Page 121 of Hush
“No, your client just planned their murders. Orchestrated the entire operation.”
“Allegedly.” Renner sent Ballard a frosty glare. “Your Honor, this entire testimony is prejudicial to my client and serves no purpose other than to upset the jurors.”
“Testimony from medical examiners is always considered key evidence in any trial. We must establish the facts of the crime, including how these individuals died. Barring this testimony would be a grave disservice to the jurors. They would have an unbalanced view of the facts.”
Tom noticed Ballard never uttered the words “Your Honor”. Not once.
“The defense does not dispute the facts of death, Your Honor. We request you bar this testimony.”
Which way to go? Both Ballard and Renner had valid points. Ballard still refused to look him in the eye. Renner implored him with his gaze. Any testimony from the medical examiner would certainly hurt Kryukov and inflame the jury, play on their already-strummed heartstrings.
He’d given Renner a win with the discovery motions, though, and had given the defense significant latitude in crafting their strategy. Enough latitude that Renner should be able to recover from this testimony, if he’d worked diligently. If there was anything at all to craft.
“I’m allowing this testimony.” Tom tried to catch Ballard’s gaze, but Ballard still looked just beyond his shoulder. He didn’t react to Tom’s ruling. “Dr. Sparks may take the stand.”
Renner cursed under his breath. Ballard nodded once. Both melted back to their tables, Renner whispering in Kryukov’s ear for a long minute as Sparks took the stand.
Nauseating crime scene photos followed, wave after wave of sunbaked blood on marble steps, bullet trajectories mapped out with neon evidence straws, shattered bullet fragments embedded in the Capitol. Autopsy records, and photos of the victims laid out on steel examination tables. Agent Payne and other federal law enforcement officers watching in the gallery looked down at the floor, not watching the giant images projected on the flat-screen of their friends, their bodies and murders on display for the world.
Cause of death for each victim was a lethal shot from a 7.62-millimeter round, the projectile fired by a Dragunov sniper rifle. Patrick Ross died from a shot to the neck, which shredded his carotid artery and trachea. Steven Harvey was killed with a shot to the head, slicing through his occipital lobe. Chad Robertson was killed with a single shot to the chest, the giant bullet bouncing around in the chest cavity and shredding his lungs, aortic arch, and half his heart.
Documents supplied by the Russians and reviewed by Dr. Sparks, showed the Russian presidential security agent died of two shots through his back, puncturing both lungs.
The Russians also supplied careful medical documentation about President Vasiliev’s injuries. A shot to his upper right shoulder, nicking an artery and shattering his shoulder blade, his joint. The x-rays showed an explosion of bones, a garbage heap of debris. He’d be lucky to regain partial functionality of his right arm.
Dr. Sparks spent nearly two hours walking through each autopsy, each cause of death, each gruesome photo gallery. Some jurors cried. Others looked away, fury etched onto their faces. It was well past noon when Dr. Sparks finished, and Tom called the lunch recess.
He and Mike slipped back to his chambers, not speaking until the door closed behind them. Tom shook his head, his shoulders slumping. “I can only imagine the headlines after that testimony.”
“Are you okay?” Mike reached for him, his fingers sliding up Tom’s robe and rubbing over his wrists.
Tom had more murder cases under his belt than most judges. As a prosecutor, he’d been tough on murderers, pushing just like Ballard had, making it hurt, bringing to life the suffering of the victim for the jury and for the defendant. He’d counted it a personal victory if he’d gotten the defendant to weep during his presentation. As a judge, he’d been stiff with his penalties for the handful of murderers found guilty in his courtroom.
But it was different, watching the autopsy presentation of men he’d personally watched die. In the courtroom, facts were supposed to be facts, distant, noble things that had no taint of emotion. No wash of haunted memory. In the past, he could look at crime scene photos and autopsy records all day long and not feel the touch of pain, a curl of horror and loss at the death and the tragedy. But he’d seen Patrick Ross die. Had watched Steven Harvey slump to the steps. Remembered Chad Robertson’s blood racing down the Capitol. He’d watched these men breathe their last breaths, give their life for their duties, for the country, and for the Russian president.
He couldn’t pretend to be unmoved by that, not here, not with Mike. He tangled their fingers together. “I’m better now.” He squeezed.
Mike pulled him close, exhaling against his hair as they wrapped their arms around each other. They stood silently, pressing their bodies as close as they could, letting the silence wreath them. If Tom closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was peaceful in the world.
Knocking broke them apart, and Mike pulled away, headed for the door. Peggy smiled and said hello to them both as she passed Mike a large brown bag.
Tom breathed in deeply. Food, and lots of it, by the smell.
“I ordered lunch for you during the first recess.” Mike seemed sheepish as he opened the bag, unpacking enough Chinese food for a small army on Tom’s conference table. “I wanted to take care of you. Make sure you ate.”
What would he do if Mike wasn’t in his life? Probably pace the lunch break away, locked in his chambers, and eventually try to force down a granola bar. How isolated he’d been before Mike, personally and professionally. Lunch with law clerks during a trial of this magnitude was out of the question, but other than them, he’d been all alone.
“Thank you.” He shucked his robe and sat down right next to Mike, who was piling a paper plate with food for him. Mike filled his own plate and sat, and Tom reached for his hand. “You take great care of me.”
Mike blushed and beamed, and held Tom’s hand while they ate.
Renner picked up immediately after lunch, like a football coach who’d regrouped at half time and seen the face of God. Ballard was going to pay for forcing Dr. Sparks’s testimony.
“Dr. Sparks, you are obviously an extremely competent and thorough medical examiner. Your testimony was detailed and flawless.” He waited, allowing Dr. Sparks a tiny nod of thanks. “I myself told the prosecution that your work was impeccable, and that we did not dispute any of the facts of this case.”
Dr. Sparks’s lips thinned. She said nothing.
“Knowing that, why do you think you’re here?”
