Jury Town (38 page)

CHAPTER 50

JURY TOWN

“Have you reached a verdict, Mr. Foreman?”

Racine rose from his position at the back right of the jury box, pushed open the wooden gate of the back row, stepped down, and walked out so that he was in front of the jury box and directly before the camera.

“We have, Your Honor.”

“What say you?”

“We find the defendant, Angela Gaynor,
not
guilty of all charges.”

The courtroom exploded into applause, which would not be interrupted by the judge’s gavel.

Armed with the White Russian’s proof, the Gaynor defense team had quickly proven that the e-mails supposedly sent to Jack Hoffman by Gaynor were fraudulent. In addition, Hoffman and the mayor had been subtly notified that their benefactors were mostly dead. Understanding that they would now be looking at long sentences, they’d both offered to recant their testimony in return for reduced years behind bars. The case against Angela Gaynor had quickly disintegrated.

For a few moments, Racine watched the wild scene going on in the courtroom play out on the four screens mounted to the front wall of the jury room. Then he turned to look at Sofia.

She was standing now, too, as were all the jurors. They were all smiling now that they’d given their first verdict inside Jury Town.

But Sofia wore the widest smile of all—and she was giving it all to him.

“Victoria, this jury program you’ve organized in Virginia has already achieved outstanding success. I wanted to be one of the first to shake your hand over the phone.”

“Thank you, Senator Jordan. That’s very kind of you.”

Miles Jordan was a four-term United States senator from Chicago, and chairman of the influential Armed Services Committee. African-American, he was revered by Democrats and Republicans alike, and he was one of the most powerful men in Washington. Getting a call from Miles Jordan was like getting a call from Daniel Eldridge—except this involved the national stage.

“Your famous ancestor, Meriwether Lewis, would be very proud of you, Victoria. You are clearly cut from the same cloth of extraordinary achievement.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Your father would be proud, too.”

Some young aide to Senator Jordan had been busy. “Thank you again, Senator Jordan.” Even if the aide had done the research, it was a bold and beautiful thing for Jordan to say, and it sincerely touched her heart. “That’s nice to hear. I hope he would.”

“Oh, he would. Listen, I’m interested in this concept for my home state of Illinois. What do you call it?”

“Jury Town.”

“Yes, well, I wonder if you would have a conference call with some associates of mine in the state government back in Springfield.”

This request could not be ignored or avoided. “I’d be happy to, sir.”

“Great news. I can’t have California and New York getting ahead of Illinois on this initiative.” He chuckled in his deep, bass voice. “I’ll be second in the race to Virginia, but I won’t be fourth to them.” He hesitated. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you come up with this concept?”

This question could easily represent a test. Jordan might already be well aware of the concept’s origin. Jordan and Attorney General Delgado were close friends, she knew.

“Oh, that’s confidential, sir,” she said in a lighthearted way. It was the best approach to take at this level of politics. It wouldn’t do her any good to drop Delgado’s name right now. She’d get much more mileage out of keeping the attorney general protected. “I have to protect the guilty.”

Jordan laughed heartily. “I appreciate that. One more thing before we hang up.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Before you decide on your next outstanding achievement, come up to Washington and have lunch with me. I’ve already had some preliminary conversations about you with others of influence in this town. We think you may have something we want. More importantly, we think you may have something four hundred million people of this country want. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered firmly as a presidential thrill rushed through her.

“I’ll arrange that call with my people in Springfield. And do me a favor. Go radio-silent on California and New York for a little while. Good-bye, Victoria. And congratulations again on Jury Town’s tremendous success.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Call over, she leaned back in her desk chair and gazed up at the ceiling of her home study as that thrill surging through her grew and grew with intensity. “President Victoria Lewis,” she whispered looking up at the ceiling. “What do you think, Dad?”

CHAPTER 51

VIRGINIA BEACH, VIRGINIA

Angela walked along the sun-bathed sidewalk next to Trent, the two of them attracting fascinated double and triple takes from those going the other way.

“Can I have your autograph?” a young boy asked shyly, holding up a pen and pad after scampering up to them.

Trent glanced ahead. A man who appeared to be the boy’s father stood twenty feet in front of them on the sidewalk. He was waving and smiling back self-consciously.

“You don’t want my autograph,” Trent said, leaning down to pat the boy on the shoulder as he towered over him. “You want this lady’s. She’s going to be the next United States senator from Virginia.”

“Trent,” Angela said loudly. “He wants an all-star basketball player’s autograph, not a politician’s. Always give the people what they want.”

“Well, he should be interested in yours,” Trent said as he took the pen and pad and scribbled his name. “You’re going to make history in a few days, Angie. Your signature will end up being worth way more than mine.”

“We’ll see about that.”

With the not-guilty verdict, her campaign had quickly regained momentum. Only days to the election, and she’d pulled dead even with Chuck Lehman.

“It will be,” Trent assured her, handing the autograph to the kid. “The rally tonight in northern Virginia will put you over the top.”

“I hope so,” she said as the boy raced away gleefully and handed the pen to his father—but not the pad.

“I’m not sure about today,” Trent said, motioning ahead to the restaurant they were walking toward. “I don’t like breaking bread with the enemy, especially so close to the battle.”

“Martha Lehman is not the enemy.”

“She’s married to Chuck Lehman, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Then she’s the enemy.”

“You’re wrong. Martha’s great. I’ve met her before several times, and she is wonderful. She’s a tireless worker for her charities, too. She wants to talk about opening an inner-city home for runaway girls down here in Virginia Beach. I’d look pretty bad if I turned her down on that—oh, jeez.”

Angela stumbled forward as her left heel momentarily caught a crack of the sidewalk.

At the same moment she pitched forward, a rifle exploded from the second floor of a parking garage three blocks away. The bullet screamed harmlessly off the pavement behind her.

But the second shot found its mark.

WASHINGTON, DC (GEORGETOWN)

When Chuck Lehman answered the loud, persistent knocking at the front door of their home, he was shocked to find no fewer than fifteen law-enforcement officials in front of him—some in uniform, some in suit and tie.

When the lead investigator had explained what was happening, Lehman, in a shaky voice, requested five minutes alone. He was given three.

After he’d raced upstairs, he turned into the master bedroom, then entered Martha’s expansive walk-in closet. She was sitting in one corner of the large room, knees pulled to her chin, tears streaming down her face.

“I did it for you, Chuck,” she whispered as heavy footsteps hurried across the living room downstairs and began climbing the stairs toward them. “Don’t let them take me away,” she begged. “Save me, Chuck.”

“You set up Angela Gaynor? You wanted the White House
that
badly?” He shook his head as the pack of officers entered the bedroom behind him. “There’s nothing I can do, Martha. You’re going to jail . . . and then to prison.”

Lehman put his face into his hands. You thought you knew a person.

VIRGINIA BEACH, VIRGINIA

“Is he going to be all right?” Angela whispered anxiously as she held Trent’s huge hand. She sat beside him as he lay on the bed in the ICU.

“He’ll be fine,” the surgeon answered confidently. “The bullet did some damage to his right shoulder, so he won’t have much of a jump shot for a while. But he’ll live.”

“Damn,” Trent whispered, “there goes my comeback.” He grinned up at her. “Kiss me, Senator Gaynor.”