So Cold The Knight

by Asp

Michael and Kitt find their world in turmoil when they are called to testify for a defendant they're trying to put behind bars. Section 2 posted

2. Pretrial

"Alright, Mr. Snell, you requested this early date for the preliminary hearing. Now, I have a few questions for both of you," Ramses said as he leaned forward, giving them a menacing look from atop his bench. "First, Mr. Snell, why are you fighting probable cause?"

Snell stood slowly, glancing over at his client dressed in a thousand dollar suit. "Your Honour, the defense believes the evidence found was unlawfully obtained. Without said evidence, the prosecution does not have a case against my client."

Ramses roared from the bench, filling the court room with echoes, "I have already told you that Mr. Knight was given a lawful search warrant by me! Are you questioning _my_ authority to issue warrants?!"

"No, Your Honour. What we intend to show during our evidentiary proceedings, is that Mr. Knight unlawfully conducted a search before the police carried out your warrant. If this occurred, even this court must find that there is no probable cause." He sat back down.

"I will allow you to present your witnesses, which brings me to my second point, Mr. Snell. Why have you called one of the prosecutions investigative members to testify on your clients behalf?"

Seated, looking up from the briefings set in front of him, he replied, "Mr. Knight's testimony is crucial to our point, Your Honour. We felt it would be in my client's best interest to not cross Mr. Knight, but to conduct a direct examination instead. We feel it will give more weight to his testimony, though we ask that he be treated as an hostile witness."

Glowering more deeply, Ramses said, "Counsel, you know that in my court, you are to stand when addressing the bench. I take it as a personal affront when a lawyer does not do this. Once more, and I will find you in contempt. Clear?" With a nod from Snell, he continued. "As to your treatment of Mr. Knight as an hostile witness, I will not permit it. You made your bed by calling him, now you and your client, will have to sleep in it."

"Next point of order." This time Ramses' glare moved to Wilson at the prosecution table. "Ms. Wilson, I understand you have a rebuttal witness scheduled for after Mr. Knight's testimony?"

Standing, and briskly walking to the podium, Wilson replied, "Yes, Your Honour, we have."

Shaking his head, Ramses continued booming, "Ms. Wilson, there is no name on your witness list labeled as a rebuttal witness. Can you explain this?"

"May we approach the bench, Your Honour?" Ramses waved both attorneys forward. Once there, Wilson started again. "Your Honour, this case is getting an unusual amount of publicity, and for security purposes, I have been asked not to disclose the name, or title of our witness."

Snell, feeling an advantage said, "asked by whom? Your honour, defense is entitled to know the names of all witnesses, as you are aware. This is strictly a cheap method for the prosecution to pull the wool over my clients eyes."

"I have to agree with defense counsel, Ms. Wilson. Who requested you to withhold information?"

"The United States Secret Service, Your Honour. Unfortunately, I am not permitted to divulge the witnesses name to you in open court. If you would like to go to your chambers, I can tell you there, Sir."

Shaking his head, Ramses said, "no, Ms. Wilson. I believe you can tell us here. Defense counsel will not repeat the name. Not even to your client. Understood?" The question was aimed at Snell, who nodded in the affirmative. "Good. Carry on, Ms. Wilson. Who is it the Secret Service is trying to protect?"

Glancing sideways at Snell, she said softly, "Shirley Johnstone, Your Honour."

Eyes wide open, Ramses exclaimed, "Sec State Johnstone? What the Hell does she have to do with this case?"

"She is a personal friend of Mr. Knight's, Your Honour. If defense counsel tries to damage Mr. Knight's credibility by character assassination, Ms. Johnstone will rebut that."

"Fair enough, counsel." He waved the two lawyers back to their tables.

"Opening statements are to be less than fifteen minutes, after which we will recess for one half hour. The floor is yours, Ms. Wilson."

As she approached the podium, notes in hand, she noticed the judge lean back in his chair, hands rested behind his head. Taking a breath, she readied herself. This was by far the biggest case she had ever worked, and the short time span from the bail hearing to this pretrial made it hard for her to be as prepared as she would have liked.

"The prosecution intends to show the court the evidence gathered from the crime scene, starting with the autopsy results of the victim, followed by DNA matching results from skin samples found under the victims nails, with flakes of skin found in the defendants hair brush. Further, we will show the court the drugs, and drug paraphernalia taken from the defendants home during the search, and we will also show the court proof positive that the victim of this crime, murder in the first degree, was one of the defendants prostitutes. We will show motive for the killing of this young girl. We will show proof that the defendant abducted the victim two years ago, forcing her into a life of drugs and prostitution. We will show, Your Honour, full probable cause for this case to be held over for trial. Thank you." Sitting, she looked straight at the defendant, saw him glaring at her, and felt a shiver run up the back of her neck.

Snell slowly, ponderously, made his way to the podium, a sheaf of papers held in front of him. Waving them in the air, he began, "Your Honour, I had a prepared statement to make. Ms. Wilson has saved me the job." With that he threw the sheaf onto his table where they scattered. "The prosecution states that it will prove many things. Unfortunately for the Crown, their proof is all circumstantial. The Crown has no proof that my client abducted the victim, nor that Mr. Miller forced her into anything. The DNA matching that the Crown offers is only a preliminary report, hardly proof of anything. What we will show the court, is that the prosecution does not have probable cause. What they have are a lot of questions, with them trying to force the answers out of a man who does not have any to give. My Client. Thank you, Your Honour."

Ramses sat forward, leaning over his bench again. "We will recess for a half hour, then I will hear the prosecutions first witness."


"Devon, Bonnie, glad you're hear." Michael had waited for them at the airport, where they would walk through customs. "Shirley's already here, arrived several hours ago, in fact. The Secret Service whisked her off to a hotel close to the court."

Walking stiffly from sitting for so long, his knees still aching from non movement, Devon reached an arm around Michael's shoulder. "Relax, my boy. We have a great deal to discuss, and little time with which to do it, unfortunately. Come, take us to the court house. I want to watch the flow of this trial, see if I can deduce where it's headed."

Michael grabbed their bags, leading them to Kitt. Once they were under way, Bonnie spoke. "I'm worried about this case, Michael. If this attorney starts asking you questions about Kitt, what are you going to do? You can't exactly give any details about him. He's still rated as a top classified prototype. To have him exposed in a court of law, would be devastating."

"I know, Bonnie. But I can't exactly lie on the stand either, can I? And, Canadian courts don't have a fifth amendment to hide behind, not that it would be an eligible claim. All I know is that I'm going to try to keep the testimony steered away from Kitt, and his functions. I think the judge will allow me some leeway on this."

"Bonnie," Kitt said, "I have thought a great deal about this, and if it becomes necessary, I will testify. If it will assist in the incarceration of Jason Miller for the death of that poor girl, then I am willing to take whatever risks are necessary."

"Kitt, unfortunately, it isn't for you to decide. The Foundation's Board of Director's has expressly denied you permission to testify in this hearing." Devon took a breath, knowing that the tempers were about to soar. "They believe that the defense attorney, Snell, I believe, is trying to cloud the issues with your existence. That if they can divert the focus of the trial from the murder of that poor girl, to you, the car of the future, then the judge will find in his favour."

"That's ridiculous, Devon, "Michael retorted. "For one thing, Judge Ramses knows about Kitt. He was our contact up here, and he's the judge on this case. He won't do the actual trial, but he is doing this one. So how can the existence of Kitt cloud the issues?"

"Reporters, Michael," Bonnie began. "If Kitt's systems become public knowledge, and enough confusion can be created from it, by the defense, then a finding of probable cause may become unpopular enough for the judge to want to dismiss it."

"Bonnie, judges up here aren't like ours. They're not elected to the bench, they're appointed. A provincial judge is appointed by the premier of the province. Then he's there until he either retires, or dies, basically. These are lifetime appointments. The judge doesn't have to worry about a bit of bad press caused by one of his rulings." Shaking his head, Michael added, "If it comes down to it, Kitt will testify. We've already discussed it. You have to understand, guys, we're fighting for our lives here. Not just for justice."

The rest of the drive to the court house was in silence.


As they entered the busy courtroom, Bloom County had just given oath. Michael, Devon, and Bonnie seated themselves behind the prosecution table, in the front row.

Jennifer Wilson, dressed in a navy blue pant suit, with a pale yellow silk blouse under the jacket, matching pale yellow heels on her feet, walked to the witness stand, and began her case.

"Could you tell the court your full name, and rank please?"

"Corporal Wendy Jones, Vancouver Police Services, I'm the head of forensics on this case." Her responses were just as crisp as the questions being asked.

Wilson looked from the judge to the defense table. "Your Honour, will the defense stipulate Corporal Jones' qualifications as a pathologist?"

"We do not, Your Honour. We know nothing of this witness, other than what we have been told in the briefings."

"Mr. Snell, perhaps if you visited my court more often, you would know the witness, but, since you do not, we will have to force Ms. Wilson to draw it out for us. Continue, counsel."

Shaking her head, she turned back to Jones. "Could you please inform the court of your qualifications as a forensic pathologist."

Jones, dressed in rumpled dress clothes, with a stained white lab coat over top, sat straighter in the wood chair. "I spent two years in general medical school at the University of Toronto, then an additional two years studying pathology. I worked with the Toronto Police Force for five years as a forensic pathologist, and moved here to Vancouver three years ago. That gives me seven years experience."

"Thank you, Corporal. Does that satisfy the defense of the witnesses qualifications?" She glanced at Snell, who gave a barely audible "Yes."

"Corporal Jones, could you describe to us what you found when you entered the crime scene?"

"Objection, Your Honour?" Snell was immediately on his feet.

Ramses stared hard at him. "On what grounds, Mr. Snell?"

"Your Honour, there has been no evidence given that where the body was located, was in fact a crime scene. To call it such is prejudicial against my client."

"He has a point, Ms. Wilson. Rebuttal?"

"Your Honour, where there is a corpse that has died of unnatural causes, the location of said corpse is generalized as the crime scene. And in this case, Your Honour, we can prove that the location in question, was, in fact, the crime scene."

Ramses pondered the points for a moment. "I agree with defense counsel, to call the location of a corpse, before evidence has been submitted, a crime scene, is prejudicial to the defendant. Objection sustained."

"Very well, Your Honour. Corporal Jones, could you please explain to the court what you found when you entered the location of the dead body?"

"What I found upon entering the freezer in the defendants house..."

"Objection, argumentative," Snell said.

"Overruled. The freezer is in your client's house, Mr. Snell. Continue, Corporal."

"What I found was the body of the victim, a Sylvia Twinley, of San Francisco, California."

"And could you tell at the time what the cause of death was?"

"There were lacerations on the victims face and neck, and bruising that would be consistent with strangulation, but at the time, no, I could not ascertain a definitive cause of death."

Wilson was starting to warm to her subject, more emotion seeping into her voice, a more relaxed body language in her movements. "When could you ascertain the cause of death, Corporal?"

"During the autopsy, the next day."

Wilson walked to the prosecution table where Andy handed her a document. Handing a copy to Snell, then one to the bailiff to give to the judge, Wilson said, "Your Honour, the Crown wishes to present the pathologist report as Crown exhibit 'A'"

Ramses examined the sheet, then looked at Snell. "Objections?" Snell shook his head. "Very well, Ms. Wilson, it is so entered."

"Corporal Jones, could you please read from your report, what your finding of cause of death was?"

Jones poured over the ten page document, then on the seventh page found what she was looking for. Not that she needed to, she knew this document word for word, front to back. But courtrooms were for show. "I found the cause of death to be starvation and cold."

"Could you explain what you based these conclusions on?"

"Of course. The victim had absolutely nothing in her intestinal tract. Her stomach was empty. When we eat food, there are remains in us for several days. There was nothing in Sylvia Twinley's, therefor she had not eaten for a minimum of six days. That's what led me to the conclusion of starvation. When I examined the victims heart and lungs, I found crystallization in her lung tissue that could only have gotten there by breathing in an extremely cold environment for a long period of time. Then there was the position of the victims body at the scene. She was huddled in a fetus position, naked. That told me she was trying to retain some body heat."

"Objection, speculation."

"Your Honour, Mr. Snell agreed that Corporal Jones is a qualified forensic pathologist, which means he agrees that HER speculation has merit." Wilson was shooting ice lances from her eyes at the defense table.

Ramses nodded his head once, then said, "Overruled. Ms. Wilson, please keep your temper in check in my courtroom."

"Yes, Your Honour. My apologies." Turning back to Jones, she continued. "So, in your professional opinion, where did the victim die?"

Jones stared straight at the defendant. "In my professional opinion, the victim died in the defendant's freezer."

Jones' testimony went on for the rest of the day, going step by step through her entire process with all forensic evidence. Wilson finished with her at 4:30 in the afternoon.

Ramses, checking the time called for adjournment until the following day at nine o'clock.



Michael drove to Shirley's hotel, Kitt calling ahead to notify the Secret Service. Once there, he walked to the elevator, showed his credentials to an agent, and was permitted access. Again when he stepped off the elevator, on the 20th floor, Shirley and her escort guard the only occupants, Michael showed his ID once again. Finally he gained access to her suite.

She rose from the couch as he walked through the door, took him in her arms and kissed him, her finger casually tracing the scar on his face. This did not bother him anymore, he knew it was her way of acknowledging his lifestyle, and as an endearment to him. He kissed her back hungrily.

They broke apart, looking at each other. Smiling, eyes intense, Michael finally said, "I'm glad you're here."

Leading him to the couch in the living room, she sat him down, walked to the wet bar and poured each of them two fingers of Glen Fiddich. She handed one to Michael, then sat cross legged on the other end of the couch, facing him. "I have to help you when I'm able to, Michael. Normally it's behind the scenes, but I felt this case needed a little more of a personal touch."

Michael sipped at the single malt scotch, relaxed as the cool liquid warmed his insides. "I'm just worried about you. Miller is dangerous, and now you could end up being a target for him. Of course, he'd be a fool to try with all this security."

"Don't worry, nothing's going to happen to me. As you say, with all this security, hell, I can't even go out to a restaurant without it being inspected first. Kind of takes the spontaneity out of an evening. But, they're here on the president's orders. He's like you in many ways, Michael. He's just not willing to take a chance on anything happening to me."

Michael moved a little closer to her, placing his large hand on her knee, gently rubbing her calf, and up to her thigh. "Well, I can think of some other spontaneous actions we could do, than going out to dinner," he said with a sly smile. "Do they have good room service here?"

Laughing, she grabbed his wrist, removing his hand from where it rested on her inner thigh. Standing up, she went to the kitchen, removing two plates from the oven. "I've already taken care of that. You know how I hate hotel food, so I had one of the agents fetch me the makings for duck l'orange. Shall we eat?"

He went to the small refrigerator, finding a bottle of champagne breathing in it. Grabbing the bottle and two flutes he placed them on the table, pouring the sparkling drink. He sat opposite her, staring at her over the top of his glass. "You're a beautiful woman, Shirley, and I love you." Taking a breath he started again. "I want to start thinking about a future for us. A future for after you're out of government work, after I'm out of the Foundation."

She stared at him in open amazement. They had never discussed this before. He was always adamant they take it one day at a time, never asking for more. For a year now, she had wanted more, but been afraid to push him. Realizing the pain he was in to cause him to open up to her like this, tears formed in her eyes. "I'd like that, Michael. Elections are next year, and if the president's not re-elected, then I'll be free. I'll move down to you, to Los Angeles. It would be nice, a future." Softly, with affection flowing from her words, she added, "I love you."

Michael stood, walking around the table to her, and knelt beside her. Cupping her chin with his fingers, he kissed her, his tongue tenderly searching for hers. She responded in kind, their tongues doing a slow dance. Breaking his lips from hers, she saw a reflection of her teary eyes in his face, the moistness streaking his cheek. Slowly, he picked her up out of the chair, and she directed him to her bedroom.

The clothes piled on the floor, their bodies entwined on top of the covers, hands roaming everywhere. Both knew it had been too long a wait. Too long apart from each other. They wanted this to last, but their bodies would have nothing to do with the patience of their minds. The rhythm was found, increasing in tempo, until it reached it's inevitable crescendo, neither wanting to let go of the other. They remained interlocked on the bed, softly talking, saying nothing at all. The need rose again in both of them, slower this time, more gentle. Loving. He paid attention to her responses, she to his. They were symbiotic, each feeling, knowing exactly what the other wanted and needed. Their rhythm remained slow, until the end neared again.

Sitting at the table again, both wearing hotel robes, they ate their dinner, speaking of nothing but their love. The case could wait.



The morning session started with Judge Ramses giving brief instructions to the spectators in the courtroom. The news of the hearing had spread, and the press were getting interested. Michael knew as the hearing went on, that more reporters would show each day.

Ramses looked down at the defense table. Pointing to Corporal Jones, the Judge said, "Your witness, Mr. Snell."

Snell stood, straightening the front of his robe. "Thank you, Your Honour. Corporal, yesterday you testified as to the cause of death. You remember?"

Jones glared at him. "Of course I remember, Mr. Snell. It was only yesterday, after all, and I have a highly trained mind, just as you, I would hope."

Mouth open in shock, Snell looked toward the judge, who was smiling. "I object to the badgering from this witness, Your Honour. Could you please instruct her to simply answer the questions."

"I will instruct Corporal Jones to restrict her answers to strictly the necessity, and I will also instruct you, defense counsel, to refer to the witness as either the witness, or by rank and name. Not as 'her'"

"I'm sorry, Your Honour." Turning back to the witness he said, "Corporal, did your autopsy ascertain if the body had been moved after death?"

"Yes, counselor. As discussed in my testimony yesterday, the signs of lividity were prominent. Let me explain for you."

"Please," Snell replied.

"Lividity is when the blood pools into the lowest gravitational section of the body, after death. The heart stops pumping, the blood rests, gravity takes effect. This starts within moments of death. It is one way in which we estimate time of death on recently dead victims."

"Was lividity an effective way to estimate time of death on this body?"

"No. The victim had been dead for far too long."

"Well, Corporal, if the victim had been dead for that long, then how do you know that she had not been moved. That the lividity had not just repositioned itself?"

Shaking her head in frustration, Bloom County said with some irritation in her voice, "Mr. Snell, if the body had been moved after lividity began, then there would be what look like bruising on other parts of the body where blood had pooled. There were none, which means the body had not been moved. Which means, Sir, that the victim died in that freezer."

"How exact of a science is the lividity test?"

"It is one of the most precise tests available to us. I know of very few cases where the test has been deemed as wrong."

"But you do know of some?" Snell asked hopefully. His inexperience in court was showing. Michael still wondered why the hell he was trying this case. It should have been turned over to a criminal defense attorney. Snell was corporate, and it showed.

"Yes, I do know of some," Corporal Jones said exasperated. "But those are cases where the victim is freshly dead, and had been moved a lot. Either by paramedics, or by careless investigators, or by the defendant. That is not the case here. This body did not move since death!"

Michael almost laughed out loud at the look on Snell's face, but withheld it. He sat through the rest of the cross-examination, an entire days worth, with Snell picking, and Jones, attacking back. Snell got nothing from her.


During the lunch recess, Wilson approached Snell in the hallway outside the court room. "George, you're a damn good corporate litigator, but you must know you're out of your depth in this trial."

"I know it. I tried to get myself excused from the case by the judge, but he wouldn't allow it, since I'm the lawyer my client wants to represent him. I don't understand Miller. He could afford any lawyer in the province, but he wants to keep me. I can do the job, once I get my sea legs, but dammit, I'm not doing him any favours in this hearing."

"Have you thought that maybe there are ulterior motives for him wanting you?"

"You mean that he'll use my incompetence during trial as a grounds for appeal? Yes, both myself and Ramses have debated the points of law on that. That's why I let the record show my request for withdrawal. Ramses thinks that should help halt that particular post conviction defense." They spoke for a few more minutes, neither offering settlement arrangements. They understood the rules of this game. No quarter would be asked, none given.



In the morning, the Crown Attorney called her next witness. He rose from the prosecutors table, walked the short distance to the witness box, and pledged the truth. Jennifer Wilson, still not wearing the formal robes, this she wore only for full trials, wore another pant suit, minimal makeup and well maintained, easy hair style. She stood, approaching the witness stand.

"For the record, could you please state your full name and occupation please?"

"Sergeant Dean Anderson, Homicide Investigator with the Vancouver Police Service."

"Thank you, Sergeant. You were called to the defendant's house earlier this month, correct?"

He wore a rumpled suit, his hair in slight disarray, with large bags under his eyes. In addition to his presence at the Crown's table, he was still working on the case. The stress was showing it's effects. As he slumped in the not so comfortable chair, he replied, "Yes, I was."

"And why were you called there?"

"Mr. Michael Knight of the Foundation for Law And Government called my department to ask for assistance carrying out a search warrant."

"FLAG is an American organization, is it not?"

"Yes ma'am, I believe it is."

"Weren't you curious how an American investigator acquired an B.C. warrant?"

He sat straighter in his seat. They knew they were taking a risk with this line of questioning, but they had to preempt Snell's chance to damage them with these facts. To the court, it made no difference which judge's signature was on the warrant. Or at least it shouldn't. "Yes I was quite interested in the warrant. As soon as I arrived on scene, I requested visual confirmation of the warrant. Mr. Knight handed it to me."

"And was that warrant valid?"

"Yes it was. All information checked out on it. The evidence that had been obtained to that point was present, the correct date, address, everything. The judge's signature was at the bottom."

"And what judge was that?"

"The judge was Judge Ramses here," he said as he looked up at the judge behind his bench.

"So you ascertained everything to be in order, in your professional opinion."

Snell stood quickly. "Objection, Your Honour. We have not stipulated, nor heard evidence of this being a professional witness."

Ramses stared at him in disbelief. "Are you questioning if Sergeant Anderson here is a professional Police Officer?"

Wilson expected the defense lawyer to back down. She was surprised when he remained standing. "No, Your Honour. We stipulate to the witnesses profession as a Police Officer. But that does not make him a professional. The question asked him, 'in your professional opinion.' We do not know which profession is being referred to here, Your Honour."

Wilson stared open mouthed at him. Regaining her composure she turned to Judge Ramses. "The Crown makes that this is a moot point, Your Honour. Defense counsel is well aware that we are referring to the witnesses professional opinion as a veteran police officer."

Ramses stared down at her. "That's your best argument, Ms. Wilson? Objection sustained. Unless you want to prove to the court that the witness is in fact a professional, to testify as to professional opinions, which as you know counsel, has different meanings in a court of law, you will rephrase the question."

Shaking her head subtly, obviously shaken by the rebuke, she continued. "Thank you, Your Honour. Sergeant Anderson, in your opinion as a veteran police officer, did you find the search warrant to be in order?"

With a smile, looking over at Snell, Andy replied, "Yes Ma'am. The warrant, as far as I could surmise, was in perfect order. No problems with it at all."

"And how many search warrants have you handled over your years on the force?"

Smiling even more broadly now, he answered, "Thousands, I would say."

Wilson walked back to her table, quickly looked up a form on her index card, grabbed it and gave it a glance over. "Would two thousand, three hundred forty eight sound right?"

Every person in the court room could tell Anderson was almost ready to giggle he was smiling so much. "Yes ma'am. That sounds about dead on."

"Good. Let's move on shall we? What happened after you examined Mr. Knight's search warrant."

"Well, we talked for a while. Mr. Knight had already been in the house. He told us what we could expect to find."

Snell stood again, his face looking puffy and red. "Objection, Your Honour," he almost yelled.

Ramses, shaken from his daydream, yelled back, "No lawyer has permission to yell in my court room, Mr. Snell. Counsel, approach the bench. I know what this objection has to do with Mr Snell."

The two opposing counsel walked side by side to the bench. Wilson had to stand on her toes to see over the top at the judge.

"Your Honour," Snell began. "As you know, our entire defense for this hearing is to ascertain whether or not Mr. Knight entered my client's house legally. The witness has just testified that the police, and therefore the Crown, knew he had been in the house prior to the police search. That makes everything found by the police inadmissible."

Wilson said quietly, "That's ridiculous, Your Honour. Mr. Knight had the warrant in his possession at the time he searched the defendant's house. So long as the warrant was received by him before he stepped into the house, the search is legal. We've been through this before."

Ramses pondered a moment, then spoke. "Ms. Wilson, do you know for a fact that Mr. Knight had the warrant in his possession before he entered the house? Or did he get it after, then call the police?"

Thinking quickly, she responded, "We can prove that Mr. Knight had the warrant prior to his search, Your Honour, and would be glad to with a rebuttal witness to Mr. Knight's testimony for the defense, but not until then if it's not necessary."

Snell asked indignantly, "Who?!"

"Yes, Ms. Wilson? I must say, I myself am curious. Who?"

With a slight amount of sweat forming on her upper lip, she knew she had to answer. They had told her he was willing to testify. She just didn't know how. "An artificial intelligence. The voice of the Knight Industries Two Thousand. Kitt. Mr. Knight's car."

Both men stared, jaws hanging. Both for different reasons.

"A car, Your Honour?! How can a car testify?"

Ramses shook his head slowly, disbelief straining his voice. "This car is capable of testifying, Mr. Snell. I just don't know if I can allow it. The information in that computer is highly classified, as are it's capabilities." Pausing for breath, a quick glance around the court room, he continued. "Okay, Ms. Wilson. If it becomes necessary, and only if so, will I allow you to put Kitt on the stand. Somehow. We'll work the details out at a later time. His testimony is to be held in closed court. Nothing is to be mentioned about the car, or it's testimony to the press, or anyone else. Is that understood?"

"No, Your Honour," Snell said, confusion etching his words. "First, I would like to know how a car can testify, and second, if it is to testify, then why can we not discuss it?"

Ramses smiled for the first time in the hearing. "That's easy, Mr. Snell. One, _I_ know the car can testify, and two, because I am placing a gag order on both of you effective immediately regarding the aforementioned issues. NOTHING comes out about it. Now, let's take a thirty minute recess to calm down." With that, he slammed his gavel down, jumped out of his seat, and was gone.


Moments after Ramses disappeared behind his door, the bailiff caught Devon Miles' eye, requesting his presence. Miles excused himself from Bonnie and Michael, and exited the court room through the same door as the judge. The bailiff led him down a short corridor, and knocked on a door. Devon heard Ramses bark something unintelligible from behind. The bailiff opened the door and Devon walked through.

Though small, the office was well appointed, an antique desk, hardwood floors with quilted rugs. A large bookcase lined one wall with the obligatory legal texts and journals. Devon noticed some of the classic authors as well. Dickens, Yeats, Tolstoy. He settled himself into one of the leather guest chairs facing the desk. A moment later, Ramses came out of an adjoining bathroom, his face grim.

"Thanks for coming in, Devon."

"You knew I would, Harold. What's on your mind?"

"Kitt. Jennifer Wilson may want to put him on the stand. I thought you should know. You could probably get an injunction against it, if you wanted to, under the grounds of classification."

Devon had, of course, known this was coming. "Yes, Harold, I probably could. And should. But, unfortunately I cannot. I spoke with Michael and Kitt both, and they have made their feelings very clear on this issue. I suppose in some ways I have to agree with their decision. You see, Harold, they were right. They are fighting for more than justice here. They're now fighting for their livelihoods as well. I won't interfere, as much as I would like to. All I can ask is that you do whatever you can to keep it from being a necessity at this point."

"I understand, Devon. We've worked together for years, since the OSS days. If Kitt does testify, I've already told the lawyers there will be no press. Closed court, and they aren't allowed to discuss the issue with anyone. At this point, it's all I can do." Ramses gave his bookshelf a quizzical look. "But, I may be able to think of something."

Devon left chambers, returning to the court room where Bonnie and Michael sat, quietly talking. Devon glanced down at them, and told them to follow him with his eyes. They stared at each other, concern etching their faces, as they stood and followed their boss. Devon walked through the main doors, down the large hallway to the stairs, and went down without turning to see if his employees were following. Bonnie and Michael hustled after him. They finally caught up to him on the sidewalk in front of the building.

"We have a problem," Devon said as he stopped beside Kitt. Michael leaned against his partner, Bonnie sitting on the hood.

"What's wrong, Devon?" Bonnie hadn't seen her boss this flustered in a long time.

"The Crown Attorney, Jennifer Wilson, is going to try to put Kitt on the stand. Apparently to prove that Michael was in fact in possession of the search warrant when he broke into Miller's house."

Kitt spoke before anyone else had the opportunity. "Devon, I informed Ms. Wilson of my intentions to help Michael with this case. Please, do not blame her. It is me you should be angry at."

"I know, Kitt. You've placed me in a precarious position. According to the board of Director's, I am not permitted to allow you to testify. But I know your reasons all too well. Judge Ramses is going to try to circumvent the issue. I'm not sure how. All I ask is that you two abide by his decision."

Michael looked down at his partner, then said, "You've got it, Devon."



As they re-entered the court room, there was a noticeable tension in the air. The journalists all sat hunched forward, the sketch artists scribbling furiously. Devon and Bonnie sat in the second pew on the prosecution side while Michael moved up to the front to speak with Rotty.

He sat beside her, leaning over so he could whisper into her ear. "What's going on?"

She smiled, then said, "Snell is making an ass of himself, objecting at irregular intervals when there's nothing to object to. The judge is losing his patience and Wilson looks like she could boil an egg on her head she's so mad." Michael had to agree. Wilson's face was beet red as she tried to continue her questioning of Sergeant Anderson. Rotty leaned into him again, adding, "Everyone in here thinks Snell's a fool. Ya ask me, he's doing it on purpose. Sandbagging, and just trying to break Wilson's rhythm."

Michael watched for a few minutes. Snell hadn't objected to anything since he had arrived and Wilson looked like she was starting to relax, getting her stride back in place.

"Sergeant Anderson, when you entered the defendant's freezer during your search, what was the first thing you saw?"

Snell stood slowly to his feet, uttering, "Objection, calls for speculation."

Ramses jumped from his seat behind the bench, his voice cowing every person in the large room. "Sit down, Mr. Snell. There is no need for you to object to that question. It most assuredly does not call for speculation. If I hear one more unfounded objection from you, I'll have you held in contempt!" Ramses finally seated himself breathing heavily, glowering at the defense table.

Snell remained unfazed. "Your Honour, you cannot hold me in contempt for doing the best possible job that I can for my client. You are fully aware that as defense counsel I have every right, nay every responsibility, to question all testimony brought forth by the Crown. This means objecting when I feel facts are being misrepresented by opposing counsel. I apologize if other lawyers do not do this, Your Honour, but I refuse to shirk my responsibilities." With the last sentence he sat, resting his hands calmly on the table in front of him. His face was a mask of nonchalance. Every other face in the room was openly aghast at this lawyer rebuking the judge.

Ramses finally calmed enough to be able to speak. Michael was expecting another loud outburst. In a calm, yet strained voice, Ramses said, "Yes, Mr. Snell, you do have an obligation to your client. That obligation includes not being thrown into jail from being held in contempt of court, which I am sorely tempted to do. But, you raise an interesting point of law. Does the defense lawyer have the right to hold up proceedings that are meant to be quick and judicial? I think not. Does the defense lawyer have the right to raise unfounded objections? I know not. The next time you object to something, Mr. Snell, you'd better have a damn good reason. Your objection is overruled. Proceed, Ms. Wilson."

Michael watched the rest of the days testimony, Wilson walking Andy through their discoveries step by step, until she finally felt satisfied and handed him to Snell. He asked all the same questions, not raising anything new, nor countermanding anything Wilson had gotten. The day was the prosecutors point. Michael realized then that a court battle really was a war without blood shed. Court was adjourned for the day.


Michael was asked to meet in the investigation conference room. When he arrived, Bloom County, Andy, Rotty, and Wilson were waiting for him. Wilson was agitated and tired.

"What the Hell kept you, Knight?"

"Hello to you too, counselor. I had to speak to some people, if that's all right with you. Now, what do you need?" He was trying to keep his calm, but occasionally this woman rubbed him the wrong way.

"Sorry, Michael. Long day. I've only got a couple more witnesses, then it'll be Snell's turn. I wanted to know what you're gonna say on the stand."

"Jennifer, I'm going to answer his questions as truthfully and honestly as I can. I don't know what he's going to ask me, so I don't know what I'll say."

Surprise in her eyes, Wilson said, "He hasn't discussed your testimony yet? What the hell is that man doing?"

Without even thinking, Rotty said, "Sandbagging you, Jen."

Turning on her, Wilson asked, "What do you mean?"

Rotty explained as she had to Michael, concluding with, "He's no dummy. Everything he does is planned. If he hasn't discussed Michael's testimony with him, then he has a reason. My guess is he wants Michael treated as a hostile."

Pondering the point, Wilson finally agreed. Michael left them with a promise to let them know if he was contacted by Snell. He went out to the street, and sank into Kitt's seat.

"They are a rather uptight group of people, aren't they, Michael."

"Yeah, Kitt. They most definitely are. They're also extremely good at what they do. It's nice to be working with them. Although..."

"Yes, Michael?" Kitt prompted.

"It's just that I always wondered what it would be like to work with Canadian police. They're definitely a little different than most US forces we've worked with, but they also seem to be a little more cautious. Like they don't want to take any risks. I could never work that way when I was on the force. Every day I had to take risks, both with my life, and with the cases I was on. I just don't know how they can do it."

"Canadians all around are a more cautious people from what I have seen, Michael. Crime stats are lower than our cities, they have less traffic accidents, though they seem to have even more congested of traffic systems than we're used to. And, Michael, they're very friendly. Just today, I had a young man offering to clean my windows, and he wasn't looking for money."

Michael laughed at the occasional bit of naivete left in his friend. "Yeah, Kitt, until he had cleaned your windows, then he would have been looking for five bucks."

Kitt's voice had a note of hurt in it. "No, Michael. He did clean all of my windows, then left without asking for anything." A small hint of levity crept back into the electronic voice. "Although..."

"Yeah?" Michael urged, realizing this was his partners form of payback.

"You may want to inspect the left side windshield wiper. It seems the good samaritan left something there. It's been sending out a signal for twenty minutes now."

Michael couldn't believe it. One of Miller's people had planted a transponder on his car. He stepped out of the car, retrieving the small black metal disc. Getting back in, he said, "Let's keep this for a little while, then send them on a nice red herring, eh, Kitt?"

"Sounds like a good idea, Michael. Though you are definitely spending too much time with these Canadians when you start saying 'eh.'"

Michael laughed as they drove into traffic.



They drove for several hours, heading aimlessly, trying to get a track on their pursuers. Several times Kitt thought he had them on his scanners, but then they disappeared. Michael was getting tired and irritable, he would have preferred spending the night with Shirley, than wandering the mountainous countryside of British Columbia. They finally turned into a truck stop, Michael thinking food might help to raise his spirits. The thought hit him like a tidal wave.

"Kitt, can you trace the frequency of the transponder?"

"Yes, Michael. I can monitor it, but not follow a signal back to where it is being received."

"We don't need that, buddy. I just realized we're going about this all wrong."

"We are?" Kitt asked curiously. He could feel the excitement in his partner's voice, but his computer processors hadn't put the pieces together the same way as Michael had. "What are you thinking?"

"We drop the transponder into one of the transports here, then follow the signal as far back as possible, and watch to see who else is there," Michael said proudly. Kitt was more than sceptical of his partners logic, but saw no other option. "I'll follow a driver out from the restaurant, then casually plant the transponder on his truck." Getting out of the car, Michael added, "Be back shortly, keep an eye on me, okay?"

"Of course, Michael. Especially when one considers your proclivity towards trouble when frequenting establishments such as this."

As Michael walked to the restaurant, he turned back with a smile on his face, saying, "Wise ass."

In the restaurant, busy for one in the morning, Michael ordered a large coffee, and a chicken salad on white bread. Taking his order to the counter, he noticed a tall brusque man in cowboy boots, large shiny buckle, and dirty denim jacket, heading for the exit. Paying quickly, Michael caught up to him as they stepped into the parking lot.

"Hi there, wonder if you could help me."

Turning, the man wore a menacing frown, appraising Michael, who was a good three inches shorter. The frown slowly faded, "What can I do for you?"

"I'm just trying to figure out how the heck I get back to Vancouver. Any idea?" They had continued walking to the truckers rig, a new Freightliner with full size sleeper with a large air dam over top, protecting the attached fifty three foot trailer from wind buffeting. The trailer was painted with a major auto manufacturers products all over it, the cab a deep metallic blue, with a mural of a horse ranch behind the doors.

Laughing, the trucker said in his deep gravelly voice, "Damn, man. You ain't supposed to ask for directions. Must be big city folk, eh?"

Chagrined at the response, Michael nodded and said, "Yeah, can you help me?"

"Sure, partner. I'm heading there now, so if you want, you can just stay on my back door all the way, so long as you don't mind rolling at one twenty."

Shocked, Michael exclaimed, "'Hundred twenty miles an hour? You don't honestly drive your rig that fast?"

A huge chuckle rumbled up from the truckers belly, spilling forth into what could only be described as a guffaw. "Oh shit, you must be a Yank. No man, one twenty kilometers an hour, not miles."

Seeing a small recessed area above the fuel tank, Michael slipped the transceiver into place while the driver climbed into his rig. "Thanks," said Michael, "But that's a little fast for me. I'll just check my map again."

Still chuckling at the dumb Yank, the driver looked down from his seat and said, "Suit yourself. Have a good one." With that, the door closed and the engine started in a loud roar.

Michael walked back to Kitt and slipped into his seat. "Showtime, buddy. Let's see what happens. We'll leave when the signal starts to get weak."

"Alright, Michael, but I am rather dubious of the effectiveness of this ploy. After all, we haven't picked up anyone on our scanners, and the range of that transponder, as small as it is, cannot be too great. I would have thought we would have seen something by now."

"So what are you thinking, Kitt?"

"That perhaps this entire episode has just been a ploy to get us out of the way for a while, maybe so Miller, or one of his people can do something else."

"Shit. Okay, Kitt, let's start calling everyone associated with the case on our side, roust them from bed if you have to, but let's make sure they're safe. In the meantime, we'll follow that transponder just in case."

Twenty minutes later, as they drove slowly back towards Vancouver, in the wake of the truck, Kitt spoke. "All parties have been contacted with nothing out of the usual to report, except Ms. Wilson, who had a near miss with a vehicular accident. Apparently, a car swerved across four lanes and sideswiped her. If she wouldn't have seen it coming and turned and accelerated to avoid the oncoming car, it would have been a head on collision. The police arrested the other driver who is being held for questioning. Ms. Wilson is unharmed."

Shaking his head, Michael knew Kitt was right, but couldn't let go of the hope someone would show up for the transponder. "Okay, Kitt. You were right, but let's keep the transponder in sight, just in case."

"Of course, Michael. Something's happening. Two vehicles are approaching the transport at high velocity from a sideroad. It appears, Michael, that we were both correct."

Pushing the 'pursuit' button, Michael yelled, "Let's get these guys, Kitt!"

They sped along the highway, breaching 150 miles per hour, when the two cars became visible as they pulled up alongside the transport. Michael saw the barrels of guns pop out through the windows. The transport swerved into one of the cars, causing it to veer off the road onto the shoulder. The driver quickly regained control, and they gained on the large truck again.

"Let's shake things up, Kitt. Hit the sirens and lights. Make sure there's no blue lights, they don't use them up here." The wailing of multiple police sirens assaulted Michael's ears, and the night sky turned shades of red and white. The two cars immediately sped ahead of the transport, and Michael and Kitt pursued.

"Michael, they're communicating with radios."

"Okay, figure out which car has the leader in it, and we'll focus on it."

"The lead car, a blue Ford Taurus sedan, has what appears to be the leader in it Michael."

"Okay, partner, is it safe to microwave jam his brakes up?"

"Yes, Michael, the road is straight for the next six miles, or ten kilometers."

"Hit it, Kitt. We can't worry about the other car, let's get these guys while we can. And radio for backup. Christ, do they even have a State, or Provincial police out here?"

"As far as I know, Michael, these roads are patrolled by the Royal Canadian Mounted Police."

"Okay, call them." The Taurus had skidded to a halt in front of them. Four men jumped out and started firing their weapons at Michael and Kitt. Kitt made sure the angle he stopped at would not allow any ricochets to bounce back into the gunmen. When the firing finally stopped, Michael drove towards the men who scrambled. He popped the T roof, and jumped out, tackling two of them to the ground, while Kitt went after the other two. He landed on top of them, smashing one face into the ground with his weight, causing the shooter to lose consciousness. The other stood quickly, swinging a large fist at Michael's head. The punch was easily blocked, and Michael swung his right leg up to the left, swinging it around into his opponents right temple. Both men were on the ground, unmoving. He looked over to Kitt to see how his partner had faired. He had one of his targets pinned under the prow of the car, while the others right arm was stuck in a window. He was about to laugh when the transport driver arrived, quickly followed by three police cars.


Before Judge Ramses could sit in his seat after entering the court room, Jennifer Wilson stood. "Your Honour, the Crown makes motion to have the defendant's bond revoked, and he be remanded into custody immediately."

Ramses sat stiffly, knowing this would be a long day. "On what grounds, counselor?"

Wilson walked to the podium and began her recital of the previous nights activities, concluding with, "Mr. Knight and two detectives interrogated the suspects, and they spoke clearly of Mr. Miller's involvement through one of his underlings, Your Honour. The defendant obviously believed he could carry out these attacks, and not get caught. After all, if we were dead, who would be left to testify?"

Throughout her story, Snell had glared at Miller. He now stood. "If it please the court, I would like to argue the point?" Getting a curt nod from Ramses, Snell went on, "The evidence tying my client to last night's actions is tenable at best. Ms. Wilson is just seeking revenge for her loss in the bail hearing. I am of course, sorry to hear about her close call, and Mr. Knight's, but my client cannot be held accountable for the actions people who know him take. My client paid an unreasonable bail amount, and it would be criminal to revoke the little freedom he has at this point, Your Honour."

Ramses sat like a statue for several long minutes, finally looking from one lawyer to the other. "Ms. Wilson, are you prepared to continue the case, or do you need a recess for a couple days?"

Shocked, Wilson said, "I'm fine, Your Honour, just tired today. But, we are ready to proceed."

"Very well. Mr. Miller, stand up please." Miller remained obstinately in his seat, not even looking at the judge while Snell grabbed futilely at his arm, trying to pull him up. Miller shook the hand away. "Get on your feet!" Ramses barked. When Miller still remained steadfast in his seat, Ramses yelled at the bailiff to stand the defendant up.

When the bailiff grabbed him roughly by the arm and started to pull, Miller spun, knowing he would go back to prison otherwise, swinging his fist into the bailiff's temple. He fell in a heap to the floor, and Miller pushed past him, trying to get to the door leading to the judge's chambers. Michael watched the whole thing transpire and was ready. He leapt the railing, running at full speed, tackling Miller from behind at the knees. They went down hard, Michael cracking his skull on the wall of the judges bench, Miller sliding into the wall beside the door. Before either man could get to his feet, three bailiffs entered hearing the commotion, and held both men to the floor. Ramses gave a few curt orders and Michael was led out the door for medical attention to the cut on the back of his head, Miller was led back to the defense table, a guard on each side.

Ramses' face was red with anger, grey eyes glaring coldly at Miller. "Mr. Snell, since you seem to have no control over your client, he will be brought to court in handcuffs and leg irons, which will not be removed while here. He is also to be remanded back into the custody of the provincial correctional facility until the end of his trial. Bail will not be refunded. Call the two million he lost payment for his show of disrespect for this court, and to me. Bailiffs, please fit the defendant with his irons."

Snell could not believe what was happening to him. He stood, his eyes almost watering. He knew Miller was unpredictable, but he didn't think his client was this stupid. "Your Honour, I apologize for my clients behaviour, but I object strenuously to him being forced to wear shackles during his court appearances. If and when this case goes before a jury, those shackles will be damningly prejudicial against Mr. Miller."

"Your client should have thought of that before trying to escape, Mr. Snell. Your objection is noted, and overruled." He looked over to the defendant, saw the cuffs and hobbles attached, a guard on each side behind him and said, "Ms. Wilson, sorry for the delay. Are you ready to proceed?"

"Yes, Your Honour." She called her next witness, a forensic expert on fingerprints. After the excitement, the testimony seemed exceptionally boring to all those present. At 12:15, she was done with him, and Ramses called for a lunch recess. Miller was led to a holding cell, Wilson went to check on Michael.

After lunch, Michael sitting again in the front pew, Snell tried to swing the testimony to his side. He thrust, the witness parried. It was another day for the prosecution.


Michael let Kitt drive as they wound their way through the city streets from the Court House to Shirley's hotel. Michael was unusually quiet, with Kitt trying to lighten the mood by telling bad jokes. Michael's face never even cracked.

As they pulled up to the front entrance, Kitt said, "Michael, you could not have anticipated Mr. Miller's actions. You responded quickly and efficiently, and no one but you was hurt. I don't understand why you are so dejected about it."

Michael looked down at the voice modulator, as he always did when Kitt caught him off guard and spoke the same thoughts he was having. "You know me so well, partner. But I wasn't quick enough. If that bailiff had had a gun, God knows what Miller would have done. I can't get that thought out of my head. I just keep on seeing Ramses and Wilson, blood pouring from gunshot wounds, Miller waving the gun in the air, then disappearing through that door."

Kitt, with sadness in his voice replied, "But that didn't happen. You stopped him from escaping, saving who knows how many lives, once again with no thought of your own well being. It's who you are, Michael. It's why I respect you."

Smiling at long last, Michael said, "Thanks, Kitt. It's nice to know that I can always talk to you, that you're always here for me. Knowing my thoughts as well as you do. Thank you."

As Michael stepped out of the car, he heard Kitt say, "You're welcome, Michael. I'll always be here for you." Michael only hoped it would be true.

Entering the suite, he stepped into the loving concerned embrace of Shirley. They ate a dinner of room service, then exhausted, he collapsed into the bed and slept fitfully, visions of blood and court rooms interrupting his normal deep sleep while Shirley maintained a vigil beside him, slowly stroking his hair.


Michael sat uncomfortably in the witness chair. Jennifer Wilson had rested the Crown's case the Friday before, and the entire investigation team had spent the weekend labouring over the case. They were all tired and cranky. Now, near exhaustion, Michael found himself losing patience with the defense lawyer.

"Mr. Knight, is the Foundation for Law And Government a recognized law enforcement agency?"

"No," Michael said tersely.

"Could FLAG be characterized as a vigilante organization?"

This question was expected, and a proper answer had been conjured. Instead of using it, Michael spat, "If you're an idiot, sure!"

Unfazed, Snell continued. "So you would characterize your Foundation as a vigilante organization."

Sighing, regaining his composure, Michael said, "No. At FLAG we work in conjunction with local law enforcement agencies helping individuals that are in trouble."

"Individuals like the victim, Sylvia Twinley?"

"People exactly like Sylvia," Michael said flatly.

Striding close to the witness box, Snell seemed to contemplate this answer. "So, you received a request to help Ms. Twinley?"

"Yes."

"And when was that, Mr. Knight?"

"Three weeks before her body was found in your clients freezer," Michael said with venom.

Snell turned to the judge. "Move to strike, Your Honour, as unresponsive."

Ramses looked between Michael and Snell, then replied, "Overruled, it seemed quite responsive to me."

Scowling, Snell continued. "And in that three weeks, what were your activities?"

Michael sat straighter and glanced at Wilson. Turning back to Snell, he said, "It took me a week to get up here. I was in the middle of a case in Texas I had to close first, then drove here. Upon arriving, I tried to contact Sylvia, but was unable to. I then started investigating."

"And when you couldn't contact your client, you immediately focussed on Mr. Miller?"

"Not immediately. It took some time to uncover his involvement in her life. He had hidden his actions rather well."

"How long?"

"How long did it take to uncover your clients illegal actions that caused Sylvia's death?" Michael said with a smirk.

"Move to strike, unresponsive," Snell said to Ramses.

"Sustained. Mr. Knight, please answer only the question you are asked. Mr. Snell, it would help if you asked more direct questions."

"Thank you, Your Honour, I'll try. Mr. Knight, how long did it take you to find my clients involvement with Ms. Twinley?"

"Two days."

"And could you describe to the court how you went about that?"

Wilson, who had been sitting quietly stood now. "Objection, Your Honour. I question the relevance of this question, and the infringement upon topics that are supposed to be closed to public hearing."

Waving the two lawyers forward, Ramses said, "Sidebar, counsel."

Snell and Wilson stepped under the judge's bench and started at a low whisper.

"Your Honour," began Snell, "the defense has a right to question the steps that lead to my clients arrest, and it all begins with Mr. Knight's purported innocent investigation of Mr. Miller."

Wilson rebutted with, "Defense counsel is strictly trying to divulge the classified information that has formerly been deemed off limits by this court, Your Honour. Let the defense go on a different fishing expedition."

Ramses studied the pair of lawyers, then decided. "Your objection is overruled, for now. Mr. Snell, I warn you to not try prying anything out about the Knight Industries Two Thousand. Ms. Wilson, you will just have to hope that Mr. Knight can answer these questions without inferring his partners abilities."

The lawyers retook their positions and Snell said, "Please answer the question, Mr. Knight."

Nodding, Michael explained his investigation. "I knew where Sylvia lived, and I spoke to several other tenants in the building. A couple of them gave me some information which I ran through some computer data banks, and came up with a few names. I looked them up in some criminal databases, and found some ties to the defendant. I started looking into his activities over the last several years, and noticed his meteoric rise in wealth and social status. Everything seemed legitimate on the surface, but with some digging, his dirty laundry was found."

"And what was this supposed 'dirty laundry,' Mr. Knight?"

Smiling, Michael said, "You don't really want that brought into evidence, do you, Mr. Snell?"

With a frown, Snell said, "Okay, so what were your actions on the day of the search warrant?"

"I woke up at seven o'clock, and had a wonderful breakfast at the Village Cafe, reading all of the reports I had obtained on Mr. Miller. I gathered all of the evidence I had, and sent it to Judge Ramses with a request for a search warrant. At two thirty in the afternoon, I received the copy of the warrant that you saw. Once I had it, I searched the house, found the drugs, and the body, and contacted the police to do a full search of the premises."

"But. Mr. Knight, how does the court know that you waited until the search warrant was delivered before you conducted your search?"

Michael had thought of the only good answer he could come up with for this question. "Because, Mr. Snell, I am under oath to tell you the truth, and because I'm not a liar."

"But that's only your word, Mr. Knight. I'm sure you're well aware of how many people lie in that seat you're sitting in."

"Yes, I am, Mr. Snell. Just as I am sure you're aware of the penalties for a lawyer putting on a witness that he believes will lie. I believe the term is suborning perjury?" It was a wonderful check and mate move on Michael's part, and everyone in the court room knew it, including the judge. Snell stood for a moment, his mouth hung limply.

Ramses looked down at him and said, "Counsel, you haven't suborned perjury in my court have you?" There was a trace of a smile in his tone.

"Of course not, Your Honour. I haven't spoken to the witness to know whether or not he would lie, therefor I could not have known what his testimony would be, true or false."

"Yes, Mr. Snell, but you obviously expected the witness to lie about this fact, and that in and of itself could be considered subbornment. Now, how do you plan to rectify this problem?"

Knowing he had lost, Snell walked back to his table and took his seat. "I have no more questions at this time, Your Honour."

"Good. Ms. Wilson?"

Wilson stood, her face glowing with victory. "Nothing for the witness, Your Honour."

Looking to Michael, Ramses said, "You're excused, Mr. Knight. Mr. Snell, you may call your next witness."

Snell was undecided. He had lost with Knight, and the next witness was one of Miller's bodyguards who had overheard Michael telling Anderson about the hidden freezer. His testimony would be useless now. "Defense rests," was all he could say. He couldn't believe he had been outmaneuvered by this vigilante. He was furious.

"Rebuttal witness, Ms. Wilson?"

Smiling fully now, Wilson said, "None are needed, Your Honour."

"Very well. The Crown has shown substantial probable cause. Mr. Miller will be held over for trial. Meet in my chambers on Wednesday this week, and we'll schedule it. This court is adjourned until the trial." With that, Ramses was up and out of his chair before the bailiff could respond.

As Miller was being led away from the defense table, he glared at Snell and spat, "You fucked up big time, didn't you! You'd better think up something to get me the fuck out of this, or you can kiss your little daughter goodbye. She'll spend her best days working for me." Snell stared coldly at his back as Miller shuffled away.