She wished that were true. She’d never tell a client to turn down a deal simply to stoke her ego, especially when she wasn’t making many friends in the chain of command. Rebecca Stanley had been in her office several times asking about the plea and why Trejo would not accept it.
Cho shrugged and pointed to the box of evidence on her desk. “The video confirms Trejo was in Seattle minutes before the accident. You have to know he’s taking a fall. And when he lands, it’s going to hurt you both.”
Yeah, Battles knew. In fact, she was certain of it, but she wasn’t going to let Cho see her sweat. “I guess that’s why the horses actually run the race,” she said.
“Huh?”
“Everyone can speculate on the winner, but until they run, nobody really knows the outcome.”
He gave her a curious look. Then he smiled, another patronizing grin. “I think we do.” He stood and walked to the door, turning to face her, as she knew he would. “This is a one-horse race.” He pulled his blue-and-gray-camo hat from his back pocket. “See you bright and early.”
He closed her office door. This time she didn’t wait until she heard the DSO’s front door open and close. She yelled, “Thanks, asshole.”
She sat back, rubbed the fatigue from her eyes, and wondered out loud, “Why the hell am I still in the office?”
With the evidence stacked against her client, she’d even considered waiving the Article 32 hearing and proceeding to a general court-martial months down the road, likely sometime in the fall. Many seasoned attorneys would have employed that strategy. The extra time in the brig might convince Trejo to rethink his position, as well as diminish the considerable heat beneath the simmering public cauldron demanding justice.
But CO Lopresti wanted an Article 32 hearing, and he wouldn’t be happy if Battles bailed out of his boat, though that wasn’t why she was moving forward with the hearing. A seasoned defense attorney had once admonished Battles against waiving any proceeding in which she and her client stood to obtain free discovery. Because Lopresti was demanding a full show, Battles would have the opportunity to preview the prosecution’s witnesses and evidence. There was little downside to having your opponent show his hand—even if only partially, especially since this indeed looked like it was headed toward a court-martial. Cho was also likely under orders not to hide the ball at the hearing, not with an anticipated crowd in attendance—all the more reason for her to go forward and find out what Cho intended and what the witnesses would say.
In other words, being in an Article 32 hearing was a little bit like being a gunslinger in a long-distance pistol shootout. You had no real expectation of hitting anything, but you paid very close attention to the bullets whizzing by.
CHAPTER 19
Early the following morning, Tracy set her coffee on the Formica table and slid into the leather seat across from Shaniqua Miller and her mother.
“Are you sure I can’t get either of you a cup of coffee?” she asked.
They both again declined.
Their demeanor since they’d boarded the ferry had been polite but reticent. Neither had displayed much emotion or had said much, and Tracy had no doubt their reservation was with her and the judicial system. Tracy had not been able to offer any words to alleviate their concerns or to convince them that things would be different.
Shaniqua Miller, in a black suit and dark-blue blouse, folded her hands on the table. Her mother, seated beside her, also wearing black, directed her gaze out the ferry windows, which were spotted with rain. In the booths around them, D’Andre Miller’s uncles, aunts, and the pastor from their church, also dressed in dark-colored suits and dresses, solemnly considered the heavy cloud layer, falling rain, and Elliott Bay’s slate-gray waters.
It made Tracy think of Dan, how he liked to take the dogs for a walk on winter mornings and come back broadcasting a stilted local weather forecast. “This morning it will be gray, followed by more gray, with a burst of gray in the evening.”
For Shaniqua Miller, less than a month removed from D’Andre’s death, Tracy suspected from experience that her view of the world would be gray for quite some time. Following the disappearance and presumed death of her sister, Sarah, Tracy’s world had become a black-and-white photograph, and it had taken nearly a year before even a glint of color pierced her bleak tapestry. Even now, more than two decades removed from that horrible event, there were days when the gloom descended—so heavy it was difficult for her to find the will to get out of bed, and nothing alleviated that sorrow.
So Tracy knew she could not say anything to the two women to minimize their distrust; nothing she could say to reassure them, calm their nerves, and alleviate their concerns. All she could do was act as a liaison between them and the judicial process, to be available to answer their questions, and to guide them if they needed guiding. So far they hadn’t, or they hadn’t wanted any. They had erected a curtain as thick as the cloud layer to protect against any more pain, and turned instead to each other and their unshakable faith in God for comfort. Tracy was not a part of their lives, and she could not pretend to be. And she had never received the gift of an unwavering acceptance of God’s will. All she had to offer them was her experience, and her hope that the Navy had assumed jurisdiction to mete out punishment.
“I spoke to Brian Cho yesterday afternoon,” Tracy said to break the uncomfortable silence.
“He called,” Shaniqua offered, but did not elaborate on their conversation.
“He sounds well prepared for the hearing,” Tracy said.
“But it’s just preliminary,” Shaniqua said. “He said there will still be a general court-martial, likely not for months.”
“That’s my understanding,” Tracy said. “Unless Trejo pleads.”
Shaniqua’s mother gave an audible sigh and looked over the top of her round wire-rimmed glasses, but offered no words.
“What will be your role at the hearing?” Miller asked.
“I’ll testify about what Mr. Trejo said when my partner and I interviewed him. I’ll also explain where we found his car and the results of the interior search.”
“The receipt you found,” Miller said.
“Yes, and the evidence that someone tried to wipe down the car to eliminate fingerprints. I’ll also testify about the cut on Mr. Trejo’s forehead.”
“But the hat he wore in the video, the prosecutor said it will prevent you from proving the cut occurred during the accident.”
“Yes, but the blood found inside Mr. Trejo’s car is circumstantial evidence that he was driving the car when it hit your son.” She didn’t want to overcomplicate things. “But really, the videotape from the convenience store should be enough for the preliminary hearing officer to find probable cause.”
Shaniqua Miller’s gaze drifted to the window. A seagull glided on the wind current created by the moving ferry. After a minute, she turned back to Tracy. “The prosecutor said Mr. Trejo will likely plead after the hearing?”
“He told me that also.”