Premeditated Murder (34 page)

“What?” Calvin interrupted, standing up to face the judge. “What will you be forced to do?” he shouted. “Execute me
twice
?”

And that did it. The courtroom went ballistic. Four court officers jumped on Calvin and wrestled him to the ground. Cottonwood started banging his paperweight again, which did absolutely nothing except add to the chaos. People in the gallery were shouting, court officers were calling for help, reporters were scribbling so fast it looked like their pads were going to burst into flames. Any questions that had been in the jury's mind from Cal's remark about terrorists had completely gone out the window when he jumped ugly with the judge. They weren't sympathetic toward him—they were scared to death of him.

At some point, the judge just gave up, shouted to no one in particular, “Court is in
recess
!” and left the bench, followed by his clerk, the court reporter, and a court officer. One of the other court officers had already started to hurry the jury out of the courtroom while the rest of the officers continued to scuffle with Calvin until they finally hauled him up and hustled him away, in handcuffs.

As soon as the theatrics at the business end of the courtroom was over, the reporters bolted. Minutes later the rest of the stunned gallery finished exiting, leaving just Terry and Zack, who sat alone at their table.

“Well,” Terry said, “at least Court TV is going to be happy about the way this thing is turning out.”

Zack smiled a little. “Want to walk over to The Red Onion and get a sandwich?”

“Always,” Terry said, and the two friends got up and headed out of the courtroom, and down the stairs to the basement entrance. It was the only way to avoid the media feeding frenzy that had become a daily event on the front steps to the courthouse.

Almost as soon as they left the building, Zack's cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and answered, “Zack Wilson.” He waited for a minute, then said, “Oh, come on. Nice try, but you know the rules.” And he hung up.

“Who was that?” asked Terry, as they reached the sidewalk.

“That,” Zack said, putting the phone back in his pocket, “was either the President of the United States with a bad head cold, or some lame reporter doing his half-assed Matt Ferguson impression, trying to get a story. God almighty.”

They continued down the street and turned down toward The Red Onion. It was a beautiful, sunny day, just like the weather goofs had promised for the entire July 4 weekend.

Zack's phone rang again. At first Terry thought he wasn't going to answer it, but after five rings, Zack sighed, pulled it out of his pocket, and opened the connection. “Zack Wilson,” he said, and all of a sudden he stopped walking and stood absolutely still for a full minute, listening intently. Then finally he said, “Yes, sir,” and, slowly and quietly, closed the phone and put it in his pocket, looking over at Terry.

“So,” he said finally. “It looks like the President's got a sinus infection.”

Worcester, Massachusetts

FOR SERGEANT PETE VANDERWALL, THIS WAS A pretty damn big day.

Joe had called him from the diner, and specifically asked that Pete be in charge of a very special detail. If Pete hadn't known Joe for ten years, he never would have believed it.

But it was true. Joe, back when he called himself José, had been the staff sergeant for then Lieutenant Matt Ferguson when the two young men served in Vietnam. And now President Ferguson was coming to Massachusetts, so he decided to drop in for lunch at the Double V.

What a scene. Pete had arrived at about noon with five other officers. They immediately cleared the dining area of three very startled patrons and then set up roadblocks all around, allowing for an unimpeded route from the airport to the diner.

Pete stayed at the restaurant, coordinating the local police detail, while the place was descended upon by Secret Service agents and White House staff members. And then, at 12:32, in walked President Ferguson himself. He and Joe and Maria hugged, and sat down for sandwiches. It was surreal.

Pete had been given special instructions that one car was allowed to pass through the roadblocks, and sure enough, this big lawyer rolled up a half hour later in a Lexus. The lawyer went through about six different searches to be sure he wasn't armed before he was allowed to approach President Ferguson. He handed the President a piece of paper, shook his hand, took a folder from him, made a quick call on his cell phone, got back in his car, and left. Five minutes later, the President was on his way to Springfield, and Pete was riding lead car in the motorcade, calling ahead for traffic control.

As they pulled up in front of the Superior Court in Northampton, Pete wondered what the hell the President of the United States had to do with the Thompkins trial.

Northampton, Massachusetts

AS JUDGE COTTONWOOD SAT AT HIS DESK, HE wondered what the hell the President of the United States had to do with the Thompkins trial.

As soon as he realized that the commotion at the back of the courtroom was because President Matthew Ferguson had come into the building, he had called another recess, and was now sitting in his chambers. The President was being made comfortable in a spare courtroom, surrounded by the necessary security. The lawyers were on their way in. How this had gone from a simple, straightforward homicide trial to a three-ring circus in such a short time was really aggravating. Every news station in the country knew that the President of the United States was here to testify. The judge had to regain control of this thing before it got completely out of hand.

Finally, the lawyers found their way in. Fran O'Neill looked furious. With good reason. His assistant looked worried, but she was nervous to start with. Wilson was a little hard to read, but Tallach looked like he had just won the lottery. A pain shot through the judge's left hip. Goddamn him for thinking this whole thing was a big joke.

“All right.” Judge Cottonwood turned to Attorney Wilson. “Before anybody says anything, I'd like to know what you think you are doing springing a new witness on the Commonwealth this late in the trial.”

“Well, Your Honor,” Wilson began. Good thing it was him, because if Tallach so much as opened his mouth, five seconds later he'd be headed for a jail cell. “This witness came as a total surprise to us today. I received a cell phone call at twelve-thirty, right after we recessed for lunch. President Ferguson apparently had just recently received information that the victims in this case were, indeed, terrorists. He was aware of the case, and thought that the information was important enough to call us and tell us about it.”

Damn it all to hell. Under these circumstances, there was no way an Appellate Court would uphold him if he were to refuse to allow the witness to testify because the guy wasn't on the original list. The judge turned to O'Neill. “And you had no idea about this?”

The district attorney was so furious he could barely speak. “None, Your Honor,” he sputtered. “And I've barely had a chance to go through these reports—”

“What reports?” asked the judge.

“The President brought a detailed set of notes and reports with him, outlining the evidence that had been compiled against these people,” Wilson said. “I provided a copy to the Commonwealth.”

So they were in the middle of a trial that was headed directly toward the conviction and ultimate execution of a man for ridding the world of six terrorists. What a hell of a way to end a career. The judge turned to O'Neill. “Well, Mr. District Attorney. What is your position on all of this?”

Judge Cottonwood had seen that look on the district attorney's face before. O'Neill was utterly overwhelmed by what was going on. All he could do was to open his mouth and hope something good would come out. “First of all, Your Honor, assuming that the reports do confirm that these people were terrorists—”

And then the nervous assistant jumped in and saved her boss's bacon. “It's all irrelevant, Your Honor,” she said. “Assuming that the defense can get around any hearsay problems, Your Honor has already ruled that any information regarding whether the victims were terrorists is irrelevant. All this information does is corroborate what the defendant was trying to testify to earlier. But whether the defendant was right or wrong about their being terrorists has no bearing on whether Mr. Thompkins is guilty of premeditated murder.”

And, of course, she was right. They had all become momentarily distracted by the fact that the defendant's proposed witness also happened to be the President of the United States.

“But, Your Honor,” Tallach broke in. Wilson had stopped paying attention. He had taken some electronic gadget from Tallach and was squinting at it like he was trying to read something on it. “The defendant has a right to present a case,” Terry argued. “It's not exactly unusual for a jury to learn of the relationship between a defendant and his alleged victims.”

“Let's get all our cards out on the table, shall we?” snapped the judge. “We all know why you want this evidence in. You're hoping for jury nullification. But you can't just throw whatever you want into the case hoping for some emotional response from the jury, no matter how dramatic your witness is. Ms. Ruben is right. The information is irrelevant, whether it comes from the defendant, the President of the United States, or God Almighty himself.”

Tallach looked over at Wilson, who was now buried in some papers in his file. O'Neill knew better than to say a word.

“So that's taken care of,” the judge continued crisply. “My ruling is that President Ferguson's proposed testimony that the victims in this case were terrorists is irrelevant.”

There was a moment of silence, but then Wilson picked his head up. He said quietly: “I'm sorry, Your Honor, but you're wrong.”

And fifteen minutes later, Judge Cottonwood had to agree.

TWENTY-FIVE

MR. WILSON:
Would you please state your name, address, and occupation for the record, sir?

PRESIDENT FERGUSON:
My name is Matthew Ferguson. I live at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C. My occupation is President of the United States.

(Trial Volume XII, Page 112)

Northampton, Massachusetts

TERRY COULDN'T BELIEVE WHAT ZACK HAD just done. It was the biggest mistake Terry'd seen in his entire legal career.

Zack had gotten the case just where he wanted it. He had convinced Judge Cottonwood that he had the right to put the President on the stand. And that he also had the right, by the way, to call a parade of upstanding and serious counterterrorism experts from the FBI and God knows what other federal agencies, as well.

There was no way that even Judge Cottonwood could deny them the right to do it. And there was no way that Judge Cottonwood could continue to sit on the trial. They were going to need time to find and subpoena all these witnesses. And then the Commonwealth was going to need time to prepare its cross-examination. By the time it was all done, Judge Cottonwood would be months into his retirement.

So the Big Dick would have to declare a mistrial, and the trial would have to start over. With a different jury and a different judge.

Zack had done it. He had avoided a certain guilty verdict and Judge Cottonwood, all in one brilliant stroke.

And then O'Neill's assistant, Stacey Ruben, came up with this lame-assed suggestion that they just go ahead with the trial, stipulate that the victims were terrorists, and waive all hearsay objections to the President's testimony.

It was a last-ditch, bullshit offer, and they all knew it. There was no reason why Zack would choose to put evidence before the jury through a written stipulation rather than through live testimony of law enforcement officials. Especially when it meant that he had to keep going in front of Cottonwood.

And yet, here they were. No law enforcement officials, no terrorism experts, nobody at all that could put any emotion, any feeling at all into the most important part of their case. Instead, there was Zack, standing in front of the nastiest jury in the world, reading the stipulation, a cold, lifeless piece of paper.
“All of the six victims of Calvin Thompkins's shooting were terrorists, who had murdered innocent people in the past, and who were, at the time of their deaths, plotting to murder additional innocent people.”

Yawn. The jury was barely moved. About three of them looked over at Cal when they heard the word “terrorists,” but none with any sympathy in their eyes. The earring ladies stared straight ahead. This wasn't working. Zack had really misplayed this.

CAL HAD TO ADMIT IT. FOR SOMEBODY WHO hadn't spent a dime on his lawyers, he was really getting his money's worth.

The President of the United States was testifying on his behalf.

“Yes,” Matt Ferguson said. “I took office as President on December 10 after President Graham died from an aneurysm.”

“And, Mr. President, did you address the nation on that day?” Zack asked.

“Yes, I did. I felt that it was important for me to make a brief statement to the American people.”