The anchor had been expecting the interruption, and this time the transition from the political unrest in the Sudan to The Trial was much smoother. Four other 24–hour news services made the same cut, and without hesitation, covered the event live. The three national broadcasting companies held out under pressure from the FCC and continued playing soaps, but the temptation was great. What could be more like a soap than this?
Pubs across the UK quieted, and all around the world the Internet feeds went live… including the one in the back room at Smokey’s.
Meek understood the scope of what was happening when he flipped on the lights and the cameras went live. He could see the numbers. 198,978,987 feeds and climbing. 200 million by the time he cleared his throat. Well, so much for the grain of sand idea, someone was sure as hell going to notice that kind of bandwidth. This was it. This day… and then it would be over. He glanced at Ray who was now sitting stoically, eyes flat, but still scribbling.
All around the world people waited for his next words. They waited for him to announce their decision. They waited for it to become real. He imagined being able to see each viewer, to peer into them and extract whatever motivation they might have had in casting their vote. Even now, there was a flood of last minute voters hitting the website, but that phase was over and now it was time to explain.
“Good morning,” Seth began. He ran a hand up the back of his neck and considered his next words. Everything was in motion now, would he feed this gladiator lust or scold people for it? You started it. Finish it.
“The Grand Jury indictment has been returned. The decision was overwhelmingly in favor of charging the accused, Saul R. Brown and Derek Siclo, minors, with the rape and murder of Emily Meek, and the murder Jennifer Meek and of an unborn child. Just over a hundred and twenty million people worldwide affirmed this decision, while about fourteen million were opposed. This constitutes a majority in favor, and thus the trial will begin today at 11:00am.” Meek looked at the digital clock on his computer. "About fifteen minutes from now.”
“Furthermore, I believe that at some point I must announce my intent as the prosecutor, to seek the death sentence for each of the accused, and this as good a point as any.”
Anchors were silent, and CNN isolated Seth and digitally zoomed, giving their viewers an even clearer picture of the man behind the Trial. FOX chose to isolate Saul and Derek, lying prone and miserable on the concrete floor while Meek did the voice over; other networks bounced back and forth. CourtTV, which had picked the story up upon receipt of the first email, had been running and rerunning the feeds constantly with pundit after pundit offering an incredible scope of views and opinions – anyone and everyone who would comment. Now they ran it live without delay. Seth Meek, love him or hate him, was the singular story of the decade. The press hung on his words, and the next ones were exactly what they all wanted to hear.
“Because of the cruel…” Meek took a breath. “…nature of the crimes, I intend to go about this in a more efficient and logical manner than one might see in the United States legal system. If, in fact, the accused are found guilty of the crimes presented, they will be executed in a manner consistent with the nature of their crimes. In other words, I intend to insert the muzzle of a forty–caliber pistol into the rectum, disengage the safety, and fire one round up through the abdomen toward the head. This will, no doubt, be a fatal wound if not treated immediately.”
The room was silent. Ray blinked, stopped writing. Both boys craned their necks to see Meek, to comprehend his words, their mouths were open, the shock registering in glassy eyes. Newsrooms were quiet. Living rooms and pubs and cafes. Then Bolo screamed into his gag, his eyes wide and full of animosity. The world collectively asked the same question, what'd he say?
“Furthermore, there will be no appeal. If the accused are found guilty after the trial period today, they will be executed in a timely manner, namely within one hour of the verdict.” Meek shuffled some papers, jotted a note in silence, and then said, “We will adjourn for five minutes and then hear opening statements.” The cameras went black.
Chapter Sixty–One
Triage
“Ain't that some shit,” Smokey said.
Tonic puffed his cheeks and let the air go. “I guess we’d better hurry up and find this guy.”
It struck Finn exactly as his partner had intended it, and a week’s tension burst from him in runaway laughter. Smokey chuckled too but didn’t grasp the full scope of the joke. They had run out of options. They were at the point now where their best lead was a drunk who tried to bisect his Buick with a concrete scalpel. If they were lucky, the drunk guy might have seen Ray get into a car in the city in the night in the snow. More lucky would entertain the possibility that he’d actually seen where that car turned off of the highway, but in a city like D.C., one turn only led to another. It was a lost cause. They had neither the manpower nor the budget to track down an electronic signal, computer or telephone or whatever. Their friends at the FBI, however, did have that kind of capability, at least to some extent, and it was an altogether depressing thought to wish them well in solving the case of the fucking decade, one that been dropped into their laps.
The laughing faded away and was replaced by this understanding. Finn voiced it first, “We’re fucked.”
“Maybe your boy will have a change of heart and give you a call?” Smokey gestured to the chair where Ray had been sitting not long ago.
“I’m guessing the hand cuffs might take care of that angle,” Tonic said.
“And the small green rectangles that he’ll exchange for a beach house in Goa, or New Delhi, or anywhere."
Smokey nodded. The cops had groomed Ray to be their insider with the media but things had clearly gotten out of hand. There was between zero and not much hope that that kid would give up this kind of opportunity.
“Do they have a beach in New Delhi?”
Chapter Sixty–Two
Trial
Opening statements, as promised, began at the top of the hour.
Meek was seated at his makeshift desk, but the defendants were now again upright in their chairs. The lights burned, the air was rank, and it was hard for Seth to imagine a court room in any third world dictatorship being much more horrifying than this one, but… it was good enough for those it served. He was sweating in his suit, aching from one end of his body to the other, and a diet of sodas and bagels was taking its toll, but all in all he was still much better off than the two before him. Probably a little better than poor ol’ Ray too, but this was only because he knew how this would end… Ray was still in the dark.
“I think that we’ve covered a great deal of my opening statements already. I’ve shown evidence that in any other courtroom would probably have been withheld until later. I’ve gone out of sequence, and changed things based on this trial’s unusual circumstances. In short, I’ve really messed up the process. However, in the end I don’t think this will matter.” He wiped sweat from under his eyes one by one. "Because in this case even the most inept of lawyers could just sit back and let the evidence speak for itself.”
“I’ve been reading the messages left on the forum, and you’ll forgive me if I haven’t had time to reply. This has been called historic, demonic, heroic, immoral. I’m a sinner, an opportunist. A vigilante, a revolutionary. A few days ago I was just Seth, the guy who sat in the third cubical. I wish I could be again.”
“When this is over though, there’s no life for me, and I know it. However, had I not done something… something to make this right…” he trailed off. Words swirled and he feared for a moment that he’d lose all track of his thoughts. The heat bore in on him, the smell, the whole oppressive horror of it all. “I wanted to make it right, and with the help of the grand jury, this is what I intend to do.”
“Now,” he continued. "The defendants will also have a chance to make opening statements. Drawn by lot, Derek Siclo will speak first. There will be no counsel for either party. They will be allo
wed to speak for themselves and say what they wish for no more than one half of an hour.”
Seth cut the camera on him and doused the lights. Ray, who was catching some of the direct heat from the lamps was visibly relieved. Seth apologized, “It won’t be long now.” Ray nodded. He’d rebounded a bit in the last hour. It was nice to have an island, no matter how small, to stare at when you’d been floating in the middle of an ocean for days. He could see the same look on the faces of his defendants. Dreams of escape had long ago been dashed by plywood and duct tape, but redemption lay just beyond that lens if they played their cards right.
Seth manipulated the camera until it was just Derek’s blanched out face filling the screen. He was nothing special to look at on a good day – this was not one of those days – and the effect was almost frightening. Seth approached, removed the single strip of duct tape that had kept the proceedings free of disruption thus far, and said, "The defendant, Derek Siclo, has thirty minutes for opening statements.”
* * *
“This should be interesting,” Tonic said.
Smokey grunted, “I dealt with little fuckers like this all the time when I was a teacher. They never knew when to shut up, always digging holes.” He gestured with his pre–noon beer and spilled a little on the poker table. He ignored his own sin and watched the screen.
Finn, for one, was somewhat relieved to be at this point. There wasn’t much that they could do but watch. He’d been trying all morning to get a track on Hack, but the guy was very scarce. They had a car at his apartment, one at the JHS building, and another one on standby if anything turned up. Being a spectator was irritating, but simple. So he drank his coffee and let Tonic handle the chatter and random speculation while his mind continued to grind.
* * *
Bolo looked at the camera, “I’m not sayin’ nothin’ ‘till I get a real lawyer.”
“You sure?” the world heard Seth ask from a couple of feet away.
The kid hesitated, cast a glance to the side, and then said, “Yeah. Fuck y’all, this ain’t right.”
“This is well within your rights,” Seth said. He swung the little camera over to Saul and took a moment to adjust it in place. “The defendant Saul R. Brown will now have thirty minutes to make an opening statement.” The camera warbled in and out of focus once and then settled on the young face. Most of the blood was gone, having mingled with sweat and run down the back of the kid's neck. The tape was pulled off to reveal cracked, swollen lips. His eyes were focused; dark pools that reflected the lights from above, he had by nature a great deal more charisma than his counterpart. He opened his mouth, and worked his jaw around. “Can I have some water?” he croaked. Seth rose, popped a soda, and after the kid opened his mouth like a baby bird, dribbled it inside. It seemed to absorb right into his skin, and Meek kept letting him He sputtered once, and then coughed, leaving little blurry beads of soda on the camera lens.
“Thanks,” he said, still hoarse, but understandable. “I got some on your camera Mr. Seth.”
* * *
“Mr. Seth!” Smokey said. "Shit.”
Finn said nothing. He’d watched this kid’s mother on the bar television before he’d gone to sleep last night. Tonic, as far as he knew, hadn’t seen the interview yet. She bawled and bawled about her baby boy, praying for him to be released, offering herself in his behalf. It was pitiful and moving, and he couldn’t help but think that Meek had encouraged it by making certain that they gave their full names and addresses. Why, he couldn’t fathom, but for whatever reason Meek was going out of his way to make them all seem more… real. There was no denying that he was mistreating them. They looked like a fucking hostage tape, beaten, starved, bound and gagged. They looked like victims. Of course, so did Meek, but he wasn’t helping his case much this way. Still, the tape he’d played of the two was as damning as they came. Close ups, their voices, the gunshots, the rape, the blood and gore, it was all there and undeniably it was them.
James Finny watched the screen, but his mind was working something over. Motivation was easy… but intent? He looked over at Tonic as he watched the screen, and his partner caught his stare.
“What?” he asked, looking back to the screen.
“Why’s he doing it this way?”
“’Cause they did what they did,” Smokey answered for all of them.
“Doesn’t quite figure…” Finn said.
Now Tonic was watching his partner.
* * *
At Fort Meade Tanner poured over his computer monitor tracing smudges with his finger. There. He didn't move for three minutes… scarcely breathing for fear of losing his train of thought. His finger hovered on his screen… "Maybe… maybe here…" he breathed, and only then took his eyes off of the code to make a note.
* * *
Seth wiped the lens and said, “You have thirty minutes.”
The kid licked his lips and then began.
“All that on the tape, that was me. I was in that house, and I saw them girls die. I tried to kill Mr. Seth too. He rolled up on me and I tried to shoot ‘em, but the gun didn’t work’sall. I didn’t kill nobody, and I didn’t rape nobody, nothin’ like that.” He hesitated and then looked away from the camera, “Do I get another time to talk later too? It was clear from the kid’s expression that Meek had nodded from somewhere off camera. “Aight then, thas all I guess for now.”
“Very well,” Meek could be heard. "Court will adjourn for ten minutes and then address the prosecution’s case against the defendants. The cameras went blank and the networks went crazy.
Chapter Sixty–Three
Trigger
“This oughta be like the easiest prosecution in the history of lawyerin’,’ Smokey rose and offered to go gather more drinks for everyone. “Play the tape, pull the trigger.”
Finn and Tonic were left looking at the blank screens.
“He’s sure as hell not winning points by letting that kid carry on with the puppy dog routine,” Finn said finally. “By beatin’ the shit out of ‘em and then sticking a camera in their faces. I dunno if I believe the whole shock collar thing, but I did see that kid shut the hell up and so far that’s been damn hard to accomplish. That’s torture. I mean…” Finn rubbed his face with both hands. “Meek is fucked. There ain’t gonna be a parade when he walks outta there. He’s going to prison.”
“Does he deserve that?” Tonic dished up some more for his partner to chew on.
“Oh fuck yeah. He’s trampled the Constitution, tortured kids, kidnapped 'em… and put it all on television. Stick a fork in that guy, he’s done.”
“Even after what they did?”
“Yeah,” Finn said right away. "Even after.”
Tonic nodded. It was their business – they found people who had broken the law and turned them over to the system. Only this time, they'd found the guy, only to let curiosity have its way. Now, he’d created his own system. They both knew what they would have done in Meek's place. It wouldn’t have been fancy like his operation here, but it would have garnered the same result. Two bangers, regardless of age, would have wound up splattered all over their corner. Track them down, draw a bead, pull the trigger. How could anything so simple be so complex?
“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with this whole thing,” Tonic said. “Meek’s showing us the black and white fantasy and we’re buying into it.”
“Meaning?”
“He’s showing us a world that we all dream about, ‘specially cops. In Meek’s world it’s all yes or no, trial or no trial. This guy fucked up so he gets what he deserves. Rape and murder and torture is punished by the same damn thing. In that world, it’s our inherent right to take revenge… to get a little satisfaction.”
Finn was watching his partner with a wholly neutral expression, head in the palm of his hand, just watching. “But what? We don’t get the right to a trial?”
“Exactly. There is no black and white world. It’s pure fantasy. It’s human nature to want revenge, but it�
�s civilization to give everyone a fair shake. But people are tired of it all. There are so many pending cases that we forget about some guy who buries a half-dozen kids in his yard until we hear on the news that he was acquitted because there was reasonable doubt. What the fuck? Then the day after that there’s something else. So many trials, so much red tape… everyone getting a fair shake seems like a fantasy too."
* * *
The screens flared about the time that Smokey came back in with his mellow voice and trio of drinks. He slid into his chair like the anxious bachelor, ready for the next round of a title fight. “Did I miss anything?”
“You’d probably get better coverage by watching it on the TV,” Tonic said.
“Nah, all those people want to do is comment. Talk talk talk right over the top of what’s going on, it’s annoying. It’s better watching it on the computer where they can’t mess with it.”
* * *
The camera was once again on Meek. It had been zoomed out a bit, though it was unclear whether this was on accident or by design. His hands were flat on a piece of board, some papers, a cell phone, and a pen all neatly arranged in between. He cleared his throat, and just over four hundred million heard it live.
“The prosecution’s case is simple. I’ve entered unto the record the videotape of the defendants in my home, raping and murdering my family, though because it’s important, I’ll replay that tape again now in full. It runs for approximately twelve minutes.”
The networks were ready this time. There was no cutting away from this, and during the brief pause that Meek afforded them, “viewer discretion” signs came up on screen and anchors spoke with authority about what was about to be seen.
Jury of Peers Page 32
