T. Bunn - The Great Divide

“I didn’t know.”

“Now that’s a curious thing.” The humor was back full force. “She made me promise not to tell you, wouldn’t arrive till after you left, had to be gone before you came home. I guess them big-city ladies got ways we country folk won’t never understand.”

“I guess,” Marcus agreed idly, and took a long moment to decide there was no profit in studying that course. “Can you do something for me tonight?”

“What, now?”

“Soon as possible.”

“I suppose so.”

“I need you to come by the office, get the last couple of New Horizons annual reports. I’ll have them ready for you. Go to one of those late-night photo places, have them make copies of all the executives’ pictures. Make one set big as they can. Then fifteen eight-by-tens of each.”

As they pulled into the driveway, Marcus was immensely gratified to see Dee’s gardener leave his shabby trailer and make his bowlegged way toward them. He said into the phone, “We’ve just gotten home. Come on by any time.”

The gardener opened his door and announced, “Dee Gautam say, it all done. Lady, she come.”

Marcus felt the cloud of worry he had been carrying begin to coalesce into action. “He found us an interpreter?”

The ancient face screwed up tight. “I just say that, yes?”

“Good. Right. When does she arrive?”

“You say tomorrow, she come tomorrow.” The man huffed his way around and started off, muttering a chanted curse.

Marcus called, “Wait.” He picked up the shopping bag and slid from the Jeep. He walked over to the little man and held it out. “This is for you.”

The man seemed not to believe there was any good reason to reach for the bag. “You not pay. Dee Gautam pay.”

“This isn’t payment. It’s a gift. Take it. Please.”

Reluctantly the wizened figure accepted the package, and drew the first of two items into the streetlight. The man breathed a quiet Eeeeya . He unfolded the sweater, cable-knit merino wool, green and chased with suede along the shoulders and the elbows. Marcus was vastly relieved that the store’s smallest size apparently would fit him well, and said quietly, “There’s something more.”

Slowly the man returned to the bag, drew out a pair of deerskin gloves, yellow as butter and soft as an autumn sunrise. Marcus said simply, “It looks to be a cold winter for gardening.”

The man’s gaze rose in glittering wonder. “Why you do this?”

Marcus still could not find a way to express what he was feeling, except to say, “Sometimes words alone are almost a lie.”

The man nodded slowly, then returned to the inspection of his gifts. Marcus asked, “What is your name?”

The gardener took a long time answering. “Long time ago, I was Chung. Since then, many names. Many places, many names.”

Marcus settled a hand upon a small shoulder, hard as wind-carved rock. “Thank you, Chung.” When the man did not respond, Marcus turned and went inside.

Marcus slept little and woke hard. His dawn nightmare was the same, yet longer and more feral, trapping him and gnawing at him like some flesh-eating critter of the dark hours. He awoke gasping and drenched from the effort of freeing himself. He arose and ate a solitary breakfast, then turned to the task of preparing for what would no doubt be a long and wearying grind.

When Marcus entered the courtroom on Wednesday morning, Charlie Hayes was there to greet him. Alma and Austin had not yet arrived. Before Charlie could start in, Marcus said, “Kirsten is arriving with a new witness. Darren went to the airport to collect them. They should be arriving any minute now. With an interpreter. I need you to be downstairs to greet them and walk the witness through the process. Wait in the coffee shop for further word.”

Behind his glasses, Charlie did a slow blink. “An interpreter.”

“That’s right. The witness’s name is Hao Lin. She’s Chinese. And terrified. We’re bringing her straight from the INS detention center outside Washington. She was caught with a boatload trying to sneak into Chesapeake Bay.”

Charlie’s body might have slowed with age, but his mind was as swift as ever. “This why you told me to go ahead with the video enhancement?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know what the witness would tell us?”

“I guessed as much.”

“You guessed it.” Charlie gave his head a slow shake. “You sure had a lot riding on that guess.”

“I knew it had to be something big for them to murder Ashley over it.” When Charlie started to turn toward the defense table, Marcus continued, “I’m pretty sure Logan doesn’t know anything about that.”

“That witch he’s riding with looks vile enough.”

Marcus glanced over, found Suzie Rikkers glaring back. “Maybe. But not Logan. Being driven and ambitious doesn’t make a man an accomplice to murder.” Marcus ignored Suzie’s baleful stare and rose to greet Alma Hall. “I need you to help us with something.”

“Just say the word.” Tired but steady.

“I’m going to speak with the judge. When I turn toward you, go find Charlie in the coffee shop and bring them in.”

Marcus swiftly outlined what he wanted from Charlie. He was still heads down when the bailiff ordered the courtroom to rise. It was only when Marcus reseated himself that he noticed the continued murmur from behind, and turned to find himself facing a packed courtroom.

Charlie said, “You hear about the press?”

“Netty told me you’d fielded some calls.”

“Calls and cameras and microphones galore. Had myself a time.” Charlie rose from his seat. “I’ll go wait for the witness downstairs, take them for a cup of coffee.”

“Have them ready to ride within the hour,” Marcus said, and rose to address Judge Nicols. “Your Honor, I ask to approach the bench.”

“Your Honor, we wish to present the video to the jury as evidence.”

Although the tape had been included as part of Marcus’ original evidence, clearly Judge Nicols had not expected him to request a jury showing. But Logan had. Before the judge had recovered, he launched into, “We hereby lodge an objection as to the authenticity of this evidence, Your Honor.”

She turned sternly toward Logan. Marcus refrained from turning as well, for Suzie Rikkers was standing on Logan’s other side, glaring at him. From this range he could almost feel the scalding heat. He kept his eyes fastened on the judge as Logan continued, “We don’t know who produced this tape, Your Honor. We don’t know where it came from. So the first issue is one of reliability. You can’t tell from looking at it who the speaker is. With today’s computerized manipulation techniques, it could be a voice-over, a different person entirely.”

Judge Nicols cast a swift glance at Marcus, but was drawn back by Logan’s insistent attack. “There is also the question of the purpose for which this video was made, Your Honor. It could all be part of an elaborate hoax. We have witnesses who will testify to the fact that Gloria Hall had a long history of activism and troublemaking. She apparently held a grudge against the Chinese regime. She had her own agenda. This could be something she cooked up entirely for dramatic effect. The risk of prejudice outweighs any probative value.”

Logan paused as the judge turned to Marcus, both of them apparently expecting him to respond. But Marcus would say nothing until the defense had fired off everything they had. Arguing at this point would only reveal his hand.

“One last point, Your Honor,” Logan went on. “Counsel for the plaintiff wishes to submit this video only to inflame the jury. He remains intent upon inciting prejudice against my client. We therefore move for its exclusion from evidence.”