by John Bowers
“He’s ready. I think he hates Groening’s guts. He’ll make a powerful witness.”
“I think so too. You have everything you need?”
“Yes. Are you going to be in the courtroom?”
“I don’t think so. I have the Frie trial a week from Monday, and I need every minute to prepare.”
“I know how that feels. Okay, can we at least meet to go over the trial strategy? Saturday maybe?”
“I can do that. Have you met with the Hawkins couple yet?”
“This afternoon.”
“Let me know how that goes. I really hope they can give you enough to file murder on Groening.”
“If not now, then later for sure. I’m intrigued with this one. I want to hang that old bastard.”
Victoria smiled as she disconnected. Antiochus Groening was as good as fried. Once he got started, Brian Godney was a bulldog who wouldn’t let go until his target was destroyed. Groening wouldn’t stand a chance.
Next she called James Dillon.
“Elder Keyser has agreed to testify. You can cut the others loose.”
“Billings, too?”
“No, hang onto him. I think I’m going to charge him in the death of Jonathon Hawkins. Let the others go, but don’t let them know where we’re keeping Keyser. I don’t want them changing his mind with peer pressure.”
“How do you know they won’t contact him by comm?”
“They don’t use comms or pocket phones. Those things are devices of the devil. I’m frankly surprised that Keyser used one to call me this morning.”
“Okay, Vic. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks. James, when that’s done, can you come and see me? I have some other work for you.”
“No problem. Give me a couple of hours.”
Victoria disconnected and returned to the Frie case. She changed her mind and picked up the comm again. She called Monte Simpson’s office. Fortunately, he was in and took her call right away. His face appeared in her call screen.
“This is Simpson. Ready to drop the charges against my client?”
Victoria laughed. As a defense attorney, Simpson worked both Federation and Colonial court; she knew him only slightly, but had never faced him in court.
“Actually, I was wondering why you’re even going to trial. The evidence against your man is overwhelming. You’re just going through the motions.”
Simpson sighed and the glint of humor faded from his eyes.
“I tried to talk him into pleading. I thought you and I might come to an agreement, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
Victoria nodded thoughtfully.
“I would be willing to offer him ten years on the attempt murder and probation on the conspiracy. But he may have bigger problems.”
Simpson frowned.
“Like what?”
“Murder. We’re looking at evidence of previous stonings that ended in fatalities. If those check out, he’s looking at life and no consideration.”
Simpson looked pained.
“Just between you and me and the rest of the galaxy, I don’t much like the guy, but my job is to get the best possible outcome for my clients. Trouble is, Groening won’t work with me. He’s convinced we’re all part of some great satanic conspiracy to persecute him.”
“Even you? His defense attorney?”
Simpson nodded.
“He’s fought me every step of the way. He refused a jury trial because he says he has no peers who can judge him and he won’t be judged by unbelievers. But he insists on going to trial so he can refute the evidence against him. I don’t even know how to defend him.”
Victoria felt a pang of sympathy for Simpson. And was glad she wasn’t walking in his shoes.
“I guess you do the best you can and leave it at that. I don’t think there’s much anyone can do to save him. The evidence is just too strong.”
Simpson smiled.
“Is that what you called about, or was there something else?”
“Actually, no. I imagine you remember Wallace Frie?”
“Oh. Yeah, I’ll never forget that one. What’s up?”
“You’re aware that he’s going to trial again? This time for murder?”
“Yes. I’m not surprised.”
Victoria kept the surprise off her face.
“Why is that?”
“He did just what he said he would. It was inevitable he would wind up back in court.”
“Well, I got handed the case and as part of my prep I’ve been looking into the original trial. What can you tell me about that?”
“Probably quite a lot. Exactly what are you looking for?”
“Why didn’t you put him on the stand?”
“Because it was the only positive thing I could do for him. He was guilty as fuck.”
“He told you that?”
“Oh, no, just the opposite. He put on quite a show for me, crying and begging me to get him off. He swore he was innocent.”
“You didn’t believe him?”
“Not for a minute. The Federation had him by the balls. They had everything they needed for a conviction. The evidence was iron-clad.”
Victoria bit her lip, then released it and hoped Simpson hadn’t noticed.
“I’ve been reviewing the trial transcript, arrest reports, witness statements, and interrogation vids. Didn’t Frie claim he was being framed?”
Simpson laughed.
“Do you have any idea how many defendants try to pull that one?”
“Yes, but every once in a blue solar flare it’s actually true. Did you explore that angle?”
“I didn’t have to. I knew Lloyd Randal personally. He and I worked together when I was still a Colonial prosecutor.”
“That was before my time,” she told him. “I only got here three years ago, so I only met Randal on a couple of occasions. Never really talked to him.”
“He was a pro. A good agent. Experienced. Knew the law inside and out.”
“Above reproach?”
“Completely.”
Victoria nodded and consulted her notes.
“Next question—” She glanced at his image on the comm. “Do you have time for this?”
“Sure, I’ve got a few minutes.”
“Thanks. I noticed that the prosecution never called the CTP officers who aided in Frie’s first arrest.”
“You’d have to ask your friend Gabel about that. I don’t know why he didn’t call them, but I was glad he didn’t. Jones and Randal both testified and that was damaging enough.”
“Did you ever interview those officers?”
“No. Didn’t see the point. They could only hurt my client.”
“Do you have any idea where they are now?”
“No idea.”
“What about Jones? Is he still around?”
“I haven’t seen him in a few years. I think he left ACBI a couple years after the trial.”
“Is he still in town?”
“I don’t know. ACBI can probably tell you where to find him.”
“Okay, I’ll check with them.”
“Why do you want to talk to him? Just out of curiosity.”
“I just like to cover all my bases. Hayes Crawford is representing Frie on the murder charge, so I can’t afford any surprises.”
Simpson whistled.
“I hadn’t heard that. Well, good luck, Miss Cross. You’ll need it.”
“Thanks. One more question, if you don’t mind—who was Tullis?”
“Who?”
“Mickey Tullis. According to the transcript, he was the jailhouse snitch who testified that Frie threatened Randal’s life.”
“Oh, him. I think he was a small-time burglar. Apparently he shared a cell with Frie.”
Victoria’s brow knitted. She started to ask another question, but changed her mind. The question she had in mind might alienate Simpson and she didn’t want to do that…she might need more information from him.
She smiled.
“Okay! Thanks for your time, Mr. Simpson. Good luck with your current case. Looks like we’re both up against it.”
Simpson laughed.
“Yeah, we both are. The difference is, you might actually win your case. I don’t have a prayer of winning mine.”
*
A little over an hour later, James Dillon appeared in her office. He slumped into a chair facing her desk and hung one leg over the chair arm.
She looked up at him and grinned.
“Did you get the church elders on their way?”
“Yep. Put them on the mag-lev myself, all three of them.”
“And Elder Keyser is still where he’s supposed to be?”
“Yep. Under guard. He isn’t going anywhere without permission.”
Victoria shifted a stack of papers and picked up the one she had been holding for him. She sat back in her chair.
“Good. Let’s shift gears now. Wallace Frie.”
Dillon leaned forward, his vacant expression turning serious. He waited.
“I have a whole list of things I need. You have the time?”
“All the time you need.”
“Okay. I’ve been looking at the original trial, when Frie was convicted of smuggling.”
“Why are you looking at that?”
Victoria glanced up in surprise. She had worked with Dillon off and on for nearly three years, and for the first time, she sensed disapproval in his voice. She gave him her standard answer.
“Hayes Crawford is defending Frie. I don’t want any surprises.”
He nodded. He seemed to relax a fraction.
“I need you to locate David Jones. He was one of the ACBI agents who arrested Frie. I just learned that he’s no longer with the agency, so I need you to track him down.”
“Okay.”
“Also, the three CTP cops who were there—I need to talk to them.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know if North Continent Freight is still in business?”
“I think so. I saw one of their cargo haulers just a few days ago.”
“Good. I want background on the owners. Personal history, criminal background, financials—the works.”
Dillon was frowning.
“Why?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, why? That trial is over. We won. Why drag all that stuff up? You have new charges to prosecute.”
Victoria leaned back in her chair and gazed at him, anger stirring in her gut.
“James, do I tell you how to do your job?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes clouded and his jaw tightened.
“Look, I told you—I can’t take any chances with Hayes Crawford. If I don’t look into these things, he will. I’m sure there’s probably nothing there, but if there is and Crawford finds it, I’m fucked in the courtroom. I don’t like to be fucked without at least getting a kiss first.”
Dillon blinked a couple of times, then, jaw still clenched, drew a deep breath through his nose. He reached out for the document she was holding. She gave it to him.
He stood up.
“Anything else?”
“Not at the moment. Probably by the time you get back to me.”
He nodded, and without another word, walked out of her office.
***
After lunch, Godney asked Victoria to sit in on his interview with Thomas and Mary Hawkins. They were cult members whose nephew had died after stepping on a landmine. One of the church leaders had refused the boy medical attention, so Mary and Thomas, defying their lifelong religious training, had contacted the authorities for help. U.F. Marshal Nick Walker had gotten the boy to a hospital, but it was two days too late and Jonathon Hawkins died.
But that wasn’t the topic of discussion Godney and Victoria wanted to pursue. They spent ten minutes reviewing the facts of Jonnie Hawkins’s death, just in case they decided to file charges against Elder Billings, then moved on to the stoning of Leah Casper. Drusilla Downing had given them a thumbnail of the woman’s stoning, but was short on details. They hoped the Hawkins couple could shed more light.
Husband and wife, dressed like all the other cult members, seemed out of place as they sat in the conference room, clasping each other’s hands for mutual support. They were in their forties and seemed to feel that, simply by talking to the prosecutors, they were somehow violating some spiritual law.
Victoria tried to reassure them. They chatted for five or six minutes about inconsequential matters, then she got down to the point.
“Who was Leah Casper?” she asked them. “I know she was a member of your church, but tell me more about her.”
“She was a single girl, nineteen years old,” Thomas Hawkins said. “She was extraordinarily beautiful, which created a lot of problems for her.”
“In what way?”
Hawkins frowned, as if the subject were painful.
“She drew a lot of unwanted attention from the men in the congregation. A lot of them wanted to marry her.”
“And their wives hated her,” Mary Hawkins added.
“That’s right.” Thomas nodded. “Most of the men who pursued her were ten or twenty years older; most were already married, some of them to several women, but they wanted to add Leah to their marriages. She was so lovely that the women were jealous.”
“Weren’t there any young men for her to marry?”
“Yes, several, but she didn’t find any of them suitable.”
“When a girl reaches age eighteen,” Mary added, “she comes under pressure to get married.”
“To avoid fornication,” Thomas said. “The pressure can be tremendous.”
“Was Leah promiscuous?”
“No, not at all. She wasn’t rebellious, either. She was dedicated to the church and its teachings, but she didn’t want to be forced to marry someone she didn’t love.”
“She was a sweet girl,” Mary said. “Her death was tragic.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Husband and wife exchanged glances, as if they dreaded telling the story. Mr. Hawkins heaved a deep breath.
“It was a travesty,” he said. “One of the women in the congregation, whose husband wanted to marry Leah, came forward with a story. She said that Leah had seduced her husband and had lain with him—”
“Lain with him? You mean they had sex?”
Hawkins blushed scarlet. He nodded.
“Yes. That was the claim.”
“This woman,” Mary said, “her husband had already married two younger women, both of them prettier than her, and she didn’t want another wife in the family. So she made up the story.”
“How do you know she made it up? Is it possible she was telling the truth?”
“I don’t believe so,” Hawkins said. “She was an angry, bitter woman. Everyone found her obnoxious and she was known for carrying tales. Leah, on the other hand, was modest and chaste. In your world, here in this city, she would probably have been very popular. I’ve seen the girls on the streets here, and she could have fit right in. But she wasn’t like that. She didn’t wear scandalous clothing or paint her face or…”
He stopped, staring at Victoria.
She smiled.
“It’s okay. I’m not offended. Please continue.”
“Well…the bottom line is that no one believed the charge against her.”
“Then how did she end up dead?”
“The woman who made the claim, her husband confessed that it was true.”
“Wait a minute. If I hear you clearly, Leah Casper was innocent of sleeping with this man, but his wife accused her and he sided with his wife?”
“Yes. That’s what happened.”
“How is that possible? I mean—”
Mary Hawkins sat forward.
“God forgive me, but his wife was an evil woman. She browbeat him into going along with her story.”
“And it didn’t help,” Thomas Hawkins added, “that he felt humiliated that Leah had rejected him.”
“It was quite a scandal at the time,” Mary said. “The Council of Elders condemned her as a fornicator and a Jezebel. When sentence was passed, she stood in front of the congregation and denied the charges. She said the man had pursued her and she turned him down. I think the entire congregation believed her, but it didn’t matter. Once the Council passed judgment, she was doomed.”
Victoria made notes, scribbling rapidly. Most of what they told her confirmed what she had heard from Drusilla Downing the day before.
She finished writing and looked up.
“What happened to the man? Was he stoned, too?”
“No. Nothing happened to him. He’s still there.”
Victoria grimaced. She didn’t consider herself a militant feminist, but such stories of sexist hypocrisy were outrageous.
“Did the two of you witness the stoning?”
“I did,” Mary said. “Thomas couldn’t stomach it.”
“And Leah Casper died?”
“Yes. They pounded her to a bloody pulp. It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen.”
Victoria didn’t ask why they still attended a church where such an event could not only happen, but be excused. By now she had talked to enough cult people that she was pretty sure she knew the answer.
“What happened to the woman who accused her? Is she still around?”
“No.” Hawkins cleared his throat. “She died less than a year later. Cancer. Many people believe it was God’s judgment for her lies.”
Victoria made a note, then laid her pen down.
“From the Federation’s perspective, it doesn’t matter whether Leah Casper was guilty of the charge or not. Fornication and adultery are not punishable by death. Father Groening was already in charge then, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. He’s been the prophet for many years.”
“And he believed the story. He took it to the Council of Elders for judgment?”
“Yes. He announced the sentence after the vote and ordered it carried out.”
“So he is ultimately responsible for her death.”
“I…don’t know if I would go that far…”
“Can the council condemn someone on their own? Without his knowledge or participation?”
“No. The council only convenes when the Prophet orders it. He presents the charges and the council votes. They have no other function.”
“So Groening could have prevented this death by simply not convening the council.”
