by John Bowers
“Okay. James Doyle is working for Syracuse Freight down in Camarrel. I ran a background on him and he came up clean. No criminal record, no red flags of any kind.” He tapped a folder on the table. “Everything is right here, including his financials. I didn’t see anything suspicious.”
“What about Steve Hunter?”
Hitlin smiled as if he’d just uncovered a gold deposit. He dropped another folder in front of her.
“Syracuse Island.”
“What!”
“Yep. After he left NCF, he moved around a little, took several freight-related jobs, but never stayed with any of them. Then, right in the middle of the war, he got popped running weapons down in Lancalpha.”
“Weapons! Then he must have been involved somehow when he worked for NCF.”
“It’s a good bet. If you want to talk to him, he’s on the Island. They gave him twenty-five for the weapons and life for treason. He’s damn lucky they didn’t suck his innards out in the vacuum chamber.”
“Jesus…Christ!”
“Yeah.” Hitlin pushed the folders toward her and sat grinning. His grin reminded Victoria of a cat who has just gifted a dead mouse to its owner.
“Great work, Doug! What else?”
He dropped six more folders on the table.
“Financials on those other jokers you wanted. Considering who they are, I didn’t peek. Can’t tell you what’s in there.”
“I appreciate that.”
She picked up one of the folders and flipped through the contents, then laid it down again.
“I’ll look at these in my office.” She looked him straight in the eye. “Are you willing to take the witness stand?”
“Me!” Hitlin looked shocked. “Why would you want me to testify?”
“Maybe I won’t. But if I need you, then I need you. You’ll get paid for your time.”
“I’m not worried about that…”
“It can’t hurt your career, or your business. It actually might give you a boost.”
He nodded slowly, still looking shocked.
“Okay. Well…okay. Yeah. I guess so.”
“Good. I’ll put you on the list as a possible, and I’ll try to give you a heads-up the day before. Just don’t leave town.”
75th Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Back at her desk, Victoria went through the materials Hitlin had given her. There was good stuff here, but she wasn’t sure yet if she would use it, or even need it.
Until she got to the last six files.
As she read through them, she found what she was looking for. Found what she had expected to find, but hoped she wouldn’t.
It was a game changer.
And yet it wasn’t.
The physical and forensic evidence against Wallace Frie was still compelling. He might have been innocent of the smuggling charges in 0432, but the murder charges now pending looked rock-solid.
It made sense. It would hardly be the first time an innocent man was framed for a crime, only to turn bitter and take criminal revenge when he got the chance. It looked very much like that might have happened to Frie.
No matter what his champions had told her, or how nice a guy he used to be…no matter if he had been asteroided into prison for a crime he didn’t commit…none of that mattered. The evidence for murder was strong and compelling. Victoria might feel sorry for him and what had been done to him, but even that made no difference.
She was taking him to trial..
***
On Thursday she met with Groening and Simpson to take Groening’s deposition. The stenographer video-recorded the event and when Groening pointed to the photo of the man who sold him weapons, the photo was recorded as well for the record.
71st Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
On Friday, Victoria and her opponent, Hayes Crawford, met with Judge van Wert for a pretrial conference. Jury selection would begin on Monday and the trial, hopefully, would start the next day. Judge van Wert had a reputation for hating other attorneys. She was clipped and curt in her instructions to the lawyers.
“Before we start, is there any possibility of settling this case? Any offers on the table?”
“The Federation isn’t willing to deal, your Honor,” Victoria said.
“My client is adamant about his innocence,” Crawford said. “He isn’t willing to entertain any deals.”
“All right. Miss Cross, how much time will you need?”
“My witness list is fairly short, your Honor. I can probably get through them all in one day, if cross-examination doesn’t take too long.”
Van Wert scribbled on a pad.
“Mr. Crawford?”
“About the same, your Honor. I will say a day and a half, tentatively. Two days at most.”
“Okay, I’m going to allow an extra day for rebuttals and surprises, so we’ll call it four days at most. Does that work for both of you?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Very well.” Van Wert glanced from one to the other. “You’ve both worked in my courtroom before, so you should remember the rules. I won’t tolerate any shenanigans. Any questions?”
Hayes Crawford spoke up.
“Your Honor, I submitted a motion—”
“To exclude any mention of Mr. Frie’s previous trial and conviction. Motion granted.”
Victoria jerked as if electrocuted.
“Whoa! Hold on, your Honor—”
“Excuse me?” Van Wert’s blue eyes bored a hole through her skull.
“Your Honor, if I can’t even mention the original trial, evidence of motive flies right out the window. It is the Federation’s position that Mr. Frie murdered Lloyd Randal as revenge for framing him on the smuggling charge.”
“I’ve seen no evidence that Mr. Frie was framed.”
“Makes no difference, your Honor. Mr. Frie believes it, and that’s why he murdered the victim.”
Van Wert glared at her for ten seconds, then swung her icy gaze back to Crawford.
“What about it, Mr. Crawford?”
“The defense contends that it’s prejudicial, your Honor.”
“Well, that’s sweet, but without a motive, the Federation has no case.”
“Not my problem.” Crawford dared to smile.
Van Wert didn’t. She spun back to Victoria.
“All right, Miss Cross. I will give you limited latitude. You can refer to the previous trial only in the context of Mr. Frie’s belief that he was framed. You cannot refer to specifics of the case. Are we clear?”
“Yes, your Honor. Thank you. Can I at least tell the jury what the charges were in that case?”
“Is it necessary to your prosecution?”
“I believe so, your Honor. It shows a pattern of criminal behavior.”
“Which is inflammatory and prejudicial!” Crawford exclaimed. “That’s exactly why we want it kept out.”
Van Wert stared at him, then stared at Victoria. Victoria grimaced.
“How about I bring it up in voir dire? I can ask if anyone lost people in the war, and if they have, we’ll excuse them. I won’t tell them why I’m asking.”
Van Wert nodded thoughtfully.
“I’ll allow it.”
“Your Honor—”
“I said I’ll allow it!” van Wert snapped. “Anything else?”
“No, your Honor. Thank you.”
Outside the judge’s chambers, Crawford offered Victoria his hand, accompanied by a big grin.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked with a smug expression.
“Am I ready to kick your ass all the way to Syracuse Beach? Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, come on, Miss Cross. I’m going to wipe the floor with you, and we both know it.”
“Good! Keep deluding yourself. It will be a lot more fun when I shove a conviction down your throat.”
Crawford laughed.
“How about I take you to dinner tonight?”
“Okay!”
Victoria smiled. Then the smile faded.
“Just kidding.”
Before he could reply, she spun on her heel and disappeared down the hallway.
75th Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
James Dillon was waiting when Victoria returned to her office. He handed her a stack of folders on the defense witnesses.
“Nothing remarkable that I could see,” he told her. “With one exception.” He pointed at a folder. “This guy, the ballistics expert, was involved in a domestic dispute two years ago. His wife called the police on him, but no charges were ever filed. There are photos in there.”
“Nothing else in his background?”
“Not that I found, no.”
“Okay. Thanks, James.”
Chapter 25
Monday, February 15, 0444 (CC)
71st Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
Jury selection was one of the aspects of trial work that Victoria really didn’t enjoy. It required taking time away from the details of a case to select people who would hold ultimate judgment in their poorly qualified hands. Attorneys on every Federation planet tried to stack a jury with people sympathetic to their side of the issue: prosecutors looked for people who had been crime victims, and those who held strong convictions about law and order; defense attorneys looked for people who didn’t much like the police and might sympathize with their clients.
The process was carried out through questionnaires and voir dire, an interrogation process in open court. Jury selection could take a full day, and in widely publicized, high-profile cases, as long as a week. Potential jurors were called in groups, and if a jury couldn’t be seated from one group, another was brought in, and more if necessary. A typical jury consisted of twelve jurors and from two to six alternates, who acted as backup in case a juror became ill or otherwise had to be dismissed. The whole point was to get a case tried without declaring a mistrial for any reason.
In some cases, if money wasn’t an issue, defense attorneys hired experts who specialized in “reading” potential jurors, creating profiles that might indicate how they would react to certain defendants. Some government prosecutors did the same, but Federation Attorneys never did.
Victoria understood the need for voir dire and selecting the right people, but she still hated doing it. When jury selection started in the Frie case, she merely did what she had to do.
Nancy Swift was seated at her right. As a paralegal, Nancy wasn’t allowed to question or cross-examine witnesses, but she was one of the smartest people Victoria knew and her insight could be invaluable.
The courtroom was packed with potential jurors. Judge Hildegaard van Wert, all five feet four and ninety-three pounds of her, sat perched on the bench with a bird’s-eye view of everything and everyone. Her pale blue eyes contrasted with her orange hair as she gazed coldly around the courtroom.
Her first action was to swear the jurors en masse. Then the jury commissioner pulled numbers out of what looked like a fish bowl to fill the jury box with the first twelve contenders. With twelve people seated, van Wert took a few minutes to introduce the prosecutor and defense counsel, then advised them it was a capital murder trial. She asked if they were acquainted with the players, but no one raised their hands. She then read a list of expected witnesses and asked if anyone knew them. Again, no hands. She asked how many had followed the case in the news, and a few hands went up. She asked each one who had raised a hand to stand and asked each one the same questions.
“In following the case, have you formed an opinion about the guilt or innocence of the accused?”
No one had…or at least wouldn’t admit it.
Van Wert turned to Victoria.
“Miss Cross, you’re up. Proceed when ready.”
“Thank you, your Honor.”
As much as she hated jury selection, Victoria knew it was a critical event in every trial, and she went through the motions. Prospective jurors had submitted questionnaires; Nancy and Victoria had spent hours reviewing them and marking off people they felt were unfit for their case. They also flagged those who looked promising for their side. Now, in open court, it was time to get down to the nitty.
She rose to her feet. She looked sharp and sexy in an off-white sheath with red heels. A wide red sash hugged her waist. Hot as hell, but modest—that was the image she wanted to convey. She strolled toward the jury box, which was on the opposite side of the courtroom, nearest the defense table. As she stopped in front of the defense table, facing the jury, she glanced briefly at Wallace Frie, who sat between his two lawyers. He was slumped forward, elbows on the table, with his chin resting on clasped fingers. He was gazing at her with what looked like a persecuted expression.
She looked away.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for showing up today. I’m going to ask you some questions and all I want at this time is for you to raise your hand if my questions apply to you.”
She offered a brief smile, then let it drop. All business.
“How many of you have been the victim of a crime?”
Four hands went up. Victoria nodded.
“Thank you. Have any of you ever been arrested?”
Three hands.
“Have any of you ever been convicted of a felony?”
One hand, from a man who looked nearly seventy. Victoria focused on him and walked over to stand directly in front of him.
“Thank you, sir. Can you tell me what you were convicted of? And when?”
Slightly red-faced, the man made brief eye contact and then looked away.
“It was 0427. I got involved in a robbery. Did seven years.”
“Thank you.” Victoria spun around and looked at the judge. “Your Honor?”
“Juror number nine is excused for cause, with the thanks of the Federation.”
Victoria nodded and turned back to the jury box. The senior citizen picked himself up and, face flaming, hurried out of the courtroom. Victoria turned to survey those waiting in the spectator seats.
“While we’re on that subject, if anyone else has a felony conviction, you can save us and yourself some time by speaking up now.” She scanned the gallery. “Anyone?”
No hands were raised.
“Good. The jury summons should not have been sent to anyone with a felony record.”
She turned back to the box. The jury commissioner pulled another number and the vacant seat was filled by a heavy-set woman in her thirties. Victoria zoned in on her.
“Have you ever been the victim of a crime?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Thank you. Now, this question is for everyone: Is anyone here opposed to the death penalty?”
Two hands shot up. Victoria balanced on her high heels and studied the pair. She nodded to the first one, a man in his twenties.
“Can you tell me why you’re opposed to the death penalty?”
“I just don’t think the state has the right to take someone’s life,” he said.
“I see. What if that person had brutally murdered another person? Would that affect your opinion?”
“No. I think life in prison is a worse sentence anyway. If you kill someone, they’re out of it forever, but if you lock someone up, he might have years or even decades to dwell on what he did. I think that would be worse than death.”
“I see. Your Honor?”
“Juror number one is excused for cause, with the Federation’s thanks.”
Even as the young man exited the jury box, Victoria focused on the other respondent, a woman in her fifties.
“Ma’am, can you tell us why you oppose the death penalty?”
“Well, I’m not completely opposed to it, but…I just think it should be reserved for really serious crimes.”
“You think murder is not a serious crime?”
“Well, no, I—I mean…”
“It’s okay. Take your time.” Victoria flashed her a smile.
“I see. So if someone, say, shot another person in the back, from ambush, that wouldn’t qualify as a serious crime?”
“Of course it’s serious. Murder is always serious. But I don’t think it rates the death penalty. Life in prison, certainly, but not death.”
“Thank you. Your Honor?”
“Juror number eleven is excused for cause, with the Federation’s thanks.”
Another potential juror filled the empty seat.
“Next question. When hearing testimony, would any of you be inclined to give more weight to the testimony of a police officer or other law enforcement official than a civilian witness? If so, raise your hand.”
One hand went up.
“Thank you. You would take the word of a police officer over that of an ordinary citizen?”
“Yes.”
“And why is that? Do you think that police officers are more honest than everyone else?”
“Well, not necessarily, but—my brother is a cop down in Camarrel, and I would take his word over anyone’s.”
“You think police officers are incorruptible?”
“No, Ma’am, but I feel like they have no stake in a criminal trial. They have no horse in the race and no reason to lie.”
“Thank you. Your Honor?”
“Juror number twelve is excused for cause with the Federation’s thanks.”
The jury commissioner pulled another number and a replacement filled the empty seat. Victoria asked a dozen more questions, excused two more jurors, and then sat down.
“Mr. Crawford?”
Hayes Crawford got to his feet. He looked like a middle-aged model from a men’s fashion ‘zine in his imported silk suit. Victoria watched with a critical eye as he flaunted himself before the potential jurors. He went through his own questions and eliminated another juror, then sat down again.
Fresh faces replaced those who’d been excused, and Victoria took to her feet again.
“Did any of you lose anyone in the war?”
Seven hands shot up. Victoria sucked a deep breath and felt a flutter in her pulse. She started at one end and worked down the line.
