Balance of Power

    Seated to her right was Mary Costello, looking overwhelmed and yet, Lara suspected, feeling resentful at her renewed dependence on her older sister. To her left sat Henry Serrano's widow, Felice. Behind them were Felice's son and daughters, the parents of Laura Blanchard, and Kara Johnson—the slight young woman who, by now, would have been the wife of David Walsh. The room was bright; angled toward them were the cameras which broadcast Lara's testimony on CNN, MSNBC and Fox. From a raised platform, seventeen senators peered down at them, aides hovering at their shoulders. As Chairman, Chad Palmer sat in the middle, with eight Republican senators to his right, eight Democrats to his left. Though she was tense, to Lara nothing was unfamiliar—not the hearings, any number of which she had covered for the New York Times; nor the necessity of speaking live and under pressure, a staple of her life in television news. The only new element was the outrage she felt.

    For his part, Senator Palmer looked as though he wished to be elsewhere. He listened to her statement with grave courtesy, deferring to the senior Democrat, Frank Ayala of New Mexico. Senator Ayala's questions— pre-scripted with the White House—were designed to elicit sympathy without contention. Only when Senator Paul Harshman commenced asking questions did the atmosphere change.

    Even now, Lara thought, it was difficult for Harshman to conceal how deeply he despised both Kilcannons. For the hard right wing, which Harshman embodied, they were a nontraditional marriage in a permissive society that had discarded the roles, and the rules, which had once made life in America so decent and predictable. After a perfunctory expression of sympathy, Harshman said, "As I recall, Mrs. Kilcannon, you're not a lawyer. So you're not claiming firsthand knowledge of the many excesses which the Civil Justice Reform Act seeks to correct."

    Taking her time, Lara fixed Harshman's gaunt face and bald pate with a gaze as level as she forced her voice to be. "No, Senator. The 'excess' of which I have firsthand knowledge is this new language in the bill, which I understand you support, the effect of which is to destroy— retroactively—the right of those whose loved ones have been killed by guns to their day in court, a jury of their peers, and whatever protections state law now affords them . . ."

    Harshman leaned forward. In a condescending tone, he interrupted, "As an attorney and a legislator, I cannot agree with your interpretation of this law . . ."

    "Surely," Lara cut in, "you're not suggesting to Mrs. Serrano that your 'reform' doesn't eradicate her right to seek recovery from Lexington Arms. You're not saying that, are you, Senator Harshman? Unless you are, please let me finish . . ."

* * *

    Watching CNN in his office, Fasano said to Gage, "I told Paul to let her go."

    "That's the problem," Gage answered sardonically, "with having deeply held beliefs. But the real problem's Palmer."

    Fasano shook his head. "What could he do? Stiff the First Lady of the United States? Or cross-examine her? We all know that the Kilcannons must be mixed up in Mary Costello's lawsuit. But all of us—even Paul, I hope—know that there'll be a better time and place to raise that."

    Felice Serrano, Lara Costello continued, has a twelve-year-old son, two daughters aged seven and four, and the modest insurance policy which was all that she and her late husband could afford.

    The grief they feel at Henry Serrano's death is terrible enough. But the loss of a husband and father blights their future in yet another respect—their financial security died with him. Now, Senator, you propose legislation which would kill their sole remaining hope of replacing the only thing which can be replaced:

enough money to keep their home and secure the college education Henry Serrano never had, but was determined to provide them . . .

    Some would say, Senator Harshman interjected, that John Bowden killed it when he killed their father.