by John Bowers
“What about Patsy Morehead? Did she deserve to die like that?”
For a few seconds, his face contorted as if he were about to cry. He shook his head.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about that. After everything that’s happened—after Father Groening’s arrest, and what he tried to do to Maggie—I realize now that he’s not God’s prophet like I thought he was. He’s a monster, and I believed everything he said, even when I knew he was wrong.”
Victoria frowned.
“What do you mean, even when you knew he was wrong? How could you believe someone when you know they’re wrong?”
“It’s the way I was taught. The church and its leaders are always right, no matter what.”
“But if you know someone is wrong…?”
“It doesn’t matter. If they have God’s authority, then they’re always right.”
“Don’t try to understand it,” Manny Ricardo told her. “I’ve been over this with him as well, and it doesn’t make sense to anyone who wasn’t raised in his church.”
“Cult think?”
“Exactly.”
Downing jumped in.
“We’re taught not to lean on our own understanding. That’s right out of the Bible. God gives our leaders wisdom, and we are not to question them. That’s the best way I can explain it.”
Victoria sighed and let it drop.
“The bottom line is that you now understand that you had no right to kill anyone, even if it was God’s will. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, Ma’am. What I did was wrong, and I wish I had never done it. Any of it.”
“I’m glad to hear that. And now the big question…if you ever get out of prison, will you be a threat to society?”
“No, Ma’am. I never was a threat to society, just Walker and…and Patsy.”
“If you’re released someday, you won’t go after Marshal Walker again?”
“No, Ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “While I was still in the Trimmer Springs jail, Hugh Povar’s mother came to see me. She said…”
He stopped and lowered his head. For a moment he couldn’t speak. He wiped his eyes, then looked up again.
“She forgave me for what I did. And she pointed out that Walker was only doing his duty in the war, just like my dad was. I don’t blame him anymore. I realize now that, if he got the chance, my dad would have killed Walker instead of the other way around. And when he arrested me, Walker could have done anything he wanted to me, but he didn’t. He’s a better man than I am.”
Victoria stared at him for several seconds. She glanced at Ricardo.
“I think I have everything I need. Thank you.”
“Just for the record,” Ricardo said, “I’m going to ask the judge to take into account that Nicodemus would never have done what he did if not for the cult teachings. Especially the Morehead girl. I believe her death is Groening’s responsibility.”
Victoria nodded.
“We’re going to charge him with that. But your client pulled the trigger, so he has to answer, too.”
“Understood, but I believe that should be a mitigating factor.”
Victoria turned off her recorder and stood up.
“Thank you, Mr. Downing. I’ll see you in court tomorrow.”
Chapter 5
75th Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Back at her desk, Victoria Cross fed her hand-written notes into a transcription scanner that converted them to a digital computer file, then added the file to the Nicodemus Downing folder. She had barely finished when Brian Godney tapped on her open door.
“Hey, Victoria. Got a minute?”
“Sure, Brian, come on in. Take a chair.”
Godney was holding the Antiochus Groening file. As soon as he was seated, he let out a long sigh.
“Man! You handed me a hot one. I’ve never seen anything quite like this.”
She fixed him with her blue gaze. “You want to run with it?”
“Yeah, I do, but I do have one question…”
“Only one?” She smiled.
“For starters. Why are we prosecuting this case? It looks to me like it belongs in Colonial Court.”
“Normally, that would be true, but this one has constitutional issues.”
“Constitutional? In what way?”
“I expect the defense to trot out the religious freedom defense.”
“How does religious freedom apply?”
“It doesn’t, but that won’t stop the defense. Groening sentenced his own granddaughter to be stoned to death because she was, in his words, ‘incorrigible’. The problem is that certain passages in the Old Testament recommend stoning for disobedient children, and Groening’s cult is Bible-based, which casts the entire incident under the shadow of religious belief.”
“Ah.” Godney leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “So how do we fight that?”
“Cases like this can get unbelievably thorny. The Federation Constitution protects religious beliefs and, in most cases, conduct, but when it comes to murder, attempted murder, or child abuse, there is a clear conflict. This one might be a real hand grenade.”
Godney’s eyebrows shot up as he thought it over. Suddenly he looked a little less eager.
“What I was thinking,” Victoria told him, “is that I might take second chair. I have the Wallace Frie case coming up and I have to work on that, but I can be available if you need me.”
Godney looked relieved.
“Perfect. I may need the help, since I’ve never encountered anything quite like this.”
“Frankly, neither have I. Since the two cases are related, you might want to join me in court tomorrow for the presentencing hearing. Nicodemus Downing is a cousin to the victim in the Groening case, and he also acted according to Groening’s teachings when he killed Patsy Morehead.”
“I thought that case involved the murder of a U.F. Marshal.”
“A deputy U.F. Marshal. But Downing also killed a girl, for no other reason than he believed she was leading his cousin into sin. Groening apparently had no knowledge of the deputy’s murder, but we’re going to contend that, based on his biblical teachings, he was directly responsible for the girl’s murder.”
“Wow. It just gets better and better.”
“We have a solid case on the attempt murder,” Victoria said, “but it runs deeper than that. Walker’s arrest report indicated that there may have been previous stonings, some of them decades in the past, in which people were killed. I have James Dillon digging for details, and if he comes up with something, we may end up prosecuting Groening for murder as well. We’ve already got him on conspiracy.”
“I was going to ask you about that. Conspiracy requires more than one perp, so who’s the other party?”
“His entire congregation. Groening gave the order and they carried it out. Unfortunately, we can’t charge the entire church, since we don’t know which individuals actually threw the stones, but conspiracy still applies.”
Godney nodded. “And charging church members would get us entangled in more religious belief issues.”
“Exactly. We’ll contend that Groening knew what he was doing, while the others were just following his lead as a religious authority.”
“Okay, that’s all I had. What time is the hearing tomorrow?”
“Ten o’clock. Department 4.”
“I’ll see you there.”
Tuesday, February 2, 0444 (CC)
71st Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
The courtroom, one of four in the Federation building, was airy and spacious, bigger than the average courtroom, with seating for two hundred spectators. Everything was paneled in oak—or the Centauri equivalent of oak—and the ceiling lights were bright as noon.
Victoria Cross sat at the prosecution table with Brian Godney at her side. Godney looked suave and dapper in a blue pinstripe suit, shoes that could blind you in the sunlight, and a gold tiepin that glittered with
embedded diamond chips.
“Nice outfit,” she told him in a quiet voice.
Godney beamed. “Thank you! You don’t look so shabby yourself.”
Victoria was a beautiful woman and didn’t have to overdress to look sharp. Nor did she want to. Her outfits were always attractive and sometimes stunning, but she always tried to dress for the occasion. Godney might disagree, but she didn’t think a presentencing hearing was the appropriate venue for flamboyance. Today she was wearing a two-piece suit with a knee-length skirt, white blouse, and matching beige jacket. Her only jewelry consisted of a small gold cross dangling from a thin chain around her neck, and gold ear studs. She wasn’t overtly religious, but she liked the cross because it matched her last name.
A door opened at the back of the courtroom and two prison guards escorted Nicodemus Downing, shackled at the wrists, into the arena. He was guided to the defense table on Victoria’s right, where his attorney waited. Downing stared at the floor as he entered the room, never once looking up. He seemed embarrassed to be there. Minutes after he arrived, the bailiff intoned an order.
“All rise!”
Except for one or two reporters in the gallery, hardly anyone else was in the courtroom. Everyone came to their feet.
“United Federation Court Alpha Centauri District 3 is now in session, the Honorable Carlos Moore presiding.”
Another door opened to the right of the bench and a ponderous figure in a black robe lumbered out. He huffed and puffed up the three small steps to the bench and collapsed into his chair, red-faced and still huffing. Judge Carlos Moore—“Chubs” Moore behind his back—weighed nearly four hundred pounds.
Brian Godney leaned over toward Victoria.
“Christ!” he whispered. “I think he’s still gaining weight. He’s three times my size!”
Victoria merely smiled.
The judge arranged some papers and positioned his laptop to one side so he could see everyone in the room. He opened a box of chocolates and placed them within reach of his left hand.
After a brief pause to catch his breath, he began.
“Good morning, everyone.”
“Good morning, your Honor.”
“Be seated. Bailiff, why are we here today?”
The bailiff stepped forward and, from a document he was holding, read the docket number, case number, and purpose of the hearing. A court stenographer recorded everything.
“Thank you,” Moore said. “Are counsel present and ready to proceed?”
Victoria and Godney stood up.
“Victoria Cross for the Federation, your Honor.”
Moore peered down at her from his perch, his piggish eyes lingering a moment as if studying a particularly lovely piece of art.
“Thank you, Miss Cross. I see you brought your little friend.”
Godney had been about to speak, but stopped. His face flamed red. He stood silent.
Moore turned to the other side of the room.
“And for the defense?”
“Manny Ricardo for the defense, your Honor.”
“Very well. I see the defendant is present in the courtroom. Are we ready to proceed, or does anybody need to go pee?”
“Ready to proceed, your Honor,” Victoria said. “I peed before I left home.”
One of the reporters in the gallery snickered. Moore merely smiled.
“Thank you, Miss Cross. That’s very considerate.”
He cleared his throat with a sound reminiscent of falling masonry.
“It looks like we need to determine the future of our defendant. For the record, Nicodemus Downing has pled guilty to the murder of Patsy Morehead, a human being; to the murder of Deputy U.F. Marshal Hugh Povar, a human being; and to the attempted murder of U.F. Marshal Nick Walker, also a human being. Mr. Downing, do you still plead guilty to these charges?”
Downing looked a little confused. He started to answer, but his attorney stopped him and urged him to stand up before speaking. The attorney also rose.
“Yes, your Honor,” Nicodemus Downing said in a low, uncertain voice.
“Very well, you may sit down.”
Moore cleared his throat again, even louder this time. He shuffled some folders on his desk, then continued.
“The Court has reviewed a report from the probation department, and also the psychiatric evaluation prepared for sentencing. The information seems clear, with no contradictions that I can determine. Mr. Ricardo, I assume you would like to address the Court?”
Manny Ricardo got to his feet. He wore a grey business suit that complemented his size and complexion, but next to Brian Godney’s outfit, looked positively shabby. It was obviously several hundred terros cheaper.
“Yes, your Honor. Thank you.
“Your Honor, my client is seventeen years old. If we were going to trial, I would petition for juvenile court, but since my client has pled guilty, I would now like to petition that sentencing be carried out along juvenile court guidelines.
“The crimes that my client committed were terrible. We don’t contest that. But I ask the Court to take into account the fact that my client acted out of grief. His father was killed in the war by the now infamous sniper in the church bell tower in Trimmer Springs. Based on anecdotal and historical evidence, my client believed that the man who killed his father was none other than Nick Walker, who is now the U.F. Marshal in that region.”
“Objection.” Victoria said it quietly.
Moore frowned at her.
“Objection to what, Miss Cross?”
“To the language, your Honor. Counsel has characterized the sniper in the bell tower as ‘infamous’. I submit that is a subjective description and should be corrected for the record. The word ‘infamous’ connotes someone who has done something bad or unlawful, like someone who robs stage coaches.”
“Do you prefer the word ‘famous’ then?”
“‘Famous’ would be more accurate, your Honor, but I propose to drop the adjective altogether. The word ‘sniper’ needs no modification.”
“Very well. Since there is no evidence that Marshal Walker ever robbed any stage coaches, the objection is sustained. Let the record be amended to drop the adjective.”
He turned to Ricardo.
“Proceed, counselor.”
Ricardo looked a little annoyed at the interruption, but picked up where he’d left off.
“Thank you, your Honor.
“Prior to committing these offenses, my client had never been in trouble, had no criminal record of any kind. He belongs to a religious sect that largely avoids contact with society at large. Although he lives in Trimmer Springs, he never attended public school and had no outside training to counter what we might consider shortcomings in his religious indoctrination. His religion is based on a fundamentalist view of the Old Testament, in which violent offenses may be answered with other violent offenses. Whether true or not, Mr. Downing was taught and believes that Nick Walker killed his father, and felt justified in killing Marshal Walker as a remedy.”
“Your Honor, if I may?” Victoria was on her feet again.
“Miss Cross?”
“Your Honor, I would merely like to submit that there is no substantiation that Marshal Walker is the man who killed Mr. Downing’s father. While I sympathize with the defendant’s loss, I believe the record should reflect that Trimmer Springs was a battleground that day. A few dozen Star Marines were defending the town against thousands of Coalition troops, and men were killed on both sides. There is no proof that Mr. Downing’s father was killed by the sniper in the bell tower. That story is anecdotal at best.”
“Your Honor—” Ricardo was frowning. “—a number of men fighting with the Coalition reported that it was the sniper who killed the senior Downing. These men were there that day and reported what they saw. My client had no reason to disbelieve their accounts.”
“Your Honor, I don’t dispute that these men made such claims, or that they believed what they said, but where are they? The St
ar Marines had no official cameras on the ground that day, and I’ve never seen any amateur footage of the battle, so there is no hard evidence one way or the other. I submit that the Court, before it accepts these claims as fact, should hear testimony from the survivors.”
Manny Ricardo turned to face Victoria and held his arms out to the sides in a helpless gesture.
“Is this really that important? If I had anticipated this objection, I would have tried to locate some of those men, though I doubt any of them would have agreed to testify.”
Moore turned to peer at Victoria.
“What about it, Miss Cross. Is it that important?”
She smiled, slightly red-faced.
“No, your Honor. And it isn’t an objection, just a clarification. My point is that, in the absence of eye-witness testimony or physical evidence, the weight of this claim should be kept in perspective.”
“Which is?”
“That it is anecdotal and nothing more.”
Moore nodded. “Noted. Proceed, Mr. Ricardo.”
Manny Ricardo looked a little flustered, as if he’d lost his place. He heaved a sigh.
“Your Honor, may I ask Miss Cross to hold her rebuttals until I finish my petition? Otherwise we could be here all day.”
“Miss Cross, hold on to your rebuttals until he’s done. Except for actual objections, of course.”
“Yes, your Honor.”
Manny Ricardo found his place and started again.
“My client was taught growing up that the eye-for-an-eye principle was an acceptable course when dealing with an offense. In that spirit, he attempted to kill Marshal Walker. Twice. Unfortunately, his first attempt resulted in the death of the deputy, Hugh Povar. My client deeply regrets Deputy Povar’s death and wishes he could take it back.”
“That’s very moving, Mr. Ricardo,” Judge Moore said, “but Hugh Povar is still dead, and your client killed him. Doesn’t he deserve justice?”
“Of course he does, your Honor. I am simply asking the Court to consider the lack of intent. In a very real sense, Hugh Povar’s death was accidental. It might also interest the Court to know that Povar’s mother visited my client in the Trimmer Springs jail and forgave him for killing her son. I ask the Court to show commensurate mercy.”
