Capitol Offense (34 page)

Loving saw the first sores appear on his arms, then his legs. Big pustulous sores. Ugly ones. Scars that would never heal.

Next, he felt extreme nausea. He was heaving, puking uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop himself. It felt as if he were vomiting up his stomach, lining and all, spewing out his insides.

The sores continued to bubble, boil. They hurt. They spread across his entire body.

Inside, he could feel the poison eating away at him, his insides turning to fleshy mush. His GI tract giving up. His internal organs boiling and bursting, spilling even more poison into his system.

Worst of all, he knew his immune system had shut down, so there was no hope that anything happening to him would ever get better. His body was falling apart, melting. Liquefying.

He was on fire! The pain was so intense, like nothing he had ever felt before, and he had felt a lot of pain in his time. He was being cooked on a high-power rotisserie, inside and out. Burning him alive.

“Ahhhhhh!”

Loving squirmed from side to side, desperately trying to get loose. He knew he was hallucinating. He knew it wasn’t really happening, not like he imagined. But it felt just as intense. He was ashamed of himself for giving in to fear and panic, but what could he do? There was a mushroom cloud on his chest! It was killing him!

How long had it been? Seemed like hours, although some small remaining remotely rational part of his brain said it had not been nearly so long.

Shaw had said it would take six hours to kill him, but Loving knew it would hurt a long time before that. He had felt as if he were roasting since he awoke. He was in the desert, under the sun, perhaps that was natural. How could he know? Was it the cesium or the heat? Or his imagination? Which one would kill him first?

He took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. There was no point in panicking, he muttered. Then again, was there any point in remaining calm? Was there any point in anything? He would be dead in six hours. His body was melting!

He wished he’d had a chance to say goodbye to his father. He did regret that. Maybe his ex. She had hurt him badly, but he had loved her once and in some part of his heart that would never change. He would have at least liked to have dropped by and said something to her, tried to patch things up. Before he melted!

Why did people play with this stuff? Did they not understand how dangerous it could be? How could we possibly justify keeping any kind of radioactive materials around for any reason at all? Anyone who thought that was a good idea should have to sit with a tube full of cesium on their chest for a while and see if they changed their minds.

He wondered what had happened with Ben and the trial. That was the worst part of this, knowing he had let Ben down.

Who was he kidding? Melting alive was the worst part of this. But he did worry about Ben. The Skipper had done so much for him over the years. What had happened? He had no sense of time, but he knew the trial was winding down even when he was last conscious, back in Tulsa. What would happen to Ben if he lost? There should be some way to convey the information he had obtained, before …

Before he boiled.

He closed his eyes and prayed, prayed like he hadn’t since he was a child. He knew better than to ask for deliverance. That kind of miracle did not occur anymore. He asked for assistance for Ben or, failing that, for comfort. He asked for happiness for his friends, his family. His ex. Everyone back at the office. And then he prayed that the radiation would kill him quickly, before he had thoroughly experienced the excruciating pain he knew was soon to follow …

The sun was still beating down on his face when he first heard the sound of a car engine. More hallucinations. Only explanation. Could he not, please, get the one about the bright white light? Because he was ready to be out of this …

The footsteps came so loud and so fast he thought they were going to trample over him.

“My God, is that what I think it is?”

“Yes. Get the freaking pig!”

More footsteps. Loving felt something hard brush against his chest. He hated to open his eyes. He knew it would only lead to more delusions. But it was hard to resist …

“Mike?”

“I’m here, buddy. Sorry it took so long.”

“Mike?”

“Don’t try to talk. You’ve been out in the sun too long. You’re severely sunburned.”

“Is … that what it is?”

“Yes. We caught Shaw and his friend just down the desert a few miles. Thank God you put that tracker on the truck. After you were nabbed, I got the transponder screen out of your van, but I didn’t know the frequency. Figured it out eventually, but by that time they were out of range. Knew they were going to New Mexico, though, from their text messages. Called the local authorities and got a helicopter to track down the signal. That’s how we found you.”

“You’re … talking too fast.”

“Sorry. Doesn’t matter.”

Loving felt the tension in his arms and legs relax. They had cut him loose.

“Don’t try to stand. We’re wearing hazmat suits. We’ll carry you back to the truck, then copter you out of here. You’ve been exposed less than an hour, so you should be okay, but we’re still going to fly you into Los Alamos for a very special chemical shower.”

“That sounds … nice.”

“It will do the trick.”

“Need to call … Ben.”

“Doubt if he’s in a very good mood. He lost that trial.”

“What?”

“Yeah. And you know how he is.”

“But—Dennis is innocent.”

“I know you think so, but—”

Loving grabbed Mike’s arm. “I know he’s innocent. Shaw told me so.”

“What? When?”

“Let me get to Shaw. We’ll make him a deal. Get him to testify.”

“First we have to get you that shower. I can’t guarantee the DA will make any deals. Or that Shaw will cooperate.”

“He will. Now that it’s over.” Loving was so tired. Maybe it would be okay, just for now, to rest. For a little while. “He’ll do it.”

“Maybe if we can make it in his own best interest.”

Loving shook his head slowly. His body was beginning to relax, and he wasn’t even out of the sun yet. “He’ll do it for his sister.”

“Mr. Kincaid, I know why you’re here. Again. Do you recall the last time?”

“I do,” Ben said contritely.

Judge McPartland pointed his gavel. “Then you may recall my telling you that if you brought another motion before this court, without new grounds, I would cite you for contempt and throw you in jail.”

“I recall that distinctly, your honor.”

“It is one thing to be a zealous advocate. One cannot help but admire that. Up to a point. But when the trial is over, it is over. Your remedy, if any, is to appeal to a higher court, not to keep badgering the trial court.”

“Yes, sir. But an appeal takes a year or more. A motion to set aside—”

“I don’t need a lecture on trial procedure, Mr. Kincaid.”

“No, sir.”

“Especially not during your third attempt at the same motion. You are very lucky that I have not already—”

“He’s innocent!” Ben exclaimed.

A hush fell over the packed courtroom. Despite the fact that most of those in attendance were reporters, there was not so much as a cough. Perhaps they were stunned that he had raised his voice. Or perhaps, like Christina, they thought it was long overdue. If dangerous. Especially with an old-school judge. Good thing he’d brought a toothbrush …

“I am aware of your position, Mr. Kincaid. And I do not doubt that you genuinely believe it. But we have rules and procedures in this justice system of ours. Surely you must realize—”

“I’ve been down this road before,” Ben said firmly. “Trying to get someone out of the clutches of the criminal justice system when I knew he was not guilty. Seeing a good man rot away in prison because the wheels of justice turn so slowly.”

“I admit the system is flawed—”

“But no one ever wants to do anything about it. That’s why so many trials go bad. That’s why more than a hundred people have been released from death row because DNA evidence proved the criminal justice system totally screwed up. That’s why—”

Behind him, Ben felt Christina tugging at the back of his coat. He coughed into his hand. “But I digress …”

Since Dennis Thomas’s conviction, Ben had alternated between halfheartedly planning an appeal and mostly wallowing in his own guilt. He should’ve done this, he should’ve done that. Nothing made him feel better. Despite Christina’s best efforts to bring him out of his funk, all he could think about was the fact that there was a man in prison—a man on death row, no less—because he’d let himself be outmaneuvered by a sharp district attorney positioning himself for reelection.

Then he got the call from Loving. Mike, actually, on behalf of Loving. Slowly he was able to put the pieces together. Within twenty-four hours, he was back in front of this court with a motion to set aside judgment based upon newly discovered evidence. Ben presented an affidavit from Loving in which he described in detail everything that Shaw had told him. The intentional killing of Joslyn Thomas. The deliberate refusal to investigate. The drugging of Dennis Thomas. The cesium black market operation that lay behind the whole complex drama.

His motion was denied. The judge took it all into consideration, but he noted that the standard for setting aside a jury verdict was very high, and rightly so. Otherwise there would never be any finality in any case. He noted that the affidavit had been sworn out by someone who worked for the defense attorney, which of course went to its credibility. He also noted that it was all hearsay, a form of evidence disfavored by the courts, and that Loving had recently been drugged and was suffering bouts of memory loss as a result.

A week later, Ben was back with another motion. This time he had an affidavit from Mike detailing the entire police investigation, not only of the death of Christopher Sentz but also of Joslyn Thomas. A subsequent, more intensive investigation at the crime scene revealed evidence that Joslyn’s accident had been engineered, then covered up, by a third party—Christopher Sentz. He also detailed the investigation into the cesium robberies and how they related to the Thomas case, and noted that Peter Shaw had perjured himself at trial and others might have done so as well.

The judge admitted that he was impressed. He admitted that it appeared the whole truth had not come out at trial. But he saw no clear indication of anything that likely would have altered the jury’s verdict. Mike was unable to explain what had happened in that hotel room. Motion denied.

Dennis had sat beside Ben for both hearings. Ben had warned him that this was a difficult business and that he should not get his hopes elevated. But how could he not? He was a human being. How could he help but hope that this would be the time he finally found justice? But it never happened. Ben let him down again, just as he had done at the trial.

And every time, Dennis looked a little older, a little more tired, a little more beaten. It had only been three months, but his hair was already grayer. His eyes sagged. His skin was pale, almost translucent. This was not a man who needed to be in prison. Or who, Ben suspected, would survive long there.

“The point of this third appearance, your honor, is that we have even more newly discovered evidence. And this time it’s being provided by the district attorney’s office.”

Judge McPartland raised an eyebrow. He looked over at the prosecution table. “Is this true?”

Guillerman nodded. He didn’t look happy about it. Truth was, Mike had orchestrated the whole thing, and it had taken a long time. He had to get the cooperation of a host of law enforcement officials, both state and federal. Eventually he brokered a deal. Shaw received a reduced sentence—and his sister was guaranteed medical treatment. In exchange, he agreed to testify at this hearing. Once Mike had the whole matter arranged, Guillerman had little choice but to go along with it.

“Very well then. Mr. Kincaid, please call your witness.”

“I see now that my head was all messed up. I couldn’t think straight. I wasn’t sleeping well. Drinking too much. Taking pills to help me stay calm. You got to understand—I’ve never been married. I have no children. My sister is my whole world. The one who was always there for me. The one who stood beside me when the rest of the world couldn’t care less. I could not watch her die because we couldn’t afford the health care she needed!”

Shaw, like Dennis, had also changed much in the three months since the trial. He’d lost a good deal of weight. He’d shaved his goatee. His skull was stubbly. Ben knew he had spent most of that time incarcerated at the Tulsa County Jail. Perhaps he did not have access to the usual grooming tools.

But Ben also sensed a certain calm about him. A rectitude, perhaps. As if, now that all the secrets were out, he didn’t have to hide anymore, and he was relieved about it. Better to bask in a harsh sun than to cower in shadows.

“I was horrified when I heard what Chris had done. Driving that poor woman off the road like that. Covering it up. She never did anything to anyone. She spent her days trying to help the sick and dying. And this was her reward? Just because Dr. Sentz was sloppy? It wasn’t right.”

Ben felt Dennis flinch each time Shaw talked about the horrors that had been visited upon his wife, but somehow he managed to keep it together. Ben didn’t know how. Perhaps Dennis had also acquired some strength during the intervening months.

“I knew Chris was stonewalling the investigation. I thought it was a mistake. Better to seem to cooperate than to create suspicion. But he didn’t see it that way. He was afraid she might still be alive—which was correct, as it turned out—and he didn’t want her found anytime soon. That’s why he was so upset when he found out what Officer Torres had done. He was afraid he would be found out. Didn’t happen. He overreacted. And his overreaction set the whole drama into motion.

“After the body of Parsons was discovered, dead from radiation poisoning, the Tulsa police began an investigation into the murder, and then later into the cesium smuggling operation. Unfortunately, since Sentz was in charge of that one, too, it never got anywhere. He figured the safest way to make sure the cops never got close to him was to run the investigation himself. The stakeout at the Marriott was a big smokescreen based upon faked nonevidence. The irony was, we were the smugglers we were supposedly hunting.”