The Twelve Dogs of Christmas

by David Rosenfelt

  “Are you the doctor that gave her the diagnosis?” I ask.

  “I was. It’s never easy.”

  “What was her reaction?”

  “Remarkable; she took it in stride, at least outwardly. I think having her husband there was comforting to her.”

  “He was there?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes. He was there every time I saw her, until his death.”

  “How many times was that?”

  “Starting with the first visit, it took a number of visits and tests even to make the diagnosis … I would say seven or eight times.”

  “Did he wait out in the waiting area for her most of those times?”

  “No, she was very clear that she wanted him with her. And he seemed to want to be there as well.”

  “Did you notice any discord between them?”

  She shakes her head. “On the contrary, they seemed very close. He even called me twice, I believe without her knowledge, to ask what he could do to help make it easier for her.”

  “Were financial matters a serious factor in the treatment she got?”

  “No. She has insurance, but there were and are costs beyond that. Neither of them ever seemed concerned about money.”

  “Can you think of a reason why a person in her condition, with such a short life expectancy, would want to kill her husband to get his money?”

  Tressel objects and Chambers sustains, admonishing me in the process. That’s fair, because it was a question that had no chance to get answered. I just wanted to make sure that the jury would hear that a dying woman killing to get money she could never use is a ridiculous concept. I had no way to get the doctor to say it, so I included it in my question.

  Tressel’s cross-examination begins with, “Doctor, do you consider yourself well trained to deal with a medical condition such as the defendant has?”

  “Yes, I do,” she says.

  “Your entire professional life trained you for situations just like this, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I think I speak for everyone in this courtroom when I say your credentials and training and accomplishments in this area are extraordinarily impressive.”

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “Have you had a similar amount of training in the area of detecting cheating husbands?”

  “No.”

  “What about in judging the quality of marriages? How many years of your professional life have you dedicated to that?”

  “None.”

  “Is it within the realm of possibility that after presenting a united front in your office, they went home and argued?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it even possible that Mr. Boyer was conducting an affair beyond his wife’s back?”

  “I suppose it is.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  It’s getting late, and Chambers asks me if I want to call another witness now or adjourn for the weekend. I choose the latter. It’s been an up-or-down week, but it’s all been just the preliminary round.

  Next week is the key.

  If there’s one thing I have learned, it’s that Big Tiny Parker can be counted on.

  That’s comforting, because if you can’t count on vicious gang leaders, then who can you count on?

  Marcus told Big Tiny that I needed Calderone, and he found him very quickly. For all I know, he might have had one of his people watching him all this time. I don’t think he did it because he’s fond of me or even because he’s afraid of Marcus. He did it because he wants to find his brother’s killer. Big Tiny’s interests are aligned with mine. That’s a good thing.

  Marcus picks me up and takes me to where Calderone is staying, although there is a thin line between “staying” and “held captive.” It’s a cabin just south of White Meadow Lake, which is simultaneously twenty-five minutes and light-years away from Paterson.

  The cabin is somehow owned or used by either Big Tiny or the Bloodz, and it is set in the woods well off the road. I don’t know why the gang has it or what they use it for, and I certainly don’t want to know.

  When we arrive, Calderone is inside with Big Tiny and two of his guys, including, I think, one of the guys Marcus dispatched at the bar. But I’d just as soon not chat about old times.

  The cabin is actually quite comfortable and even gets satellite TV. Calderone looks fairly relaxed and unthreatened, which I’m pleased about. The less he looks like a frightened basket case, the better witness he will be.

  “You doing OK?” I ask Calderone.

  “Super. What a way to spend a Saturday night.”

  “You ready to testify tomorrow?”

  “Do I have a choice?” he asks.

  “I can’t force you,” I say.

  Calderone points to Big Tiny. “You can’t, but he can. He told me if I don’t do what you say, he’ll slice me open from front to back like a fish.”

  I smile. “He’s a real kidder, that Big Tiny.”

  “You know Barnett is going to kill me,” Calderone says.

  I shake my head. “No, he isn’t. You and I are going to put him away.”

  “He’s got friends,” he says.

  I point around the room at the three gang guys and Marcus. “So do you.”

  I quickly go over his testimony with him; there isn’t that much to cover, and all I want him to do is tell the truth as he told it to me. I’m pleasantly surprised by his demeanor; I think he’ll do fine.

  As I’m about to leave, I ask no one in particular, “Do we have a plan to get him to court at nine AM Monday?”

  “He’ll be there,” Big Tiny says. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Marcus and I drive back. The lack of conversation in the car is good, since it allows me to go over what I plan to cover with Calderone on the stand and with Barnett after that. There is no doubt in my mind that Calderone will make an effective witness, at least to the extent that he will put major suspicions about Barnett in the jury’s mind. After that, it will be up to me to dismantle Barnett on the stand.

  When I get home, I call Hike to confirm that a process server has served Barnett with a subpoena to appear in court Monday. Hike says that he’s received the written notification that it was, in fact, successfully served.

  Since we’ve also legally received the financial information that Sam hacked illegally, everything is in place.

  Caffey knew all the players from that night in the park.

  He didn’t know why they were in the out-of-the-way cabin or whether Calderone was being held there against his will. The good news for Caffey was that it didn’t matter what he knew; he wasn’t paid to know things.

  Caffey had been given prior instructions about what to do in this situation, which was obviously anticipated. He drove to David Barnett’s house, parked down the block, and walked in the shadows, unseen until he got there.

  He went around the back and knocked on the door. Within moments, Barnett saw it was him and opened the door.

  “Why are you here?” he asked

  “I’m reporting in; there have been developments.”

  “Why didn’t you call?”

  “Because the situation is rapidly changing,” Caffey said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They have Calderone in a cabin, about a half hour from here.”

  “Who are they?” Barnett asked.

  “Three of the gang members. Then they had a visit tonight from Carpenter and his bodyguard. Based on their behavior, I would say that whatever is going on, they are all in accord about it.”

  Barnett nodded. “Calderone is going to testify on Monday morning. They’re using him to set me up. I need to think about this.” Then, “Can you get to him?”

  “I can get to anyone,” Caffey said.

  “Then it’s time for our friend to disappear.”

  “I understand, friend.”

  It struck Barnett as a strange thing for Caffey to say, but it became somewhat clearer when he saw the gun in his hand.


  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m following instructions. Let’s go.”

  “You get your instructions from me.”

  “Not this time,” Caffey said, raising the gun slightly. “This comes from higher up.”

  Sunday comes at a good time this week.

  I walk Tara and Sebastian and then have breakfast with Ricky and Laurie. A typical American start to a Sunday morning, except for the part where I go to the prison after breakfast.

  I haven’t had much chance to talk to Pups since the devastating Devereux testimony, and I feel like I should. Unfortunately, I have nothing good to tell her so far, since Laurie and Sam have come up empty in the early stages of their investigation.

  Devereux’s description of her biography and current living conditions was accurate, and so far we can’t confirm or deny the affair with Jake. It’s very hard to prove a negative, especially since if the affair was real, the parties would have made efforts to shield it.

  I tell her all this, but she dismisses it with, “It doesn’t matter what you find or don’t find. She was lying.”

  She obviously has complete faith in her late husband, and I see no reason to try to shake it. “I’ve got more news for you,” I say.

  “You’d better; you’re screwing up my whole Sunday.”

  I smile; she’s as big a wiseass in prison as she was when she had her freedom. “Unfortunately, it’s not news you’re going to like very much.”

  “Just tell me already,” she says.

  “OK. Jake’s son, Hank, is going to go after your estate.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. Can he do that?”

  “He can certainly go after it. Whether he can get it depends on circumstances. If you’re convicted of murdering Jake, then legally you cannot receive the proceeds of his will. Hank would have an excellent argument for being next in line.”

  “Even though Jake left him out entirely?”

  “I’m afraid so. But that’s OK, because we’re in the process of seeing to it that you’re not convicted.”

  She shakes her head. “The twerp wants nothing to do with his father’s life, but he wants to jump all over his death.”

  I don’t mention to Pups that I brought Hank into the picture; she’d probably kill me, which would necessitate another trial. “Unfortunately,” I say, “an acquittal doesn’t end it.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s also filing a civil suit for wrongful death, claiming you are responsible for Jake’s death. In that case, he’s not going after the will but, rather, your estate. Which essentially is the same thing.”

  “How can I be responsible if I’ve already been found innocent?”

  “It’s a different standard. In a civil case, the standard is not reasonable doubt but, rather, preponderance of the evidence. And the jury’s verdict would not have to be unanimous. For example, O. J. Simpson was acquitted criminally but found responsible civilly.”

  “You lawyers are a pain in the ass,” she says.

  “I’m aware of that. Next item … Walter Tillman is asking if you want him to represent you, should there be a civil trial. If so, he needs to start preparing, and there will be some costs involved.”

  “But it would be a murder trial, like this one?”

  “Essentially, with some differences in legal procedure. But yes.”

  “Then I want you.”

  She’s right that I should handle it; I’m totally immersed in the facts of the case already. Walter will ultimately understand as well, and may even be relieved. “OK,” I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow; it’s going to be a big day.”

  Sam and Hike are waiting for me at home so they can report on what they have learned about Jake’s various land holdings, which are now owned by Pups.

  “There’s not a lot here,” Sam says. “That’s because if there is something, it obviously hasn’t been made public. If somebody is sitting in Nebraska knowing that on Pups’s land there is a huge titanium deposit, we’d have no way of knowing that.”

  “I understand,” I say.

  “There are three possible situations, but I can’t say I have much confidence in any of them,” Sam says. “The first is land in Montana; there have been rumors for years of gold deposits in the area, but very little has ever been found. Prospectors apparently show up there every once in a while, sure that they are going to make a killing, but never seem to.”

  “This is on Pups’s land?”

  “Hers is a large parcel in the area. Hard to know if prospectors have trespassed on it or not.”

  “What’s number two?” I ask.

  “Her largest parcel is in South Dakota. North Dakota produces a huge amount of oil through fracking, and they need to get it to refineries in Louisiana. They’ve been sending it by rail, but pipelines would be much more efficient.”

  “Like the Keystone pipeline?”

  Hike speaks up. “Yeah, but without as much controversy. This isn’t coming from Canada, so it’s going to get done. But even with that, it’s been tied up for a couple of years, waiting for environmental impact statements and stuff.”

  “And they’ll have to go on Pups’s land?” I ask.

  Hike shakes his head. “No, there are a few ways to do it, if they do it at all. It’s in committee in the South Dakota legislature, and the committee will decide. But there’s another route that’s considered the big favorite.”

  “How about number three?” I ask, feeling less hopeful each time.

  “There’s talk of building a planned community in Nevada. It would be the fourth big gambling area in the state and would be built somewhere between Vegas and Reno/Tahoe. But they have a lot of options besides Pups’s land, and it’s probably years away anyway.”

  “OK. Good work, guys. Keep an eye on this as best you can, Sam, especially the oil-pipeline one. That’s the most interesting to me.”

  “Will do.”

  I send them off and head for the den to prepare. As I told Pups, big day tomorrow.

  Calderone is dressed in a pretty decent suit for his court appearance.

  I have no idea where he got it. It’s certainly not Big Tiny’s; if Big Tiny owned a suit, you could fit two Calderones in it, with room for me and Ricky.

  Court is late starting today, because one of the jurors had a medical issue. All it means is that the lunch break will separate Calderone’s testimony from Barnett’s, which is not a big deal either way.

  I start off with Calderone by taking him through his history, such as it is. He made it through two years of high school, married young, divorced soon after, no kids.

  “Have you ever been in prison?” I ask.

  He nods. “Twice. For a total of three and a half years.”

  “What was the crime you were convicted of?”

  “Breaking and entering,” he says.

  “Were you guilty?”

  “The juries said I was.”

  “Were they right?”

  He thinks for a moment and then shrugs, apparently deciding no damage would be done. “Yeah. I was guilty.”

  “Did you ever have occasion to meet Randall Hennessey?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “How did that come about?”

  “Someone asked me to talk to him,” he says. “He wanted me to get Hennessey to complain about her dogs.” He points to Pups. “I was supposed to offer him twenty-five thousand dollars to do it.”

  “Who made the request?”

  “David Barnett.”

  “Did you know him before he approached you to do this?”

  “I did some carpentry work for him at his house. We talked some; he knew my background.”

  I nod. “Did you think you were doing anything illegal?”

  He shrugs. “I figured he had something going on, but all I was doing was asking somebody to complain about some dogs. I didn’t see where that was breaking any law.”

  He goes on to say that he spoke to Hennessey to confirm that the complain
t was made and to further confirm the payments.

  “Your Honor,” I say, taking documents from Hike, “I would like to submit this into evidence. It shows wire transfers from an online bank, from an account with the name Committee for a Better America. There are two wires, payable to Mr. Hennessey. One is for fifteen thousand, made just before the complaint was filed to the zoning board. The other is for ten thousand dollars, sent just after the complaint was filed.”

  “Were you yourself paid for talking to Mr. Hennessey?”

  He nods. “Ten thousand dollars.”

  I introduce into evidence bank records showing that the same group wired Calderone his money, from the same bank. I also introduce the phone records showing that Hennessey and Calderone had three phone calls between them.

  “Did you ever ask Mr. Barnett why he was paying all this money for something like this?”

  “No, I just wanted my money. I didn’t want to know.”

  “What did you think when you heard that Mr. Hennessey was subsequently killed?” I ask.

  “Then I really didn’t want to know.”

  I finish with Calderone, hoping the jury will understand that the matching bank statements give his testimony way more credibility than he would otherwise have. I’ll need to put the finishing touches on it by nailing Barnett when I have him on the stand. When I go back to the defense table, I’m surprised to see that Hike is not there.

  Tressel gets up to cross-examine Calderone, and his attitude is one of almost bemusement, as if this is so ridiculous and irrelevant as to be beneath him.

  “Mr. Calderone, your testimony is that Mr. Barnett paid you ten thousand dollars to have a conversation with Mr. Hennessey?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a really good conversationalist?”

  “I am, when I’m told what to say.” It’s such a good answer that I want to stand up and cheer.

  “How long did your initial conversation with Mr. Hennessey take?”