“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.
“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.”
“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, who should have had his dissertation prepared long before the last semester of his seventh year at Stratford. No. He blamed Ulman, the oaf with the knack for trouble who’d finally found a way to collapse a small corner of the world. Ulman had probably gotten killed before he could even see the damage.
But it had been Kinnard himself who’d perpetuated the problem when he could have stashed KM-2 or given it to Masterson, who should have received the book in the first place. Porter had really been an innocent who’d gotten in the way and hung on for dear life because his was otherwise at an end. A snare yanked Alred into this.
A worse trap would snatch both students into judicial oblivion, while Kinnard himself pulled the lever.
What other choices were there? Suicide? Who wanted this codex and all its relations buried anyway? Would they kill Kinnard if he explained…what really had occurred? Would the University oust him since he did not stand with his fellow academics? Would the papers be involved in this? What about his family; what would they wonder as they read,
DR. TROY KINNARD OF STRATFORD UNIVERSITY
DEFENDS MORMON THIEF,
THUS LOSES TENURE!
“We need to know the truth,” Comer said through the fog of Kinnard’s thoughts. “First…who is Peter Arnott?”
Pause. “I don’t know.”
“Well, we’ll get back to him in a moment. Tell me, did Erma Alred return KM-2 to Stratford University on thirty April?”
The cue. Kinnard’s lines had already been well-rehearsed before stepping into the courtroom. There wasn’t a trial going on, but a play! Kinnard had never auditioned, but had a part so vital that the director, Peter Arnott, stood with his arms folded and his face gray in the back of the brown room right where the professor could see him best.
Kinnard looked at the great double doors with armed officers standing like cast iron ushers and couldn’t push away the feeling that
he
was on trial and not John Porter. Would Kinnard make it through those doors after his testimony? How far, before he was stabbed in the back, shot with poison darts, or—
No, they would get him later. Blow up his car? Too dramatic. Poison his orange juice tomorrow morning? They wouldn’t spend the money. Their revenge would be worse than death. Kinnard would lose credibility, watch his job fall away. Perhaps they’d even find a way to revoke his credentials….
“Dr. Kinnard?’ said Comer.
Looking into the Prosecuting Attorney’s caffeine-charged eyes, Kinnard opened his mouth a crack and drew in the warm air of the courtroom. He tasted the scent of the leather chair beneath him as he shifted his weight. He folded his fingers together on his lap and squared his shoulders. His chin lifted and fell, eyes jumping to Masterson’s cold gaze, back to Arnott who never moved, both young gargoyles carved out of flesh. Closing his eyes, Kinnard heard the squeak of Judge Panofsky’s bottom against his seat.
Comer didn’t restate the question or call the professor’s name a second time. For only a flashing moment, Kinnard saw in the attorney’s eyes the minute concern that Kinnard was about to overthrow the entire point the Prosecution pushed for: that the meeting mentioned by Porter and Alred had never occurred. The insinuation could also then be deduced that Alred was as guilty as Porter, at least in her attempt to lie in a Federal court of law.
Leaning into the microphone, Kinnard said, “I…I can’t answer the question at this time.”
“Answer the question,” said Judge Panofsky.
Kinnard kept his mouth near the microphone as he turned his face to the judge. “I’ll have to utilize the fifth amendment.”
The courtroom rumbled, and Comer laughed lightly at the professor as if Kinnard didn’t know how real courts ran beyond the boundary of the media.
Kinnard looked at Masterson, whose eyes darkened into shady pits.
Arnott lifted his body from the far wall and headed to the door as if he were only going to the bathroom.
Kinnard felt the skin on his face cool, all the moisture evaporating suddenly.
The double doors shut again, and the professor imagined Arnott, the devious shadow posing as a professor and who knew what else, walking away from the courtroom, a cellular in his hand raised to his head. It was an unspoken eulogy of sorts, but only a dream at the same time. Arnott signed the papers verbally. For what? It didn’t matter. Kinnard’s simple insistence to say nothing told the world that more was happening than Comer suspected. That was bad enough.