The reporter started to respond but Judith interrupted.
“Folks, when the captain is released from the hospital’s care, we’ll hold a presser and let him describe the problems he encountered last night.”
The same reporter raised her hand again.
“Ms. Winston, you’re his defense attorney and it would be expected that you would denounce the prosecution of your client. But, do you truly believe Captain Mitchell is going to be found innocent of the specific charges, considering that he was warned by his airline not to attempt to do exactly what he ended up doing?”
Perfect set up, Judith thought to herself, taking a small step forward toward the cameras.
“The short answer is yes, he will be found innocent because the charges are ridiculous and this is a gross misuse of the criminal statutes of Colorado. But there’s a far more important question that everyone out there who is aware of the national outrage over District Attorney Grant Richardson’s attempt to put a decent and even heroic pilot and Air Force veteran in prison needs to ask. In his public comments, he has been uncharacteristically unrestrained. Why is the district attorney so furious?”
There were more questions, but she waved like a veteran politician and sidestepped them all, disappearing quickly into the hospital’s main entry.
Room 314
With a sudden involuntary convulsion, Marty Mitchell jerked back to consciousness, twisting his body as he sat bolt upright in the hospital bed, eyes wide, a feral look on his face as he tried to make sense of the images his eyes were transmitting. This was the second time in seven months he’d found himself in a hospital bed, decorated with plastic tubes and IV bags.
The unexpected movement had equally startled the only other person in the room, and once she got her heart rate under control, Judith Winston was on her feet, moving to the bedside, her hand on the side rail as he squinted at her in marginal recognition.
“Judith?”
“Yes.”
“So… so I’m alive?”
“Not by much. You have enough charcoal in you to fuel a grill for a week.”
“Charcoal?”
“They say you took a form of Seconal. That’s one of the treatments.”
“How… how did I get here?”
“Courtesy of our State National Guard and a great helicopter crew who plucked you off Long’s Peak, despite the fact you were making obscene gestures at them.”
He shook his head, taking a raged breath, and forced his eyes shut.
“I’ve got a hell of a headache… and I don’t recall any of that. Obscene?”
“Yep. You apparently put on quite a show as they were approaching.”
“God. I wasn’t supposed to be here. Alive, I mean.”
“I know. I broke into your house when you stood me up. Found your goodbye letters. You don’t have to kill yourself to avoid an appointment, y’know. You could just call.”
“You broke into my house?”
“Sure did. It’s another form of attorney-client privilege.”
“Okay. Right. Go away, Judith.”
“Let’s get at least one thing straight,” she said, smiling ruefully. “I get really ticked off at criminal law clients who leave me prematurely, okay?”
“But, I thought I was your only criminal law client.”
“That’s right. You are. And I’ve rearranged my entire professional life to defend you, and, I have to say, I’ve become almost as angry as you over this stupid prosecution, so I’m not going to let you deprive me of the experience. Don’t try this again or I’ll do the job for you.”
“Defending me, you mean?”
“No, killing you as painfully as possible.”
He fell silent, eyes downward, rubbing his head as he lay back.
“I’m sorry, Judith. I was… I’m still… being tortured.” He paused, looking up. “Does anybody know about the whole thing on the peak… other than the rescuers?”
“Oh, just the majority of the population of Colorado, plus a few tens of millions who watch national television, all thanks to a very clever and persistent Denver Post reporter. Same guy I’ve told you is trying to write a book on the crash.”
Marty cringed.
“They don’t have your suicide notes,” she continued, “…and so far, no videos have surfaced of you flipping the bird at the bird, but the sudden notoriety is enough to make jury selection problematic for the DA, so… well done for that!”
“What’s the point?” Marty turned away. “You said I was guilty.”
She released the bed rail and paced around to the other side. “There’s an immediate legal argument about the propriety of even bringing these charges that will make solid grounds for appeal if it came to that. But it’s much more important to show a jury that what this idiot DA calls premeditation in no way fits the criminal definition. You were exercising captain’s emergency authority. I need you on the stand to drive that point home. But you can’t flip off the judge or the DA.”
He was shaking his head again, gingerly. “My decision would have worked if…”
“I know, I know,” she said, hand extended to stop him. “and no one can disprove what you thought you saw, and what you calculated. It doesn’t matter one whit what the company ordered you to do. You were the legal authority. They weren’t in that cockpit with you. You were doing your best and that story’s got to be told. And you are not on trial for the midair collision, regardless of whether the NTSB ultimately tries to pin it on you.”
Marty nodded as he looked quizzically at her. “I… was thinking the very same thing last night up there on Long’s. I remember being distraught and furious that no one, including you, understood. At least I thought you didn’t… maybe you do.”
“You’re going to stay with me through the trial, right?” Judith asked abruptly. “No more early sneaking out via suicide?”
There was a long moment of silence as Marty turned to stare out of the window, then turned back to her, nodding, his tone resigned.
“Yes. I’ll stay.”
“Okay. I am the only one licensed to terminate your existence before this is over.”
“I got it. I got it.”
“Anyone I should call to come see you? I know there’s no immediate family…”
He laughed, a singular, explosive sound.
“Nope. No one cares. Except you.” He looked at her in mild horror, as if he’d accidentally said something sexist. “I don’t mean you care, care, just… that you have an interest.”
“Well, actually I do,” Judith said, almost if she were trying to bite off the words before they found air.
“Have an interest, you mean.”
“No, dammit, care care, as you put it. I… also want the torture to stop for you, but with you still on the planet. Okay?”
Marty looked shocked. “I’m… not sure what to say?”
“Then don’t say anything. That’s not some weird declaration of love, all right? I just happen to care. End of sentence.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And thank you for not giving up on me… for saving me. When was that? Last night?”
“Just about fourteen hours ago. Life and death move faster these days.”
She started to turn toward the door, then turned back. “I’ll look in on you tomorrow. I expect they’ll be ready to kick you out of here by then.”
“I hope it’s not sooner,” he said. “I feel like crap.”
“But you look alive, and act alive, which is what counts.”