by John Bowers
She grinned to mitigate the passion in her voice.
“As prosecutors, we have way too much power. Just ask Wilson Fong.”
The lift door opened. They followed the corridor to Victoria’s office. She waved Godney inside.
Fascinated, Godney dropped into a chair.
“What do you mean we have too much power? It’s the judge who has the ultimate say.”
Victoria dropped her things on the desk and also sat down. She leaned forward with elbows on her desk and intertwined her fingers together.
“The judge can’t do a damn thing until the trial is over. Sure, he or she can rule on evidence, sign warrants, and determine the length of a sentence, but in the final analysis they’re little more than referees. The prosecutor, on the other hand, decides when or whether to file an indictment. The cops arrest a guilty man with all the evidence needed to convict him, but the prosecutor can decline to charge him for any reason at all, or no reason. Conversely, prosecutors can push a case with no merit right up to the last drop of the defendant’s blood, for no other reason than he—the prosecutor—is an asshole.”
“But cases like that eventually get resolved and the truth comes out.”
“Most of the time, yes. But it can take years, and how much anguish should an innocent man suffer before he gets vindicated? Savings can be wiped out, homes and businesses lost, families ripped apart. People can die from stress, and even if they don’t—even if they finally win, or the charges are dropped—their lives are destroyed.
“And all that assumes they aren’t wrongfully convicted, which also happens.”
Godney frowned as he thought it over. He grimaced as if in pain.
“I don’t know, Victoria. I think it’s our job to prosecute and the jury’s job to determine guilt. That’s why the jury system was established.”
“Have you ever seen a jury that wasn’t biased? I haven’t. Oh, they’ll swear they can keep an open mind, but hardly any of them can. A skillful prosecutor can sway even a good jury into doing something despicable.”
“I don’t know…”
“Brian, there are two kinds of jurors, and they’re both biased. The first is the mainstream citizen who believes in law and order. The second is the antisocial juror who believes the government is always the enemy, that authority figures are out to get them. When the mainstream juror sees a scruffy looking defendant sitting in court, he figures that defendant wouldn’t be there if he wasn’t guilty. After all, the cops would never frame anybody, would they? The antisocial juror looks at the same scruffy defendant and sees his own son, or even himself. In their minds, he’s innocent even if he’s guilty.
“Fortunately, the second juror—the antisocial one—generally gets weeded out in voir dire, but the other kind, the mainstream juror, is likely to get empaneled. Neither one is very likely to mete out true justice.”
“Wow!” Godney shook his head. “If you believe all that, then why do you do it?”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“Why do I do it? Because somebody has to do it right!”
“That sounds pretty—”
“Arrogant? Maybe it does, but I mean that sincerely. Brian, I don’t contend that all prosecutors are corrupt, or even insensitive, but far too many are. Wilson Fong was an extreme case, but there are plenty more like him who are too smart to expose themselves the way he did. Have you ever noticed how many times, when a wrongful conviction is exposed, the prosecuting attorney fights against getting that person a new trial? Why do you suppose that is?”
“Well—”
“I’ll tell you why! That prosecutor is more concerned with his or her own career, his record, than he is about justice. It also begs the question, did they know the victim was innocent, but pushed the case anyway…and ‘let the jury decide’? If they did, then they belong behind bars themselves.”
Victoria sat back in her chair. To her surprise, she was suddenly flushed, her fingers tingling.
She smiled.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so passionate. Prosecutorial misconduct stains all of us, and it’s a hot button with me.”
Godney smiled. “I’m glad you did. I think I understand you a little better now.”
“Anyway, that’s why I did what I did down in the courtroom. Appropriate punishment can get thorny, but I believe justice has been served for both Nicodemus Downing and his victims. Now we can move on to Antiochus Groening, and I feel no sympathy at all for him.”
“I’m glad you said that. When can we get together to talk about that case? I have some questions that need clearing up.”
“I have a meeting at one o’clock with an investigator on the case. Why don’t you sit in, then we can review everything once we know what he’s got for us.”
“Works for me.” Godney bounced to his feet. “Thanks, Victoria. I’ll see you at one.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
He headed for the door, then stopped and turned back.
“By the way…what’s your conviction rate?”
Victoria laughed.
“Ninety-three percent.”
“Not bad.”
“Before I came here, it was ninety-nine percent.”
“Oh? Where did you work before?”
“I was based in the Polygon. I worked for the Judge Advocate General.”
Godney’s eyebrows shot up.
“You were in the military?”
“Star Marines.”
“No shit! How come I never knew that? Did you have to go through boot camp and everything?”
“Yes, I did. It was the hardest thing I ever did, but also the happiest time of my life.”
“You fire machine guns and stuff like that?”
“Not quite. I wasn’t a combat Marine, so I never got to play with heavy weapons, but I did qualify with all kinds of rifles and lasers and handguns.”
“You throw hand grenades and stuff?”
“Yes, especially ‘stuff’. Stuff you can’t even imagine. I never imagined them. But the best part was the physical training. It was also the hardest part, but it was worth every drop of sweat.”
“I’m impressed.” He grinned. “Okay, see you at one.”
After Godney left, Victoria punched in a number in the office network. It was answered at once.
“Yes, Miss Cross?”
“Nancy, can you come in here please?”
“On my way.”
Thirty seconds later, an attractive young woman appeared in the doorway. She was twenty-three, with a pale, porcelain complexion, shoulder-length black hair, and stylish reading glasses that slightly magnified her blue eyes. Her name was Nancy Swift, a paralegal.
“What can I do for you?”
Victoria held up a printed sheet and Nancy crossed the room to take it.
“This is a list of minimum-security prisons on Alpha 2. Can you call around and see if one of them is willing to take a Federation prisoner for the next ten to twenty-five? His name is Nicodemus Downing and he confessed to murder, but I don’t think he belongs on Syracuse Island. If they have further questions, I’ll be happy to talk to them.”
“Right away.”
“Thank you.”
The Semper Fi – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Victoria spent a couple of hours reviewing new cases in her E-box. She made notes on each to document questions that needed answers, and maybe further investigation. Federation cases were different from Colonial cases in that the U.F. Attorney didn’t deal with rank-and-file criminal complaints. To merit Federation court, a case had to, in some way, involve Federation law or constitutional issues. Inter-system smuggling, bank robberies, human trafficking, or assaults on Federation officials were just a few of the crimes that qualified for the U.F. Attorney’s attention. The murder of Hugh Povar was a perfect example, since he worked for the U.F. Marshal. The Antiochus Groening case was another, since it involved freedom of religion, a constitutional issue.
And, of course, the Wallace Frie cas
e qualified, since he was a convicted smuggler and had murdered an ACBI agent.
The U.F. Attorney also defended the Federation against lawsuits, which were fairly common, but other attorneys handled those. Victoria only worked criminal cases.
A few minutes before noon, she shut down her terminal and grabbed her purse. She was hungry but not starving, and for some reason the idea of eating in the commissary—the building had five of them—didn’t appeal to her. Instead, she took the lift down to the ground-floor lobby and headed across the street.
The Semper Fi was a cocktail lounge that had opened a few months earlier in the shadow of the Federation building. Aside from an occasional glass of wine, Victoria wasn’t much of a drinker and rarely ever went to bars, but the first time she noticed the sign over the door, she was intrigued. Semper Fi, meaning “always faithful”, was the Star Marine motto, and as a former Star Marine, she had to check it out. It turned out to be a pleasant little bar that did a booming business after hours, but was relatively quiet during the day. One could get not only a drink, but also a variety of sandwiches.
The first time she walked inside, she was stunned to discover that the owner, who also tended bar, was someone she knew. After that, she stopped in once a week for lunch.
*
“Hey, Vic! How ya doin’?”
The man behind the bar grinned at her as she stepped inside and removed her sun blinders. She returned the smile.
“I’m good. How about you, Kopycat?”
“Oh, you know me, every day is a gift. I’m always good. What’ll you have?”
Half a dozen other patrons were seated at tables around the room, most of them drinking, several also eating. The barstools were empty, so Victoria slid onto one. She placed her purse out of the way and heaved a sigh.
“Can I get a pastrami on sourdough? And a Kombucha?”
“Coming right up. You want that pastrami cold or heated?”
“Nuke it.”
Alvin Kopshevar nodded and reached into a nitro-cooler, where he removed an icy bottle of Kombucha and placed it before her. He pulled a pre-wrapped pastrami sandwich from a deli case and popped it into the microwave. That done, he placed his hands on the bar and stood gazing at her.
“You look good, Vic. Everything going your way?”
“More or less. Good days, bad days—they all combine to balance out the universe, don’t they? Yin and Yang.”
“Yep, they sure do. Whatcha working on these days?”
“Just settled a murder case this morning, got a big trial coming up.”
“Which murder case?”
“Nicodemus Downing, Trimmer Springs.”
Kopshevar’s grin faded.
“Isn’t that the kid tried to kill Nick?”
Victoria swallowed a mouthful of Kombucha, savoring its sharp, ginger flavor, and set the bottle down. She nodded.
“Yeah, same one. He thinks Nick murdered his dad from the bell tower.”
“Well, he might be right. Nick took out a lot of Freaks that day.”
“Trouble is, there’s no proof, and even if there was, it was wartime, so legally it wasn’t murder. Even if it was, personal revenge is still a crime.”
“How’d it turn out? You put the kid away?”
“Yeah. He pleaded guilty, so he got some time, but the judge gave him a break. He’ll do ten or fifteen and then get out on parole.”
“You okay with that? He did kill two people, and tried to kill Nick.”
She took another long, gratifying drink from the bottle.
“I’m not only okay with it, I argued for it. He did what he did, but I don’t hold him completely responsible for it.”
“No? Who, then?”
“His religious leader. I hold him responsible for the killings. He’s also the guy responsible for the war you guys fought in. He brainwashes people to do what he wants, only in this case, it went further than even he intended.”
The microwave beeped and Kopshevar retrieved her sandwich, which he put on a plate and set before her, along with a small bag of chips.
“Keep me posted on that one, Vic. I’d sure like to see the fucker who started the war get what he’s got coming. God knows the Federation dropped the ball on that one.”
“They sure as hell did.”
It was a point of contention with both of them, and millions of others as well. When the Rebel Coalition surrendered to the Star Marines, no one had held the rebel leaders accountable. As a result, several weak-willed politicians had lost their jobs in subsequent elections, but no one had ever corrected the error. Antiochus Groening and his co-conspirator, a man named Rev. Wiest, had escaped punishment for starting the revolution.
Victoria bit into the sandwich and savored the spicy pastrami as she chewed. Kopshevar drew himself a beer and sipped it while she ate. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.
Victoria was completely comfortable with Kopshevar. He was about her age, and a friend of Nick Walker…or had been. “Kopycat”, as his friends called him, had been a member of her training platoon in boot camp, along with Nick Walker. After graduation from boot camp, when permanent assignments were handed out, he and Nick were the only two men from their platoon to be assigned to Echo Company, 33rd Star Marines. They had shipped out together, fought for eighteen months on Alpha 2, and both survived the war. Kopshevar had been at Nick’s side throughout the campaign, including that pivotal battle in Trimmer Springs when Nick became the sniper in the bell tower.
Victoria swallowed and took another drink of Kombucha. Before taking another bite, her blue eyes bored into Kopshevar.
“I probably should have asked you this before I went to court this morning, but it probably wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“Asked me what?”
“You were there that day, weren’t you? In Trimmer Springs?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s one day I’ll never forget.”
“Tell me about it. The battle.”
“Oh, God!”
Kopshevar heaved a deep breath, straightened up, and gazed out the window, his eyes glazing. He let his breath out in a rush.
“God, where do I start? We’d been trying to capture Trimmer Springs for over a year. Everyone said it was the key to the revolution, because the rebels were headquartered on the plain nearby. Thirty-first Star Marines went after it twice, but the rebels held them off in those mountain passes east of town and chewed them up so bad they had to give it up.
“It wasn’t until after we pushed them back across the plain that they pulled their troops out to defend their homeland. By then, they had agreed to peace talks, but they tried to consolidate their position before the talks started, so they made one last effort to push us back. They hit us with artillery like I had never seen before, and we had to retreat.”
“This was before the battle?”
Kopshevar nodded.
“The day before. When they pulled us out, the rebels were trying to reoccupy the town, but we got there first. We’d been chewed up so bad, we were only about forty percent effective, if that. We barely got into town before they hit us…”
“Wait a minute. When you evacuated, you ended up in town?”
“Exactly. When the rebels first pulled out, the 31st moved in, but that day, somehow, the rebels managed to surround the town, so most of the 31st pulled back to defend the pass on the east. The town was wide open at that point, and they dropped us in there to hold it, even though we didn’t have much fight left in us.”
He grimaced and shook his head.
“Right after we landed, they hit us again with artillery, and satellite images showed a major force approaching from the west. By then, the 31st had been cut off and couldn’t get back in. We were tasked to keep the Freaks out while they fought their way back in. At least, I think that’s how it went down—the whole thing was damned confusing at the time.”
“How did Nick end up in the bell tower?”
“He’d been wounded the night before, as
we were evacuating. Shrapnel in his back, but he was still mobile. The captain assigned two platoons to hold the west end and our platoon was in reserve, so we took cover in the church basement. The shelling was sporadic. I don’t think the Freaks wanted to destroy the town, but they hit us with harassing fire. Finally, they made their move on the west end. They must have had five thousand men coming in through that pass, and we had a few dozen at most. It looked like we were screwed, but we had nowhere to go, so we had to stand and fight.
“To answer your question, the captain wanted someone in the bell tower with a sniper rifle, and Nick was the only guy in our platoon who had qualified with that particular weapon. So, even though he was wounded, he drew the short straw.”
Kopshevar’s eyes glazed again and he fell silent, reliving the memory. Victoria continued with her sandwich, giving him time. After a moment, as if remembering she was still there, he cleared his throat and continued.
“Anyway…” He heaved a sigh. “The first few hours were critical. First and Second Platoons had set up strongpoints to hold the rebels back, but they kept getting overrun and had to fall back several times. They finally sent Third Platoon—that was our platoon—in to reinforce, which meant we had no more reserve, but even that wasn’t enough. If Nick hadn’t been in the tower, we’d probably all be dead.”
“Nick saved the day? Just one man with a rifle?”
Kopshevar nodded.
“Sounds like stuff out of a holo-vid, but that’s pretty much what happened. The men on the ground kept getting outflanked, but from where he was, Nick could see pretty much everything that was going on. He would see a mass of rebels all bunched up and start shooting them up. He stopped at least half a dozen rebel attacks all by himself, and after they stopped attacking, he still nailed them one by one all through the rest of that day, and even after dark.
“The next morning they tried again, but he stopped them.”
“They never spotted him?”
“Oh, they spotted him. They shot the shit out of that bell tower, but somehow they didn’t kill him. He was hit several times, but he stayed put. I went up there once to take him some coffee, and he was bleeding all over the place. I offered to relieve him so he could get patched up, but he refused to leave.”
