“Objection. Speculation.”
“Overruled, counsellor,” the judge replied. “I think this man is perhaps the most qualified individual in all Christendom to answer that. The witness may answer.”
“No, we would not have crashed. It was going to be a hard landing, but I could have kept it under control, and even if the Beech fuselage had detached at that point, they had a long, flat surface ahead in which to safely decelerate. So we would all have been okay.”
“So, Captain, the presence of those headlights was a material factor?”
“Yes. If I hadn’t needed to avoid that snowplow, or whatever it was, I would have been able to safely align the aircraft with the runway as I had started doing, and then using the snowpack to decelerate us.”
“Did your selection of 36 Right mean that there was an alternative to the two choices Mr. Butterfield had considered?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Mr. Butterfield, according to his testimony, said that there were essentially two choices that he had heard from you. One was to slow the aircraft to normal or near normal landing speed so as to be able to land on Runway Seven and stop before the drop-off to the east, and the second choice was to maintain your speed in the hope that the Beech fuselage and the occupants would not fall off the wing.”
“Yes.”
“So, in both your sat phone conversations with Mr. Butterfield, your choice was either to slow or maintain speed, but landing on Runway 7 was the only choice, correct?”
“That’s right. My idea about landing on Runway Three Six Right provided a third potential solution, and I knew it was the key to getting all of us down without anyone dying. I had been fixated… bore-sighted, so to speak… about landing on Runway Seven. So… yes, I made the decision to reject the course of action Butterfield wanted me to reject, if that makes sense.
“So you did not, in fact, knowingly do anything to cause the death of anyone.”
Richardson was on his feet again, this time sounding almost wounded.
“Objection, Your Honor, if that isn’t leading the witness, I don’t know what is!”
“Sustained. Counselor, rephrase the question.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Okay, Captain Mitchell, in choosing to land on Runway Three Six Right, did you knowingly do anything to cause the death of another human being?”
“Absolutely not!”
“No further questions.”
It was disturbing, Judith thought that Grant Richardson asked to delay his cross examination of Marty Mitchell. Obviously the defendant was going to be available the remainder of the trial, but it was the unknown strategy behind his request that concerned her.
Gonzales had approved a fifteen minute recess as Marty left the stand, yet it seemed like a mere heartbeat before everyone was back. There was only one remaining witness on Judith’s list, but this one, she figured, would be a considerable surprise to the jury, and indeed, the eyes of every juror went to the door of the courtroom as an attractive woman walking hesitantly with a cane moved with obvious pain and deliberation toward the front.
“Your Honor,” Judith said, “the defense calls Captain Michelle Whittier to the stand.”
Hyatt Regency Lounge
The small gathering in the hotel bar just after 6 pm consisted of Marty Mitchell and his legal team, and was supposed to have included the captain of Mountaineer 2612. But after testifying, Michelle Whittier had been thoroughly exhausted and begged off, her ride home provided by a chauffeured town car with Judith’s heartfelt appreciation.
“She’s in the middle of physical therapy, and as you saw, she’s struggling.”
“I thought she was wonderful,” Marty said.
Judith nodded in agreement. “She may not have contributed anything to the legal analysis, but she connected with the jurors big time. You agree, Joel?”
“Completely,” he responded. “All sixteen humans on that Beech were saved by this man’s refusal to just follow orders, and there was one of them in the flesh in that courtroom, a brave woman who would be dead and buried except for Captain Mitchell’s perseverance. In essence, what this jury needs to feel is that a vote to convict Marty here is a statement to that young woman that she should have been abandoned and killed. That’s powerful. Richardson took a hit with her, and you noticed his cross examination was respectful and essentially useless. To ask the jurors to reward Marty for saving her life and that of all the others by throwing him in prison is unspeakably horrific. By the way, was she the worst injured?”
“Yes,” Judith replied. “There was a neck injury to a male passenger caused by the collision, but the amazing thing was, when the 757 began to go sideways at that blazing speed, the Beech fuselage skidded off pretty much cleanly and rocketed right down the runway and it didn’t tumble. The Boeing actually went tumbling ahead of it. The Beech fuselage collided with part of the disintegrating right wing of the 757, or that would have been the only injury. Michelle would have walked away.”
“But she’ll make a complete recovery?” Joel asked.
“She was in a coma for two months. There was a massive concussion and a closed skull injury, and when she awoke, she couldn’t walk or talk coherently, so she’s made incredible progress and I’m told will eventually fly again.”
Judith could sense Joel was holding back a less optimistic analysis of the day for a private conversation later. She could see it in his eyes, despite the broad smile. But providing some much needed relief for Marty right now was more important, and she repeated her earlier compliments about his self-control, and the cool authority he had projected throughout the time on the stand.”
“So how are you feeling?” she asked Marty.
“I’m good. But how are we doing?”
Judith forced herself not to hesitate or glance at Joel. “I think we’re on target. Richardson will get a shot at you tomorrow or the next day, and he’ll have his whole team working on how to get a rise out of you, but just repeat today’s outstanding cool and we’re fine.”
When they had called it an evening and dispersed, Judith shoved the card key in her hotel room door and gratefully closed it behind her. Her smartphone had been buzzing with increasing urgency, but she’d suppressed the urge to pull it out until now. She kicked off the pumps that had begun to cause her real pain by the end of the afternoon, and read the screen. Three missed calls and an urgent text from her assistant.
Judith, I’ve been trying to reach you! I know you’ve got to be exhausted but there’s a reporter for the Denver Post about to break a very important story on Regal 12 and he’s been battering our door down to get to you.
A weary sigh accompanied her callback to her assistant’s cell phone.
He answered on the first ring with the name of the reporter.
“Okay,” she said, pushing her hair back and thinking about a hot bath and delighted there was a jetted tub even though she had yet to use it. “Please call Mr. Bogosian and inform him that I will not give any interviews on or off the record until… what?”
It was uncharacteristic for her assistant to interrupt her, but his voice was urgent.
“No, Judith. He doesn’t want an interview. He wants to give you information he says is vital to Captain Mitchel’s case.”
“Did he say what that information was? Could be a ploy.”
“Only that he’s been in the courtroom every day and although he’s not taking sides, whatever it is will be extremely important to a just decision.”
She snorted. “Who the hell talks about just decisions anymore?”
“His words, Judith. Not mine.”
She copied down Bogosian’s cell number and punched it in, noting the fact that he, too, answered on the first ring.