Thursday evening he dined in with Charlie and Boomer and Libby Hayes and their eldest son, back from Wake Forest for a long weekend. They ate in the formal dining room off Spode dinnerwear custom-made with an angry Carolina ram’s head delicately painted upon every plate, saucer, cup, and bowl. Boomer made much of Marcus’ new housemate, a man whose name Marcus did not even know, who continued to sweep each room of the house daily for bugs of the metallic species. Charlie laughed much and ate little. Marcus realized that none of them wished to disturb the fragile evening’s tranquillity with anything so onerous as the truth about Charlie’s illness. Marcus marveled at their easy laughter, the friendship, and the tight bonds of a family facing something so painful they could not even bring themselves to discuss it. Instead, they showered Charlie with every possible opportunity to laugh, to quarrel, to shine. Marcus found himself with little to say, he was so caught up in observing a spirit he had assumed was lost and gone forever.
Friday morning came too soon, and on the drive into Raleigh and court Marcus found himself so worried he called Charlie at home. “I’m thinking I should have walked Klein through his testimony after all.”
“Who?”
“You know perfectly well who I mean. Hans Klein. The man from the Swiss embassy.”
“This is a good sign,” Charlie said, not bothering to hide his chortle. “Fretting over what you can’t change. Means you’re beginning to treat this like a real trial.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I, son. But it don’t make this any less funny. You didn’t contact this Klein fellow because you didn’t want him to realize what you were planning. Which means you are legally covered for changing direction. Just because he sounded like an underdone kid to me on the phone don’t change matters one whit.”
Marcus found himself unable to let go that easily. “I’ve always treated this trial seriously, and you know it.”
“Maybe so.” Charlie’s merriment rang softly, like chimes covered and muffled by tangled vines of age. “But now you’re treating it like a case you just might win.”
“Plaintiff calls Hans Klein to the stand.”
The witness was everything Marcus had feared since Charlie described their conversation-young, eager, passionately energetic. Defense would have a field day. Marcus had no choice but to proceed. “You are assistant commercial attaché at the Swiss embassy in Washington, D.C., are you not?”
“Yes sir.” At least the man’s English was good. Heavily accented, but very understandable. “For five years now. I go back to Bern in seven months. I wish I could stay. I like your country-”
Judge Nicols broke in. “Restrict yourself just to answering the questions, please.” But her gaze remained fastened upon the defense table, a slight frown creasing her forehead. Marcus understood perfectly, but refrained from turning around and staring yet again. He had noticed Logan’s appearance as well. The man looked positively gray, as though stricken by some ailment with a poor prognosis.
“Yes, judge, sorry.” Klein could not have been more than twenty-eight or-nine, and probably had never been in a courtroom before. Certainly not an American one. He repeated for Marcus, “I am here since five years.”
“And during that time, have you ever been involved in depositions requested by courts in this country involving witnesses residing in Switzerland?”
“Oh, yes, many times.”
“Can you tell the court how long such depositions take?”
“It depends. Sometimes many weeks, other times just days.”
“These often involve banking disputes, do they not?”
“Banking, companies, crimes, Holocaust victims, insurance issues, sometimes divorces and children.” He shrugged apologetically. “Many things.”
“All right.” Marcus decided he had trod that ground long enough. He lifted a page from his table, walked over, and handed it to the judge’s assistant. “Plaintiff requests this be submitted as newly discovered evidence.”
Judge Nicols accepted the paper from the recorder, asked, “Is this German?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Objection.”
Marcus took this as an excuse to turn and stare. Logan seemed to have difficulty rising from his table. His face held the sheen of a wax dummy as he went on, “Your Honor, no way should this have been sprung on us like this. No way.”
“It is newly discovered evidence,” Marcus repeated mildly. “It is crucial that we determine its validity through the testimony of this witness.”
Nicols studied the document. “Do you know what this is?”
“I believe so, Your Honor.”
“And you are certain it pertains to this case?”
“If it is indeed what I think, absolutely, Your Honor. Without the slightest doubt. It is critical.”
“Very well. But I am warning you, Mr. Glenwood. If this is not as vital as you claim, I will come down very hard on you.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Marcus walked to the defense table, gave Logan a copy of the paper, and saw that up close the man looked even worse. He turned to the witness stand, where Hans Klein was watching the exchange with wide-eyed wonder. Marcus passed over a third copy and asked, “Could you please tell the court the nature of this document, Mr. Klein?”
It took the man only an instant to recognize and state, “These are Swiss articles of incorporation.”
“Objection!” Logan marshaled what powers he had left. “Your Honor, I move for a mistrial. For the second time in a row, the plaintiff has brought forward a surprise witness for one supposed purpose and then hit us with something else entirely.”
“This evidence could not possibly have been known at the time of filing these charges, Your Honor,” Marcus replied. But his gut was telling him that Logan knew. “As I said, it is newly discovered.”
“Your Honor, the days of the legal gunslinger are long gone.” But Logan’s protests rang hollow. “From the beginning, this entire case has not been about the truth. Let me remind you, Your Honor, this case is about the disappearance of a woman. What evidence has the plaintiff shown in this regard? None. What does this witness have to do with the case’s central issue? Nothing.”
Marcus cast a swift glance at the judge. She was watching Logan with that same small frown. Marcus gave a mental nod of agreement. During the past twenty-four hours, Logan had come to know what they were still seeking to discover. And it had rocked him to his very core.
“It is a sanctionable offense to bring forward a witness and elicit testimony that should have been disclosed to us beforehand,” Logan continued. “This deserves the severest punishment, Your Honor, because the plaintiff’s counsel has falsely manipulated the court.”
“Your request is denied,” Nicols said quietly.
“Then I move to have this evidence struck from the record.”
“Motion denied.”
“I then move for a mistrial on the basis that such ambushing evidence should never be permitted.”
“Overruled.”
“I request you issue limiting instructions to the jury.”
“Denied.” She waited a long moment. “Are you done? Very well. Proceed, Mr. Glenwood.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Marcus returned to the witness box. “Mr. Klein, you say this paper is an official governmental document?”
“Yes. The words at the top, they are the formal name of the Canton of Geneva.”
“Geneva,” Marcus repeated. “That is where the request for depositions of the New Horizons board members has been sent, is it not?”
“I am sorry, I don’t-”
“Never mind, Mr. Klein. Back to the document. Can you tell me what exactly it says?”
“Yes, of course.” He read swiftly and translated, “These photocopies are of the incorporation of a joint venture between New Horizons and a certain Factory 101-”