John Nance - 16 Souls

Gonzales sighed and rolled his eyes. “Counselors, this amounts to squabbling and I don’t appreciate squabbles in my court. But, Ms. Winston is correct. Mr. Richardson, have you ever used the suffix “esq” after your name to designate that you’re a lawyer?”

“Ah… yes, Your Honor, but what does…”

“So have I, and that is not a statutorily imposed requirement. You will address Captain Mitchell as Captain Mitchell, because this action is inextricably intertwined with the essence of this professional position. Proceed.”

“Captain Mitchell, is it true that with or without the fuselage on your right wing, the primary element which made any landing more risky was the excessive airspeed of two hundred thirty knots?”

“Yes.”

“And you chose Runway Three Six Right to lessen the detrimental effect of that airspeed?”

“Yes.”

“Could you guarantee that even on Runway Three Six Right that excessive airspeed would not magnify, or make far more lethal, anything else that might go wrong?”

“No.”

“So, whether there was a car in front of you on Three Six Right or not, the excessive speed put everyone at greater risk?”

“Technically, yes.”

“Wasn’t the excessive speed the essence of what Mr. Butterfield and your airline were trying to warn you about?”

“Yes, for Runway Seven.”

“But, you just stated, did you not, that it was the excessive speed that would be a problem for any runway?”

“It would raise the risk.”

“For instance, it could cause tires to explode.”

“Well, the tires are good to two hundred twenty-five knots and this was a cold surface, so, no, the tires were not a problem.”

“But if anything went wrong, excessive speed raises the risks.”

“Yes.”

“And you said the risk you were worried about was not the risk of damaging the aircraft, but the risk of hurting someone, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Including the risk of killing someone?”

“Yes.”

“And although you speculated and were using your best guesswork, you in fact had no way of knowing at what speed or angle of attack you might lose the fuselage of Mountaineer Twenty-Six Twelve, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“So, therefore, you could not guarantee that slowing to a normal approach speed would or would not result in the loss of anyone in the Beech fuselage, correct?”

“No, but I had to use my best judgment that it would.”

“But you didn’t know for an aerodynamic and structural certainty, did you?”

“No.”

“And approaching Runway Seven and then deciding to land on runway Three Six Right were volitional decisions?”

“Excuse me?”

“You made the decision to land on Runway Seven, and you made the decision to change and land on Three Six Right, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Stated another way, you knowingly made the decision to land on both runways.”

“Yes.”

“You knowingly made the decision to land on Runway Three Six Right even though the excessive airspeed of two hundred thirty knots could result in deaths?”

“I made the decision to minimize the possibility of hurting or killing anyone.”

“Yes, or no, Captain Mitchell?”

“I… what?”

“Let me re-state the question. Knowing full well that the key problem was the excessive airspeed of two hundred thirty knots and that such airspeed could result in the death of at least one passenger, you nevertheless knowingly decided to use that airspeed on landing on Runway Seven and then on Runway Three Six Right. Yes or no?”

“You’re trying to twist this around…”

Richardson turned the judge, obviously having waited for this moment.

“Your Honor, the witness is being unresponsive. Would you please direct him to answer the question?”

Judge Gonzales turned his head toward Marty and nodded. “Captain Mitchell, you will answer the question with either a yes or a no.”

Marty met the judge’s gaze, seeing a weariness there as he tried to make a decision on how far to push. He knew precisely what Richardson was trying to do, using the word “knowingly” right out of the statute. But how would the jury view a refusal to play the game? The complexity of the legal question surrounding that statute was beyond his understanding, so did it really matter?

Nevertheless, allowing himself to be cornered was simply not in his nature.

“My answer is ‘no’,” Marty said.

Richardson looked confused. “Captain, how can you answer no when you already told the court that you were aware that excessive speed was the primary concern regardless of where you landed and that excessive speed raised the possibility of killing someone?”

“The answer to your question is no,” he tried again. “Would you like me to explain?”

“I ask the questions here, Captain, in a cross examination, and I did not ask you for an explanation.”

Once again Judith sprang to her feet. “Objection, Your Honor. He just got through asking the witness for a subjective response as to his reasoning for answering ‘no.’ Now he’s being argumentative, and he wants to stifle that explanation!”

“Sustained,” Gonzalez replied. “Mr. Richardson, either withdraw the question or permit the witness to answer fully.”

Richardson nodded, his face betraying annoyance as he paced a few steps to one side and then addressed Marty once more.

“I withdraw the question.”

Grant Richardson paused, papers in hand, looking for the best method of salvaging what had been building to be a final self-incriminating ‘yes’ from the defendant. But after the ‘no,’ to spar with him further would merely defuse the effect and probably bore the jury.

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Ms. Winston?” the judge began, “have you any further questions?”

She rose, glancing first at Joel then at Marty as she walked toward him.

“Just one re-direct, Your Honor.”

“Proceed.”

“Captain Mitchell, did you at any time, inclusive of your decision to land on any runway, knowingly take any action that would be reasonably expected to result in the death of anyone?”

“Absolutely not!” Marty answered, “I was doing everything I could to save all lives, not hurt anyone.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She turned to the bench. “No further questions.”

Marty stepped down and returned to the defense table feeling painfully self-conscious and embarrassed, as if he’d been intellectually shown to be an idiot by a superior speaking a foreign language. He knew he’d been tripped up by Richardson, but the ‘how’ of it was eluding him.

Judith motioned him to stay quiet as she conferred with Joel for a few seconds, then got to her feet.

“Your Honor, the defense rests.”

Present Day — September 14

Hyatt-Regency Hotel, Denver

The insistent banging on the hotel room door had fit uneasily into a complex dream involving byzantine collections of criminal defendants and a jury that had reacted to everything she said with derisive laughter. Judith’s brain finally sorted out which reality to pay attention to, and she sat bolt upright in the plush bed, the banging instilling a flash of fear.

She slipped on one of the hotel robes and moved to the door, checking the peep hole before turning the doorknob, incredulous to find a haggard Marty Mitchell standing on the other side looking like a refugee.

“What on earth?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can’t sleep?”

“It’s beyond that.”

She sighed. “Come in. Sit.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurred to her that letting a distraught male into her bedroom in the middle of the night when she was clad only in a robe was a risky decision, but she dismissed it with a silent laugh.