Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,95

but he had yet to touch anything. All he seemed to want was whatever was on his phone.

“No, but maybe this transcript will,” Persia murmured, setting Ember’s file on the breakfast bar between herself and Izza. “I marked the places where, when the prosecutor CO John Cudahy finished questioning witnesses, and Hotrod’s attorney, failed to cross-examine. He didn’t object very often throughout the entire trial, but when he did, the judge over-ruled him anyway. It was as if Kroft didn’t care whether his client was convicted or not.”

“Ah, yes,” Hans muttered from the front room. “Look at this, ladies.”

Persia made room at the counter for him to stand between them.

“I knew I’d seen Lieutenant Judge before yesterday. Of course, back then, I didn’t know I’d get to serve as his counsel one day. This is a news clip taken during the early stages of his trial. Tell me what you see.” He turned the volume up and his phone on its side, so both Izza and Persia could watch.

The panoramic view of the courtroom on Naval Base San Diego, California, had been taken from the side of the courtroom. Whoever the cameraman was, he’d caught Hotrod’s brave profile when he was led in between two USN Masters-at-arms and escorted to the left of the two polished wooden tables facing the bench.

He’d worn his dark blue uniform that day and was shackled with both wrists cuffed to the reinforced nylon transport belt around his waist. Yet he carried himself with pride, his shoulders squared and his chin up. He smiled and said something to his guards when he was seated and his cuffs were chained to the table. One guard clapped a hand on Hotrod’s right shoulder, which, to Persia, looked like a show of sympathetic support.

All snapped to attention when the presiding judge, clean-cut Captain Spenser Cole, strode briskly in from a side door and took his place behind the raised bench. Polished wood panels everywhere. Witness box to the left of the judge’s seat. Court reporter at the right of the bench. Jury box to Hotrod’s far right. Two Masters-at-arms, one at each side of the bench. Five witnesses, two Marines, three sailors. Four males, one female Marine. Interestingly, no SEALs were present in the jury box.

That alone raised Persia’s hackles. “According to UCMJ rules, he should’ve been tried by a jury of his peers. I don’t see a single SEAL in that box, do you?”

Hans nodded. “That is true. Keep watching.”

A young man in dress blues hurried up the center aisle to sit with Hotrod. Had to be Lieutenant Cameron Kroft, the JAG’s defense attorney. Kroft and Hotrod conferred for a minute or two, then Judge Cole nodded for the prosecutor, USN Commander John Cudahy, to begin.

“Was this Judge’s first day in court?” Izza whispered.

“It was,” he replied quietly.

Persia watched Cudahy call his first witness, an older civilian named Steven Horowitz, who claimed to be Hotrod’s neighbor. After he was sworn in, Horowitz testified Hotrod owned property on Ocean Beach, not far from Goff’s home. He swore he’d seen Hotrod break into Wallace Goff’s residence the night of the murder. When asked to point out the murderer, Horowitz boldly stabbed a finger at Hotrod and yelled, “You should be ashamed!”

That caused a stir among the spectators, but NCIS Kroft didn’t object. Didn’t even squirm. Other than leaning into Hotrod for a word, Kroft seemed content to watch, rather than engage.

Clearly aggravated, Hotrod rolled his shoulder when the first witness left the stand without being challenged. He tipped his head into his attorney, but Kroft waved him off without looking at him. Hotrod leaned back in his chair.

When Izza peered closer to look at the small screen, Persia shook her head, annoyed at herself. “Wait. I’ll get my laptop. That way, we can all see better.”

“That’d sure help,” Izza grunted.

Persia brushed Izza’s sarcasm off, retrieved her bag, and quickly returned to the kitchen. “Gather around, folks,” she said as she set her laptop on the table, then took a seat. “If we’re going to work together, we might as well get comfortable.”

“Good idea,” Hans replied, loosening his tie before he took a position at Persia’s left. Izza sat at her right.

In minutes, Persia located the website for the San Diego paper responsible for the news clip footage. She started fast-forwarding to get back to where they’d been, until Izza’s hand settled over her wrist. “No, let’s watch from the beginning. Seeing the trial’s a lot different than just reading