaned forward and picked up the folder.
“What is it?”
“This is a high-profile prosecution, the murder of a Federation agent, not just some small-town deputy. Do you remember Wallace Frie?”
Victoria shook her head.
“No, of course you don’t. It was before you came here, before either of us came here. It was Andy’s case.” He turned to Gabel. “You want to fill her in?”
Gabel cleared his throat.
“I prosecuted the case myself. Frie was convicted for smuggling and got fifteen years. While in lockup, he told a fellow inmate that, when he got out, he was going to kill the man who put him away.”
Victoria’s eyebrows lifted.
“He’s going to kill you?”
“No, not me—at least I don’t think so; he was talking about the man who arrested him, Lloyd Randal. ACBI agent. Frie claimed that Randal framed him.”
Gabel pointed at the folder in her hand.
“Frie was released last October. Three days ago, Lloyd Randal was found murdered in his driveway. It looks very much like Frie followed through on his threat.”
“Has Frie been arrested?”
“He was picked up four days ago. He’s screaming innocence, but that’s nothing new. It looks pretty open and shut at this point; Frie was working as a garbage collector and Lloyd’s home was on his route. Frie’s fingerprints were found at the scene, and when agents searched his home, they found the murder weapon.”
“Which was…?”
“A handgun. Ballistics have matched it to the fatal bullet.”
“And you don’t want to run with it?”
Gabel shook his head. “I’m not a hundred percent anymore. I’d rather see you take it. It’ll be good for your career.”
“Then I’ll take a look at it.”
“Look it over tonight,” Fraites told her. “Take the weekend. I’d like you to make it your first priority. Maybe you can hand those other cases off to Godney.”
Brian Godney was another assistant UFA, an eager-beaver hotdog attorney with more energy than the average toddler.
“Okay…”
“Just be careful,” Anderson Gabel said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean Wallace Frie is a devious son of a bitch. He cries and slings snot about how innocent he is, how he’s being set up, but don’t fall for it. He can be very convincing, but the evidence is clear—he’s the worst kind of criminal and a clear threat to society. He needs to be shut down for good.”
Victoria smiled.
“That’s what I’m good at. Shutting people down.”
Gabel nodded.
“That’s right, you are. You probably have the best shot at putting him away.”
Her smile turned quizzical.
“Yeah? Why is that?”
“You’re the only attorney in this office who’s ever beaten his lawyer.”
Victoria’s smile faded.
“Don’t tell me…”
“Yep. I just got word this morning—Frie’s new attorney is going to be Hayes Crawford.”
Chapter 3
Peterson Pedestrian Bridge – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Victoria didn’t get out of the office until after seven. Her apartment was just a ten-minute walk from the Federation Building, but required her to cross a pedestrian bridge over the Syracuse River. She didn’t mind the walk for a couple of reasons: one, walking was cheaper than owning and supporting a car; and two, walking was healthy. It had been ten years since she enlisted in the Star Marines, and she’d only done it to pay for her education, but the physical training she received had been the best thing that ever happened to her. Even in law school on the Federation’s dime, she had spent part of each day in a gym, keeping fit.
Of course, she would never be as hard and toned as she had been at the end of boot camp, but she didn’t need to be. Her daily workouts kept her in better physical condition than ninety-five percent of the population.
It had been a long, tiring day, and the days ahead promised more of the same. As she strode along the river toward the pedestrian bridge, she felt a tightness in her shoulders from the stress of juggling twenty things at once. She could hardly wait to get home, where the gym waited in the basement. Thirty minutes of Cleans and Jerks would do wonders for her stress and relieve the tension in her muscles.
The suns had set before she set out and a steady breeze swept in off the river. Tall buildings blocked most of the breeze until she reached the bridge, where the full force of the wind hit her. She lifted her chin and savored the air buffeting her face, riffling her hair. Had she worn her hair long, the breeze would have lifted it, but since joining the Star Marines, she’d kept it short. She well remembered the day she arrived at Pendleton with blond hair flowing halfway to her waist; forty-five seconds in a barber chair had relieved her of it all, leaving her feeling naked…but she didn’t miss the upkeep. Repeated shampooing, long sessions with a dryer, a constant debate over how to style it for this or that occasion—none of that mattered anymore. Now she could brush it into shape in a couple of minutes, maybe spray it once to hold its shape, and she was out the door.
Her hair had been long and gorge
ous, but she didn’t miss it.
Her mood mellowed as, satchel and laptop in hand, she headed across the bridge, heels clicking with every step. Lucaston was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen, and much less crowded than comparable cities on her home planet of Terra. The air was fresh and sweet, the view of distant mountains spectacular, and at night it became a colorful blaze. Both suns were now down, Centauri B still casting a twilight glow that would last until well after midnight, and the city lights lent everything a carnival atmosphere.
She gazed down at the multi-hued lights reflecting off the water and smelled the scents rising from the river, a faint mixture of mold and fish. A dinner cruise passed beneath her with the blast of its horn. She glanced down at the lighted deck and saw people drinking, dancing, and dining. Her lips curved with pleasure—she had never taken that cruise, but would have to try it one of these days. It would be better with a date, of course, but that might be a problem. Since coming to Alpha Centauri three years ago, she hadn’t been on a single date.
Maybe she needed to remedy that.
She met several people crossing the bridge in the other direction. One was a woman in sweats doing a power walk; another looked like a college student, and two couples were strolling hand-in-hand, just enjoying the evening.
She reached the far end where the ramp led down to the street.
The bridge was twenty feet wide and encased in steel mesh to prevent anyone falling into the river. It was a quick transit for anyone without a vehicle, a pleasant walk, but there was one downside—the entire affair constituted a trap if one should meet someone with criminal intent. As she started down the ramp toward the street, Victoria saw a rather grungy young man leaning against the railing to her left, his back to the river. He stood with his head slightly lowered, as if deep in thought. She took him in at a glance—unshaven, stringy hair, bad complexion. His clothing looked tattered, and it crossed her mind that he might be homeless. She had seen war vets who looked like that, but this one looked ten years too young to have fought in the revolution.
