Superposition (19 page)

“Sustained,” Roswell said.

“To whom was the note addressed?” Terry asked.

“To Jacob.”

“Thank you. And who is Cathie?”

“CATHIE is a place, not a person,” Marek said. “It's the name for the bunker where we found Mr. Vanderhall's body.”

“So that's how you knew to go down there?”

“Yes. Jacob interpreted the letter as telling us we should go down to the CATHIE bunker.”

“Did Mr. Kelley seem to already know what he would find in the bunker?”

“No, he didn't.”

Terry walked Marek through how we had found Brian in the bunker, but how we didn't call the police because we didn't have phone reception. Terry and I had argued about whether Marek should mention the varcolac, but eventually decided not to. It was tough either way. The story didn't hang together very well without the varcolac, but what jury would believe him if he told them we'd been attacked by a demon?

We would be asking a lot of them already. In order to generate a reasonable level of doubt in my guilt, the defense had to present another possible alternative that fit the facts. True or not, if an alternate theory was just as convincing as the defense's theory of my guilt, then there was clearly some doubt as to whether I should be convicted for the crime. The alternative story that Terry was spinning, as had been introduced in Jean's testimony, was that one version of Brian had killed the other one. It was a tough sell already, and Terry didn't want descriptions of alien intelligences confusing the matter.

Marek told the jury that I had been so overcome with grief about my friend's death that I had run away, up the stairs. He described it as a kind of claustrophobia, a need to get some fresh air, and under Terry's gentle questioning, it sounded credible. Marek had followed, both to help me and to see if there was phone reception outside, but there wasn't. That was when we found Brian's car, with the keys still in the ignition, and used it to drive away.

The problem with the story was that it was mostly true, but not quite. All considering, I thought it was the best we could do, but it made me wonder how much of the trial system had to do with truth, and how much of it was a competition between the two opposing sides to see whose fiction was the more believable.

Terry dropped the bomb out of nowhere.

“When you got into the car, you discovered that you were not the only one there, didn't you?”

“Yes,” Marek said. “Brian Vanderhall was sleeping in the backseat.”

The courtroom erupted in noise, and Judge Roswell had to bang her gavel for order.

Terry feigned confusion. “Let me understand this,” he said. “You just told us you found Mr. Vanderhall dead in the bunker, and now you're saying he was sleeping in the backseat. Which is it, Mr. Svoboda?”

“Both. We found him in both places. There were two versions of him. One was dead, the other was still alive.”

Haviland objected again. “Your Honor, this is insane. Mr. Sheppard is turning this courtroom into a circus for the media. I move that Mr. Svoboda be placed under contempt for his mockery of these proceedings and—”

“That's enough, Mr. Haviland,” Roswell said. “Mr. Sheppard?”

“This is the alternate theory of the defense, Your Honor,” Terry said. “As my expert witness contended earlier, this is a scientifically plausible scenario. Not only is it plausible, but we intend to prove that it actually happened.”

“Very well,” Roswell said. “Objection overruled.”

“Judge, I request a sidebar,” Haviland said.

Roswell sighed and motioned the lawyers up to the front. She switched on a noise cancelling system that prevented any of the rest of us from overhearing what was said. I saw Haviland gesticulating and rolling his eyes. Before long, Roswell took her seat again and the lawyers returned, Terry looking serene and Haviland annoyed.

“The objection is still overruled,” Roswell said. “Mr. Sheppard, please continue.”

Haviland sat, and Terry continued to question Marek. This was the point at which things got a bit sticky, since now that Brian's double had been introduced, his departure had to be explained. Marek said nothing about the Higgs projector, nor Brian's attempt to use it to protect them from the varcolac. He merely claimed that, after explaining some of his quantum research to them, Brian had disappeared.

“Disappeared?” Haviland said. “Into thin air?”

“Yes, sir. Jacob explained it to me as the collapse of a probability wave, but all I know is, he vanished.”

“No further questions,” Terry said.

Haviland stood, shaking his head in apparent disbelief that such nonsense had been allowed in court. “Mr. Svoboda,” he said. “I'd like to ask you about the so-called suicide note that you say Mr. Kelley found. Did you see the note before Mr. Kelley picked it up?”

I had wondered whether Haviland would ask about the note or just try to ignore it. It wasn't really devastating to his case—his witnesses had already proven that Brian's death couldn't have been a suicide by any normal means. If he didn't ask, however, it would allow the letter to stand without challenge. Haviland had apparently opted to ask.

“No,” Marek said. “Jacob found the note and then showed it to me.”

“Can you be certain he didn't write the letter at home and then pretend that he found it to remove suspicion?”

“If he wanted to remove suspicion, he would have planted the letter in the office and left it there for others to find, not shown it secretly to me,” Marek said. It was a good point, and I saw Haviland wince.

“Let me rephrase. Do you know, beyond Mr. Kelley telling you so, that this note came from Mr. Vanderhall's office?”

“No.”

“Where is this note now?”

“I don't know.”

This was actually good luck for us. If we had a piece of physical evidence related to the crime in our possession, Terry would have been required to turn it over to the police, or risk considerable legal consequences, both in the trial and personally. Just having knowledge that such evidence had once existed, however, came with no such responsibility.

Haviland laid the scorn on as thick as he could. “So we have no evidence, other than your word, that this so-called suicide note ever existed or—even by your own testimony—where it came from or who really wrote it.”

“If you don't believe me,” Marek said, stiffening, “then don't ask me any more questions.”

“A few more, I think,” Haviland said. “You say that when you found Mr. Vanderhall's body, you didn't call the police because you had no phone coverage. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“But the police never received a call from you or Mr. Kelley, not then or later. Are you telling us you didn't have phone coverage that whole day?”

“We didn't call later because we had seen Brian alive,” Marek said.

“Ah yes, I see. Just before he magically disappeared, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“What about after you stole Mr. Vanderhall's car and drove to Pennsylvania? Did you have phone coverage then?”

“We didn't steal the car,” Marek said.

“No? Did you own the car?”

“No,” Marek said. I could tell he was getting angry at being disbelieved, but he was keeping it in check.

“Did you have permission from the owner to drive it?”

“The owner was in the car with us.”

“Now, I'm confused,” Haviland said. “I thought you testified that he disappeared there in the woods. Was he in the car with you all the way to Pennsylvania?”

“No.”

“Why did you drive to Pennsylvania?”

“That's where Jacob lives,” Marek said.

“But wait a minute. You found Mr. Vanderhall's body dead in the bunker, and you testified that you didn't call police because you didn't have phone coverage. But then, instead of driving back to the NJSC or to a local police station to report what you'd found, you turned and drove in the victim's car back to Pennsylvania. Why did you do that?”

“Jacob was afraid his family might be in danger.”

“In danger!” Haviland gave a short, disbelieving laugh and raised his hands to the ceiling. “Now why would Mr. Kelley's family be in danger, if not from him?”

“Brian told him they might be,” Marek said. It was a weak explanation, and Haviland knew it. He kept after him like a shark smelling blood. “And as you drove to Pennsylvania, you still had no phone coverage?”

“We did, but as I said, we had seen Brian alive. Besides, Jacob was trying to reach Elena by then, to warn her.”

“Isn't it true that you had no intention of calling the police?”

“No, we tried several times,” Marek said.

“Weren't you actually running away from the police?”

“No.”

“Did you go with Mr. Kelley on the night of December second, when he killed Mr. Vanderhall?”

“No, I did not. And Jacob didn't kill anybody.”

“Why did you return to the bunker the next day? Were you hoping to clean up the crime scene? Or did you forget some incriminating piece of evidence? The gun, perhaps?”

“The first time I ever saw the bunker was when we found Brian's body there.”

“Mr. Kelley was found with gunshot residue on his hands. How did that happen, if you simply found the body? Did he pick up the gun and fire it a few times just for fun?”

Marek hesitated. There was no good way to answer that question. “We thought we saw something,” he said.

“So he did fire the gun?”

“Yes. It was dark, and Mr. Vanderhall was dead, and we were scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“We thought the murderer might still be there,” Marek said, a bit lamely.

“I see,” Haviland said. His expression radiated disbelief.

It wasn't good. Marek looked like he was making up answers on the fly, and to some extent, he was. It made me think that maybe we should have come clean with everything and told the jury the whole story, varcolac and all. But I couldn't see how that would have gone any better.

“So, Mr. Kelley fired the weapon in the bunker, but he didn't hit anyone, and then you ran upstairs, but not away from anyone. How many flights of stairs are there up to ground level?”

“Twenty, I think.”

“And you ran up all of them?”

“Well, we were mostly walking by the time we got to the top.”

“How did you get to the bunker in the first place?” Haviland asked.

“We took a golf cart around the collider tunnel.”

“Why didn't you return the same way you came?”

“I told you before, we were scared, and it was claustrophobic down there. We needed some fresh air.”

“You're telling this court that you ran up twenty flights of stairs to get some fresh air?”

“Yes, we did.” Marek snapped the words, his patience crumbling.

“Isn't it true that you used the stairs because you knew Mr. Vanderhall's car was waiting for you at the top?” Haviland asked.

“No, that's not true.”

“Isn't it more reasonable to think that you were fleeing the scene of the crime?”

“No, we weren't doing that.”

“I see. No, instead, you want us to believe that you saw Mr. Vanderhall up there, alive and well, and he invited you to steal his car and make your escape?”

“That's what happened! Except we didn't steal—”

“Have you ever sought treatment for alcohol abuse?” Haviland asked.

Marek hesitated, taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. “I've been clean for four years,” he said defensively.

“Answer the question please.”

“Yes. When my wife left me, I—”

“And have you ever undergone psychiatric treatment?”

“Yes, at around the same time. It was a bad time for me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Svoboda. No further questions.”

Terry took the lectern again and tried to clean things up, emphasizing the points already made, but it didn't help much. He kept glancing at his watch, and I wondered if he was just trying to draw things out long enough that he could start fresh with my testimony in the morning.

Finally, he said, “Your Honor, I anticipate the next witness to take a significant amount of time. I would like to suggest that court be adjourned and begin with his testimony in the morning.”

Roswell agreed, and we all stood. The jurors stretched, trading relieved glances at each other, already anticipating a nice dinner at home or a night watching the stream. To them, this case was an interesting sidelight, an exciting break in their otherwise humdrum lives, or possibly an inconvenience that was costing them sales commissions or badly needed tips. It wasn't their lives hanging in the balance. Was this truly the best system of justice the world had to offer? I searched their faces for any indication of what they were thinking, but I found none. I doubted they were convinced yet.

I shook my head. It didn't matter. We would have a surprise for them tomorrow.

CHAPTER 23

UP-SPIN

Colin let Alessandra and I stay in his house on the condition that I not spend any more than ten hours a day there. In other words, I was welcome to sleep there but not to mope and not to drink. I agreed to his terms. I still didn't have a plan, but at least I was up and moving around. So I did the only thing I could think of. I called Jean Massey and asked if she could meet us for lunch.

We took Colin's car. He was hesitant to let us borrow it at first, but Alessandra reminded him that he was the one insisting that I get out and do things, and how could I do that without a car? I drove carefully, keeping close to the speed limits so as not to draw any attention or get pulled over.

As we crossed the bridge into New Jersey, Alessandra said, “I don't hate you, you know.”

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know.”

“I just didn't think I could stand another night in that basement.”