Hounded

by David Rosenfelt

  “No one’s. It was wiped clean.”

  “But as a detective, you do think someone brought them to that closet, right? I mean, they couldn’t have been beamed there or anything, could they?”

  “Obviously someone brought them there. Maybe he wore gloves.”

  “In the summer, Lieutenant Bagwell?”

  He ignores that. “The drugs are illegal,” he says. “It is natural for people to not want their fingerprints on them.”

  “So your hypothesis is that Captain Stanton wiped his fingerprints from a bag of drugs in his own house? He figured that if the drugs were found in his own closet where he lives, his fingerprints would be the problem?”

  He has no good answer for that, so rather than beat that horse any more, I move on. “Now that you had this surprising bag of drugs, you assumed that because there was so much of it, Captain Stanton must be dealing. You testified that he couldn’t be using all of that himself. Correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “So did you consult with the detectives in your department whose expertise is in the drug trade?”

  “I did.”

  “Did they give you any information at all, based on their experiences in the local drug world, that confirms Captain Stanton’s involvement in this?”

  “No.”

  “Nothing, Lieutenant Bagwell? Not even a hint of anything?”

  “No.”

  “So, as a trained detective, how do you analyze this? Do you think he took his police salary, bought a hundred thousand dollars worth of drugs, and just put them away, thinking he’d someday sell it if he needed the money?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Is heroin like wine? Does it get better with age? For example, does a dealer say, ‘I’ve got a wonderful 1991 bag of junk; that was a terrific year for poppies?’”

  Richard objects, and this time Judge Matthews sustains and admonishes me. I’m fine with that, since I’m almost finished.

  “Lieutenant Bagwell, you found the drugs hidden in a guestroom closet in Captain Stanton’s house. As you sit here, do you know with absolute certainty who put them there?”

  “I don’t. But no break-in was ever reported at that location, nor were there any signs of one.”

  “If I told you that someone other than Captain Stanton had a key to the house, and placed those drugs there, could you tell me with certainty that I was wrong?”

  Again, he could duck, but doesn’t. “No, not with certainty, no.”

  “No further questions.”

  My good feeling about the cross-examination lasts about four minutes after court is recessed.

  That’s how long it takes me to go out into the corridor and return the phone call from Lieutenant Coble. He left a message on my cell phone that he needed to speak to me on a matter of considerable importance.

  He says, “Coble,” when he picks up the phone. So I say, “Carpenter.” We’ve got quite a conversation going.

  Then it takes a turn for the worse. “Parker is dead,” he says.

  “When? How?” I’m asking those questions, but there is no answer that will make this anything other than a disaster.

  “In a cabin near Montvale. We got a tip he was there, but somebody else found out about it before us. They used his head for a piñata.”

  “You’re sure it was him?” I ask.

  “Who do you think you’re dealing with, Barney Fife? Fingerprints match his army records.”

  “Any suspects?” I ask, though I already have one.

  “Not at this moment.”

  I get off the phone, effectively ending one of the most depressing conversations I’ve had in a very long while.

  I call Willie, who is at the Tara Foundation adopting out dogs, which is where I wish I was right now. “Parker is dead,” I say. “Someone bashed in his head..”

  “That can’t be good,” he says. Willie is a master of understatement.

  “Couldn’t be worse,” I say. “I want to know if your friend Russo had it done.” I am at the moment mentally kicking myself for bringing Russo into this at all, and thinking Willie could control him.

  “Andy, he told me he wouldn’t, so he didn’t.”

  “Willie, I know he’s your friend, but he’s a murderer and a thief. He’s been a criminal his entire life. You think he would draw the line at lying?”

  Willie agrees to call him, while still vouching for his honor. I need to take some time to process where this leaves us. Parker was the key link between Reynolds and the mysterious deaths on the one hand, and Danny Diaz and Pete on the other.

  We didn’t have him, but we were trying to get him very badly. So badly that it probably caused me to blow it by enlisting Russo’s help. Now that he is out of the picture, we are back to … is there a square before one?

  Much as I’d like to leave and think this through, or leave and put my head in a gas oven, I’ve got to get back into court. Richard’s next witness is Sergeant Candice Woo, who was Diaz’s contact in the department in his role as low-level informer.

  She testifies on direct examination about her relationship with Danny and his actions as an informant. “He didn’t provide much information,” she says. “Until recently with Pete … Captain Stanton.”

  “What did he say about Captain Stanton?”

  “That he was dealing drugs. Danny couldn’t stand drugs, so even though he owed Captain Stanton, he couldn’t stand by and let this happen.”

  “Did he express any other concerns?” Richard asks.

  “Yes, he was afraid for his safety if Captain Stanton found out that he was informing on him.”

  I start my cross by asking, “Sergeant Woo, you knew Danny Diaz well?”

  “Fairly well,” she says.

  “And you knew Captain Stanton well? You had years of dealing with him? Saw him almost every day?” I know that to be the case; Pete told me he has actually had dinner a number of times with Candice and her husband, Brian.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know what their relationship with each other was like?”

  She nods again. “I knew quite a bit about it, yes.”

  “Please describe what you believed to be true about their relationship.”

  “They seemed very close,” Sergeant Woo says. “Captain Stanton took a liking to him, and actually had a lot to do with his not getting a longer sentence. He vouched for his character; said he would help him turn his life around.”

  “And did he?”

  “Yes. And he also took a strong liking to Diaz’s son. Took him to ball games, that kind of thing.”

  “If you know, did the Diaz family ever stay at Captain Stanton’s house?”

  “Yes. When he first got out of prison, he needed a place to stay. Captain Stanton was on vacation, so he let them use his house. I believe they stayed there another week after he returned.”

  “So Danny Diaz would have had a key to Captain Stanton’s house?”

  “I would assume so.”

  “Do you know if he returned it?” I ask.

  Sergeant Woo shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I have no idea.”

  “Thank you. No further questions.”

  “We need to talk,” I say to Pete when court is adjourned.

  “Uh-oh” is his appropriate response, since “needing” to talk rarely results in fun conversations. I probably shouldn’t have characterized it that way, although the news I have for him is not good at all.

  “I’ve arranged for us to go into the anteroom.”

  As if on cue, the bailiff comes over, and we exchange nods, which tells me that he knows where he is bringing Pete.

  I’ve been updating Pete every step of the way, more than I generally do with most clients. So once we’re settled in the room, I come right to the point. “Parker is dead.”

  I can see him stiffen slightly as he absorbs the blow; finding Parker was his main hope, as it was mine. “How?”

  “Got his head crushed in. I’m checking, but my guess is Russo�
��s people got to him, and reneged on our deal.”

  “This is not good at all,” Pete says. “What are you going to do?”

  I realize in the moment that, while I have been diligent in keeping Pete aware of the various goings-on, I haven’t been picking his brain as much as I should. Investigating is what he does, and does well.

  So I throw the question back at him. “What would you do?”

  He thinks for at least forty-five seconds before answering. “The focus has to be on Reynolds.”

  I was thinking the same thing, but mainly because I had no other possibilities. I’m interested in Pete’s rationale. “Why Reynolds?” I ask.

  “Because all of this started when I began investigating him. When I was looking at Hambler and the others, nobody paid attention.”

  “The problem for me is I have no authority. No subpoena power, nothing. Reynolds can just shrug me off.”

  “You can use Coble.”

  In the moment I make a decision: if we’re going to go down, we’re going to go down using the biggest guns we can find. “Coble is not getting it done,” I say. “I’m going to the bureau. And if I get nowhere with them, which is probably what will happen, then I’m going public.”

  “Okay,” he says, in a tone that makes me question whether he is onboard with that strategy.

  “What do you think?” I ask. I don’t need Pete’s approval; these are my calls and I’m going to make them. But I am interested in his input.

  “When this is over, however it ends, I want you to forget I ever said this. But I trust you, and I’m comfortable with whatever decision you make.”

  “Wow,” I say. “I can’t even tell Vince you said that?”

  “Especially not Vince.”

  We talk a bit more about the case, and just before I’m going to leave, I say, “Laurie told me that if Juanita Diaz is really dead, or otherwise not coming back, she wants us to adopt Ricky.”

  “I love Laurie,” Pete says.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, because I don’t. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be a father, and I feel like I shouldn’t do it just because Laurie wants me to.”

  “Then do it because I want you to. No kidding, you’d be a great father,” he says.

  “That’s two nice things you’ve said to me in one conversation.”

  He nods. “I’ve been cooped up way too long.”

  I head home, and Laurie is there playing a video game with Ricky, where they stand in front of the television and move their arms, holding a joystick, which in turn controls what is happening on the television. They’re actually playing virtual tennis. I swear, if they had these things when I was a kid, I would have never left the house.

  I join in the game, but it’s way beyond me, and Ricky beats me, six-one.

  “You got lucky,” I tell him.

  He practically sneers at me, with a derisive laugh thrown in for good measure. “Lucky?”

  “How was he lucky?” Laurie asks, once again taking his side.

  “I sprained my joystick.”

  Finally, I manage to get Laurie out of the room, so I can discuss with her what happened in court, and most importantly what happened to Parker.

  She knows all about Parker. “Willie called,” she says. “He spoke to Russo, who says he had nothing to do with it, but wishes he had.”

  “Do you believe him?” I ask.

  “Probably,” she says. “Because Russo told Willie that this means it’s not over, that somebody has to be above Parker. He said that Parker wasn’t the type to make plans; he simply and sometimes literally executed them. So Russo wants to find and deal with whoever is above Parker.”

  “I’m going to go to the FBI with this; Sharon Dalton spoke to an agent named Spencer Akers,” I say. “So, can you call Cindy?”

  “Again? I think this time you should call her, Andy.”

  Cindy Spodek is an FBI agent I met on a case a while back who has since become friends with Laurie and me. Of course, Laurie speaks to her frequently, as a real friend might. I only call her when I need a favor, a fact she has pointed out to me with some frequency.

  Cindy is currently located in the Boston office, where she is second in command. But since it’s after hours, I try her at home, and she answers.

  “Cindy? Andy Carpenter.… How the hell are you?”

  “Let me guess, you need a favor,” she says.

  “You know, usually when I ask someone how they are, they say, ‘fine, thanks,’ or something like that.”

  “Fine, thanks,” she says. “What do you need, Andy?”

  “Actually, I’m calling because I found out today that we have a mutual friend.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Spencer Akers.”

  “Who is Spencer Akers?” she asks.

  “It’s amazing that you ask that, because I asked the same thing. ‘Who is Spencer Akers?’” Laurie is literally groaning as she listens to this conversation.

  “Andy, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Spencer Akers. He’s an agent in the local bureau office here.”

  “You’re making even less sense than usual,” she says. “Let me speak to Laurie.”

  I hand the phone to Laurie. “She wants to talk to you.”

  “I think it’s more that she doesn’t want to talk to you,” Laurie says, taking the phone.

  Laurie explains the situation to Cindy in clear, concise terms, an approach I never considered. Then she directly asks her if she can contact Spencer Akers and arrange a meeting with him. Then she says, “Thanks, Cindy,” and hangs up.

  “So?” I ask.

  “So she said all you had to do was say you need a favor that could help Pete.” Cindy knows Pete well, and they like and respect each other.

  “Will she set it up?”

  “She’s going to contact this Akers guy and will call you back.”

  I’m expecting her to get to it tomorrow, but she calls back fifteen minutes later. I’m smart enough to let Laurie answer the phone, and Cindy gives her the news that Akers will meet with me after court tomorrow, at the bureau office in Newark.

  “I know how to make things happen,” I say to Laurie after they hang up. “Now, any chance you’ll call Hike for me?”

  “Zero.”

  “Fair enough.” I pick up the phone to call Hike and tell him I want him to ask the judge to issue subpoenas for all the phone and GPS records that Sam has already collected on Diaz, Alex Parker, and Reynolds. We’re going to need them, and the only way we can use them is if we can show we obtained them legally. Hike says he’ll do it first thing in the morning, before court starts tomorrow.

  Next I call Sam. “I need you to get me all you can possibly find about Carson Reynolds. I want to know everything there is to know about him.”

  “You mean biography, or financials? You want his credit card bills?”

  “I want everything.”

  “Business also?”

  “Everything, Sam. I want you to give this guy a cyber rectal exam.”

  He laughs. “With pleasure,” he says, and hangs up.

  Today was a bad day because of the death of Alex Parker, but for some reason I’m feeling okay.

  Taking the offensive sometimes does that for me.

  I meet with Pete before the court day begins, to apprise him of developments.

  When I finally get into court, Hike is there and waiting for me.

  “Judge approved the subpoenas,” he says. “Phone companies will have thirty-six hours to comply.”

  “Just like that?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Not quite. She called Richard in, who proceeded to go nuts. Said no relevance was established, that he never heard of Reynolds and Parker, that it was a fishing expedition, blah, blah, blah.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That if he never heard of these people, how would he know we were fishing?”
<
br />   “Beautiful.”

  “So the judge approved it subject to our demonstrating relevance later in the trial. Which I assume you’ll be able to do?”

  I shrug. “That’s the plan.”

  Just then Richard comes over to me. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks.

  “Not particularly.”

  “You are aware that you are a pain in the ass?”

  I smile. “It’s part of my charm.”

  Judge Matthews takes her seat on the bench, and Richard calls Dr. Donna Palmieri, a professor of forensics at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice. Dr. Palmieri examined the bullets and shell casings in the Diaz shooting.

  Her testimony, while dry as dirt, sounds authoritative; the lady knows what she is talking about. She describes the very distinctive characteristics of the material she analyzed, and then Richard asks if she has seen those characteristics before.

  “Yes,” she says. “The same weapon was used a year earlier, in the murder of Carla Kendall.”

  “You’re certain of that?” Richard asks.

  “I am.”

  “Was the weapon ever found in that case?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And do you know what police officer was first on the scene, and ultimately conducted the investigation?”

  “Yes,” she says, pointing to the defense table. “Captain Stanton.”

  I could object, but her testimony has been relatively straightforward, and this gives me something to go after her with in cross-examination.

  “Dr. Palmieri, you mentioned that the gun was used in the Carla Kendall case. How much work did you do on that case?”

  “I didn’t work on it.”

  I feign surprise. “Really? Then how did you know the same gun was used?”

  “I was given the ballistics records by Mr. Wallace.”

  “When?”

  “Last week.”

  “I see. But you knew other things about that case. For example, you knew that Captain Stanton was first on the scene, and conducted the investigation. When did you learn that?”

  “Mr. Wallace told me that last week.”

  “Is there anything you said in your direct testimony that Mr. Wallace didn’t coach you to say?”