“Sadly, that is why the U.S. Attorney’s Office is pressing this case,” Anita Marley said, returning to my side. “You see, with the rash of police shootings across the country, the Justice Department needs a prominent individual to prosecute as a way of demonstrating to the outraged masses that the government is actually doing something about police violence.”
She put her hand back on my shoulder and said, “But, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you not to be swayed by the government’s tactics because the facts of this case are on this good man’s side, and they demonstrate far, far beyond a reasonable doubt that he is innocent. Let me lay them out for you.”
Anita took the jurors through a straightforward summary of the events that led me to shoot three followers of Gary Soneji in self-defense, starting with telling them about the Soneji, a violent cult that had risen up around the myth of the late kidnapper and bomber.
“The cult targeted the investigators who had hunted Gary Soneji,” Anita said. “They targeted Detective John Sampson, and they targeted Alex Cross. They made death threats to Dr. Cross and to his family.”
Then she explained how the FBI Cyber Division identified a woman named Kimiko Binx as the secretive builder of a website dedicated to the cult. Records showed that Binx had a partner in the website named Claude Watkins. When he was sixteen, Watkins was tried as an adult and convicted of carving the skin off a little girl’s fingers.
“Ms. Binx told Dr. Cross she could take him to see Watkins, who had served his time and was now a successful artist,” Anita said. “Ms. Binx led Dr. Cross to an abandoned factory where Watkins and a group of his followers were waiting, all dressed up as Soneji, using Hollywood-quality masks.”
She nodded to Naomi, who hit a button on her laptop. An old mug shot of Gary Soneji popped up on the courtroom screen along with a crime scene photograph of one of the masks.
“Three of the cult members wearing masks like this one were armed,” Anita said. “They carried nickel-plated pistols that they used to threaten Detective Cross, an officer in the course of his duties. Dr. Cross gave them fair warning, and then he defended himself.
“When he left the crime scene to meet police and ambulances he’d called to the factory, someone took the three pistols. The defense believes a member of the cult did this in order to frame Dr. Cross, to portray him as yet another policeman gone over the edge.”
Anita paused, and then showed outrage. “The U.S. Attorney’s Office should be ashamed for buying into what is obviously a fabricated story. The Justice Department and the attorney general should be ashamed as well. They don’t care about Alex Cross’s exemplary record with the FBI. They don’t care about the great good he’s done repeatedly in the course of his career. They just want a high-profile scapegoat, and Dr. Cross fits the bill.”
She crossed back to me, put her hand on my shoulder, and said in an even, forceful tone, “But, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I say to you: Not Alex Cross. Not this good man. This good man will not be made a scapegoat. This good man’s reputation as one of the country’s finest detectives will not be dragged through the mud. Dr. Cross’s remarkable career will not be ruined, and he will never see the inside of a prison cell, because this good man is completely innocent of these charges.”
CHAPTER
46
PRISCILLA LARCH CALLED for a lunch recess at the end of Anita Marley’s opening argument, and judging from the body language of jurors five and eleven as they left for the jury room, it seemed that my lawyer’s remarks had evened the score.
Nana Mama thought Anita’s speech was strong as well. But my grandmother was tired after the stressful morning and said she was going home for a nap.
I encouraged the kids to go with her. Both boys refused. Jannie decided to accompany Nana, do some studying, then go to practice.
Damon and Ali went out for lunch. Anita, Naomi, and I ate takeout Chinese in a conference room down the hall from the courtroom as we went over the testimony of several witnesses who might be particularly hostile to my case.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Wills had a reputation for not holding back at trial. He liked to attack with his strongest evidence right off the bat to make a deep impression on the jury. We were preparing for a rough afternoon.
We had no idea how rough it would be.
The prosecution started the after-lunch proceedings by calling DC Metro detective Harry Chan, the first investigator to arrive at the factory after the shootings. Two patrolmen had driven into the lot five minutes before Chan, but I’d kept them outside pending arrival of detectives and criminologists.
“He wanted to keep the scene as uncontaminated as possible,” Chan said.
“Can you describe the defendant when you first encountered him that day?” Wills asked.
“He was excited, talking fast,” the detective said. “He was sweating and pacing. He complained of being dizzy and having a headache.”
“What happened then?”
“The ambulances and Chief Stone arrived,” he said. “She wanted him—Dr. Cross, her husband—kept away from the scene, and she took him home without giving me much time to interview him. I entered the factory with the EMTs and my partner, Detective Lorraine Magee. When we got to victim one, Virginia Winslow, she was dead of a gunshot wound. Victim two, Leonard Diggs, was barely clinging to life. Victim three, Claude Watkins, was more alert but badly wounded. Diggs died en route to hospital.”
The prosecutor paused as if to think about that and then said, “Did you see a nickel-plated pistol in the hands of or around any of the three victims?”
“We did not.”
“And did crime scene techs find pistols hidden in the factory?”
“No,” Chan said.
“Any footprints near the victims?”
“Lots of them,” he said. “Watkins and some of his followers had been living there for some time.”
“Nothing conclusive?”
“Not in my book.”
“Any gunpowder residue on the hands of any of the victims?”
“No.”
“Your witness,” the prosecutor said to Anita Marley.
Anita smiled and stood. “Tell me, Detective Chan, have you ever been in a gunfight with three assailants?”
“No.”
“But, given your years of experience, would it be reasonable to say that having survived such an ordeal, Dr. Cross would be excited, sweating, talking fast, pacing out of nervous energy, and even dizzy or suffering a headache from the gunshots?”
Chan said, “I suppose it’s as reasonable as saying Dr. Cross had just shot three people for his own ends and was acting that way because he was trying to figure out if he’d done it well enough to fool me.”
Anita looked annoyed. “Objection, Judge. Will the Court instruct the witness to answer my question?”
“Asked and answered, Counselor,” Larch said. “Motion denied.”
“Defense reserves the right to recall Detective Chan at a later time,” my attorney said, and she sat down.
“The United States calls Norman Nixon to the stand,” Wills said.
“Jesus, they’re not fooling around,” Naomi muttered under her breath.
CHAPTER
47
NORMAN NIXON WAS a hearty-looking man in his fifties, neatly groomed with scrubbed skin, slick iron-gray hair, and a competent, earnest expression. He wore a khaki suit and a blue-striped tie, and he carried a file folder to the witness stand.
After Nixon was sworn in, Wills quickly established the witness’s bona fides as an expert on police shootings. Nixon had been a decorated cop in Chicago before joining the FBI, where he had worked as an investigator in the civil rights division. He was involved in the U.S. government’s investigation into police killings. After his retirement from the Bureau, Nixon continued to study the forces that contributed to citizens’ death by cop.
“Sometimes the officer’s a racist,” Nixon said. “Sometimes the officer’s just burned out from the day-to-day pressure of the job and is feeling inordinately threatened. And sometimes, more often than you’d think, the police officer shoots because he believes he’s above the law.”
Wills looked at the jury. “In your opinion, Mr. Nixon, does Alex Cross fit the profile of a police officer who believes he’s above the law?”