Victoria Cross: United Federation Attorney (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 9)

by John Bowers

  From the air, the Lucaston Department of Corrections (DOC) looked exactly like what it was—a prison. Covering more than forty acres, it sat on the crest of a small hill with a decent view in all directions. It was surrounded by four massive walls, but had no visible gun towers. Force fields provided maximum security, and in the event of a power or solar-cell failure, the walls were topped with coils of old-fashioned razor wire. It would take a determined masochist to break in or out of the facility.

  Victoria set down outside the main entrance and had to pass through a security gate to park her car. The guard who checked her in recognized her and called her by name. It wasn’t her favorite destination, but a frequent one.

  The man waiting for her in the main lobby was only an inch taller than she was. He had black hair and dark skin. Victoria had met him several times before and respected his legal skills. His name was Manny Ricardo and he worked for the Colonial Office of Public Defender (COPD).

  When she entered the lobby, he stepped forward with a smile and shook hands.

  “Hi, Victoria.”

  “Hi, Manny. Thank you for doing this. I realize that you didn’t have to.”

  Manny Ricardo’s head tilted in curiosity.

  “I was a little surprised at the request. I’m still not sure why you made it.”

  Victoria shifted her tote bag to the other shoulder.

  “We’re going before Judge Moore tomorrow for presentencing, but before we do, I want to meet your client.”

  “For what reason?”

  “I’ve been over the case files and I have some reservations. I want to get a feel for him, see what he’s like. In spite of what he did, nothing I’ve seen so far suggests that he’s a hardened criminal. But I can’t really make that judgment without talking to him.”

  “So…”

  “This meeting can’t hurt your client, but it might help him.”

  “Okay, then. Let’s go meet him.”

  They passed through several layers of electronic security before reaching a small conference room. A guard unlocked it for them and told them to wait. Inside was a metal table with four facing chairs, two on each side. Victoria set down her tote bag and pulled some materials from it. Ricardo took a chair next to her and heaved a sigh, but didn’t say anything further.

  Three or four minutes later, the guard returned with a prisoner in a yellow jump suit. The prisoner’s wrists were shackled in front of him. The guard ushered him inside, chained him to the table, and backed out, locking the door behind him.

  As soon as the guard was gone, Victoria began.

  “Nicodemus Downing?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  Nicodemus was just a kid, seventeen years old. He was unremarkable in most respects, except that he looked pale and painfully thin. His cheeks were sunken, as if he didn’t get enough to eat; his complexion was marred by acne, and his brown hair was too long, hanging down over his collar.

  He seemed terribly embarrassed to be in the presence of the beautiful blond woman across the table. When Victoria spoke to him, his eyes darted up briefly to meet her gaze, then down again. Victoria recognized the signs of insecurity and low self-esteem.

  “Mr. Downing, my name is Victoria Cross. I’m a U.F. Attorney assigned to your case. Before we go any further, I’m required to point out that your attorney, Mr. Ricardo, has agreed to let me meet with you, but you have no obligation to speak to me if you don’t want to. You don’t have to answer any of my questions. Do you understand?”

  The boy glanced at Ricardo, then stared at the table and nodded.

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Okay, good. Do you agree to this meeting?”

  Downing’s tongue traced across his upper lip. He glanced at his attorney again, then shrugged.

  “Okay. Sure.”

  “And you understand that I will be recording our conversation?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Thank you.” Victoria glanced at Ricardo. “Feel free to jump in at any time.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I will.”

  Victoria returned her attention to the prisoner.

  “Mr. Downing, before we begin, do you have any questions for me?”

  The kid shrugged again.

  “Not really. Except…I mean, what is this about? I did it. I admit it. I belong in prison, so what’s taking so long?”

  She nodded.

  “Even in a case where the defendant pleads guilty, there are many factors to consider. In your case, the primary factor I’m concerned with is the length of your sentence. We’re going to have a hearing tomorrow to discuss that, and I have to make a recommendation to the judge. Before I do that, I want to have a better feel for what you did and who you are.”

  “Who I am?” He met her gaze squarely for the first time. “What does that mean?”

  “What kind of person you are. You admitted to killing Hugh Povar and Patsy Morehead, but are you really a killer? Some people are criminals by nature and live a life of crime, but is that true in your case? That’s what I want to discover.”

  He shrugged again and nodded.

  “Okay. Ask your questions.”

  Victoria activated the recording device on her collar and opened a legal pad; she found paper easier to work with than e-tablets.

  Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the defendant’s face.

  “Did you, in fact, shoot and kill Hugh Povar from ambush?”

  Downing’s forehead wrinkled slightly.

  “From ambush? You mean, from the church tower?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, I did that.”

  “Did you also, a few days later, shoot and attempt to murder U.F. Marshal Nick Walker, also from ambush?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Did you, on that same occasion, also shoot and kill Patsy Morehead?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  With each response, Victoria made brief notes.

  Now she laid down her pen.

  “Walk me through the first shooting. Tell me how you did it, but first, tell me why you did it.”

  Downing frowned and glanced at his lawyer. Ricardo nodded his approval. Downing took a deep breath.

  “Why is this important? I really don’t want to think about it anymore.”

  “It could mean the difference between dying in prison as an old man, or maybe getting out while you’re still young enough to have a life,” Victoria said.

  He took a deep breath and sat silent for a moment. Victoria watched him closely, trying to read his emotions. His forehead creased in concentration.

  “I was nine years old when my dad was killed,” he said. “He didn’t believe in the war, but when the church called, he didn’t have a choice. By then, it was almost over and we were losing, so it seemed like he might have a good chance to come home again.”

  “Your father fought for the Rebel Coalition?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. He was only in one battle, the one in Trimmer Springs. I don’t know exactly how it happened, because I wasn’t there, but…the men who came back alive said Dad was killed by the sniper in the bell tower.”

  “Is that the same bell tower you were in when you shot Deputy Povar?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Same church, same tower. I could see the Marshal’s office from up there, and it seemed like proper justice that Walker should die the same way my dad did—from the same tower.”

  “If I understand correctly, you considered your father’s death a murder?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “And why was that? Surely you know that men in war kill each other because they have to? Kill or be killed?”

  Nicodemus Downing lowered his gaze and nodded, pain in his eyes.

  “Yes, Ma’am, I know that now. But when I was growing up, everybody talked about the sniper in the bell tower and how he murdered so many of our men. That was the word they used—‘murder’. All the grownups said the same thing, and I believed it. Then the town put up that statue in the pa
rk and it just made everybody so angry! I hated that statue, and I hated the man it represented. I used to pray that God would kill him and avenge the people he killed.”

  “And then he came to town as a U.F. Marshal.”

  Downing nodded.

  “Yes, Ma’am. It seemed like the final insult. Not only did he kill my dad and so many others, but now he was the law in town, with authority over everybody. It was intolerable.”

  “When did you decide to kill him?”

  “As soon as he came to town. I realized—or at least I thought—that God had given me the opportunity to settle the score. I had prayed that God would kill him, but God helps those who help themselves, and I thought he was answering my prayer.”

  “Tell me about the shooting. How did it go down?”

  Nicodemus Downing sucked in his breath and cleared his throat. His forehead creased again.

  “I had this rifle that my dad used to own. I think it was the one he had the day he was killed, but I’m not sure about that. Anyway, when I was a kid I learned to shoot with it, and I got pretty to be good. I also got to be pretty good with a pistol. So that particular day, I snuck into the bell tower before daylight. The church was never locked, so getting up there was easy. I was going to wait for Walker to come to work, but I fell asleep. When I woke up, it looked like he was already there—the office was open and people were coming in and out—so I waited for him to come out.”

  “What time was this?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe nine o’clock, or a little later.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I saw a woman leave, a really beautiful woman. I didn’t recognize her, but I found out later that she was Walker’s girlfriend. Then, a little bit after that, a man stepped outside.”

  “Did you recognize the man?”

  “I thought I did. He was wearing cowboy clothes, like in ancient times, and Walker was the only man in town who dressed like that. I had never seen Walker close up, so I thought it was him.”

  “You didn’t see his face?”

  “He was pretty far away, and the brim of his hat covered most of his face. But I was sure it was him.”

  Victoria made more notes, then resumed eye contact.

  Downing continued.

  “I already had a round chambered, so I took aim. Just as I was about to fire, he looked up at me, at the tower.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I fired. It was a kill shot, center of the chest. He went down like a tree.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I ran. I dropped the rifle on the landing inside the tower because I didn’t want to be caught with it.”

  “You thought you were gonna get caught?”

  “I thought I might. There were people were all over the streets, and everyone must have heard the shot. So I dropped the rifle and ran around the park to a car I had waiting.”

  “You had a car?”

  “It was my grandmother’s. I drove straight home and hid out the rest of the day.”

  “Did you tell anyone about the killing?”

  “No, Ma’am. I never told a soul, until Walker arrested me. He had already figured out that I was the shooter, though I don’t know how he did it.”

  Victoria nodded, scribbling notes, then gazed at Downing’s pimpled face again.

  “When did you find out you killed the wrong man?”

  “Pretty quick, like the next day. Everybody was talking about the deputy getting killed.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  “Horrible! I had never met Povar, but I knew his name. He was a local kid like me, only he was an infidel.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Manny Ricardo interjected.

  “It means he wasn’t a member of Mr. Downing’s cult…” He glanced at his client apologetically. “Sorry, Nicodemus, I meant to say ‘church’.”

  Downing shrugged.

  “It doesn’t matter much anymore.”

  Victoria made another note.

  “So, when you found out that Marshal Walker was still alive, you tried again.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Tell me about that.”

  “It was a day or two later. They had a big concert in the park, and I knew that the police always attended those things to keep order. I thought Walker might show up, since he was a cop of sorts. I went to the park, but I didn’t go inside.”

  “Why not? Were you afraid of being recognized?”

  “No, Ma’am, I didn’t think anybody had seen me, but the music at the concert was sinful, real Satanic stuff, and I didn’t want any part of that.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Downing frowned again and clasped his fingers. As he talked, he unconsciously wrung his hands.

  “I sort of circled the edges of the crowd until I spotted him. He was with that same woman, the pretty one, who I had seen leaving his office. That’s when I figured out they were together. I thought they might even be married.

  “At some point, Walker left her alone and began a sort of patrol, moving through the crowd and talking to people. I moved across the street toward some houses and crouched down behind some trash bins. I didn’t want to shoot him in front of a lot of people, but I figured he might circle the park a time or two and come within range.”

  “How far away were you?”

  “From the park? Maybe thirty or forty yards. If he came close enough, I could get him.”

  “What kind of gun did you have?”

  “A .357 Magnum revolver.”

  Victoria’s eyebrows rose. “That would be a pretty ambitious shot with a revolver.”

  Downing shrugged.

  “Like I said, I’m pretty good with a pistol.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Well, when the concert started, they put up a force field to keep people from going in or out—”

  “Why was that?”

  “I don’t really know, unless it was to keep the noise down. That music was super loud, and maybe the neighbors complained. The force field cut the sound down by ninety percent. They were also using a lot of lasers in there, so that might also have something to do with it.”

  Victoria nodded for him to continue with his story.

  “It looked like Walker was inside, so I had to wait. Maybe thirty minutes or an hour, I’m not sure anymore. Then they took a break and the force field came down. A few minutes later, I saw Walker and his woman walking down the sidewalk in my direction. They were walking slow and talking. It’s like he wasn’t even on duty, just hanging around.”

  “Is that when you took the shot?”

  “Not quite. I was lining up the shot when my cousin showed up.”

  “Your cousin?”

  “Maggie Downing.” Downing sighed. “It’s kind of complicated, but she had met Walker a few days earlier and had a crush on him. She wasn’t even supposed to be at that concert, she wasn’t supposed to be out at all. She was rebellious and disobedient to church authority, and she was hanging around with the pagan girl who lived next door.”

  “The pagan girl? Patsy Morehead?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. She was a bad influence on Maggie. She wore tight skirts and painted her face like a whore…”

  Downing stopped, staring at Victoria, who was also wearing makeup.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Victoria shook her head.

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m here to learn the facts. Just tell it from your point of view, including what you were thinking at the time.”

  He nodded.

  “Yes, Ma’am. What happened was that Maggie and Patsy ran up to Walker and the woman and they talked for a bit. I waited for Maggie to clear out, but she didn’t. And then I heard her mother calling her.”

  “Maggie’s mother? Not Patsy’s?”

  “Right, Maggie’s mom. My Aunt Dor
cas. She must have found out that Maggie had slipped out and went looking for her. When she called out, Maggie got real scared, and at that point I didn’t know what Walker would do—I mean, he might leave and I wouldn’t get another chance—so I fired.”

  “You fired from ambush a second time, but with a .357 Magnum?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. And I got him.”

  “But he was wearing a vest. He wasn’t dead.”

  “I thought he was. He went down hard and didn’t move. The blond woman was screaming his name and she bent over him. He didn’t move, and I thought he was gone.”

  Victoria made more notes, then glanced up at the boy’s face. His eyes mirrored pain at the memory of what he’d done.

  “What did you do then?” she asked quietly.

  “I was going to leave, but I didn’t want anyone to see me. I knew the cops would be coming and I needed to get out of there. But then…I saw Maggie and Patsy jumping up and down, screaming.”

  “And you got an idea.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I never planned it, but—it seemed like the right thing to do. Patsy was leading Maggie into sin, leading her to Hell. She was there and I was there, and…it seemed like God had given me another opportunity.”

  Victoria’s jaw tightened. She concentrated on her notes to avoid saying something unprofessional. After a moment, she looked up again.

  “What did you do then?”

  “I shot Patsy. And then the blond woman grabbed Walker’s gun and started shooting at me. I don’t think she could see me, but she must have seen the flash when I shot Patsy. That’s when I ran.”

  Victoria made a few final notes and laid the pen down again. She leaned back and sucked in her breath, as if completing a marathon closing argument. Hearing Downing tell it left her feeling numb, but she maintained her professional demeanor.

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said. “I have just a few more questions, if you don’t mind.”

  The boy nodded.

  “The judge is going to want to know how you feel about what you did. Do you feel remorseful?”

  Downing frowned and bit his lip. He nodded.

  “Yes, Ma’am. I feel terrible about it. That deputy didn’t deserve what I did to him. And neither did Walker.”