Actions and Consequences: Part I - Act 2
Trial - Part 1, December 6th, 1987
Recycled air. The highest quality recycled air. Somewhere a very expensive heating system was sucking the frigid December air into its heart, filtering it, heating it, filtering it again and blowing it into the courtroom. Logan inhaled deeply, his chest filling the black suit nicely.
“All rise.” All rose. “The Honorable Judge Ortega presiding.” The solid looking man entered cloaked in his long robes. He stepped up to the bench and sat down. At his beckon, those in the court room sat. Judge Ortega reached into his robes and drew out a pair of bifocals. He slid them onto the bridge of his nose and looked down at the case file.
“Good morning, all. I see we have some new faces – enter your appearances please, starting with the counsel for the State.”
Eric Quinlan stood, his chair screeching as he pushed it out behind him. “Good morning, Your Honor. Eric Quinlan, newly appointed assistant district attorney. Not appearing today are my co-counselors William Mason, Samuel Tythe and Richard Forster.”
The judge nodded. “Thank you. Defense?”
As Eric sat down, Logan lifted his chair slightly off the floor so it would not screech. “Good morning, Your Honor.”
Judge Ortega nodded. “Good morning.”
“Counsel for the defense, Logan Kilpatrick of Wolfram and Hart, attorneys at law.” Logan sat down.
The judge scribbled on his private note pad. “Thank you. We will hear the opening arguments.”
Niki glanced past Logan to Quinlan who stood and stepped from behind his bench. He turned from the defense bench and faced the jury. Twelve random people. Twelve people to decide her fate.
“Good morning,” Eric smiled at the jury. They said nothing. Eric’s smile was undimmed. “It seems like we’re saying ‘good morning’ a lot, doesn’t it?” He turned on Niki, his eyes staring straight at her. “Niki Valtaine is more of a night person, though, isn’t she?” He spoke to the twelve jurors behind him but kept his gaze for another moment on the Slayer, sitting with her hands folded next to Logan Kilpatrick who was calmly filling his lungs with recycled air.
“In the coming weeks, we will show that in the dark of night Niki Valtaine stalked the victim, a young woman named Megan, through the street at night — hid in an alley, waiting for her, then stabbed her through the heart with a sharpened piece of wood. Weeks later, the F.B.I. agent who was investigating this very murder, and who suspected Niki Valtaine of being guilty, followed her to an abandoned shop, where she shot him six times.”
Niki swallowed, she shifted subconsciously in her seat.
“Six times. Now he’s paralyzed from the waist down and has a metal plate in his head. You’ll hear his testimony: all the evidence he’d collected up until then which implicated her. To protect herself, she had to shoot him.” Eric reinforced his smiled. “But we won’t let her get away with it.” He made a respectful little nod. “So let’s make it a good morning.”
Logan’s expression was totally passive. His hands were folded and he watched the judge as Quinlan strode confidently back to his bench. Once seated, the A.D.A. turned to glance at him, but Logan continued to ignore him.
“Does defense have an opening statement prepared?” the judge asked, raising an eyebrow at Logan’s bench.
Logan stood. “The defense is prepared, Your Honor, but we ask that we be allowed to deliver a statement after the evidence is presented.”
Ortega shrugged, removing his glasses. “Your decision.” He lifted the gavel and let it fall with a soft bang. “Court is adjourned until this afternoon.”
Niki turned and watched Logan’s calm and collected gaze sweep around the room to her. He leaned in and spoke directly into her ear. “We need to talk.”
Logan sat on the edge of the table, looking significantly less collected than he did in court. Niki sat in the cold metal chair, grateful not to be in cuffs.
“Okay,” the lawyer in black said reasonably. “Let’s pretend for a minute that I’m not your lawyer...” he looked at her and his professionalism dropped away. “Niki, what the hell!?”
The Slayer shrugged her shoulders. “What? I... kinda accidentally killed the girl. The Deceivers made me think I was stalking a vampire. They even made me think she dusted!”
Logan scratched his eyebrow absently with his pinkie finger as he concentrated on something else. “Uh huh. And the F.B.I. agent? You shot him six times?”
Niki held up a challenging hand. “No — that’s a lie. I lured him to the building to finish the Goths and they shot him.” She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know why they think I did it, except obviously Harrison thinks he can get me put away for that, since he can’t actually prove I killed vampires.”
“He knows about vampires?” Logan squinted unsure of where the Wolfram and Hart circle ended.
“No... I don’t think so.” She frowned and thought about it. “No, he just thinks I’m a serial killer who... Uh... incinerates her victims. He’s got some quaint name for me, apparently been chasing the Slayer line for years.”
Logan took a deep breath and stood. “Okay. We can work with that." He looked down at the file. "They've got you for shooting Harrison because they've got your fingerprints on the gun."
Niki frowned. "What!?" She stood from her seat. "Why the hell are my prints..."
Logan shrugged. "The gun was found by a local restaurant owner in a dumpster. It was matched to the bullets they pulled out of the fed."
Niki groaned as she recalled having picked up the gun in the alley after killing its owner: Snakeface.
"The other witness they’re calling is the restaurant owner who found it: some guy...” Logan flipped through the file on the table. “Uh... Guy named Jesse Trent.” He looked up and saw Niki’s shocked expression. “Which... I’m guessing is a surprise to you.”
“Jesse?” Niki slumped deeper into her seat. “What... why is he testifying?”
Logan’s eyes shifted uncomfortably and finally settled on the page. “Um. Well, his deposition states that he discovered one of the other key pieces of evidence... the blood-stained stake.” His eyes lifted to meet hers. “Do you know where he might have found it?” The answer was staring at him from the file. He wanted to hear it from her.
Niki was breathing fast, her eyes flitting back and forth as she tried to recall where she might have left the incriminating piece of wood. She would never have left it out...? Would she? Be so stupid like that? She scoffed at herself: That question easily answered itself.
Logan swallowed. “He said you two were... intimately involved and you went out one morning and he found it in a drawer.” The question remained unspoken. Were you intimately involved? “He didn’t just break in, did he?”
Niki slowly shook her head. How could she have been so stupid! He will betray you. Her parents had warned her. She shouldn’t have trusted Jesse to be alone in her apartment. She glanced up to her ex-lover. “I guess you’re the one I trust now.” Logan frowned. “So what do we do now?”
Logan cocked his head and stood from the table, pacing with his hands clasped behind his back. “Well, Eric —the prosecutor— he a good lawyer. He’s going to vilify you and I bet he’s going to succeed. I don’t expect anybody on the jury to have a lot of sympathy for you... no offence.”
Niki dismissed it. “Can’t you just... you know...” she aimed her finger like a gun. “Pshew: Not Guilty?”
Logan was shaking his head. “No... See, my law firm has this thing about me using magic to affect the outcome of a trial. Big magical contracts supported by, like, a zillion shamans and witches. I can’t touch the jury or the judge... or even Eric for that matter.” He raised his eyebrows. “On the plus side, as my client you’re also protected from magical interference.”
Niki rolled her eyes. “Great.”
Addison slowly pushed the needle through the membrane at the opening of the small vial of amanitin. As he drew the plunger back and filled the syringe with the clear yellow liquid, he considered, yet again, what he was doing. One poke with this and she’d have ten days. Terrible agony, then death. No treatment. Nothing the doctors could do. By the time she began to feel symptoms, he would be out of the country. That was how the Council wanted it. No international incident. Just one more death and it was done; the line was secure.
The old Watcher slid the plastic guard back over the needle, then set the syringe down on the night table. He carefully placed the empty vial of amanitin back in the metal briefcase and closed it.
The hotel room door exploded inward with such a force that the old man was thrown back onto the bed. Through the rubble of the entire doorway and surrounding wall, three large, fearsome looking demons strode in, their bodies bristling with tufts of fur and knobby horns. They hissed when they saw the Watcher and charged at him.
With the deadly efficiency of a former British military operative, Addison pulled the gun from beneath his pillow and shot two silenced bullets into the first demon’s face. It dropped dead at his feet.
The second demon took a shot in the shoulder and roared, launching himself at the old man, getting as far as raking its claws across his face before taking another three bullets in the chest.
Addison could not prevent the gun from being knocked from his hand, however, by the swift paw of the third demon, which wrapped its fingers around his throat and began choking.
Addison clawed at the demon’s face, digging his thumbs into the thing’s beady eyes until it released him. Then with a sharp backhand, he sent it stumbling sideways where it collapsed into the night table. The Watcher went for his gun and the demon lifted the lamp, hurtling it at the old man who ducked just in time. With three muffled pops, the demon fell, leaving Addison holding the gun tightly in his right hand.
Panting and struggling to regain his composure, Addison straightened his waistcoat and stepped over the corpses of the demons. Sent by Fischer, no doubt. She obviously had a lot to learn about subtlety. He looked down with dismay at the remains of the night table and the shattered syringe letting its contents soak into the thick hotel carpet. Coniine it was, then.
Trial - Part 4, December 9th, 1987
Logan licked his lips. Harrison had been sworn in and was sitting at the witness stand in his wheelchair, Quinlan having made a spectacle of subtlety to have him wheeled up, establishing pathos with the jury. Logan certainly wasn’t going to be popular discrediting him.
“Mr. Harrison, good morning.” Eric strode from his bench, his tone renewed with courtesy and gentleness. The former F.B.I. agent nodded slightly in response. “Could you please tell the court what occurred the night of November the eighth?”
Harrison nodded and began his practices testimony. Niki kept her eyes on him, seeing his eyes open for once and seeing the suppressed hate which resided there. His voice was thinner, no longer amused at anything. When he spoke he looked only at Quinlan, avoiding Niki completely.
“I was on a stake-out outside her apartment and when the sun went down, she left. That was usually her routine.” Harrison blinked, his face expressionless but his eyes revealing everything to the Slayer listening. “She was on foot and I followed her at a distance in my car.”
Quinlan nodded. “Can you tell us what happened once you reached the address of 122, 37th Avenue East?”
Harrison nodded wearily. “She descended the stairwell and after a few moments, I followed.”
“You were armed?” Quinlan said it mostly as precaution, to get it out of the way so Logan couldn’t exploit it.
Harrison nodded again. “Of course.”
“Did you have your weapon drawn at that time?”
The former agent shook his head. “No. I followed her to a dark, abandoned room. She was ...waiting for me there.” He glanced down as, no doubt, he had rehearsed. “The next thing I remember I woke up in the hospital and they told me I would never walk again.”
“Prosecution enters as evidence Exhibit B—” Quinlan lifted the gun in the plastic bag and set it before Harrison. “This is the gun identified as having fired the bullets which crippled you that night, isn’t that right?”
Harrison nodded. “That’s it.”
“This gun,” Quinlan lifted it up and walked towards the jury to show them, “has Niki Valtaine’s fingerprints on it.” There was a subtle change in the mood of the jury as several of them looked to Niki sitting at the defense bench. She stared straight ahead, her jaw tight. Quinlan permitted himself a little smile. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
The prosecuting attorney flashed Logan a challenging glance as he went to sit down. Logan wasn’t paying attention. He took on a classically puzzled expression as he stood. He glanced down at his file as if it was troubling. Taking it with him, he approached the witness stand.
“Mr. Harrison,” Logan said with a frown, “you said you were on a ‘stake-out’ outside of Niki’s apartment.”
Harrison nodded. “Yes.” He said no more than necessary, as he had been instructed.
Logan’s frown deepening. “So you were under orders— you were assigned to watch Niki by the F.B.I.?”
Harrison swallowed. “Not exactly.”
Logan blinked very noticeably. “I’m sorry? Not exactly?” He flipped through a few pages very deliberately. “It says here that you were actually on sabbatical. So exactly what were you doing outside of Ms. Valtaine’s apartment that night?”
Harrison clenched his jaw. “Niki Valtaine was a suspect in a classified F.B.I. case concerning a series of murders. I was spending some of my leave investigating her.”
Logan nodded for a moment, then stopped. “A series of murders?” Harrison nodded. “How many? That is, how many victims was Ms. Valtaine suspected of killing the night you waited outside her apartment?”
Harrison was silent for a moment. “We’re not sure.”
Logan, who had already known the answer, cocked his head in surprise nonetheless. “You’re not sure?”
“It could be as many as several dozen,” the agent said defensively.
“But you’re not sure,” Logan replied. A statement, not a question. “Could you tell me the names, then, of some of the apparently numerous victims this serial killer has killed which led you to New York?”
Harrison’s jaw was working in frustration. “No,” he said quietly.
“Not one name?” Logan reapplied the puzzled look. “You’re telling me you can’t name one victim of this supposed serial killer?”
“The F.B.I. was never able to recover the bodies of the victims,” Harrison defended hotly. “Most of the murders were reported to us by third parties—”
“Most,” Logan held up a finger. “So you’ve seen some of these murders taking place yourself?”
Harrison nodded harshly. “Yes. I personally witnessed Niki Valtaine killing at least ten people.”
Logan nodded in appreciation. “Well,” he said as if impressed, “I’m sure their families will be glad to hear their murderer has been caught. Were you the one to tell them their loved ones were murdered?”
Harrison’s jaw was clenching again. “No,” he said bitterly.
Logan frowned. “Oh, why not? Since apparently no one else witnessed this terrible event.”
“There was no way to identify who was murdered — as I said there was no bodies to examine.” Harrison was defensive as if he sensed where this was going. He was fairly sure the sympathy the jury had for him was evaporating as his anger grew.
“No bodies?” Logan said with a frown. “Where did they go?”
“She incinerated them,” Harrison said with clenched teeth.
Logan nodded, as if in understanding. “Oh, I see. She... killed them, then... what? Dragged more than ten people, on foot, to a furnace and incinerated them?” He shrugged. “Or did she just pile them up in the middle of the street and douse them with gasoline?” His tone had what he judged to be the right about of cynicism.
Harrison was smouldering, his eyes burning hot coals. “No,” he said hotly. “She had a sword. When she cut off their heads, they were instantly incinerated.”
Logan smiled a pitying smile. He didn’t need to say anything. It was clear Harrison’s credibility was shot. After a long moment, Logan turned another page in his file. “You were shot in the head, correct?”
Eric Quinlan shot out of his seat. “Objection, Your Honor! Relevance?”
Judge Ortega rolled his eyes and looked from Logan to Harrison. “Overruled. I think we can all see the relevance Mr. Quinlan.” He turned to Logan who was innocently reading the report. “But get on with it Mr. Kilpatrick — you’ve made your point.”
Logan nodded. “One more thing.” He walked to his bench and lifted the gun in the plastic bag and brought it to the witness stand. “Did you see Niki Valtaine carrying this the night of November eighth?”
Harrison shook his head sullenly. “No.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. “Are Niki Valtaine’s fingerprints the only fingerprints on this weapon?”
Harrison shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Logan again took on a pitying expression. “For the record: the answer is No.”
Quinlan scribbled some notes down and looked up to see Logan flashing him a knowing look. Eric kept his cool. This might be more difficult than he had thought.
“No further questions,” Logan said as he sat down. The witness was excused and he was wheeled bitterly from the witness stand. He threw a hateful glare towards the defense table as he passed but both Niki and Logan avoided looking at him. Logan leaned over and whispered into the Slayer’s ear, the euphoria of triumph still present. “See: piece of cake.”
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