Ms. Klein handed me a jacket as we entered the federal court house. I took it and stared at it. It was simple and black with no buttons.
“You can keep your gun, if you cover it,” she said.
“Excellent,” I gingerly slid my arms into the jacket. Keeping my gun was a big deal for me. It had saved my life several times.
We were not allowed in the court room when we weren’t testifying and we weren’t allowed to talk about the case or our statements. Ms. Klein led us into a small conference room. Inside was a bailiff with a shotgun. I wasn’t sure why he had a shotgun and I didn’t ask. I smiled at him as I took a seat.
The ride over had been brutal. It had been impossible to get comfortable. Lucas and I both had been constantly shifting in our seats, struggling against the seat belts that pinned us against the seat. I’d felt every small bump and there were a lot of them between Blue Springs and Kansas City.
One by one the men in the room left. They were gone for about an hour each. Their return was solemn. We didn’t speak to each other at all. There was no need. We all knew that he belonged in The Fortress, it didn’t matter whether he talked to himself or not.
My turn came. I stood, like a woman heading for the gallows, and walked from the room. My mind repeated the mantra keep your temper in check. The hallway stretched for miles. At least it seemed that way, as I made the walk to the heavy double doors.
The court house was imposing, built in German Gothic style, the interior was all dark wood accents and reflective marble. The short pumps echoed like gunshots against the stone floor. I wondered if they could hear me as I walked towards them.
The court room was silent as I entered, not through the main doors, but by side doors. I entered and was already at the front of the room. All eyes were on me. My palms began to sweat and my stomach churned.
“State your full name and occupation for the court,” a bailiff instructed me.
“United States Marshall Aislinn Alexandra Cain.”
“Marshal Cain, please tell the court what division of the US Marshals service you work for,” Ms. Klein had stood up.
“I’m a member of the Serial Crimes Tracking Unit.”
“Thank you, Marshal Cain.” Ms. Klein walked out from behind the table. “Now, Marshal Cain, I believe you were not directly involved in the capture of Mr. Baldwin.”
“That is correct,” I answered.
“It was a SCTU case, was it not?” Ms. Klein asked.
“It was.”
“Then why were you not directly involved?”
“I was in the hospital recovering from injuries sustained at an earlier date.”
“Can you please tell us what injuries and how you received them?”
“Yes,” I took a deep breath. “I was recovering from second degree burns to my back and hands. I received these injuries while attending to the victims of the Adams County Fair Bombing in Illinois.”
“Can you elaborate Marshal Cain? Did you touch something that was hot or were you set on fire?”
“The injuries to my hands were sustained while helping save the life of another member of the SCTU. A carnival ride, known as the Scrambler, exploded near us and he was severely injured by flying debris. Several of the wounds would not close using just pressure and tourniquets, so, I grabbed a piece of metal that was still hot from the explosion and cauterized the worst wounds. Shortly after a medic arrived to attend to him and take him to the hospital. I turned my attention to other victims. Another Marshal and I had found two victims, alive, but unconscious. As we worked on them, we heard another explosion and I shielded the victim I was attending with my body.”
“Did the victim survive?”
“Yes.”
“How old was the victim?”
“I later learned that she was eight years old.”
“And the other Marshal, the one that was attending to the victim next to you?”
“His victim had lost a hand during the first explosion. She also lived.”
“How old was she?”
“Thirty-one years old.”
“And was she next to your victim by chance?”
“No, it was the child’s mother.”
“Marshal Cain, did you have to do anything specifically,” Ms. Klein stopped. “Unpleasant with the child victim?”
“When I reached her, she was holding her mother’s hand. The one that had been severed from her mother’s body. The child was unconscious, so I removed the severed hand from her grasp and handed it to the other Marshal so that it wouldn’t get lost.”
“So, you were physically handling severed body parts?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Was that the only severed body part you handled?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Can you estimate how many injured you attended?”
“No, Ma’am, I lost count after fifty. Many of them were dead by the time assistance arrived, I helped to identify those still living.”
“Do you have medical training?”
“No, ma’am, just basic first aid. I can apply pressure or tourniquets to bleeding wounds, I can perform CPR and do some minor medical treatments to prep for medically trained staff.”
“But you were helping anyway?”
“Yes, ma’am. My job was to identify those that were still alive and provide the best care that I could while shouting for more experienced medical assistance.”
“Shouting?” Ms. Klein raised an eyebrow at me.
“Yes, ma’am. There were approximately one hundred paramedics or trained personnel on site. With the explosions, fires, screaming victims that were not unconscious and other noises, it was hard to get attention. My communication line, an earpiece I was wearing, had gone dead from exposure to heat. So, I shouted and when my hands weren’t needed to apply pressure, I waved my arms. The paramedics were watching for signals from us.”
“Did you have pre-arranged signals?”
“No, ma’am, we were winging it,” this got an uncomfortable laugh from a few members of the jury as well as spectators in the crowd.
“How many explosions do you remember, Marshal Cain?”
“I remember hearing seven, however, I believe there were others that I didn’t hear, see or feel. For instance, there were several explosions in the parking lot. However, by the time those explosions began going off, I was already attending to victims and did not pay attention to them.”
“Just a few more questions, Marshal Cain,” Ms. Klein moved in closer to the jury. “Of the fifty plus victims you attended, how many were deceased when you arrived to help?”
“More than half,” I answered.
“How many of the victims you attended to were children?”
“About half.”
“What was the youngest victim you found?”
“I found an infant, it was swaddled in a light weight blanket.”
“Can you tell me what condition the infant was in when you found it?”
“The infant was deceased. The light weight blanket had melted to parts of it.”
“And the parents of the infant?”
“I do not know, there was an adult nearby, but the adult was conscious and claimed the infant was not his.”
“I have no more questions,” Ms. Klein sat down.
The defense attorney stood up. She buttoned her suit jacket. She was in a very expensive suit.
“Marshal Cain, did you ever talk to the defendant?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Not once?”
“No, ma’am. I talked to his sister and his niece at the fair a few nights before the bombing. He stood back, with his nephew. Neither wanted to be involved with the conversation I was having with his niece and sister, so I did not speak to them.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about my client?”
“No, ma’am.”
“No?” The lawyer looked confused by that. “You noticed nothing out of the ordinary about my client?”
“No, ma’am. He stood with his nephew about ten feet away from us. He watched his niece while she talked to me.”
“He wasn’t talking?”
“No, ma’am. He never said a word.”
“Would you have heard him if he had?”
“No, ma’am, but I would have seen him.”
“You would have seen him talking?”
“Yes, ma’am. He and his nephew stood about ten feet behind his niece and sister.”
“I have a report that says he stood to the side of them.”
“He was staggered in his position from his niece and sister. I had a full view of him and his nephew the entire time. However, staggered like stadium seats, is not what I would consider standing to one side. He was not in my blind spot. He was not in the blind spot of the Marshal that stood with me while I spoke with his niece.”
“And your attention was never taken off of him? Not even while bending down and speaking to his niece?”
“No ma’am.”
“Were you not looking at his niece as you spoke with her?”
“I am trained to keep a wide observational stance. Not only could I see his niece, his sister, his nephew and him, but I could see the ride behind him. It was the Tilt-A-Whirl. I also know that during my short conversation with the ladies, the Tilt-A-Whirl stopped to unload and load passengers three times. A woman walking away from a food vendor dropped her soda while attempting to eat a hotdog. Another woman, wearing a bright yellow dress, kept checking her phone. She even bumped into a teenage couple, holding hands, because she was so distracted by her phone. Yet another woman was dealing with an unruly child, no more than six years of age, who was in the midst of a tantrum. A man in a baseball cap was pick-pocketed by a young man roughly twenty-one or so.”
“You saw all that and were still able to maintain complete view of my client.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is what I am trained to do. I observe and catalogue information for future reference. As soon as the family finished talking to me, I contacted my supervisor who made sure that the pick-pocket was arrested and the man’s wallet was returned. The Marshal with me also noticed and made a comment about the woman on her phone being a menace because she wasn’t watching where she was going.”
“Can you see everything, Marshal Cain?”
“No ma’am, I’m not omnipotent, just observant,” this got me another round of nervous laughs. I turned my face to look at the jury for the first time since I had come into the court room. “As a US Marshal working for the SCTU, being observant is required. My ability to observe and process my situation, regardless of how much external stimuli is available, is directly related to my life-span. Failure to be observant, despite extraneous noise, crowds of people, and loud situations, would mean my death. Since I am very interested in living, I would have observed your client speaking if he had ever opened his mouth.”
“Are you aware that my client hears voices, Marshal Cain?”
“Claims to hear voices,” I corrected.
“Excuse me?”
“Your client claims to hear voices. Unless you’ve heard the voices he hears for yourself, you cannot state, without a doubt that he hears voices. You can only tell me that he claims to hear voices.”
“Fine,” she looked put off. “Are you aware that my client claims to hear voices?”
“I am, but I have not observed your client having conversations with himself.”
“The night of the bombing, you are the Marshal that identified my client as the bomber. If he wasn’t talking to himself, how did you know it was him?”
“Your client did not react like anyone else at the fair. Most of the bystanders were fleeing. They stampeded towards the exits. A few stood perfectly still, shell shocked by what was happening and possibly unable to move. Even the first responders with all their training showed signs of disbelief. However, your client was very calm, like a man out for a Sunday afternoon stroll. Considering the situation was something akin to a war zone, this seemed out of place. Add in the fact that he ran only after making eye contact with me and I came to the logical conclusion that he was our primary suspect at that time.”
“Are you a mental health professional?”
“Not in the least, but I’ve had experience with how people react in stressful situations. Furthermore, if your client does hear voices, then The Fortress would be a better destination for him than a mental facility. At The Fortress, he will get a cell to himself, free time that is completely supervised and the very best medical attention available. Also, the guards are not your average prison guards, The Fortress employs US Marshals as guards. As such, the guards are more sensitive to the needs of those in their charge as well as being better paid, better trained and less likely to allow abuse.”
“My client needs mental health care,” the lawyer shook her head at me.
“The Fortress employs an army of psychiatrists and psychologists.”
“That may be, but The Fortress is an automatic life sentence. When he is properly medicated and no longer a danger to others, he could not be released.”
“Your client, properly medicated or not, will always be a threat to others. Speaking as a person who has dealt with plenty of killers, your client was particularly brutal in his method of attack, lack of care about the victim type, and lack of empathy after the fact.”
“Nothing more,” the lawyer said.
“As I attended to the dead and dying, your client meandered around, sipping a lemonade and watching as bodies were torn to shreds and blood turned the dry earth into a hellish fertile plain. He cannot be medicated enough to stop those impulses.”
“I said nothing further,” the lawyer stood up.
“Marshal Cain,” the judge looked at me, “you may step down.”
“Of course, Your Honor.”