The Copy (3 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

"PLEASE STATE YOUR NAME for the record."

"Arthur William Graves."

"Thank you, Mr. Graves, and what is your occupation, sir?"

Arthur Graves cleared his throat discreetly. He was a fragile looking man with thinning gray hair combed in a meticulous side part, pale complexion, and long delicate fingers.

"I am the major-domo for the Bartell family."

"Please indulge those of us who aren't familiar with the term, Mr. Graves. What is a 'major-domo'?"

"Sorry, yes, essentially a butler but with extended responsibilities covering the overall management of the household and the other domestics."

"Domestics?"

"Uhm, yes, the other household staff: housekeepers, maintenance men and so forth."

"I see. Thank you for the clarification. And how long have you been employed in this role?"

"Fourteen years now."

"And you live on the premises, do you not, Mr. Graves?"

"Uhm, yes, I do. There is a suite of apartments above the garages which houses the full-time domestics."

"Thank you, sir," Alton McBride approached the witness stand and leaned on the wooden rail. His eyes roamed the jurors' box as he spoke. "Now, sir, would you please cast your mind back to the evening of the 17th of February. Where were you then?"

"Ahem, yes, I was on duty at the house."

"The Bartell house?"

"Yes sir."

"And did anything unusual occur that day?"

"Certainly, yes, well, a number of things of course."

"Let's begin with the first shall we?"

"Uhm ,yes, well Mr. Bartell arrived home around four o'clock."

Alton raised his eyebrows. "Which is unusual is it?"

"Yes, very much so."

"How so, Mr. Graves?"

"Well, ahem, in all my years he has never arrived on a weekday prior to dinner-time, and very often closer to midnight, if at all. His early arrival was the second in as many days."

"I see," Said Alton nodding thoughtfully, "And what was his state of mind when he arrived at the house?"

Alton cast a furtive glance toward the defense table, expecting an objection from James Scott May, but the defense attorney remained at rest. He had a distinct air of boredom about him, as did his client, who appeared to be doodling distractedly on a legal pad.

"Well, ahem, I can't speak to his state of-"

"Make an estimation, sir, from what you observed." Alton smiled at him, again stealing a glance at the defense table. Still no reaction.

"Yes, well, it's not really my place to judge," Arthur Graves stammered. He seemed distinctly uncomfortable with the question.

"Mr. Graves, I understand your position - and your loyalty to the family is admirable - however, you are under oath, so please tell the court what you observed of Mr. Bartell's state of mind when you saw him on February 17th."

"Ahem, yes, well, he seemed rather agitated."

"In what way?"

"Well, normally I meet him at the door, help him with his hat and coat and we make small talk. Mr. Bartell is always very personable."

"But he wasn't that day?"

"No, uhm, anything but. He came through the front door like a typhoon, slamming it behind him, then threw his hat and coat at me and went straight into his den; and slammed that door too."

"Did you exchange any words at all?"

"Well, no, not exactly. I mean, I greeted him but he didn't reply. He looked straight through me, as if I weren't even there."

"I see, and what happened then?"

"Well, uhm, Mrs. Bartell came down. She was naturally concerned about all the door slamming. She went into the den and I believe an argument ensued."

"Do you know what they argued about?"

"I, uhm, no, I don't even know for sure whether they argued. I just heard raised voices. A few minutes later she exited and returned upstairs."

"And what happened next?"

"Well, nothing much. I naturally gave Mr. Bartell a wide berth. Around 4:30 I knocked politely and inquired if he should need anything. He said no and told me to take the rest of the night off."

"And did you?"

"Uhm, well, no sir, idleness is not in my nature. I inquired with Chef if she required any help with dinner. As it turned out she was short a few supplies, so I volunteered to procure them for her. I took a walk to the market. Stretched my legs. Took some fresh air. I thought it might help release some of the tension." Arthur gave a forced chuckle, which served to underscore his discomfort rather than mask it. "I certainly didn't know what was in store, did I?" His eyes lost focus and his brow creased as the memory descended on him.

After a few moments Alton McBride touched him on the hand. "Mr. Graves, I know this is difficult for you."

"Ahem, yes, I'm sorry," Arthur said, clearing his throat.

"What time did you return to the house?"

"Oh, it was 5:37 PM."

"5:37? That's awfully specific, Mr. Graves. How is it that you're so sure about that?"

"Uhm, yes, well it was just that upon my return I found a car parked in the driveway. Thinking we might have a guest for dinner I naturally checked my watch to ascertain if Chef would have time enough to make accommodations."

"Naturally," said Alton, his words tinged with sarcasm, "And who was the guest?"

"Well, I don't know. None of the other staff reported having answered the door, nor having seen anybody arrive."

"And this car, Mr. Graves, was it one familiar to you?"

"No, sir, it was not."

"Now, if I'm not mistaken, you described this car to the police at the scene as a newer black Mercedes four-door sedan, is that correct?"

"Uhm, yes, that is correct."

"And did Mr. Bartell, at that time, own such a vehicle?"

"Well, no, it certainly was not one of the family's cars, no."

"Alright, Mr. Graves, what happened after that?"

"Uhm, yes, well I went to the kitchen to deliver Chef's supplies. We chatted for a few minutes and then I went to my apartment to do a spot of paperwork. That's when I noticed the car was gone."

"The car? The Mercedes in the driveway was gone?"

"Yes, quite."

"That's rather peculiar."

"Uhm, yes sir, indeed it was."

"So what did you do then?"

"Well, as it struck me peculiar I went back into the house to make inquiries." Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose as a pained expression suffused his features. "That's when the shouting began."

"The shouting?"

"Yes, ahem, from the den. Mr. Bartell was bellowing in a most heated manner at someone."

"And who was he screaming at, Mr. Graves?"

"I, uh, I don't know."

"Did you not recognize the other voice?"

"Uhm, well, no, I mean, I couldn't distinguish it."

"What exactly do you mean, Mr. Graves?"

"Well, it was, uhm, it's difficult to say. The only voice I could distinguish was Mr. Bartell's."

Alton McBride stopped pacing and stood very still directly in front of the witness stand. "Are you saying he was shouting at himself?"

"No, no, there was definitely an argument taking place, it's just that I couldn't make out another voice. It was rather peculiar."

"Alright, Mr. Graves. We'll leave that alone for the moment. Can you tell us what you heard?"

"Yes, uhm, well the walls are quite well insulated so, of course, I couldn't discern much."

"But you did hear something, didn't you, Mr. Graves?"

Arthur closed his eyes and again pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes I did."

"And can you please tell the court what you heard?"

"Ahem, yes, well, there was one phrase that I could make out which was repeated a number of times during the exchange."

"And what was that?"

"Well, it makes little sense, but I kept hearing Mr. Bartell shouting the phrase 'this is not your life'. I heard it a number of times during the altercation."

"And what do you think that means, Mr. Graves?"

"Objection," James Scott May called in a bored voice from the defense table.

"Withdrawn," replied Alton, turning back to face the witness, "Mr. Graves, please tell the court what happened next?"

Arthur Graves looked at him with a forlorn expression. His eyes were flat and seemed to be asking if he could avoid the question. He rubbed his forehead then returned his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.

"Well, ahem, next came the shot."

"The shot?"

"Yes, uhm, the shotgun blast," Arthur said, squinting towards the jury. His head ticked involuntarily. "It was so very loud," he said with wrinkled brow.

"This shotgun blast came from the den?"

"Ye...yes."

"And what did you do then?"

"I, uh, I was stunned. I fell back against the wall and covered my ears. I just stared at the den door for, well I don't know how long, it seemed like just a few moments but I suppose it could have been longer. I was in shock. I kept thinking, or hoping I suppose, that Mr. Bartell would come through the door with a smile and explain that everything was alright and it had just been a harmless accident. I just," He shook his head, "just couldn't believe it was happening."

"Mr. Graves, I know this is hard, and we are nearly done. I have just a few more questions, so if you can please focus."

"Yes, I'm sorry. I'm just, it's just..."

"I understand, sir. Can you please tell me what occurred next?"

"Uhm, once I recovered my senses I entered the panic code."

"The panic code?"

"Yes, on the alarm system. We have various emergency protocols, as is common for high net-worth households, and I initiated the panic protocol."

"Which is what exactly, Mr. Graves?"

"Well, uhm, what it does is locks down the house with steel blast doors at every door and hallway, while simultaneously alerting the Police Department."

"So every room in the house is sealed off from one another?"

"Yes, sir, that is correct."

"So you didn't enter the den?"

"Oh no, no, I wouldn't have even if it hadn't been sealed. I was terrified. I waited for the police to arrive."

"Thank you, Mr. Graves. I sincerely appreciate your perseverance."

Alton walked back to the prosecution table.

"One last question, Mr. Graves," he said, turning around and looking into Arthur Williams' eyes.

"Who was in that den with Geoffrey Bartell?"

CHAPTER EIGHT

JEFF LANDED IN DC with a knot in his stomach. The flight had been uneventful but he was plagued by an encroaching sense of dread. He dialed Geoffrey as he exited the terminal building, the briefcase his only luggage. His palm felt clammy against its handle. He didn't know what was in it, but he had a good idea. Senator Denville was a permanent fixture in Congress and currently headed up the Senate Committee on Ethical Biogenics. If he had "come around" then the briefcase most likely held a tidy sum of money, possibly one installment of a much larger package.

"Good, you've landed," said Geoffrey without any preamble.

"Yeah, heading for the taxi stand now. Where am I going?"

"The Jefferson. Presidential suite. Grab the key at the front desk, go up and wait. Denville will come straight up at two PM."

"Awfully cloak and dagger," said Jeff as he stepped out into the frigid DC air. Unusually cold for this time of year he thought vaguely as he headed for the nearest taxi cab. "What are we discussing with Denville?"

"Not much to discuss. Just exchange pleasantries, give him the briefcase, ask about his grandkids, and head home."

"Come on, Geoffrey, don't treat me like a child."

"Look, there's not anything to discuss; I've already set everything up. This trip is just logistics. That's why I sent you."

Jeff swung open the cab door and tossed the phone onto the back seat with a scowl, then climbed in behind it. "The Jefferson," he snapped at the driver. After taking a steadying breath he lifted the phone again. "You know what, Geoffrey? Maybe I'll just turn around and head home," he said, making no attempt to disguise the anger in his voice. "You're the one who gave us the pep talk about being a team, remember?"

There was a tense silence before Geoffrey responded. "Okay, you're right. And I apologize."

"Apology accepted. Now tell me why I'm here."

"Well, it seems the good senator has had a change of heart," said Geoffrey with a note of pride in his voice, "It appears he's realized the benefit of early detection and prevention of hereditary disease."

Jeff's stomach fluttered. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Yes I am, Jeff. This very afternoon Denville will be recommending that the Biogenics Committee classify fetal gene manipulation as a safe and acceptable disease prevention technique."

"Can he convince the entire committee?"

"He's confident that he can, yes."

Jeffrey watched the trees slide by the cab window as he absorbed the news. They were bare and brown and their skeletal fingers grasped in vain at the few rays of sun filtering through the cloud cover. Further out the Potomac was a golden sliver against the grey skyline. From here one could almost conceive an aura of worthwhile purpose emanating from the city. But Jeff knew better. He disliked the game of politics, yet he endured it as a necessary evil in pursuit of the life-saving improvements he believed GenLabs' could bring to the human experience. Sordid as it was he'd comfort himself with the trite old saw of the end justifying the means. And in this case the end certainly did justify almost any means. Gene manipulation being green-lighted by Congress opened the way to massive nationwide adoption of their technologies and later, even, a pill that could be mass marketed. GenLabs could single-handedly reduce birth defects to almost zero, and practically eliminate every other life-crippling disease and genetic disorder that haunted modern man.

"This is huge," he said, finally releasing the breath he'd been unwittingly holding, "The scope is almost unimaginable."

"Not to mentions the profits!" Geoffrey laughed.

"Why is Denville doing this now? He's always opposed us."

"Every man has his price, Jeff."

"And what was his?"

Geoffrey laughed again in a short burst. The sound came through the line with a distorted maniacal tone that Jeff could not decipher whether was due to the cellular connection or something darker.

"Trust me," said Geoffrey, "you'd rather not know."