But where had that cut on the tire come from? Was it pre-existing, or had the 757 hit something other than the runway that night?
And then there was that one additional detail from his own memory that kept nudging Scott: Fresh tire tracks in the deepening snow that couldn’t have been made by a behemoth fire truck. He remembered them with crystal clarity. They had been small tracks, like those a car or pickup would make, going in one direction as the fire truck he’d been riding in turned in another. Admittedly, Scott thought, his sense of both direction and location that night were markedly poor. The tracks he saw could be easy to explain, and yet, considering the fact that the captain was adamant that lights had appeared on the runway ahead, the question was inevitable: was there any substantive proof that a vehicle had, in fact, been on the runway? What vehicle had made the tracks he saw, and why?
The NTSB rep had asked if Scott would like to take a closer look at the wreckage, and offered a field trip to the warehouse near Denver International where they were storing it pending the completion of the investigation.
“It’s all been tagged and photographed extensively so, I don’t want you touching or moving anything, but you can look at anything you like.”
“Where are the main gear tires?” Scott asked, following his host’s guidance to a jumble of twisted landing gear parts and tires. He moved carefully around each one, trying to recall which tire of the four on the right main landing gear had a lateral cut, but found it quickly.
Scott looked up at the investigator.
“Let me just sit here for a second and look at this and think, if you don’t mind,” Scott said.
“Sure,” was the response, and the NTSB rep paced slowly away, trying not to appear bored as Scott took out a pocket flashlight and began examining the cut.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Present Day — Afternoon of September 5, the day before the start of trial
The so-called ‘war room’ of Walters, Wilson, and Crandall’s gleaming main offices in downtown Denver had never been used for a criminal trial. Judith had commandeered both the war room and the firm’s treasury to pay for whatever help was needed to defend the Mitchell prosecution — and also to fund comfortable hotel rooms a block from the offices. With Marty living in Boulder and Judith only a few miles closer to Denver, avoiding an exhausting daily commute and the chance of being late for court was more than worth the expense. From the Hilton, the Lindsey-Flanigan Courthouse was a mere five blocks away.
One of the senior partners, Roger Crandall, had started pushing back weeks before against the growing expenses. But Judith’s none-too-subtle reminder that he, himself had been largely responsible for bullying her into taking the assignment rapidly ended the conversation.
“Whatever you need, Judith,” became the watchword.
Unlike the glass-walls of the main conference room, the war room was larger and fully enclosed, with walls of fine oak paneling dominated by a highly polished walnut conference table covered in an avant-garde tablecloth of legal papers, exhibits, and pleadings. Judith was the commanding general of this army of evidence, assisted by two paralegals, an outside criminal defense attorney, and two in-house legal associates — young eighty hour-a-week partner wannabes intrigued that their stiff, white collar, corporate law firm was hip deep in a criminal case.
Sitting at one corner of the huge table was the subject of it alclass="underline" Captain Marty Mitchell. His feelings ranged from puzzlement, to engagement, to animated participation as they meticulously reviewed plans to deal with and counter anything the district attorney and his team could possibly throw at them.
“I can see why you call this a war room,” Marty said quietly sometime around the 9th hour.
At 6 pm, her review agenda complete, Judith called a halt and scheduled everyone to be back in the room at 7 am sharp.
“Court begins at nine, and we must be prepared and ready to go.”
As the others filed out, Marty got to his feet and began pacing.
“Wow. The complexity of this is mind-boggling.”
Judith looked up and smiled as she scooped papers into a briefcase.
“Well, looking at the switches and dials and screens and things in a Boeing cockpit is equally mind boggling. In our case, in law, being exhaustively prepared is virtually everything. Same as planning logistics in a war.”
“You use the doctrine of Sun Tzu? You know, the ‘Art of War.’”
“Not quite that colorfully, Marty. I’ve read the book, of course. Do the opposite of what your opponent expects. Some of those principles help in a legal battle in court, but the best method in litigation is to understand everything the opposition can throw at you so well, that you’re never surprised, and be able to argue the law and the facts better than anyone else there… which means research, research, and more research. And…” she added, raising an index finger as she snapped the cover of the leather briefcase closed, “…on that note, the one thing I did not talk about today is that legal brief I commissioned on the role of captain’s authority in law and society.”
“Can we file it with the judge?”
“Probably not, but… we’ll get it in somehow.”
Judith winced internally, the words feeling like a premeditated lie. Just as Jenks had said, it was probably useless in Gonzalez’ court. But telling Marty that would only serve to depress him, and a depressed client could be dangerous to his own case. That thought, in turn, started gnawing at her. How much in the dark was she going to keep Marty about the almost certain outcome of this trial? She could see he was relatively relaxed and reasonably confident and that was exactly where he needed to be. But the crash at the other end of the verdict would be magnified, and she was not, in her heart, capable of dishonesty beyond a point.
“Judith, one other question.”
“Sure.”
“You’ve said all along this case was legally wrong. Can’t the judge see that? Can’t we ask for dismissal on those grounds?”
She sighed. “We already have, Marty. Two weeks back we moved for dismissal on the law and as I fully expected, he denied it. But it’s what we do to lay the foundation for an appeal.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” she echoed, with a forced smile and as much sincerity as she could muster. “We both need to relax and get a good night’s sleep. I’d like to buy you a really expensive dinner and go over a few things.”
Meaning, she thought to herself, I need to keep him focused and ready for court, and I’m worried about letting him out of my sight. Maybe I should just sleep with him!
“Dinner sounds good,” he replied. “You seem preoccupied, Judith?”
If you only knew, she thought, carefully hiding any indication that she’d just scandalized herself with that private joke. Using sex to control one’s client was not exactly ethical.
“My favorite steakhouse is three blocks away. Meet you in the hotel lobby in twenty minutes, and we can walk there.”
He caught her arm gently as they were stepping out of the war room.
“Judith, all this…” he gestured to the room and the day, “…what are my chances?”
“Of getting an acquittal?” she asked, instantly on guard.
“Of actually being sent to prison. Honest assessment.”
She sighed and pursed her lips, meeting his gaze. “You want me to quantify a percentage of probability?”
He half chuckled. “I guess that’s what I mean. I just don’t speak lawyer.”