Losing Faith Part 30

"It's a good sign," Rosenthal says.

Aaron knows this is just something lawyers tell their clients to keep them from jumping out of their skin as they wait. He's said it to many a client himself, even as he knew that there is no way of knowing if the switch was from guilty to not guilty or the other way around. Or even if there was a switch at all. It's also quite possible the jury reached a verdict last night and decided to sleep on it, just to make sure no one wanted to change their vote.

Aaron purposefully doesn't make eye contact with any of the twelve jurors as they enter the courtroom. There's no reason to be lulled into thinking that a smile is a vote for acquittal.

It'll be over soon. Less than two minutes.

He imagines he could hold his breath for that long, and a part of him feels like he's doing just that. When everyone is in their place, Judge Siskind strikes her gavel to quiet the gallery.

The silence only adds to the grimness Aaron feels. He turns around to see Cynthia and the twins huddled together, as if they're freezing and sharing bodily warmth.

"Will the defendant please rise?" Judge Siskind says.

Aaron and Rosenthal stand as one. Rosenthal takes Aaron's hand in his and gives it a squeeze. Aaron suspects he means to convey that they're in this together, and yet Aaron has never felt more alone.

"Madame Foreperson, please read the jury's unanimous verdict," Judge Siskind says.

A gray-haired African-American woman stands. She has reading gla.s.ses perched on her nose and is holding a piece of paper at arm's length, as if she hasn't memorized the verdict she's about to deliver.

Aaron finally looks at the faces of the twelve jurors. None of them look in his direction. Not one.

He shuts his eyes, trying to tune out all sensory experiences. His complete and total focus is on whether he's going to hear the word not.

The foreperson reads in a monotone: "We, the members of the jury, for our unanimous verdict, hereby declare, on the sole count of the indictment, murder in the second degree, that we find the defendant, Aaron L. Littman, to be . . ." And then she looks up for the briefest second and says, "Guilty."

Aaron's knees buckle, and he consciously has to plant his feet to keep himself upright. When his mind flashes on how Cynthia and the girls are reacting, he suddenly becomes faint and tumbles back into his chair.

The court officers converge on him, forming a wedge that makes it difficult for him to move more than a foot from the table. A single word has instantly transformed Aaron into a convicted murderer.

"Poll the jury," Rosenthal says.

Aaron is thankful that someone has done something, even though he knows this will only make it worse. It was bad enough when the foreperson spoke for them, but now each one will declare Aaron guilty.

"Very well," Judge Siskind says. "The defense has requested that each member of the jury state for the record how he or she voted. So, let's go through the jury members, one at a time. Madame Foreperson, you may begin."

The African-American woman stands again. "Guilty," she says, and then she sits down. She's followed by a middle-aged man with a mustache who does the same thing. A younger woman with curly hair, and then a younger man who has shaved his head, and then an older man who is balding all repeat the act. It has the look of a very feeble wave at a sporting event, the orderly rising and sitting, except instead of throwing their hands in the air, each one says, "Guilty."

Midway through, Aaron summons the courage to swing around, and it's even worse than he could have imagined. Cynthia is curled into herself, with Lindsay and Samantha draped over her on either side. Aaron can't see any of their faces, but their bodies are convulsing in a way that indicates suffering.

"There you have it, Mr. Rosenthal," Judge Siskind says when the last juror has spoken. "The jury's verdict is unanimous. I'm going to-"

"Your Honor," Rosenthal interrupts, "at this time, the defense moves for a judgment notwithstanding the verdict and requests to be heard in chambers immediately."

This is the after-verdict equivalent of requesting a directed verdict, and it's even more rarely granted. If judges are loath to take the decision out of the hands of a jury at the trial's midpoint, they are twice as unlikely to overrule it after a verdict is rendered.

Judge Siskind uses her gavel to quiet the gallery. "Mr. Rosenthal, your motion is not unexpected, but I'm going to put this matter down for thirty days from today. In the next month, I expect both sides to review the transcript and prepare motion papers. When we reconvene, I will hear arguments concerning sentencing, in the event that I do not grant the defense's Rule Thirty-Three motion to nullify the jury's verdict."

Rosenthal exhales loudly. It's as if he's expelling the shock of the guilty verdict.

"I know that what Your Honor just proposed is the standard procedure after a guilty verdict," he says, "but there is something . . . something that the defense needs to bring to the court's and the prosecution's attention immediately. Accordingly, I renew my request that the court hear from the defense in chambers at this time."

Judge Siskind looks lost. She likely carefully scripted the trial's conclusion, perhaps even preparing both a guilty and a not-guilty speech, and now Sam Rosenthal is asking her to ad-lib.

"Okay," she finally says. "Let's do this now."

Aaron can finally feel his brain function again. He looks for Rosenthal to provide some type of explanation.

"I would never let you go to jail, Aaron," Rosenthal says.

61.

Aaron is escorted out of the courtroom by the guards, who do not extend him the courtesy of unlocking his handcuffs. With each step, he experiences the same sickening sense of anxiety that he did before the verdict. He tries to calm himself by saying that the worst has already happened, but that's hardly a soothing thought.

In the outer office of her chambers, Judge Siskind says, "Do we need to sit down for this, Mr. Rosenthal, or can we do this here?"

"Here is fine," Rosenthal says without emotion.

The stenographer sets up her machine but tells Judge Siskind she needs a chair before she can begin. Judge Siskind's law clerk, a twentysomething woman with long, black hair, says, "Here, use mine," and pushes it in her direction.

Finally, with the court reporter seated but everyone else standing, Judge Siskind says, "Mr. Rosenthal, I a.s.sume I speak for everyone when I say we're on pins and needles. What is it that you had to discuss so urgently in chambers?"

"I killed Judge Faith Nichols."

Aaron looks at Rosenthal, but Rosenthal doesn't accept his gaze. He stares straight ahead, looking only at the judge.

No one says anything for a good twenty seconds. The silence is broken by Victoria Donnelly.

"I . . . I don't know what Mr. Rosenthal is trying to get away with here, Your Honor," she says, "but what I do know is that the jury has spoken. They found Mr. Littman guilty. This is nothing more than a stunt to somehow persuade the court that the verdict should be set aside. Or maybe it's a ploy for leniency for when you sentence Mr. Littman. Either way, it's wholly improper."

Judge Siskind doesn't respond at first, but when Rosenthal doesn't rebut Donnelly's charge she prompts him. "Mr. Rosenthal?"

"It's hardly a stunt, Your Honor," he says. "I'm willing to plead guilty and to be sent to prison for my crime."

"Your Honor," Donnelly says, now in an almost pleading voice, "you may not be aware of this, but Mr. Rosenthal and Mr. Littman are very close. Father-son like, is what I've been told. Certainly, many a father would willingly switch places with his son to spare him from prison. Mr. Rosenthal has no family of his own, and while he may think he's doing something n.o.ble, he is not. Justice demands that the guilty be punished, and as we have all seen in the trial, and as the jury has found, Mr. Littman murdered Judge Nichols."

After what feels to Aaron like an eternity but is really only a few seconds, Judge Siskind says, "The jury has indeed spoken, and therefore I am ordering Mr. Littman to be remanded to the custody of the Department of Corrections, forthwith."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Donnelly says, relief across her face.

"Don't thank me just yet, Ms. Donnelly," Judge Siskind says. "Mr. Rosenthal . . . I really don't know what to do with you at this point. I don't have any authority to confine you, and so . . . notwithstanding your confession, you are free to go after this hearing, unless Ms. Donnelly's office has the FBI place you under arrest. But, if you truly want to be held accountable for this crime, I will hear from you tomorrow at 10:00 a.m., at which time I would expect you to put forward whatever evidence you have that you, and not Mr. Littman, killed Judge Nichols."

NOT EVERY JUDGE PERMITS a convicted murderer time with his family. Aaron intends to make the most of it.

He's standing in the hallway, his hands still cuffed behind his back, when he sees his family from a distance, making their way down the long corridor.

Cynthia is flanked on either side by Lindsay and Samantha, as if they're holding her upright. As they approach, Cynthia rubs her eyes, apparently deciding that she's going to try to hold it together for this farewell. His daughters, by contrast, make no effort to stem their tears.

The girls envelop him, and Aaron takes in the sensation of being sandwiched between them. As much as he wants to lose himself completely in this feeling, he can't quell the fear that he'll never again experience his children's touch.

"It's going to be okay," he says, trying to maintain his composure.

"Girls," Cynthia says, "we'll see your father very soon, but you need to say good-bye to him for now. I'd like to have a few moments alone with him, please."

There is a final squeeze by both of them, and Samantha says, "I love you, Daddy." True to form, Lindsay says only, "ILY," which Aaron has learned stands for I love you.

The girls walk away, and as Aaron watches them leave, Cynthia says, "What happened in chambers?"

Aaron hesitates for a moment, not wanting to raise Cynthia's hopes unnecessarily. But there's no way he can keep this from his wife.

"You're not going to believe this, but Sam just confessed to killing her."

"What?"

"I know. He said he killed her."

"Then why aren't you free?"

Aaron smiles. If only it were that easy, he thinks.

"It doesn't work like that," he says. "Donnelly doesn't believe him. She said he was just giving himself up to spare me. Surrogate-father stuff. The judge didn't know what the h.e.l.l to do. So she said that I'm to stay in custody and she'll hold a hearing tomorrow morning. She told Sam to bring whatever evidence he has to convince her that he's the one that should be going to jail and not me."

"Do you think it's true? Could Sam have done such a thing?"

Before Aaron can answer, two guards are upon him.

"Time's up," one of them says.

They are not gentle. One spins Aaron as if he's a piece of furniture and then the other pushes him square in the back so that he'll start to walk. He turns around for a brief moment to capture a last look at his wife, and he sees that she is sobbing.

AARON SPENDS THE NIGHT alone in a cell in the MCC. He doesn't sleep at all, which gives him plenty of hours to think through the last few months.

When Sam Rosenthal first announced he was Faith's killer, Aaron thought it was exactly what Donnelly said-a stunt, by which the old man was trying to spare Aaron. But alone, thinking it through, it makes much more sense.

Aaron has one great advantage over everyone else-the FBI, Victoria Donnelly, Rachel, and even Cynthia-because he knows that he did not kill Faith.

And if not him, then who?

Garkov or Stuart Christensen. One of them makes the most sense. They both had motive, and because they both knew about the affair, it made perfect sense for either one of them to use Faith's cell phone to throw suspicion onto Aaron.

But it also makes perfect sense that when he left Faith in Central Park, with her nomination in peril, she reached out to Sam Rosenthal to fix things. She must have misdialed, calling Aaron's office number out of habit, as she had so many times during the Matthews trial. His number differed from Rosenthal's only by the last digit being a two instead of a one. If Faith had gotten Aaron's voice mail, hung up, and redialed Rosenthal . . . everything would have played out differently. But instead she must have hit zero and asked the firm's receptionist to redirect her call to its intended recipient.

For the balance of three minutes and three seconds, Faith Nichols must have explained her dilemma to Rosenthal, seeking his help, either to control his partner or to smooth things with Senator Kheel.

The wrong number was apparently not Faith's only mistake, however. She made a much graver error in failing to realize that Rosenthal would conclude that it was easier to fix his problems by killing her than to try to salvage her nomination.

62.

Aaron's wearing the orange jumpsuit that brands him a convict and is shackled by the hands and feet as he's led back to the courtroom the following morning. The first thing he notices when the side door opens is that none other than Fitz is sitting at counsel table, with Victoria Donnelly in the seat next to him. Sam Rosenthal sits at the defense table, a vacant chair separating him and Rachel London.

The gallery is empty. Judge Siskind must have closed the courtroom, because Aaron can't imagine that anything short of a judicial order could keep Cynthia away. Not to mention the press.

At the MCC, Aaron had been cut off from all news, and he was brought into the courthouse through an internal pa.s.sageway, thereby avoiding the media. Nevertheless, he's sure that there must be an all-out frenzy in front of the building. It's not every day that one well-respected lawyer confesses to the murder of a federal judge for which another well-respected lawyer has just been found guilty.

As Aaron takes his place between Rosenthal and Rachel, Sam offers him the saddest-looking smile Aaron's ever seen. He places his hand on Aaron's shoulder, but before either of them can say anything, they are interrupted by three loud knocks on the door frame leading to the judge's chambers.

"All rise," the court officer announces.

Judge Siskind approaches the bench with a sense of purpose. A step behind her are two younger women. The black-haired woman who gave the stenographer her chair the previous day sits below the bench, in the same position she occupied during the trial. The other must be Judge Siskind's second law clerk, who to Aaron's recollection never set foot in the courtroom during the trial. She takes a seat in the unoccupied jury box, no doubt anxious to see the show that's about to begin.

"Please be seated," Judge Siskind says after she sits down. "I've closed the courtroom today because I thought it was best to avoid any unwanted commotion. However, there is a stenographer present, and it is not my intention to seal today's transcript. That means this hearing will be a matter of public record." She looks up. "Counsel, please state your appearances."

The prosecution team stands. "Good morning, Your Honor. Thomas J. Fitzpatrick, United States attorney for the Southern District of New York, for the United States." Fitz apparently sees no need to mention Donnelly because after introducing himself, he sits down.

Rosenthal stands and says, "Samuel Rosenthal of the law firm Cromwell Altman Rosenthal and White. Because I'm obviously conflicted, my partner Rachel London is with me. With the court's permission, she will represent Mr. Littman in these proceedings."

"Is it your intention to represent yourself, Mr. Rosenthal?" Judge Siskind asks.

"It is," he says calmly, and then sits down.

"Thank you," Judge Siskind says. "What I'm going to do today is hear from Mr. Rosenthal. At this point, Mr. Rosenthal, all I want you to do is set forth whatever evidence you have to support your claim that you, and not Mr. Littman, murdered Judge Faith Nichols. After you've laid that out, we can talk about how to present the evidence so that the prosecution has an opportunity to cross-examine. I realize that's a bit unorthodox but . . . well, let's be frank, this is an unusual situation."

Rosenthal bends over to the leather duffel bag beside him on the floor. Aaron didn't see it when he entered the courtroom, but he watches intently as Rosenthal pulls out a white plastic trash bag with red string ties. Then Rosenthal methodically opens the bag and withdraws its contents, holding it carefully on the ends to avoid contaminating it.

It's his cane. A different one from the cane that rests beside him now, but Aaron realizes at once that this is the weapon that Rosenthal used to kill Faith.

Rosenthal stands and holds the cane in front of him, as if it's a trophy he's just won.

"This is the murder weapon, Your Honor," he says in an expressionless voice. "It still has blood and other evidence that will prove it was used to kill Judge Nichols. And while I fully appreciate the fact that my fingerprints on it will not be persuasive, any number of people can confirm that it is my cane, and that I used it on a regular basis prior to the murder."

He gently lays the cane on defense counsel table. Apparently he sees no reason to say anything further, because he then sits.

As if a baton has been pa.s.sed, Rachel rises. "Your Honor . . . at this time, the defense requests that you grant judgment notwithstanding the verdict, pursuant to Rule Thirty-Three of the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure, and release Mr. Littman from custody."