The Justice Game

47

Before she left her condo Friday morning, Kelly checked the Kryptonite blog one last time. Though her blackmailer’s threat had been very specific-exposure of her affair only if she settled the case-she still couldn’t keep from obsessively monitoring the site.

The blog seemed to consolidate everything evil about the Internet in one URL. For starters, it was a vicious rumor site, populated by sordid stories attributed to unnamed sources. The comments were smarmy and full of vulgarity. It was basically a place to verbally tar and feather defenseless public figures based on either pure speculation or the flimsiest evidence imaginable.

Kelly breathed a sigh of relief every time she checked the latest post and saw that it wasn’t about her. Her fears were compounded by what she had learned in the past few months about the public-relations aspects of gun control. The mainstream media would be her ally. The “intellectual elites,” as the right-wingers called them, generally believed that the country’s fascination with guns was unhealthy, that its frontier mentality was a bad thing. Civilized countries, like those model democracies in Europe, solved their disputes with clever editorials and dueling political philosophies, not guns at high noon.

But the “flyover zones” were filled with rabid gun enthusiasts. Many of the ordinary folks in battleground states lost all sense of objectivity when the government made noises about controlling firearms. Kelly had already seen a little of that fury in the e-mails she had received and the letters to the editor that mentioned her name. If word about her affair ever hit the press, she would be red meat for a pack of Second Amendment wolves.

The fickle media would probably abandon her as well. She would be like a pup-tent camper in the middle of a hurricane, exposed to its destructive fury with nowhere to turn.

Today’s Kryptonite story, thankfully, was about the latest political sex scandal. In the few days she had been checking the blog, Kelly had noticed a definite pattern. Political stories focused on sex and corruption. For movie stars, the stories were about sex and drugs. For rock stars, who were expected to be stoned and promiscuous, Kryptonite trotted out the really bizarre accusations, accompanied by unflattering photos of the stars looking either bulimic or severely overweight.

And then the “fans” would crucify them.

The common denominator to all the stories was sex. It wasn’t lost on Kelly that her escapade with Judge Shaver certainly fit the profile.

Kelly read a few comments, said a prayer of thanks that it wasn’t her turn yet, and started to get ready for work. The gossip rag sheets could wait. Today would be the crucial deposition of Jarrod Beeson.

Beeson’s deposition started at 1 p.m. in a dingy conference room in the Patrick Henry Correctional Unit near Martinsville, Virginia. The site was a minimum security facility that housed about 150 inmates. It was classified in the Virginia system as Level 1 High Security, not a country-club prison but also a far cry from the types of places where violent felons served long stretches.

Because of the difficulties associated with having Beeson transported to Virginia Beach for the trial, Kelly and Jason had agreed that this would be a de bene esse deposition, meaning it could be used at trial in lieu of Beeson himself appearing.

Kelly knew that Beeson would be dressed in an orange jumpsuit and look like a felon, so she had ordered only a court reporter and not a videographer. That way, the deposition would be read to the jury, but they wouldn’t be watching a static head shot of a guilty-looking Beeson on videotape. Unfortunately, Jason Noble had anticipated this move and paid for his own videographer, determined to show Jarrod to the Virginia Beach jury.

Beeson had an unnerving stare as he answered Kelly’s questions. He was a small man with thick black eyebrows that nearly touched in the middle and short, wiry facial hair covering his chin and jaw. His leg was in constant jittery motion, and he leaned forward as he talked, eyes glued on Kelly, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She wanted to tell him to look at the camera, but she knew Jason would object and accuse her of coaching the witness, thereby drawing more attention to Beeson’s creepy demeanor.

Kelly got through her preliminary questions without incident. Beeson had purchased a total of twenty-three guns from Peninsula Arms. When the ATF agents carried out a search warrant at his apartment, they had found only three of those guns remaining, along with a fourth gun that had its serial number filed off.

Under questioning by the ATF agents, Beeson had cracked, admitting that he was acting as a straw purchaser for felons and others who couldn’t buy guns on their own. Two of the guns he had purchased had been traced to violent crimes. One of them was the MD-9 used by Larry Jamison to kill Rachel Crawford.

That part of his testimony was undisputed. The key would be showing that the clerks at Peninsula Arms knew Beeson was a straw purchaser who would resell the guns to unqualified buyers.

“How did you get your customers?” Kelly asked. “How did you learn about men who needed guns but couldn’t purchase them on their own?”

“Objection, calls for hearsay,” Jason said.

Jason had been sitting back during most of the deposition, watching more like a bemused spectator than an attorney. He had shown up in jeans and a long-sleeved pullover, knowing that he wouldn’t be on camera. It was also, Kelly realized, a subtle form of psychological warfare. This witness isn’t worth dressing up for.

“It’s a deposition,” Kelly responded. “Hearsay is allowed.”

“I’m just preserving my objection for trial, where hearsay is most definitely not allowed.”

“You can answer,” Kelly told the witness. “Mr. Noble is just objecting for the record.”

“How did I get my customers?” Beeson snorted. “The gun store sent ’em to me. I didn’t go looking for ’em.”

“Move that the remarks be struck from the record,” Jason said, his voice monotone, as if it was hardly worth the bother. “There’s no foundation for that other than hearsay.”

“Let’s talk about this sale,” Kelly suggested. “The MD-9 used to gun down Rachel Crawford. When did you first learn that Larry Jamison needed a gun?”

“Objection. Hearsay.”

Kelly blew out a breath and looked at Jason. “Why don’t you just make an objection to this whole line of questioning and quit interrupting every single question?”

Jason gave her a tight smile. “Thanks for the suggestion. But I think I’ll try my own case.”

“That dude Jamison called me,” Beeson said, not waiting for a prompt. “He said he tried to buy a gun at Peninsula Arms but didn’t pass the background check. Said the clerk at the gun store gave him my number.”

“Move to strike,” Jason said. “Hearsay.”

Kelly shot him a look.

“Did he say which clerk sent him to you?” Kelly asked.

“Objection. Hearsay again.”

Give it a rest!

“Nah,” Beeson said. “It didn’t matter.”

“Had this happened before? Ineligible gun buyers calling you and saying they were referred by the store?”

This time Jason snorted at the question. “Let’s see,” he said. “Hearsay-actually double hearsay-leading the witness, relevance… Am I missing anything?”

“You mean other than that class in law school where they teach you to reserve your objections until trial?” Kelly asked.

“Tell you what,” Jason said, his tone friendly. “You stop asking objectionable questions, and I’ll stop objecting.”

Kelly shook her head. In the past five years, she had learned her deposition lessons the hard way-don’t let the men push you around. Always get the last word. “It’s a shame,” she said, “that the rookie has to learn how to practice law on my case.”

Beeson chuckled. “Man, I wouldn’t mess with her,” he said to Jason.

The squabbling continued for several more questions until Kelly got back on solid ground. The phone conversation was only one way of showing that the clerks at Peninsula Arms knew this was a straw purchase. The other was the transaction itself.

According to Beeson, he and Larry Jamison had entered the store together. Jamison had talked with the clerk and inspected the firearms while Beeson looked on. Once Jamison selected the gun, Beeson and Jamison went outside the store, and the money changed hands-the cost of the gun and a 50 percent “handling fee.” Beeson went back inside on his own and purchased the gun, gave it to Jamison in the parking lot, and never saw the man again.

It was, Kelly thought, as good a place as any to end the testimony. Beeson wasn’t the best witness, but Kelly didn’t get to pick them. She already knew how she would explain it in her closing argument.

“Boy Scouts don’t participate in the gunrunning business. The other people who know how this transaction occurred are either dead or taking the Fifth. We don’t pick the witnesses, ladies and gentlemen, we just put them on the stand.

“But is he telling the truth? Consider this-Beeson’s confession earned him a twelve-month prison sentence. What human being lies so that he can spend a year of his life behind bars?”