Dog Eat Dog

by David Rosenfelt

Ginny does a double take. “Wow. I’m surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “Taking that money sort of implies a commitment; you don’t do that with someone you’re going to break up with twenty minutes later. I didn’t think they were that serious. But I guess if she was desperate enough…”

  “Did you ever spend time with Charkin? With or without Tina?”

  “A couple of times, but Tina was certainly there.”

  I take out my photos of Stokan and McCaskill. “Did you ever see either of them?”

  Ginny takes the time to carefully look at them. “I don’t think so, and I’m very good at remembering faces.”

  I thank Ginny and tell her that I’ll try not to bother her again.

  “No bother. Just call if you need me, but I’m going to be pretty busy. It’s going to be chaos here; they’re going to be working on the machines on Saturday. Probably easier to reach me at home.”

  I thank her and leave, being careful on the way out to avoid people pushing carts.

  “I found more than I expected, but probably less than we need,” Charlie Tilton says.

  We’re in his office about to discuss his efforts to find flaws in the prosecution’s DNA evidence. It was and remains by far the most significant factor; if not for that, Matt Jantzen would never have been suspected or charged and could certainly not be convicted.

  “I’ll take that as a positive development. Let’s hear it.”

  He hands me a folder. “You’re better off reading it; a lot of it is technical crap that would put us both to sleep.”

  “Summarize it.”

  “There are some chain-of-custody issues, mostly time lapses. Some potential mislabeling, trace presence of EDTA, and examples of problems the agency has had on past cases. It will definitely give you something to talk about in court.”

  “You find an expert who will testify to it?”

  “I did. Professor of criminology at Boston University. You want to talk to her?”

  “Not yet. Let me go through this first. Then we can bring her in closer to trial.”

  “We’re not that far from trial now.”

  “Don’t remind me.” I hold up the folder. “Why did you say this is less than we need?”

  “Because at the end of the day it’s all bullshit. Jantzen’s blood was at the scene, on the victim’s hands, and none of this explains that away. You and I know it, and so will the jury, no matter what you say.”

  “I’m planning to say it with an appealing smile.”

  “You might want to work on that; I saw you in action with McCaskill. You didn’t seem like a charm school graduate.”

  “Ye of little faith.”

  “So what have you been up to? You need to keep me up-to-date. If Henry Stokan succeeds in killing you, I’ll have to pick up the ball.”

  “That is not likely to happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mr. Stokan got a taste of how tough I can be … when I’m standing behind Marcus Clark.”

  “What happened?”

  I tell him about the incident with Stokan and his friend in the park, and how he later implicated Donnelly in sending him after me.

  “He gave up Donnelly’s name?” Charlie asks, obviously surprised.

  “He did. When you meet Marcus, you’ll understand.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t write Stokan’s life insurance policy.”

  “Is he dumb enough to tell Donnelly what happened?”

  “Maybe, but probably not. Though Donnelly has ways of finding out details. You said that Stokan had a friend with him?”

  “Yes, but he spent most of my time with him unconscious, so we didn’t get to chat much.”

  “That’s one way Donnelly could find out. The friend could tell him as a way to curry favor. Risky, but the guy is probably not that bright in the first place. You still have Marcus following him?”

  I shake my head. “No, Marcus is working his way up the chain of command. Right now he’s in the process of locating Lyle Carmody.”

  “Name does not ring a bell,” Tilton says.

  “He’s one of Donnelly’s people, in charge of, among other things, dealing drugs in this area.”

  “Stokan fingered him as well?”

  I shrug. “Marcus is Marcus.”

  “What are you going to do when you find Carmody?”

  “Don’t know yet; but we need to rattle some cages. Got any ideas?”

  He nods. “Yeah, have Jantzen plead guilty so you can go back to New York.”

  “New Jersey.”

  “Whatever. You are treading in dangerous territory. Be careful.”

  His warning is sincere, so I promise that I will be careful. The problem is that being careful often doesn’t do the trick for me; I wind up in dangerous situations anyway.

  I leave to head back to the hotel. The plan is to walk the dogs and then Laurie and I will go to dinner. Dinners take place early here; Damariscotta heads toward ghost town status every evening by nine o’clock.

  When I walk in, Laurie is standing about six feet from the television, watching it. Her body language and facial expression indicates to me that she is not watching Seinfeld or Modern Family.

  “Have you seen this?” She points at the television.

  I don’t answer, but I walk over and look. A local reporter is standing in front of a river, talking into a microphone. Instead of listening to him, I turn to Laurie. “What’s going on?”

  “They fished Henry Stokan’s body out of the river about an hour ago.”

  I let that sink in. “Charlie Tilton knows what he’s talking about.”

  I may be getting self-centered in my old age. But the truth is that I think Stokan was murdered for the purpose of sending me a message. Just like Stokan’s following me in the first place was Donnelly’s way of getting me to back off, I think this killing had the same purpose.

  That’s obviously not the only reason, and not even the most likely one. Donnelly might have found out, possibly through the other idiot, as Charlie Tilton suggested might happen, that Stokan gave up his name to Marcus. The other idiot’s body has not been found, so maybe Donnelly is rewarding him, or at least letting him off the hook.

  I know I’m an extraordinarily scary guy, but for the life of me I don’t know what Donnelly is afraid of. I am not close to exposing anything meaningful about his operation, and even if I was, so what?

  The worst that could happen, from Donnelly’s point of view, is that I could find out he was supplying drugs to Charkin. He’d swat that problem away like a fly, especially since there were buffers, like Carmody, between him and the actual dealing.

  Yet he’s been reacting all along to me in a way that seems wildly disproportionate to the threat. And getting rid of Stokan was an example of literal overkill.

  But clearly something was going on with Charkin, something serious. I thought all along that a double murder as retribution for failing to pay a drug debt seemed unlikely, and I’m even more sure of that now.

  Charkin was involved with something heavy, something that was important to Donnelly and his operation. When I know what that was, I’ll know everything. Until then, I know nothing.

  Carmody is obviously the next place for us to probe, but I’ve decided to take a different approach. We could confront him head-on, in which case Marcus could probably coerce him into giving up Donnelly. That wouldn’t get us anywhere and would probably buy Carmody the same fate as Stokan’s.

  I guess we could eliminate Donnelly’s whole organization like that, one at a time. Marcus could intimidate everyone working for Donnelly into ratting him out, then Donnelly could kill the poor guys.

  The idea has a unique appeal and some poetic justice to it, but it would take too long and not help my client. So we’re not doing it that way; instead, Marcus is going to track Carmody’s movements in case it leads us to anything meaningful.

  Sam Willis provided Marcus with Carmody’s home address, the kind of car he drives, and his l
icense plate number. Sam is also monitoring Carmody’s phone to see if he makes any calls we can determine are significant.

  Tonight I am just going to have take-out dinner with Laurie, take the dogs for a walk, and settle in to read the discovery documents again. Steinkamp has added to the pile with more information, which, while suggestive, does not implicate Matt any further.

  I’m also going to go over the DNA information that Charlie Tilton has prepared. If we are successful in challenging that, victory will be ours. Unfortunately, even he has indicated that the “smoking DNA gun” is not to be found.

  At around nine o’clock I’m in what passes for a den when I hear a knock on the door. Laurie answers it and I see that Marcus has come by. Since he’s staying in the room next to ours, I guess he figured this was just as easy as calling.

  I don’t know what he wants, and since I wouldn’t be able to understand him anyway, I let Laurie deal with him. I’m sure I’ll get the translated version if it’s important.

  “Andy, can you come in here?” Laurie calls, so I put down the folder I’m going through and head that way.

  “What’s going on? Hey, Marcus, didn’t realize you were here,” I lie.

  “Marcus has been following our friend Mr. Carmody. He’s been watching him deliver goods to customers and make collections. But tonight, right after dark, he met with someone in a deserted parking lot behind a business. Nothing was exchanged; all they did was talk. Here’s the photograph he took.”

  My first thought, before I focus on what is in the photo, is that Marcus has some kind of night camera, or infrared lens, or something. My second thought is that I probably paid for it.

  My third thought is more significant, because I’ve now seen the photo of the two men. “Was this taken behind the Maine Lighthouse brewery?”

  “How did you know?” Laurie sounds surprised.

  “Because I know that guy. He’s Mike Mitchell, owner of the brewery, and friend of Peter Charkin. And I have a hunch they’re not comparing craft beers.”

  After Marcus leaves, Laurie and I stay up until midnight discussing our next steps, before going to bed.

  It’s a sign that we’re getting to be an old married couple; we used to be able to discuss murder and drugs until at least two o’clock in the morning.

  The day I went to see him, Mike Mitchell obviously lied to me about everything except how to make beer. And maybe he even lied about that. At this point, if he told me he had a barrel full of barley, I’d be willing to bet it was hops.

  He said he had no idea where Peter Charkin was getting his drugs, and although Stokan denied it, it had to be through Carmody. I asked Mitchell point-blank if he had ever heard of Donnelly or Stokan, and he said that he hadn’t.

  Charkin’s optometrist brother had told me that Mitchell and Peter Charkin were friends. I think he believed that because he wouldn’t have a reason to lie. But just in case, I’m glad I didn’t let him do laser surgery on me.

  But Mitchell was clearly lying when I spoke to him, which leaves us with the two questions standard in cases like this. Why was he lying, and what should we do about it?

  My answers, when I started tonight’s conversation with Laurie, were “I have no idea” and “Beats the hell out of me.” By the time we’re finished with our talk, my two answers are “I have no idea” and “Confront the son of a bitch.”

  I call Sam Willis at midnight. I don’t apologize for calling so late because he answers “Talk to me” on the first ring in a voice that is obviously wide awake. Sam definitely has a weird side.

  “I need an address for Mike, or Michael, Mitchell. He lives up here and owns the Maine Lighthouse brewery.”

  “You want the home address?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not right now.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  I hang up, put the discovery documents back in their folder, and head for the bedroom. On the way, the phone rings. It’s Sam with the address. As a computer guy, he is worth his weight in gigabytes.

  I give him another assignment: to monitor Mitchell’s phone calls tomorrow. Then I thank him and hang up.

  At six twenty in the morning Laurie and I leave the hotel to head for Mitchell’s house in Bristol. I’m not happy about this because the muffins don’t make their appearance until six forty-five. But in the legal business, you do what you have to do.

  We’re in place in front of Mitchell’s house at seven. A car is in the driveway, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s home. If he’s a morning guy, he might be at work already, which would mean I missed the muffins for nothing.

  Laurie insisted on coming along, even though I told her I’d be safe at seven in the morning in a nice neighborhood talking to a guy who makes beer for a living. She was unconvinced, which is why she is sitting in the passenger seat.

  Since the purpose is to surprise Mitchell, we’ve decided to do so at a time and place he would not expect. It might be jarring enough to get him to make a mistake. Certainly had I called and requested a meeting in his office, he would have had a chance to prepare for all possibilities.

  After twenty minutes, the front door opens and Mitchell comes out. I get out of the car as Laurie waits behind, watching in case I need help.

  “Mike! Mike Mitchell!” I yell as I walk toward him. “What the hell are the odds of running into you here?”

  He looks bewildered as he places my face and that I’m standing in front of his house at this hour, or any hour. “Mr. Carpenter. You know where I live?”

  “I’m a professional investigator; stuff like that comes easy to me.”

  “You could have called my office.”

  “I’m aware of that, but I was really anxious to know why you lied to me, so I didn’t want to wait.”

  A flash of worry crosses his face. “Lied to you? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You told me you didn’t know where Peter Charkin got his drugs, and that you never heard of Jerry Donnelly.”

  “Both of those things are true.”

  “Really? Lyle Carmody didn’t mention anything about it last night?”

  Mitchell takes a few moments to digest my words. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “Peter was an addict; you know that already. He was into Donnelly and Carmody for some serious money and had no way to pay them back. I went to them and said that I’d cover it, over time. That time ended last night; I met Carmody and gave him the last payment.”

  I’m pretty sure he’s lying, though he’s damn good at it. Marcus said that nothing changed hands last night. It was dark so possibly he is wrong, but Marcus is rarely wrong.

  “Why did they kill Charkin and Tina Welker?”

  “That’s crazy; they had no reason to. I was paying the debt. I could have stopped when Peter died, but I didn’t. I wanted them out of my life for good.”

  “Why did they kill Stokan?”

  “I don’t know anything about that. Look, these are dangerous people. I don’t know what they do or how they operate, and I don’t want to. I said I would cover Peter’s debt, and I did. I want this over, and until you just showed up, I thought it was.”

  “What about Danny McCaskill and his buddy Gavin Helms? McCaskill had some interesting things to say to me.”

  I’m lying about that and taking a stab in the dark. If Charkin was involved with McCaskill, then Mitchell might have been as well. I’m just looking to see if I get a reaction.

  I don’t. Mitchell just looks confused. “Who the hell are they?”

  It was worth a shot, and no harm was done. “We’ll talk again soon.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t think we will.”

  My conversation with Mitchell essentially left me back where I started.

  Once again I’m almost certain he’s still lying, but it leaves me with the same two questions that I’ve yet to answer: Why is he lying? And what should we do about it?
/>   Though he displayed coolness under pressure when I confronted him, his story simply does not hold up. For one thing, it is highly unlikely he would have paid Peter Charkin’s drug debt. They were friends, not brothers.

  And if he did pay it, he would not have done it directly. He would not have wanted to be involved with those people; he would have given the money to Charkin to take it to them. And lastly, he would not have continued paying after Charkin died. No one is that good a friend.

  Even if all of that didn’t make it obvious to me that he was lying, his meeting with Carmody last night was the clincher. He was not making a final payment; Marcus said that nothing changed hands.

  So why would they have had to meet? If their entire relationship was about Mitchell paying Charkin’s drug debt, why sneak off like that to talk? Were they exchanging verbal recipes?

  I’d like to learn more about Charkin’s real-life relationship with Mitchell, not the fantasy one that Mitchell presented. To that end I call Charkin’s brother, Robert. I’m hoping to reach him before he spends the day asking patients which lenses help them see better.

  He does come to the phone, and I ask, “You told me that Mitchell kept your brother on at the brewery longer than he should have out of friendship.”

  “That’s what Mitchell told me, yes.”

  “How close were they?”

  Robert pauses to think about it. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought very close at all, but when Mitchell told me that, I had no reason to doubt it.”

  “If I asked you if Mitchell would pay for your brother’s drug debts, would you think it was possible?”

  “Anything’s possible, but I can’t imagine that was the case. Is that what you think was going on?”

  “I’m just throwing theories against the wall. Here’s another one. Could Mitchell have been supplying your brother with drugs?”

  “I really doubt that also. If he was giving him the drugs, why would he fire him for taking them?”

  “Good point. Let’s try scenario number three. Could they have been in business together?”

  Robert pauses before answering. “The drug business? I have no knowledge of that, but of the three scenarios you presented, that’s the most likely. Peter would have been a part of anything that could make him money; that’s just the way he was.”