Untitled (16 page)

  "My God," said Serrus.

  "What do they want?" asked Roberta.

  "To meddle and steal glory like always," said Walter.

  "This is a shock," said Ryder. "I wonder if Toby knows about this. I should call her—"

  "She knows," said Marshall. "Nate told me."

  "Then why wouldn't she tell me?" said Ryder. He looked like a hurt child.

  "Look, there's nothing we can do about it," said Marshall. "Let's get to work and let the CIA chase their shadows. So, Serrus, whatcha got for me?"

  "Well, as you know, the rifling of a gun is distinctive and individual to a weapon, and as an identification system is better than fingerprints," said Serrus.

  "Our case is filled with circumstantial evidence," said Marshall. "We might be able to put Mbutu at the murder scene, and lord knows he has motive. But the bullets and the gun will give us the hard evidence we need to lock down this case."

  "Unfortunately it will not be that simple," said Serrus.

  "Why isn't it simple?" asked Ryder. "I thought the gun matched the caliber of slug and—"

  "But as you know, we've been having trouble with the bullets that killed Douglas. They fragmented, and as such, we cannot perfectly match them to Mr. Mbutu's weapon by the rifling marks on them."

  "Right, but how accurate can we get?" asked Marshall.

  "Even when reassembled, the fragmented bullets that killed Douglas can be matched only with a fifty-five percent certainty," said Serrus.

  "Shit, is that all?" said Ryder.

  Marshall smiled a little. Ryder didn't seem like the type to curse. He sounded like a ticked-off kid.

  "What about the other bullet, the one in the stage?" asked Marshall.

  "I have good news on that. It's not as bad as we first thought. That one matches Mr. Mbutu's gun. It's damaged, but the match is closer. I'd say eighty percent. It will give a defense counsel, excuse the pun, ammunition, but it'll hold up."

  "That's something," said Marshall. "We got our foot in the door then. If we can prove that Mbutu shot any of the slugs found, then the others can be linked to him, fragmented or not."

  "The only good slug is imbedded in the second victim," said Serrus. "It's lodged next to his spinal column. If we go in, he'll in all likelihood end up paralyzed."

  Marshall looked at Roberta, who was about to burst from the need to speak. "You want to say something, Roberta?"

  "Yes," she said a little too loudly. "Notwithstanding the hair we found, the ballistics are the heart of our case, as you said. Juries normally hold on to scientific evidence like the gospel. The bullet in the stage should hang him. The defense will try to keep it out, but they'll fail, then they'll try to discredit it. That's where you come in, Mr. Kranet. If you hold up, so does our case."

  "Yes, I really need that pressure," Serrus said, laughing.

  "But why did the Douglas bullets fragment, and not the one in Judge Miller, and the stage?" asked Walter.

  "That's a good and troubling question," said Marshall. "Doctor?"

  "Well, bullet fragmentation can arise from many sources, speed, angle, impact. There are a hundred reasons."

  "A hundred anything sounds like reasonable doubt to me," Bob Ryder said. "We have to do better than that."

  "So, as to Douglas," said Marshall, "the defense can't prove that the bullets didn't come from Mbutu's rifle, but unfortunately, the government has the burden of proof."

  "Which means there's a good chance that we are going to get fucked on national TV," said Ryder.

  "Calm down," said Marshall. Ryder was unusually upset. He seemed pissed off that Toby called in the Faceless Men without telling him. "Will the variation on the bullet that landed in the stage cause us a problem in court?" asked Marshall.

  "From my experience, no," said Serrus. "The defense will attack it, but the results should be good evidence."

  "Then we got him," said Ryder.

  "It would seem," said Marshall. "But the real question is why would Mbutu come here and surrender the murder weapon like this?"

  "He's arrogant," said Ryder. "All of the other evidence points to him. We can find people who put him at the commencement, and he fits the general description of the men in the tape. I say let's arrest him for the murder right now."

  "It seems like a solid case," added Walter.

  "But we don't have any of his blood and hair samples to match the one we found in the crawl space," said Marshall. "If Mbutu's hair doesn't match, we will have started the case for nothing."

  "And Mbutu won't give us the samples unless we indict him," said Ryder.

  "Most cases are built on circumstantial evidence," said Roberta. "We've already got more than most cases I've been on."

  "And if it gets out that we had this much and didn't indict," said Walter, "everyone will think we're hiding something."

  "Yes," said Marshall. "And that heat would be coming not only from the people and the media, but from Washington as well."

  Marshall thought a moment. He knew that as a prosecutor the power to decide who was to be prosecuted was an awesome one. Once the scrutiny of the government was upon you, there was a taint that went with it that even the constitutional presumption of innocence could not countermand. But his gut told him that Mbutu was dirty.

  "Okay," said Marshall. "I'm going to Nate and Toby with a recommendation to indict Mbutu for the murder."

  Marshall quickly left his house for the office. Toby was flying into town for a news conference, and he didn't want to be late. He also didn't want to talk with Chemin. A confrontation would have him screwed up the whole morning.

  On the drive to work, the cold January morning was fierce. The wind whipped snowbanks across the pavement as he drove on the Lodge freeway into downtown.

  The lobby of the Federal Building was a madhouse as Toby, Nate Williams, Marshall, and Bob Ryder stood at a podium.

  Marshall was nervous. Media work was not his thing. Ryder smiled. This was what his boss wanted, and he was happy to give it to her.

  "At nine-thirty last night, we arrested Daishaya Ali Mbutu, also known as Deion Wilson, for the murder of Farrel Douglas, and the attempted murder of Wendel Miller. Many of you saw Mr. Mbutu incriminate himself right outside this very building. He turned over an automatic rifle which we will prove is the murder weapon."

  The questions came flying at Toby.

  "Do you know the identity of the man who was shot the day of the assassination?" asked a CNN reporter.

  "I will answer that," said Toby.

  Marshall looked shocked. As far as he knew, the man remained a mystery. He glanced at Nate, who waited calmly for Toby to speak.

  "The man's name is Anthony Collier. He was born in Florida and is a known subversive."

  "What was his connection to the killing?"

  "I can't answer that question," said Toby. "That's all we can say for now." She pointed to another journalist and went on.

  Toby answered the rest of the questions with finesse and political savvy, not giving up too much, and always couching her answers as though she was shielding some greater truth. In the end, the press didn't get much more than she had already told them.

  Marshall followed Toby and Nate Williams back upstairs. The usual calmness of the courthouse was gone. The reception area was filled with pure energy. The press, staffers, security, and civilians lined the room, talking. If he had any doubt that this case was different, it was gone. Only a truly singular event could turn the normally staid federal building into a den of chatter. They moved to an elevator bank. Toby pushed the elevator button and waited for the car.

  "Fucking newspapers," said Toby. "We should repeal the goddamned First Amendment."

  Nate Williams laughed. "Then who would print the tabloids, Toby?"

  "Okay, Mr. Jackson," said Toby. "The answer to the question you're not asking me is: we just found out about the mystery man a few days ago. The CIA got the lowdown on him. Someone, probably your Mr. Mbutu and company, worked hard to erase all traces of Mr. Collier. But he had a juvenile record in Florida that was never expunged. That's how we got him."

  "Can we link him to Mbutu?"

  "You tell me," said Toby. "That's your job. We'll get this guy's entire life. You find the connection."

  "So, why wasn't I told?" asked Marshall. He didn't try to hide the upset nature of his voice.

  "Everyone is all over this case," said Toby. "There have been leaks, and I wanted to be the one to give out the facts."

  "Okay," said Marshall. "How about telling me why the CIA is all over my investigation."

  There was silence at this statement. Nate looked at Marshall with mild anger. He didn't believe it was ever proper to question authority.

  "It's quite normal procedure," said Toby. "So, what's your problem?"

  "I'm concerned that the defense could use it to their advantage," said Marshall. "They might say the CIA is here because there's more to the case than meets the eye."

  "A good point," said Toby. "I'll tell them to keep a low profile. Right now, we need to think about the defense team. I have no idea who's gonna catch this one."

  "Mbutu hates lawyers," said Marshall, "but I know all the national sharks will want this case."

  "It'll be Gerald Price out of Chicago," said Ryder. "They served time together in '69."

  "Price is a Republican now," said Marshall. "Mbutu thinks he's a sellout."

  "I put my money on Cochran," said Williams. "He's the best trial lawyer right now."

  "Jesus, I hope not," said Toby. "If he takes the case, I might have to do it myself."

  Marshall winced a little at this statement. Would Toby take the case from him out of fear? He didn't think so, but her quick remark caught him off guard. Suddenly, there was a commotion behind them. Marshall turned to see Danny pushing his way past an FBI man, flashing his DPD badge.

  "Let that man through," said Marshall. The FBI men moved, and Danny walked over to Marshall. Danny looked troubled and frustrated.

  "What's up?" asked Marshall.

  Nate Williams tapped Marshall on the shoulder and pointed up, as if to say meet us upstairs. Then he, Toby, and the others got on the elevator and went up.

  "I have a message from your brother, Moses," said Danny.

  Marshall frowned at the name. It seemed no matter how far he got, he could never get away from Moses. "What did he want?—look, come on upstairs with me."

  Danny and Marshall got on an elevator and went upstairs. As soon as Marshall was off the elevator, he was pulled into a meeting with Toby.

  "Go into my office and wait for me," Marshall said to Danny.

  "Damn, how do they keep this place so clean?" asked Danny, looking around. "Makes me nervous." He went into Marshall's office and waited.

  Marshall walked into Nate's office. Toby was intense and brilliant in her assessment of the situation. Marshall could see why the president had appointed her. She laid out all of the pitfalls of the case and how they should proceed. They would raid Mbutu's Brotherhood headquarters, and they would bring out everything in his FBI files. They would counter the expected defense to paint Mbutu as a black hero by painting him as a fallen militant, desperate for attention and driven to extremes.

  They took a break after an hour. Toby was calling the president to give him an update. Marshall left the meeting and headed back to his office. He felt drained by Toby's passion and assessment of their case. He expected to find an empty room, but Danny was still there, waiting.

  "Damn, you lawyers talk a lot," said Danny.

  "I don't have a lot of time, man," said Marshall. "Why did my brother call you?"

  "He's in jail."

  "I know he doesn't expect me to help him," Marshall said.

  "I think he does, but he's dealing. He says that he has evidence in your case."

  "I have a suspect, a murder weapon, and the goddamned attorney general. What the fuck do I need his ass for?"

  Marshall was suddenly angry at the third-party request. All his life he'd suffered Moses. Each time he threw him in the ocean of his forgettable past, he rose like some science fiction monster, hell-bent on destruction.

  "Well, I told him all that," said Danny. "And I don't know if he's lying, but he says Mbutu didn't do it, and he can prove it."

  "How? How can some criminal in a state prison help me in a federal case?" Marshall made an effort to calm himself, but it still wasn't working. Even the rarefied domain of the federal government was not enough to keep his brother out of his life.