Dog Tags

by David Rosenfelt

  Of course, the contents of the envelope did not figure in Erskine’s death, since the shooter hadn’t had a chance to open it before Milo intervened. The murder was committed as Milo entered the picture, which means that the shooter, or whoever sent him, still believed wrongly that Erskine would uphold his end of the bargain.

  “Let’s assume that they were killing Erskine for what he knew, and just getting the envelope wasn’t good enough to make them feel secure,” Laurie says. “They must have believed that the other soldiers knew the same thing, so they set about to eliminate them as well.”

  “Santiago asked me about Jason Greer,” I say. “He claimed that he and Greer were the only ones who knew the truth, that Greer had confided in him.”

  Laurie nods. “But the killers didn’t know that, or at least didn’t want to chance it. If they eliminate everyone, then no one can hurt them.”

  “They think the envelope lost out there is just as dangerous, which is why they want Milo.”

  Milo looks up at the mention of his name. I think he’s a little annoyed that no one is paying much attention to him or praising him for his performance. It’s sort of like Eliza Doolittle’s pique that she didn’t get the credit from Professor Higgins for doing so well at the fancy party.

  Milo, of course, has a point. It’s not his fault the envelope contained basically nothing. He did his job, and this is the thanks he gets.

  “What do we do with the envelope?” Hike asks.

  It’s a good question, and one I should have been thinking about. “What’s your recommendation?” I ask.

  “We sit on it. We have no obligation to turn it over to the court. It wasn’t part of the prosecution’s case, but even if it was, I think we’re on solid grounds holding on to it.”

  I nod. “Agreed.”

  “The other positive in not revealing it is that the killers will be more likely to make a mistake and reveal themselves if they think the envelope is still out there and dangerous to them.”

  “Of course, their mistake could involve killing Milo and Billy’s lead counsel, better known as me,” I say.

  Laurie turns to Hike. “I’d say that’s a risk we have to take, wouldn’t you?”

  Hike shrugs. “No guts, no glory.”

  “How are you doing with the evening news show that his wife says upset Alex Bryant?”

  “It was supposed to be delivered to my house this morning,” he says. “I’m going to watch it now, unless you want to go over tomorrow’s witnesses.”

  I shake my head. “I can do that myself. That tape is important; we’re running out of things to count on.” The envelope turning up dry was a big letdown for us. Had it contained incriminating facts about the bombing in Iraq, it could have gone a huge way toward making our case.

  I was prepared for the envelope not to help us, because I thought it unlikely that we could get Milo to find it. The fact that he did, and we still received no help, is a major disappointment.

  But I am feeling slightly more confident about the trial overall. We begin presenting our case tomorrow, and I think there’s a decent chance the jury will find Santiago’s murder, as well as the disappearance of his fellow soldiers, to be relevant to the case before them. And if it’s relevant, it certainly has the capacity to create reasonable doubt.

  My problem is in connecting Erskine more closely to the other soldiers. They were found culpable and discharged from the army; he was not. They seem to have come into sudden wealth; we have found no evidence that the same is true for Erskine. And unfortunately, Erskine is the one Billy is accused of murdering.

  I spend the evening reviewing my approach for our witnesses. I just try to go over the basic facts and make sure I can recall them completely and instantly. I never prepare actual questions to memorize or read during trial; it cuts down on the spontaneity. But even in direct testimony, surprises can take place, and I have to be prepared to deal with them instantly and effectively.

  I close the file and go into the bedroom at eleven thirty. Laurie has waited up for me, which is a good sign. She is naked under the covers, which is an extraordinarily good sign.

  “Everything okay?” she asks.

  I nod. “Yup.”

  “Then take your clothes off and get into bed.” This is a comment that would earn entry into the Good Sign Hall of Fame, if one existed.

  Unfortunately, just as I’m ripping my clothes off, the phone rings. I am fully prepared to ignore it, but Laurie says I should answer it, pointing out that this late at night, it could be important.

  I answer, and I hear Hike’s voice, which is the audio equivalent of a cold shower. “Sorry I called so late,” he says. “I must have had a bad piece of fish; I’ve been puking my guts out.”

  “Hike…”

  “This a good time?” he asks.

  “Not anymore,” I say. “What’s up?”

  “I went over the tape of the news show. There’s not much there; mostly local shit. Murders, city council meetings, car accidents, weather forecasts… that kind of stuff.”

  “Nothing on a bigger scale?”

  “A few things, but nothing obvious. I’ve made a list of everything, minute by minute. We can go over it tomorrow.”

  “Okay, thanks.” What I don’t tell him is that he’s just given me an idea as to how we can narrow it down and figure out what Alex Bryant was reacting to that night. I don’t tell him this, because it would prolong the conversation, and I would rather set my feet on fire.

  I hang up and immediately call Sam Willis. He answers on the first ring, as he’s done every time I’ve ever called him. “Willis.”

  “Sam, sorry to call so late, but I need you to access phone records.” Sam has demonstrated the ability to do this in the past, and neither of us has let the illegalities of the process deter us.

  “Sure, what’s the number?”

  “I don’t remember,” I say. “It’s in my office. But the phone was registered to Alex and Kathy Bryant. They live in Teaneck, on Chapman Avenue.”

  “I’ll get the number,” he says. “Is it a landline?”

  “I think so.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Calls made from that number on March fourteenth between ten PM and midnight. I want to know who was called and the exact time the calls were made.”

  “No problem,” he says. “When do you need it?”

  “How fast can you get it?”

  “Give me half an hour.”

  I look over at Laurie, who is still wide awake. “I’ll give you until tomorrow,” I say, and hang up.

  “Anything you want to tell me?” Laurie asks.

  “You look great,” I say.

  “I meant about the case.”

  “No,” I say.

  “Good.”

  OUR FIRST WITNESS IS ARMY CAPTAIN NATHAN KERSHAW.

  He is from the inspector general’s office, and will testify to the contents of the army’s investigative report on the explosion in Iraq. Colonel Mickelson has arranged for this to happen, probably motivated by his desire to please General Prentice.

  Captain Kershaw is at least six foot three, and looks like he weighs about 160 pounds. He’s blond and talks in a slow, Southern drawl, peppering his answers with a bunch of ‘sirs.’”

  I take him through the events of that day in Iraq, which he is thoroughly familiar with, even though he wasn’t there. In a sense he’s an expert witness, with his expertise his knowledge of the report itself.

  When I’m sure the jury has the proper context, I get to the meat of his testimony. “Captain, were any members of the army discharged as a result of this report and the events of that day?”

  “Yes, sir. Five members of the military police.”

  “What are their names?” I ask.

  “Sergeant First Class Jeremy Iverson, Sergeant First Class Jason Greer, Sergeant Raymond Santiago, Sergeant Donovan Chambers, and Corporal Tyler Lawson.”

  “Were they found responsible for the expl
osion?”

  “Not exactly, sir. They were judged negligent for allowing the perpetrator inside the perimeter.”

  “So it was not determined that they acted intentionally?” I ask.

  “No, sir.”

  “Was it determined that they did not act intentionally?”

  He shakes his head. “No, sir. There just wasn’t enough evidence either way. All the investigators could be sure of was the negligence.”

  “And they were dishonorably discharged for that negligence?”

  “They received OTH discharges, which means ‘other than honorable,’ sir.”

  “I see. Does the army keep track of people with OTH discharges after they leave the service?”

  He shakes his head. “We surely do not, sir.”

  “What did the report say about Major Erskine?”

  “Very little; he was not considered culpable, though the overall command structure was held to be somewhat deficient.”

  “Did he resign?”

  “Yes, sir. He did. Four months later.”

  I let Captain Kershaw off the stand, and Eli cross-examines. There’s really nothing for him to gain, since Kershaw has simply and accurately reported on what was in the report. Yet Eli questions him for over an hour, probably because he likes being called “sir.”

  I’ve gone back and forth over who to call next. I could go with a witness to the Santiago killing. It just happened, and some jurors may even be familiar with it. It is likely to have the biggest impact, since it is the only certain evidence we have that one of the soldiers was killed. For that reason, I’ve decided to save it for last.

  I call Lieutenant José Alvarez of the Albuquerque Police Department to testify regarding Tyler Lawson, who is still listed as a missing person. I would have been better off with an officer from Vegas, since that’s where the disappearance took place. Unfortunately, but logically, it was a hell of a lot easier to lure someone to New Jersey from Albuquerque than Vegas.

  Alvarez relates the basics: that Lawson had gone to Vegas for an apparent holiday, then went off with some guy and was never heard from again. The clincher, of course, is the safe loaded with cash that he left behind. The jury does not have to be filled with Rhodes Scholars to understand the significance of that fact.

  Alvarez also reveals that a further search showed Lawson to possess assets of almost five hundred thousand dollars, sitting untouched in a money market account. The money had been wired in from a Swiss bank account that could not be traced back.

  “So taking all of these factors into account, have you formed an impression as to where Mr. Lawson might be?”

  “I believe that he is the victim of foul play, and is likely no longer alive.”

  Eli points out on cross that Alvarez has no real knowledge of Lawson’s whereabouts, and that it is possible that he ran off with a woman, possibly to return any day. Alvarez admits that anything is possible, but his experience tells him that there is little chance that Lawson will ever return.

  My last witness of the day makes me a little nervous, but I call Willie Miller anyway. He is there to testify about his trip to Nassau, and his conversation with Inspector Christian. I introduce the affidavit that Hike got the inspector to sign, and Willie’s really up there as a witness seat filler, merely to recount and read from the affidavit.

  I would have liked to introduce evidence that someone from Nassau, perhaps a rental car agent, had recognized and remembered M, but no such identification has been made.

  I’ve gone over with Willie the importance of sticking to the facts and not going off on a tangent. He handles it pretty well, at least on the direct testimony. When I turn him over to Eli for cross-examination, my heart is in my throat. There is no telling what he can get Willie to say.

  “I have no questions for this witness,” says Eli.

  Thank you, God.

  Thank you, Eli.

  Not necessarily in that order.

  HIKE COMES OVER AFTER COURT SO THAT WE CAN GO OVER THE TAPE. He brings with him his list of which stories could possibly have upset Alex Bryant and prompted his phone call to his boss. Sam is supposed to come over in a little while with the phone records; hopefully we can match them up.

  It’s almost six o’clock when Hike gets there, and Laurie asks him if he’d like to have dinner with us before we start on the tape. He eagerly accepts the invitation, a decision I think he regrets when he discovers that Marcus will be sitting across the table from him.

  Laurie makes chicken parmigiana, one of her few hundred specialties. Hike spends the entire meal trying not to look at Marcus, who only says one word: “Yuh.” But he says it three times, it serving as an affirmative response each time Laurie asks him if he wants more chicken.

  Suffice it to say that this session will never be confused with the Algonquin Round Table.

  I can see Milo and Tara lying on beds in the den and not looking too pleased. Milo’s triumph in finding the envelope has resulted in the termination of the now unnecessary trust sessions. I don’t think he or Tara would be too broken up about that, except for the fact that those sessions were treat and biscuit buffets.

  This turn of events is really not fair to them, and I get up from the table and slip them each a couple of biscuits. I can do this secure in the knowledge that I won’t be missing out on any conversational gems at the dinner table.

  Once we’re finished eating and Marcus has polished off three-quarters of an apple pie, he goes off to wherever it is Marcus goes off to. Hike, Laurie, and I settle down to watch the tape.

  Local news is always boring, and local news that is months old is incredibly boring. It was raining heavily that day, and they kept cutting to field reporters standing in various parts of the metropolitan area, earnestly revealing that things were really wet.

  National news barely made an appearance, mostly in snippets between rain reports. I agree with Hike on the four possibilities, though none seems particularly promising. There was a home invasion murder of a business executive and his wife, a rhodium mine explosion in South Africa that resulted in the deaths of two miners, a serious disease outbreak on a cruise ship off the coast of Mexico, and a congressional vote failing to renew a trade agreement with three Latin American governments as punishment for their alleged failure to rein in illegal drug production.

  Sam comes over about ten minutes after we’ve finished with copies of Alex Bryant’s phone records from that night. He called his boss, Stanley Freeman, at ten forty-seven, a call that lasted for twelve minutes.

  The only two stories from the tape that were on our list and matched up with that time were the cruise ship, which ran at ten forty-one, and the rhodium mine explosion, which ran at ten forty-four.

  “Can we get a list of the passengers on the ship?” I ask.

  Hike frowns. “We could subpoena it, but we’d have to demonstrate relevance to our case. I’m not sure we can do that.”

  I turn to Sam, who is the person I was talking to in the first place. “Piece of cake,” he says.

  “Good. Now, what the hell is rhodium?”

  “I think it’s used in catalytic converters,” Hike says.

  “That doesn’t quite clear it up for me,” I say. “What are catalytic converters?”

  “You know those harmful emissions that come out of your car? Catalytic converters make them less harmful.”

  “Doesn’t sound like something people in high finance would be interested in,” I say. “But you should check it out.”

  “I’ll do that,” Sam says.

  “Still nothing on Jason Greer or Jeremy Iverson?” I ask. I’m especially interested in Greer, the soldier Santiago referred to as knowing the truth. In fact, he said that the killers would have gone after him first, and revealed that Greer told him the details.

  Sam shakes his head. “No. They’ve both disappeared off the face of the earth.”

  I suspect that is literally true, that Greer and Iverson have been a few feet under the earth for quite a
while now. I have no real hope of ever hearing from them, but evidence of their demise would be compelling to the jury.

  Sam sniffs the air, as if first noticing something. “What’s that smell? Veal parmigiana?”

  “Chicken,” I say.

  “You got any left?”

  “Marcus joined us for dinner.”

  “Oh. I’ll stop for something on the way home.”

  “You’ve never seen anything like it,” Hike says.

  “Yes, I have,” Sam says. “June twenty-eighth, 2003. I ate with Andy and Marcus at Charlie’s; he ate everything on the menu and then started eating the menu. Cooks were collapsing in the kitchen. They have a plaque on the wall to commemorate the occasion.”

  “We’ve got some dog biscuits,” I say.

  “You want a tuna sandwich?” Laurie is asking the question from the doorway, having listened to some of the conversation. “I keep it hidden for emergencies like this. Marcus has no idea.”

  “No thanks,” Sam says. “I’d be too nervous. What if he came back?”

  Laurie tries to get Sam to have the sandwich, telling him that she replaces it every few days to keep it fresh, and this one is on its third day. But he begs off, choosing instead to go home to his computer. Hike leaves as well, and it will be up to Laurie and me to figure out what to do with the precious sandwich.

  I stay up until almost eleven, going over the information for tomorrow’s court day. Then I take Tara for a late-night walk. The grass is wet from dew, or from whatever makes grass wet, and Tara loves it. She rolls around on her back, feet up in the air, completely joyful.

  For the five millionth time, I love and envy her.

  Laurie is already asleep when I get to bed, so I pet Milo and Tara for a while and then go to sleep myself.

  The phone wakes me at a little after twelve, and the voice is Sam’s. He doesn’t say hello, just starts with, “Guess what is a form of platinum but worth even more.”

  Even in my groggy state, I know the answer. “Rhodium.”