“Andy, this is someone you don’t want to have anything to do with, in any form.”
“So you know of him?”
“I’ve been chasing him for six months.”
“Why?”
“He’s a murderer, Andy. And one of his murders is part of a case I’m working on.”
“Which one?” I ask.
“I’m not at liberty to say. Sorry.”
“Is it mob-related?”
I can just about see her frowning into the phone. “I’m not going to play twenty questions with you, but no, it’s not mob-related, depending on your definition of mob.”
“That’s a little cryptic for me,” I say.
“That’s the best I can do, other than to tell you to be very careful with this guy. And I can also send you the sketch we’re working with; we don’t have a picture.”
I ask her to send it to me right away, and then I get off the phone and tell Willie about the conversation, and he nods confirmation. “Russo said he was bad news.”
Which is pretty significant, because I imagine Russo is a pretty good judge of bad news.
“WE ARE A NATION OF LAWS.” Eli Morrison has chosen to begin his opening statement with a sentence that everyone can agree with. It is probably the last sentence he will say during the entire trial that doesn’t get an argument from me.
“Some of those laws are complicated; anyone who has ever gotten a look at the tax code can attest to that. But some are simple, like the one the State of New Jersey has accused William Zimmerman of breaking.”
Eli is calling Billy “William” in an effort to dehumanize him. Regular guys have nicknames, would be Eli’s theory, and murderers are not regular guys.
“This particular law says that one person cannot murder another. It doesn’t matter if the murderer has a grudge against his victim. It wouldn’t even matter if that grudge was legitimate, if the killer considered it vigilante justice. That is just a name killers use; the real name for it is murder.
“William Zimmerman killed Major Jack Erskine, against whom he held a grudge. A man whom he blamed for destroying his life. So he stalked Major Erskine and then gunned him down in cold blood, at point-blank range, on an Edgewater street. The forensics evidence, the eyewitness testimony, will prove this conclusively to you, beyond a reasonable doubt.”
Eli has answered one question for me; he has quite willingly opened the door to testimony about Billy’s grudge against Erskine, and will no doubt introduce evidence of it during the trial. I’m pleased about that, but it doesn’t go far enough for me. I want to be able to show that other people had a reason and a desire to kill Erskine, but it’s problematic at this point whether that testimony will be admitted.
“The defense will try to cloud the issue and, if I know Mr. Carpenter, will cloud it very creatively. They will advance wild theories about alleged conspiracies hatched thousands of miles away, about shadowy villains who murder and then disappear into the night. It will all be very interesting, even fascinating, but it will be irrelevant.
“Your job, and Judge Catchings will instruct you as to this, is to focus on the evidence that is presented to you. Not theory, not speculation, just evidence. That is all I ask you to do, and I know you will.”
During Eli’s statement, I glance over a few times at the people sharing the defense table with me. Billy sits impassively, showing no emotion whatsoever. Having an ex-cop as a client presents some challenges, but a significant advantage is his familiarity with this process.
Billy knows what to show the jury, and what not to show them. They should see dignity, and thoughtfulness, and courage in the face of adversity. They should not see emotion, especially in this case. Billy is being accused of letting emotion and a desire for revenge cause him to murder; his acting emotionally now would only feed into that.
Emotion can also be easily misinterpreted. Tears of anguish can be construed as tears of guilt; outrage at a witness’s falsehoods can be taken as anger that the truth is being revealed.
I discussed this desired code of conduct with Billy before the trial, but he already knew it, and I am confident he will continue to act accordingly.
Farther down the table is Hike, who looks far more unhappy with things than Billy. Unfortunately, this is the natural state of affairs; Hike is in fact unhappier than Billy. There are prisoners in CIA black-hole rendition prisons who are positively giddy compared with Hike.
Hopefully, as the trial goes on, the jury will realize that Hike’s demeanor is a permanent affliction, and that he naturally looks miserable even when things are going our way.
Eli has done an excellent job on his opening, and it’s not because he was particularly eloquent. The strength of his argument rested in the fact that he was telling the truth; the evidence is overwhelmingly on the prosecution’s side, and if the jury isn’t led astray, Billy is history.
Which means I have to lead them astray.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there will be very few instances in which Mr. Morrison and I will be in complete agreement, but here is one of them: We both want you to focus on the facts.
“So let’s start with some background facts. Billy Zimmerman is a hero, a public servant worthy of our respect and admiration. He has spent his entire adult life protecting our laws, protecting me, protecting you.
“After graduating from college, he went directly to the police academy, as his father did, and as his grandfather did before that. He spent the next eight years in dedicated service, receiving multiple commendations, and earning the rank of detective. He is the eighth youngest person to achieve that rank in Passaic County in the last fifty years.
“Had he continued in that role, progressing at that pace, he would no doubt be an even higher-ranking officer in the department today. The only problem was that there was this war going on, on the other side of the globe, and Billy felt he was needed there even more than here.
“So he volunteered for active duty and became a military policeman, putting his life on hold so he could go to Iraq and protect us again. And he received three commendations for his efforts.
“Until one day his life took a turn. A sixteen-year-old girl strapped bombs to her waist and blew herself to bits, killing eighteen people in the process. Bill Zimmerman lost his leg that day, and at the same time he lost his opportunity, but not his ability, to protect us.
“He was considered physically unable to remain in the army, and when he came home, instead of being greeted as the hero he was, he faced the stupid, heartless treatment so many of our veterans are subjected to. Quality medical care was difficult to come by, and his job at the police department was no longer his for the retaking.
“By a curious coincidence, Milo, the dog that Billy worked with on the force, was also finding himself suddenly unwelcome, because he had reached the ripe old age of seven. So Billy took custody of Milo, with few options and the need to provide for both of them. So what did he do?
“He became a thief.”
I can see the surprise in the jurors’ eyes when I say this, but it was an easy call for me. Billy’s new “profession” was going to come out in this trial no matter what, so it should come from me. This way I can present it in the best possible light, while not looking like I am trying to hide it. If handled right and we get lucky, it could even play as a positive for us.
“Yes, Billy Zimmerman became a thief; in fact, Milo did as well. They used the same technique that Milo learned in disarming dangerous criminals to steal items that they could then sell for money. In the course of six months they did this three times, not enriching themselves in the process, but earning enough to keep them fed and sheltered.
“And then one night he saw Mr. Erskine, a man in charge of security the day that Billy was injured. He saw him acting suspiciously, so he watched and waited to see what was going on. And when the opportunity presented itself, he and Milo tried to steal something that Mr. Erskine had that seemed to have possible value.
“But the e
vidence will show that Mr. Erskine had his own agenda that night; he was meeting someone to make what seems to have been a sinister exchange. And the person he was meeting proved to be his killer.
“But here’s what you need to know: In that horrible moment, Billy Zimmerman once again became a protector. He rushed to protect Mr. Erskine, but he was too late. The evidence will show that because he made that effort, and only because he made that effort, he sits here before you today, accused of the murder he tried to prevent.
“Those are the facts, and I join Mr. Morrison in asking you to please follow them.”
MY OPENING STATEMENT ISN’T OVER UNTIL FOUR O’CLOCK IN THE AFTERNOON. The good news is that Judge Catchings then decides to put off Eli’s first witness until tomorrow. The bad news is that there is likely to be a tomorrow.
The presentation of the prosecution’s case is not surprisingly always the toughest part of the trial for the defense. Cases aren’t even brought unless there is deemed to be probable cause, which means that by definition the prosecution has substantial evidence of the defendant’s guilt.
So I can be sure that witness after witness will be called, creating a barrage effect that has the danger of overwhelming our defense before we have our turn at bat.
All we have during this time is cross-examination, where I will try to pick apart their witnesses and find inconsistencies in their testimony. I will try to create doubt, not necessarily reasonable doubt, but enough for the jury not to make up their minds too quickly.
Ordinarily, this time includes an eagerness on my part to get it over with so that I can go on offense and present our case. That impatience doesn’t exist here, because at this point we don’t have a case.
During a trial I am in work-intensive mode, which is my least favorite mode to be in. I spend all my spare time reading and rereading the case file, paying particular attention to the witnesses I will be dealing with the next day. There is simply no substitute for preparation, and much as I hate it, I really do pride myself on not being outprepared by anyone I face.
My nightly ritual during this case is slightly different, since I have to include my ridiculous hour-long trust-building sessions with Milo. I swear, Milo and Tara have started not finishing their dinners because they want to save room for the better-tasting treats they will receive during these sessions.
We do it in the den, and once they’re finished with dinner they start hanging around in the hallway outside the den, impatiently waiting to get started. Tara’s got an especially good deal. She already trusts me and has no idea where the envelope is, so she has no significant role to play. All she has to do is lie there and inhale the treats.
Laurie hasn’t been joining me for these sessions; she’s busy working the phones trying to gather information that we can use. She’s been working ridiculously long hours, since she also has her teaching responsibilities at the college. But she’s thriving at it, and the aftereffects of her injury are becoming harder and harder to notice.
Actually, I feel like I’m making pretty good progress with Milo. Using the techniques Billy and Juliet have taught me, I can get him to take objects out of my hand and go hide them, yet lead me to the hiding place on command. Of course, I have no idea if this will result in him leading me to an envelope he took long ago without me around. For all I know, he doesn’t even remember where the envelope is.
“Milo, old buddy, pretty soon it’s going to be your chance to shine.”
He looks at me quizzically, tilting his head slightly. The head tilt is something that Tara mastered long ago; it simultaneously makes her look cute and interested in what I’m saying. Milo isn’t as good at it as she is, but he’s learning.
“Don’t give me that head-tilt crap; you know what I’m talking about.”
“I do hate to interrupt this meeting of the minds,” Laurie says, having entered the room without me realizing it.
“He’s trying to pull the old head tilt on me,” I say. “I’m calling him on it.”
“I’m impressed,” she says. “You want to call me when you’re finished? Because I’ve got some big news.”
“Good big news?”
She nods, so I end the trust session early to give her my full attention.
“Sam found a plane reservation made six weeks ago by Donovan Chambers,” she says. “It was Nassau in the Bahamas, to San Juan, to Cancún. He made it in the evening for a flight that was to leave at seven o’clock the next morning.”
I recognize the name instantly; Donovan Chambers is one of the soldiers discharged from the army as a result of the explosion in Iraq.
“Sounds like he was in a hurry. Has Sam found any traces of him in Cancún?”
She shakes her head. “He hasn’t even looked; Chambers never got on the plane in the first place.”
“Do we know why?” I ask.
“No, and neither do the authorities in Nassau. A friend of mine in the Miami PD put me in touch with someone down there. Chambers hasn’t been seen since that day; all his clothes and possessions were there, including seventy-five grand in a hidden safe.”
The same thing happened with Tyler Lawson in Vegas; there seems to be a run on ex-soldiers disappearing and leaving large sums of money behind.
“Have they got any leads?”
“None. And I doubt that they care a lot, him being a foreigner and all. If they had a body, that would be a different story. But they don’t.”
“Can we depose them?” I ask. “I need something tangible to give me any shot at introducing this at trial.”
“We can definitely depose them,” she says. “I can go down there and do it myself.”
If there’s a worse idea than Laurie going off to Nassau, I’m not aware of it. “It should be a lawyer,” I say.
“What about Hike?”
“I really don’t want to be responsible for depressing an entire country. I think we have international treaties prohibiting stuff like that.”
“Well, you can’t go, and it’s not like you have a whole staff of lawyers,” she points out.
“Too bad it’s not Bangladesh; I could have Kevin do it.”
I pick up the phone and call Hike, who never answers before the fifth ring. It’s like he’s hoping the caller will hang up and he won’t have to be bothered.
He finally answers, and I tell him the situation and ask him if he would be willing to go.
“To Nassau?” he asks.
“Yes. Have you ever been there?”
“Of course not. Twenty minutes in that sun and I’d be peeling my skin off with a squeegee.”
“You can put suntan lotion on your expense account,” I say.
“What about bug repellent? On those islands they have mosquitoes the size of Volkswagens.”
“No problem.”
“Are there direct flights?” he asks.
“I don’t think so. I think you fly to Miami and then switch planes.”
“To one of those little puddle jumpers? You know what the crash rate is on those? It’s like forty percent.”
“Hike…”
“Look at just the singers that have been killed on those things. Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, Patsy Cline, Ricky Nelson, John Denver, Jim Croce, Otis Redding, the Big Bopper… if I were a singer I wouldn’t even drive by a damn airport.”
“But you’re not a singer, Hike.”
“So? Half of them had their lawyers on the plane with them.”
“I need you to do this, Hike. At double your hourly rate.”
“On the other hand, plenty of singers have landed safely,” he says. “But what if it’s dangerous once I get there?”
“You mean sunburn?” I ask.
“No, I mean murder. Isn’t that what we think happened to this Chambers guy?”
“There’s no reason to think that whoever did it would still be on the island.”
“Unless he is,” Hike says.
We agree that I’ll ask Willie to go along as protection. That way Willie can pla
y detective, and Hike can get the depositions done.
The exhausting negotiation is finally over, and it’s proven one thing: Milo trusts me more than Hike does.
ALAN LANDON WAS GETTING WORRIED. Ever since he’d received the call from M while listening to the mayor’s speech, things had not gone nearly as smoothly as he wanted… as he demanded. Perhaps he was spoiled, since the previous operations had gone off without anything resembling a hitch.
Anxiety was a sensation so unusual for him that he was actually struck by it. Landon had spent his entire life being smart enough to think two steps ahead of anyone else, and rich and ruthless enough to deal with any impediments to those steps. The occasions where worry was called for were few and far between.
From the beginning, he wanted the envelope that Erskine had, and that the dog had run off with. But he had always been a patient man, and he was willing to let matters unfold, and wait to make a move when it presented itself.
Landon prided himself on that willingness to be patient. Back in his basketball-playing days as a point guard for Dartmouth, he had learned the wisdom of what coaches referred to as letting the game come to you. The trick was to see the entire court, to know the game well enough to anticipate, and to take advantage of openings when they presented themselves.
And until now, the game had always come to Alan Landon.
But this situation was different. So far his patience had not been rewarded, and outside pressures were getting greater. He couldn’t pull this operation off on his own; he literally did not have, and could not get, the necessary device to do the job. And the person who did have it was getting worried, and threatening to withhold it.
It was becoming clear that the only way to eliminate that pressure was to get the envelope, and the time left to get it was decreasing.
Landon knew that M was getting impatient as well. M was a man of action, they had that in common, and he was disenchanted with the lack of momentum to this operation. But M knew very little of what was really going on, and Landon had no desire to fill him in. M would have a very specific role to perform, and when Landon gave him the go-ahead, he would perform it in devastating fashion.
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