See Disclaimer, Chapter 1
Bird Flu - Chapter 53
Don knew the minute they drove up to the courthouse it was going to be bad. He'd had Liz drive his SUV, with himself, Charlie, Colby and David as passengers. Megan had stayed behind at the office to manage the ongoing caseload; life didn't stop because there was a trial.
The plan was for Liz to drop them as close to the entrance as possible and to go park the vehicle, while Don, Colby and David surrounded Charlie, running a block to get him through the reporters. Wright, to his credit, agreed to help by holding an impromptu press statement on the other side of the courthouse steps just as Charlie arrived, to draw the reporters away. Unfortunately, when it came to the media, sensation won over substance every time. No two-bit actor was ever upstaged as effectively as Wright was; the minute Charlie stepped out of the vehicle, the throng of reporters swarmed toward him.
Don grabbed his arm and spoke tersely. "Whatever you do, Charlie, don't stop moving. Stay right on Colby's heels."
Charlie nodded, and put his head down; trotting behind Colby's broad back up the steps, while Don and David took up positions on either side of him. They moved through the sea of reporters, who had surged around them, clamoring, microphones extended. Cameramen moved in, top-heavy with equipment, dancing awkwardly, all of them shifting, backing off, backing into each other, and re-maneuvering, as Colby barged relentlessly through them, like a Pamplona bull.
Inside, Phelps watched the live feed from one of the news stations on the television in the office provided for the prosecution, and nodded approvingly. It was the first time the cameras had managed to catch the lone survivor on television, and already, Charles Eppes was a media darling. His youthful, vulnerable appearance, his quiet good looks, his status as an accomplished genius would appeal to the audience, would appeal to the jury. As long as Dr. Eppes could hold it together, he would be a huge plus. If he couldn't, it would be disastrous. Phelps hadn't made the decision to bring him into this lightly; he knew the stakes. If he could, he was still going to try to avoid putting the doctor on the stand. They had to start preparing him; however, and the time he would spend in the courtroom observing was part of that. They needed to be ready, just in case…
Inside, Don hurried Charlie through the metal detectors, and into the relative quiet of the hallways. There were still several reporters inside; however, those who had been granted access to the courtroom, and Colby didn't stop his charge until they made it into the prosecutor's office. As the door closed behind them, they all drew a breath of relief, and Charlie stared back at Don, wide-eyed. "Wow," was all he could manage.
"You'd better get used to it," said Phelps, dryly, coming around from behind his desk, extending a hand. "You're a celebrity now, whether you like it or not."
Charlie shook his hand and muttered, "Not." He was breathing a little heavily, and his jacket, although well tailored and a perfect choice, hung on his thin frame. He was obviously still recovering physically from his ordeal, Phelps realized.
"We have an hour before we start," he said to Charlie. "I'm not entirely certain I am going to put you on the stand yet," – he caught the surprised, hopeful look on Don Eppes' face – "but we have to be prepared in case I do. We'll go over your possible testimony when we get the chance, like now. I may have to spend some time at your home in the evenings, also."
"Of course," Charlie said quietly.
Don glanced at him speculatively. Charlie seemed to be holding together fairly well, but he hadn't had to face Morgan yet. He hoped his brother would manage to keep his composure in the courtroom.
"All right, then," said Phelps, glancing at his watch, "let's get going."
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The questioning didn't help, Charlie decided. The hour spent with Phelps only served to make him more terrified. Phelps questioned him as he thought Parker would, pulling no punches. As if it wasn't hard enough to talk about it – Charlie had barely managed to speak of the events in detail with his therapist, and to have to go through it with Phelps was far tougher. It helped that he'd been through it with Don, Colby and Megan, but David had never heard it firsthand, and the look on his face as he heard the story from Charlie's lips didn't help either – it reinforced the suspicion that it was as terrible as Charlie thought it was. And they hadn't even gotten through the bulk of the testimony yet – Charlie realized he had hours of preparation ahead of him, just to get through it all with Phelps. By the time they were called to go into the courtroom, Charlie was thoroughly rattled, and as he walked down the hallway, he could feel his knees begin to wobble, his breath start to shorten. He was going to be in there. He was going to be in there. He -
Charlie jumped as he felt a heavy hand on the back of his neck, and turned a little wildly, only to realize it was Don's hand, that his brother was looking at him, smiling reassuringly, but with concern in his dark eyes. Liz had appeared beside him too – she was smiling at him, also, and gave him a light pat on the arm. Charlie looked up – the doors were in front of them now, opening…
A buzz began in the courtroom, crescendoing as Charlie came through the door, but he couldn't hear it, couldn't feel a thing except the panic that coursed through his veins as he caught sight of Morgan. The killer and his attorney, Parker, were staring at him from their seats at the front of the room, and Charlie wrenched his eyes away as Don steered him gently down a row. He managed to get his rear end planted on a seat, and felt Don's hand on his back. "You okay?" Don whispered, but all Charlie could do was look at him. Over Don's shoulder, he could see his father, seated in the victims' family section across the aisle, watching him with concern.
A voice from the front of the room commanded them to rise, and somehow Charlie got to his feet, standing on unsteady legs, sinking back down robotically when Don did. He closed his eyes, but immediately garish memories flooded his mind, and he opened them again. He was never going to make it through a whole day of this – and testifying – how on earth would he manage that? What in God's name had he been thinking? He swallowed bile, fought back the roaring in his ears.
"Take a deep breath," Don whispered, as Phelps got up and began to talk. "That's it Buddy, just breathe..."
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Several hours later, Charlie sat slumped in a chair in the prosecutor's office, his eyes closed, while the agents, Wright, Phelps and his staff reviewed the day's testimony.
"Parker entered that last mailing from Courier Express as evidence," said one of Phelps' assistants. "The 'dead bird' one. What's with that?"
"He's going to say it was mailed after his client was already in custody," said Wright grimly. He looked at Don, who had shot an anxious look at Charlie to see if the 'dead bird' comment had disturbed him. Apparently, Charlie had already been disturbed to the point of being numb, because he didn't respond; he sat motionless, his eyes still closed. He looked exhausted, drained.
Wright continued. "Marcy said someone there verified that the note was dropped off the evening before, correct?"
At Don's nod, Phelps added, "We need to find out who she talked to; we may need them to testify in rebuttal."
"I'll take that one," said David, quietly.
"Okay," said Phelps. "We had a full day of lab testimony today, of findings at the various murder and kidnapping sites. I tried to get a read on the jury when Parker cross-examined. He was trying to throw doubt on the DNA findings, but I'm not sure if he got it across or not. We've got more of the same for tomorrow and the next day, and I think we're pretty well prepared for that. After that, we've got Jill Cash up for the Seattle connection, and then McKelvey from Denver, the M.E. on the body from the reservoir, and then you, Don. I think we can call it a wrap for today."
As the group stood, Phelps pulled Don aside, and indicated Charlie with a jerk of his head. "I need to spend a couple hours with him tonight. I'll give him a chance to rest first."
"I don't think that's a good idea," said Don doubtfully, looking at Charlie.
"I don't really have a choice," said Phelps softly. "McKelvey's coming in tomorrow; I'm going over his testimony with him tomorrow night. After that, we only have three more evenings, and Charlie has a lot of ground to cover. Do you really want him up on the stand with Parker, unprepared?"
"I thought you said you might not need him," Don hissed, trying to keep his voice down.
"I don't know, yet," replied Phelps. "But we've got to be ready, and I can't get him prepared in one night."
Don's cell phone rang, and he flipped it open and answered. "Yeah, Liz, okay, we're coming out." He shut the phone and looked at Phelps. "Come over at 7:30, then, unless we call you." He turned and stepped over to Charlie, softly gripping his arm. "Charlie."
Charlie opened his eyes, looking completely disoriented, and Don gently helped him to his feet. "Come on, Buddy. We're heading home. Just like before – follow Colby."
Coming out of the courthouse was worse than going in. Charlie was already exhausted and not altogether steady on his feet, and he moved more slowly, blinking owlishly in the early evening sunlight as they came through the doors. Don kept one hand on his arm and the other up to fend off the microphones. The clamor was deafening, and by the time they reached the van, Charlie was shaking with stress and exhaustion.
As they pulled away from the curb, Don looked at his brother's pale face as Charlie leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. 'He's not going to make it,' Don thought to himself, with a twinge of fear. 'There is no way he'll make it through this.'
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In spite of Don's prediction, somehow, Charlie made it through the evening of preparation with Phelps, and the next day of testimony. By day three of the prosecution's case, he seemed to be managing a bit better, although he still seemed to be barely hanging on, and at home, had gone into retreat mode again, quiet, subdued, barely communicating, hardly eating. It didn't help that the media pressure was now relentless, a sizable group was now camped on Charlie's street, and only the posted officer kept them from taking up residence on the lawn.
It was on day three that Parker dropped his first real bomb.
It happened during the cross-examination of Joe Peterson, from the crime lab. He'd just given his testimony, listing the items they'd found during Morgan's attack on Charlie at the hospital, and Roger Phelps had finished his questioning. Parker rose to his feet, and strolled toward Peterson, who looked slightly nervous as the renowned attorney approached him.
"Mis-ter Peterson," drawled Parker, "that's a fine list of evidence you have there. I'm not so concerned with what you have, however, than with what you don't have. You stated that the scalpel did not bear my client's fingerprints, is that correct?"
Peterson cleared his throat. "Yes, that's correct."
"In fact, it bore no fingerprints other than Don Eppes', is that correct?"
"Yes."
"But we know it was the instrument that was used on Charles Eppes, because it was covered with his blood. Correct?"
"Y- yes."
"And it would follow then, that during the – cutting – if there were not fingerprints, that the killer must have worn gloves. Would you say so?"
Peterson shot a look at Phelps. "Yes," he said hesitantly.
Don heard Colby, who was to his right, swear under his breath. "Damn gloves."
"Well, perhaps I missed it, Mister Peterson," said Parker, pleasantly. "In this whole pile of evidence, did you happen to submit a pair of gloves?"
"Yes," replied Peterson. "We submitted the work gloves of the accused."
"Which contained no blood. So is it safe to say that there must have been another pair of gloves?"
Peterson swallowed. "Yes."
"Well then, where are they? Did you collect all of my client's belongings?"
"We did, once he got to Cedars," replied Peterson. "He might have ditched the gloves on the way."
"And where would that have been?" demanded Parker. "Did you check the room where the attack occurred?"
"Yes."
"The ambulance?"
"Yes."
"And of course, the room where my client was forced to strip, even though he was injured?"
"Yes," conceded Peterson, miserably.
"Then where are the gloves?" asked Parker. He whirled to face the jury. "I'll tell you where they are – they were on the hands of the real killer, who left the room before my client arrived. In fact, in his sworn written testimony, my client stated that he saw a man, wearing scrubs, leaving that room moments before he entered it." He turned and looked back at Peterson, with a smug smile. "That's all, Mr. Peterson, thank you."
Charlie looked at Don, anxiously, and Morgan turned as Peterson stepped down from the stand, and whispered to his mother, but his blue eyes were fixed on Charlie. As Charlie faced the front of the courtroom again, he locked eyes with Morgan, and the killer smiled, with the side of his face that worked; the side the jury couldn't see.
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Things began to go downhill from there. Parker scoffed at McKelvey's testimony, including the attempt to arrest Morgan for stealing hospital medications when he was an intern, and insinuated the feds' witch-hunt of his client had actually started then. The fact that Morgan had grown up near Idledale, near the abandoned butcher shop, also brought on a fit of derision – so had thousands of other people, Parker maintained – with that logic, anyone who lived on the west side of Denver during that time would be a suspect. He pointed out that Morgan had been in Seattle for one week before the killings there started, but the Bureau didn't have proof he was in Seattle during the weeks the killings were occurring. He made it clear that the FBI had not been able to find the killer's mysterious van, and by the way, was it white or was it blue? The Bureau seemed to be confused. And of course, he made sure to point out that when the Bureau searched Morgan's hotel room, they found no evidence he was the killer, no surgical supplies, no drugs, no restraints. The Bureau could say that Morgan had another place and had stashed the van there until they were blue in the face, Parker bellowed, pounding his fist in his hand. Where was the proof?
Of course, as Phelps had predicted, Parker seized on the evidence of the dead body found in the Big Dalton Reservoir, and the fact that the M.E. couldn't pinpoint the time of death. The person was undoubtedly murdered by the Flower Killer; he agreed, but when? Much to his satisfaction, he got the M.E. to admit that it was a possibility the person could have been murdered while his client was in prison. The last to testify was Don, who held up well on stand and even kept his temper in check, as he recounted his portion of the tale, including Charlie's kidnapping, all the way up to finding Charlie, twice, with the killer. Of course the first time he was unable to ID the man because of darkness, and the second time, Parker maintained that his client, the poor innocent janitor, had walked in on the aftermath of the attack after the killer had already fled, only to be targeted by Don's vicious attack, as his unfortunate client tried to help the victims.
The only bright spot was that David had managed to find the Courier Express clerk who remembered the 'dead bird' note had been brought in to Courier Express the night of the attack, before Morgan was taken into custody. They put her on the stand, but Parker shrugged that off, saying the fact that Morgan was able to drop off the note was a far cry from him actually doing it.
It was a dispirited group that gathered in Phelps' office late in the afternoon, several days into the trial. Phelps ran a tired, exasperated hand over his face. "The bottom line evidence-wise," he said, "is the gloves. With the gloves, the entire case fits together, without them, our other evidence looks contrived – they're not buying it." Colby slumped in chair, miserably, at the statement. He had been with Morgan the whole time at the Greene Medical Center and during the transport to Cedars, and he felt personally responsible for the fact that the gloves were missing.
Phelps scanned the papers in front of him. "When Parker starts his defense, he's planning on calling Allison Cook to the stand, along with the hotel owner in Albuquerque. I'm sure he's going to use them to cast doubt on what the killer looked like – especially since Allison Cook actually knew Morgan, and still didn't ID her attacker as Morgan right off the bat." He looked at Charlie. "I'm afraid I have no choice, Dr. Eppes. I'm going to have to call you to the stand tomorrow."
Charlie looked at Don uncertainly. He was trying to stay composed, but his heart plummeted. He swallowed and looked back at Phelps, attempting to keep his voice steady. "Of course."
"Charlie-," Don began.
Phelps spoke at the same time. "You realize it will likely be more than one day of testimony."
Don looked at Phelps. "I'd like to speak to you privately."
"I'm okay, Don," Charlie objected. He didn't sound okay.
Phelps nodded. "All right, everyone, we're done for the day. Charlie, you can wait with your entourage in the other room." He glanced at David and Colby, the entourage, with a smile, but his attempt to lighten the atmosphere fell dismally flat. David, Colby, and Charlie stepped into a small adjoining office, and the rest of the group left, except for Don and Phelps, and A.D. Wright, who apparently considered Don's request for privacy not applicable to him.
Don ignored Wright, and went straight to the point. "I don't think you want to put him on the stand."
"I already told you, I don't have much of a choice. Fair or not, this whole trial has boiled down to his testimony. And without him up there personally, that testimony is just another piece of paper. We need something with impact."
"If he cracks on the stand, you'll have impact," said Don grimly. "Parker's gonna try to make him look like a nutcase, and you know it. If he's successful, this trial's over."
"And if I don't put him up there, it's still over," argued Phelps.
Wright looked at Don. "He's right, Don. Charlie already agreed to it. I know it's hard, but we've got to let him take the shot."
Don shook his head, but was silent. He knew it was going to happen, whether he wanted it to or not. He hadn't even voiced his biggest fear. If his brother broke, if he failed on the stand and the killer walked because Charlie couldn't hold it together, it would destroy him. He looked at Phelps with resignation. "Are you going to meet with him again tonight?"
Phelps shook his head. "No, I finished going over his testimony with him last night. He's as ready as he's going to get." He looked at Don sympathetically. "Better get him home, get him some rest. It's going to be a long day tomorrow."
Don rose, nodded, and went to the door of the other room to call Charlie, feeling somehow like an executioner.
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End Chapter 53
