David Ellis - The Wrong Man

That wasn’t surprising. We all trudged back to the judge’s chambers. Judge Nash, having outlived every other human being on the planet, had photographs and memorabilia dating back more than seventy years. The walls of his chambers were lined with framed photos with every mayor going back as far as I can remember, a few presidential candidates on the Democratic side-I remember him mentioning he was a delegate to one of the conventions, maybe the one where they nominated Lincoln? — and all kinds of other politicos and celebrities. He received honors from all sorts of bar associations and civic groups and we got to read all about it. It looked like the inside of an old Italian restaurant in here.

Judge Nash resumed his seat in a high-backed leather chair, behind a walnut desk. Directly over his head on the wall was a flag of the United States and his certificate of honorable discharge from the U. S. Marine Corps in the 1950s after he fought in the Korean War.

Judge Nash waited for the court reporter to ready herself. When she gave him the high sign, he turned on me.

“Mr. Kolarich, I’ve had a chance to read your lengthy submission this morning, having just received it this morning. You’ve apparently raised issues that go beyond even what you discussed with the court last Friday.”

“That’s correct, Judge. We continue to learn new information. It proves more than anything that we need time to develop this evidence. When you consider-”

“Counsel, if this evidence were even remotely related to your theory of the case, I might be more sympathetic. But none of this has anything to do with your case. You’re off on a story about terrorists and cover-ups. The prosecution can rightly assert that this is coming out of the blue.”

“It’s newly discovered evidence,” I replied. “As soon as we learned it, we told the prosecution.”

The judge removed his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. “If I let every litigant create a brand-new case on the eve of trial-”

“This isn’t every litigant,” I said, interrupting the judge. “This isn’t every case.”

He let my interruption go without comment, which was an even worse sign, because it meant he was definitely planning to rule against me and was cutting me some slack.

“Judge, I realize that the lawyer before me pleaded insanity and I was planning to do the same. But we’ve come up with evidence that goes well beyond a wild-goose chase. If you give me a week, I’ll probably be able to prove everything I’m alleging. Just give me a week.”

“No, Counsel. If you come up with something in a week or a month or a year, you can bring a post-trial petition. But we’re not stopping this trial.”

“Judge-”

“We’re done. I’ll give you until tomorrow, Mr. Kolarich, to call a witness or we’ll just go to summations. All right, everyone? December seventh, nine A. M., Ms. Kotowski, I’ll expect you to be prepared to close first thing in the morning if the defense rests.”

I shook my head and looked at Shauna. We both knew this was a possible outcome. The judge was wrong, but he wasn’t going to change his mind. I stood up and stared at Judge Nash, who was already reviewing other papers on another case. I looked over his head again at the certificate of honorable discharge from the Marines. Next to that certificate was a photo of the judge in military attire, shaking hands with our city’s mayor, Mayor Champion, himself a former Marine who never missed a chance to honor the military, who even held parades and memorials on anniversaries that other cities and states had long ago stopped celebrating, like D-day and Oh my God.

And Pearl Harbor Day.

“Judge,” I said, “I understand your ruling, but could I ask for an additional twenty-four hours? If I could just have until Wednesday.”

The judge’s face scrunched up the way it always did when he was annoyed by something.

“Counsel-”

“Just one more day, Your Honor. That’s all I ask. I won’t request any additional time.”

The judge looked at Wendy, but he wasn’t seeking her guidance. He was probably thinking, after the different ways he’d screwed me, it would look good to the appellate court that he gave me that extra day when I asked.

“Good enough,” he said. “Wednesday, December eighth, at nine A. M. We will reconvene at that time, and there will be no further continuances.”

With that, the judge ordered us out of chambers. It had been a bad appearance for our case but adrenaline was surging through me regardless. I had tomorrow open. And something told me I’d need it.

Because tomorrow was December 7. Tomorrow was Pearl Harbor Day.

“Kolarich, calm down,” said Lee Tucker over the phone.

“Did you hear what I said, Lee? Tomorrow is-”

“I got it, I got it. Listen, we need to meet.”

We worked out the details and I hung up. I conferred in the courtroom with Tom and Aunt Deidre and then spent some time huddling with Shauna on a game plan.

“Listen to me, lady,” I said, placing a hand firmly on her shoulder. “You and everyone else at the law firm-nobody goes into work tomorrow. Stay away from downtown. No fooling. Okay?”

“God, it’s that certain in your mind?” She recoiled. “I mean, if that’s the case, shouldn’t we be screaming from the mountaintops about a potential attack?”

“It’s not that certain. It’s just my gut. But yeah, I’ll be making that point to the FBI in a few minutes.” I shrugged. “It’s not my call, kid. I can’t evacuate a city. But humor me on this, okay? Promise me, Shauna Tasker.”

“Okay, I promise. A firm holiday tomorrow. But only if you promise me that you’ll stay away, too.”

“I’ll be safe,” I assured her, and took off before she could press me further.

Lee Tucker’s government-issue sedan picked me up curbside not ten minutes later. I jumped in the backseat.

“Jason Kolarich, Special Agent Barry Clemens.” Lee, who was driving, gestured to a tall African-American guy who looked like he kept in shape, who shared the backseat with me. “And this is Dan Osborne from the Department of Justice’s counterterrorism division.” Osborne rode shotgun, an older guy with red hair cut to a crew. Government written all over these guys.

“That information I gave you checked out,” I said.

Osborne nodded. “It checked out.”

“Tomorrow’s Pearl Harbor Day,” I said. “Tomorrow’s when it happens.”

Lee looked at Osborne, then at me through his rearview mirror. “Listen and listen good, Kolarich. All right? We’re giving you the benefit of the doubt on this. And it’s not because we think you’re a great guy or the straightest shooter. It’s because these days, we can’t afford not to. Know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“And if you’re onto something here about these guys, then you know them better than we do. But what we share with you stays between us. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I said. I didn’t know if I’d be able to keep that promise. I had a client whose defense might be aided rather significantly by what I might learn. A bridge to cross later, if necessary.

“You fuck us on this-”

“I’m not fucking around, Lee. I get it.”

He watched me a moment, then nodded. “Tomorrow’s Pearl Harbor Day,” he said. “And I didn’t even know this, but apparently our city celebrates it every year with a parade.”

“It’s Mayor Champion,” I said. “He’s big on that stuff. He was a Marine. His kid’s a Marine. His father, and his father’s father, were Marines. We do a parade every year. A small one, a short one, but still. He always gets the governor to come march in it, too. Oh, and shit.” I snapped my fingers. “They start it at the southern tip of downtown. Which means it starts at-”