“Who then?”
Porter froze. Direct question. No way to dodge it. Porter’s brain went numb. “I beg your pardon?”
“You have my pardon! But not the judge’s yet. Who returned the artifact to Stratford University? Be consistent Mr. Porter, your words are being recorded.”
Porter looked at the man typing each word with what looked like a very old calculator the size of a shoe box. They still used those in the computer age? Porter gazed into the audience, but wouldn’t lock eyes with the red head. He found Clusser’s patient gaze. The missionary companion from years ago simply nodded as if to say, “The truth man! Tell him.”
“Erma Alred.”
Comer’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you sure of that?” The attorney was calm and drew himself up with a quiet breath. Porter wondered if Comer thought the defendant was resorting to fictionalization.
“I was furious about it!” Porter said. It was emotion. But logic was fleeing fast. He tried to buckle down but would only know how well he’d battened the hatches when next he had to speak, which was immediately.
The attorney scratched his low forehead. “Is that an affirmative answer?”
Porter breathed. “Of course.”
“Ms. Alred did not return it at your behest?” said Comer, looking in Alred’s direction.
“No.”
With his narrow nose, Comer pointed at Porter while putting his hands in his pockets. “You wanted to keep it. Didn’t you Mr. Porter. Be honest.”
Silence. The inset lights hidden in the high ceiling shined an almost orange light down on the menagerie of words. It was a trap of army ants, brawling with little movement, biting with their voices, all ready to jump in Porter’s direction and maul him to death. Clusser stood against the dark wood wall in the rear of the courtroom. An American flag hung limply on a pole between him and the two doors with an exit sign glowing red letters of escape. And yet Porter knew he wouldn’t make it much farther than the high wall around him and the platform elevating him near Judge Panofsky’s seat. The floor, a black marble mirror, reflected the lights above. Porter felt it all close in around him, tighter, smothering him. He had to speak. Everyone was listening and the judge would only move faster away from thinking Porter was anything more than another crooked man in his court. “I wanted to keep KM-2, but that doesn’t mean-”
The prosecutor spoke over Porter’s words. “If you had a choice, you would keep it. Let me ask you again, Mr. Porter, are you sure Alred gave the document to the University? Were you there at the time? Do you know for certain that the hand-off occurred?”
With eyes looking earnestly into the seated crowd for help, Porter at last let them settle on Alred. She sat in a business suit, gray from the shoulder pads to the edge of the knee-high skirt. Her mouth was small and red, but her eyes said nothing for or against his answer. She would expect the truth in this case. And yet she still had KM-3 and really should be as guilty as ever they might find Porter.
When Porter opened his mouth…he said nothing.
“Mr. Porter,” said Judge Panofsky, his voice deep and somehow refreshingly cool, but also as chilled as the icy metal of a stabbing knife. “Answer the question please.”
Like a robot on automatic, the words came from Porter’s mouth in a near mono-tone. “Alred gave KM-2 back to Stratford University.” His white face laced with a thin layer of liquid glaze, his thin lips quivering, all his visible emotions shouted the ghastly reality. Alred would sense it. Clusser would notice. The jury…the judge…the Prosecuting Attorney…
Porter had no idea what had really happened to KM-2.
3:56 p.m. PST
“Ms. Alred, allow me first to acknowledge that no charges are being brought upon you. However, you are under oath to tell the absolute truth. To do otherwise will result in grievous consequences.”
“Do you expect me to lie, Mr. Prosecutor?” Alred said with raised eyebrows and a strong face. She looked relaxed in her gray suit but sat with statue-like posture, looking over the courtroom from the witness stand for the second time. She could smell the judge’s Afta lotion.
Comer smiled at the ground and waited as if reconsidering his approach. “Ms. Alred…how long have you worked with John D. Porter.”
“Approximately one month.”
“And you both used the foreign document termed KM-2.”
Alred lifted her chin. “Correct,” she said, though Porter had dominated the handling of the manuscript from the beginning.
“How would you describe Porter’s attachment to the document,” said Comer.
Alred took a long breath through her petite nose. Her green eyes shimmered without emotion. “Porter has been…highly intrigued with KM-2. Perhaps-”
“Obsessive?” said the attorney.
With a sharp gaze, Alred answered his question, while silently making it clear that she would not allow herself to be cut off again. Her voice picked up in volume, but not in pitch. “Anyone who knows Porter’s eccentric attitude toward his studies might deem him obsessive about anything in which he involves himself.”
Turning away, Comer said the words in a calm voice, “Intrigued! Eccentric! Obsessive!” so they would be noted and run through the judge’s mind again.
“He had good reason for excessive enthusiasm concerning KM-2,” said Alred.
Comer looked up with fake intrigue emanating from his face. “Tell us why.”
“Stratford University offered Porter an ultimatum: Complete a doctoral dissertation by May 21 or fail out of the University. Only a few weeks ago, the aforementioned deadline was moved to May 5; today. Obsessive, yes. Porter has worked as hard as I have, if not more so, in order to make the due date. Now, because of this legal run- around, neither of us will get our Ph. D’s. All the work for nothing. When we could have proven to be Stratford’s best doct-”
“Ms. Alred, did you give Stratford University the document, KM-2, at Porter’s behest?” said Comer, looking at the ground. The Prosecuting Attorney likewise would not allow this Federal Court to be treated rudely.
Her mouth still open, Alred shifted her thoughts to answer the question. “I took the codex from Porter’s office as soon as the board asked for it.”
“You mean Mr. Porter didn’t keep KM-2 in a safe, glass cabinet, or locked drawer someplace? An important relic like that, which could make or lay waste both of your doctoral theses? Or did you both have keys to a common lock?”
Alred surely must have realized her answer could be the bite on a hook Comer would use to reel her into the same cage Porter now found himself. But in this case, the truth would prove to be the best shield. “Porter stored the codex in an air vent so it couldn’t be stolen.”
“Why,” said Comer, his hands again in his pockets.
Alred’s quick words sounded yanked from the middle of a lecture she may have given to a freshman class. “Perfect hiding place. The dry air wouldn’t hurt-”
“No, why did Porter hide KM-2 in a vent? Why did you go and fetch it when…the University called for it?” The end of Comer’s sentence sounded like playful words of appeasement rather than acknowledgment of the event.
Alred let a myriad of thoughts spin noticeably in her head as she waited for her mind to bring forth the best reply. The facts were plain enough, she thought, and the trial shouldn’t be focused at all on KM-2. It was as if the Prosecutor had an agenda unrelated to the possibility that Porter was engaged in some form of theft or illegal possession. But she chose to dart away from the subject in order to steer the congregates from realizing the existence of KM-3. “After all of the sacrifices we’ve made to complete our time at Stratford, I knew that what the board required-the return of Ulman’s codex-would be emotionally trying for Porter. I made the decision for him.”
Comer cocked his head to the side, went to his desk, lifted a clip board, read a note, dropped it, turned back to Alred, and said, “Who is on this board?”
“Five people called me to work with John Porter on Ulman’s find. Four of those professors were…present when I returned the codex,” said Alred.
