Dog Eat Dog

by David Rosenfelt

  She shakes her head, shrugging off the question. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Have you ever testified in court before?”

  She smiles her condescension. “Many times.”

  “Then I would have thought that by now you would know that your role as a witness is not to determine what questions matter; it’s to answer them.”

  Steinkamp objects, but Pressley overrules and instructs Gentry to answer the questions she is asked.

  “I do not know the temperature from that day,” she says.

  I submit a US Weather printout showing a heat wave at that time; it was eighty-seven degrees that night. That is hot for Maine. “Is that the kind of temperature that can degrade DNA?”

  “It’s possible, depending on exposure.”

  I point out that in Sergeant Rojas’s notes, it was four hours from the time the DNA was collected to the time it was checked into the lab. Rojas had two other calls to make before he got back there to enter it.

  Gentry counters that it doesn’t matter, that the truck is refrigerated and always locked.

  “Really?” I feign surprise. “You were there and saw that it was refrigerated and locked?”

  “It always is.”

  “Were you there?”

  “No.”

  “Sergeant Gentry, you said that the blood DNA matched Mr. Jantzen. What about the skin?”

  “What do you mean?” She pretends to be frustrated by my question.

  “I assume they found traces of skin that did not belong to either of the victims?”

  “It’s not in the report.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, because I’m not a doctor. But isn’t the blood under the skin?”

  “Obviously.”

  “So for the blood to come out and go on Mr. Charkin’s hand, wouldn’t skin have to break first? Isn’t that sort of a medical principle?”

  “There were no traces of skin found in the report. Sergeant Rojas was very precise.”

  “Did you not understand the question? I asked if the skin would have to break for blood to come out.”

  “Of course it would. But no skin was found.”

  “Not on the victim’s fist, maybe under the nails?”

  She gives an exaggerated frown to make sure the jury knows she’s annoyed. “None was found.”

  We go back and forth on stuff like this for another twenty minutes. I’m not making great progress, just trying to put doubt in the jurors’ minds. I’ll have more to say about this in the defense case.

  Steinkamp rehabilitates her a bit on a redirect, but there’s not much work for him to do.

  Then he says the words that I simultaneously look forward to and dread.

  “The state rests.”

  While we are waiting for Captain Oliver to call and tell me what happened, Laurie and I find out what happened another way: we watch television.

  It’s a huge, developing story on all newscasts: A drug raid was executed on the Maine Lighthouse brewery in Warren, uncovering three-quarters of a million dollars’ worth of synthetic opioids. Even more significant is that the site was being used to produce the stuff.

  Captain Oliver of the Maine State Police, the guy who hasn’t bothered to call me, holds a press conference with other state cops behind him, as well as a representative from the FBI and one from the ATF. When credit is up for grabs, these people can assemble quickly.

  Oliver hides behind the old standby “We cannot comment on an ongoing investigation,” but he confirms that the drugs and the manufacturing setup was uncovered, as well as trace explosives in the brewery and in a truck that carried the contraband, though no explosives were actually found in either place.

  He says that the owner of the brewery, Michael Mitchell, has been taken into custody, along with three other employees. Oliver also credits a K-9 team as helping in the investigation. He thanks the FBI and the ATF for their cooperation, although for the life of me I have no idea what they had to do with anything.

  Noticeably absent from his thankfulness is any mention of Andy Carpenter, attorney-at-law, who made the entire goddamn thing happen. Nor does he comment on the fact that murder victim Peter Charkin was an employee at the company, and an associate of Michael Mitchell’s.

  “Well, you brought down a drug ring,” Laurie says.

  “Yeah, it will give Matt Jantzen something to tell his fellow inmates for the next forty years.”

  “So you’re not pleased about this? It’s not good news?”

  “It’s good news, but it’s a low bar. I’m glad Mitchell is going down, and maybe they’ll even get Donnelly, though I doubt it. In terms of our case, it adds some more smoke to a defense that is all smoke and mirrors.”

  “What does it add?”

  “Now when I talk about Charkin being involved with bad guys, the jury doesn’t have to take my word for it. I have proof.”

  “But no proof that the bad guys killed him.”

  I nod. “There is that. Also no idea how they managed to plant Matt Jantzen’s blood on the scene.”

  The phone rings and Laurie picks it up. After a few moments, she hands it to me. “Captain Oliver.”

  I pick up the phone. “You cracked the case.”

  “Another example of the value of diligent police work.”

  “I look forward to your testifying as part of the defense case.”

  “You can’t be serious,” he says, the sarcasm gone from his voice. “I’ve got nothing to help you … no connection to Charkin’s death to point to.”

  “In the hands of a lesser attorney, that might be significant.” Then, “Charkin was right in the middle of a major drug manufacturing and dealing operation.”

  “Maybe so; I don’t know whether he was a significant player or not. But I have no information as to why they would have killed him.”

  This is depressing, so I switch subjects. “How about Donnelly? Will you be able to nail him?”

  “Not sure yet. We have to sift through all the evidence, all the records that we confiscated. I’ve got a feeling that our best shot will be to get Mitchell to finger him in a plea deal.”

  “I doubt he’ll do it. Mitchell will know that Donnelly has people that can get to him in prison.”

  “You might be right, but we’ll certainly put the pressure on. Mitchell is facing a lot of years.”

  “He deserves it, but not as much as Donnelly.”

  “Look on the bright side: this is going to put a huge crimp in Donnelly’s operation. He was in financial trouble before, and this had to have been his major income source.”

  “Maybe we should run a benefit for him.”

  “Cheer up,” Oliver says. “Today was a good day.”

  “Yeah? You wouldn’t think so if you spent it at the defense table.”

  “If I find anything that helps you, I’ll make sure you know about it.”

  “Thanks. See you in court.”

  The most important decision in most trials is an easy one in this case.

  I’m referring to the determination of whether a defendant should testify on his own behalf. To the uninitiated, it would seem that the answer should most often be yes. After all, who better to protest his or her innocence than the person claiming to be innocent? And wouldn’t the lack of testimony be seen as a tacit admission of guilt?

  The real-life answer to the question of whether to testify is almost always no. There’s just too much risk in having the client face what is certainly going to be a withering cross-examination. Any mistake, and even innocent people can make mistakes, especially under tremendous pressure, would be fatal.

  Usually it’s a balance of risk versus reward, but in this case there is almost no reward. Matt’s position, and mine, is that he has absolutely no information to offer about the killings. All he can do is say that he wasn’t involved, not exactly an earthshaking comment for an accused individual. It defines self-serving.

  Matt cannot even say where he was on the night in question. This could l
ook suspicious and certainly wouldn’t be helpful, even though probably all the members of the jury have no idea where they were that night either.

  Before court this morning, I discussed the situation with Matt, and he agreed with my assessment that he not testify. He professed to have full faith in me, which will make it even more painful when the jury comes back with the inevitable guilty verdict.

  Matt is looking hopeful this morning, with the start of the defense case imminent. Charlie Tilton doesn’t seem to share that view, basically since Charlie has a more accurate assessment of our chances.

  We’re starting off slowly, with Mary Patrick, Matt’s half sister.

  “Please describe your relationship to Mr. Jantzen.”

  “I’m his half sister. We have the same father, but different mothers.”

  “So you didn’t grow up together?”

  “No. I not only never spoke to Matt until a few months ago, but we didn’t even know that each other existed.”

  “How did you come to meet?”

  “Well, I had sent my DNA in more than two years ago, to origin.com. I wanted to learn things about my ancestry, although I never thought I might have siblings. It turns out that Matt did the same thing a few months ago, and they told him about me.”

  “When you sign up for one of those things, you have to agree that they can share the information with the public, and with governmental agencies like law enforcement?”

  “That’s correct. Both Matt and I did that.”

  “So he contacted you?”

  “Yes. He called me and said”—she smiles broadly—“‘I’m your brother.’ I was shocked, as you can imagine.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Well, I said I’d love to meet him, and he told me that he had already decided to move back to Maine. He grew up here. Next thing I knew, there he was. We hit it off really well immediately.”

  “Did he ever mention the murders?”

  “No, never.”

  “Did he ever seem worried, or guarded, about anything? I’m looking for your impression.”

  “No, never.”

  I have her describe how she came to realize that Matt might be in trouble; it’s an area of concern for our defense. A suspect who runs can be said to show consciousness of guilt.

  The police had come to her when she first handed her DNA in and came back when Matt’s was recorded. She told him about it, and he took off for New Jersey.

  “I told him to leave to take time to think about what to do,” she says. “He was shocked and confused, but he agreed.”

  Steinkamp’s cross-examination is brief but effective. “So, Ms. Patrick, you spent a total of two weeks knowing Mr. Jantzen before he left Maine?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “So all your impressions of him come from that brief period?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you told him about your concerns that the police might be after him, he fled the state?”

  “He followed my advice to take time to study the situation and think about how best to handle it.”

  “He went to New Jersey to study?”

  “To consider his options.”

  “After he fled this state?”

  “He needed to be away from here. That’s what he said, and that’s what I said.”

  Steinkamp nods, as if that clears it up. “Right, let’s talk about what he said, or didn’t say. Did he say that he needed to clear this up by going to the police and correcting their error?”

  “No.”

  “Did he say that he was elsewhere at the time of the murders, and that once he demonstrates that, everything will be fine?”

  “No. He barely remembered the murders and didn’t know where he was that night.”

  “Did you remember the murders?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because it was a big story back then, correct?”

  “It was a story. I remembered it more clearly because of the visit I had from the police.”

  “Ms. Patrick, I think we all understand that you want to protect your brother, but you know very little about him. Isn’t that true?”

  “I believe in him.”

  “Because he’s family.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  Mary Patrick nods and replies in a soft voice, “Because he’s family.”

  Officer John Pataki of the Paterson Police Department defines “reluctant witness.”

  He certainly could not have realized that breaking up a fight on Park Avenue in Paterson, New Jersey, would cause him to be in Maine testifying in a murder trial.

  And he certainly did not want to be here. We had to subpoena him, always a dangerous thing to do with a witness that we hope to be favorable. But after he got here, Laurie put him into still another suite, fed him lobster rolls, and convinced him it was for a good cause.

  I don’t know how friendly a witness he will be, but I do know he loves lobster.

  After I get him to identify himself as a Paterson police officer, I ask, “Lieutenant, you were called to the corner of Park Avenue and Thirty-third Street?”

  “Yes, someone had placed a nine-one-one call that there was a fight going on.”

  “What did you find when you arrived?”

  “The fight was over. One of the participants, a Mr. Neal Keller, was on the ground. He was dazed and making no effort to get up. The other participant, Matthew Jantzen, was standing near him, holding a dog on a leash.”

  “Were there a number of bystanders nearby who claimed to be witnesses to the event?”

  “Yes, we questioned seven people, all of whom told the same story.”

  “Was I one of those people?”

  “Yes.”

  “And my wife, Laurie Collins, was another?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what was the story we all told?”

  “That Mr. Keller was abusing his dog. He was kicking him and yelling at him to get up. Mr. Jantzen ran over and yelled at him to stop. Mr. Keller attacked him, and Mr. Jantzen defended himself and quickly prevailed in the fight.”

  “So he got in this fight, understanding that it might well bring the police, because he wanted to help a dog?”

  “I can’t speak to what he understood, but he was definitely acting to prevent the dog from being hurt.”

  “When he saw you arrive, did he try to run?”

  “No.”

  “When you said you were taking both men into custody, did he resist?”

  “No.”

  “Try to talk you out of it?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you, no further questions.”

  Steinkamp stands, using my fake put-upon frown, as if he is annoyed he has to deal with these trivialities. I might add that compared to me he’s a fake-frown amateur.

  “Officer Pataki, when you arrived, the fight had already ended?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was a violent fight?”

  “That’s what the witnesses said.”

  “And according to those witnesses, Mr. Jantzen punched Mr. Keller into submission? Near unconsciousness?”

  “Yes.”

  “Based on your investigation, Mr. Jantzen did not know Mr. Keller before he pummeled him?”

  “He did not know him, but the witnesses reported that Mr. Keller threw the first punch.”

  “Did those witnesses describe Mr. Jantzen as someone who had likely never been in a fight before?”

  “They didn’t comment on it either way.”

  “But Mr. Jantzen was the clear winner?”

  “Yes. That much is certain.”

  “Thank you.”

  I didn’t get that much out of Officer Pataki; certainly nothing that will carry the day. But at the least, he got across the point that Jantzen was willing to risk a great deal to rescue a dog that was being abused.

  If any dog lovers are on the jury, and in Maine there have to be, then that was worth the price of a suite and a few lobster rolls.

 
; I’ve made a decision; I made it the other night while walking the dogs.

  I’m next going to present evidence of Charkin’s being in bed with bad people, then wrap it up with my feeble attack on the DNA evidence.

  I’m doing it that way, in that order, because I want the jury to know that there were other potential killers of Charkin. They might then view my attacks on the DNA evidence in a more sympathetic light.

  To that end I’m meeting Captain Oliver in an anteroom an hour before court starts, so that we can go over his testimony. There’s no way I can tell him what to say, but I do want him prepared for my questions. He’s not happy to be back here, so I’ve brought him a few muffins from the hotel as a peace offering.

  “These are good,” he says, his mouth full.

  “There’s more where those came from, depending on your performance today.”

  He nods and reaches for another muffin. “Think of this as a successful bribe.”

  I briefly take him through what I will ask about Mitchell and the drug situation. He says that he might decline to answer a few of the questions because of the ongoing investigation, which is fine with me.

  Then I mention McCaskill, and I get a surprising reaction.

  “I can’t go there. My chief got a call from the FBI.”

  “Saying what?”

  “That it would interfere with an investigation, and that McCaskill and the militia connection are off-limits.”

  “Was this Agent Nichols?”

  “No, I know Don Nichols; he would have called me directly. This came from much higher up.”

  “Why would they tie McCaskill to your testimony in this case?”

  “I can’t answer that; I don’t know. Maybe because Charkin was somehow involved with him.”

  “I can’t prove that. I wasn’t even sure I was going to ask you about McCaskill. What do you know that would tie him to Charkin?”

  Oliver shrugs. “Not much. I had evidence they knew each other, but nothing more than that.”

  “Did you know he was an FBI informant?”

  Oliver does a double take. “No. Are you sure about that?”

  “I am. What the hell could the FBI be afraid of? Why would they think McCaskill was connected to this trial? Why would they try and preemptively muzzle you when you had nothing to say in the first place?”