Balance of Power

    Briskly entering the room, the President had seemed a magnetic figure, regarding its occupants with an air of detachment which, Sarah sensed, concealed his distaste at being there and his antagonism toward those representing Lexington and the SSA. But, given his own stake in the proceeding, Sarah was certain the President was intimately familiar with the issues and thoroughly prepared for Nolan's attack. Meeting him, Sarah felt a current of energy and hyperalertness. He paused, looking directly into her eyes as though to convey a sense of complicity and warmth complemented by the lilting quiet of his voice. "I watched you in the Tierney case," he said with a smile. "If you weren't already taken, my friend Professor Gold would be holding your coat. As it is, I suppose I'll have to reserve you for impeachment."

    The remark—with its wry acknowledgment of how hell-bent the right was to be rid of him—made Sarah's nervousness at meeting him dissipate. Then she felt a second, more embarrassing, reaction: that the always-present possibility of her attraction to a man had focused—for a brief, intense moment—on Kerry Kilcannon. Covering this thought with a smile of her own, she answered, "Thank you, Mr. President. If I have any pointers, I'll pass them on through your interim counsel."

    But—at least in the initial stages—it was clear that Kerry Kilcannon needed no coaching. Ignoring the camera, he kept his responses calm and concise while Nolan led him into the legal and psychological minefield of the events leading to the murders.

    "You were aware, were you not, that Joan Bowden was relying on you for advice on how to deal with her husband's abuse?"

    Kilcannon nodded. "Acutely aware."

    "And did you advise her to leave the marriage?"

    "Yes."

    Pausing, Nolan fixed the President with a contemplative gaze. "As a former domestic violence prosecutor, would you agree that the point at which a battered spouse breaks off her relationship marks the moment at which her life is in the greatest danger?"

    Kilcannon changed expression, a slight narrowing of the eyes. "Not necessarily, Mr. Nolan. The point of greatest danger could be when the abuser beats her to death before she decides to leave."

    The response made Nolan hesitate. "Nonetheless," he persisted, "you were aware from your own experience that batterers often react to a loss of control by escalating the violence from battery to murder."

    " 'Often'? I don't know that I'd agree. But it can happen that way."

    Nolan leaned slightly forward. "In fact, didn't your first domestic violence prosecution end in the murder of the victim by her estranged husband?"

    Kilcannon folded his hands. "I believe that's a matter of public record."

    "Did you happen to mention that to Joan?"

    The President hesitated. Softly, he answered, "I don't believe I did."

    "Because you were afraid she wouldn't leave?"

    Betraying no anger or antagonism, the President seemed to consider this. "Her husband had been beating her for years, and it was affecting her six-year-old daughter. The night before she left, Bowden held a gun to her head and threatened to kill her. I didn't think she needed to be told she was at risk, either way. She was as in touch with that fact as she was with the gun at her temple. What Joan—and Marie—needed was to be free from Bowden before it was too late."

    "But you knew from hard experience that, by leaving, she might enrage John Bowden enough to kill her."

    "I considered that, yes."

    "But you didn't see fit to warn her."

    Next to Sarah, Lenihan whispered, "This is unbelievable."

    "Try odious," she whispered back. She had never despised John Nolan more, both for the nature of his questions and the utter lack of deference with which he posed them.

    But Kilcannon gave no sign of noticing. In an even tone, he answered, "Joan and Marie were living under monstrous conditions. I didn't 'see fit' to frighten her into staying."

    Nolan gave him a quizzical look. "So you decided to assume the risk for her?"

    With a long, deliberate silence, Kilcannon studied him. Softly, he answered, "I didn't think there was any risk to me, Mr. Nolan. If there were, and Marie and Joanie would have been safer, I'd gladly have assumed it. Or have I misconceived your question?"

    If anything, Sarah thought, the quiet of Kilcannon's voice enhanced the tension in the room. The others around the table seemed as rapt as she.

    "Isn't it true, Mr. President, that Bowden's threats against his wife escalated after she went to the police—pursuant to your encouragement?"

    "Yes. Predictably. I couldn't stop that."

    "So what did you do?"