Even though Marek had said essentially the same thing, the courtroom erupted in a buzz of noise. The camera flies whizzed around my face. Haviland actually laughed and clapped his hands together, apparently thinking his case was as good as won. I kept my face solemn, neither smiling nor acknowledging the reaction.
Judge Roswell pounded her gavel—I wondered how often she actually got a chance to do that—and the room quieted.
Terry pretended to be astonished by my claim. “Are you suggesting Brian Vanderhall rose from the dead? Or is it time travel, perhaps? Or does he have an identical twin who was hidden away by his parents at birth?”
“None of those,” I said. “This admittedly unusual event was a direct result of Brian’s research into quantum fields.”
Terry stepped me through it, point by point. We could have taken a different tack, tried to frame my story in completely normal terms, leaving Brian out of it, or else not told my story at all. But I had told the police the truth when they interrogated me, which meant the whole story was on record. If I left out the unbelievable parts, Haviland could just trot them out and use them to make me look ridiculous anyway.
It was better to come out with it and treat it seriously, in hopes that the jury would do the same. Jean had already laid the scientific groundwork for Brian temporarily being in two places at once. I reiterated Marek’s testimony about how the note Brian had left led me to the CATHIE bunker. I described the pair of resonators I found there, and what they meant in terms of the macroscopic realization of quantum effects. I said nothing about the spinning objects in the room, or the man with no eyes, or of Marek being pulled into pieces. Instead, I skipped ahead to when we found Brian in the back of his car.
Here, Terry stopped the narrative. “Are you certain it was Brian Vanderhall?”
“Completely.”
“How could you tell?”
“I’ve known Brian for more than a decade. It was his face, his hair, his voice, his mannerisms and style of speech. He talked to me about the resonators, which practically no one knows about, much less understands. There’s no question it was him.”
“What happened to him? Where is he now?”
“The quantum waveform resolved.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the two Brians—the one who was dead on the bunker floor and the one who was sleeping in the back of his car—combined to become one again. There was just as much chance that the resolved version would be the living Brian, but unfortunately for him, it turned out to be the dead one.”
“So ultimately, it’s still true that Brian was killed by the gun in the underground bunker?”
“Yes. It’s just that a shadow version of himself—another possible Brian, if you will—persisted for a short time afterward.”
“Could the shadow version of Brian have killed the first version in a bizarre form of suicide?”
“As Dr. Massey testified, it’s scientifically possible. My professional opinion agrees with her analysis.”
“Do you know who killed Mr. Vanderhall?” Terry asked.
“No.”
“Were you there when he died?” Terry asked.
“No, I was still at home in bed.”
“How well did you know Mr. Vanderhall?”
“Quite well, for more than ten years, as I said. We attended college together and worked together. Before last December, I hadn’t spoken to him in two years, however. Not since I left the NJSC.”
“Were you good friends before that?”
“Yes. Best friends, I would say. He was the best man at my wedding.”
“And now you’ve been accused of killing him. Had you ever been convicted of a crime before this?”
“Nothing more than a speeding ticket.”
“No felonies? No driving under the influence?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell us, how has this accusation of murder impacted your life?”
Terry persisted on that topic at some length, trying to paint a picture of me as an upstanding citizen and gain the jurors’ sympathy for my wrongful imprisonment. It would have been easier if Elena and the kids were here, and he could show a tearful family. It all felt fake to me, though it was in fact true, and I understood it was necessary to gain a rapport with the jury. Finally, he covered the physical evidence and had me explain how I ended up in possession of the Glock and with Brian’s blood on my shoes. As his last question, Terry asked me again, point-blank, whether I had killed Brian Vanderhall or in any way caused his death.
“No, I did not,” I said.
“Thank you, no more questions.” Terry sat down.
It was the best I could do. I had told my story, hopefully seeding some doubt in the minds of the jurors, and now I just had to survive cross-examination. Haviland stood to take the lectern. He was practically cackling with glee as he took the stand, rubbing his hands together and barely keeping back a smile. He obviously thought he was going to roast me alive.
“So let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re claiming to have seen the victim, Brian Vanderhall, alive and walking around after he died.”
“Yes.”
“And you expect the court to believe that this is”—he made a show of holding a document out in front of him, as if reading from the official record—“‘scientifically possible.’”
“Yes.”
Terry had warned me not to rise to Haviland’s jibes. He would try to bait me into an angry or defensive response, but I was supposed to remain calm. The trick was to answer the questions, not the tone.
“Mr. Kelley, is your wife in the courtroom right now?”
“No.”
“Why not? Doesn’t she support you during this difficult time?”
“My wife is dead,” I said.
“Oh yes? Did you kill her, too?”
Terry shot to his feet like a rocket. “Objection. Harassing the witness.”
“Overruled,” Judge Roswell said. “Mr. Kelley, you may answer the question.”
“I did not kill my wife,” I said. “I have never killed anyone.”
“You said your wife was dead. How did she die?”
“I don’t know,” I said. This wasn’t quite true, but the truth would completely derail my testimony, and no one would believe it.
“You don’t know?” Haviland said. “Didn’t you tell the police that ‘a strange man came into the house and killed them’? Are those your words, Mr. Kelley?”
“Yes, they were my words to the police interrogator.”
“Do you retract them now?”
“No. There was a man there, and I believe he killed them, but I don’t know for certain.”
“Was the man Brian Vanderhall?”
“No. This was after Brian’s probability wave had already resolved.”
Haviland gave me his incredulous look. “So let me get this straight. Your story has two disappearing magicians in it, one who came back from the dead, and one who killed the rest of your family?”
“Objection,” Terry said.
“Sustained,” Roswell said. “Mr. Haviland, please rephrase.”
“Did you recognize the man who killed your family?” Haviland asked.
I was getting irritated. “No. I said I don’t know who he was. I wasn’t there when it happened. When I arrived at the house, there was a man there, and I believe it was him who killed them.”
“Did the police apprehend this man?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you tell police upon your arrest that the bodies of your wife and two of your children were in the house?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did the police find those bodies when they went inside?”
“No, they did not.”
“Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say that your family is missing, Mr. Kelley? After all, it’s been months, and neither your family nor their bodies have been found, isn’t that right?”