Gospel (62 page)

Ramirez was determined all their hard work would not go to waste and knew, despite his best efforts, only one man could stop this morning's preposterous events from shattering their years of meticulous planning in one unexpected blow. And so he took a breath before leaning forward and placing his hands on Trial Attorney Adams' shoulders. He moved in close, now mere inches from Adams' right ear before opening his mouth to say, ‘
Adams'
. His voice was low, steady, cool. ‘This is not acceptable. The girl is a servant, for Christ's sake, who's to say she isn't sampling the mini-bar herself? And as for the local ME – medicine is by nature a science of
variance. Svenson gave one man's opinion and most likely a biased one, given he is tight with defence counsel.

‘Eleanor Caspian's statement proves the Professor had access to the OxyContin,' Ramirez continued, ‘and then there is the plastic syringe cover. The Professor injected Bradshaw with something that night and if not the succinylcholine or the OxyContin, then what?' He paused before going on, squeezing Adams' shoulders a little tighter before speaking again. ‘You have him. Do not let this Boston hack destroy what we know is a foolproof case. Montgomery did it. There is no other option. No other option for the court and no other option for
you
.'

Ramirez could feel the man's large deltoids tense under his grip, but he did not release him as yet, for he had one more thing to say. ‘If I were you, Mr Adams, I would get to your feet,
now
, for you have a hearing to win. You do not want to go down in history as the man who let Saint Tom's killer walk. For people who suffer such devastating humiliation have been known to cut their own lives short rather than suffer the mortification of defeat.'

And with that he released Adams, finishing with a discreet pat on the man's back. And Adams turned ever so slightly to make two simple points to the man who had just threatened his life. ‘Assistant Director Ramirez,' he began, twisting his body a full 180 degrees, bending low to whisper right back into the agent's ear. ‘First up, I will win this case, but not because of you. I will win this because I am good at what I do – the best in fact. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, I need you to know, that if you ever touch me again, if you ever grab me physically and make pathetic thinly veiled threats on my career or my person, I will kill you. I swear to God.'

‘Your Honour,' Adams began. ‘I appreciate the defence's desperation and I acknowledge Dr Svenson's experience. I also know I could pull in a long line of medical experts to dispute Dr Svenson's opinions on drug metabolism – which I will do at trial – and that's a promise.

‘I believe Miss Barlow's motives are genuine – which makes the defence's actions all the more reprehensible. They are using this young woman, Your Honour, in a despairing effort to divert the court's attention from the real killer.'

Adams started pacing now, casting his deep, impressive voice around
the courtroom with gusto. ‘How convenient for this tape to turn up this morning, a tape we have had no opportunity to authenticate. How convenient and how ineffectual. But even if the video is an original, it still does not exonerate their client.'

He stopped short then, as if determined to make his final, all enlightening point. ‘Assistant Director Ramirez is entitled to check on the Vice President's room – in fact it was his
job
as the leading FBI Agent on site that evening. Maxine Bryant is also entitled to seek an audience with her son-in-law, and Agent Ramirez would have been remiss if he had not repeated what had obviously been a strong request for some peace and quiet from the Vice President. The man was tired, understandably so, in fact Mr Cavanaugh's own witness told us his wife recommended he take a much needed rest.

‘Enough with this speculation,' he said, his right arm high as if he was about to make an all important declaration. ‘Let's look at the facts. Montgomery was in that room, he was currently in the middle of an ongoing feud with the deceased
and
he had proven access to the drug that killed the Vice President. That's means, motive, opportunity.
Means, motive, opportunity
,' he repeated. ‘It was not until Professor Stuart Montgomery entered the room that the Vice President came to harm – critical, fatal, irreversible harm. In other words, Your Honour, this all proves nothing. The man is guilty, no question, and this is all one big fat waste of time.'

‘So,' said Adams, pausing before he went on. ‘Might I suggest we get to the crux of this matter – to the bona fide, undisputed physical evidence supplied by Mrs Eleanor Caspian and that of the plastic syringe cover carrying the Professor's print and found under Vice President Bradshaw's death bed. Unfortunately Mrs Caspian is now residing in Brussels, and due to a recent breakdown following the death of her husband, will not be returning to the United States forthwith. But her statement is extremely comprehensive and tabled as . . .'

‘Your Honour,' interrupted David yet again. He knew he had been asked to stall for time, but Adams had opened the door and by hell he was going to walk right on in. He had listened to Adams' lecture, heard him do a fairly decent job of discrediting the defence's arguments and given him enough rope to well . . .

And so, Presidential instruction or not, his gut instinct told him it was
now or never. It was time to wrap that rope around said thick neck and, pull. ‘Mr Adams is right again,' he said. ‘The defence is also committed to getting to the “crux” of this hearing and is therefore happy to assist the prosecution on its road to discovery.'

And with that David turned towards the back of the courtroom where Nora Kelly was now standing straight-backed and ready to act. David gave Nora a nod and she opened the door, stepped out for a few seconds and re-entered with a distinguished elderly woman at her elbow. Eleanor Caspian made her way to the front of the courtroom, stride determined, head high and addressed the Judge before her.

‘My name is Eleanor Caspian,' she said. ‘And I would like to change my statement.'

The courtroom erupted around her, the press leaning forward to get a better view of the elegant older woman. David immediately ushered her to the witness stand so that she might be sworn in and make her new statement uninterrupted.

‘My name is Eleanor Katherine Caspian,' she repeated, now holding a small slip of paper she had retrieved from her coat pocket. ‘My husband is . . . was Oliver Caspian, ex-Governor of Connecticut. My husband recently died of prostate cancer but before he did, he sought the services of his good friend and mine, Professor Stuart Montgomery.'

Eleanor lifted the glass of water before her, sipping it slowly before going on. ‘On Saturday 16 April, my husband went to see Professor Montgomery at his Washington Memorial Hospital consulting rooms and during this visit asked the Professor to assist him in alleviating the terrible pain that plagued him in the weeks preceding his death. Professor Montgomery kindly wrote him a prescription for OxyContin, 160mg, and my husband filled the script that very same day at a pharmacy at Washington's Dupont Circle owned by a Mr Ivan Schowdoski. I know this because I have the prescription repeat here,' she said, fishing the repeat from her brown leather purse. ‘With me, in my hand today.'

David stole a quick glance at Ramirez, his expression stony, his brow now set in a contorted stricture of knots.

‘My husband did not take the drug,' Eleanor Caspian went on. ‘He remained stoic to the end, deferring taking the OxyContin for fear it may
inhibit his clarity in his final days. But the OxyContin intended for my husband was exactly that – intended for my husband and not for the late Vice President. Finally, I want to apologise, here, in open court today, to the man I wrongly believed used my husband as a means of perpetrating the murder of another great man named Thomas Wills Bradshaw.

‘I am sorry, Stuart,' she said, now turning to her right to face Montgomery. ‘I am sorry with all my heart and thank you for attempting to ease my dear late husband's pain in those horrible, wonderful final days. If it is in your heart and somehow, knowing you as I do, I believe it is, I ask you to forgive me.'

And then Montgomery did something he had been wanting to do,
needing
to do, for months. He got to his feet, tears in his eyes and spoke of what he knew to be true.

‘It's all right, Eleanor,' he said, the room around him now deathly still. ‘Oliver was a good man and I would have done more for him if I could. I do not forgive you, my dear lady, simply because there is nothing to forgive. For I did not kill Tom Bradshaw. On the contrary, I tried to save him – for he was already dead when I entered his suite.'

Montgomery paused then, expecting the room to respond in horror to the truth he had just voiced, but the stillness remained, as if they knew – all of them – that he had one more thing to say.

‘I am guilty however,' he began. ‘Guilty of walking out without raising the alarm and I will have to live with that – with my own lily-livered cowardice, for the rest of my life.'

Montgomery turned then to look at his wife who sat stock-still behind him, her face flushed with colour, her eyes filling with tears. He nodded at her then as if in relief that he had finally told her the truth. And she nodded back – a gesture of support, before he lifted his hand to wipe the tears that now flowed freely down his clean-shaven cheeks. Then he turned back towards Eleanor Caspian to finish what he needed to say.

‘Do not ask my forgiveness, my dear Eleanor,' he went on. ‘For it is I who deserve yours – yours and every other citizen of this fine country. I did my best, but in the end I failed. Tom Bradshaw was my friend and grief is God's cruellest emotion. I miss him, Eleanor, as no doubt you do Oliver. I miss him dearly, each and every day of my life.'

‘W
hy hasn't Ryan contacted us?' asked David.

It was late. He was sitting in a quiet corner booth at Bristow's – Sara to his right, Arthur at the far end and Joe and Leo King facing him from across the table.

David had finished the day on a high and therefore was somewhat at odds with the feeling of unease growing in the pit of his stomach. Montgomery's open show of compassion at the end of proceedings had unnerved him – or more accurately made him feel guilty for not being able to share what he knew. And so, despite his determination to feel positive, he could not kick the feeling that they were being played – and that this entire hearing was just one contrived scene within a bigger, political production.

‘He said he would make some form of communication before lunch,' he went on. ‘But there's been no message, no note,
nothing
.'

‘Is it just me or is this whole thing starting to stink?' asked Joe, as if reading David's mind. ‘The man is
alive
, for Christ's sakes. So why the hell do we have to go through the pretence of . . .'

‘Because the President told David he had to play this thing out,' said Sara. ‘Catch Ramirez at his own game. They want us to win this fair and square, minus any hint of political agenda.'

‘Sara's right,' said Arthur. ‘The minute Bradshaw reveals himself Ramirez and John go into damage control. We have to allow them to think they still have a chance of pulling this off – for it is their over-confidence that will crucify them. We have to remember this isn't just about proving Montgomery's innocence, it's about exposing John's and Matthew's guilt.'

‘Is it?' asked David. ‘I mean, that's another thing that doesn't sit right – the fact that Bradshaw, who looked his own murderer in the eye, refused to tell me John's identity. He said certain things had to be “
organised
” before such information could be revealed. They seem happy for us to nail Ramirez, but John is . . .'

‘Untouchable,' finished Joe. ‘David's right, it may be the cop in me but something tells me we're being jerked about. I just get the feeling this isn't going to end the way it should – with John and Matthew firmly behind bars.'

‘Be careful, lads,' said Arthur. ‘You're playing with fire here.'

‘I agree,' said Leo. ‘You're talking about questioning the rationale of the President and the Vice President of the United States. They must have their reasons for . . .'

‘For what?' asked Joe. ‘David's the one with his neck on the line.'

‘I know, Joe,' said Sara. ‘But let's face it, we really have no option but to wait for their call. Maybe Ryan will contact David tonight.'

‘He'll have to,' said Arthur. ‘Our witnesses are ready and according to David, the President made it very clear he did not want him to proceed with issuing their statements until he received further instructions.'

‘But that's the problem, isn't it,' said David. ‘I mean, these witnesses are putting their lives at risk – they know what happened to Nancy, and they must be wondering if they are going to be next. And then there is Croker and Susan and Frank – three dedicated cops who are currently guarding our petrified witnesses with no idea as to what the hell is really going down. The President was even against my telling you guys until Ryan convinced him you could be of help.'

David grabbed his Heineken from the table and took a long, slow drink before going on.

‘As for Montgomery – the poor guy is spending every waking moment persecuting himself for not raising the alarm. The man saved the Vice President's life, for Christ's sake. If he hadn't walked into that room when he did, Tom Bradshaw would be . . . well, exactly where the whole world
thinks he is right now. No,' he went on. ‘The more I think about it, the more I know this isn't about the law, it's about politics. And I'm afraid that unless we take back control, justice may never be served.'