He shrugged, wary of the trap he suspected she was laying for him. “Perhaps.”
“So, then, is it your testimony that Sergeant Kubik did not use a sound-suppressor or distorter when he fired the rounds that killed the eighty-seven civilians?”
“Right.”
Had he guessed? If so, he was lucky. Abbott was too sharp, or too well briefed, to be shaken from his prefabricated story. She decided it was time to pounce.
“Mr. Abbott, how much business does your company do with the Department of Defense?”
“I don’t really know.”
“Surely you have a fairly good idea.”
“A couple billion, certainly.”
“A couple of billion dollars,” she marveled. “So a good relationship with the Pentagon, and the army in particular, must be important to you and your company.”
He shrugged. “The customer’s always right, I like to say.”
“I’ll bet. And are you currently involved in any contract negotiations with the Pentagon?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“That’s a classified matter.”
“We’re in a classified courtroom, Mr. Abbott. Everyone here is cleared, including the jurors and the spectators. You can speak freely.”
“We’re conducting negotiations with the army for the purchase of a new generation of attack helicopters.”
“That must mean quite a lot of potential income for your firm.”
“Yes, it does.”
“And you’re one of the point men in those negotiations, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So that must make you inclined to be cooperative with the army.”
“Is that a question?”
“The customer’s always right, as you like to say.”
He shrugged.
“Mr. Abbott, do you remember the interview we had at the Madison Hotel four days ago?”
“Yes.”
“We met for breakfast, did we not?”
“We did.”
“Did I meet you along with my cocounsel, Mr. Grimes?”
“Yes, you did.”
“How long was the interview?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Does twenty-six minutes sound about right?”
“It may be. I don’t know.”
“Mr. Abbott, at our interview with you at the Madison Hotel, did you tell us you were coached by Colonel Marks, and told what to say in your CID interview?”
Now his eyes were dead again, the flat eyes of a snake. “No.”
“You don’t remember saying that?”
He leaned forward. “I never said it.”
“You never said you were coached before your CID interview?”
“No, I didn’t, and no, I wasn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you positive?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Waldron shouted. “Asked and answered.”
“Overruled,” Farrell said, and took a sip of Pepsi as though he were watching a particularly exciting game on TV.
“I remind you you’re under oath, Mr. Abbott. You never told me that your commanding officer told you what to say to the CID?”
“I never said that, and he never did.”
“Are you aware, Mr. Abbott, that I can move to the witness stand and testify about what you told me?”
“Then it would be your word against mine,” he said blandly. “And you’re not exactly an unbiased witness, are you?”
Claire noticed several jurors watching this exchange with great interest. The foreman, or president of the court, the bespectacled black man, was busily taking notes. “If I told you that’s exactly what I remember, would I be lying?” she said.
“Yes, you would.”
“If I told you that’s exactly what my cocounsel remembers, would he be lying?”
“He most certainly would.”
“If I told you we were tape-recording that interview, would we be lying?” she asked casually and turned toward the defense table. The courtroom stirred. She saw Tom’s eyes gleaming. He was doing all he could not to smile.
Grimes handed her a small stack of papers. She saw Abbott stiffen and clench both hands at his sides. He glared at her fiercely.
“Your Honor,” she said, “may I approach the witness?”
“You may.”
She strolled over to the prosecution table and dropped a stapled sheaf of paper, then placed one on the judge’s bench. Then she handed one to Abbott.
“Mr. Abbott,” she said, “that’s a verbatim transcript of your interview with us, certified by my colleague, Mr. Grimes, and my investigator, Mr. Devereaux, transcribed from a tape recording made by Mr. Devereaux.” She didn’t yet bother to explain that Devereaux had provided her with a transmitter in a dummy cellular phone and had taped the conversation in his car parked in front of the Madison. “Please turn to page thirty-four, Mr. Abbott, and begin reading where it’s marked, seven lines down, beginning with, ‘He says, “Didn’t you see Kubik suddenly raise his weapon and begin to shoot?” I say, “No, sir, I didn’t.”’ And ending with ‘they don’t like snitches and turncoats.’”
Abbott’s face was dark with fury. Under his breath, he said, “Cunt.”
“Excuse me? What did you say?”
Abbott stared ferociously. A vein at his right temple throbbed.
“Did you just refer to me by a four-letter vulgarism, Mr. Abbott?”
Suddenly Abbott threw the transcript to the floor of the witness box. “Goddamn you, that was off the record!”
“It was off the record back then,” Claire said quietly. “But you led yourself into the perjury you just committed, not us, and we can’t allow that to happen.”
“Your Honor!” Waldron shot to his feet.
“That’s it!” Judge Farrell exploded, hammering his gavel. “The members are excused.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
“Did you really agree that conversation was off the record?” rasped Farrell.
“Yes, Your Honor, I did,” Claire replied. “I tricked him. I had my investigator make a tape recording to ensure that we got accurate testimony at the trial.”
“Does your investigator secretly tape-record all your witness interviews?”
“I’d rather not say. But it’s legal, sir.”
“Why’d you tape him?”
“I mean no disrespect to you or to this court, but I had my doubts about his veracity. This witness should not be permitted to come in here and tell barefaced lies to you, me, and the jury.”
Waldron, who’d been pacing during this exchange, stopped suddenly and said, “Your Honor, this is a clear-cut violation of reciprocal discovery. We’ve got a discovery request for all statements by government witnesses in the hands of the defense. How come we never got this transcript?” He was smooth.
“It was nondisclosable,” Claire said. “This is obviously not a statement of the witness. The witness hasn’t read and signed the statement and sworn to the truth of it. We didn’t put the guy under oath.”
“But, Your Honor-”
“Well, I gotta go along with defense counsel on this one,” Farrell said, draining his can of Pepsi and setting it down on the podium with a hollow thock. “It’s no violation of discovery.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Claire said.
“But I’m going to grant prosecution a delay of one hour. I don’t like this surprise stuff. I want the witness to have the chance to read through this transcript. I’m not interested in soliciting perjury in this case just to help you out, Ms. Chapman. Or you, Mr. Waldron. Really. Mr. Waldron, you put your poor excuse for a witness in a room, and I’m going to let the members take a break.”
“But, Your Honor,” Claire said, “this is right in the middle of my cross-examination. Can you instruct the government not to talk to the witness?”
“No, I will not.”
Claire sputtered, “But, sir-”
“Now we’re finished here,” Farrell said.
“Have you read the transcript?” Claire asked when Henry Abbott was finally back on the stand. His hair was freshly combed, and he even appeared to have changed his shirt.