David Walton - Superposition

“Yes.”

“But the police never received a call from you or Mr. Kelley, not then or later. Are you telling us you didn’t have phone coverage that whole day?”

“We didn’t call later because we had seen Brian alive,” Marek said.

“Ah yes, I see. Just before he magically disappeared, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“What about after you stole Mr. Vanderhall’s car and drove to Pennsylvania? Did you have phone coverage then?”

“We didn’t steal the car,” Marek said.

“No? Did you own the car?”

“No,” Marek said. I could tell he was getting angry at being disbelieved, but he was keeping it in check.

“Did you have permission from the owner to drive it?”

“The owner was in the car with us.”

“Now, I’m confused,” Haviland said. “I thought you testified that he disappeared there in the woods. Was he in the car with you all the way to Pennsylvania?”

“No.”

“Why did you drive to Pennsylvania?”

“That’s where Jacob lives,” Marek said.

“But wait a minute. You found Mr. Vanderhall’s body dead in the bunker, and you testified that you didn’t call police because you didn’t have phone coverage. But then, instead of driving back to the NJSC or to a local police station to report what you’d found, you turned and drove in the victim’s car back to Pennsylvania. Why did you do that?”

“Jacob was afraid his family might be in danger.”

“In danger!” Haviland gave a short, disbelieving laugh and raised his hands to the ceiling. “Now why would Mr. Kelley’s family be in danger, if not from him?”

“Brian told him they might be,” Marek said. It was a weak explanation, and Haviland knew it. He kept after him like a shark smelling blood. “And as you drove to Pennsylvania, you still had no phone coverage?”

“We did, but as I said, we had seen Brian alive. Besides, Jacob was trying to reach Elena by then, to warn her.”

“Isn’t it true that you had no intention of calling the police?”

“No, we tried several times,” Marek said.

“Weren’t you actually running away from the police?”

“No.”

“Did you go with Mr. Kelley on the night of December second, when he killed Mr. Vanderhall?”

“No, I did not. And Jacob didn’t kill anybody.”

“Why did you return to the bunker the next day? Were you hoping to clean up the crime scene? Or did you forget some incriminating piece of evidence? The gun, perhaps?”

“The first time I ever saw the bunker was when we found Brian’s body there.”

“Mr. Kelley was found with gunshot residue on his hands. How did that happen, if you simply found the body? Did he pick up the gun and fire it a few times just for fun?”

Marek hesitated. There was no good way to answer that question. “We thought we saw something,” he said.

“So he did fire the gun?”

“Yes. It was dark, and Mr. Vanderhall was dead, and we were scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“We thought the murderer might still be there,” Marek said, a bit lamely.

“I see,” Haviland said. His expression radiated disbelief.

It wasn’t good. Marek looked like he was making up answers on the fly, and to some extent, he was. It made me think that maybe we should have come clean with everything and told the jury the whole story, varcolac and all. But I couldn’t see how that would have gone any better.

“So, Mr. Kelley fired the weapon in the bunker, but he didn’t hit anyone, and then you ran upstairs, but not away from anyone. How many flights of stairs are there up to ground level?”

“Twenty, I think.”

“And you ran up all of them?”

“Well, we were mostly walking by the time we got to the top.”

“How did you get to the bunker in the first place?” Haviland asked.

“We took a golf cart around the collider tunnel.”

“Why didn’t you return the same way you came?”

“I told you before, we were scared, and it was claustrophobic down there. We needed some fresh air.”

“You’re telling this court that you ran up twenty flights of stairs to get some fresh air?”

“Yes, we did.” Marek snapped the words, his patience crumbling.

“Isn’t it true that you used the stairs because you knew Mr. Vanderhall’s car was waiting for you at the top?” Haviland asked.

“No, that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it more reasonable to think that you were fleeing the scene of the crime?”

“No, we weren’t doing that.”

“I see. No, instead, you want us to believe that you saw Mr. Vanderhall up there, alive and well, and he invited you to steal his car and make your escape?”

“That’s what happened! Except we didn’t steal—”

“Have you ever sought treatment for alcohol abuse?” Haviland asked.

Marek hesitated, taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. “I’ve been clean for four years,” he said defensively.

“Answer the question please.”

“Yes. When my wife left me, I—”

“And have you ever undergone psychiatric treatment?”

“Yes, at around the same time. It was a bad time for me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Svoboda. No further questions.”

Terry took the lectern again and tried to clean things up, emphasizing the points already made, but it didn’t help much. He kept glancing at his watch, and I wondered if he was just trying to draw things out long enough that he could start fresh with my testimony in the morning.

Finally, he said, “Your Honor, I anticipate the next witness to take a significant amount of time. I would like to suggest that court be adjourned and begin with his testimony in the morning.”

Roswell agreed, and we all stood. The jurors stretched, trading relieved glances at each other, already anticipating a nice dinner at home or a night watching the stream. To them, this case was an interesting sidelight, an exciting break in their otherwise humdrum lives, or possibly an inconvenience that was costing them sales commissions or badly needed tips. It wasn’t their lives hanging in the balance. Was this truly the best system of justice the world had to offer? I searched their faces for any indication of what they were thinking, but I found none. I doubted they were convinced yet.

I shook my head. It didn’t matter. We would have a surprise for them tomorrow.

Colin let Alessandra and I stay in his house on the condition that I not spend any more than ten hours a day there. In other words, I was welcome to sleep there but not to mope and not to drink. I agreed to his terms. I still didn’t have a plan, but at least I was up and moving around. So I did the only thing I could think of. I called Jean Massey and asked if she could meet us for lunch.

We took Colin’s car. He was hesitant to let us borrow it at first, but Alessandra reminded him that he was the one insisting that I get out and do things, and how could I do that without a car? I drove carefully, keeping close to the speed limits so as not to draw any attention or get pulled over.

As we crossed the bridge into New Jersey, Alessandra said, “I don’t hate you, you know.”

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know.”

“I just didn’t think I could stand another night in that basement.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m pretty messed up right now. I haven’t been much of a help to you.” We were silent for a while, then I added, “And I don’t love Claire more than I love you.”

Alessandra didn’t answer.

“She’s like your Mom,” I said. “She’s pretty, she follows the rules, she studies hard. People like her easily. I know what to expect with her, and I’m proud of her. You, on the other hand…” She glanced at me, concerned, but I went on. “You’re more like me. You’re not satisfied doing what other people tell you. You question the rules. You lose your temper sometimes. Claire can get manipulated or run over by other people, but you stand up for yourself. It means we clash more. But it doesn’t mean I love you any less.”