Lost Lake

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The Multnomah County courthouse occupies an entire block across from Lownsdale Park in downtown Portland. Built in 1914, the gray concrete and riveted-steel building contrasts sharply with the modern architecture of the Justice Center on the other side of the park and promises uncompromising justice to those who break the law.

A small jail on the seventh floor of the courthouse houses prisoners who are making court appearances. The elevator that transports them from the jail stopped in an alcove in the back of the courthouse on the Fifth Avenue side. Judge Ruben Velasco’s courtroom, where Vanessa’s bail hearing was going to be held, was in the front of the courthouse on the Fourth Avenue side.

Ami was wearing a tasteful strand of pearls and was dressed in a black pantsuit and a white silk blouse, one of her few decent outfits and the outfit she always wore to important court appearances. Vanessa was wearing a severe gray suit that Ami had purchased for her. If it were not for the handcuffs, she would have been mistaken for part of the defense team. Ami walked a few steps behind the guards who escorted Vanessa out of the jail elevator when it opened on the fifth floor. As soon as they stepped into the corridor a mob raced toward them.

“Keep moving forward and don’t answer any questions,” Ami instructed as the reporters and television cameras converged on them. The sheriff’s deputies plowed through the shouting crowd. Ami shielded her eyes from the glare of the television lights as she followed behind the guards.

“Were you and Carl Rice lovers?”

“Why do you hate your father?”

“Are you going to vote for President Jennings in the primary?”

The questions thundered toward her like a stampeding herd, but Vanessa did not flinch from the onslaught. Where Ami shunned the attention of the media, Vanessa welcomed it as a chance to get her message about her father to the public. She squared her shoulders and stared back at the journalists.

“My father is a murderer,” Vanessa shouted, ignoring Ami’s advice. “He should be in jail, not the White House.”

Ami was concerned that Vanessa’s statements to the press might be used against her, but that didn’t concern Vanessa. She knew that she’d spend years behind bars if Victor Hobson didn’t come through for her. She wasn’t afraid. She had survived the asylum by believing in herself, and she would survive prison. She had nothing to lose, anyway. If Hobson failed, she was no worse off than she’d been the minute she surrendered to the police. But Hobson might find her proof. If he did, her father would be destroyed. If that happened, she was willing to face the consequences of breaking Carl out of jail.

A line of spectators was filing through a metal detector that had been set up outside Judge Velasco’s courtroom. A guard held up the line to let Ami, Vanessa, and the guards into the courtroom. Brendan Kirkpatrick and Howard Walsh turned in their seats at the prosecution table and watched the women walk down the aisle. Ami did not notice them. She was too busy scanning the crowded benches. Several reporters occupied a section reserved for the press at the front of the courtroom. Leroy Ganett, who was under subpoena by Ami and the DA, was seated in the rear of the courtroom. The doctor turned red and looked away when he spotted the women who had scammed him. Victor Hobson, the one man Ami and Vanessa hoped would be present, was missing.

One other man was not present in the courtroom. General Morris Wingate was waiting in the DA’s office guarded by a contingent from the Secret Service and his own security force. Kirkpatrick had brought the General into the building before court convened to avoid the mobs of protestors, supporters, and reporters who had converged on the courthouse when the General’s appearance as a witness was made public.

Just as they reached the low fence that separated the spectators from the area where the attorneys and the judge conducted business, Vanessa noticed a slender, bookish, nattily dressed man in his mid-fifties.

“See that guy in the seat by the window in the third row from the back?” Vanessa whispered to Ami. “That’s Bryce McDermott, my father’s chief political adviser. He’s probably going to report everything that happens in here.”

There was an undercurrent of whispers-some hostile, some sympathetic-when the guards unlocked Vanessa’s handcuffs. The women took their seats as soon as Vanessa’s hands were free. Ami tried to ignore the hum of conversation that drifted through the gallery by concentrating on the outlines of direct and cross-examination that she had made for each witness. She had managed to block out most of the noise when the rap of the bailiff’s gavel announced Judge Velasco’s entrance. Ami rose to her feet and signaled Vanessa to do the same as the judge took the bench.

“Good morning,” Velasco said to everyone in the courtroom. “You may be seated.”

The judge waited to address the spectators until his bailiff had read the name and number of the case into the record.

“Before we begin this bail hearing, I want to make it clear to the members of the public who have been granted the privilege of watching this court proceeding that I will not tolerate improper behavior in my court under any circumstances. Anyone who causes a disturbance will be taken from the court immediately and will face criminal sanctions, including contempt of this court.

“One reason why I have made this announcement is the possibility that General Morris Wingate, a candidate for his party’s presidential nomination, may be called as a witness. If that happens, there will be a heavy police and Secret Service presence in addition to the guards who would normally maintain order in this court. If anyone is contemplating any type of political protest during his testimony, I warn you that you will go to jail. I hope that is clear.”

The judge paused to let his message sink in.

“Now to business. Are the parties ready?”

“The state is ready, Your Honor,” Brendan Kirkpatrick said, standing to address the court.

Ami stood. “Ami Vergano for Miss Kohler. We’re prepared to proceed.”

“Very well. Mr. Kirkpatrick, what is your position on bail for Miss Kohler?”

“The state wishes bail to remain as it is. The defendant used a gun to help Carl Rice escape from the secure wing of the county hospital. She terrorized four people during the escape. Since his escape, Mr. Rice has murdered and assaulted a number of people. Miss Kohler may have aided and abetted some of these crimes. After she is prosecuted in Oregon, the defendant will be sent to California where she is facing charges of murder and assault growing out of the invasion of General Wingate’s home. Her actions prove that she is a danger to others and a flight risk.

“One more thing. Miss Kohler has a pathological hatred of her father, General Morris Wingate. If she were free, she would be a danger to a presidential candidate.”

Kirkpatrick sat down, and Ami stood. Inside, she cringed at the argument she was about to make, but she had a duty to present her client’s position even if she did not believe it. More important, Vanessa still held the power to destroy Ami’s life and Ryan’s by telling the authorities that Ami had helped her hide.

“First off, Your Honor, Miss Kohler has no criminal record. She is employed with a newspaper in Washington, D.C. I’m going to offer into evidence an affidavit from her employer stating that he will continue to employ Miss Kohler. She has also had the same residence in Washington for many years. Except for this incident, Miss Kohler has been a model citizen.

“More important, Miss Kohler did not help Mr. Rice for criminal reasons. Miss Kohler believes that her actions in rescuing Carl Rice from the hospital were justified by a theory of defense of another, as were Mr. Rice’s actions in California when he rescued Miss Kohler, who had been kidnapped and assaulted by her father and his agents.

“Carl Rice and General Morris Wingate have known each other since Miss Kohler and Mr. Rice attended high school together in California. Mr. Rice received a draft notice during his senior year in high school and went into the army instead of seeking a college deferment, even though he had earned a scholarship to Dartmouth. He eventually became a member of the Special Forces during Vietnam, and that is when his path and the General’s path crossed again.

“During Vietnam, General Wingate was the head of the Agency for Intelligence Data Coordination, which has a charter that does not permit it to have active intelligence agents. Despite this clear prohibition, General Wingate ran a small and highly select army unit out of this agency. The Unit was financed by money obtained from illegal activities, such as drug smuggling.”

There was a stirring in the audience, and Judge Velasco gaveled for silence. When the courtroom was quiet he turned his attention to Ami.

“I hope you have evidence to support these sensational claims, Mrs. Vergano.”

“I have subpoenaed witnesses who will testify about the Unit and the General’s connection to it.”

Velasco looked incredulous but told Ami to continue.

“Soon after Mr. Rice returned to the states after completing his first combat mission, General Wingate arranged a meeting during which he recruited Mr. Rice into the secret unit. From the early nineteen-seventies until 1985 Mr. Rice was a member of the Unit. Under orders, he completed several missions including assassinations in Europe and on American soil.

“In 1985, Vanessa Kohler was living in Washington, D.C., where she became reacquainted with Mr. Rice. One evening, he confessed to killing two people in Texas under orders. These individuals were supposed to be spying for the Chinese. He was very upset and told Miss Kohler that he wanted to get out of the Unit.

“Miss Kohler found evidence in a safe in the General’s house that proved the existence of the Unit. She presented it to Congressman Eric Glass at his summer home in Lost Lake, California, in hopes that the congressman would expose the activities of the Unit and her father’s involvement in this illegal activity. When he discovered that the files were missing, General Wingate sent Mr. Rice to kill the congressman and retrieve the papers. After Mr. Rice murdered Congressman Glass and recovered the documents, General Wingate arranged for the murder of Mr. Rice. He survived, without the General’s knowledge. Mr. Rice went underground for years, but his picture was on national television as a result of his arrest in the Little League assault case. When Miss Kohler recognized him, she knew that it was only a matter of time before her father learned that Carl Rice was alive.

“Miss Kohler helped Mr. Rice escape from the hospital because she was certain that General Wingate would have him killed to keep his secret.”

The noise in the courtroom increased in volume. The judge rapped his gavel again.

“Please approach the bench,” he said.

The judge leaned down and lowered his voice as soon as Ami and Brendan Kirkpatrick were standing at the side of the dais.

“I’m warning you, Mrs. Vergano. I will not permit my courtroom to be turned into a platform for political character assassination. Your charges are going to be carried by every television station and newspaper in this country and could affect the outcome of the primary election. I will report you to the bar association and place you in contempt if these charges prove to be unfounded or unconnected with the purpose of this hearing.”

“I understand, Your Honor,” Ami answered meekly. She felt sick to her stomach and light-headed with fear.

“And you, Mr. Kirkpatrick-I haven’t heard a single objection.”

“I don’t see how I can object, Judge. Mrs. Vergano claims to have witnesses who will testify to what she has alleged. Personally, I don’t think they have any credibility, but you’re the only person in this court who can decide the credibility of a witness.”

“And I will, Mrs. Vergano, I will. And if I decide that you or your client has misused the judicial process there will be consequences.”

Even in ill-fitting orange jail clothes with his legs and hands shackled Carl Rice commanded respect. He walked with dignity and-like a caged panther-he radiated a sense of danger that made you want to keep your distance.

“May Mr. Rice have his shackles removed during his testimony?” Ami asked the judge.

“Sergeant Perkins?” the judge said, addressing the ranking jail guard.

“We would prefer that the irons stay on, Your Honor. Mr. Rice is considered a high-risk prisoner. We’ve been informed that he’s trained in martial arts and is ex-Special Forces. The sheriff knew this might come up, and he thinks the handcuffs and leg irons should stay on.”

“I’m going to follow the sheriff’s recommendation, Mrs. Vergano. I might rule differently if this were a trial, but I know he’s a prisoner and that will not prejudice my decision on bail.”

Carl shrugged to show that it made no difference to him. Judge Velasco ordered his bailiff to administer the oath, and the guards helped Rice into the witness box.

“Mrs. Vergano,” Judge Velasco said, “before you examine Mr. Rice I want to inquire of him.”

Ami nodded. She had expected this.

The judge turned toward the witness. “Mr. Rice, Mrs. Vergano was your attorney…”

“She still is, Your Honor,” Rice answered calmly.

“That troubles me. Normally, one lawyer does not represent two defendants who are charged in the same case.”

“Mrs. Vergano explained all the problems that could arise from her representation of Miss Kohler and me. I have waived any conflicts because Miss Kohler and I believe that it is in our best interests to have Mrs. Vergano representing both of us.”

“This decision of yours makes me very nervous, but I will accede to your choice. However, I must discuss another matter with you. Are you aware that you are testifying under oath and that everything you say will be recorded by the court reporter and can be used against you in every court proceeding that occurs in your cases here, in California, and in federal court?”

“Yes, sir, I have discussed this thoroughly with Mrs. Vergano.”

“You could be convicting yourself of murder, assault, escape, what have you, out of your own mouth.”

“I appreciate your concern, Your Honor, but I’m willing to risk my life to let the American people know the truth about Morris Wingate.”

Judge Velasco was visibly agitated. For a moment it looked as if he might say more. Instead, he turned toward Ami.

“Go ahead, Mrs. Vergano.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Rice, did you serve in the United States Army?”

“Yes.”

“Was that during the Vietnam War?”

“And after.”

“When did your service end?”

“Officially, I don’t think it ever did, but I left on my own accord in 1985.”

“What were the circumstances that caused you to leave the service?”

“General Morris Wingate sent me and the other members of an illegal unit that he was running out of the AIDC to North Vietnam. We were supposed to be rescuing American MIAs, but the whole thing was a setup. The North Vietnamese knew we were coming. There was an ambush. Everyone in the Unit was killed except me. I was captured, but I escaped. After a year, I made it back to the states and went underground. I figured no one would look for me, because the General would assume that I was dead.”

“You testified that you were set up. By whom?”

“By General Wingate. He wanted to eliminate everyone who was in the Unit, and he nearly succeeded.”

Ami asked Rice to tell the judge how he was recruited into the Unit and to recount some of his missions. The noise from the gallery ceased as Rice hypnotized the spectators with testimony about ambushing mule trains in the Shan Hills, cutting the throats of village chiefs in Southeast Asia in the middle of the night, and assassinating spies in Europe and America. Ami heard the scratch of pencils on steno pads behind her in the press section, which was packed with reporters from every major newspaper in the country and several members of the foreign press.

“Mr. Rice, you testified that you were recruited into General Wingate’s Unit after your first combat mission.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Were you wounded during that first mission?”

“I was grazed by a bullet. It wasn’t anything serious.”

“Were you hospitalized as a result of your wound?”

“Well, I was sent to a hospital to have the wound checked, but they kept me less than a day.”

“Were you hospitalized for combat-related stress?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Did you receive a more serious wound during the mission to rescue the MIAs?”

“Yes. A shell exploded near me and I was hit by shrapnel.”

“Let’s move to another subject. From what high school did you graduate?”

“St. Martin’s Prep in California.”

“Was Miss Kohler a student at the school?”

“We were in the same class.”

“Who is Vanessa Kohler’s father?”

“General Morris Wingate.”

“Did you meet General Wingate while you were dating his daughter?”

“Yes, on many occasions.”

“Did Miss Kohler break up with you while you were in high school?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was drafted. She wanted me to resist the draft. I’d been accepted to college and could have gotten a deferment. She was upset when I didn’t try to get one and chose to serve.”

“Did Miss Kohler believe that her father was responsible for your draft notice?”

“Yes. She thought he had engineered my draft to interfere with our relationship.”

“After high school, when was the next time you saw Miss Kohler?”

“In 1985.”

“Where did you meet?”

“In Washington, D.C. I was teaching at the army language school at Fort Meyer, and she was attending law school and working for Congressman Eric Glass of California.”

“At some point after you met Miss Kohler in Washington, did you tell her about your involvement with her father and your missions?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find out sometime later what she did as a result of your confession?”

“Yes. She stole the files of the ten members of the Unit from her father’s safe and gave them to Congressman Glass, who had a summer home on Lost Lake, California.”

“Were you given any instructions by Morris Wingate concerning the congressman and the files?”

“General Wingate told me that Congressman Glass was a traitor who was going to sell the files to a foreign government. He instructed me to go to Lost Lake, retrieve the files, and torture the congressman to death.”

There was a loud reaction in various parts of the spectator section, and Judge Velasco gaveled for silence. Ami continued her questions as soon as silence returned to the courtroom.

“Was murder by torture unusual even in your line of work?”

Rice’s composure cracked for the first time. He licked his lips and looked ill.

“Was torturing someone to death unusual?” Ami repeated.

“Yes,” Rice answered, his voice barely audible.

“Did you follow the General’s orders?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone see you kill Eric Glass?”

Rice looked over at Vanessa. “Miss Kohler was in the house. I didn’t know that she would be there until I saw her. The General hadn’t told me that his daughter had given the files to the congressman.”

“What did you do after you saw Miss Kohler?”

“I panicked. I ran. When I got myself together, I took the files to the General and asked him to explain why Vanessa was at Lost Lake. He told me that Glass had seduced her into stealing the files. He said that she’d told the police that I killed the congressman. Then he told me that he would hide me in North Vietnam by sending me on a mission to save a group of American MIAs who were being held captive. He promised me that he would have a plan in place when I returned to ensure that I would not be arrested. He was going to arrange plastic surgery and a new identity.”

“But that never happened?”

“No,” Rice answered bitterly. “The mission was a trap. I could prove that the Unit existed and so could the rest of the men. He needed us dead to protect himself. All those brave soldiers who would have given their lives for their country…”

Rice stopped. He was trying to maintain his composure, but he was on the verge of tears. He asked for a glass of water. Judge Velasco no longer looked skeptical. There were whispers in the gallery. Ami chanced a glance behind her. The spectators looked subdued and serious.

“How did you survive?” Ami asked, her voice so low that the court reporter had to strain to hear her.

“I escaped.”

“Would you please tell the judge how that happened?”

Carl gathered himself and told Judge Velasco how he was captured and tortured, and how he escaped, survived in the jungle, and made his way back to America. While he was speaking, Carl’s eyes never left the rail of the witness box. When he finished, he was totally spent.

“Why did Miss Kohler break you out of the hospital?” Ami asked when Rice was ready to continue.

“She believed that the General would try to kill me as soon as he learned that I was alive.”

“So she rescued you to save your life?”

“Yes.”

“Were her fears for your safety justified?”

“I believe they were.”

“After you left the hospital, did you murder Dr. George French, a psychiatrist I was using in your case, and his wife?”

“No.”

“Who killed them?”

“General Wingate had his men murder Dr. George French.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because his men tried to murder you also, Mrs. Vergano.”

“And you rescued me?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think General Wingate murdered Dr. French and tried to kill me?”

“You were the two people who had access to me at the hospital. He was afraid I’d told you about the Unit and his involvement in it so you could use the information as a bargaining chip in plea negotiation.”

“Why did you break into the General’s mansion in California?”

“His men had kidnapped Vanessa. I saw them. I was afraid for her life.”

“So Miss Kohler did not go to her father’s house voluntarily?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

Brendan Kirkpatrick rose slowly and approached the witness. On the way to the stand, the prosecutor handed Ami copies of several documents.

“Your Honor, I’ve just given counsel copies of State’s Exhibits 1, 2, and 3, which I have previously marked. Mrs. Vergano is willing to stipulate, for purposes of this hearing only, that they are Mr. Rice’s army records from his official file. I move their introduction into evidence.”

“You’re willing to stipulate, Mrs. Vergano?” Judge Velasco asked.

“Yes, for this hearing only, Your Honor.”

“Very well. The documents will be admitted.”

“I just have a few questions for you, Mr. Rice,” Kirkpatrick said as he handed the witness copies of the exhibits. “You’ve testified that you were in this so-called secret unit from the early nineteen-seventies until 1985, when you went AWOL?”

“Yes.”

“And you had numerous missions overseas?”

“Yes.”

“Look at your records. After your first combat mission, do they show any more overseas service?”

“No, but these records are false. My missions were never on paper when I was in the Unit.”

“So you have testified. Still, your official records do not support your testimony, do they?”

“No.”

“What was your rank in 1985?”

“I was a captain.”

“But the records list you as a sergeant, don’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Look at Exhibit 3. That’s the psychiatric evaluation written by Dr. Howard Stienbock.”

“I was never interviewed by this man. This is false.”

“But it does say that you were discharged from the service for pretending to be a captain and the doctor does conclude that you may have been experiencing delusions as a result of the stress you suffered in your only combat mission.”

“It was not my only combat mission. These documents were prepared by General Wingate to cover up my membership in the Unit.”

“I see. They were written as part of the conspiracy against you?”

“They were prepared as part of a cover-up.”

“And you no longer have the records you took from Lost Lake?”

“I gave them to the General.”

“And the men in the Unit are all conveniently dead? Their bodies are in North Vietnam?”

“It wasn’t convenient for them, Mr. Kirkpatrick. They were brave men and they died a hard death.”

“So you say, but you can’t prove your story, can you?”

Rice paused for a moment before shaking his head.

“We need you to speak up for the record, Mr. Rice. Do you have any proof to support your accusations against General Morris Wingate?”

“Other than my word, no,” Rice said, is voice barely above a whisper.

“Then the judge pretty much has to take your word for the existence of this secret unit, your exploits in it, and the falsity of the official army records, doesn’t he?”

Rice stared at the papers he held in his hand and did not answer. Kirkpatrick let the matter drop and introduced a new subject.

“When you and the defendant were in high school, did she ever tell you how she felt about her father?”

“Yes.”

“Would it be fair to say that the defendant hates her father?”

“Yes.”

“Did she ever tell you that she believed that General Wingate murdered her mother?”

“Yes.”

“And was part of the conspiracy to kill President John F. Kennedy?”

There was a gasp in the courtroom and some laughter. Judge Velasco gaveled for order.

“She never told me that she thought her father was involved in the Kennedy assassination.”

“But she does hate her father?”

“Yes.”

“And she would do anything-say anything-to hurt her father, wouldn’t she?”

“Objection,” Ami said. “That question calls for speculation.”

Before the judge could rule, Kirkpatrick said, “I’ll withdraw the question, and I have no further questions for the witness.”

The guards helped Carl out of the witness box. When he passed by the defense table, he looked at Vanessa and she smiled. He smiled back as he was led out of the courtroom, but the smile lacked conviction.

“Call your next witness,” the judge instructed.

“Miss Kohler calls Dr. Leroy Ganett,” Ami said.

Dr. Ganett walked to the stand without looking at Ami or Vanessa. He was upset when he took the oath.

“Dr. Ganett,” Ami asked after establishing the doctor’s credentials and his position at the county hospital, “you were Carl Rice’s treating physician, were you not?”

“Yes,” he answered tersely. It was obvious that he wished he were anywhere other than in the witness box being questioned by Ami on behalf of Vanessa Kohler.

“And you knew him as Daniel Morelli?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s refer to him by his true name-Carl Rice-from now on, okay?”

“If you wish.”

“Why were you treating Mr. Rice?”

“He was brought to the hospital with gunshot wounds. I operated on him, and after he was placed in the security ward I continued to treat him.”

“Doctor, I’m handing you defense Exhibit 1. Please identify it for the court.”

“It’s my medical report on Morelli’s-uh, Rice’s-condition.”

“Did you write it after examining him?”

“Yes.”

Ami pointed at a line in the report. “Would you read this sentence to the court, please?”

Dr. Ganett saw where she was pointing and cleared his throat.

“Uh, this sentence says that an X ray of Mr. Rice’s abdomen showed metal fragments compatible with shrapnel.”

“And shrapnel is a metal fragment from a bomb or grenade that is exploded during war, is it not?”

“Well, not necessarily wartime, but from a bomb, yes.”

“Most shrapnel wounds are received during war, aren’t they?”

Dr. Ganett thought for a moment then nodded. “I would say that you would see a larger number of shrapnel wounds during a war.”

“No further questions.”

“Dr. Ganett,” Brendan Kirkpatrick said, rising from behind the prosecution table, “you used the term ‘compatible with shrapnel’ in your report, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you just say that the metal fragment was shrapnel? Why use the word ‘compatible’?”

“We have no way of knowing that the fragment is shrapnel. It is a metal fragment, it is consistent with shrapnel, but it could be something else.”

“It could be a metal fragment that penetrated Mr. Rice’s body during an explosion in this country?”

“Yes.”

“An auto accident could result in the creation of a metal fragment like the one you found in his body?”

“I suppose so.”

“Or a water heater could have exploded? That could result in the creation of a fragment like this one, couldn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“So there’s no way of knowing where Mr. Rice received this wound, or under what circumstances, just from looking at an X ray, is there?”

“I guess not.”

“Assuming for the sake of argument that Mr. Rice did receive this wound in combat, is there any way that you can tell if it was inflicted in 1985 as opposed to the early nineteen-seventies?”

“No, I don’t think you can do that.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Relief flooded Dr. Ganett’s features when Ami said that she had no further questions and he hurried out of the courtroom.

“Any more witnesses, Mrs. Vergano?” Judge Velasco asked.

Ami stood again. “Miss Kohler calls Detective Howard Walsh.”

After Walsh took the oath, Ami established that he was the detective in charge of the Little League case.

“Detective Walsh, when Mr. Rice was arrested in connection with the incident at the Little League game, did you take his fingerprints?”

“Yes.”

“Is that routine when a person is arrested?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do with the fingerprints?”

“We ran them through AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, to see if he had a criminal record.”

“Was AFIS able to match Mr. Rice’s prints?”

“No.”

“Mr. Kirkpatrick has entered records from Mr. Rice’s army file into evidence. Weren’t the fingerprints in the file?”

Walsh hesitated.

“Well, Detective?” Ami prodded.

“There appears to be some kind of clerical error, because his prints aren’t on record with the army.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“No questions,” Kirkpatrick said.

“My final witness is Miss Kohler, Your Honor.”

This was the moment that Vanessa had been waiting for. It was her chance to tell the world that her father was pure evil. Yet the moment her name was called, doubts assailed her. Was everyone else right? Was the Unit a figment of Carl’s imagination? Did her father really love her?

“Miss Kohler,” Judge Velasco said. “Please come up here and be sworn.”

Vanessa steeled herself and willed herself to her feet. She was right. Her father was evil. She threw her shoulders back and walked to the witness box, convinced that justice would be done today.

Before Judge Velasco would allow Ami to examine her client, he reviewed the problems that Ami’s dual representation of her and Carl Rice created and gave her the same warning about incriminating herself that he had given Rice. When Vanessa told him that she wanted to testify, the judge told Ami to continue.

“Miss Kohler,” Ami asked after a few preliminary questions, “in 1985 in Washington, D.C., did Carl Rice tell you about his involvement in a secret military unit that your father was running out of the AIDC?”

“Yes.”

“After this conversation, did you try to find proof that the Unit existed?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“My father had a safe in his office in our house in California. He didn’t know that I knew the combination. Inside were the army records of ten men, including Carl’s records.”

“What did you do with the records?”

“I was working for Congressman Eric Glass, who was on the House committee that oversees the intelligence community. I knew that he was at his summer home at Lost Lake in Northern California. I took the records to him. I wanted him to look into what these men had been doing during and after Vietnam.”

“What happened to the records?”

“I gave them to Eric, and he agreed to have someone on his staff look into them. It was late. Eric let me use one of the guest rooms. A noise woke me up in the middle of the night. I went downstairs.”

Vanessa paused. Even after all these years and numerous retellings, the horror of what she had seen was still fresh.

“Do you want some water or a brief recess?” Ami asked.

“No. I’m okay.” Vanessa coughed, then took a deep breath. “Eric was tied to a chair. He…There was blood all over. Carl was standing over him with a knife. He’d killed the congressman, and he took the records.”

“Let’s move on to the events at the county hospital. Why did you rescue Mr. Rice from the security ward?”

“Objection,” Kirkpatrick said. “This was not a rescue. Miss Kohler aided and abetted an escape from custody.”

“That’s to be decided by Your Honor,” Ami responded. “Our position is that Miss Kohler’s bail should be lowered because Mr. Rice was in danger and she rescued him. We believe that Miss Kohler is not guilty of any crime if Mr. Rice’s life was in danger if he stayed in the hospital.”

“Objection overruled, Mr. Kirkpatrick. Mrs. Vergano is entitled to her theory. Whether I accept her theory is another matter entirely.”

“You may answer my question,” Ami said.

“My father thought that he’d gotten rid of the evidence that could prove that the Unit existed. With Carl alive, he faced the possibility that his criminal activities would be exposed. And even if there wasn’t enough proof for a criminal conviction, what Carl knows could derail his presidential bid. I knew my father would go to any lengths to get rid of Carl, so I broke him out of jail.”

“Why not just tell the authorities about the danger to Mr. Rice?”

Vanessa laughed. She pointed around the courtroom. “You can see how much credence the police give to what I have to say. My father had me committed to a mental hospital after Lost Lake in order to destroy my credibility. I knew no one would take me seriously, so I saved Carl before the General’s men could kill him. As it was, we just escaped in time. My father’s killers murdered Dr. French and his wife shortly after we escaped and they tried to kill you.”

“How do you know that Mr. Rice didn’t kill Dr. French and his wife?”

“I was with him from the time he left the hospital until I was kidnapped by my father’s men.”

“Did you know any of the men who kidnapped you?”

“Sam Cutler.”

“Who is Sam Cutler?”

“I can’t be certain that’s his real name. Carl knew him as Paul Molineaux. He works for my father, but I didn’t know that when I met him.”

“What was your relationship with Mr. Cutler before he kidnapped you?”

“He was my lover,” Vanessa answered bitterly. “When my father decided to run for the presidency, he instructed Sam to get close to me to make sure I wouldn’t cause his election campaign any trouble.” She paused. “I only learned this recently.”

“Was Mr. Cutler alone when he kidnapped you?”

“No. He had several members of my father’s security force with him. They tried to kill Carl, but he escaped.”

“Where were you taken by Mr. Cutler?”

“To my father’s home in California.”

“Is this the house in which you grew up?”

“Yes, but I don’t go there anymore.”

“Did Mr. Cutler use force to bring you to the mansion?”

“He used physical force and he drugged me.”

“So you did not go to the mansion of your own free will?”

“No.”

“Was Mr. Rice trying to kidnap you when he broke into the mansion?”

“No. He was rescuing me. My father was keeping me there against my will.”

“So Mr. Rice was trying to rescue you from kidnappers when he broke into the mansion, and you would have left with him voluntarily?”

“Yes.”

“If the judge lowers your bail or releases you on your own word, what will you do?”

“I’d follow the court’s instructions. If he lets me return to Washington until the trial, I’ll go back to work. Patrick Gorman, my employer, is keeping my position open. I have an apartment. I’ve been living there for close to fifteen years.”

Ami handed a document to Judge Velasco.

“This is a signed affidavit from Patrick Gorman attesting to the fact that Miss Kohler has been a valued employee for many years and that he will continue to employ her if she is released from custody. I’ve given a copy of the affidavit to Mr. Kirkpatrick, and he has agreed that it can be a substitute for Mr. Gorman’s testimony at this hearing.”

“Is that so, Mr. Kirkpatrick?” the judge asked.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Very well, any further questions of your witness?”

“No,” Ami said.

“You may examine, Mr. Kirkpatrick.”

When Brendan walked over to the witness box he looked subdued, as if he were sad to have to ask his questions.

“Were you and Carl Rice lovers in high school, Miss Kohler?”

“Yes.”

“And you broke up in high school?”

“Yes.”

“Then you renewed your acquaintance in D.C. in 1985?”

“Yes.”

“Did you become lovers in Washington?”

“No.”

“Who made the decision to keep the relationship platonic in D.C.?”

“Me.”

“Why was that?”

“We hadn’t parted on the best of terms in high school, and we’d both changed over the years.” Vanessa shrugged. “I just didn’t feel like getting involved in that way with Carl again.”

“And Mr. Rice knew how you felt?”

“Yes.”

“He also knew that you hated your father, didn’t he?”

Vanessa laughed. “Everyone knew that.”

“Did Charlotte Kohler, your mother, die in a car accident when you were in middle school?”

“It was no accident.”

“You believe that your father murdered your mother, don’t you?”

“I know he did.”

“But you have no proof that she was murdered, do you?”

“No,” Vanessa answered as she glared defiantly at the prosecutor.

“And the authorities concluded that your mother’s death was an accident, didn’t they?”

“My father has people on his payroll who can make any death look like an accident.”

“Nonetheless, the official verdict was that your mother’s death was an accident?”

“Yes.”

“You testified that Sam Cutler was living with you in Washington?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him that you thought that your father may have been involved in the Kennedy assassination?”

“My father’s military career took off soon after Kennedy was murdered,” she answered belligerently.

“And you think that’s because he was involved in some sort of cabal that was responsible for the assassination?”

“I don’t have any proof about that. It’s…The coincidence is…” Her voice trailed off as she realized how insane she sounded. “Yes.”

“You testified that you and Mr. Rice had once been lovers, but you decided to keep the relationship platonic when you met again in 1985.”

“I just said that.”

“What if he wanted more, Miss Kohler? He knew you hated your father and that you’d believe any outlandish story he made up as long as the villain in it was General Morris Wingate. What if he concocted a story about a secret army headed by your father to bind you to him?”

“No, the Unit existed,” Vanessa insisted stubbornly.

“If Mr. Rice hadn’t told you about the Unit, would you have known about it?”

“What about the records in the safe?”

“Please answer my question, Miss Kohler,” Brendan asked patiently. “If Mr. Rice had not told you about the Unit, would you have known of its existence?”

“No.”

“Did any of the records you took from your father’s safe mention the Unit?”

“No, but Carl’s army records were with the others.”

“Couldn’t your father’s possession of these records have had an innocent explanation that had nothing to do with a super-secret team of assassins?”

Vanessa shook her head from side to side. She was growing very agitated.

“My father is a killer. He ordered Carl to kill Eric Glass for those records.”

“You cannot produce these records for the court, can you?”

“My father has them, if he hasn’t destroyed them.”

Brendan looked at the judge. “Would you please instruct Miss Kohler to answer my question?”

“Yes, Miss Kohler. You’re not allowed to argue with counsel. If there is a point you wish to make, your attorney can ask you about it during redirect. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Vanessa answered grudgingly.

“Do you want the court reporter to read back the question?”

“That’s not necessary.” Vanessa turned to the prosecutor. “No, Mr. Kirkpatrick, I can’t produce the records.”

“Miss Kohler, did it ever occur to you that Mr. Rice may have murdered the congressman out of jealousy because he thought that Eric Glass was your lover?”

“I don’t believe that. You don’t know my father. You have no idea what he’s capable of doing.”

“Have you ever seen your father kill someone?” Kirkpatrick asked.

Vanessa hesitated.

“Have you?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen him order someone to commit a crime?”

“No,” Vanessa answered softly.

“Has your father ever hurt you?”

“He had me kidnapped.”

“Or did he rescue you from a man who is a confessed mass murderer?”

Vanessa glared at the prosecutor. “My father had me locked away in a mental hospital.” Her eyes blazed with hate and her body was rigid. “He kept me in a drugged stupor for a year just to shut me up.”

“Or to help you. Didn’t the doctors at the hospital make the diagnosis that kept you there?”

“They did what he ordered them to do.”

“Did the doctors tell you that?”

“No.”

“Did you ever hear your father give such an order?”

“He’s too smart for that. He was always telling me how much he loved me and how it hurt him to have to hospitalize me. He made certain that there were witnesses. He may be evil but he’s also very clever.”

“Or very caring, Miss Kohler, or very caring. I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

“He made me look like a fool,” Vanessa told Ami, who was seated across the table from her in the jury room following the noon recess.

“Brendan is an excellent attorney. He knows that you have only Carl’s word that the Unit exists.”

“What about the murder of Dr. French and his wife?”

“Brendan doesn’t believe you or Carl. He thinks that Carl killed the Frenches and that you’re covering for Carl.”

“Carl saved your life. What does he think about that?”

“He thinks that your father’s security people came to my house looking for you and Carl killed them and my police guards. That explanation fits Brendan’s theory of the case.”

Vanessa shook her head. “We don’t have a chance, do we?”

“I’m sorry, but I told you that this would happen. You’ve been in a mental hospital and your father is a national hero. You’re very open about your hatred for him. That gives you a strong motive to lie or distort the truth.”

“Still no word from Hobson?” Vanessa asked.

“No.”

“I knew I’d never beat him. He always wins.”

Vanessa closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Her pain was so visible that it hurt Ami, but Ami knew of no way to stop the pain. They had lost, and Vanessa and Carl Rice were going to go to prison for a long time.