Vaughn stares at me.
“Marcie warned me last night that something like this was going to break.”
The clock on the wall reaches 1:45, then 2:00, then 2:15, but the trial does not resume. Mike Holleran tells Devlin and me that the judge is holed up in his office, watching TV.
I glance at Devlin.
“Another stunt.” He sits and murmurs something to Christina Wesley.
“This is tremendous,” Vaughn whispers next to me at counsel table. Once David is brought into the courtroom, he’ll move to his usual seat next to Marcie. “I think we should demand a mistrial. And if the judge doesn’t go for it, we should ask for a week’s adjournment to fly those foreign-aid workers here, have them testify.”
I purse my lips, say nothing. Vaughn can see I’m displeased, and he’s confused. Vaughn has no idea that the case isn’t about the case. I look back at Alexander Ginsberg, who seems confused himself. He knows that Bill Henry is not one to be late to court. Piper, too, casts me a look that says, “What’s happening?” The only person who appears at ease is Marcie, who smiles when I glance her way.
At 2:30, Holleran ushers David into the courtroom. A few minutes later, the judge strides onto the bench, buttoning his robe on the fly. He begins talking even before he’s seated. “We have a problem,” he says. “I’m going to want to talk to counsel in my chambers. First, though, I’m going to call in the jury and dismiss them for the day.” Judge Henry nods to Holleran, who brings in the jury. He smiles at the jury, tells them he has good news, they’re getting a break. Something’s come up—an administrative matter, nothing to do with the case—and the trial day is being cut short. “So go back to the hotel, relax. Don’t talk about the case. And, most important, as always, do not, under any circumstance, listen to the news or read the papers.”
The jurors look from the judge to Devlin and me, and then to one another. They’re all thinking the same thing. Something big about the case has broken in the media.
Fifteen minutes later Vaughn and I, along with Devlin Walker and Christina Wesley, are seated in Judge Henry’s chambers. The judge begins by saying, “I’m now convinced that I made a mistake letting in the evidence about the money and the trips to Mexico and the Caymans. I’ve been in my chambers for the past two hours watching news stories about millions of dollars in under-the-table humanitarian aid spread around the world by Hanson World Industries. It’s been going on for years. And, apparently, it was all being run by the defendant.”
With that, the judge uses his remote to turn on the television in his office. CNN comes on with a video clip of David in some remote, war-torn village. He’s sitting with a group of villagers. On his lap is a dark-skinned boy, maybe four or five years old. David smiles at the boy, tousles his hair, talks to the camera about the desperate plight of the villagers. A second video clip shows David in jeans and a short-sleeved white shirt leading a group of adults and children along a path in some other remote village. David himself looks to be about five years younger than he is now.
The judge turns down the sound and turns back to us.
“Your Honor, please. This has to be some kind of—” Devlin begins, but the judge interrupts.
“Let me finish. This does not appear to be fabricated. The foreign-aid workers themselves are coming forward with the information. And there are video clips purportedly showing Mr. Hanson meeting with these same workers in a number of villages over a period of time going back at least five years.”
This part floors me. I’d assumed that Marcie’s plants were going to come forward only with claims of recent donations, money tendered after David withdrew the $4 million. I imagined that Marcie could get her hands on another $4 million and fly it abroad fast enough to cover David’s tracks. But if the judge is right, David has been dumping cash for years.
Why?
Devlin pipes up again, and he and the judge begin arguing. Their voices fade into the background as my mind locks on to what David has been up to. I remember Marcie’s threat to Edwin to disclose HWI’s rampant criminality should he hurt David in court. Criminality that included illegal payoffs to foreign officials. And just that fast, I get it: David has been secreting millions in humanitarian aid as potential cover should HWI ever be accused of foreign bribery and need to account for vast sums of money disappearing from the company’s coffers. Any congressional subcommittee poring over HWI’s books would find a paper trail carefully left by David showing millions of dollars in HWI funds making their way to the hands of happy foreign-aid workers ready to testify to their receipt of the money, which they then used to feed, clothe, and educate the world’s poor and downtrodden. All of which has turned out to be a massive stroke of luck for David, who can use the same planted millions as cover for the money he stole to pay off the blackmailer. Absolutely brilliant. Absolutely sinister. Absolutely David Fucking Hanson.
“Mr. McFarland?” It’s the judge. “What are your thoughts? A limiting instruction telling the jury to disregard everything they’ve heard about the four million dollars? Or an outright mistrial?”
I pause a moment to let the question sink in, bring myself up to speed.
“Your Honor,” I answer, “I’d like some time to think about it. To talk about it with my client. Certainly a mistrial would not be unwarranted. But perhaps a limiting instruction would be enough. I’d like to talk to Mr. Ginsberg as well. Your Honor may have noticed that he’s been sitting with Mrs. Hanson throughout the trial.”
“Yes, of course. Talk to your client. Talk to Mr. Ginsberg. Think it through. Just tell me tomorrow.”
“Your Honor, I really must protest.” Devlin’s voice is thick with desperation. “As I said before, a limiting instruction will poison my credibility with the jury. You’d be telling them that I’ve been spouting nonsense. A mistrial would be . . . would be . . . it’s just not warranted.”
Bill Henry turns to me. “I’m assuming that your client, or someone from HWI, would be able to testify that the four million was in fact used for humanitarian aid. As part of this larger program. Is that right?”
“I’m sure that’s exactly what Mr. Hanson would say. But, of course, I haven’t decided to call him as a witness. Your Honor isn’t suggesting that I must call Mr. Hanson to the stand to rebut the testimony about the four million?”
The judge sighs. “At this point, I’m not sure what I’m suggesting. Let’s everyone sleep on this, and we’ll revisit it tomorrow.”
Half an hour later, I’m sitting across from David in his holding cell.