Marine One (26 page)

"I did. I asked him."

Hackett turned toward the gallery and then back toward Mrs. Adams. "What did he say?"

"He said he had a meeting. He was meeting people there, that it was very important, and that they had a very short window of time."

"Who was he meeting there, Mrs. Adams?"

Everyone waited for her answer.

"I don't know."

"Did you ask?"

"Of course. I wondered who was so important that he had to fly there that night, let alone who was so important or secret he couldn't tell me about it."

"Had you encountered other times when he had meetings and he wouldn't tell you who was attending?"

"Rarely."

"What kinds of meetings were they that he couldn't tell you about them?"

I stood. "Objection. This calls for speculation. How could she know the content of meetings he refused to tell her about?"

The judge nodded. "Sustained."

Hackett said, "Thank you, Your Honor. Let me rephrase. Had you discussed the types of meetings with the president before that he would not allow you to know about?"

"Yes."

"What types of meetings were they?"

"Usually dealing with secret material or very high-level things I never got to learn about."

"And you understand that the government has refused to tell us what the nature of the meeting was or who the attendees were. Is that your understanding as well?"

"Yes. I still don't know."

"But your husband had something important he needed to do on behalf of the government, right?"

"Absolutely. Otherwise he would have stayed home with me." Hackett said, "No further questions."

I stood up quickly and proceeded to the lectern. "Mrs. Adams, good afternoon."

"Good afternoon."

"Mrs. Adams, you have no idea why your husband was going to that meeting at Camp David on the night he was killed, correct?"

"That's true. I know it was because of his duties as president, but not beyond that."

"And as to why he had to be there within that short period of time, you don't really know that to be true other than that's what he told you, correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you have some other information that he had to be there that night and that driving would not get him there in time?"

"No, I know that he was a truthful person. And if he told me he had to be there, then he did. So I do know it to be true unless he was lying to me. But that was not his character, Mr. Nolan."

Ouch. "So you believe him, that there was some compelling reason that he needed to be there
that night
, and that driving for one and a half hours to get there instead of flying for thirty minutes would somehow have been detrimental to his objective. Right?"

"That's my understanding."

"Am I right, Mrs. Adams, that you would love to know why your husband was in such a hurry to get to Camp David that night?"

"Yes. I would like to know that."

I decided to take some chances. "And you've asked around the White House, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have."

"You've asked President Adams's chief of staff why the president went to Camp David that night, haven't you?"

"Yes."

I gained confidence. "And you've asked the vice president, who is now the president, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"And they wouldn't tell you, would they?"

"No."

I paused and looked at her hard. "Because they didn't know, did they?"

"That's true. They did said they didn't know."

"Did you accept their answer, that his chief of staff and vice president didn't know why he was going to Camp David?"

"I don't think it is any more likely that they would lie to me than that my husband would lie to me."

"So you accept their statement that they do not know why President Adams was going to Camp David the night he was killed, right?"

"That's right."

"Don't you find that odd, Mrs. Adams?"

"Yes, I do."

"What do you make of that?"

"I don't know what to make of it."

"Others went with the president, including his head of the Secret Service detail that protected him, right?"

"Yes, he was one of the ones who was killed."

"But someone has replaced him as the chief of the president's security detail for the then vice president, now president, Cunningham. That person's name is Larry Hodges. Did you ask him what his predecessor was doing with President Adams going to Camp David that night?"

"I did. He said he didn't know."

"So as you sit here today, Mrs. Adams, no one from the government has or would tell you why President Adams was going to Camp David the night he was killed, correct?"

"That's right."

"Isn't it true, Mrs. Adams, that never in the time that President Adams was president was he out of your sight for twenty-four hours when you did not know what he was doing?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't understand the question."

I nodded. "You knew where your husband was and what he was doing every day that he was president, right?"

"For the most part. Not all the details. Yes."

"Except one. The night he was killed."

"I knew where he was-"

"But not what he was doing."

"That's true."

I turned the page in my outline. "Now, Mrs. Adams, you knew Colonel Collins. Right?"

"I knew who he was. I've ridden in Marine One many times."

"No. I mean personally. You would talk to him when you had the opportunity, right?"

The First Lady frowned and glanced at Hackett. I always liked it when a witness glanced at his or her attorney, because it meant that I had departed from their expected script. I was asking questions they hadn't anticipated.

"Well, no, not really. You asked me some questions in my deposition about it, but, no, I didn't really talk to him."

"You conversed with him at several White House gatherings, or parties, did you not? Where he was invited and wore his Marine dress uniform?"

She frowned again. "I'm sorry, Mr. Nolan, but I don't know what you're talking about."

I reached over to our counsel table and picked up the brown envelope that was lying next to the notebook at my place. I opened it and pulled out three photographs. I handed one to Hackett and said, "May I approach the witness and give a copy of this photograph to the clerk?"

The judge said, "You may."

I handed a copy to the clerk, who handed it to the judge, and I handed the other copy of the photograph to the first lady. I returned to the lectern. "Mrs. Adams, do you recognize the setting in this photograph?"

"Only when you asked me about it at my deposition-"

Hackett said, "Objection, Your Honor. This photograph is irrelevant. We objected to it when he listed it on his exhibit list-"

"It's relevant to her familiarity with Colonel Collins, Your Honor."

"And
that's
irrelevant," Hackett added. "Mr. Nolan somehow accessed confidential government photographs from the White House security system. He's not entitled to have those photographs and is not entitled to have them here."

Before the judge could respond, I said, "Your Honor, I'm not offering this into evidence. She said she couldn't recall having conversations with Collins. I simply would like to have this marked as next in order and use it to refresh her recollection. I could use a plate of spaghetti to refresh her recollection if it would help."

The judge nodded. "He may use anything to refresh recollection, Mr. Hackett. He has not offered it into evidence, and we will discuss the means of obtaining these photographs and whether or not they should have been produced later. You did not file a motion to preclude these photos, so we will deal with them as they come. You may proceed, Mr. Nolan."

"Thank you, Your Honor. Mrs. Adams, do you recognize this reception?"

"Well the date is stamped in the upper-right-hand corner, so it was December seventeenth, a few months before my husband was killed."

"And if I could direct your attention to the middle of the photograph, I believe that is you standing there in a ball gown. Am I correct?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Would you please tell the jury what you're doing?"

Hackett debated whether to stand up, but didn't. She waited, then said, "I am standing there."

The jury chuckled.

"Is it your belief that the photograph shows you doing nothing but standing there?"

"That's right."

"Mrs. Adams, who is standing next to you, in the direction toward which your head is turned?"

"That is Colonel Collins."

"The pilot of Marine One on the night your husband was killed, right?"

"That's correct."

"From this photograph, Mrs. Adams, it looks like your mouth is perhaps six inches from his ear and your mouth is open as if you are speaking, would you agree?"

"It's a little difficult to say, but it could be."

"And where is Colonel Collins's hand, his left hand?"

She stared at the photograph and then looked up. "It appears to be behind me."

"It is behind you, but on you. Right?"

"I don't know."

"His hand is either in the small of your back or… lower. Right?"

Hackett jumped up. "Objection, Your Honor, this is pure speculation."

"Sustained."

"Does that photograph refresh your recollection on whether you've had conversations with Colonel Collins?"

"I don't really remember any. He may have been saying, 'Excuse me.' I don't know. I don't remember talking to him."

"Do you deny that this photograph is authentic?"

"I don't know. I don't know where this photograph came from. I can't tell you whether it's authentic or not."

"Well, on that date was the reception for the prime minister of Japan, do you remember that?"

"Yes. I remember that."

"What were you saying to Colonel Collins?"

"I don't remember saying anything to him."

"Your Honor, may I approach again?" I handed a second picture to the clerk, to Hackett, and to the first lady.

"Mrs. Adams, this is another photograph that I'd like you to look at. It is of a different reception, one for the delegates from NATO. Do you remember that reception?"

"Yes, I do."

"If you look in the left-hand corner, the bottom left, you're standing facing Colonel Collins perhaps eighteen inches apart. Do you see that?"

"Yes."

"Again, it appears that your mouth is open and you were speaking. Were you speaking to Colonel Collins?"

"I don't know. Perhaps… What difference does all this make?" She put the photograph down and looked at me. "What exactly is it you are trying to imply, Mr. Nolan?"

"I'm not trying to imply anything, ma'am. I'm simply asking whether you had a conversation or relationship with Colonel Collins."

"What if I did?"

"It would be up to the jury to decide the relevance-"

Hackett had had enough. "Your Honor, this is leading nowhere. Mr. Nolan is fishing and simply trying to assault the first lady through innuendos that have no bearing on anything. These are desperate trial tactics and we need to have it stopped."

"Do you have anything further in this area?" the judge asked me.

"I'll move on, Your Honor."

The judge looked at the clock. "Would this be a good time to break for the day, Mr. Nolan?"

"Yes, Your Honor, that would be fine."

"Very well. Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. We will recommence with the cross-examination of Mrs. Adams. I assume you have additional cross-examination, Mr. Nolan?"

"Briefly."

"Very well. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you are not to discuss this case amongst yourselves, your family, or read or learn anything else about this case outside of the courtroom. I will instruct you about that every single day, but please keep it in mind. The only facts you learn about this case are right here in this courtroom, and you don't discuss it with anybody until you get into the jury room when you begin your deliberations. Do you understand that?"

They all nodded.

"Court is in recess until tomorrow morning at nine."

We stood as the jury filed out of the courtroom and closed the door behind them. Everyone else began to discuss the case immediately, and some journalists hurried from the courtroom. The rest of us made our way out in an orderly fashion only to encounter the journalists standing outside the courtroom. I waved them off and proceeded to my car.

Kathryn met me halfway to the car. "Let's get together at your conference room. We need to talk."

RACHEL RODE WITH me on the short drive and we reconvened at my office. Journalists waited there too, but we kept them out of the building. The president of WorldCopter, the general counsel, Kathryn, and Brightman were all there.

Dolores had ordered food. Kathryn said before anybody had a chance to sit down, "Mike, what are you doing with the first lady? I thought you were going to ask her a couple of softball questions, not try and make it look like she was having an affair with Colonel Collins and conspiring to kill her husband. Help me understand what you're doing here."

I drank a Coke deeply. I said, "All I can tell you at this point is that it doesn't have anything to do really with the first lady, and it has everything to do with those photographs."

"What do you mean, it has everything to do with those photographs? What does? What is your point?"

"I'm working on a theory, the fourth theory that I can't really discuss yet. If I even mention it, to anybody, it could completely blow up in my face. So you're going to have to trust me."

"I need to know what it is I'm trusting you
with
before I know if I can trust you."

I pushed back. "I know those questions were odd, and I'm sure the press will chew me up for being mean to the first lady, implying she was having an affair with the pilot or something. I understand all that."

I looked at Justin. "Justin, have you heard from Curtis?" Curtis was the investigator I had hired after Tinny's murder. I told him his job was to find out the name of the Secret Service agent in charge of security at Camp David on the night of the accident. "I haven't heard from him on that Secret Service agent's name. Tell him to pull out all the stops. I've got to have that name." Justin nodded and hurried out of the boardroom.

I continued, "Look, I have sort of a crazy theory I'm developing, and unfortunately we don't have a lot of time. I've got people in the field, the experts are working, and I'm trying to put it together."

Kathryn was exasperated. "Put
what
together? Tell me what you're working on."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Seriously, if I even mention it out loud, it will be known. I don't know how exactly, but I just can't."

She wasn't satisfied, but said, "Then at least tell me what else you're going to ask the first lady. Let's discuss the rest tomorrow. Why don't we sit down."

Everyone else in the room sat down, with Rachel right next to me, Braden next to her, Lynn next to him, and everybody else on the other side of the table closer to the door.

As we sat, Brightman asserted himself. "Mike, I thought your opening was fine, but you really left it wide-open about what-"

I looked up with surprise and interrupted, "Is this going to be a critique of my first day of trial? Because I don't really have time for it."

"Well," he said slowly, "you're going to have to take time, because if we don't right this ship while it's under way, it just might roll over completely."

"Kathryn, is this what you want to do every night after trial? I've got witnesses to prepare for, I've got experts to track down. I've got subpoenas to get out. This isn't a drill."

Kathryn winced slightly. "I did ask him to give us a couple of comments if he thought he could help at all."

"Oh, Lord," I exclaimed.

He just kept right on. "So in your opening you mentioned four theories, but only identified three. What is this fourth theory and how are you going to prove it? Because if you can't, you will-"

"Have you not been reading my e-mails? We don't
have
a fourth theory, we have a theory that may become a fourth theory if things fall into place. But my investigator has been murdered, and my experts are working twenty-four hours a day but aren't there yet. We're developing something, but I can't go into it. And I sure can't tell the jury about-"

"Why?" Brightman demanded. "Why can't you go into it? These are your clients, Mike. They're the ones who have to sign off on what you do. This isn't just your show!"

He was right, but I still didn't know whom I could trust, or who was on a cell phone talking to someone from Hackett's camp. And I sure didn't want to alert anyone that I suspected someone of duplicity. "Because it isn't well developed enough to even outline it."

"So let us help you develop it. We're some fairly smart people here, Mike."

"I'm sorry. I just can't. Soon."

Brightman looked at Kathryn, who was perturbed.

She said, "You're asking a lot, Mike."

"I know. It may be worth-"

Brightman said, "Now, when you began your cross-examination of the first lady-"

"Are you seriously gonna sit there and go over everything that happened today?" I turned to Kathryn. "Look, if you want this guy to try the case, just say the word. I've just had enough of this."

That seemed to hit him. He said loudly, "I know a good trial when I see one. We're not there."

"And a good trial would be what? Admitting that the tip weights caused the accident and that we put the tip weights on, and that the guys that did it didn't have clearances, and we can't prove by documentation what the hell exactly happened in France. Is that a good trial? What would your theory be, Mr. Brightman, whose last airplane trial was ten years ago about a piece-of-shit Piper Cub that ran into a wind sock and you got your
ass kicked?"

"Mike…," Kathryn said unhappily.

Brightman's eyes narrowed and he tried to remain calm. "You don't need to get personal with this, Mike."

"Sorry," I said, not meaning it. "It's been a stressful day. But I've got to go to my office and get ready for tomorrow."

Kathryn looked concerned, as if she was afraid I was losing it. "Mike," she said calmly, "I asked him to make his comments. Would it be better if I asked him to e-mail them to you later on this evening?"

"Yeah. Sure."

She said, "Mark, why don't you go ahead and type up your notes into an e-mail and send them to Mike so he can consider them for tomorrow. What would be particularly helpful is if you think there are certain directions he should go with the other witnesses that we expect tomorrow. You've read all their depositions, seen all the outlines and notes, you know how this is heading. If you have some thoughts, why don't you give him those in writing rather than us taking up his time right now."

Brightman closed his expensive leather notebook. "Whatever you say, Kathryn."

I stayed in my office for a few minutes, gathered my things, then headed home about seven thirty that night. In front of my house was a car that I immediately recognized: Wayne Bradley. Here we go, I thought. I pulled into the driveway and into the garage, lowered the door, went into the house through the kitchen door, and dropped my briefcase and jacket on the bench by the window. Debbie was in the kitchen doing dishes and came over to me when I walked in. "Well, how did you think it went?" she asked, kissing me.

"Oh, okay I guess. How's the press?"

"Wall-to-wall coverage. They've talked about nothing but the trial all night."

"I wouldn't watch it if I were you."

She smiled. "Some of them think you've got something up your sleeve."

I loosened my tie. "We shall see. Never surrender. Bradley's here. I hope you don't mind."

"No, that's fine."

I went to the front door and opened it. Bradley got out of his car, walked to the den, and sprawled out on the couch.

"Dr. Bradley," I said, following him.

He looked up. "Sorry. I didn't want to-sorry-you said only at home or on your new cell and you didn't answer-what time is it? I'm really tired."

"About eight."

"Oh." He sat up and took a deep breath. He was then completely awake. "We've got to talk."

"What? New developments? Did you find something?"

He nodded.

I went to my car and got my cell phone out of the glove box. I typed in a text message,
Come
, and sent it. I walked back inside and began making a pot of coffee. This was going to be a long night.

Debbie passed through the kitchen and looked at me quizzically. I said, "May have a big development."

"Good or bad?"

"I'm not sure. Rachel's on her way."

It was normally fifteen minutes from Rachel's place to mine, but she was there in ten. I was in my den with Dr. Bradley trying to get him back to his normal self. He seemed very odd. Almost out of it. Rachel walked right in the front door without knocking and came into the den. She looked like a fireman with an ax ready to cut through a wall. I pulled in another chair from the living room and closed the French doors behind us. We sat in a small triangle with Bradley on the couch.

"Okay. So what do you have?"

Bradley leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. Pushed his thick glasses back up on his nose and ran his fingers through his dirty hair. "Well, I've given this thing quite a look. SEM, you name it. Compound is correct. Within spec. But it fractured under stress, Mike. Broke." He held out the semicircle half of the tip weight I had dug out of the tree branch.

I stared at it in his hand. "This kills us."

Rachel sat back heavily in her chair and looked at the ceiling. "We've got to give it to them. We can't not let them have it."

I said to Bradley, "So the tip weight was defective and came apart and that caused the vibration leading to the crash of Marine One. Just like the NTSB said. Is that how you see it?"

Dr. Bradley shrugged. "Well, it sure is unusual for something like this to just fracture. But that's what seems to have happened. It's a fairly clean break. That indicates to me that it wasn't properly manufactured and that it was too brittle. You don't realize what kind of stress those tip weights are under, but they're under endless centrifugal force, and if the flat surface of the other tip weights isn't exactly right, it gives it maybe a thousandth of an inch to maneuver. Over time, it will cause a fracture if something is too brittle."

"So that's it?"

Bradley adjusted his glasses, wishing he had something else to say, something positive. "Pretty much. I mean, I can keep studying it. I didn't examine every single molecule in it."

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and looked up. I thought for a moment, then sat forward. "Let me see it."

He handed it to me and I brought it as close to my eye as I could. "Do you have a magnifying glass?"

"Always." He pulled a Sherlock Holmes glass out of his pocket and handed it to me.

I maneuvered under the brightest light in the room and examined the tip weight. I could see several numbers that were part of the serial number. "This serial number-or the part you can see-is in the group of unaccounted-for tip weights that might have been in Marine One?"

"Yep."

I continued to study it. I couldn't see anything significant, and the odds of me seeing something that Bradley hadn't found were nil anyway. I gave him back his magnifying glass. Then a thought washed over me like a shower with an electrical current running through it. The fourth theory, the one I had saved for the jury, had just occurred to me. If I could only prove it. "You run any chemical tests on it?"

He frowned. "No. Why would I?"

I nodded. "Do them. Do them all. Don't talk to anyone about any of this until you've done those tests."

He got it. "I'll do it as soon as I can."

"Let me know… If it goes bad, maybe tomorrow I can talk to Kathryn and we can start talking settlement with Hackett before we have to give it to him. Maybe we can settle without him ever knowing about this tip weight." I thought for a moment and knew that would never happen. "We'd have to give it to the NTSB so they could finalize their report anyway, though. It will come out, but maybe we can settle before, I don't know. I'll have to think through this."

"I'm about to keel over, Mike. I've got to get some shut-eye. I'll try and get up at four or five and start on it. I'll sleep at the lab-I've got a cot in my back room-then I'll call you." Bradley rose and walked slowly to the front door with the tip weight in his pocket.

He closed the door behind him silently, almost as an apology.

Rachel looked gutted. "So we're done?"

"No. If that chemical test comes back positive, we may be in business."