Who Let the Dog Out?

by David Rosenfelt

  “Healy came to me about a week before Downey died. He said he knew my little girl was sick, and that I needed money, and he had a way to get me a lot of it. He told me to threaten Downey in the bar; he gave me a whole script to follow. He told me to threaten to slit his throat.”

  Tommy had once before mentioned a sick child, but I haven’t seen any evidence that she exists, and at this point I have my doubts that she does. “Did he tell you why he wanted you to threaten him?”

  “Just that Downey was starting to cause problems, and he wanted him to know that it wouldn’t be tolerated.”

  “What about the jewelry store robbery?”

  Tommy shakes his head. “There wasn’t any; that was just something Healy told me to say. He said Downey would know what it was really about, and that he’d get the message.”

  “And you believed all this?”

  “It didn’t matter if I believed it. My kid is sick, and Healy paid me another five grand. Up front. So I did it, and then I heard that Downey got murdered, and the way it happened.… I did not do this, Andy.”

  “Did you talk to Healy after that?”

  He nods. “I did. He told me that things didn’t go down the way they were planned, and that I might be arrested. He said I wouldn’t be in jail that long, that they would plant some evidence that would get me out. And he said they would get me a lawyer. That’s why I asked if somebody sent you, that first day at the jail. Healy said I should trust him.”

  “And did you?”

  “Of course not. But he sent my ex-wife another ten grand, and he told me that the best thing for the health of her and my kid was for me to sit tight. He was threatening them, and I couldn’t protect them. This was a guy who had just slit somebody’s throat, Andy.”

  “So you didn’t tell anyone?”

  He shakes his head. “No. What was I going to say? I had no idea where Healy was; would anybody believe my story?”

  “Keep going.”

  “So then I heard about Brantley getting killed, and I knew that you thought my case was tied in to Brantley. So I called Healy, and somebody else answered.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know; it wasn’t a voice I recognized. So I asked for Healy, and he told me that Healy was dead, and that if I said anything, the same thing would happen to me and my family. Then he told me not to call again, and he hung up. I was freaking out, but I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t.”

  I have no idea if Tommy is telling the truth or not, but one thing is for certain: he’s not making this story up as he goes along. It’s either true, or well prepared for the eventuality that I would confront him like this.

  “What’s your ex-wife’s name, and where do they live?” I ask.

  “You need to leave them out of this.”

  “Then you need to find a new lawyer.” My theory is that empty threats are most effective when repeated.

  He thinks for a moment, so I add, “You lied to me, Tommy. It’s the one thing I can’t tolerate.”

  He nods in what seems to be resignation. “Her name is Luann Willoughby; they live on Ridgetop Road in Morristown.”

  I ask him for the number he called Healy on, and he gives me that as well. “Okay,” I say, and get up to leave.

  “What are you going to do?” he asks.

  “Just what I’ve been doing.”

  I barely have time to call Laurie before the afternoon session begins. I tell her about my conversation with Tommy in detail, and ask her to have Sam check out some of the facts. Just before I hang up, she asks, “Do you believe him?”

  “I’m embarrassed to say that I think I do. And if he is telling the truth, then he was stupid, but understandably so. And he doesn’t deserve to be in jail.”

  The afternoon court session is going to be a relatively uneventful one. Dylan will be focusing on the forensics, which are incriminating, but will add very little to what the jury already knows.

  First up is Sergeant Jessie McNab who handled the on-site forensics, both at Downey’s house and Tommy’s. Dylan takes way longer than necessary to bring out the only important details of the testimony, the fact that Tommy’s fingerprints were in Downey’s house, and Downey’s blood was on the knife buried in Tommy’s backyard.

  My first question on cross is, “Sergeant, how many different sets of fingerprints did you find in Mr. Downey’s house?”

  “Eleven.”

  “If you know, how many of those eleven people were arrested for the murder?”

  “One.”

  “Were my prints in the house?” I ask.

  “Yes, they were on the front door and the staircase.”

  “Are you aware of any warrants out for my arrest?”

  “No, but I can check when I get back to the station.”

  That gets a laugh out of everyone in the courtroom, including me, though I’m probably the only one fake laughing. “When did I leave my prints there?” I ask.

  “That’s not knowable from the prints themselves.”

  “Would that be true of Mr. Infante’s prints as well?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t know when he left them there?” I ask.

  “I do not.”

  “Sergeant McNab, are you aware of testimony that the two men knew each other?”

  “I am.”

  “Did you find other evidence of Mr. Infante’s presence in the house? Any DNA, for instance?”

  “No.”

  “So, let me sum up what you’ve said about Mr. Infante’s presence in the house, and tell me if I’ve mischaracterized it. Based on fingerprint evidence, and fingerprint evidence only, you can tell that at some point in history, Mr. Infante was in Mr. Downey’s house.”

  “I’m not sure I’d say ‘at some point in history.’”

  “Sorry,” I say. “How would you put it?”

  “I guess I’d say he was in the house, but I can’t say when.”

  I nod. “Perfect. Let’s go with your version. Now, let’s move on to Mr. Infante’s house. Did you find anything relating to Mr. Downey on that property or in the house, other than the knife?”

  “Mr. Downey’s fingerprints were there as well.”

  “Ah, so they must have visited each other?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “What kind of knife was it?” I ask.

  “It was a kitchen knife, made by Spencer.”

  “Is that a rare type?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “If I told you it was sold at twenty-one different stores in Bergen County alone, would you agree with that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I introduce a document into evidence showing that in fact it is sold at all those stores, and then move on. “Were Mr. Downey’s prints on the knife?” There has already been testimony that they were not.

  “No.”

  “But there was blood?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you think Mr. Infante wiped off his fingerprints, but left the blood? Fingerprints on an ordinary kitchen knife found on his own property would be more incriminating than the victim’s blood?”

  “I don’t know what he did, or why.”

  “Was there blood in the defendant’s car?”

  “No.”

  I feign surprise. “Not even from the knife?”

  “No.”

  “No bloody clothes?”

  “No.”

  “So he made sure the car was clean, and that there were no fingerprints on the knife, but he then buried a bloody knife a half-inch deep on his own property? Is that your testimony?”

  “I’m just telling you the facts.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant McNab. That’s what we’re looking for.”

  “It all checks out, Andy,” Sam says. “Her name is Luann Willoughby, and she lives in Morristown where Tommy said she lives. She and Tommy were divorced six years ago, and they have a ten-year-old daughter named Jenny.”

  Sam has come over to give Lauri
e and me the results of his efforts to check out what Tommy told me when I confronted him. “Is the daughter sick?” I ask.

  He nods. “No question about it. She’s been in the hospital on and off for almost a year.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  Sam shrugs, in what seems like his version of embarrassment. “I got the hospital records, but I didn’t look at them. Didn’t seem right.”

  “That’s okay, Sam,” Laurie says. “You did the right thing.”

  I nod. “Absolutely. And what about the money?”

  “She made two large cash deposits, one was for five thousand, the other for ten thousand. No way to be sure where she got the money, but they match what Tommy told you.”

  I’m certainly glad that all of this checked out, but of course that doesn’t prove anything. Tommy could have a sick child, and received money from Healy, just like he said, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t also murder Downey. In fact, ten thousand dollars seems like it would more likely be a payment for a hit than for simply walking into a bar and threatening someone.

  Having said all that, my inclination is to believe Tommy. The story had the ring of truth, and this confirming information adds to its credibility, at least in my mind. It could be that I just want to believe him, since I’m stuck defending him, but it doesn’t really matter either way. It is what it is.

  Sam also brings another piece of interesting news. Shortly after Brantley returned from South Africa, he made three phone calls to Downey, and received two from him. Whatever connection he made over there probably had Downey’s name as someone who could get him into the diamond world. It did not end well for either of them.

  Sam leaves, and Ricky, Tara, Sebastian, and I go for our evening walk. Before Ricky and Sebastian were part of our family, Laurie would sometimes accompany Tara and me. She usually doesn’t now; I’ve never asked her why, but I think she wants to give us some father-son bonding time.

  Ricky is still grappling with the soccer versus baseball quandary, and I have tried to stay out of it and not be a pushy father. I’ve bought Ricky a new glove and bat, but that was not done to pressure him. Nor was the promise of a higher allowance if he plays baseball.

  “Will Rubenstein thinks soccer is for wimps,” he says.

  “Will is a smart kid,” I say. “Very, very bright.”

  “But I like both games; I don’t know what to do.”

  “You know, you could try one, see how it goes, and then if you want, try the other.”

  “You think so?” he asks.

  “Sure. For example, you could focus on baseball, and then in ten or fifteen years if you don’t like it, we can talk about it.”

  “Mom thinks soccer is just as good.”

  “Mom’s very smart, but she isn’t really into sports like we guys are.”

  Ricky thinks for a moment, then says, “Okay, I think I’ll play baseball first.”

  I’m not proud of what I’ve said, and I have a bad feeling about how I’ve handled this. Fortunately, I’ll get over that feeling. “Sounds like a good idea, Rick.”

  “Should we talk to Mom about this when we get back?” he asks.

  “I don’t think so. She’s pretty busy doing mother stuff.”

  When we get back, Laurie doesn’t seem to be doing any mother stuff. Instead, she’s waiting for us on the porch. And she wants to talk about something other than the baseball versus soccer controversy.

  “Alan Divac is the guy you went to see about diamonds, right?” she asks.

  “Right. Why?”

  “He was arrested for diamond smuggling, money laundering, arms sales, and murder.”

  This is a stunner; I thought Divac represented the legitimate end of the diamond importing business. “Murder of who?” I ask.

  “Michael Caruso, Brantley’s partner. Now they’re saying that they were wrong, that Brantley didn’t do it. Divac either did it, or contracted it out.”

  “But they’re not charging him with the murder of Brantley?”

  “Apparently not,” she says. “At least the media isn’t reporting it.”

  I go inside and watch a news conference that CNN is broadcasting. The head agent for Immigration and Customs Enforcement is answering questions. In the background are Agents Hernandez and Gardiner. They had registered apparent surprise when I mentioned I had talked to Alan Divac; apparently they were preparing to drop the bomb on him at around that time.

  The agent says, “There remains additional charges that may be filed at a future time, including, but not limited to, possible additional counts of homicide.”

  A short while later one of the reporters asks him if Divac will be the only one charged in the case, and his answer is, “The investigation is ongoing, and there may be charges filed against certain foreign nationals who are not named in this indictment.”

  “What about others within Divac’s company?” is the next question.

  He shakes his head. “At this point we do not anticipate others being implicated in the conspiracy. Mr. Divac was running this operation separate and apart from his company and its employees.”

  The press conference ends, and so does the coverage of the story. Laurie and I decide to wait until she puts Ricky to bed before we discuss what the development might mean for our case.

  I pour us each a glass of wine while Laurie is in Ricky’s room, tucking him in, and I hand one to her when she joins me in the den. “He loves going on those walks with you,” she says.

  “Is that what he said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he say anything else?” I ask, fearful that he threw me under the baseball bus.

  “Like what?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  Her antennae are obviously activated. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “Are you kidding? No way. Just making conversation.”

  I can tell she doesn’t believe me, but we move on to the news about Divac’s arrest. “It can’t help us,” I say, ever upbeat. “It can only hurt.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, there’s an air of finality to it, at least in our time frame. The investigations are for all intents and purposes over, and Divac will lawyer up. By the time he goes to trial, if he ever does, our boat will have sailed long ago.”

  “Maybe you can talk to those customs agents,” she says. “I’m sure they know more than they’ll say in a press conference.”

  “The problem is I don’t have leverage with them anymore. They’ve got their man, so there’s nothing they need from me. And we still haven’t tied any of this to Downey’s murder.”

  “So let’s look at the big picture,” Laurie says. “What is our theory on who committed these murders?”

  “Well, Brantley had a relationship with Downey; we know that because Downey stole Zoe for him. So in my mind whoever killed one, killed the other. And I believe Brantley was trying to smuggle diamonds in, which would have made him a competitor of Divac’s. So my best guess, and it’s only a guess, is that Divac ordered the murders.”

  “Where does Healy come in?” she asks.

  “That’s even harder to figure. Based on what Tommy said about Healy getting him to threaten Downey, I assumed Healy must have killed Downey. So he would have likely targeted Brantley as well, but he was killed with Brantley.”

  “Maybe Healy turned on Divac,” she says.

  I nod. “Could be. And Divac brought that guy Alek in to clean up the whole mess and get rid of everybody.”

  “Including Brantley’s boss? The professor?”

  “Yes, if he was Brantley’s partner in all this.”

  “Makes sense,” she says. “But one other thing bothers me. Why would they have to frame Tommy for Downey’s murder?”

  I frown, which is what I do when I get frustrated. “This is just me guessing again, but maybe Divac wanted it to look like Downey’s murder had nothing to do with the diamonds. That way the Feds wouldn’t tie it in. And they s
et it up to look like Brantley killed his partner for the same reason.”

  “But why not have a fall guy for the Brantley and Healy murders?”

  “Maybe because different people were doing the murders. Downey and Caruso were ordered by Divac. And whoever killed Brantley and Healy wanted Divac to take the fall for that, too. So they did frame someone; they framed Divac, but Divac is probably guilty.”

  “That also makes sense,” she says.

  “Yeah. But if we can’t prove it, it doesn’t help Tommy.”

  Dylan’s final witness is basically here to make everyone sick. Her name is Dr. Collette Reny, and it definitely isn’t her appearance that is the problem. She’s no more than thirty-five, and strikingly pretty. She also talks in a soothing voice that projects intelligence and understanding. Nobody in the courtroom will have any problem believing she is a competent shrink.

  She’s been called to discuss the psychological ramifications of the way Gerald Downey died. The vicious slicing of the throat, as she points out, was not necessary to accomplish the goal of killing the victim. Nor is Dr. Reny’s testimony necessary for Dylan to make his case. But having her there gives him a chance to again display the horrible crime scene photos in all their glory, allowing the jury to once more hate Tommy Infante for even being accused of doing such a thing.

  I don’t spend much time staring at the photos, since I experienced the scene live and in person. It is an image I am already having little success erasing from my mind; I don’t need photographic reminders.

  “It is clearly a demonstration of rage,” Dr. Reny points out. “The killer wanted his victim to suffer, and the fact that the action was taken from the front means he wanted the victim to anticipate that suffering.”

  Dylan basically elicits this same testimony seven or eight times, to give the jury time to fully take it in. By the time he turns the witness over to me, half the jury probably wants to take Tommy out back and lynch him.

  “Dr. Reny, when did you conduct your examination of Mr. Infante?”

  “I did not have access to him,” she says.

  “Did you seek such access?”

  “I did not.”