Chapter 31

FIRST DAY OF TRIAL

Emily looked up from the intensity of her work on the laptop, glancing around the kitchen to clear her head. She’d thought the preparation in the month and a half following their arrival at Sherman had been serious. The past ten days had proved her wrong. Never had she worked so hard. Not even for the bar exam.

Dressed in his suit, her father was perched at his usual spot on the couch, organizing his examination, cross-examination, and rebuttal testimony questions for witnesses on his own laptop. All prepared in just seven days.

Emily had slipped away for a quick breakfast with Kieran this morning. Going out the door, she’d heard the sound of her father pounding away again at the speed bag in the basement. This evening, she knew he’d likely go for a run after court—just as he did every evening.

She’d finally asked her father this weekend if the workouts were to relieve the pressure. He’d answered yes, but also for training. Trial was physically demanding, he’d said. “And better than the Atkins diet. I lose a pound a day usually.”

Then he’d changed the subject, for the first time offering her direct advice on trial preparation. He knew that she’d taken plenty of testimony before, but it was different in a complex trial where witnesses could be on the stand for hours or days.

“Remember, Emily, that when you’re taking a witness’s testimony, you’ve got to elicit the story with enough detail to explain and illustrate, but you can never risk putting a jury to sleep. Once they’re gone in a case of this length, they’re hard to wake up again.” And in the process, he’d cautioned, “Be prepared that some witnesses you thought would be helpful could turn hostile—resisting questions, changing stories from earlier deposition testimony. Think of it like conversing with someone with multiple personalities; be prepared for whoever emerges once the questioning starts.”

She’d tried not to chafe at advice she thought unnecessary after her time trying cases—forcing herself to acknowledge that the cases she’d tried at the Public Defender’s office the past two years were one to three day trials, with only a handful of witnesses and few scientific issues.

Emily glanced at her watch. Two hours until they left for the courthouse, where Kieran would meet them.

This past weekend she’d hardly seen Kieran; every minute was crammed with trial preparation. At her father’s suggestion, he was taking Kieran’s testimony. He’d hinted it was just a casual preference, but Emily knew that he had grown aware of her feelings for Kieran. She could guess what he was thinking: that all they needed was for the jury to suspect her personal attachment to the client. Who knew how they’d treat that revelation.

There was a metal clank of the mailbox hung by the front door. The only mail they were receiving here were court notices or letters from Covington’s counsel. Her father got up and walked to the door. He returned a moment later with only a slim envelope in his hands.

“It’s a hand delivery from the court,” Ryan said curiously. He tore it open and held it up to read.

“What is it, Dad?” Emily asked absently as her gaze stayed fixed on her laptop. When he didn’t respond, she glanced up. His face had a look of pure astonishment.

“Judge Renway just removed himself from the case,” he said.

Adam was stopped on the side of the road where he’d pulled over when King called, clutching his phone like he was strangling it.

“Explain to me again how this happened,” he demanded bitterly.

“I . . . I’m not sure,” Eric King was stammering now, his patented bravado gone. “I got a message from Judge Renway Sunday afternoon, asking me to stop by his chambers this morning. I got there early. He ushered me in and told me he had to recuse himself from the case.”

“Why?”

“He said he owned orchards downwind from Hanford that had been in his family for generations. Apparently he refinanced a loan on that land a couple of years ago. One of the terms of the loan was that it could be accelerated if there was a ‘sudden release’ of radiation from Hanford. Since this Mullaney case is trying to prove a radiation release at LB5, and his orchards are near the building, the judge has a stake in the outcome of the case. It creates a hopeless conflict.”

Adam’s fingers were cramping around the cell. “And why did he just figure this out now.”

King was equal parts defensive and nervous. “He told me he hadn’t paid much attention to the acceleration clause before, with Hanford closed down. But somebody dropped a copy of his loan documents at his door Friday night with that clause circled. He thought about turning it over to the FBI—treat it as some kind of extortion. Except there’s no demand attached, of any kind. All it does is point out his ethical conflict. He decided he had to drop out before it got public.”

“Who dropped off the loan papers at Renway’s house,” Adam demanded.

“He doesn’t know. They were left at his door.”

It had to be Hart. Where had he come up with those papers?

“Can the judge be paid to stay on the case?” Adam asked.

“You mean a bribe?” King blurted out. “Bribe a federal judge? Renway isn’t that kind of asset. He’s just a judge with a soft spot for Hanford.”

Adam’s anger compounded at the lecturing tone. “So who replaces him?”

“It’s a new judge: Celeste Johnston. She started as a federal judge a year ago. Used to be a state court judge in Seattle, so she’s on the bench in King County. She’s African-American. Moderate. Smart.”

Adam’s head was swimming as the lawyer continued. “Listen, Adam, this doesn’t have to be that big of a setback. I contacted the calendar clerk’s office. Judge Johnston’s calendar is mostly free, so they have no intention of pushing back trial. That means we’ll still start in a couple of hours. With no time to prepare, it’ll be all Judge Johnston can do to get up to speed. I’d be amazed if she revisited any of Judge Renway’s decisions in the case. Given the evidence, we’ve still got this locked up.”

King always had as much optimism as money could buy. Adam didn’t believe in uncertainties, and this was the second source of uncertainty in two weeks. Despite King’s failed attempt to mollify him, these setbacks were adding up.

“Keep me alerted,” he snapped.

As he dropped the phone onto the passenger seat, Adam considered calling Foote to apprise him. But that wasn’t such a good idea. If he called Foote about this turn of events, it would sound like a major setback. If he told Foote in the course of their next conversation about the successful Wolffia test, he could paint Renway’s departure as no serious problem.

He pulled back onto the road. Adam wished he could sit in on trial. But he couldn’t, and he had to let the idea go. Besides, he had lots yet to do. The successful Project test ended the first phase of seven long years of research, but there were more tests to run—then the necessity to begin production planning and reach out to the DOE and defense departments about the new technology. And while Foote would be leading that effort, Adam knew he was expected to be very close by.

The next few months were going to be busy enough without sitting in a courtroom. Despite his dwindling confidence in King, he had to rely on the lawyer to see this through.

Still, Adam told himself, he’d have to keep more careful tabs on the events at the courthouse than he’d ever planned or hoped for.