The Copy (6 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JUDGE GRAYSON LEMAR GLOWERED at the two attorneys as they entered his chambers. His robe was hung and he sat behind a mammoth mahogany desk in his shirtsleeves, ruddy faced and scowling. The case already had his blood pressure elevated without this nonsense - though it wasn't the case so much as the defense attorney who was the cause. The man was unconventional in the extreme - bordering on reckless. Should that unconventionality cross the line into the negligent however, Lemar would waste no time in censuring him.

"Sit!" he barked as the pair approached his desk. While they settled in he gave them a long appraising look. The two men were a study in contrasts. McBride was petite and perfectly manicured yet seething with frenetic energy, while May was gangly and wrinkled yet somehow serenely composed. He sat to Lemar's left and casually scanned the photos lining the walls while McBride sat to the judge's right, his eyes fixed on the rival attorney with a palpable intensity.

"Now," said Lemar, leaning in towards them, "Mr. May, would you explain to me why I shouldn't throw you out of my courtroom right now?"

A smile flickered across McBride's lips and his eyes darted to the judge and then back to James Scott May, who seemed wholly unperturbed by the threat. May crossed his legs and placed both hands on the top knee. "Your honor, I am simply presenting the evidence to support my client's defense."

"Evidence you say, counselor? The evidence you just presented seems to point to the victim and defendant being one and the same."

"That is correct, Your Honor."

The color in Lemar's face deepened. "Mr. May, you are on thin ice here. I will warn you once, and once only. Do not play games in my courtroom, son."

"With all due respect, Your Honor, this is no game. My client's very life hangs in the balance. He has entrusted me to represent him to the best of my ability, and I take that duty very seriously. My job is to present the facts, and the facts alone, regardless of how palatable those may or may not be to the parties involved."

"Bullshit!" cried Alton McBride.

Lemar shot the District Attorney a withering look.

"I'm sorry, Your Honor," McBride blurted, "but those facts - and I use the term loosely - just don't add up."

"No, Mr. McBride, they do not. Speaking of which, how is it that the prosecution has not encountered this same anomaly during your investigation?"

"Wh-why would we?" he replied, a look of perplexity etched on his brow. "It's outlandish. There's no cause to ever compare prints from both victim and perpetrator-"

"Defendant," May interjected.

"Yeah, defendant," McBride said with a harried look at May, then returned his focus to the judge. "Your honor, the defense has clearly crossed the line here. Dr. Stein's testimony presents evidence that is beyond the bounds of reason. It's physically impossible, and clearly an elaborate ruse. I move that the defense is perpetrating a mockery of both your court and the justice system and, as such, should be censured for witness tampering or perjury - or both!"

James Scott May raised a finger in the air. "May I retort?" he said raising an eyebrow toward the judge.

Lemar nodded his consent.

"While I understand my colleague's frustration," he inclined his head politely toward Alton McBride, "his accusations are baseless and, quite frankly, offensive. Is Dr. Stein not the same expert witness employed by the prosecution to build their case? Has Stein Diagnostics not been used extensively by the District Attorney's office in this case, and dozens of others over the last half decade? Mr. McBride himself established Dr. Stein's bona fides in court just last week."

McBride rounded on him. "Well, you've done something!" he growled. "I should have known. Your tactics have been strange from the start. Never cross-examining a single witness? Who does that? You've been sitting there biding your time, knowing the game is rigged. This hoax has been planned all along, hasn't it?"

May simply snorted in response, and McBride proceeded to lay into him with a host of further accusations.

Judge Lemar leaned back and watched the heated exchange, heated at least on one side. The coolness and composure of James Scott May was intriguing, given the circumstances, and Lemar couldn't help but acknowledge the rising curiosity in himself of where the defense's case was going.

"Enough!" he said with a thump of his fist on the desk.

"But, Your Hon-" stammered McBride.

"No more, Counselor!" Lemar covered his face with both hands then closed his eyes and began massaging his jowls. The coolness of his callused hands served to relax him and focus his mind.

At length he opened his eyes and turned to the District Attorney. "How long does your team need to verify Dr. Stein's findings?"

"It's already underway. We'll know the truth within a half hour."

Lemar nodded slowly then turned and fixed on James Scott May. "Counselor, assure me that you have a very specific and legally sound path that you are treading with this evidence."

May nodded emphatically. "Yes, Your Honor, I do."

Lemar leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I'm going to allow you to proceed, Counselor, however, let me be very clear: if your strategy does not follow the letter of the law or if there are any courtroom theatrics, I will take the District Attorney's advice regarding censure - or worse."

May opened his mouth to speak but the judge raised a finger. "And I don't need to tell you that if the DA's team doesn't corroborate your evidence one hundred percent, you'll find yourself on the wrong side of the witness stand."

May nodded again. "Perfectly understood, Your Honor, and thank you."

"We reconvene in one hour," said Lemar, dismissing them with a wave. He lifted a newspaper from his desk, settled back into his chair with a grunt and snapped it open in front of him.

"Oh, one last thing, Your Honor," said May as he stood. He reached into the side pocket of his briefcase and produced two pieces of paper, one of which he placed squarely in the middle of the judge's desk and the other he handed to McBride. "Our supplemental witness list, as requested." He turned and headed for the door.

Judge Lemar lowered the newspaper and peered down at the crisp linen sheet, empty except for the engraved law firm letterhead and a single typed name. Lemar shot a reflexive look at the district attorney, then to James Scott May.

"Is this a joke, Counselor?"

"Absolutely not, Your Honor."

"You're building your entire case on a single remaining witness - and that witness is your client?"

"Correct, your Honor," replied May.

Lemar shook his head. "For your client's sake, I hope to God you know what you're doing."

May gave a slight bow and feigned a tipping of the hat. "Good day gentlemen. I'll see you in an hour."

With that he was gone, leaving the judge and district attorney looking at each other in disbelief, the unspoken question hanging heavily in the air between them.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

JEFF SAT AMID a vortex of paper, sick to his stomach.

In his mind he tried to play out the last eight years as if he'd lived them. How could Geoffrey have gone so far astray? Would he have done the same, had the roles been reversed? But he had, hadn't he? It was him who'd started down this path, making decisions based on his own experiences and ambitions. How could he have chosen differently? The circular logic did nothing more than give him a dull headache and a cold lump in his throat. The papers around him began to lose focus and he jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed as hard as he could stand.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Jeff's head snapped around to find Geoffrey standing in the doorway, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

"I'm going through the clinical trials."

"How the fuck did you get in here?"

Jeff squinted up at him. "Are you serious?"

"I changed all these codes last year."

Jeff stared at him blank-faced, a storm of emotion roiling just below the surface. Would he really have turned out this way?

"Whatever!" snapped Geoffrey, waving a hand in the air. "Answer the damn question."

"Which question? What the fuck I'm doing or how the fuck I got in here?"

Geoffrey took a reflexive step toward him. A brutal flash of anger washed over his features for a second, then he went completely still and stood looking down at Jeff, seemingly inanimate save for the steady tick of his jaw muscle.

Jeff looked right back at him wondering if he had even an inkling of what was going on behind those eyes. Again he wondered if this was the man he would have become had the roles been reversed.

Geoffrey finally broke the silence. "Why are you digging through my papers?" His voice was cold and flat.

"I was bored. You left me here all night, remember? And, quite frankly, I'm glad you did." He reached for a stapled sheaf of papers and shook them in the air. "Clinical trial number six, forty percent miscarriage rate in the test group."

"That was early on," snapped Geoffrey.

Jeff tossed the sheaf at Geoffrey's feet and hefted another. "Number nine, thirty seven percent miscarriage."

Tossing it at Geoffrey, he scooped up another and flipped through the first few pages.

"Number twelve, three deaths during delivery," he said, flapping the sheaf in the air. "How do you explain that?"

"They're experiments, Jeff! That's why we test. To work out the kinks."

"Kinks? Three mothers dead, Geoffrey. You call that a kink?"

"Yes I do. And so did you before."

"Has the FDA seen any of these results?"

"Of course not."

Jeff swung his arms across the piles, scattering sheafs of paper in all directions. "Forty six clinical trials and only one without complications? Only one the world will ever see? That's not science, Geoffrey!"

"Oh please, Jeff! Don't be so fucking obtuse - it really doesn't suit you. You know perfectly well how this game is played."

Jeff buried his face in his hands, elbows on knees, and began a low keening moan. Watching him sitting there, cross-legged on the floor amid a storm of papers, Geoffrey was reminded of himself as a child. He'd never been a good loser, and board games with his older siblings had predictably ended in misery for all involved. He took three careful steps towards Jeff.

"Look, you're not well," he said, gently laying a hand on Jeff's shoulder, "The anomaly is doing something to you. I'm concerned it's degrading your cognitive functions. We need to run some tests."

"I'm not getting back in the scanner!" Jeff yelled, flinching away from his touch. "I'm fine!"

"Are you, Jeff? Are you really? Look around you. You're sitting on the floor throwing things about like a child having a tantrum. And screaming at me as if I'm the enemy."

Jeff looked up at him, his eyes red. "I don't know who you are."

"Yes you do," Geoffrey said gently. "I'm you." He set his features into the best paternal look he could muster. "I care about you; Just as I care about myself; Because we're one and the same." Sweeping aside a stack of paper with his foot, he sat down cross-legged facing Jeff. "Look, I'm sorry about last night. I was being spiteful. I was jealous of you and Camilla; of you having with her what I used to have - before the miscarriage, before it all went to shit. But I realized that I meant what I said the day we first met. That we each have our roles to play, for the good of the whole. Yours is what it is, as is mine. And I'm okay with that now."

Jeff was looking at him with a doubtful expression, his face flushed and eyebrows knotted.

"And Camilla sensed something last night. Like she knew I was playing the wrong role. We slept in the same bed, but that was all."

Jeff blinked. "Really?"

"Yes," Geoffrey said, reaching out and taking him by the shoulders. "Look, we need each other. And I need you to be thinking clearly. I want you to go home. Spend the day with the family. Decompress a little. Meet me back here in the morning, and we'll run those tests and get this all squared away. Okay?"

Jeff looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. "Okay."

"Go," he said, giving Jeff a playful punch on the arm, "Get out of here."

"Okay," Jeff repeated. With a deep breath he heaved himself up and trod heavily towards the door. Halfway there he turned back with a questioning look.

Geoffrey gave him an affectionate smile. "Go on. Have fun. I'll see you bright and fresh at eight tomorrow."

Jeff nodded twice before turning and continuing to the door.

Geoffrey watched him go, steadfastly holding the smile until the moment the door clicked shut.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"MR. BARTELL, YOU HEARD the testimony of Dr. Joshua Stein prior to the lunch break, did you not?"

"Yes I did."

"And do you recall the good doctor's testimony in regards to the DNA results, specifically as to the victim sharing your DNA?"

"I do."

"And can you offer an explanation as to the unusual nature of said testimony?"

"Yes I can."

James Scott May nodded at his client with a genial smile. "Please do, sir."

"It was me," Geoffrey Bartell said matter-of-factly. "I killed myself."

The courtroom erupted. Alton McBride jerked to his feet as if propelled by the force of the outburst in the gallery behind him. "Objection, Your Honor!"

Judge Lemar rapped his gavel violently, but was unable to quell the uproar. He grimaced and increased the gaveling, smashing the sounding block furiously, over and over, until it spun out from under the gavel's assault, dropping from the high bench and striking the polished concrete floor with a loud crack. The crowd fell into a breathless hush as every eye watched the wooden disc bounce and clack its way across the courtroom, narrowly missing the defense attorney's knees, before settling into an arcing roll that ended against the rail of the jurors' box. The room was dead silent as the disc finally extinguished itself in a quivering rattle.

The judge looked out at the crowd with a fierce intensity. His cheeks were blotched with a red freckled flush and in his right hand he still held the gavel, white-knuckled and raised in the air, as if in challenge to anyone who might presume to further speak out of turn in his courtroom.

"Sit down, counselor," he said, flashing a sharp look at the prosecutor before settling his formidable gaze upon the gallery. He scanned every row, left to right, front to back, making eye contact with each and every person seated or standing. A brittle silence filled the chamber, save for the wheezing hiss of forced air pushing through the ancient brass floor vents.

"Bailiff," he said without breaking eye contact, "you will take into custody for contempt any person uttering so much as one word behind the bar."

The aged bailiff nodded somberly, accepting with sobriety the burden for law and order now placed upon his sloped shoulders.

"Furthermore, any outbursts from the gallery, of any nature, will result in this courtroom being cleared and the remainder of the trial being conducted behind closed doors." He carefully set the gavel down and leaned back in his chair.

"Please continue, Mr. May."

"Thank you, Your Honor," May said with a gracious nod. He quickly retrieved the sounding block from the floor in front of the jurors' box and, with averted eyes, reached up and placed it on the judge's bench. Clearing his throat he returned his attention back to his client, upon whose face resided a distinct look of suppressed mirth.

"Now, Mr. Bartell, when you say that you 'killed yourself', what exactly do you mean?"

"I mean that the body I shot was me, or rather a part of me. Technically I didn't kill myself in entirety, as here I sit, but rather I removed a part of myself. Just as one might remove a wart or a gangrenous leg, so did I amputate a part of myself that night; the difference of course being that in my case the appendage was a wholly formed second body."

James Scott May scratched his head. "It sounds almost as if you're referring to a clone."

"That is correct."

"Mr. Bartell, as you can surely imagine, your testimony presents at first as rather unbelievable, frankly bordering on the impossible. If you would indulge us, and should it please the court, would you please take us through the detailed events of how this peculiar scenario came to be; from the beginning, please."

May looked to the judge for approval and, receiving such, swept a hand towards Geoffrey Bartell as if to say 'you have the floor'.

Bartell straightened in his chair, cleared his throat, and leaned in to the microphone to begin his tale.

"It began twelve years ago. My company, GenLabs, was at the forefront of the biotech research movement, specifically in the areas of stem cell research and cloning. A breakthrough was made at the time which was, quite literally, a quantum leap in the field of reproductive cloning. This breakthrough, which we colloquially termed Neohypermitogenesis, provided a pathway to-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bartell," May interjected, "but I'm afraid you're losing me. Would you be so kind as to keep your testimony to lay terms."

"Of course. I'm sorry," Bartell replied with a bashful smile. "Neohypermitogenesis is a made up word meaning simply the accelerated growth of new cells. Traditionally, in reproductive cloning, one inserts the DNA of an animal into an unfertilized egg of the same species and, after incubating it in the lab - that is inducing fertilization and igniting cell growth - then implants that now fertilized egg into the uterus of a female. Our new process sped up that incubation process by a factor of forty, allowing new cell growth at a rate unattainable in the womb."

May, who had been leaning against the defense table, stood upright and pursed his lips. "Are you saying that you were able to grow a cloned fertilized egg at forty times the speed of nature?"

"Cloned or organically fertilized, yes. Cellular division, or mitosis, is the natural growth process of any life form."

"But," stated May holding one finger in the air, "one would still require a womb for such a task, would one not?"

"Of course," replied Bartell. His earlier bashful smile had now been replaced by one bordering on the smug. "However the mechanics of the womb, while complex and certainly intricate, are rather, well," - he waved a hand in the air as if searching for the right word - "mechanical. After all, cell growth requires set factors - amino acids, nutrients, vitamins, minerals and the like - which are well known to science. Within two years we had our first prototype of an artificial womb. We produced the first lab created baby white mouse in 15 hours. A baby guinea pig in a day and a half. After months of extensive testing and refinement we took the leap, scheduling a press gala to unveil our technology to the world."

Geoffrey leaned away from the microphone in a seemingly involuntary movement. A doleful sigh escaped his lips.

"That was my first mistake," he said quietly, his eyes losing focus as the past swept him into its muddied stream.