by John Bowers
“What are you gonna do?”
She reached for her desk comm.
“I’m sending James back out there. We just might still have a shot at a murder charge.”
*
Victoria spent another hour with Brian Godney, reviewing details of the case. The trial would start the following Monday and they needed to bear down if they were going to be ready.
As soon as Godney left her office, Nancy Swift tapped on her door and stepped inside.
“Miss Cross?”
“Yes.”
“One of those minimum security detention centers said they are willing to take the Downing boy, but they want to talk to you first.”
“Which one is it?”
“Crawford Hill.”
“Are they on the line?”
“No, Ma’am. You were in conference with Mr. Godney and I didn’t want to interrupt. But they’re expecting your call. I have the number.”
She handed Victoria a slip of paper.
“The warden’s name is John Cooper.”
“Thank you, Nancy. Would you close the door on the way out?”
“Of course.”
Nancy withdrew. As soon as the door was closed, Victoria placed the call. The man who popped up on her screen was younger than she expected, probably no older than thirty. Most wardens tended to be older men and somewhat jaded.
Victoria flashed him a smile.
“Warden Cooper! I’m Victoria Cross, U.F. Attorney.”
Cooper’s eyes lit up when he saw her face. He returned the smile.
“Very nice to talk to you, Ms. Cross.”
Victoria didn’t like the “Ms.” prefix, though she couldn’t really say why. She generally asked people to call her “Miss”, but since she was asking this man a favor, she let it slide.
“My assistant said you had some questions for me. How can I help you?”
Cooper’s smile faded as he got down to business.
“Well, from what Ms. Swift told me, it sounds like we can certainly handle your inmate, but we don’t normally do this, and I just wanted to ask why you made the request.”
“I understand. The truth is that we only have one Federation prison on the entire planet, and I don’t believe this kid belongs there. He’s only seventeen and has no prior record. I’m afraid the hardened cons will eat him alive.”
“Ms. Swift told me he was convicted of two murders. We don’t normally take violent offenders.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Warden—I don’t think he is violent. It’s true that he killed two people, but they were crimes of passion, more or less—”
“More or less? Were they crimes of passion, or not?”
“Yes. It’s fairly complicated, but when you see the file, I think you’ll come to the same conclusion I did. The presentencing reports indicate that he truly feels remorse for the killings, and that he’s not a threat to society going forward. I’ve interviewed him, and I concur.”
“What if he gets ‘passionate’ again?”
“That’s why I want him in a minimum security installation. As I understand it, you have mostly white-collar types there.”
“That’s correct. Some people call it a country club. I have to consider the safety of our current inmates, and I don’t want to introduce someone who would put them at undue risk.”
“I sincerely believe that won’t be a problem,” Victoria told him. “The judge has ordered him to get a college degree while he’s inside, or face a longer sentence. I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble, but if he does, I’ll take it back to the judge and get him moved.”
Warden Cooper stared at her a moment, then grimaced.
“Okay, Ms. Cross, shoot me his file. I’ll look it over, and if everything checks out, we’ll take him on a trial basis. But we have to bill the Federation for his upkeep.”
“I understand. Thank you, Warden.”
“One more thing, Ms. Cross—why are you doing this? Every prosecutor I’ve ever met has a fire-and-forget mentality. Once they get their conviction, they have very little concern about what happens after that.”
“I’m not most prosecutors. I believe in justice, but also second chances when they apply. In this case, I think they do apply.”
Cooper smiled again and nodded.
“Fair enough. Send me the file, and I’ll be in touch.”
“I’ll send it right now. Thank you, Warden.”
Victoria disconnected and v-mailed the file to Cooper’s web address. That done, she opened the Wallace Frie folder again and continued her study. Thirty minutes later, her desk comm rang. It was Warden Cooper.
“You’ve got a bigger problem, Ms. Cross,” he said.
“Really? And what’s that?”
“You didn’t tell me that this kid is a member of the Groaner cult.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Those people aren’t real popular on this planet,” Cooper said. “A few of my inmates lost their homes when the Coalition went to war, and a couple lost family members. This might be a non-violent white-collar prison, but prejudice runs deep. I’m not sure your boy would be safe here.”
Victoria frowned. “Nicodemus Downing was nine years old when the war ended, which means he was only five or six when it started. How can he be held responsible?”
“As I said, prejudice runs deep. Some of these guys won’t put that together, or even want to. He’s a cult kid, and he murdered a deputy U.F. Marshal.”
Cooper sighed.
“I like to think that I’m an enlightened individual, but in the spirit of full disclosure, I have to tell you that I don’t like those people very much myself. I was in the Colonial Defense Force when the war started, and we got our ass kicked halfway across the continent. I lost lots of buddies before the Federation showed up to help us out.”
He shook his head.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can take him.”
Victoria stared at his image for a moment, feeling her cheeks burn red. Anger welled up deep inside her, but she tried to conceal it.
“All right, then. Do you have any recommendations where he might be accepted?”
“Lancalpha has a youth facility that might take him, but they’ll only hold him until he turns twenty-one. After that he’ll be transferred to an adult facility. If he’s getting out after ten years, at least he wouldn’t have to serve the full sentence in adult population, and it’ll give him three or four years to mature before he gets there.”
Victoria made a note, then nodded.
“Thank you. I’ll give them a try.”
“Again, Ms. Cross, I’m sor—”
Victoria disconnected before he finished.
“Goddammit!” she whispered. “God damn it!”
Chapter 8
Victoria asked Nancy Swift to contact the youth facility at Lancalpha to see if they would accept Nicodemus Downing, then continued working on the Frie case. A few minutes later, Nancy stuck her head in the door again.
“Miss, Cross…?”
“Yes, Nancy. Come in.”
The young woman stepped inside.
“Lancalpha says they’ll take Mr. Downing, but they can only hold him until he’s twenty-one. That’s a little more than three years from now.”
“Good! By the time he’s ready for transfer, maybe we’ll have a better alternative for him. Thank you, Nancy.”
“No problem. Can I do anything else?”
“Yes. Contact Judge Moore’s office and tell him that Lancalpha will take the prisoner. I promised to let him know.”
“Right away.”
Nancy returned to her office. Barely a minute later, Godney tapped on her door. She waved him inside.
“Dillon called.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Aaron Pickard is an asshole and won’t talk to him.”
“Did he try the Hawkins couple?”
“Yes. They were a little more forthcoming. A
pparently they are disillusioned with their church since their nephew died, and they’re willing to talk. They said they don’t know much about previous stonings, except for one. They’re coming in tomorrow. Do you want to sit in?”
“I…don’t know. Let me know when they get here and I’ll see where I am.”
“Fair enough. In the meantime, I asked Dillon to talk to the men on the church council. If we can break one of them, we still might get a murder charge on Groening.”
“Good luck with that. They’ll never talk. They won’t even show up.”
Godney grinned.
“I asked Nancy to draw up subpoenas for them. If they refuse to meet, I can have them arrested. If they hate outside attention so much, they’ll really hate going to jail.”
Victoria laughed.
“Way to go, Brian! Let me know how that turns out.”
“I will. And I would really like you to sit in tomorrow if you can possibly swing it.”
“I will if I can, but no promises.”
*
Victoria continued work on the Frie case. To better understand the present case, she dug into the smuggling case that had sent Frie to prison. She studied the arrest reports and trial information. She read highlights of the trial transcript. She looked for inconsistencies that might come back to bite her when she put Frie on trial. The uneasy feeling she had experienced when she first reviewed things returned, and gave rise to more questions that needed answers.
She began making a list.
Randal’s partner, Agent David Jones, could not confirm that Frie resisted arrest or that he was even armed. He had been checking the passenger side of the cargo tractor when the arrest was made. Question: Where was David Jones now?
The Colonial Transit Police officers who assisted in the arrest had never been called to testify. They were trained, experienced officers. They should have at least been subpoenaed, but Victoria found no evidence that they had been. Question: Why not?
Evidence had been presented at trial and witnesses examined that said Frie was a “difficult” employee who sometimes made threats. The only evidence of this seemed to be employee records supplied by his employers, but Victoria saw no evidence of a follow-up—no one had apparently interviewed Frie’s co-workers or dug deeper into the employee files to corroborate these claims. Question: Why not?
A jailhouse snitch named Tullis had testified that, while awaiting trial, Frie had threatened to kill the arresting agent, Lloyd Randal. Question: Who was Tullis, what was he in for, and what considerations did he receive to testify?
Frie’s attorney, Monte Simpson—who was also defending Antiochus Groening—never put his client on the stand to tell his side of the story. In fact, he had mounted very little at all in the way of a defense, perhaps preferring to let the Federation stand or fall on its own case. Certainly he had no obligation to expose Frie to cross-examination, and maybe Frie didn’t even want to testify, but… Question: Why not?
There would be more questions, she was sure. She was barely getting started. She wrote several pages of notes, then slipped them into the transcription scanner to upload them to her case notes. By the time she was done, the hour was getting late. She checked in with Godney.
“How are you doing, Brian? Anything back from Dillon?”
“Nothing yet. We probably won’t hear from him until tomorrow.”
“Nothing on the Downing women?”
“No. He hasn’t called back. You want me to contact him?”
“No, I don’t think so. He said he’ll have them here, so they’ll be here. If not, he’ll let us know.”
“Are you going to sit in?”
“Yeah, I think so. For part of it, anyway. Do you feel you have a pretty good grasp of the case?”
“Absolutely! I’m going to review it again tonight, and we can compare notes tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. I’m heading home. I need to hit the gym.”
“Okay. Have a great evening.”
“You, too.”
Centauri Arms – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
The walk home was uneventful. Victoria’s senses were on high alert, but until her meeting with the mugger, she had crossed that bridge hundreds of times without incident, and tonight was no different.
In her apartment, she stripped off her work clothes, slipped into a sports bra and shorts, then took the lift down to the basement. Two other people were already there, working out. She acknowledged them briefly before starting her workout.
She started with stretching exercises, then moved on into her workout. She began with pushups, jumping jacks, and burpees, fifty each. Next she performed twenty-five back lunges (with a twist), then two minutes of alternating leg lifts, followed by two minutes of Ice Skaters (utilizing the oblique).
Sweating, she took a short break and sucked down some water, then moved on to Planks with opposite arm and leg extensions, one minute for each side.
Moving to the barbells, she performed several overhead squats with sixty-five pound weights, then a couple of deadlifts of a hundred pounds, taking a break after each set. Her muscles responded with a satisfying burn and her body streamed sweat as she felt the stress melt away. After forty-five minutes, she finished up with half a dozen laps around the gym, then picked up her towel and mopped herself down before heading back up the lift to her apartment, where she stood under the shower for ten minutes.
Her stress had dissipated after the workout, but she still had a lot on her mind. She always did, of course—being a U.F. Attorney was no picnic—but lately it was worse. She had been hearing a name that brought back a lot of memories.
Nick Walker.
For ten years he had been a part of her past, a painful memory due to the fact that she had loved him and lost him. She had no one to blame but herself, but that didn’t make the pain any less.
She had tried to move on. While working at the Polygon she had dated several men, if for no other reason than to prove she wasn’t anti-social, but it hadn’t worked for her. No matter how handsome the man, how masculine, how charming, how intelligent, she just couldn’t get close to any of them. She had resisted all attempts to get her into bed, believing that sex should be reserved for someone she had intimate feelings for. To date, at age twenty-eight, she had only slept with two men in her life—Nick Walker and her law school roommate, Trevor Johnson.
The latter she would regret for the rest of her life, as it had been that one-nighter that cost her so dearly. The day might come when she would meet someone to edge Nick out of her consciousness, but it hadn’t happened yet, and she didn’t see it happening anytime soon. Maybe she was just being dramatic, or maybe it was a character flaw, but she seemed to be a one-man woman…
And she had let her man get away.
Now, with the Downing and Groening cases on her desk, Nick’s name seemed to pop up daily, almost hourly. She had been more or less content with her status, but constantly hearing Nick’s name stirred up the old feelings, and the pain.
And that damn dream hadn’t helped.
It all renewed her longing that someday, somehow, they might be reconciled. But that was a forlorn hope, and she knew it. Not only had Nick put her in his rear-view, he now had another woman, and he wasn’t likely to abandon his new love to return to the old one that had broken his heart.
She gritted her teeth and fought back the urge to cry. She would get through this. She was a Star Marine, and Star Marines didn’t cry. They were tough. They had to be. Their lives depended on it.
Standing under the hot shower with her eyes closed, she lifted her chin and let the spray wash over her. If any tears appeared, the spray washed them away, as if they never happened.
She couldn’t afford any tears.
They never happened.
*
Victoria heated up dinner and ate at the dining table. While she ate, she played a vid of Wallace Frie’s interrogation after his arrest for murder. Part of the interrogation, anyway—the whole thing ran for n
ine hours. She watched with narrowed eyes and let her intuition have its head. Frie was not a sympathetic character at first glance—like most cargo pilots, he was rough around the edges, not a man to be trifled with.
But…
Victoria had watched hundreds of interrogations, had even sat in on a few. She knew how guilty men usually acted, how they blustered, denied, twisted, obfuscated. She’d seen them clam up in baleful silence when all the evidence was against them. She’d seen them taunt interrogators when the evidence was thin. She’d seen the smirks, the arrogance, the condescension…and in a few cases, the chilling hate that emanated from the truly dangerous suspects.
She saw none of that with Wallace Frie. Wallace Frie looked terrified, like a mouse in a cage surrounded by feral cats. He denied killing Lloyd Randal, just as he had denied the smuggling charges twelve years earlier. No matter how many ways the investigators came at him, he stuck to his story, never wavering, patiently repeating his version without deviation.
By the time she finished her dinner, Victoria already had an upset stomach—Wallace Frie was either the best actor in history, or the most skilled liar she had ever seen. He didn’t fit the profiles of anyone she had ever prosecuted, and although that could be part of his strategy to escape justice, it could also mean something else.
Something wasn’t right here.
Wednesday, February 3, 0444 (CC)
75th Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
When Victoria arrived at her office on Wednesday morning, a surprise was waiting. Gary Fraites called her into his office. Anderson Gabel was also there. Victoria’s eyebrows arched as she sensed something important was in the air.
“Morning, Vic.” Fraites smiled.
“Morning. Morning, Andy.”
Gabel nodded and also smiled, or what passed for a smile. He wasn’t much given to personal expression.
