The Justice Game (41 page)

    Treadwell thought for a moment. “No. Not that I’m aware of.”

    “As a point of fact, it’s the ATF’s job to police firearm dealers, is it not?

    “We regulate dealers, yes.”

    “The ATF can revoke licenses of gun dealers, true?”

    “That’s correct.”

    “And you have personally been involved in that process, isn’t that right?”

    “Yes.”

    “Are you aware that fifteen years ago there were about 250,000 licensed dealers in America, and today there are less than half that number—about 108,381?”

    Treadwell shrugged. “I’m not aware of the precise numbers. But that sounds about right.”

    “Do you recognize the name Red’s Trading Post of Twin Falls, Idaho?”

    Treadwell’s face dropped a little. He had been transferred east a few years earlier. “Yes.”

    “That store’s been in business for seventy-one years, correct?”

    “I don’t know. Sounds about right.”

    “You tried to revoke their license, right?”

    “Objection,” Kelly said. “What’s this got to do with the Crawford case?”

    “I’ll link it up,” Jason promised.

    “Make it quick,” Garrison said.

    Jason turned back to the witness. “You tried to revoke their license, right?”

    “We
did
revoke their license. In 2006. For multiple violations over a series of years.”

    “But the gun store appealed that case to federal court, didn’t they?”

    “Yes.”

    “And let me ask you if this is a statement that the federal judge made in that case: ‘The ATF speaks of violations found during the inspections of 2000 and 2005, but fails to reveal that additional investigations in 2001 and 2007 revealed no violations or problems.’”

    “I don’t have the opinion memorized, but it was something like that.”

    “So the court overturned the revocation, didn’t it?”

    This brought Kelly to her feet again, palms out. “Judge, I still don’t see how this can possibly be relevant to this case.”

    “I agree,” Garrison said. “Objection sustained.”

    “Isn’t it true,” Jason said, checking his notes again, “that the number of gun dealers dropped by at least 50 percent in the ten years leading up to 2005 and that revocations of licenses increased nearly sixfold between 2001 and 2006?”

    “I wouldn’t know if those statistics are accurate or not.”

    “But you would agree that the ATF has stepped up its enforcement activities, aggressively going after gun stores that violate the law?”

    “We’ve always done that, Mr. Noble.”

    “Then what actions did you take to revoke the license of Peninsula Arms after its third straw purchase citation?”

    “We issued a license revocation notice on September 18 of last year.”

    “That’s after Mr. Jamison shot Rachel Crawford. I’m asking what you did before that—given the fact that Peninsula Arms had already been cited for three prior straw purchase transactions.”

    Treadwell adjusted himself in the chair and tried to make eye contact with Kelly. Jason took a half step to the side, placing himself directly in the witness’s sight path.

    “We didn’t deem those other citations—which were spread out over nearly ten years—sufficient to take revocation action,” Treadwell said.

    “But you were also aware, were you not, that a number of guns from Peninsula Arms had been traced to crimes in cities in the northeast—cities like Philadelphia, Baltimore, New York, and Washington?”

    “Yes. But without information that the sales of those guns somehow violated the law, we couldn’t take legal action against the dealer.”

    “My point exactly,” Jason said.

    “Objection!” Kelly said. “Move to strike.”

    Judge Garrison cast Jason a castigating glance and then turned to the jury. “Please ignore that last statement by Mr. Noble,” the judge said. “I will strike it from the record. And Mr. Noble—please keep your editorial comments to yourself.”

    “Yes, Your Honor.” Jason checked through his notes. “I do have one other question,” he said. “To your knowledge, has Ms. Starling filed any lawsuits against the ATF for its failure to take action against Peninsula Arms?”

    “No, she has not.”

    “No further questions.”

    Before he sat down, Jason casually moved one more empty chair up to the defense counsel table. When he sat in his own seat, next to Case McAllister, all eyes were on him.

    Case leaned over. “After this case, you need to raise your hourly rate.”

At the end of Agent Treadwell’s testimony, Kelly stood up and announced that she rested her case.

    Inside, she was already second-guessing her strategy. She had started strong with the videotape of the shootings and the testimony of Blake Crawford. But she had wanted to finish strong too. She had toyed with the idea of ending on the videotaped testimony of Melissa Davids—a guaranteed high point for her side. Instead, she decided to end her case with Treadwell’s testimony, hoping to demonstrate in the flesh that ATF agents were the furthest thing from Hitler and Stalin.

    Unfortunately, Treadwell had been a disaster.

    Now Jason Noble was on his feet again. “I have a motion to make,” he said.

    The lawyers and Judge Garrison all knew what was coming—a Motion to Strike. Defense lawyers routinely made such motions at the end of a plaintiff’s case, asking the judge to throw out the case because the evidence was legally insufficient.

    “Okay,” Judge Garrison said, checking his watch. “I’m going to let the ladies and gentlemen of the jury go home for the night, and then we can discuss the motion.”

    Kelly nodded her head. This was normal and no cause for alarm.

    But then Judge Garrison added something that twisted her stomach in knots. “I’m also going to ask the jury not to arrive tomorrow until 1 p.m. It’s going to take us a while to work through this motion, and I’d like to give the jurors the morning off.”

    Almost every member of the jury smiled. Judge Garrison had just become a very popular man.

    And Kelly was sick with worry.

Jason stayed off the phone during the twenty-minute drive back to his office. His success in court had only made him feel like a bigger hypocrite. Only he knew that even if he tore apart witnesses like Agent Treadwell on cross-examination, his case would ultimately implode when Chief Poole took the stand.

    It was bad enough that Jason was forced to call Poole as a witness, bad enough that he had been manipulated into keeping two jurors on the case whom he really didn’t want, but now he was being forced to use Poole as his last witness. By waiting until Monday to call Poole, Jason would end his case the same way Kelly had ended hers—with a whimper.

    Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe this guy Luthor really thought Poole would be a good witness. Maybe Luthor wasn’t the one who had provided the damaging documents to Kelly; maybe Luthor had no idea that Poole would get destroyed on cross-examination. Jason couldn’t communicate with the man, so it was impossible to know what he was really thinking. Maybe Jurors 3 and 7 would be strong advocates for Jason’s cause.

    And maybe Santa Claus would show up tomorrow and grant Jason’s Motion to Strike.

    If nothing else, Jason’s life had taught him to be a realist. Mothers die. Fathers disappoint. Friends get killed in car accidents. You get fired for doing a good job. Life is not fair. You move on the best you can.

    What made it harder was that Jason had developed such great respect for Case McAllister. The man had done nothing but encourage and coach Jason since the day they met. Case was entrusting his entire company and career to a rookie lawyer. And Jason was rewarding that trust by selling Case out to an anonymous blackmailer.

    But what else could Jason do? Betray his father and Matt Corey? If he did that, the case would be declared a mistrial, and MD Firearms would have to start over. He could quite possibly lose his law license, and serious jail time was not out of the question.

    But maybe then he could at least live with himself.

    He stopped at a red light, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He was actually trembling from all the pressure, his mind racing wildly from one thought to the next.

    The light turned green, and Jason took a few deep breaths. He forced himself to think logically.
Left brain, Jason; filter out the emotions. Slow down.
He needed to play this out one step at a time. If he won the Motion to Strike tomorrow, the case would be over. Even if he lost, he could call Melissa Davids as his first witness. That would buy him the weekend.

    He would run out of time on Monday morning—either rest his case or call Chief Poole to the stand. Honor or reputation? Should he sacrifice his own father or MD Firearms?

    His hands started shaking again as he drove slowly through the intersection.

When Jason got to the office, it was deserted except for Case McAllister. The veteran lawyer was in the firm’s small kitchen, finishing dinner from the Purple Cow disposable containers.

    “I’m going to pick up Melissa at the airport,” Case said. “I’ll take care of getting her ready to testify.”

    “Thanks.”

    “You look like death,” Case said. “You need to get something to eat and take an hour or two off.”

    He shoved a couple of the Styrofoam containers at Jason. Chicken wrap, turkey club, or Caesar salad. Jason didn’t care.

    “I’ve got to work on my argument for the Motion to Strike,” Jason said. He tried to sound upbeat but felt like he was on autopilot. “I’ll rest this weekend.”

    “You might want to call Bella. She’s been trying to get in touch with you.”

    Jason smiled. “I know. Four messages on my BlackBerry.”

    After Case left, Jason dialed Bella’s number. She was at the Courtyard Marriott hotel at the oceanfront with the shadow jury. She and Andrew Lassiter had shown them the opening statements and the first few witnesses. Each individual juror had filled out a brief questionnaire.

    “Andrew says we can’t give them any hint who we’re working for,” Bella reported. “He says it might sway their opinions.”

    “Yeah, that’s standard procedure,” Jason replied. “Don’t want them to know which side is paying them.”

    Bella scoffed at the notion. “That wouldn’t influence me any. If I don’t like somethin’, I tell people. Makes no difference who’s paying me.”

    “I’ve noticed.”

    “Anyway, they like you a lot. But they like Ms. Starling too.”

    This didn’t surprise Jason. He would talk with Andrew later and get a full report on any subtle strategy changes he needed to make based on the shadow jury’s feedback.

    “Andrew says to tell you that the two jurors he would have selected are more favorable than the two you left on the jury,” Bella said. “But I still say you’ve got to trust your instincts.”

    The mention of Jurors 3 and 7 made Jason’s gut clench. “Is my father down there?” he asked, changing the subject.

    Bella hesitated. “Your dad’s not exactly the easiest guy to work with.” Jason could just picture the friction between Bella and his dad—the bellicose secretary and the no-nonsense detective. “He basically left halfway through the day, said he had some investigative work to do. Wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

    Jason thanked Bella and walked from the kitchen into his office. There was a manila envelope on his chair with his father’s handwriting on the outside.
Jason Noble, private and confidential. Not to be opened by anyone else.

    Jason tore open the envelope and pulled out a memo from his father with a number of backup documents attached. The memo was written with the clinical detachment of a criminal detective documenting interviews. The information confirmed Jason’s worst fears.

    Among other things, his dad had interviewed students who had taken a course from Rodney Peterson, Juror 3. They had all praised Professor Peterson’s teaching but labeled him as “progressive” or “liberal.” On the issue of gun control, most remembered how passionate Peterson became when talking about the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. and JFK. He bemoaned the culture’s fascination with guns and violence. Most students acted surprised that Peterson had been allowed to stay on the jury.

    But during jury selection, Jason recalled, Peterson had claimed to have an open mind. He had answered every question truthfully, and this additional information gave Jason no legal basis to have him disqualified now.

    At the end of his memo, Jason’s dad couldn’t resist the urge to temporarily depart from his detached writing style and editorialize a little.
Why is a guy like Peterson even on this jury? Didn’t your other investigator pick this up? I looked in the file on Peterson and there were NO interviews with former students.

    
Why indeed?
Jason thought.

    The memo on Marcia Franks, Juror 7, was even more troubling. Nothing in Rafael’s investigation was wrong: Marcia was a registered Democrat with no religious affiliation, had her kids in a private academy, and proudly displayed her Obama sticker.

    But what Rafael Johansen’s original report did not contain caused Jason to go weak in the knees. He had been set up. There was no longer any doubt about that.

    He glumly read through the details. Marcia Franks had been through a nasty divorce more than ten years ago. She had accused her husband of hiding assets but could never quite prove it. There had been an extended custody battle, and it looked like Marcia had been the loser, receiving joint custody until their son turned sixteen, at which time he had decided to live with his father. Marcia Franks would hate Chief Poole, a man who would undoubtedly remind her of her own ex-husband.

    Jason slumped in his chair, the stark reality of his dilemma hitting home. Luthor was playing it smart. Neither of these jurors had a thing in their background that would disqualify them from serving. But the toxic mixture of Chief Poole, Marcia Franks, and Rodney Peterson would guarantee only one result.