Victoria Cross: United Federation Attorney (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 9) Read online

  Hostile Witness

  After Crawford sat down, Victoria took the witness.

  “Mr. Chambers, how much were you paid to testify for the defense today?”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Ten thousand terros. That isn’t unusual, by the way. I’ve been paid to testify in other criminal cases before this one.”

  “I see. Does the fact that the defense is paying you affect your testimony in any way?”

  “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

  “Well, you are obviously saying what the defense wants you to say. But if I had hired you instead of Mr. Crawford, would your testimony be different? Would you be saying what I want to hear?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that. Tell me, Mr. Chambers…do you still beat your wife?”

  The witness looked stunned. His face blanched white, then fused red.

  “What! No, of course not!”

  “When did you stop?”

  He jerked upright in his chair, mouth open and eyes wide.

  “Now wait a minute! I never said—”

  “Objection! Your Honor, what the hell is Miss Cross trying to pull here?”

  Victoria turned and smiled at him.

  “What took you so long, counselor? I expected you to object after the first question.”

  Crawford ignored her.

  “Your Honor…!”

  Van Wert’s face was almost as red as the witness’s.

  “Approach! Both of you!”

  Crawford, puffing with anger, stomped toward the bench. Victoria joined him, her hands clasped innocently in front of her. She tried to suppress a smile, but failed.

  “What the hell are you doing, Miss Cross?” van Wert demanded. “Are you fishing or do you have something?”

  “I have something, your Honor.”

  Van Wert’s eyes expanded a fraction in surprise.

  “What’ve you got?”

  Victoria told her.

  “All right, step back. The objection is overruled.”

  Still steaming, Crawford returned to the defense table. Victoria returned to the witness. Jay Chambers stared at her as if she were a rattlesnake.

  “Mr. Chambers, you said you no longer beat your wife.”

  “No! I said I have never beaten my wife! You’re putting words in my mouth!”

  “I would never do that, Mr. Chambers. It’s unsanitary and spreads germs.”

  “Objection! Counsel is mocking the witness.”

  “Withdrawn. Mr. Chambers, isn’t it true that on July 13, 0442, your wife called police to your house to settle a domestic dispute?”

  Chambers stared at her. He swallowed.

  “I never beat my wife. I’ve never laid a hand on her.”

  “Please answer the question, Mr. Chambers. Were the police called to your residence on July 13, 0442?”

  “Yes.” His response was barely audible.

  “Who called the police on that occasion?”

  “My wife did.”

  “Why did she call the police?”

  “We were having an argument.”

  “Did the argument get violent?”

  “No. It got noisy, but not violent.”

  “Were you arrested?”

  “No. I was detained and questioned, but not arrested.”

  “Why weren’t you arrested?”

  “My wife refused to press charges.”

  “Your wife refused to press charges. For what, Mr. Chambers? If there was no violence, why would she even consider pressing charges? You can’t be arrested for merely yelling at her, can you?”

  Chambers glanced toward Crawford for help, but Crawford only glared back at him with pursed lips. He looked agitated.

  “I might have put a bruise on her,” Chambers admitted in a quiet voice. “By accident.”

  Victoria walked to the prosecution table and returned with a flat photo.

  “Approach the witness, your Honor?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Mr. Chambers, do you recognize the person in this digital?”

  She held it up for him to see. He stared at it, his face slowly burning red.

  “Yes.”

  “Is this a picture of your wife, Mr. Chambers?”

  “Yes.”

  Victoria strolled to the defense table and showed the picture to Crawford, then strolled down the jury box so they could see it as well. The photo depicted a woman whose face looked like one solid blood blister; one eye was swollen shut and the other was barely open. Three cuts had been sutured.

  She returned to the witness.

  He avoided her gaze.

  “Mr. Chambers, the next time you sell your services as an expert witness, may I suggest that you offer a discount? I don’t think Mr. Crawford got his money’s worth today.”

  “Objection! That’s just petty, your Honor.”

  “Withdrawn. Nothing further.”

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  Author’s Note

  If you’ve been following Nick Walker from the beginning, this novel may seem a little out of place to you. The reason is that it fits in the middle of the set, right after Rebel Guns of Alpha Centauri. Based on publication dates, it is the ninth novel in the series, but chronologically, it is the fourth.

  If you are new to the Nick Walker series, I recommend reading it in the following order:

  Asteroid Outpost

  Sirian Summer

  Rebel Guns of Alpha Centauri

  Victoria Cross, U.F. Attorney

  Bounty Hunter at Binary Flats

  Gunfight on the Alpha Centauri Express

  Manhunt on Tau Ceti 4

  Assassin on Centauri B

  Revolt on Alpha 2

  — John Bowers

  Memoriam

  Douglas Hitlin and his brother Ed were two of my closest friends in high school. I was recently saddened to learn they have both passed on. Doug was a talented artist and a master with oil paints. Ed was more mechanical and loved fast cars. I never saw either of them after 1965, but they will live on in my memory until my own time comes. Rest in peace, guys.

  Dedication

  This one is for Doug. He and I were in the same class and he always encouraged my writing. I only hope he made a success with his art. In this book his name will live on as a private detective working for Victoria Cross.

  A Faster Than Light eBook

  Published by John Bowers

  Copyright 2018 by John Bowers

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by John Bowers.

  You are granted a non-exclusive license to this work. You may
make copies or reformat it for YOUR OWN USE ONLY. You may not resell, trade, nor give this work away.

  Created in the United States of America

  First Publication: April 2018

  Cover by Howard Milligan

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters are a product of the imagination of the author and any resemblance to any real person, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Victoria Cross:

  United Federation Attorney

  By

  John Bowers

  When Justice is more important than winning.

  Chapter 1

  Thursday, January 28, 0444 (Colonial Calendar)

  71st Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2

  It had been a spectacular trial.

  Some had called it the trial of the decade.

  The case had been widely publicized on three worlds, avidly followed by legal minds and courtroom junkies across the galaxy. The verdict had been delivered a month earlier—guilty. Now, a live feed beamed out to the Federation in real time as the public waited for the final act—the sentencing.

  The courtroom was packed, mostly with reporters. Victoria Cross, Assistant U. F. Attorney, stood alone at the prosecution table; the defense table was populated by the defendant and four highly paid defense lawyers, all of them known for taking high-profile cases.

  The defendant sat in the midst of his attorneys with his chin held high, as if he’d never done anything wrong. His name was Wilson Fong; he was fifty years old, a lawyer himself. Throughout the trial, confident of victory, he’d been free on his own recognizance. Upon his conviction, Judge van Wert had agreed to let him remain free until sentencing, on the condition that he submit to electronic monitoring. On the surface he was a rather unremarkable man, gaunt and grey and washed-out; as he waited for sentencing, he assumed an air of the persecuted.

  Judge Hildegaard van Wert, at twenty-eight the youngest Federation judge in history, settled in on the bench, banged the gavel once, and looked around the courtroom. Apparently satisfied that everyone was present, she picked up the case file and read the docket number aloud. She turned to the defendant and addressed him directly.

  “Mr. Fong, you have been found guilty by a jury of your peers on charges of malicious prosecution, obstruction of justice, and withholding evidence pertinent to a criminal investigation.”

  Her pale, humorless blue eyes shifted to the lead defense attorney.

  “Mr. Crawford, do I understand that you have a motion you want the Court to consider?”

  Hayes Crawford, immaculate in a four thousand-terro suit and wearing finger rings valued at twice that amount, shot to his feet.

  “We do, your Honor. Thank you.”

  “Proceed.”

  Victoria, slender and sexy in a tight white dress that complemented her short blond hair, sat primly and waited. She already knew what the defense wanted, and was pretty sure van Wert wouldn’t go for it.

  Hayes Crawford cleared his throat and began his appeal.

  “Your Honor, my client accepts the jury’s verdict and recognizes the error of his actions. At this point we do not dispute the charges or the verdict. However, I feel it incumbent to point out that my client, when he made his error, never physically injured anyone, and only sought justice for the victim of a vicious crime.

  “Therefore—” Crawford cleared his throat again. “—my client is willing to accept the loss of his job as Colonial Prosecutor, disbarment for a period of two years, one thousand hours of community service, and a brief incarceration, the length of which to be determined by your Honor. We submit that, in view of the fact that no one was harmed, this would be an appropriate punishment.”

  Hildegaard van Wert sat in silence during the appeal, her chin resting on her palm, her eyes barely blinking. She waited ten seconds after Crawford stopped talking, then turned her attention to Victoria.

  “Miss Cross? Would you care to respond?”

  Victoria stood.

  “Indeed I would, your Honor.”

  She walked around the front of her table and stopped, facing the judge. She and van Wert didn’t like each other and neither had ever tried to pretend otherwise, but van Wert hated lawyers in general—all of them—and the defendant was a lawyer. Worse, he was a prosecutor, and had used his office to subvert justice. Whatever animosity van Wert felt toward Victoria should pale in comparison to that.

  “Your Honor, the notion that Mr. Fong never hurt anyone is not only fallacious, it is pure lunacy. If I may recap briefly:

  “Mr. Fong prosecuted four university students for allegedly raping an exotic dancer. His investigation took several months, during which the students sat in jail awaiting trial for a crime they did not commit. Early in Mr. Fong’s investigation, evidence surfaced that proved their innocence. Not only eyewitness evidence, but irrefutable electronic evidence of financial transactions placed the four students in a different location at the exact moment of the alleged rape.

  “Mr. Fong suppressed that evidence. He let those four students rot in jail while he pursued his high-profile ‘investigation’, making frequent, almost daily appearances before the news media promoting his case. His motive? It was election year, and he needed the law-and-order vote for his reelection.

  “Mr. Fong may not think he harmed anyone, but I beg to differ. Those four students—those four innocent students—suffered extreme emotional distress while sitting in jail contemplating life sentences for something they had not done. Long before their trial ever commenced, Mr. Fong tried and convicted them in the media, and the public at large believed him. Even now that they have been exonerated, many citizens who perhaps have not heard of these proceedings still believe they are guilty. Even Duchess University, to its everlasting shame, expelled them before they even came to trial, so not only have they forfeited their tuition, but their reputations are also shot.

  “I won’t even try to describe the emotional anguish suffered by their families, their parents, their siblings, their close friends. Mr. Fong’s crime has severely impacted dozens, perhaps hundreds of people—and he wants to serve a few days in jail and perform community service? Are you kidding me?”

  Victoria wasn’t sure how much more van Wert would tolerate from her, but the judge sat silent, listening. She plowed on.

  “Your Honor, those four college students aren’t the only ones Mr. Fong has harmed. As a Colonial prosecutor, he has tarnished the reputation of every officer of this court. That includes me, your Honor, and you. That includes Mr. Crawford and the other members of his defense team. Whether Colonial or Federation, every lawyer on Alpha Centauri, every judge, every court clerk, every bailiff—we’ve all been tainted by his selfish actions. I submit to this Court that Mr. Fong represents a stain on Federation justice. I find it reprehensible that anyone, any human being—and in particular, a Colonial prosecutor—would be willing to let four innocent young men waste their lives in prison in order to further his political career.”

  She turned and walked toward the defense table, glared at Wilson Fong, and pointed directly at his face from six feet away.

  “Your Honor, he may as well have taken a gun and shot those four innocent young men in the head. It would have been kinder than what he tried to do. If the law allowed it, I would ask for a life sentence, because this kind of wanton disregard for others warrants nothing less.”

  She turned back to face van Wert.

  “Of course, a life sentence is reserved for murderers, and Mr. Fong didn’t kill anyone. But a short incarceration? Really?

  “Your Honor, those young men spent fourteen months in lockup. Rounded down, that is four hundred and twenty-five days each. The Federation submits that the minimum appropriate punishment would be for Mr. Fong to spend an equivalent amount of time in a steel cage, to mirror the time lost in the lives of these innocent young men. I don’t mean just four hundred and twenty-five days, but four hundred and twenty-five days for each of his victims. That
’s what they are, your Honor—his victims. I believe Mr. Fong needs to duplicate every day they spent behind bars, all four of them. That comes to one thousand seven hundred days, or fifty-seven months behind bars.”

  Wilson Fong had been sitting quietly, listening, his persecution face firmly in place. Now his eyes widened dramatically, his mouth fell open, and he whispered frantically into his attorney’s ear. Victoria strolled back toward her table, still talking.

  “Not only that, your Honor, but Mr. Fong’s disbarment should be permanent. He should be barred forever from practicing law, and also from running for public office. He needs to make a public apology, and to beg forgiveness from his victims, face to face, in the media. Nothing less would be justice.”

  Victoria gazed at the judge, but had said her piece. Van Wert lifted her chin from her palm and sat back.

  “Is that it, Miss Cross?”

  “Yes, your Honor…except to say that, as a practicing U.F. Attorney and an officer of this court, it offends me to stand in the same room and breathe the same air as the defendant.”

  Victoria sat down.

  Crawford was on his feet.

  “Your Honor—”

  “Save it, Mr. Crawford.” Van Wert’s blue eyes were colder than ever. “Your client is guilty and I am ready to pass sentence.”

  “But—”

  Van Wert grabbed her gavel and banged it.

  “I said save it, counselor! There is nothing you can say that will mitigate what I am about to do. Tell your client to stand up!”

  Everyone at the defense table rose. Wilson Fong looked stricken, as if a life sentence really was an option. His eyes watered with fear.

  “Mr. Fong, this Court agrees with everything Miss Cross just said. You are a stain on law enforcement and the legal profession. More than that, you are a sorry excuse of a human being, a waste of ovum and sperm. This Court sentences you to twelve years in maximum security at Syracuse Island, without possibility of parole. This Court further orders that your disbarment be permanent. You are prohibited for life from running for public office, and you will pay one hundred thousand terros to each of your victims, which will be only a tiny recompense for the injury you did to them.