The Torch office, Smallville, Friday December 13, 2002
Chloe carefully studied the map of the United States pinned to the wall. She had been following the escape of fugitive Wallace Johnson, the prime suspect in the death of Chelsea Saunders. It was up to a jury to decide if there was Luthor involvement or direction in her murder.
Multi-coloured thumbtacks littered the map's south Atlantic seaboard. When the downed NYPD chopper was found ablaze in New Jersey, she had marked it on the map. She stuck another tack to Virginia, where federal authorities had unsuccessfully tried to nab the renegade soldier in a motel. From the Carolinas to Georgia to Florida, there were dozens of reported sightings of people who might have looked like Johnson. None of those leads resulted in an arrest, but the FBI were still certain that the fugitive was still in the continental U.S.
"You're making a run for Florida," Chloe mumbled to herself, weighing the options as Wallace Johnson might have. "You're wanted by the army, every police department in the country and the feds. You can't stay in the States for long. You mustn't stay ..."
Chloe looked southward on the map. The Florida Keys – once safe harbours for pirates long ago – could hide a small plane for an ex-military guy on the run. Then off to the Caribbean? There were plenty of little tropical countries and tax-free colonies where a person could go to re-invent himself, perhaps to cash in a reward for doing a Luthor's bidding. Then South America would beckon.
Wallace Johnson could simply disappear.
A loud thud on a desk startled Chloe. She turned around, relieved that it wasn't yet another law enforcement type out to raid her office again. Mr. Kent had brought this week's Torch from the publishers.
'SMALLVILLE STUDENT TESTIFIES BEFORE NY JURY', the headline announced.
"Thanks, Mr. Kent," Chloe replied, still focused on her map.
Jonathan Kent peered at the map with dozens of thumbtacks on it. "Still tracking that outlaw Ranger's possible escape path?" he inquired.
"There are still too many questions left unanswered," Chloe stated. "I mean, if I knew that I had double-crossed a Luthor by botching up a murder, I wouldn't make it easy for anyone to find me. If the MPs catch him, he can expect at least 25 years at Leavenworth. If the NYPD get him first, he just might be the first man executed in New York State in years! And if Lionel Luthor found him –"
Jonathan chuckled. "—if Wallace Johnson had any sense, he'd turn himself in right now. I don't think even a trained soldier would want to risk whatever punishment Lionel Luthor would have waiting for him."
"Exactly," Chloe agreed. "He's not safe anywhere in the U.S. So he has to be making a run for the border."
Jonathan traced the thumbtack trail on the map. "Mexico? The Caribbean? Heck, if he could fly his own plane, he could slip under the Coast Guard's radar and just vanish."
Then he realized just how far the Luthors might go to cover up whatever Wallace Johnson might know about the Saunders' death. If the FBI couldn't capture Johnson, there would be no first-person evidence of Luthor collusion in the murder. There would be no one who could point a finger at Lionel, or Lex – or both of them – and say: "They instructed me to kill Chelsea Saunders."
Any Luthor involvement would be brushed under the rug again. But Clark would have that shadow of doubt over him. Jonathan had heard the whispers at the gas bar, the hardware store, the Talon ... rumours that Clark might actually know more than he's letting on. The Kents were always known as an honest family, with no skeletons. But Jonathan knew that they couldn't maintain that reputation for long if Clark were somehow implicated in this sordid affair in Manhattan. He knew Clark knew nothing about the Saunders' murder. But suspicion lingered around the corner.
He needed to stamp it out before it violated his family's safety forever.
"Any word on the trial proceedings?" Jonathan asked.
"The jury's sequestered now," Chloe replied. "They've been deliberating since this morning. I figure that the jury wants to tread carefully. If Lex is found guilty, the prosecution has suggested that they might pursue capital punishment."
Jonathan clicked on the television. There appeared to be some commotion on the steps of the Manhattan courthouse. Masses of cameras, sound booms and microphones surrounded two people.
It was Martha and Clark. Jonathan turned up the volume.
"Mrs. Kent!" one of the reporters screamed. "Any news about Luthor Corp.'s malicious prosecution suit against the City of New York?!"
Martha, sleek in her gray-pinstriped suit, retained her composure. "You'll have to ask Mr. Goldstein, who is representing the firm's interests on that matter."
"Clark, do you think your friend Lex is innocent or guilty?" another reporter demanded.
Clark spun around to face the cameras, annoyed at the spectacle that the trial had become. "Well, I guess you'll have to wait for the jury's answer. And what they'll conclude is that Lex Luthor is innocent!"
For a moment, Clark felt confident in his answer. Then he spotted Mrs. Saunders at the bottom of the steps. She was also caught in a media scrum, pouring her heart out. Demanding justice for her dead daughter.
Over the past few weeks, Clark's mind had been clouded with legal arguments, testimony and briefings. Amidst all the hype, everyone seemed to have forgotten one important fact:
Chelsea Saunders – recent college grad and Luthor Corp. employee – was someone's daughter. Now she was dead, and no verdict could bring her back to life.
Escorted by court officers, Clark and Martha rushed into the building to await the verdict that could set Lex Luthor free. Or ruin his life forever.
Chloe looked up at Mr. Kent. He appeared to be reaching out to the television screen. To his family. He loved them so much, yet he felt that he was somehow letting them down by not protecting them from the chaos in the Big Apple.
"Clark has nothing to feel ashamed about," Chloe offered. "It's not his fault that Lex chose to call him that night."
"That night," Jonathan muttered. "Lex couldn't let it alone, could he? He had to get Clark involved in another mess of his doing. I'd like to believe that Lex has Clark's best interests in mind, but whenever a scandal like this erupts, I have to wonder ..."
In the hallway outside the Torch office, Lana clutched her books to her chest. She had seen Clark's declaration of Lex's innocence. And she saw that Mr. Kent was aching inside. He must feel helpless, half a continent away, while people in town and across the country were casting doubts about his son's honesty. How could one man counter the relentless glare of the media spotlight?
She leaned against the wall and sighed. Clark must feel so isolated, she fretted. Like some pawn in the D.A.'s personal feud with all things Luthor.
The sooner he gets out of New York, the better, she thought.
Sudsy's Coin Laundry, Upper East Side, New York
Elliot Stabler wiped the sweat from his brow as he shoved the pile of dirty clothes into the washer. While the wife and kids were out on a school field trip, he took these precious few hours to get stuff done. He plugged the 1.25 in quarters and set the washer cycle.
One of the customers turned on the radio in the lounge.
"The jury has been sequestered for over six hours now," a voice crackled on the air, "and there still is no word if they've reached a consensus ..."
Stabler marched over to the radio and shut it off.
"That's the last thing I wanna hear," he barked. Since Stabler was wearing a worn-out Marine Corps. t-shirt, no one dared to protest.
Det. Olivia Benson entered the Laundromat, wary that her partner was still depressed about his unpaid leave.
"Hey, Olivia, what's up," Stabler said.
"I'm fine, how are you?" Benson inquired.
"I've learned over the past few days that daytime TV bites," Stabler grumbled. "Christmas is two weeks away and I'm all jingle-belled out."
The radio crackled again. "I said I don't wanna hear that crap!" Stabler barked.
"Screw you, Elliot," Det. Munch replied. "I want to find out if Lex is gonna get his just desserts."
Few people would stand up to Elliot. Benson was one of them. And John Munch was definitely another.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Stabler snapped back. He turned to Benson again. "I take it you're not hear to separate my whites from my darks?"
Benson pulled out a sheet of paper. "An arrest warrant for State Rep. Connors. That Nichols girl. She agreed to testify."
Stabler gasped. "How did you --?"
"Olivia managed to win over her confidence," Munch replied. "We're on our way to snatch that political S.O.B. right now. And his former Wall Street boss for conspiracy to cover up the abuses."
"Alex Cabot's taking no prisoners," Benson added. "She's not cutting any deals. With Nichols' testimony, he'll be lucky to get out of Sing Sing in one piece by the end of his sentence."
Stabler paused. He knew that he jeopardized Cabot's case with his outburst. Capt. Cragen was right all along: things would be set right.
"Send Rep. Connors my regards," Stabler grinned slightly. "And tell Alex ... I'm sorry."
"She already knows, Elliot," Benson patted her partner's shoulder. "You're gonna get through this. You'll see."
When they left, Stabler waited a few minutes. Then, he reluctantly turned up the radio. He had a fleeting hope that Lex Luthor would also get what he deserved: life in prison or a needle shoved in his arm.
Helix Technologies, Wall Street, 1:10 p.m.
Surrounded by dozens of Wall Street's influential power brokers, State Rep. Connors pointed out the provocative contemporary art framed in the main lobby of Helix Technologies – a leader in biotechnology.
"One of our latest acquisitions," he bragged to the investors. These people would someday fund his gubernatorial campaign. But now was the time to stroke egos. He'd milk their wallets another day.
"And you're one of my latest acquisitions!" Munch deadpanned, as he barged into the main foyer with a dozen officers. "Rep. Connors, you're under arrest for aggravated assault, sexual exploitation of a minor and indecent exposure, you sick freak. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used ..."
The investors were stunned as Det. Benson cuffed Helix's most prominent ex- employee. "Kiss your political career goodbye," she announced. "I doubt you'd even be able to run for your condo board now. Tutuola, his former boss, Mr. Walters is on the second floor."
"What – what does Rick have to do with this?" Connors shrieked, as he was led out of the office.
"Conspiracy to cover-up a felony, accessory after the fact ..." Tutuola replied, followed by pair of uniformed cops. "Looks like you and your scum-sucking Alpha Pi keg brother are gonna be cellmates!"
Connors barked at his assistant to call an attorney.
Munch laughed. "Don't bother calling up your 'buddy', Luthor. He's one grand jury away from life in Sing Sing. Hey, maybe you three can start your own frathouse in Ossining!"
"Yeah," Benson quipped, "and the only chestnuts roasting up there this Christmas will be their sorry butts."
After several weeks of dead-ends, uncooperative witnesses and political interference, the Special Victims Unit finally nabbed Connors. Not even his status in Albany could protect him now. The Nichols girl might see justice served.
Just in time for the holidays.
Supreme Court, Trial, Part 49
Judge Fitzwater pushed his spectacles up again. "Foreman of the jury, do you have a verdict?"
A middle-aged man in a cardigan stood up. "We have, your Honour."
Finally, Lex grumbled to himself. Goldstein's legal team flanked him on either side. They expected to win. Goldstein assured him that they would be dining on Park Avenue by this afternoon.
Nice thought, Lex frowned, but we still haven't heard a verdict. My fate is still in the hands of others. The lack of control over his destiny irritated him.
"Would the defendant please rise," the judge ordered.
Lex stood up, glanced briefly at Mrs. Kent and Clark and faced the judge.
"On the count of first-degree murder, how do you find the defendant?" Judge Fitzwater demanded.
Lex studied the jury: a complete cross-section of New York City. Hispanics, blacks, a pair of upper-crust WASPs. An Asian. Recent grads and pensioners. The jury was split 60 percent women, 40 percent men. Did they see him as a spoiled, morally-bankrupt sociopath – or the hapless victim of malicious prosecution?
The foreman cleared his throat. "Your Honour, we find the defendant innocent of first-degree murder."
Lex let out a muted cheer and pumped his fist in the air. Goldstein clasped his client on the shoulder in congratulations. Lex turned around and shook Clark's hand firmly. Clark gave him a spontaneous embrace. Lex was innocent of murder. That's all that mattered to him. Martha grinned, relieved that the ordeal had ended for both of them.
"On the count of conspiracy to commit murder, how do you find?" the judge continued.
"We find the defendant innocent," the foreman declared.
Southerlyn looked behind her. Mrs. Saunders burst into uncontrollable sobs, quickly silencing the Luthor camp's celebrations. McCoy's cold expression also seemed to stifle the defense's quiet gloating.
"On the count of obstruction of justice, how do you find the defendant?" the judge asked.
"We find the defendant guilty, your Honour," the foreman replied.
Goldstein immediately stood up. "We intend to appeal, your Honour."
"What a surprise," the judge sighed. "Alexander Luthor, you are free to go. But you are warned that, if your appeal is denied, you will present yourself to this court in the new year for sentencing on the obstruction of justice count. This court is now adjourned."
The gavel slammed, ending a nightmare that began when Lex learned about questionable shipments to the Mediterranean. He quickly approached Mrs. Saunders.
"Mrs. Saunders, you have my word that I will not rest until your daughter's killer is brought to justice," Lex insisted. "If my father had a hand in her death, he will answer for it. Somehow."
Mrs. Saunders flinched angrily away from him. "You have your freedom. Good for you. You have your life in Metropolis to return to. My life ended the day those detectives arrived on my doorstep! My daughter is dead. And no court in this land will convince me that the Luthors had no hand in her murder! Just – just leave me alone!" Before McCoy could console her, she stormed out of the courtroom.
"I told you he was innocent," Clark glared at McCoy.
McCoy ignored him and approached Goldstein. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot. We'll get Lex on obstruction. We'll get him and his father on those shipments."
Lex stepped forward. "What is it that you have against me, Mr. McCoy? Surely this isn't just sour grapes we're seeing."
McCoy grimaced at Lex. "You might be able to walk away from this media circus today, but I can assure you that all the money in the world won't help you forget that Chelsea Saunders – an employee under your watch – died for a Luthor family secret. Sleep on that, if you can!"
Lex smirked. "The Chinese general Sun-Tzu once said that a warrior never enters into a contest if he can't be assured of a victorious outcome. You bit off more than you can chew, Mr. McCoy. Ambition is a powerful motivator. Unfortunately, you let it cloud your judgment. My father has many sins to answer for. Either in this life, or the next. His sins aren't mine and I have no desire to bear the guilt of his mistakes. I regret that you can't see past that."
McCoy noticed the Napoleonic-era coin embedded in Lex's watch. "Didn't Napoleon also say that four hostile newspapers are more to be feared that a thousand bayonets? I'm guessing your family's rag, the Gazette, will hail your victory. As for the Post, the Times, the Daily Planet ... I suspect you won't find such a sympathetic hearing. The jury might feel you have nothing to hide. But the average joe on the street thinks the Luthors are nothing but well-connected liars in expensive suits. When we find Wallace Johnson –"
"— 'if' you find Johnson." Goldstein interrupted. "'Rambo' Wally acted of his own accord. End of story! Do you really want to push this obstruction of justice thing? Cut your losses, Jack, before your neck's in the wringer."
"This isn't over," Lex remarked, as he peered mercilessly at the District Attorney. "On that, we're in agreement, Mr. McCoy."
When the defense left, Southerlyn took McCoy aside.
"What if Goldstein's right, Jack," she said, "what if we can't find Johnson?"
"He's out of our hands at this point," McCoy replied. "We'll play the cards we're dealt. There's the file with the Major Case Squad ... new evidence may come to light ... perhaps a new witness will come forward ..."
When they left the courthouse, a swarm of reporters descended on them.
"Where does the Luthors' malicious prosecution suit stand, Mr. McCoy? Is there any merit to it?" a reporter demanded. Camera bulbs flashed amid the horde of microphones and tape recorders.
"We did the right thing," McCoy stated. "The facts support our case."
"Are you going to proceed with the obstruction of justice count?" another reporter blurted.
"It is our intention to pursue this matter to the fullest extent," McCoy replied. "Lex Luthor used his influence to delay and thwart a murder investigation. I welcome the opportunity to prove that in court. My only regret today is that the Saunders' family has been denied justice, for now."
A reporter from the Daily Planet bounded up the stairs towards McCoy and Southerlyn. "What do you make of initial reports that the body found in that crashed plane in the Caribbean Sea is that of Sgt. Wallace Johnson?"
McCoy and Southerlyn stared at each other in disbelief. Wallace Johnson is dead?
"I beg your pardon?" McCoy replied.
"There was a naval exercise, off Dominican Republic waters," the Planet reporter explained. "They accidentally shot down a Cessna. Navy divers retrieved a body. The coroner hasn't arrived at a conclusion, but they found some ID that suggests the pilot could be your fugitive."
McCoy let out a breath. He would confirm these reports independently, but he feared its terrible conclusion.
His only apparent link between Luthor and the Saunders murder had just been swept away, lost forever underneath a tropical Caribbean sun.
... to be continued.