I fell into the chair across from his desk, and a huge explosion of air escaped from my lungs. If you think I was nervous, you’re right. Confessing in a dark, screened-off booth to a faceless Catholic priest whose job it is to forgive you, well, that’s one thing. Confessing to the hanging judge, eye-to-eye, in the privacy of his chambers, that’s another damned thing altogether. I was reminded of that old drill sergeant’s warning that God doesn’t get to exact his punishments till the Army’s done with you.
He examined my face. “Drummond, you look even worse than you did yesterday. You’ve got to stop burning the candle at both ends. Get some sleep, boy.”
I was beginning to get tired of everybody I saw these days telling me I looked like crap. It can start to wear on you.
Anyway, I said, “I think I’ve got a problem. Carlson gave me a copy of Golden’s motion.”
He held up a big, beefy hand. “We shouldn’t be discussing this without the two lead attorneys present. The motion has been filed.”
I gave him a pinched grin. “I know all that. Can we have another of those mano-to-mano chats?”
He leaned back into his big chair, and I’d like to say he looked receptive, or at least amused. He didn’t.
So I launched in anyway. “I’m talking theoretically here. Suppose you had an attorney involved in a criminal case. Then all of a sudden, it started to look like an espionage case. Suppose that attorney was approached by a very secret American agency and asked to share some knowledge. Is that crossing a boundary?”
His expression began to change. He leaned forward in his chair and the lines on his face deepened. All the lines – the ones on his forehead, around his lips, even the ones next to his ears.
“The sharing of knowledge of itself does not violate any legal ethics. As long as you don’t breach attorney- client privilege.”
“Nope, no breaches in that regard. But say things got a little deeper. Say people start getting murdered. The lawyer decides he has to do more than merely provide information.”
“If he can help stop the killings, he has a moral imperative to do that. He has to help.”
“Yes, but before he knows it, he’s helping that secret government agency hunt down spies. And it happens that two of those spies are actually key government witnesses.”
To say I had Carruthers’s attention would be an understatement. His head was canted at an odd angle like he was experiencing difficulty breathing.
“Bales and Choi?” he asked.
“Please, Your Honor,” I reminded him. “We’re only talking theories right now.”
“Okay. Theoretically, that could pose serious problems. How much did this attorney learn in the course of this effort?”
I inadvertently sighed. “He learned a lot. He learned that the two witnesses were at the center of a massive spy ring. He even helped chase them off.”
“So he learned things relevant to the case?”
“A great deal. He developed a reasonable theory that his client was framed by this spy ring. The problem is, even if he could prove it – which he can’t – he still can’t introduce anything into direct evidence. This is all still theoretical, of course, but that secret government agency warned him there’s a lid on all information.”
Carruthers was shaking his big head back and forth and rolling his eyes. “Has this mythical attorney shared any of this knowledge with his co-counsels? Any at all?”
“No sir. There have been firewalls. Because the attorney was involved in classified matters, and his co- counsels are all civilians, he’s kept them completely in the dark.”
“Holy shit,” Carruthers said. And frankly, I couldn’t have said it better myself.
“Anyway,” I continued, “the prosecutor has now submitted a motion for discovery that would force our mythical counselor to admit he gained pertinent knowledge by working with a key government agency. It’s obviously knowledge he can’t share with the prosecution.”
Carruthers snorted once or twice, pushed himself up from the chair, fell back down, then ran his stubby fingers across his eyes and forehead. He stared at his desk a long time. I stared at the floor and didn’t say anything, either. I’d said enough already.
He finally concluded, “Our theoretical attorney must recuse himself.”
“The problem with that,” I said, “is that it would severely penalize his client. The law is intended to be fair, and it would be criminally unfair.”
“Be that as it may, our attorney has relevant knowledge unfairly gained. If, through remarkable willpower, he did not employ that knowledge in court, the effect would be the same as though he had recused himself. He would still be denying his client the value of what he’d learned.”
“True,” I admitted.
“And if he did exploit that knowledge – if I even suspected he was exploiting that knowledge – I would have to declare a mistrial and seek to have him disbarred.”
I miserably said, “I’ll have my letter on your desk before noon.”
“Good. That would be the proper thing to do. And I am hereby announcing a judge’s restraining order that under no conditions are you to have any further contact with Miss Carlson and her team. If I find out you’ve been within a hundred yards of each other, I’ll be forced to declare a mistrial, and I’ll personally appoint the new counsel for Whitehall. Is that clear?”
I said, “Yes, Your Honor. Could you please notify Carlson?”
He nodded.
“And can you tell her I recommend Captain Kip Goins as my substitute?”
I stood up and started to make my way to the door.
“Drummond,” Carruthers said.
I looked over my shoulder. “Yes sir.”
“I’m sorry it turned out this way. I truly am. I was actually looking forward to having you in my court. I don’t know why, but I had the sense it was going to be very entertaining.”
“Well, some other day, maybe.”
He nodded and I left. I couldn’t remember feeling more downtrodden or frustrated. I had a client I knew was innocent, a co-counsel whose affection and trust I’d lost, and I’d just spent two of the hardest, most painful weeks of my life for nothing.
CHAPTER 43
It took three minutes to type the letter. All it said was “I, Major Sean Drummond, request to be recused from the case of Captain Thomas Whitehall.”
Nothing dramatic or elegant because, frankly, the law frowns on anything that smacks of passion or lavishness. I scrawled my signature at the bottom, and then called Imelda and had her send up one of her assistants to deliver it. The moment she was gone, I fell into bed.
It’s amazing how quickly I was out. You’d think I’d roil around on the sheets and agonize over my situation, but I was too exhausted. I was in a coma about thirty seconds after my head hit the pillow. And I slept like a log.
At least, until the phone rang. This was at 6:00 P.M., maybe seven hours after I went out. I lifted it up and heard the voice of Major General Clapper, the chief of the JAG Corps.
“Drummond, that you?” he asked.
“Hello, General, it’s me,” I replied, of course recognizing his voice.
“I just got word that you were recused.”
“Uh… yeah,” I mumbled, still hazy.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No, General. It’ll have to wait till I get back to Washington. That or we’ll have to talk on a secure line.”
“Okay, we’ll wait. When can you get back here?”
“As soon as you tell me to be there, although a day or two of grace would be sorely appreciated. I, uh, I got a little beat-up, and shot, too, and I haven’t gotten much sleep the past four or five days.”
He said, “Hell, it’s Friday anyway. Can you be out of there Sunday night?”
