Play Dead

Judge Gordon finally says, “It is the decision of this court to order the U.S. Marshals Service to turn over any and all documents relating to any period of time when the woman known in this trial as Stacy Harriman was under the control of the U.S. Marshals Service in the witness protection program. Because of the urgency created by this ongoing trial, I will suspend my order for forty-eight hours to allow time for appeal.”

It’s a victory for our side, and a surprising one at that. The downside is what Judge Gordon has acknowledged, which is the right of the Marshals Service to appeal up the line, all the way to the Supreme Court. It can be time consuming and could easily exceed the length of the trial.

Massengale’s only response to the ruling is, “May I have a moment, Your Honor?”

Judge Gordon grants her the moment, and Massengale and her group huddle up and talk among themselves. After perhaps five minutes, she turns and addresses the judge.

“Your Honor, in the interests of justice, and with the promise of the court to keep the entire matter under seal, I am declaring to the court that the woman known in this trial as Stacy Harriman was never under the control of the U.S. Marshals Service, in the witness protection program. Therefore, the documents you are requesting do not exist. We will not be appealing your ruling.”

It’s not a bombshell, but close, and it certainly defines the term “hollow victory.” We’ve prevailed in our efforts to force them to reveal what they have on Stacy, only to find out that they have nothing.

“What are we going to do now?” Richard whispers.

“We’re going to find out who Stacy really was, and why she went to such lengths to hide it.”

* * * * *

KAREN EVANS AND Willie Miller are waiting for us in the hallway outside the courtroom.

Karen has been going crazy at not having been allowed inside during the hearing, and her first question is, “Did we win?”

I nod without enthusiasm. “We won…”

Before I can get the rest of the story out, Willie interrupts. “See? I told you,” he says to Karen. “My man don’t lose.”

“Unfortunately, there’s more to the story,” I say. I don’t want to talk about it in this public hallway, so I tell Karen she should come back to the office and I’ll fill her in. Willie will drive her because when he is protecting someone, he doesn’t leave them for a minute. And he certainly wouldn’t trust Kevin and me, since for some reason he doesn’t regard us as physically intimidating.

We all meet back at the office, and I take a few minutes to bring Karen up to date on what took place. When I tell her that the Marshals Service denied that Stacy was under their control, she says, “Maybe they’re lying.”

I shake my head. “No, lying to the court is a felony; there’s no way their lawyer would risk that. Besides, they had much more they could do legally to fight the judge’s order. There would have been no reason to lie now.”

“So Stacy was really Stacy?” she asks.

“No. That’s no longer possible.”

“So is this terrible news?”

I shake my head. “Disappointing but not terrible. We can still go to the jury with what we know about her faked background. It’s very obvious she was hiding from something, which certainly helps our case.”

What I’m saying is technically the truth, but the reality is that the ruling today is very disappointing. If Stacy had been in WITSEC, it would have meant that the U.S. government was essentially testifying for us, saying that dangerous killers were after Stacy Harriman and that she needed protection from them.

Willie says, “Can’t you dig up her body and get some of that DNA stuff?”

“It wouldn’t help,” I say. “We already have her DNA; it’s how her body was identified. But there aren’t national DNA registries; it’s not like she would have had her DNA on file before this.”

“So it’s not like fingerprints?” he asks.

Sometimes I’m so slow to see things right in front of my face that it frightens me. “Willie, you’re a genius.”

“You got that right,” Willie says, though he can’t have any idea what I’m talking about.

“Of course,” Kevin says, realizing where I’m going. “Fingerprints.”

I ask Karen, “Is there anything that Stacy touched, maybe that she handled a lot, that you’d still have?”

“You mean fingerprints can last that long?” she asks.

“Depending on the circumstances, absolutely.”

Karen starts thinking out loud. “The house was sold… maybe some things in the basement, but I don’t know what the new owners have done… the cabin! We were up there all the time!”

“Where is it?”

“Up near Monticello. I didn’t want to sell it; I always had this picture of Richard getting out and going up there, and I wanted to keep something that was his.”

“So it’s been empty all this time?”

She nods. “There’s a guy who maintains the outside, but he doesn’t have a key. And I haven’t been able to get myself to go there without Richard.”