John Nance - 16 Souls

“What is it?” Marty asked.

“I’m not sure. Would you go with Joel and the others back to that conference room and let me see.”

“Sure. But what do you think?”

She touched his arm, “Marty, I think we hit all the points, and I don’t think Richardson scored any home runs. But this is what we all hate about the jury system — having to wait and worry.”

He knew that wasn’t a real answer, but he was being kind enough and calm enough not to press.

She moved toward the courtroom door feeling a combination of exhaustion and dread, none of which she could articulate.

When the small conference room door closed behind her, Carl Moscone shook her hand formally and asked her to sit.

“What is this about, sir?” she asked.

He remained standing, a well-groomed man in his late sixties, gray at the temples but with a full head of dark hair and a sculpted, almost regal profile.

“Had you wondered, Ms. Winston, why Grant Richardson is so angry with your client?”

She sat forward. “Absolutely, but despite spading up heaven and earth with our PI’s, we couldn’t discover any connection, other than his attendance at two of the funerals.”

“He would have attended the funeral for my wife, Victoria, but he feared someone would find out.”

“I’m not following you.”

“My wife, Ms. Winston, was much younger than I. There was the usual clucking about a trophy wife, but when we married, we were both very much in love, and we remained so, although in certain areas… libido, for one… we became increasingly mismatched. She quietly set out to do something about it, and I essentially pretended not to notice.”

“I… find this fascinating, but what does it have to do with…”

“Victoria had a longtime lover, Ms. Winston, and his name is Grant Richardson, our District Attorney.”

“Oh my God!” Judith responded, her had involuntarily going to her mouth. “No wonder…”

“Victoria enjoyed him as a clandestine lover, but I happen to know that she wasn’t prepared for him to fall head over heels in love with her, which happened years back.”

“So, when she died in the crash…”

“He was devastated, angry, and determined to blame someone, and your client was in the crosshairs.”

“Richardson has a wife and kids!”

“Yes, as he has reminded us all in his exploitive political ads. That didn’t bother Victoria. As for my attitude? Frankly, I don’t respect hypocrites, and the more Richardson puffed his chest out as a pseudo-lawyer politician and a defender of family values while banging my wife behind my back, the more I disliked him.”

Judith sat and watched Moscone for a minute as he looked at the wall, his hands clasped behind him.

“How did her death affect you, Mr. Moscone?”

“Carl, please. I internalize my grief. I was deeply affected, and feel a great loneliness and loss which hasn’t lessened. But I understand what happened, and I have great empathy for the impossible dilemma Mitchell faced. I do not blame Victoria’s death on him. I did expect Grant Richardson would be emotionally devastated, because for all his buffoonery and dishonesty, I know he truly loved her. I also know the man wears his feelings on his sleeve, so to speak. But I did not expect vengeance. I feel very badly for your captain because I am very opposed to using criminal law to address honest human errors of any sort. It is a bastardization of the law.”

“Of course, I couldn’t agree more,” Judith echoed.

“That’s why I’ve been here every day watching, Judith. May I call you Judith?”

“Certainly.”

“I would have preferred to stay silent about Grant and Victoria’s relationship, but I can’t allow this miscarriage of justice. I was simply hoping this case would be dismissed, or that by the time it went to the jury, it would be an inevitable acquittal and I could stay silent. But it didn’t and I can’t. You are very impressive, by the way.”

“Thank you, but I’m really a corporate lawyer.”

“Oh, I know. All the more impressive.”

“But why now, at the eleventh hour?”

“Because you’re going to lose.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Technically, Richardson is right on the law, and it’s the law that’s wrong and far too broad and poorly written. But it’s time the judge knows that this entire prosecution is a personal vendetta. I hope we’re not too late. He may be willing to quash the indictment and dismiss this prosecution without forcing it into an appeal. Perhaps I should have come forward earlier, and I apologize for not doing so.”

“Richardson will just file it again.”

“Someone else will have to do it without his participation once the world knows why he did this to begin with, and there’s the little fact about double jeopardy attaching when the jury is sworn in.”

“You sound very familiar with the law?”

“I went to law school and passed the New York Bar a very long time ago, then quickly decided I’d rather hire lawyers on Wall Street than be one. But I do keep up. Now. How do we proceed?”

Present Day — September 15 — Day Eight of the trial

Courtroom 5D, Lindsey-Flanigan Courthouse, Denver

The urgent request from the defense to bring Judge Gonzales back to the bench in open court had been met with an irritated order to assemble both legal teams in his chambers. The rancid memory of the last time she had entered Gonzales’ small office flashed in high definition across her mind as Richardson came through the door angry to be summoned back to the courthouse without a verdict. Judith looked at the district attorney, surprised to feel a tinge of pity for the man, if not for his love and his loss and the impending destruction of his career, then for the seismic shock she was about to deliver.

Carl Moscone was waiting in the same conference room, out of sight, but available if needed.

“All right, Counsellors, what’s so urgent?” the judge said, settling his considerable bulk behind his desk.

“Your Honor,” Judith began, “…we are prepared to move in open court for the dismissal of the indictment against Captain Mitchell on the grounds of prosecutorial misconduct and prejudice.”

Both Judge Gonzales and Grant Richardson looked at Judith as if she’d lost it.

“What are you talking about, Ms. Winston?” the judge asked.

“I would prefer to present this in open court on the record, Your Honor.”

“That may be your wish, but I want to know what the hell you’re talking about?”

Judith glanced at Richardson who still had no clue.

“Just after you sent the jury out to deliberate, Your Honor, I was approached by a prominent member of the community with information based on firsthand knowledge that explains Mr. Richardson’s vehement and puzzling prosecution of Captain Mitchell. This information constitutes grounds for immediate dismissal of the indictment.”

“And what, Ms. Winston, would that information be?”

“That the hidden and undisclosed impetus for this prosecution was the death aboard Regal Airlines Flight 12 of Ms. Victoria Moscone, and the fact that Mrs. Moscone and Grant Richardson had been involved in a long term and ongoing romantic and sexual relationship for many years.”

‘WHAT?” Richardson snapped, his eyes suddenly wide. “Who the hell made that allegation?”

She turned to bore her eyes into his, speaking slowly.

“Mr. Carl Moscone, who, by the way, is here in the courthouse waiting for an opportunity to testify under oath if necessary.”

Gonzales sat back in his chair as if trying to widen the scope of his vision as he looked at Richardson, who was trying not to stammer.