Joel Rosenberg - The Kremlin Conspiracy

“The belly is an ungrateful wretch, it never remembers past favors, it always wants more tomorrow.” The line was Solzhenitsyn’s, from one of Marcus’s favorite novels, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich . It was a story of a hapless soul, falsely accused and locked away in a Soviet gulag during the Second World War. Not once since he first read it as a freshman in high school had Marcus ever actually imagined being in prison. And never had the line rung so true as it did right now. Marcus’s stomach was grumbling so loudly he wondered if it could be heard up and down the corridor. He’d hardly eaten anything since breakfast.

“You should rejoice that you’re in prison. Here you have time to think about your soul.” Another line from the novel. Marcus chewed on the words as he pondered all that had happened in the span of just a few short hours. One thing was clear—he’d had no choice but to shoot. His stepfather had been coming at him with an ax. He didn’t think he would have any regrets about his actions.

But then he pictured his mother’s face when she’d come out of the bathroom and found her second husband lying in a pool of his own blood. Marcus had expected to see relief in her eyes—gratitude, even. He had, after all, saved her life. Instead, she’d collapsed to the floor in unspeakable grief.

A second image that haunted him was that of Elena’s face, the moment their eyes had met, just before he’d been transported away from the scene in the backseat of one of the squad cars. He’d expected to see sympathy in those beautiful brown eyes. He’d seen something else instead. What was it? Fear? He couldn’t say for sure, but it wasn’t good.

With these unsettling thoughts in his mind, he finally drifted off to sleep.

“Ryker, you have a visitor.”

It was morning. Marcus felt peaceful and refreshed. He was eager to see Elena. The lock clicked open. Two guards accompanied him down the hall to a semiprivate holding room. There, he was ordered to sit on a chair in a small booth, next to a bulletproof window, and wait. After a few minutes, his visitor appeared. It was not Elena. It was her father.

Marcus had told Elena to call her father the night before because he knew he’d need a lawyer, even if Mr. Garcia had zero experience in criminal law. Still, seeing him now reminded him this wasn’t just about getting out of jail and clearing his name with the authorities. It was also about clearing his name with the Garcia family. He’d done nothing wrong, and he needed them to know that.

Wearing a freshly pressed, dark-blue pin-striped suit and a crisp white dress shirt, Mr. Garcia—as stern-faced and dour as Marcus had ever seen him—sat down on the other side of the glass. He set a yellow legal pad on the counter, pulled a Montblanc pen from his breast pocket, and picked up the telephone receiver mounted on the wall.

Marcus took a deep breath and picked up the receiver on his side as well.

“First things first,” Mr. Garcia said, “these conversations are monitored. Remember that.”

“Okay.”

“Next, I just came from seeing your mother,” Mr. Garcia continued.

“Good—how is she?” Marcus asked.

“Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but she was hospitalized last night. I’m afraid she had a heart attack. It was a minor one. The doctors say she’s going to be all right. But they want to keep her for observation.”

Marcus just sat there, stunned.

“She wanted me to tell you she loves you. She doesn’t blame you. She knows you were just trying to protect her, and there really wasn’t any other option. She wished she’d said it to you last night in person, but she wanted you to know right away.”

Marcus took in the news. At first he did not speak. He simply nodded to acknowledge he’d heard the man and appreciated the report. He was grateful for his mother’s understanding. But he was worried both for her physical and mental state. He needed to be with her, to take care of her, to protect her.

“Please tell her thank you,” he said finally. “I can’t wait to see her.”

Mr. Garcia nodded and continued. “I also spoke to the DA.”

“Good.”

“I’m afraid it’s not good news.”

“What do you mean?”

“He wants to charge you.”

“With what?”

“Manslaughter.”

“But it was textbook self-defense,” Marcus said.

“The DA says otherwise. He’s going to push for the maximum sentence.”

“Twelve years?”

Mr. Garcia looked surprised that Marcus would know such a fact. “I’m afraid so—and a fine.”

“How much?”

“Could be a lot. Again, he’s saying he’ll ask for the maximum.”

Marcus was stunned. “That’s three quarters of a million dollars.”

Once more Elena’s father seemed surprised, but he nodded. “That’s what he said.”

“That’s crazy,” Marcus said. “He’s bluffing.”

“That’s not the impression I got.”

“But Colorado has a ‘Make My Day’ law.”

“The DA says it doesn’t apply.”

“Of course it does,” Marcus shot back. “The statute is clear. ‘Any occupant of a dwelling is justified in using any degree of physical force, including deadly physical force, against another person when that other person has made an unlawful entry into the dwelling, and when the occupant has a reasonable belief that such other person has committed a crime in the dwelling… or intends to commit a crime… and when the occupant reasonably believes that such other person might use any physical force, no matter how slight, against any occupant.’”

“How do you know all that?” Mr. Garcia asked.

“I’m studying criminal justice.”

“But how do you know it by heart?”

Marcus shrugged. “I just do.”

“Well, the DA says your stepfather didn’t make an unlawful entry. It’s his home.”

“But it’s in my mother’s name.”

“That doesn’t matter—they were married.”

“What about the restraining orders?”

“Both lifted.”

“But they show a pattern of aggression.”

“I’m not sure that would be admissible.”

“But he was clearly there to commit a crime,” Marcus insisted, his voice steady and firm. “He’d already beaten my mother. He’d broken her nose, and he said he was going to kill her.”

“Even so, the DA says the statute doesn’t apply.”

“What about CRS 18-1-704?”

“Which one is that?”

“‘Use of Physical Force in Defense of a Person,’” Marcus said, again reciting from memory. “‘A person is justified in using physical force upon another person in order to defend himself or a third person from what he reasonably believes to be the use or imminent use of unlawful physical force by that other person, and he may use a degree of force which he reasonably believes to be necessary for that purpose.’”

Mr. Garcia just looked at him.

“Is there a problem, sir?” Marcus asked.

“It’s just that…”

“What?”

“Well, I’m not sure it’s helpful that you know these statutes by heart.”

“Why not?” Marcus asked. “I’ve wanted to be a police officer since I was a kid. You have to memorize these things.”

“I understand,” said Mr. Garcia. “I’m just saying it could look like…”

“Like what? Mr. Garcia, do you really think I would have asked Elena to call you last night if I was preparing to carry out a premeditated murder?”