Act of God by Susan R. Sloan Page B

has to protect the country,” he told her with a gentle smile because he didn’t really want to be away from her so
     much. “And for the next two years anyway, that means me.”
    Corey continued blissfully on, seeing Elise for a few precious hours at night, occasionally enjoying the luxury of an uninterrupted
     weekend, and even making time to participate in a number of activities involving his new church, until August when it was
     time for him to go back on patrol.
    His only contact with his bride during the next two and a half months was a weekly “family-gram,” containing a maximum of
     fifty words—including salutation and signature—which was routinely read by his commanding officer, and to which he could not
     reply. It was a most unsatisfactory form of communication, but given the highly sensitive and secret nature of his work, it
     was all the Navy would allow.
    He spent every wakeful minute of the tour dreaming of her, planning their future, reliving their nights and weekends together
     in such intimate detail that his reaction made him blush, and sent him searching for a square foot of privacy. He returned
     to shore at the end of October, eager to resume his storybook marriage with his very own princess.
    On a Saturday afternoon in the middle of March, there was a knock on the front door of the house on West Dravus.
    “Corey Dean Latham?” inquired one of two civilian men in dark suits, thrusting a badge in his face that identified him as
     a police detective.
    “Yes,” he replied, perplexed because he recognized both the badge and the man.
    “You are under arrest for the bombing of Hill House,” the detective said, “and for the murder of one hundred and seventy-six
     people.”
    “What are you talking about?” Corey asked, looking from one to the other.
    The two men ignored the question. Instead, one of them moved in and began to run his hands up and down Corey’s body, until
     he had assured himself that his suspect carried no weapon. Then he pulled Corey’s arms behind his back and snapped handcuffs
     around his wrists. The other detective pulled out a card and began to read aloud the most chilling words the young naval lieutenant
     had ever heard.
    “You have the right to remain silent…”
    After a brief flurry over protecting one of its own, the United States Navy decided it wanted no part of the Hill House bombing.
     Once the King County Prosecutor’s Office claimed jurisdiction in the matter, Bangor relieved the lieutenant of his duties,
     put his career on hold, pending the outcome of the case, and retreated.

ELEVEN

    O kay,” Paul Cotter said pleasantly. “You’ve met him, you’ve talked to him—what do you think?”
    Always the consummate strategist and gentleman, he had not summoned Dana to his office first thing Tuesday morning, but had
     given her until well after lunch to make a decision.
    “I think there’s a pretty good case here for rush to judgment,” she replied automatically, the effects of her sleepless night
     not evident. “When did the bombing happen, six, seven weeks ago? Hardly enough time to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. As far
     as I can tell, Corey Latham is not a fanatic, and doesn’t appear to be emotionally unbalanced. In fact, he seemed perfectly
     normal to me. Of course, I’m hardly an expert,” she hastened to add. “You can certainly have him examined by a psychiatrist,
     if you like.”
    “Would you put him on the stand?”
    “You’d almost have to,” she responded.
    “How would he do in front of a jury?”
    “I think he’d do just fine. He’s a bright kid, good-looking,clean-cut. He gives straightforward answers to direct questions, and comes across as quite sincere. Any mother’s dream.”
    “Did you believe him?”
    Dana had never let herself be much concerned about the guilt or innocence of a client, only with the merits of the particular
     case. As her father had told her, from the time she was old enough to understand