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  Grant Richardson was on his feet, his interruption totally unexpected.

  “Your Honor, the State moves at this time for dismissal of the indictment and all charges against Captain Mitchell.”

  The bailiff entered quietly and passed a note to the judge, who looked at it and shook his head.

  “Hold everything and everyone in place,” the judge instructed. Nodding, the bailiff scurried from the courtroom as Gonzales returned his gaze to Richardson.

  “Counselor, do I understand you to be moving on behalf of the State to do precisely what Ms. Winston is requesting?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And, I presume, your intention is to obviate the necessity of Ms. Winston presenting her evidence for quashing the indictment and dismissing this circus?”

  “Ah…yes, Your Honor…in essence, her testimony is not needed.”

  “To the contrary, Mr. District Attorney. I am taking your motion under advisement until I hear all applicable evidence from Ms. Winston and any witnesses she cares to present.”

  The expression on Grant Richardson’s face was ashen. His last, best ploy to prevent the nightmare of public disclosure of his infidelities was taking precedent over any concern about malicious prosecution of a mere airline pilot, and he jerked around to see whether Carl Moscone was already in the courtroom, unaware Moscone was waiting just down the corridor.

  “You may proceed, Ms. Winston,” Gonzales ordered.

  The temptation to point and screech at Richardson for all the hell he’d caused was not easy to resist, but Judith had always prided herself on a professional demeanor under fire. She calmly finished laying the legal grounds for dismissal of the indictment before proceeding to the very thing Grant Richardson was desperate to avoid: repetition of what had been said in the judge’s chambers.

  But there it was, at last, on the public record, and sure to be the lead story on the evening news.

  “I therefore request immediate dismissal of the indictment, and of the charges against Captain Mitchell,” Judith said.

  Gonzales shifted his gaze to Richardson, who was standing by the prosecution table breathing hard.

  “Do you have anything to say or add, Mr. Richardson?”

  “No, Your Honor, other than…no. Just no.”

  “Well, Counselors, I have a bit of a dilemma, because the note I received several minutes back was from the jury foreman informing me that they have reached a unanimous verdict. I, of course, do not yet know what that verdict is, but I now have a difficult choice. I can agree with Ms. Winston and dismiss the indictment and run the risk for Captain Mitchell that someone in the DA’s office who did not lose a girlfriend aboard Flight Twelve will re-file the charges. I can do so and run the risk of being overturned by the appeals court on the ground that the prosecutorial misconduct was not sufficiently severe or prejudicial. I can table both motions and reassemble the jury and hear their verdict, in which case if it’s an acquittal there is no need to dismiss because double jeopardy protection eliminates any chance of re-trial. However, if they have reached a guilty verdict, then I am faced with whether to set aside the verdict and dismiss the indictment, or let the verdict stand and assume Ms. Winston will appeal.”

  “For the record, Your Honor, the defense would request a dismissal as moved,” Judith added.

  “Understood, Ms. Winston. And I also have the state’s request for dismissal, which I will not allow to be withdrawn as of this moment. But first I have to say, Mr. Richardson, I am going to file charges against you in front of the state bar for grossly unethical conduct. You, sir, have utterly wasted the time of this court and twisted and violated your oath to faithfully discharge your duties to the public, and materially harmed the man you indicted out of obvious personal animus and anger. I can’t recall a case of such unforgivable misconduct.”

  “I offer my humble apology, Your Honor.”

  “Well, sir, for the damned record, that is not accepted.”

  Judge Gonzales sighed heavily, his eyes going to Marty for a second.

  “Very well. First, the State’s motion to dismiss is granted with prejudice. I do not need to hear from Mr. Moscone since Mr. Richardson has already admitted to having had an intimate affair with Mrs. Moscone, who was killed in the subject crash, and whose death has propelled this ill-conceived prosecution. Secondly, this court agrees with the premise that the law relating to second degree murder has been illicitly used in this case, and I would hope the Colorado legislature will correct the ability of anyone in the future to misuse that statute in the way it was misused in this case. Thirdly, this court formally apologizes to Captain Mitchell. All charges are hereby vacated, and you, sir, are free to go. Now, bailiff, please clear the courtroom so I can bring the jury back to thank and dismiss them.”

  It was Joel Kravitz who touched Judith’s arm in the corridor outside the courtroom, alerting her that the bailiff was standing and waiting for an opening.

  “Ms. Winston, the judge would like a word with you in chambers.”

  “Called to the principal’s office again!” she said with a smile directed at Joel. “Marty? Joel? Please wait for me. We at least need a debrief at the nearest bar.”

  She followed the bailiff down the familiar hallway, surprised to find Judge Gonzales standing in an open doorway waiting.

  “Judge?”

  He reached out and took her hand. “Two things, counsellor. One, I want to apologize for my…shall we say less than gentlemanly demeanor when you visited me several months back wanting off this case. I…admit I had a bone in my throat and you walked into my gunsights. Second, though, I am very glad I was angry enough to refuse to let you off the hook, because you did an excellent job with this case. Really superlative.”

  “Thank you, Judge.”

  “This has been a very strange case, but we could use a lot more of your type of well prepared, intelligent, professional demeanor in criminal matters.”

  “I appreciate it, but this has been a struggle I don’t think I want to repeat. I plan to slip quietly back to my corporate practice and only litigate traffic tickets.”

  He chuckled, then fell silent for a second. “Too bad about Richardson. He’s a good litigator, but this will be the end of the line for him.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So, what’s next for your client? Will this free him to fly again?”

  Judith shook her head. “We don’t know. He’s still on unpaid leave, and the National Transportation Safety Board hearing is coming up in three weeks. It’s not to set blame, but the findings will probably determine whether Mitchell gets his job back.”

  “Well, I wish the man well. What a horrible dilemma.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” she said, reclaiming her hand and turning to go, then turning back.

  “I…don’t suppose I should ask you what the verdict was?” she said, eyebrows raised.

  “I don’t suppose you should,” he smiled.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  November – Two Months After the Trial

  Churchill Lounge, Brown Palace Hotel

  “I’d almost think you’re holding court here,” Scott Bogosian said with a chuckle as he re-packed his notebooks and digital recorder into a backpack. “You actually look like a regular, relaxing in that huge leather chair.”

  Marty Mitchell smiled in response. “Well, you told me last month that you love this old lounge and all the cigar smoke, and I now see why.”

  “I gotta get back.”

  “How’s it going at the Post?”

  Scott chuckled again. “Always be careful what you wish for. I so wanted to be a beat reporter again, and here I am, beat most of the time!”

  “I take it that’s an old newspaperman joke?”

  “More or less. No, I’m really enjoying it, but writi
ng your story and getting it accepted by the right publisher is going to be quite a task. Thank you again, Marty, for agreeing to help. Any word from Regal?”

  Marty’s smile broadened. “I’m told I’ll hear from them any day now with a new training date. I’m non-current, so I’ll have to go back through retraining.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  “Not official yet, but the NTSB findings pretty much put them in a corner.”

  “You mean about the garbled radio calls?”

  “Yes…all around. The controller was confused, we were confused, and what it really says is that we’ve got to get past this seventy-year old antiquated method of push-to-talk, simplex radio being our main means of passing altitude and heading information.”

  “I’ll bet that’s a huge relief.”

  Marty sat forward, his expression changing to one of great seriousness.

  “I lost five people that night, and injured eight. I don’t care how garbled the radio was, I should have kept pressing until I absolutely knew where we were supposed to be. That will haunt me forever.”

  Scott nodded. “You are now, though, the least likely airline captain on the planet to ever go to the wrong altitude again.”

  “Very true.”

  “You hanging around?”

  “Nope. I have a lunch date in the lobby restaurant.”

  “Oh. A new lady in your life?”

  “My lawyer. And…yes. Maybe. I hope so.”

  Several blocks away in the home offices of Walters, Wilson, and Crandall, Judith Winston glanced at her watch and calculated whether she could still make it to the restaurant on time. She hated being late for anything.

  The lunch invitation from Marty Mitchell had not necessarily been a surprise, but the postscript to his email definitely had been – an invitation to spend a weekend with him hiking around Rocky Mountain National Park. There was no professional purpose to be served by such an enterprise, she thought with a smile, so it had to be classified as a date. She had hesitated no more than a few seconds before accepting.

  Judith was pulling on her ankle length coat when a familiar face appeared in the firm’s main lobby, and she rushed to greet him.

  “Joel! How are you?”

  “Doing well, Kiddo,” he said with a smile. “I miss spending all those high-stress, anxious days and nights with you and the team and the cold pizza!”

  “We miss you, too. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “I was just passing by and wanted to drop something off to you, for your eyes only.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A little slip of paper from the Mitchell jury that never got formally read into the record.”

  “A slip of paper?”

  “From the foreman. Look at it later. I gotta run.”

  She gave the old veteran defense lawyer a hug and watched him wave as he stepped onto the elevator. When the doors had closed, Judith stood and looked at the folded note in her hand without opening it.

  The praise from the senior partners, including Roger Crandall, had been greatly appreciated, yet there was still an undercurrent of self-doubt leaching away at the victory – a victory won thanks to the detective work of a good reporter and the integrity of a widower – not by the prowess of her lawyering. What if Moscone hadn’t come forward? The question was haunting.

  Judith forced herself to walk over to an elaborate brass trash can and open the lid. She stood there for a few seconds gazing at the still-folded note in her hand and re-checking her gut reaction that whatever it contained didn’t matter.

  No. I don’t ever want to know! she decided, tossing the note in the trash can and turning to push through the double-glass doors, hitting the elevator call button while tapping her foot lightly, anxious to get away from temptation.

  One of the office cleaning staff was moving her way with his cart, starting the evening routine that would begin with emptying the trashcans.

  The elevator opened at last and Judith hesitated. The two passengers inside the car were staring out, wondering what was going on. She glanced back at the office doors, her eyes landing on the trash can, the seconds ticking by.

  And just as the elevator doors began to close, Judith Winston forced herself to take a deep breath and step inside.

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