Lost Lake

by Phillip Margolin

  “And shrapnel is a metal fragment from a bomb or grenade that is exploded during war, is it not?”

  “Well, not necessarily wartime, but from a bomb, yes.”

  “Most shrapnel wounds are received during war, aren’t they?”

  Dr. Ganett thought for a moment then nodded. “I would say that you would see a larger number of shrapnel wounds during a war.”

  “No further questions.”

  “Dr. Ganett,” Brendan Kirkpatrick said, rising from behind the prosecution table, “you used the term ‘compatible with shrapnel’ in your report, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you just say that the metal fragment was shrapnel? Why use the word ‘compatible’?”

  “We have no way of knowing that the fragment is shrapnel. It is a metal fragment, it is consistent with shrapnel, but it could be something else.”

  “It could be a metal fragment that penetrated Mr. Rice’s body during an explosion in this country?”

  “Yes.”

  “An auto accident could result in the creation of a metal fragment like the one you found in his body?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Or a water heater could have exploded? That could result in the creation of a fragment like this one, couldn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  “So there’s no way of knowing where Mr. Rice received this wound, or under what circumstances, just from looking at an X ray, is there?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Assuming for the sake of argument that Mr. Rice did receive this wound in combat, is there any way that you can tell if it was inflicted in 1985 as opposed to the early nineteen-seventies?”

  “No, I don’t think you can do that.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Relief flooded Dr. Ganett’s features when Ami said that she had no further questions and he hurried out of the courtroom.

  “Any more witnesses, Mrs. Vergano?” Judge Velasco asked.

  Ami stood again. “Miss Kohler calls Detective Howard Walsh.”

  After Walsh took the oath, Ami established that he was the detective in charge of the Little League case.

  “Detective Walsh, when Mr. Rice was arrested in connection with the incident at the Little League game, did you take his fingerprints?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that routine when a person is arrested?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do with the fingerprints?”

  “We ran them through AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, to see if he had a criminal record.”

  “Was AFIS able to match Mr. Rice’s prints?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Kirkpatrick has entered records from Mr. Rice’s army file into evidence. Weren’t the fingerprints in the file?”

  Walsh hesitated.

  “Well, Detective?” Ami prodded.

  “There appears to be some kind of clerical error, because his prints aren’t on record with the army.”

  “Thank you, Detective.”

  “No questions,” Kirkpatrick said.

  “My final witness is Miss Kohler, Your Honor.”

  This was the moment that Vanessa had been waiting for. It was her chance to tell the world that her father was pure evil. Yet the moment her name was called, doubts assailed her. Was everyone else right? Was the Unit a figment of Carl’s imagination? Did her father really love her?

  “Miss Kohler,” Judge Velasco said. “Please come up here and be sworn.”

  Vanessa steeled herself and willed herself to her feet. She was right. Her father was evil. She threw her shoulders back and walked to the witness box, convinced that justice would be done today.

  Before Judge Velasco would allow Ami to examine her client, he reviewed the problems that Ami’s dual representation of her and Carl Rice created and gave her the same warning about incriminating herself that he had given Rice. When Vanessa told him that she wanted to testify, the judge told Ami to continue.

  “Miss Kohler,” Ami asked after a few preliminary questions, “in 1985 in Washington, D.C., did Carl Rice tell you about his involvement in a secret military unit that your father was running out of the AIDC?”

  “Yes.”

  “After this conversation, did you try to find proof that the Unit existed?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do?”

  “My father had a safe in his office in our house in California. He didn’t know that I knew the combination. Inside were the army records of ten men, including Carl’s records.”

  “What did you do with the records?”

  “I was working for Congressman Eric Glass, who was on the House committee that oversees the intelligence community. I knew that he was at his summer home at Lost Lake in Northern California. I took the records to him. I wanted him to look into what these men had been doing during and after Vietnam.”

  “What happened to the records?”

  “I gave them to Eric, and he agreed to have someone on his staff look into them. It was late. Eric let me use one of the guest rooms. A noise woke me up in the middle of the night. I went downstairs.”

  Vanessa paused. Even after all these years and numerous retellings, the horror of what she had seen was still fresh.

  “Do you want some water or a brief recess?” Ami asked.

  “No. I’m okay.” Vanessa coughed, then took a deep breath. “Eric was tied to a chair. He…There was blood all over. Carl was standing over him with a knife. He’d killed the congressman, and he took the records.”

  “Let’s move on to the events at the county hospital. Why did you rescue Mr. Rice from the security ward?”

  “Objection,” Kirkpatrick said. “This was not a rescue. Miss Kohler aided and abetted an escape from custody.”

  “That’s to be decided by Your Honor,” Ami responded. “Our position is that Miss Kohler’s bail should be lowered because Mr. Rice was in danger and she rescued him. We believe that Miss Kohler is not guilty of any crime if Mr. Rice’s life was in danger if he stayed in the hospital.”

  “Objection overruled, Mr. Kirkpatrick. Mrs. Vergano is entitled to her theory. Whether I accept her theory is another matter entirely.”

  “You may answer my question,” Ami said.

  “My father thought that he’d gotten rid of the evidence that could prove that the Unit existed. With Carl alive, he faced the possibility that his criminal activities would be exposed. And even if there wasn’t enough proof for a criminal conviction, what Carl knows could derail his presidential bid. I knew my father would go to any lengths to get rid of Carl, so I broke him out of jail.”

  “Why not just tell the authorities about the danger to Mr. Rice?”

  Vanessa laughed. She pointed around the courtroom. “You can see how much credence the police give to what I have to say. My father had me committed to a mental hospital after Lost Lake in order to destroy my credibility. I knew no one would take me seriously, so I saved Carl before the General’s men could kill him. As it was, we just escaped in time. My father’s killers murdered Dr. French and his wife shortly after we escaped and they tried to kill you.”

  “How do you know that Mr. Rice didn’t kill Dr. French and his wife?”

  “I was with him from the time he left the hospital until I was kidnapped by my father’s men.”

  “Did you know any of the men who kidnapped you?”

  “Sam Cutler.”

  “Who is Sam Cutler?”

  “I can’t be certain that’s his real name. Carl knew him as Paul Molineaux. He works for my father, but I didn’t know that when I met him.”

  “What was your relationship with Mr. Cutler before he kidnapped you?”

  “He was my lover,” Vanessa answered bitterly. “When my father decided to run for the presidency, he instructed Sam to get close to me to make sure I wouldn’t cause his election campaign any trouble.” She paused. “I only learned this recently.”

  “W
as Mr. Cutler alone when he kidnapped you?”

  “No. He had several members of my father’s security force with him. They tried to kill Carl, but he escaped.”

  “Where were you taken by Mr. Cutler?”

  “To my father’s home in California.”

  “Is this the house in which you grew up?”

  “Yes, but I don’t go there anymore.”

  “Did Mr. Cutler use force to bring you to the mansion?”

  “He used physical force and he drugged me.”

  “So you did not go to the mansion of your own free will?”

  “No.”

  “Was Mr. Rice trying to kidnap you when he broke into the mansion?”

  “No. He was rescuing me. My father was keeping me there against my will.”

  “So Mr. Rice was trying to rescue you from kidnappers when he broke into the mansion, and you would have left with him voluntarily?”

  “Yes.”

  “If the judge lowers your bail or releases you on your own word, what will you do?”

  “I’d follow the court’s instructions. If he lets me return to Washington until the trial, I’ll go back to work. Patrick Gorman, my employer, is keeping my position open. I have an apartment. I’ve been living there for close to fifteen years.”

  Ami handed a document to Judge Velasco.

  “This is a signed affidavit from Patrick Gorman attesting to the fact that Miss Kohler has been a valued employee for many years and that he will continue to employ her if she is released from custody. I’ve given a copy of the affidavit to Mr. Kirkpatrick, and he has agreed that it can be a substitute for Mr. Gorman’s testimony at this hearing.”

  “Is that so, Mr. Kirkpatrick?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Very well, any further questions of your witness?”

  “No,” Ami said.

  “You may examine, Mr. Kirkpatrick.”

  When Brendan walked over to the witness box he looked subdued, as if he were sad to have to ask his questions.

  “Were you and Carl Rice lovers in high school, Miss Kohler?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you broke up in high school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you renewed your acquaintance in D.C. in 1985?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you become lovers in Washington?”

  “No.”

  “Who made the decision to keep the relationship platonic in D.C.?”

  “Me.”

  “Why was that?”

  “We hadn’t parted on the best of terms in high school, and we’d both changed over the years.” Vanessa shrugged. “I just didn’t feel like getting involved in that way with Carl again.”

  “And Mr. Rice knew how you felt?”

  “Yes.”

  “He also knew that you hated your father, didn’t he?”

  Vanessa laughed. “Everyone knew that.”

  “Did Charlotte Kohler, your mother, die in a car accident when you were in middle school?”

  “It was no accident.”

  “You believe that your father murdered your mother, don’t you?”

  “I know he did.”

  “But you have no proof that she was murdered, do you?”

  “No,” Vanessa answered as she glared defiantly at the prosecutor.

  “And the authorities concluded that your mother’s death was an accident, didn’t they?”

  “My father has people on his payroll who can make any death look like an accident.”

  “Nonetheless, the official verdict was that your mother’s death was an accident?”

  “Yes.”

  “You testified that Sam Cutler was living with you in Washington?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell him that you thought that your father may have been involved in the Kennedy assassination?”

  “My father’s military career took off soon after Kennedy was murdered,” she answered belligerently.

  “And you think that’s because he was involved in some sort of cabal that was responsible for the assassination?”

  “I don’t have any proof about that. It’s…The coincidence is…” Her voice trailed off as she realized how insane she sounded. “Yes.”

  “You testified that you and Mr. Rice had once been lovers, but you decided to keep the relationship platonic when you met again in 1985.”

  “I just said that.”

  “What if he wanted more, Miss Kohler? He knew you hated your father and that you’d believe any outlandish story he made up as long as the villain in it was General Morris Wingate. What if he concocted a story about a secret army headed by your father to bind you to him?”

  “No, the Unit existed,” Vanessa insisted stubbornly.

  “If Mr. Rice hadn’t told you about the Unit, would you have known about it?”

  “What about the records in the safe?”

  “Please answer my question, Miss Kohler,” Brendan asked patiently. “If Mr. Rice had not told you about the Unit, would you have known of its existence?”

  “No.”

  “Did any of the records you took from your father’s safe mention the Unit?”

  “No, but Carl’s army records were with the others.”

  “Couldn’t your father’s possession of these records have had an innocent explanation that had nothing to do with a super-secret team of assassins?”

  Vanessa shook her head from side to side. She was growing very agitated.

  “My father is a killer. He ordered Carl to kill Eric Glass for those records.”

  “You cannot produce these records for the court, can you?”

  “My father has them, if he hasn’t destroyed them.”

  Brendan looked at the judge. “Would you please instruct Miss Kohler to answer my question?”

  “Yes, Miss Kohler. You’re not allowed to argue with counsel. If there is a point you wish to make, your attorney can ask you about it during redirect. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Vanessa answered grudgingly.

  “Do you want the court reporter to read back the question?”

  “That’s not necessary.” Vanessa turned to the prosecutor. “No, Mr. Kirkpatrick, I can’t produce the records.”

  “Miss Kohler, did it ever occur to you that Mr. Rice may have murdered the congressman out of jealousy because he thought that Eric Glass was your lover?”

  “I don’t believe that. You don’t know my father. You have no idea what he’s capable of doing.”

  “Have you ever seen your father kill someone?” Kirkpatrick asked.

  Vanessa hesitated.

  “Have you?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever seen him order someone to commit a crime?”

  “No,” Vanessa answered softly.

  “Has your father ever hurt you?”

  “He had me kidnapped.”

  “Or did he rescue you from a man who is a confessed mass murderer?”

  Vanessa glared at the prosecutor. “My father had me locked away in a mental hospital.” Her eyes blazed with hate and her body was rigid. “He kept me in a drugged stupor for a year just to shut me up.”

  “Or to help you. Didn’t the doctors at the hospital make the diagnosis that kept you there?”

  “They did what he ordered them to do.”

  “Did the doctors tell you that?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever hear your father give such an order?”

  “He’s too smart for that. He was always telling me how much he loved me and how it hurt him to have to hospitalize me. He made certain that there were witnesses. He may be evil but he’s also very clever.”

  “Or very caring, Miss Kohler, or very caring. I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

  “He made me look like a fool,” Vanessa told Ami, who was seated across the table from her in the jury room following the noon recess.

  “Brendan is an excellent attorney. He knows that you hav
e only Carl’s word that the Unit exists.”

  “What about the murder of Dr. French and his wife?”

  “Brendan doesn’t believe you or Carl. He thinks that Carl killed the Frenches and that you’re covering for Carl.”

  “Carl saved your life. What does he think about that?”

  “He thinks that your father’s security people came to my house looking for you and Carl killed them and my police guards. That explanation fits Brendan’s theory of the case.”

  Vanessa shook her head. “We don’t have a chance, do we?”

  “I’m sorry, but I told you that this would happen. You’ve been in a mental hospital and your father is a national hero. You’re very open about your hatred for him. That gives you a strong motive to lie or distort the truth.”

  “Still no word from Hobson?” Vanessa asked.

  “No.”

  “I knew I’d never beat him. He always wins.”

  Vanessa closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Her pain was so visible that it hurt Ami, but Ami knew of no way to stop the pain. They had lost, and Vanessa and Carl Rice were going to go to prison for a long time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  After Ami Vergano rested her case, Brendan Kirkpatrick began the prosecution’s case by questioning Dr. Ganett and the other men who’d been taken prisoner at the hospital. Shortly before noon, Judge Velasco recessed court until two.

  The prosecutor was feeling a little down when he walked into the Multnomah County district attorney’s office on the sixth floor of the courthouse. He usually felt elated after a great cross-examination, but his demolition of Vanessa Kohler had been too easy. Her irrational belief in General Wingate’s mythical secret army was a product of hate and a deep-seated mental illness. Beating up on someone who was irrational and sick was not something he relished.

  “Mr. Kirkpatrick,” the receptionist called out. “I have an important message from Mr. Stamm about your bail hearing. He wanted me to make sure you got it as soon as you came back from court.”

  Jack Stamm, the Multnomah County district attorney, was Kirkpatrick’s boss. Brendan took Stamm’s note from the receptionist. His brow furrowed with confusion as he read it. He was tempted to go to Stamm’s office and ask for an explanation of the instructions, but the note was very clear. It ordered him to do as he was told without question.