Act of God (58 page)

“Corey Dean Latham, lieutenant, j.g., United States Navy.”

“Be seated.”

“All right, Corey,” Dana began, “you’ve been sitting in this courtroom throughout this trial. You’ve listened to all the testimony
that’s been presented. What do you think?”

“All those people killed, all those others hurt,” he said. “I think it was a terrible thing that happened.”

“And how do you feel about the state’s efforts to prove that you were responsible for all those deaths and injuries?”

“Sick and scared,” he replied.

“Why sick?”

“Because I was raised to believe in the sanctity of life, and anyone who knows me knows that.”

“And why scared?”

“Because the jury doesn’t know me, and after listening to all that testimony, I couldn’t blame them if they wanted me to be
guilty.”

“Corey, why don’t you tell the jury something about yourself, about how you came to be who you are,” Dana invited.

“Sure,” he said with a boyish smile, and turned to the jury. “I was born and raised in Cedar Falls, Iowa. If you’ve never
been there, it’s an awfully pretty little town, with really nice people. I can’t think of a better place to grow up in, but
the truth is, not very much ever goes on there. I have two older sisters. They’re both married now, with kids. My dad is a
professor at
the local college, and my mom—she’s sitting right over there—is on a leave of absence from her job at a preschool.”

He looked over at Barbara and smiled warmly at her, and Dana was pleased to note that every single juror followed his glance.

“I guess you could say I was a pretty normal kid. To be honest, I think I was too scared of the minister at our church to
get involved in anything bad. He has these eyes, you see, that all us kids were positive could look right into you, and I
always thought he would know immediately if I did something I wasn’t supposed to do, and he’d tell God, and then I’d really
be in trouble.”

Several of the jurors smiled at that. Dana almost smiled herself, thinking of her childhood priest.

“Anyway, much as I love Iowa, by the time I got to high school, I was just itching to see what the rest of the world was like,”
Corey continued. “And there were these recruiters who would come to the school and tell us all about the travel benefits associated
with military service. You know, join the Navy, see the world. Now, you folks probably wouldn’t understand, being from here
and all, but in Iowa, well, there’s not exactly a lot of ocean nearby. And the idea of sailing around the world sounded like
a great adventure to me. So I decided I wanted to go to Annapolis, and I managed to get accepted. I have to tell you, I struggled
my first term. Life away from home was a big change for me. But then I adapted, and six years later, here I am. I haven’t
seen much more than a lot of deep water so far, but I have hopes.” He frowned then, as though remembering. “Well, I did have,
anyway,” he said, “until all this happened.”

“You’re an Eagle Scout, aren’t you, Corey?” Dana prompted.

“Yes, I am,” he replied.

“And you were president of your senior class in high school, is that right?”

“Yes, I was.”

“For several years, you taught Sunday school at your church, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And you were twice named Outstanding Teen of Cedar Falls, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And in your graduating yearbook, what did your classmates name you?”

He seemed to be embarrassed by the question. “Well, I’m not a Catholic, you see, but they said that was just an oversight
on God’s part, and they named me ’Most Likely to Become Pope.’”

“Why do you think they did that?” Dana inquired. “I think it was probably because they knew how important my faith is to
me.”

“Tell us about that.”

“I’m not sure anyone can really explain his faith,” Corey said. “It’s such a personal thing. But mine is pretty much what
gets me up in the morning and lets me sleep at night. It guides me every step of the way. I guess you could say it’s what
gives my life its meaning. I always try to do as much good as I can, and as little harm. I pray every day, and I depend on
God to show me the way.”

“And has He?”

“Well, not meaning to be disrespectful, because most of the time, He’s done just fine,” Corey replied. “But all things considered,
right now, I kind of wish I’d stayed in Iowa.”

A ripple of amusement flickered across the courtroom, and Dana smiled to herself. He was pulling them in. They were listening,
and in spite of themselves, they were beginning to relate to him.

“Do you think maybe God made a mistake?” she asked him.

“Oh no,” Corey said hastily, as though he were afraid he might have sounded too flippant. “He doesn’t make mistakes. I figure
this is a test. God’s a great one for testing our faith.”

“Do you think it was a test when your wife had an abortion?”

He sighed deeply, and even from the second row of the jury box, Allison Ackerman could see the pain in his eyes.

“It must have been,” he replied. “Or why else would it have happened?”

“Were you angry when you found out?”

“Yes,” he said. “I have a pretty even temper most of the time. I’m usually slow to boil. But looking back, I think I must’ve
been very angry, probably as angry as I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Did you blame Elise?”

“At first, yes,” he conceded. “I couldn’t help it. She’d killed our baby, a precious new life God had given us to love and
nurture. It took me a while to understand.”

“To understand what, Corey?”

“That Elise doesn’t perceive life the same way I do. You see, I believe life begins at the moment of conception. But Elise,
she thinks life begins at birth.”

“And when you understood?”

“Well then, you see, I couldn’t be angry at her anymore. I mean, if she doesn’t blame me for my beliefs, how could I justify
blaming her for hers? The thing of it is, we probably didn’t know each other well enough before we got married.”

In the Hill House section, Betsy Toth Umanski began to wonder where the monster was.

“Do you think you and Elise know each other a little better now?” Dana inquired.

“Yes, I think so. At least, we got the abortion situation straightened out.”

“How do you mean?”

“We’ve decided we aren’t going to start a family until Elise is ready.”

“When you got over being angry at Elise, were you angry at the people at Hill House?”

He looked puzzled. “Why should I be?”

“Because that’s where Elise went to have her abortion.”

“Yes, but the people there didn’t come to her,” he said. “She went to them.”

“All right, Corey,” Dana asked then, “where were you on the night before the bomb went off?”

“I was at home,” he replied. “I was at home that whole evening. Elise was out with some people from her office. She came home
around ten, just like she said. We watched the news, and we went to bed.”

“The prosecution has tried to imply that you may have drugged her cocoa on the way to bed. Is there any truth to that?”

He shook his head in disgust. “I had no reason to drug my wife’s cocoa,” he said.

“Did you tell the police you were home that night?”

“Of course I did. I told them I took the five-twenty ferry to work in the morning, and didn’t stay up late during the week.
Elise told them, too.”

“What did they say?”

“They said she wasn’t a reliable alibi, because she was my wife, and she’d say anything to protect me, whether it was true
or not.”

“So the one person who could substantiate your alibi for where you were in the middle of the night was immediately discounted
by the police?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” Dana said, “let’s move on now to the ’mountain of evidence’ that’s been presented in this trial. First, the trace
materials that were found in your sport utility vehicle and in
your garage. Let’s start with the fibers. How do you explain the police finding fibers from a duffel bag?”

“I’m in the Navy,” he replied. “I use duffel bags all the time. They’re standard military issue. I would have been surprised
if there hadn’t been fibers.”

“The police also claim to have found sulfuric acid. How do you explain that?”

“I guess the same way anyone else would. I bought a new battery for my car. I kept the old one in the garage until I had time
to take it to the dump. It must have been leaking.”

“Where did you buy this new battery?”

“At Bay Auto Supply in Bremerton. That’s where I buy all my auto stuff. It’s convenient to the base.”

“All right, what about the fertilizer?”

“Well, you’ve got me there,” he said. “I am guilty of buying ten pounds of fertilizer from Swanson’s Nursery. The house Elise
and I were renting had a lovely little rose garden out front. Only the roses weren’t doing so well, and Elise thought maybe
some fertilizer would help.”

“What kind of fertilizer did you buy?”

“I don’t know, whatever they said would work for roses. But it was all for nothing,” he added with a sigh. “Elise told me
the roses are all dead. The media people trampled them.”

“Now tell us about the aspirin,” Dana prompted.

“Aspirin?” He gave a short, hard laugh. “If you’d ever served aboard a submarine, Ms. McAuliffe, you’d know that headaches
are an occupational hazard. I swallow aspirin by the ton. I keep them in my pockets, in my bathroom, in the kitchen, and yes,
even in the garage. I also happen to keep a bottle in the glove compartment of my car. If I’d had any idea that something
as ordinary as an aspirin could get me in this much trouble, I’d have learned to live with the headaches.”

“Speaking of your car,” Dana said. “Is there any chance it
could have been the one seen parked outside Hill House that night?”

“My car was parked outside
my
house that night,” he replied. “And the key was sitting on the top of my dresser.”

“Do you know Carl Thorson?”

“Sure, he’s my next-door neighbor.”

“Did he interrupt a loud argument between you and Elise?”

“Yes, he did,” Corey said, “and I’m very embarrassed about that. I don’t think it’s proper to involve neighbors in personal
affairs.”

“Were you in Carney Toland’s auto parts store on Aurora Avenue, in December of last year, and did you purchase a car battery
at that time?”

“No,” Corey replied. “As I said, I bought my battery in Bremerton.”

“And how do you explain Joshua Clune, who claimed to have seen you at Hill House on the night before the bombing?”

“I can’t explain it, except to say that the man made a mistake.”

“A lot has been made of the fact that you are a military man, trained to kill. Why would bombing an abortion clinic be any
different than, say, bombing Serbia?”

“I think there’s an enormous difference,” he said. “Because one would be termed a defensive act, while the other would be
termed an offensive act. The Navy protects, it doesn’t provoke. I’m not a killer, Ms. McAuliffe. I’m a defender. Would I kill
to defend my country? Yes, I would, because that’s my job. But most military people, at least the ones I know, hope and pray
it never comes to that.”

“In that case, I have one last question,” Dana said. “Did you plant the bomb at Hill House that was responsible for killing
one hundred and seventy-six people?”

“No, I did not,” Corey Latham said emphatically. “As God is my witness, I did not kill those people.”

“He made a hell of a witness,” Mark Hoffman observed during the lunch break.

“Better than I expected,” Brian Ayres conceded grudgingly.

“McAuliffe’s good.”

Brian nodded. “She did her job. He was perfectly coached.”

“I was watching the jury,” Mark said. “He had them practically eating out of his hand. I hate to admit it, but you know, he
almost had me convinced there for a bit.”

Brian sighed. “He told a good tale, and he told it well.”

There was a pause. “You don’t suppose the police screwed up, do you?” Mark wondered idly.

The prosecutor smiled a bit, because a similar thought had crossed his mind. “Well, if they did,” he said, “it wouldn’t be
the first time.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Proceed as planned,” Brian told him. “Go after him. See what jiggles loose in his testimony. Guilty or innocent, no one’s
ever going to be able to come back at me over this.”

“Okay, tell me the truth, how’d I do?” Corey asked his attorneys.

“You did just fine,” Dana assured him.

“You had the jury all the way,” Joan added.

“I’m just glad it’s over,” he said.

“Well, don’t be too glad too soon,” Dana cautioned. “Only the easy part is over. The hard part is still to come.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Latham,” Brian began in his most engaging tone.

“Good afternoon,” Corey replied, sitting ramrod straight in the witness box.

“I have just a few things to go over with you.”

“Sure.”

“You know, I listened to your testimony this morning, very carefully, and you seem to have an answer for everything,” Brian
said. “How is that?”

“Wasn’t I supposed to?” Corey replied, looking just a bit startled.

“Well, the thing is, you see, most innocent people can’t account for absolutely everything. Because people are only human,
and there’s always something they have no explanation for. But there wasn’t anything you couldn’t explain.”

There was no question pending, so Corey blinked but did not respond.

“On the contrary, you were very smooth, and well rehearsed, and you were very convincing. Truth be told, as I sat there, listening,
I was even inclined to believe you, myself. But you see, I’m the prosecutor, and I know better. Because I’ve got all these
coincidences I don’t know what to do with, and a good prosecutor is always suspicious of coincidences. Oh, one or two maybe
can be explained away. But over a dozen?”

“I can’t explain that,” Corey said.

“No, I’m sure you can’t,” Brian said with a slight smile. “All right, Mr. Latham, let’s see what we’ve really got here. We’ve
got a witness who reports seeing a sport utility vehicle, consistent with the one you drive, parked in front of Hill House
the night before the bombing, right?”