“She showed me the paper,” Brendan said. “I still think you’re making a huge mistake. You realize that I will definitely use any incriminating statements you make to convict you, and I’ll call Mr. Hobson and your attorney as witnesses to everything you say, if that becomes necessary?”
“Yes.”
“If I call Mrs. Vergano as a witness she will definitely not be able to represent you anymore.”
“I know that, but I’m hoping it won’t be necessary.” Vanessa leaned forward and focused on Kirkpatrick. “My bail hearing is next week…”
“And I’m opposing your motion. I want to be up front with you, Miss Kohler. I regard you and Mr. Rice as dangerous criminals. Not only am I going to oppose bail, but there are very few concessions that I can make if you’re thinking about plea negotiations.”
“Would you still feel that way if I could prove that my father ran a secret army unit during and after Vietnam that committed any number of illegal acts in the United States, including murdering Congressman Eric Glass on my father’s orders?”
Kirkpatrick sighed. “I’ve read your statements to the California authorities, and Mr. Hobson has told me about your book. I find your charges against General Wingate incredible and totally unsubstantiated. And even if they were true, how would that change the fact that you broke Rice out of jail at gunpoint? I think we should end this meeting before you say something that makes your situation even worse than it is.”
“My father is an unprincipled killer. Do you want a man like that running this country?”
“Of course not-if he is an unprincipled killer,” Kirkpatrick answered, “but you can’t prove your accusations, and I would not consider anything you or Carl Rice said without independent corroboration.”
Vanessa looked at Victor Hobson. “Well, there might be corroboration, and you might be able to get it, Victor. If you find it, we can use my bail hearing to get my father. We can call him as a witness and put him under oath.”
“What are we talking about here?” Hobson asked.
“I think we should cut this short now,” Kirkpatrick said.
“Let’s hear what Vanessa has to say.”
Kirkpatrick looked surprised, and Vanessa almost sobbed with relief when she realized that the FBI man was going to listen to her.
“Patrick Gorman, my boss at
“What does jail food have to do with proving that your father was in charge of a team of assassins?” Kirkpatrick asked.
“Let me tell you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The Multnomah County courthouse occupies an entire block across from Lownsdale Park in downtown Portland. Built in 1914, the gray concrete and riveted-steel building contrasts sharply with the modern architecture of the Justice Center on the other side of the park and promises uncompromising justice to those who break the law.
A small jail on the seventh floor of the courthouse houses prisoners who are making court appearances. The elevator that transports them from the jail stopped in an alcove in the back of the courthouse on the Fifth Avenue side. Judge Ruben Velasco’s courtroom, where Vanessa’s bail hearing was going to be held, was in the front of the courthouse on the Fourth Avenue side.
Ami was wearing a tasteful strand of pearls and was dressed in a black pantsuit and a white silk blouse, one of her few decent outfits and the outfit she always wore to important court appearances. Vanessa was wearing a severe gray suit that Ami had purchased for her. If it were not for the handcuffs, she would have been mistaken for part of the defense team. Ami walked a few steps behind the guards who escorted Vanessa out of the jail elevator when it opened on the fifth floor. As soon as they stepped into the corridor a mob raced toward them.
“Keep moving forward and don’t answer any questions,” Ami instructed as the reporters and television cameras converged on them. The sheriff’s deputies plowed through the shouting crowd. Ami shielded her eyes from the glare of the television lights as she followed behind the guards.
“Were you and Carl Rice lovers?”
“Why do you hate your father?”
“Are you going to vote for President Jennings in the primary?”
The questions thundered toward her like a stampeding herd, but Vanessa did not flinch from the onslaught. Where Ami shunned the attention of the media, Vanessa welcomed it as a chance to get her message about her father to the public. She squared her shoulders and stared back at the journalists.
“My father is a murderer,” Vanessa shouted, ignoring Ami’s advice. “He should be in jail, not the White House.”
Ami was concerned that Vanessa’s statements to the press might be used against her, but that didn’t concern Vanessa. She knew that she’d spend years behind bars if Victor Hobson didn’t come through for her. She wasn’t afraid. She had survived the asylum by believing in herself, and she would survive prison. She had nothing to lose, anyway. If Hobson failed, she was no worse off than she’d been the minute she surrendered to the police. But Hobson might find her proof. If he did, her father would be destroyed. If that happened, she was willing to face the consequences of breaking Carl out of jail.
A line of spectators was filing through a metal detector that had been set up outside Judge Velasco’s courtroom. A guard held up the line to let Ami, Vanessa, and the guards into the courtroom. Brendan Kirkpatrick and Howard Walsh turned in their seats at the prosecution table and watched the women walk down the aisle. Ami did not notice them. She was too busy scanning the crowded benches. Several reporters occupied a section reserved for the press at the front of the courtroom. Leroy Ganett, who was under subpoena by Ami and the DA, was seated in the rear of the courtroom. The doctor turned red and looked away when he spotted the women who had scammed him. Victor Hobson, the one man Ami and Vanessa hoped would be present, was missing.
One other man was not present in the courtroom. General Morris Wingate was waiting in the DA’s office guarded by a contingent from the Secret Service and his own security force. Kirkpatrick had brought the General into the building before court convened to avoid the mobs of protestors, supporters, and reporters who had converged on the courthouse when the General’s appearance as a witness was made public.
Just as they reached the low fence that separated the spectators from the area where the attorneys and the judge conducted business, Vanessa noticed a slender, bookish, nattily dressed man in his mid-fifties.
“See that guy in the seat by the window in the third row from the back?” Vanessa whispered to Ami. “That’s Bryce McDermott, my father’s chief political adviser. He’s probably going to report everything that happens in here.”
There was an undercurrent of whispers-some hostile, some sympathetic-when the guards unlocked Vanessa’s handcuffs. The women took their seats as soon as Vanessa’s hands were free. Ami tried to ignore the hum of conversation that drifted through the gallery by concentrating on the outlines of direct and cross- examination that she had made for each witness. She had managed to block out most of the noise when the rap of the bailiff’s gavel announced Judge Velasco’s entrance. Ami rose to her feet and signaled Vanessa to do the same as the judge took the bench.
“Good morning,” Velasco said to everyone in the courtroom. “You may be seated.”
The judge waited to address the spectators until his bailiff had read the name and number of the case into the record.
“Before we begin this bail hearing, I want to make it clear to the members of the public who have been granted the privilege of watching this court proceeding that I will not tolerate improper behavior in my court under any circumstances. Anyone who causes a disturbance will be taken from the court immediately and will face criminal sanctions, including contempt of this court.
“One reason why I have made this announcement is the possibility that General Morris Wingate, a candidate
