Page 91 of Hush
“Like I told Chief Judge Fink this morning, I’m not on anyone’s page. I respect the rule of law. This will be a fair and impartial trial. I’m not sentencing anyone before this has even begun.”
“Did you evenreadthe criminal complaint? The arrest warrant you signed this morning? This case isalreadydecided! The evidence against Kryukov is insurmountable! This is an open-and-shut case. We should be waiting for the phone to ring from Renner, begging for a plea!”
“Aren’t you trying to work over Kryukov? Don’t you want to know what he knows? Get the next higher up in the chain?”
“Of course. We’re letting him sweat a bit first.” Ballard jammed one long finger into the center of his notes. “But we have to talk about Renner’s possible defense. National security? What the fuck?”
Tom sat down slowly, sighing. “There’s a couple of ways to approach this defense.”
“I don’t need a lesson in criminal defense theory fromyou. A year ago, I was your boss.”
“And now you’re not.” Tom’s voice was hard, harsh. “If the evidence is as locked up as you say it is, then Renner has to get creative with his defense. The usual strategy would be to cast doubt on your case. Say the evidence isn’t enough. But by invoking the specter of national security, it certainly sounds like Renner is fishing for classified information, information that would come from the government. What does he know that you don’t, Ballard?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you absolutely sure? You need to check the scope of your evidence against Kryukov. In discovery, you will need to turn over everything to Renner and the defense. Everything you have. If you don’t give up what you have for your case, for any reason, then Kryukov won’t get a fair trial. If the defense can’t be guaranteed a fair trial, then Renner can move for a dismissal of charges. If there’s something going on, and you hold it back for national security concerns, he can use that as grounds to move for a mistrial. At the very least, it’s a loaded double-barrel shotgun for appealing the verdict.” Tom squinted at Ballard. “What exactly do you have on Kryukov? Is everything legitimate?”
Ballard leaped to his feet. “Are you accusing me—”
“I will slap you with prosecutorial misconduct in a heartbeat, Ballard. You’ve always played a little rough. A little too close to the line. This time, you might have crossed it, and right now, only you know for sure. But it will come out. It always comes out.”
“Fuck you,” Ballard hissed. His face turned purple as his teeth clenched. He stormed out, throwing Tom’s door wide open. It crashed against the wall, reverberating with a bang down the fourth-floor corridor.
Peggy poked her head around the doorframe, her eyebrows raised, and Danny padded in behind her, his hands shoved in his pockets. “Everything okay, Judge Brewer?”
“We just need to get through this trial. Hopefully with the world still in one piece.”
Chapter 23
Richard Renner sat across from Vadim Kryukov in a tiny, windowless room in the federal detention center. Thick, rubber-coated wire mesh stretched between them, barricading Kryukov to one side of the room. The prisoner’s side. A camera watched them from the corner, obviously recording everything.
Kryukov hunched on his side of the table, his hands faintly scratching at the steel surface. His blond hair was stringy, hanging in his face, a curtain that needed to be pulled back.
“Are you being treated well?”
Kryukov flinched. Slowly, he looked up and eyeballed Renner, big, blue Slavic eyes staring at him like icebergs. “I am in solitary,” he said softly. “But it is better than the last time I was in prison.”
Shit. “When were you last in prison?” Renner flipped through his papers. He didn’t have a record of Kryukov being incarcerated before. Had that been left off? What the hell—
“In Russia. I was jailed because I ampidor.” He held Renner’s stare. “Because I am gay.”
Renner blinked. He stopped shuffling his papers. Laced his fingers together, and regarded Kryukov carefully. “You are being charged as a terrorist, which means that, though we do have attorney-client privilege, there will also be a team of counterterrorism agents monitoring all your conversations. They’re looking for any information you might inadvertently admit.”
Kryukov nodded. Somewhere, a counterterrorism agent was cursing his name bitterly.
“You are a suspected terrorist. The government claims you are an anarchist, and specifically that you want to bring about the end of the Russian state.”
“Of course I want the end of the Russian state. They criminalized my existence. Threw me in jail for who I am. I escaped to America for a new life. For freedom.” He lifted his wrists, handcuffed together. “Why would I throw that away?”
Renner never asked his clients if they did “it” or not. Whatever crime they were accused of, whatever charges were brought. He never wanted to know. He never asked, and he made it a point to never let them admit their guilt, even if they desperately, desperately wanted to. “I could understand,” he said carefully, “someone in your shoes wanting to make a statement. President Vasiliev was shot in front of a gay pride march. That’s one hell of a statement.”
“And I wish he haddied.” Kryukov spat on the concrete floor. “But I had nothing to do with this.”
Russians, more than any others, always protested their innocence. They could be holding the bloody knife in front of a still-warm body and blame the victim, claim they were only defending themselves. Was that what Kryukov was going to say? He was only defending himself and other gay men like him? “You don’t have to convince me of anything.” Best to get that out of the way. “Let’s talk about your defense. There are a few options we can look at. First, the technical evidence. We play the government’s rulebook and prove to the jury that the evidence is weak and the state can’t actually prove you were involved.”
“I wasnotinvolved.”
Renner held up his hand, his lips quirked up in a placating smirk. “Like I said, no need to work hard to convince me.”
