Ryan left the podium, bracing himself. Listening helplessly to a client on cross was worse than torture, because at least torture offered physical pain as a distraction.
King walked at a deliberate pace from counsel table to the podium. Like a stalker, Ryan thought.
“So you say that you did not argue with Steven Whalen before the explosion,” he began slowly.
“No, sir, I did not.”
“Didn’t raise your voice?”
Kieran shook his head adamantly. “No.”
“Didn’t make a threatening move toward the man.”
Kieran looked shocked. “Not at all.”
“So,” King said, quickening the pace, “if Steve Whalen testifies that you had such an argument—that you were physically threatening him—you’re telling this jury that Mr. Madsen is lying?”
“I’d say he was . . . wrong.”
King nodded with a light smile.
So that was what the Madsen witness was going to tell this jury: that there was a physical threat involved. Ryan scribbled a note to Emily. “Taylor Christensen’s essential to counter this.” Christensen was Emily’s witness. She read the note and nodded.
King ambled his way toward the explosion, arriving at last at Kieran’s escape down the third floor corridor.
“Mr. Mullaney,” he said, his voice rising for the coming point, “when you described the explosion in the third floor corridor, you spoke of the radiation monitors ‘activating’ as you fell.”
“That’s right.”
“In fact, that was moments from when you became unconscious from that explosion, isn’t that true?”
Don’t fight this, Ryan prayed. You can’t contest the truth; even if it hurts, just lie down and get it over with.
Kieran’s eyes glowed with anger. “Yes,” he muttered.
“Think you might have imagined the monitors going off?”
“No.”
“Well, the hallway was a tornado of flying debris and dust, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I don’t know if I’d say that.”
“Chaotic?”
Kieran resisted for a moment. “Yes.”
“And this was after you’d run from the room containing the vat, injured your foot and ribs, and were, as you have admitted—” King made a show of running a finger down his notes—“terrified. That was your word: terrified.”
Flushed, Kieran let the word escape through tight lips, “Yes.”
“Did you have an opportunity to see your dosimetry badge after the explosion?”
“No. They took it from me while I was still unconscious.”
“Um-hmm. Well, Covington has. But we’ll get to that later in this case. Let’s focus on your contact with the vat in the seconds before it exploded. Your attorney, Mr. Hart, elicited testimony that your T-shirt got caught in that valve. Did I state that correctly?”
“Yes.”
“Yet in your deposition”—King held the transcript in the air—“you didn’t mention coming in contact with the valve at all, isn’t that true?”
“I’d forgotten,” Kieran said a little too softly.
He was losing it; Ryan could see it in Kieran’s face.
“You’d forgotten it. That’s your testimony today, Mr. Mullaney?”
The anger flared. “Yes. I forgot it,” he snapped.
“It’s a pretty important thing to forget, isn’t it?” King said.
Kieran shot a glance at Emily. Ryan saw her take an exaggerated breath. Kieran did the same. His eyes softened slightly.
“I was so focused on the vat,” he said more slowly to King, “and on getting out of that room, I guess it didn’t seem so important to me at the time.”
King smiled. “Well, you didn’t forget some of the other little details that night, did you. Like your shoes getting wet, slipping as you ran?”
“No.”
“Didn’t forget getting your foot caught in the door.”
“No.”
“Seeing your supervisor holding your HEPA mask?”
“That’s right.”
“The hall monitors; you say you remember them very well, don’t you.”
“Yes.”
“Turning that valve, that was a pretty convenient memory lapse, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Mullaney?”
“Objection,” Ryan called out. “Argumentative.”
“Sustained,” the judge responded.
“I didn’t turn it,” Kieran blurted out. “My T-shirt caught it.”
King only smiled. He paused, looking as though he was considering circling the point again. Then, with a final look of satisfaction, he moved on.
Another hour of questioning passed before King finally relinquished the podium and Ryan completed his redirect. By then, King had scored too many blows on Kieran. The young man had done his best, but he was coming off the stand scarred.
Ryan passed him a note when he returned to sit at counsel table. Good job. Kieran crumpled it in his hand.
The judge’s clerk approached the bench, whispering in her ear.
“I’ve been informed I have some matters to attend to,” Judge Johnston said as the clerk stepped away. “We will recess until tomorrow morning.”
As the jury filed out, Ryan turned to the gallery. Dr. Trân sat in the rear of the courtroom, the ever-present smile on his face. The expert nodded his understanding that he would definitely testify the next morning.
Ryan also saw another man in the gallery he didn’t recognize. He had a sport coat and tie and a note pad in hand. He wondered if the man was a reporter from the Sherman Courier.
“You ready for your expert tomorrow?” Ryan whispered to Emily as his daughter finished packing.
She couldn’t mask the disquiet in her eyes. “Hope so,” she answered.
“Just be yourself,” Ryan reassured her.
It was trite, but he’d been peppering her with advice about Trân’s testimony for the whole week. If he said any more at this point, she’d think he had no confidence in her. Worse, he’d reveal how much weight was resting on her examination of the expert.
“Yep. Just be yourself,” Ryan repeated as he gathered his papers with a final smile in his daughter’s direction. “You’ll do fine.”
She smiled back confidently. It was, Ryan thought, an unconvincing display.
Chapter 34
“I’m shot,” Kieran said, shaking his head. “I’d love to get something to eat with you, Ems, but I think I’d better get some rest. Maybe I can stop over at the Annex later.”
Emily smiled her understanding. Kieran had just spent four hours on the stand. His eyes were lined and weary. “That’s fine,” she said.
Emily walked him out to the parking lot, where they parted. She slid into her car for the drive to the Annex.
Maybe she’d still eat out, Emily thought as she turned the key. Her dad had driven separately today to run some errands and wouldn’t be back until later tonight. She really preferred not to be alone with her trial prep all evening.
Then it struck her. She could pick up some Chinese and take it to eat with Kieran and his family before starting to work. It would be a treat—and save her a lonely meal. She glanced up and down the parking lot. Kieran’s car was nowhere in sight.
No matter. She’d hurry, pick up the food, and catch him at home.
She was only a few blocks from the courthouse when she saw his Corolla, the sun scattering reflections off the broken front windshield half a block ahead. Two more blocks and he’d be turning again toward home.
Except he didn’t turn. He drove straight on. A quarter mile farther and he took the highway ramp north out of town.
Mystified, Emily hesitated a moment then followed up the ramp.
The traffic was light on the highway, but Emily hung far back, her discomfort rising the farther they traveled from town. Twenty-five minutes later, the Corolla turned off the highway onto a dirt road, passing over a hill and leaving a cloud of dust hanging in its wake.
&nb
sp; The road was familiar. It led to Ted Pollock’s ranch.
Emily pulled the Hyundai over on the shoulder and stopped. Why would he be going to the ranch? And why would he lie about it? Suddenly the memory returned of seeing Pollock at the Chinese restaurant—with a car like Kieran’s Corolla parked just behind it.
She’d never asked Kieran about that day. After seeing him injured the same afternoon, the sight of the rancher and the Corolla at the Chinese restaurant had been completely forgotten.
Traffic cleared and Emily made a U-turn, anger and confusion descending over her. She’d never be able to focus on her final preparation for Dr. Trân’s testimony until she had this sorted out.
She picked up the phone to call Kieran, but then she set it back down. Maybe there was an innocent explanation. If so, she didn’t want to confess she’d followed him for half an hour like a jealous schoolgirl.
What about his sister? Laura might know what was going on. But even if she could reach her, Emily didn’t want to pry out a confidence about her brother. Kieran’s ailing mother was out of the question.
Pauline Strand. She’d handled the case for eight months and might have an explanation for why Kieran would be meeting with Pollock—twice in a matter of weeks, and this time smack in the middle of the trial. Since they’d adjourned trial early today, the lawyer might even still be in her office.
Emily reached the exit for Sherman and pulled off the highway headed back into town.
The gray-haired attorney sat behind her desk with a cup of coffee cradled between her fingers. “It’s a nice surprise, you showing up, Emily,” she smiled. “I’ve wanted to get over and watch the trial, but part of me can’t stand the thought of it. Too stressful.”
Emily nodded agreeably. “It’s going well enough for now. My father’s helping with the trial.”
Pauline’s smile widened. “I heard that. I was very pleased. So what can I do for you?”
Emily stared for a moment over the menagerie of case files crowding the desk that separated them.
“I’m wondering if you could tell me whether Ted Pollock has anything to do with Kieran’s case.”
Pauline’s eyes vacillated. That answered one question, Emily thought immediately. Clearly she knew who Pollock was.
“Have you asked Kieran?” Pauline responded.
“No. I wanted to ask you first.”
More hesitation.
“Pauline,” Emily pressed, “you almost begged me to take this case two months ago. I’ve got a right to all the information you’ve got.”
She could see the lawyer beginning to relent. “All right,” Pauline said at last. “Yes. Ted introduced Kieran to me. He asked me to take Kieran’s case.”
Emily shook her head, perplexed. “Why? Did you know Pollock?”
“Yes.”
The questions tumbled into her mind faster than Emily could assemble any order.
“So why would Pollock be taking Kieran to lawyers? Does he have an interest in the case?”
“Maybe.”
“What’s that mean?”
“He’s a Yakama, Emily. And the case has to do with Hanford.”
Emily shook her head. “I still don’t get it.”
Pauline set down her coffee cup. “The Yakama Reservation is smack in the middle of this state, downwind from Hanford. Hanford’s also sitting right on the Yakama’s traditional hunting, fishing, and gathering ground; they’ve still got treaty rights out there if the place is ever cleaned up enough to use again.”
Why would that implicate Pollock personally in Kieran’s trial? “So how did you know Ted Pollock?” she asked.
“I grew up on the Columbia River myself,” Pauline said. “Down near the Dalles dam. When I was young, my father took me to visit the Yakama summer camps on the river to buy salmon and eels. Ted was just a few years older than me. We met then.”
“And you’re still friends?”
She settled deeper into her chair. “We don’t see each other much these days, but yes, we’ve kept in touch.”
Pauline reached behind her and took a framed photograph off the wall, handing it to Emily. It showed fragile wooden platforms built out over fast-flowing water, with fishermen spearing and casting nets into the rapids below. “That’s Ted,” she said, pointing to a child behind one of the men on the platform, “about the time we met.”
“You’re still not telling me what Ted Pollock’s real connection is to the case.”
Pauline looked solemnly back at Emily. “That’s because I don’t really know. You’d have to ask Kieran. Or Ted himself. All I know is that one day last November, Ted came in here with Kieran. I hadn’t seen him for years at that point. He set Kieran down to tell his story, and when the boy was done, he asked if I’d represent him—at least until Kieran could get other counsel. I said yes.”
Emily surveyed the elderly lawyer. Pauline had to know more than that.
Reading her thoughts, Pauline leaned into the desk toward Emily. “I’m telling you the truth, Emily: I don’t know how those two connected up. Maybe I should’ve asked, but I didn’t—because I respected Ted. I also believed in Kieran, and wanted to help. But if Ted had an interest in Kieran bringing his lawsuit, I’d guess that there’s something about the LB5 explosion that has significance to the Yakama people, too.”
Chapter 35
Dr. Trân appeared relaxed and confident seated in the witness box. Emily wished she felt the same at the podium.
For the first five minutes of eliciting testimony, Emily was sure she could feel the eight pairs of jurors’ eyes riddling her with holes. Three more sets were hitting her back, from the hostile group at defense counsel’s table. That didn’t include the judge or her staff. Then there were Kieran and her dad.
Kieran. She hadn’t even tried to reach him again last night or this morning, not until she’d thought through the conversation with Strand. Nor did she want to jeopardize her dad’s recent commitment to the case by raising it with him.
She had to focus. Standing alone here, Emily couldn’t help worrying about their joint decision to have her first witness in the case be Dr. Trân. This was such new territory for her: a key scientific witness. And her nerves weren’t helped by her father’s uncharacteristic comment to the judge, before the jury was called in, that this was Emily’s first expert witness in a civil trial.
Emily worked through Dr. Trân’s qualifications for the judge and jury. It seemed to go smoothly; his background on chemistry related to nuclear technologies was very strong. There was no way that King could challenge his basis to express an expert opinion today.
“Based on your education and experience,” Emily finally said as she concluded eliciting his credentials, “do you have an opinion as to the cause of the explosions in LB5?”
Dr. Trân nodded. “I do.”
“What is your opinion?”
“It is my opinion that pressure or heat from the reacting chemicals in Vat 17 detonated explosive substances in the lower levels of LB5. Those substances, in turn, hastened and combined with detonation of the contents of Vat 17 and other vats in room 365—resulted in three explosions in all. I believe that Covington was negligent for the presence of the reactive chemicals in Vat 17 and for the other substances in the lower levels of LB5. And finally, I believe that the three explosions that evening exposed Mr. Mullaney to radiation.”
“Objection,” King called as Trân wrapped up his summary. “Lack of foundation. Request to voir dire the witness.”
Startled, Emily looked around at her father, who gazed placidly back.
Voir dire, challenging an expert’s credentials to express an opinion, was permitted by the court rules, but the tactic was rare enough that Emily had never experienced it in her short trial career. So how did King think he could succeed here with somebody as credentialed as Dr. Trân?
“You may question the witness, Mr. King,” the judge instantly replied.
Emily stepped uncertainly away from the podium as King ca
me forward, a tight-lipped smile on his face.
“Dr. Trân,” he said, establishing himself at the podium, “your opinion is that there were other substances in LB5 capable of detonating—substances outside of room 365?”
“Of course.”
“And those substances were detonated as a result of Vat 17’s explosion.”
“Not precisely. Those substances detonated from heat and pressure in Vat 17, transferred through a tube to the lower levels of LB5.”
“Fine. And exactly what evidence do you have for these explosive materials in the lower levels of LB5?”
“The strength of the explosions—which was sufficient to breach the blast doors to room 365. That fact, combined with the absence of such materials in room 365, of course,” Dr. Trân said with a smile.
“Well, let’s take that first point. What is your evidence regarding the ‘strength of the three explosions’?”
Dr. Trân explained about the seismographic data.
“Mm-hmm. So you have no direct evidence of the existence or strength of other explosive substances in LB5 the night of the explosion.”
“No. Because I have not had the opportunity to inspect LB5.”
“I see. And upon what do you base your conclusion that there were no other chemicals in room 365 capable of causing the second and third explosions?”
“I have reviewed the sampling data in room 365 going back two decades. That data is on a sheet provided to me by Mr. Mullaney’s attorneys, and is attached to my report. None of the vats held chemicals in sufficient volume to fuel such powerful explosions.”
“We’ll discuss that ‘data sheet’ at a later time. But even considering that data sheet, Dr. Trân, you would agree that sampling data is a poor way to predict an explosion, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, years of sampling didn’t lead anyone to predict that Vat 17 would be heading toward its own explosion that night, did they.”
For the first time Dr. Trân hesitated. “Well, that’s true, but—”
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