Edge of Reason Ch. 02

"Is this her?" she asked, belying a faint Eastern European accent intermingled with a trace of Russian.

"She's the one," Tom affirmed. The woman had an unnerving air to her. She was tall and thin, to the point of anorexic. Her lips were thin and villainous, more so when they curled into a twisted smile.

"Yes, I see what you meant earlier, Tom," she said. "This one looks like she has a point to prove."

"Heather, this is-," Tom began, only to be cut off by a wave of her hand.

"Let me ask her first," she said. "Have you heard of me, Heather Franklin?"

"I don't believe I have."

"You haven't, trust me. It's a job requirement."

"As I was saying, this is an old friend of mine, Tatiana Dezerian, from Keller, Stanton and Young."

"The global think-tank in DC?" Heather asked, her eyes widening.

"The very same. Tatiana is a part of their image consulting division. Her speciality is public perception," Tom said. "I had my private jet pick her up from Ukraine, where she was stoking some rather sizeable fires."

Heather looked at her, trying to figure out what she was all about.

"Some greedy Russians wanted me to destabilise the government by turning public mood against the incumbent. I would say I've been quite successful given what's happened to Crimea."

"Wait, so all those riots are your doing?"

"In a way, yes. I look for strategic points of impact. Media channels that can influence more people, events that can stir greater emotions. For a price, I can make the public think a sinner is a saint, or vice versa, depending on what I'm paid for."

"She's worked behind the scenes with both of Obama's campaigns. You see, Heather, she is the best spin doctor in the country."

"You flatter me good sir," she laughed. "Let me put it this way – what actually happens is an event. No one really cares about an event. What they care about is a story, how the event is told. My job is to tell them the best story to achieve my ends."

"You didn't hear it from me, Heather," Tom said discreetly. "But she has built and destroyed countless political careers depending on who paid her more."

"Oh please," she said, rolling her eyes. "Politicians are merely pieces on my board. They keep changing, falling off the map when they have outlived their use. The general public is what remains constant. Public perception and public opinion today works the same way it always did. You see, Heather, public perception is like clay. It needs to be shaped and moulded. There is an infinite potential for anger out there within the everyday citizen. All you need to do is harness it."

"Enough posturing. Do we have a plan?" Heather asked.

"I like her. She has sass," Tatiana said. "I like them feisty."

"Her team is at the Lowell, preparing a documentary of sorts. They have dug up some pictures of Natasha going back to her more prosperous days. We'll review it once it's done and it can run with the late night news."

"Pick CNN, the others will jump in once they see the bait," she went on. "We also want Stephen Colbert to satirise the system that lets child killers walk free. I'll make sure it's their next episode. There should be a collage of photos starting from Cody and ending at his mother being cuffed as part of a featurette. You still have your contact at the Times?"

"I'll give Stanley a ring," Tom said. "I can also put it on the Post and the Ledger."

"Excellent," she said, clapping her hands. "In the meantime, I'll put the word out to my team to contact our pet bloggers. They'll set the social media on fire with this. I'll also get some prominent tweeters to get our ball rolling."

"You want to do all of that tomorrow?" Heather asked, flabbergasted.

"The Germans called it blitzkrieg, where you attack with everything at once. The prosecution won't know what hit them. By the time they get their bearings straight, Natasha Belvedere will be the topic of discussion in households, pubs and parties. Anything they say after that will be 'typical government bullshit'. It helps when you have the public so cynical of them already."

"Okay, I see," said Heather. "What about the press conference?"

"At our environment, the Lowell Hotel. We'll have a background banner set up for her and also make sure some of the journalists ask questions we will have prepared beforehand. I'll probably need to sit down with Mrs Belvedere sometime tomorrow."

"Isn't this all too sudden?"

"You need a strong impact at the start. Jolt the public out of their armchairs and onto the street where they can be part of your fight."

Heather looked at this odd woman for a long while before turning her head back to her boss. He shrugged and smiled.

"Tatiana charges an arm and a leg, but she's sure as hell worth it."

"Speaking of which," began Tatiana, "I will charge the usual fee for my services routed to my usual bank account in the Cayman Islands. I hope you remember which one."

"I'll remember it soon enough."

"Heather, there is something else I would like to talk to you about. Tom tells me you are in possession of a certain tape. Is that true?"

"Yes," Heather affirmed shortly, trying not to think of the contents.

"There is something you might want to consider," Tatiana said, shooting a sideways glance at Tom. "What if that tape were to be leaked onto the net? It would certainly act as a catalyst for getting the public fury where we want it. There's nothing quite like seeing the crime happen to elicit maximum sympathy for Natasha."

"You want to exploit a dead child's last moments for publicity?" Heather yelled out reflexively.

"Heather," Tom interjected. "I know how you feel about it. All I'm asking is, think over it. Every little bit of help we can get is worth it."

"Forget it," said Heather, stomping her foot. "I am not doing that. If that video goes viral, Natasha will have to see it. There is no way I will let that happen."

"In that case, go get some sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow."

Tom and Tatiana watched the receding form of Heather until she turned the corner towards the elevators.

"I thought you said she was cold and willing to do what it takes."

"And I used to be right," Tom chuckled.

* *

"Your Honour," said Seth. "The prosecution moves for a change of venue. The newspaper and media events of the morning have tainted the jury pool to such an extent that we can no longer have a fair trial."

"Funny, that's not the impression I got when you were running your mouth off to the media," said Heather with a broad smile. "Your Honour, the news has spread everywhere. There is no alternate venue which the prosecution will like, unless of course you want a jury of penguins."

"Shut up, both of you," Giles barked. "I gave an express directive not to turn this into a media frenzy and you have done just that. Mr Watkins, your tirade about Ms Franklin was inexcusable. You are a disgrace to the state."

He turned his angry gaze to Heather.

"And you. I can barely turn on the TV without seeing some feature about your client and what she has been through. You have turned her life into a public spectacle."

He looked down into his papers for a minute and began.

"I know if I impose a gag order, the two of you will immediately start using social media to greater effect. So all I'll say is this – if I see even one of you trying to colour public opinion, you will be that much closer to a contempt of court verdict. Now go and get ready. The first witness takes the stand in an hour."

His keen eyes watched the two lawyers walk out the door and he sighed aloud. From the second he picked up the paper in the morning, he knew he was in the middle of one of the greatest media events of all time.

* *

The media presence in the room had quadrupled. Every square inch of gallery space was consumed by cameras vying for position to get a clearer view of the drama unfolding in front of them. Veteran journalists waited. The air was pregnant with expectation when a construction worker took the stand.

"Mr Tucker, could you please describe where you were on Thursday, 20th February in the morning?"

"I was at my construction site like always."

"Did you see the defendant?" Seth asked, gesturing in Natasha's direction.

"Yes, I did. She asked me where to find Harmon's – a local bar."

"What did she do after that?"

"She thanked me and waited under the awning around the corner. After twenty minutes or so, a man came from the opposite side of the road. She walked up to him, took out a gun and shot him in the head. Then she dropped the gun and slowly walked away."

"Did she seem erratic? Unstable?"

"Objection. The witness is not qualified to give a medical opinion," Heather said loudly.

"All I'm asking for is a lay opinion, your Honour."

"Objection overruled. You may proceed."

"No. Actually she was rather calm and collected. I would never have guessed what she was going to do next."

"Nothing further," said Seth. Heather waited until he was seated. All the cameras in the gallery panned to her figure as she rose.

"She shot this man. You saw the entire thing. Your eyes were riveted to her all the way from her talking to you to her shooting Mr Whittaker. Am I right?"

"I was on my break," he shrugged. "Not much else to do."

"I see. You said that she seemed calm and collected during the whole scene. Could you elaborate on that?"

"She seemed lucid and had clarity of thought," Mr Tucker said. "In fact, I didn't see any evidence of diminished capacity."

Tom looked down and laughed heartily to himself. Heather had done it again. She took her time walking from the witness stand to the jury and back again, calmness visible in her stride. The witness began to feel uneasy by the time she spoke again.

"Diminished capacity," said Heather slowly, emphasizing each syllable. "That's quite the legal term. For a layman's opinion, you certainly dropped that easily. Did someone tell you to specifically highlight this perceived lack of diminished capacity?"

"I don't know what... you're talking about," he blurted out.

"Permission to treat the witness as hostile." Giles nodded in assent and Heather took the gloves off.

"Let me rephrase the question – did the prosecution ask you to make special mention of her lack of diminished capacity?"

"Objection, your Honour," yelled Seth.

"It goes to the credibility of the witness."

"Overruled," said Giles. "Go ahead with your cross, Ms Franklin."

"Now, Mr Tucker, since you are a layman who only knows about diminished capacity, allow me to introduce you to another legal term – perjury. It carries a prison sentence. Are you sure Mr Watkins didn't tell you to mention this term?"

Mr Tucker and the entire prosecution lost all the colour on their faces in unison. The poor witness trembled and looked around helplessly.

"Let me ask you another question then, this one is simpler," Heather said. "Do you have two charges of felony drug possession in the past year?"

"Objection. The witness' priors are not relevant here."

"It is relevant, your Honour," said Heather. "Just give me a minute."

Giles looked around, deep in thought before speaking up. "I don't know where you're going with this, Heather, but tread carefully."

"Did the DA's office agree to drop those charges in exchange for your testimony here?"

The poor man spluttered haplessly for a few moments. Heather's sharp eyes spotted his exposed jugular, pulsing in the open. She went in for the kill. She held the railing of the witness and leaned over the cowering figure within.

"Answer my question, Mr Tucker. Did the DA's office agree to drop the two charges of felony drug possession in exchange for a favourable testimony here?"

"Yes," he squeaked into the microphone.

Heather turned to face the jury, all her viciousness from earlier replaced by a gentle smile.

"That sounds like an awfully good incentive to lie."

"Objection," hollered Seth, knowing fully well the damage that had been inflicted.

* *

"Ms Franklin, Mr Markham, can we have a comment?"

"Not at the moment, but soon enough, Judy. We plan to hold a press conference with Natasha sometime over the next few days."

He could almost see the tabloid hack's eyes widen and mouth water at the prospect. Tom winked and dove through the crowd into the car. Heather sat beside him, taking out a Marlboro from her pocket.

"Want one?" she offered. Tom waved it off politely. The driver made his way away from the milling crowd of reporters.

"You seemed different today, closer to your usual self," he remarked, leaning back and watching her blow ringlets of smoke.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to go over the psychologist's testimony and make sure it sounds credible," Heather said, briefly dropping her cigarette hand. "When do we do that?"

"As soon as possible, actually. We want to get that out of the way at the earliest so we can go back to our real agenda – pulling on the jury's heartstrings," he said. "I've added a Dr Kravitz to the witness list. He should do fine."

"What about him?"

"He's a certified psycho-analyst and a long serving faculty member at Princeton University. In short, he has the credentials."

"But we both know it won't help, right?" Heather remarked, making the burning end of her cigarette glow as she spoke. "I don't think the jury will like us pushing such an obvious lie onto them."

"Then we won't push," said Tom simply. "His testimony will be done and dusted in minutes. It's a liability for us, but a necessary one."

"You can expect Seth to come after him all guns blazing," she said. "He is going to rip him apart before putting up his own witness to refute his testimony."

"We'll have to take that risk," he said heavily. "I'll give you a white-paper research piece when we get back to the firm. It's a study at Princeton on delayed action insanity. Basically, it says how our brains can react to devastating news later because some random part of it shuts down in the immediate aftermath."

"Some random part?"

"Yeah, well the study is basically insurance I came up with years ago in case we had a high-profile case that needed it. It looks official and has all the right stamps of approval and peer reviews, but it's about as true as Star Wars."

She looked at him with a lop-sided smile. Tom stretched his arms in the spacious limo and looked back nonchalantly.

"Hey, I gave Princeton three million dollars in endowments last year alone. The least I can expect is one helpful study. Memorise it, will you?"

"You got it," said Heather. They sat in silence for a few minutes, interrupted only by the flick of Heather lighting another cigarette.

"You seem awfully morose for someone who's had a good day in court," Tom asked.

Heather sighed and said. "It's quite silly, really. It's as you said, everything is so different now. I'm fighting for someone I can root for and yet, I'm going back to the same old dirty methods I resort to for the crooks."

"There are no heroes among lawyers, Heather. Only those who win."

"Don't you think what you did for David back in the day was heroic?"

"Perhaps," Tom shrugged. "But for every David, there are thousands of others who are the victims of corporate and governmental inhumanity. I gave it everything I had and saved one. Heather, are you really naïve enough to believe it made a difference?"

"David's wife and children would certainly think so."

Tom smiled weakly. Heather reached over and put her non-smoking arm on his jaded shoulder to pat it comfortingly.

"Where's Natasha?"

"I told her to take the backdoor in disguise where I had a car and driver waiting. She went straight to the Lowell. Tatiana would like to get started on prepping her for the press conference."

"Schedule it for the day after both the psychologist testimonies are done. We need to bring the people's focus back to what's important. How is she holding up?"

"As well as can be expected, I suppose."

"After you've read the study, go to the Lowell, pick her up and head straight back to the courthouse. I'll try to join you if I wind up my work by then."

"What's happening at the courthouse tonight?" Heather asked, furrowing her brow.

"Something the two of you are going to want to be a part of."

* *

Natasha held on tightly to Heather's hand, watching the scene in front of her with childlike wonder. Her eyes were arrested by the innumerable specks of light strewn across the road. Each of them represented a New Yorker with a candle in hand. The crowd cut a cross-section across society. Men, women, children – irrespective of race, religion and strata stood together in a show of luminescent solidarity.

Tom handed both of them a plastic holder with a candle mounted on top and let Heather do the needful and light all three of them with her lighter. All eyes in close proximity were focused on the grieving mother amidst them. Natasha took a few unsteady steps forward in slow unison with the rest of the vigil. Her hands trembled to the point where she almost dropped the candle but Heather helped steady her.

"Heather, don't let go," she whimpered and her lawyer nodded and held her arm tightly.

"We'll do this slowly. One step at a time."

The two of them walked. Once in a while, they caught a kindly gaze from a fellow walker. Natasha had a glassy look in her eyes, smiling weakly at the road ahead. Every step was slow and measured, hiding the monumental effort behind it. It took a small eternity until they reached the front of the courthouse. A small shrine had been erected in front of the steps. It had a large picture of Cody prominently displayed and hundreds of candles, bouquets and cards placed around. The adjoining space had been used to erect two empty cardboard signs where the occasional soul paused to write a message in memory of Cody.

Natasha stopped in front of the crude erection, her lips quivering with a nameless emotion. Slowly, she sank to her knees and put her candle down right in front of the picture. All eyes were fixed onto her now, carefully watching her every move.

In front of a few thousand people, Natasha Belvedere did something she had never dreamt herself capable of.

She threw her arms around her baby's picture in a fierce hug and cried powerfully enough to force tears out of the coldest hearts around her.

All except Heather Franklin who still chose to hide them.

* *

"What did Tatiana tell you?"

"She gave me a few hints," squeezed out Natasha between kisses. "I'm going to sit down with her again to rehearse a few finer points of the press conference."

She detached her lips long enough to yank her lawyer's custom made Fioravanti suit right off her body and fling it onto the floor. Her hands wrapped around the mass of reddish brown hair and she kissed hungrily, her tongue assaulting its counterpart with frantic energy.

Heather grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down onto her couch. She took a step back to admire the inviting naked form before her before rushing her lips onto her lover's. They kissed with torrid passion. She hurriedly undid her trousers and threw them next to her pile of discarded clothing.

"I found something in your cupboard recently," Natasha said. "Something I thought we could make use of."

Heather sank into the couch and cricked her neck. She lit up a Marlboro by the time Natasha returned, wearing a thin strap-on harness with a bulbous violet dildo affixed to the front. She had a devilish look on her face.

"What's gotten into you today?" Heather asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

"Nothing, except a wild need to fuck you raw with this," Natasha replied, patting the protruding plastic. She pranced forward and grasped Heather, forcing her in for a kiss but she pushed her away.