T. Bunn - The Great Divide

Marcus searched for his chair, said slowly, “Okay.”

“Last night the judge was approached by Senator Stern. He told her the White House is looking for a new independent U.S. prosecutor. Something about issues being raised by the Senate Ethics Committee. He asked if she’d like the position.”

Marcus breathed tightly. “She said yes.”

“Right. Also yesterday Jenny Hail was called by the governor’s office. A district judgeship has come available over in Winston-Salem. They’re considering Jenny for the position. You know how close those two are.”

Marcus hefted the newly arrived document. “I’ve just been served with a subpoena. A grievance has been filed against me with the state bar. It’s related to a case I was involved in, oh, it must be five years ago.” He flipped the pages, confirmed, “Yes, here it is, five years. It accuses me of turning a man whose will I drew up against his surviving heirs.” Marcus dropped the pages to his desk. “Charlie Hayes would call this a hanging offense, since if I’m convicted I would lose my license to practice law.”

“Interesting how all this came up together.”

“You said it.”

“Well, see you on Monday.”

“Right. And thanks, Jim. A lot.” Marcus hung up, trying hard not to read too much into what he had just learned.

But Ashley Granger did not call back that day, nor did Marcus receive any answer except a taped message when he phoned both Ashley’s office and his home. Marcus held to patience through a steady stream of work, finally giving in to exhaustion just after eight. As he lay waiting for sleep to come, he decided the day seemed altogether incomplete.

As usual, his sleep was shattered before dawn. This time, however, he opened his eyes and searched for what remained just beyond the reach of his senses. He peered into the darkness, but found no reason for fear. Instead, his room seemed disturbed by the beat of disembodied wings.

Marcus sat up in bed and tried to listen beyond the night’s sibilant hush. The chamber did not hold to the feel of his nightly trauma. Instead he sensed a different presence, neither good nor hostile, merely watchful. As though he was on trial himself, and the night was asking, Are you worthy? Marcus sat there until dawn, helpless to do more than hope the verdict would come down in his favor.

Monday morning dawned with a mocking beauty, a false clarity to the sky and the road ahead. Marcus did not see the lie revealed until Darren was pulling into the courthouse parking lot, and he finally had an answer to his repeated telephone calls to Ashley Granger’s office.

Afterward it seemed that even before he heard the anguished voice, even before he detected the weeping in the background, even before Ashley’s secretary sobbed out the news on the car phone, he knew. Marcus sat and heard the keening words, and loathed the absence of rain and gray and universal mourning.

He was all the way down the courtroom’s central aisle before he realized he had passed Kirsten. He turned and greeted her with a solemn nod, and the thought that at this moment, her gaze of broken gemstone was completely appropriate. Here at least was one who shared his sorrow, even though she did not know it yet. Marcus moved to his table, said to Alma and Austin, “Do you still have the video?”

Something either in his eyes or in his tone stilled their questions. Alma said simply, “Yes.”

“The original?”

“In our safety deposit box,” Austin replied.

He turned to Charlie. “Find us an expert. Have it cleaned up, make Gloria as visible as possible.”

Charlie nodded. “What’s the matter, son?”

The bailiff chose that moment to announce, “All rise.”

Marcus remained standing as the others seated themselves, isolated by more than his stance as the court was called into session. He waited until Judge Nicols turned his way to announce, “Your Honor, it is my forlorn duty to announce that an attorney assisting me with this case, Mr. Ashley Granger of Washington, D.C., was murdered on Saturday.”

“No!” Kirsten’s wail wrenched Marcus where he stood, but he did not turn around.

Logan catapulted to his feet. “Your Honor!”

“Mr. Glenwood, I see you are distraught,” Judge Nicols began. “But-”

“Your Honor, Ashley Granger was brutally murdered while driving to take a deposition related to this very case.”

“Your Honor! I move for a mistrial!”

“Hush up, the pair of you!” Nicols hammered her gavel so powerfully even Kirsten’s second protest collapsed to weeping. “Mr. Glenwood! You are in serious breach of court discipline here!”

“Your Honor, counsel for the plaintiff has biased the jury with these utterly unfounded accusations!” Logan started forward. “I demand you declare a mistrial!”

The hand holding the gavel shook threateningly. “You get back to your table, sir. Mr. Glenwood, plant yourself in that chair.” Only when they were both seated did she lower the arm and the gavel. “This will not happen. Not ever again, not in my courtroom, no matter what the supposed reason. Is that clear?” She glared at them until both attorneys nodded their acceptance. “All right. Mr. Kendall, your motion is dismissed. Mr. Glenwood, I see you are bereft. I am sorry. That is all I can say.”

“Your Honor, Ashley Granger was going to take a deposition from one Hao Lin, who is being held in the INS detention center outside Washington.” Kirsten’s sobs tore at him, as if she were weeping the tears he could not himself afford to shed. “I request the court’s permission to attend Mr. Granger’s memorial service this afternoon, then proceed to depose the witness and if necessary return with her.”

Logan was having none of it. “Your Honor, this is nothing more than yet another blatant-”

“I will not warn you again,” Nicols snapped, holding Logan in his seat by strength of will alone. “I am this close to severely sanctioning you for misleading the court and intentionally withholding critical evidence. Do not try my patience at this point, Mr. Kendall. I am warning you.” She turned back to Marcus. “Very well. Have the papers drawn up. You may use my secretary.” She banged the gavel. “Court is adjourned until Wednesday morning.”

At the bailiff’s call, Marcus rose with the others, wishing there were some way to have the court remain there, standing in homage to the loss of a truly good man.

At least Kirsten mourned Ashley’s passage. The preparations and the drive to the airport and the flight were punctuated by her sorrow. She did not seem aware that on occasion her eyes leaked a scattering of tears. Marcus waited until they were in a taxi headed for the Washington church to ask the first of what would have to be a multitude of questions. “The last time we talked, Ashley said he was chasing something critical to the case. Do you have any idea what that might have been?”

She was too far gone to even pretend anymore. “No. All I know is that about two weeks before she left, Gloria became so excited about something, I thought she was going to have a heart attack.”

“Before she left for China?”

Her nod was little more than a shiver. “She wouldn’t tell me what it was. Something so big it could mean everything, that was all she told me. It could make it all worthwhile.”

“Make what worthwhile?” Marcus demanded. “Her research? Her trip?”

But the question only renewed her tears. “I begged her not to go. I pleaded with her. I told her I couldn’t do what she wanted. All she said was, ‘If I fail, then it will all have been for nothing.’ ” Kirsten seemed unable even to draw a decent breath, leaving the words tattered. “Now another person has died. And I can’t help feeling it’s because I didn’t get it right.”