Perfect Justice

51.

THERE HAD BEEN A few gasps and twitters from the gallery before, but nothing compared to the stunned reaction that occurred now. Grand Dragon Dunagan was going to testify—against one of his own?

Ben had to amend his initial observation. Everyone in the gallery seemed surprised—except Grand Dragon Dunagan. He walked calmly to the front of the courtroom and took his seat in the witness stand. He closed his eyes as the bailiff read the oath, then answered in a booming voice, “So help me God.”

Swain made his way quickly through the preliminaries and established that Dunagan was the Grand Dragon of ASP.

“Now that’s kind of a funny title,” Swain said. “Why do they call you that?”

“It’s a million years old,” Swain said. He seemed embarrassed. “In the early days, all the Anglo-Saxon organizations used titles like that. Frankly I’ve been trying to get them to call me President Dunagan for years. But old habits die hard.”

Swain was nodding, as if he really bought into this. “You know, I think there may be some misunderstandings about what ASP is. Can you give the jury some background?”

“ASP is a legitimate, fully registered, lobbying organization designed to promote political change.”

“What changes do you advocate?”

“First let me tell you what we don’t advocate. We don’t advocate any laws that would hurt the non-Anglo-Saxon races. My motto is ‘live and let live.’ All we favor is separation, letting people work and play among their own. I know that may not be politically correct, but it’s the way this country worked for a good long time, and frankly most people think the world was better then than it is today.”

“How do you pursue your political goals?”

“By lobbying the government. And by establishing camps where people can get away and live among their own kind.”

“Do these camps stockpile weapons?”

“Yes. And we train our people how to use them, too. But only for defensive purposes. When you live out in the wild like that, with no easy access to law enforcement, you have to learn how to take care of yourself. But we absolutely do not engage in aggressive, violent, or terroristic acts!”

“Then ASP wouldn’t, for instance, firebomb a car?”

Ben couldn’t believe it. Swain was actually going along with this whitewash. He must’ve wanted Dunagan’s testimony in a big way.

“Absolutely not. We had no part in that.”

“And ASP wouldn’t set fire to someone’s home?”

“Of course not. I thought what happened out at Coi Than Tien the other night was tragic. Hell, I approve of Coi Than Tien—a community where the members of a single race live among their own. I think there should be more like them.”

“Was there anyone at ASP who felt differently about the use of violence?”

Dunagan took a deep breath, then slowly released it. “Well … I hate to talk about my own men. …”

“You’re under oath,” Swain reminded him.

“Right. Well … there was the defendant. Donald Vick.”

In the corner of his eye, Ben could see the jurors leaning forward, straining to pick up each word.

“Vick favored the use of violence?”

“Vick is a hothead. Always was. I’ve known him for years, and he’s always been the same.”

Ben stared at Dunagan in disbelief. What on earth was going on? Dunagan was selling his old buddy Lou Vick’s boy right down the river.

“What did Vick want to do?”

“Oh, there were so many nasty cockeyed ideas. … Let me think.” He paused for a moment. “Well, he was a big fan of planting burning crosses in Vietnamese front yards.”

The connection wasn’t lost on the jury. The murderer was fond of burning crosses, too.

“What else?”

“He was always picking fights. Like he did with this Vuong fella. For no reason at all. He was just a mean SOB, to tell the truth. He liked to toss a Molotov cocktail or two, also.”

“Like the one that exploded a car on Maple and burned three people?”

“Well …” Dunagan said slowly. “Since that happened … I’ve had to wonder. …”

Swain returned to counsel table and thumbed through his legal pad. Ben knew he didn’t need to check his notes. He was just taking his time, letting all this sink in before he moved on to the next topic.

“Mr. Dunagan, do you know where Donald Vick was on the night of the murder?”

“No.” He folded his hands calmly. “He left the camp early that afternoon. Told some of the boys he had something to do. Didn’t specify—acted real mysterious about it. Of course, now I realize he was going to pick that fight in the bar—”

“Objection!” Ben interrupted. “Lack of personal knowledge.”

“Right, right,” Judge Tyler said. “Sustained.”

Swain picked up right where he left off. “Mr. Dunagan, do you stock crossbows at your camp?”

“Oh, yes. As I said, we have to defend ourselves.”

“Have you seen the particular crossbow that has been identified as the murder weapon in this case?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Do you have an opinion as to where that crossbow came from?”

“I’m afraid I do.” He sighed, then looked directly at Vick. “It came out of our armory.”

“And who would have access to your armory?”

“It’s not a prison camp. Anyone could get in if they really wanted to.”

Swain leaned in for the clincher. “Including Donald Vick?”

Dunagan looked as if his answer filled him with regret. “Including Donald Vick.”

Ben saw the jurors settle back in their seats. He had the disturbing feeling they thought they had heard enough.

“Thank you, Mr. Dunagan.” Swain turned toward Ben and smiled. “Your witness, Mr. Kincaid. Good luck.”