Philip Margolin - Capitol murder

Clarence took a deep breath. “You see what they’ve done?”

“Who?”

“The people who framed me. The prosecutors and detectives. These were horrible crimes. If the police can’t solve them legally, they have to find a scapegoat. And I’m it. Why else would they prosecute me after it became clear beyond any doubt that I was framed for Erickson’s murder? If I’m not convicted, they’ll all look bad.”

Millie reached across the table and covered Clarence’s hands with hers. She squeezed them. Her suspicions were forgotten.

“They won’t convict you. I promise.”

Clarence took Millie’s hands in his and returned the pressure. “I know you mean well-and you’re one hell of a lawyer-but they’ve stacked the deck against us. They’ve even made you suspect me, and you love me. What do you think they’ll do to the jurors? Those people don’t know me the way you do. They’ll want someone to pay, and I’ll be the only one in the room they can blame. If we go to trial, I’m doomed.”

“Don’t give up hope!”

“I hadn’t until now.” Clarence looked so sad. “Admit it, Millie. You’ve had doubts, haven’t you? You really thought I was capable of

… of doing… things to those girls.”

Clarence swallowed. He looked sick. Guilt overwhelmed Millie.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, on the verge of tears.

“It’s what they do to you, and it’s the reason I’ll never get a fair trial.”

Millie didn’t know what to say. Clarence was quiet for a moment. He appeared to be deep in thought.

“There is a way,” he said finally.

“What way?”

He opened his mouth. Then closed it and shook his head. “No, I couldn’t ask you to do it.”

“Do what, Clarence? I’d do anything for you.”

“I can’t put you at risk. If it works, we’ll be together. But if it doesn’t…”

“Tell me.”

Clarence leaned across the table and dropped his voice to a whisper.

“I’ve told you before that I have money stashed away, lots of money, enough for us to live on for the rest of our lives.”

She nodded. It was one of the many confidences he’d bestowed on her.

“Millie, there are countries that don’t have extradition treaties with the United States. If we got to one of those countries, we could get married and live together in peace.”

“But how would we…?” Millie started. Then she got it. “Oh, I couldn’t…”

“It’s the only way, and I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. I’m certain we can pull it off.”

“But we’d be fugitives. We’d never be able to come home.”

“We’d be together, Millie. That’s all that matters to me. Ask yourself what kind of a life you have now. Mine is horrible. It’s day after mind-numbing day in a tiny cell, never seeing the sun, grateful for any change in my routine, even a court appearance. I had nothing until I met you. You’ve given me hope. Without you I would have gone insane. I’d do anything-take any risk-to be with you.”

Millie let go of Clarence’s hands. She sat back. “I’ve got to think.”

“Of course,” he said. “I know this is a lot to spring on you. But listening to the doubt in your voice… It tore me up, Millie. To think you might have lost faith in me… It made me realize how hopeless my case is if we’re depending on a fair result at my trial.”

Millie stood up and rang for the guard.

“Are you okay?” Clarence asked.

“I’m confused, Clarence, and I’m scared.”

“I’m sorry. Forget what I said. We’ll take our chances in court.”

She turned her back so she wouldn’t have to face him.

“I’ll think about what you said,” she told him just as the guard appeared.

“Okay. And, Millie, no matter what you decide, I love you.”

M illie wandered back to her office building in a daze. When she got upstairs, she closed the door to her office and tried to distract herself by working on another case, but she couldn’t concentrate. If she did what Clarence asked her, life as she knew it would be over-but she and Clarence would be together.

“What do I have now?” she asked herself. Until she met Clarence, her life had been dull gray. When she was with Clarence, everything was highlighted in bright colors. True, she was starting to make money and a name for herself, but that could end. One highly publicized loss, and she could be back where she started, a nobody. And even with her professional success, she was still who she was, colorless, boring, and drab. She only felt like a woman when she was with Clarence. He made her feel alive. Could she give up everything for him? If she did what he asked, she would be a fugitive; she would be trapped in the country to which they fled, never able to leave for fear of arrest.

But she would be with Clarence; they would be bound to each other.

Millie tried to imagine what it would be like to wake up every morning in bed with Clarence, sated by a night of lovemaking, warmed by the heat of his body. That life would be so much better than what she had now.

Millie told her secretary that she had a headache, and she left for her apartment. When she was inside, she kept the lights off and sat on her sofa. She looked around. Her apartment was as much a prison as Clarence’s cell. What would she be giving up if she left it and went on the run with Clarence? She would live in fear, but fear was an emotion, love was an emotion. Before she met Clarence, her life had been a wasteland, bare of all emotions except depression. This was her chance, maybe the only chance she would ever have, to experience life. But did she have the courage to take it?

A week before the NFL exhibition season started, Steve drove the members of the cell to FedEx Field, where the Washington Redskins play. Ali Bashar thought the stadium looked like a massive, elongated pottery bowl whose size was accentuated by the empty asphalt parking lots surrounding it. On a game day, bumper-to-bumper traffic would move at a snail’s pace down the street leading to those lots, while exuberant fans surged toward the entrances. But there had been no game that day, and FedEx Field was eerily quiet.

Ali had been told to report to Jose Gutierrez, who ran a concession stand for the company that leased it from the Redskins. Gutierrez told Ali what he would have to do and when he would have to show up. Then he’d brought him to the security office, where his picture was taken, an ID card was issued, and his fingerprints were scanned into a computer.

Weeks later, two hours before kickoff, on the morning of the second exhibition game, Steve dropped off Ali and the others in the employee parking lot across the street from the stadium. A bus drove the employees to Gate D, where a security guard compared Ali’s features to the face on his ID card before Ali placed his finger on a scanner that matched his prints to the ones on record. A wave of sound hit Ali when he got off the bus, and the din was worse when he was inside the stadium. Rock music blared at a level high enough to cause deafness but was almost drowned out by the noise caused by ninety thousand fans yelling to be heard over the cacophony of sound. All of this noise bounced off the stark gray concrete walls and floor of the concourse that circled the stands. Bordering the concourse were concessions selling hot dogs, bratwurst, hot chocolate, hot pretzels, and cold beer.

Ali went to the vendors’ room, which was next to the entry gate. He was wearing his own clothes, but he picked up a shirt provided by the concession. It resembled a referee’s shirt but had stripes in the Redskins’ burgundy and gold colors. The vendor’s room was a big concrete square filled with refrigerators stocked with cold beer and soft drinks and machines that were constantly cooking hot dogs. Mr. Cooper, the owner of the concession, had brought in the hawkers’ trays the day before, and Ali stocked his with Coke-filled cups. When he sold all of the cups, he would return for more after handing in the money he had collected.