“Who.”
“Masterson, Goldstien, Kinnard,” Alred took a breath, “and Arnott.”
“Why do you think they requested the return of KM-2?” said Comer, glancing to his desk to be sure his assistant scrawled the names on a legal pad.
Alred lifted herself again, balancing her shoulders before speaking. She chose her words carefully. “I assumed they came to the realization that the University had not procured the codex through proper means. If so, Stratford students should not have been dealing with KM-2, and they had been treated unfairly. Also-”
“What-” said Comer, thinking without listening to Alred’s words. He quickly amended his minor show of amateur behavior. “No, go ahead.”
“Also,” said Alred, irritation clear in her powerful voice, “it seemed to me that some of the professors may have been wary about certain deaths possibly connected with the aforementioned codex.”
“Whose deaths?” said Comer, making up for stepping on this would-be attorney’s small feet.
“In his office, Dr. Wilkinson was found with his own letter opener protruding from his back. He was one of the five on the board, but dead before the meeting in question. Dr. Christopher Ulman would never make a name for himself as a hidden archaeologist selling stolen goods from one of the world’s greatest finds. He found it. Now he’s disappeared and the only explanation is his death. Whether in North America or outside of the States must be based on future investigation. Dr. Albright of Ohio State University, who coined the term KM while in Guatemala…is also dead.”
Comer waited, regearing his thoughts. “How do we know you gave this ancient document to this board, Ms. Alred. Stratford University pressed the issue this morning that Porter still has KM-2. Porter had other figurines in his car,” Comer said as if his last sentence ended the debate.
Calmly, Alred set her hard eyes on the attorney. “Someone is obviously lying. I recommend interviewing the four men I mentioned who were present when I returned the codex.”
The prosecutor pulled back and smiled at Alred’s strength. He turned away and focused on his attack plan. “How would you describe your relationship with Porter.”
Alred thought for a moment. Such an interesting question. She would have answered it differently after each week since she’d met Porter. Had Comer asked three weeks ago, Alred would have done her best to make sure Porter would hang. Now…how exactly did she feel? “We…get along,” she said. “We are friends. We worked together with different agendas regarding Ulman’s find. I suppose I found myself mostly at odds with Porter. But I respect him…as a scholar.”
Comer touched the fingertip of his right index to his lips. He removed it to say, “Do you think he is capable of murder?”
Alred seriously considered the question as the Defense Attorney jumped with the words “Objection! My client’s not on trial for murder.”
Then she said, “No I do not.”
May 6
3:06 p.m. PST
Standing with his right hand raised, Dr. Masterson said, “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”
CHAPTER TWENTY — EIGHT
“Have a seat,” said Mr. Comer. “Dr. Masterson, you know John Porter and Erma Alred?”
“Very well,” said the tight-skinned old man with the smile of a skeleton and the wise eyes of a deadly king. He was dressed in a new suit, which he had likely bought for the occasion. Comer smiled.
“Dr. Masterson…did you ask them to return KM-2 to the University?”
“I did not.”
“Why did they have it?” said the Prosecuting Attorney.
“Dr. Kinnard, overseeing Porter’s doctoral studies, gave Porter the codex while under the misunderstanding that it had come into his hands in a legal fashion.” Masterson sat back in the chair as though he were a doctor or psychiatrist accustomed to adding his professional expertise in the trials of criminals. He did his best to look comfortable on the stand.
Comer kept his head down. He glanced back at Mr. Sowerby, the Defense attorney. The young man had done little to help Porter and no doubt would only make a fool of himself when he questioned Dr. Masterson. Porter had kept his forehead in his hands since the beginning of this session. He didn’t know how lucky-or unlucky-he was to have his trial progress so quickly. He wasn’t wanted for murder, so he didn’t face a cold chair somewhere. But Porter looked as guilty as a wet boy caught naked near a pond and accused of skinny-dipping.
The Prosecuting Attorney had to get this over with. It was an embarrassing trial, and after interviewing three of the four professors who were supposedly present when KM-2 was returned to the school’s hands, it would all be finished. “Did Alred or Porter ever return KM-2 to Stratford University.”
“Not to my knowledge,” said the old man with little enthusiasm. He looked as if ready to spout a great discourse he’d prepared the night before, but fortunately saved his exuberance for the classroom.
“Did Alred give the codex to you, Dr. Masterson?” said Comer.
“Certainly not.”
“One last question, Dr. Masterson.” Comer lifted a legal pad. “Does a Dr. Arnott work at Stratford University? Do you know this man?”
Masterson squared his shoulders and looked the attorney right between the eyes, but not directly into the pupils. He took a powerful breath. “No.”
3:18 p.m. PST
Comer put his palms together as if praying, touching his fingertips to his chin. “So, Dr. Goldstien…you’re saying you never sat in a room with Kinnard, Masterson, and Arnott as KM-2 was brought into your presence by Erma Alred.”
Goldstien smiled, wiped his hands on the left and right pockets of his hazel blazer, and looked in Alred’s direction. “I would remember if she came into a meeting with us!” He flaunted his interest in her, for he wasn’t the one on trial. He knew his smile would detract from the focus of the question. His words would be recorded, and that was the important part. “As for the KM-2 codex…never saw it. I don’t know this Arnott fellow you’re talking about.” He quickly added with a raised finger, “If Ms. Alred is saying she brought us the codex, I would enjoy going along with her story. But I fear she has fabricated her testimony in order to serve John Porter’s best interests.”
“No…further…questions…”
3:26 p.m. PST
“Dr. Kinnard, you’ve heard the story so far.” The Prosecuting attorney looked at Judge Panofsky, whose eyes wandered across pages on his desk and glided to the high windows hidden on the east side of the courtroom. “I mean the fable,” he said with a raised voice. Kinnard noticed each of the lawyer’s movements and flinched-not enough for anyone else to notice, surely-as Comer looked again into the witness booth. “Who is telling tales? That is for you to help us conclude.”
“I’ll do my best,” said the professor with a gruffness in his throat. Kinnard had heard the other testimonies. In fact, he’d been present from the beginning, eyeing Porter’s wimpy defender, Alred’s steady focus and terrible silence, the judge’s decision already determined behind the thin spectacles.
Kinnard had received the same phone call from Arnott which had altered Masterson’s and Goldstien’s testimonies. It was a simple message following a short salutation. Like a conscience, Arnott told him Alred had never returned KM-2 to the University. And Arnott didn’t exist. Arnott explained that the authorities would not find a “Peter Arnott” in any database, so to even mention him would sound like a falsification of testimony.
Porter was dying and didn’t have a single opportunity to fight. Kinnard blamed himself. He had presented this paranoid eccentric with the ancient manuscript that could have made him famous. No. Kinnard blamed John Porter,
