Bark of Night

by David Rosenfelt

  The meeting was held in a four-store strip mall in Lyndhurst that was notable for the fact that all four stores were empty and available for lease. Rojas had scouted it out and deemed it perfect, since it was off the beaten path with little street traffic. The small parking lot out front was occasionally used by people looking to avoid the cost of metered street parking, so some minor activity would go relatively unnoticed.

  Rojas had no difficulty getting through the lock on the store farthest to the left, which had most recently been a pet store. Then he waited for Silvio and Simmons, who had been instructed to arrive twenty minutes apart, with Silvio arriving first.

  Silvio appeared on time and was dead before he stepped three feet into the store. Rojas had considered questioning him first, since he had some information that would have been helpful. But Rojas respected the fact that Silvio was a dangerous man; it was a major reason he had hired him in the first place. Best to kill him before he had a chance to get his bearings, or to realize the danger he was in.

  Rojas used a silencer on his handgun so as not to attract attention. He then moved Silvio’s body so that it would not be within Simmons’s sight line when he showed up. Bloodstains remained on the floor, but Rojas was not concerned that Simmons would make the connection and understand the danger in the few seconds he would have to live.

  Simmons did not do exactly as instructed. He was not as confident in his ability to protect himself, nor was he completely trusting of Rojas. So even though he had been told to come alone, he brought one of his lieutenants with him.

  That brought the number of people Rojas killed in that room to three.

  Rojas made no effort to conceal the bodies. Once he was a distance from the store, he was going to call 911 and anonymously report that the murders had taken place in that location. He wanted to be sure that Gamble’s lawyer knew they were dead; it would leave them no one to look for, and no one to investigate. Silvio and Simmons had come to represent weak links, so Rojas had removed them from the chain.

  The lawyer would not be looking for Rojas because he did not know Rojas existed.

  So Rojas left to call 911, and as he did, he had no idea that Marcus Clark was taking his picture.

  The triple murder was obviously a field day for the media.

  Cold-blooded assassinations like this do not happen every day, so that in itself would have made it the lead story on every newscast. But the identities of two of the victims elevated it to a monster story. One was a local gang leader, and another was an organized crime figure known for his ruthlessness.

  The latter, Frank Silvio, had one other thing about him that made him fairly unique among murder victims. He was known to already have been dead for six months.

  Laurie and I didn’t have to wait for the media reports to know what happened. Marcus had come over to report his version of events. He had followed Chico Simmons to the strip mall. He watched him and another guy go in and then, within a few minutes, saw someone else come out.

  Marcus, being Marcus, was smart enough to get a picture of the guy who left.

  He did not follow him because he had no way of knowing that Simmons or anyone else had been murdered in the store. The killer had apparently used a silencer. Marcus also obviously had no way to know that Frank Silvio was one of the victims, because he had followed Chico to the scene, and Silvio must have gotten there earlier.

  Within minutes, police cars were everywhere, so Marcus assumed that the killer himself had called 911. Apparently the killer wanted everyone to know that Silvio and Simmons had departed this earth.

  After Marcus leaves, Laurie and I sit down to discuss the situation. “For the moment, at least, it’s an overall negative,” I say. “We can’t connect Silvio or Simmons to our case based on enough evidence to make it admissible, so it’s a nonfactor in the trial. Jurors could even read these reports without realizing it has anything to do with the trial they’re sitting on. So the publicity about it does not help us.”

  “So how do you see it as a negative?” she asks.

  “It cuts off our avenues of investigation. We knew about Silvio and Simmons, so we could be looking for them, hoping they’d make a mistake to give us an opening. That’s why we had Marcus following Simmons. But now it’s safe to say that they are done making mistakes.”

  “I don’t understand why this guy would kill them.”

  “Maybe to announce to the world that they were dead, so that no one, including us, would be looking for them anymore. And more important, they were obviously no longer necessary, which has to mean that whatever they’re doing has moved into a new phase.”

  In terms of the photograph itself, Laurie thinks we have an obligation to give it to the police; it is evidence in a murder case. I agree, but disagree on the timing. That photograph may be something we can use later on as part of a trade. Eventually we will do the right thing and give up the photograph, but right now we have to recognize that our first obligation is to our client.

  Laurie goes along with me, at least for the moment. Ricky calls out to me from his bedroom; I wasn’t home when he went to bed, so I missed our tuck-in routine. Usually we talk for at least ten minutes before he goes to sleep. Very often my conversation actually puts him to sleep.

  He’s woken up and wants to have our talk, albeit a little late. He asks me what I did today, and since it involves multiple murders, I deflect by saying I had to be in court a lot, and boy, was it boring.

  He tells me that he spent an hour after school at Will Rubenstein’s house, playing some new video game. “It’s great, Dad. Can I get it when it comes out?”

  “If it’s not out yet, how does Will have it already?”

  “He won it in some contest. He’s lucky,” Ricky says.

  I’m sure that’s the plan of the diabolical game makers. They come up with ways to get a few thousand copies out there in advance so that millions of kids can hear about it and beg their parents for it.

  I tell him he has to ask his mother if he can have the game. She checks out how violent they are and limits the time he can play, so it’s not an area I like to involve myself in. I don’t tell him that he has just triggered something in my mind.

  I hear the phone ringing, but Laurie picks it up after one ring. I say good night to Ricky, give him a kiss on the forehead, and tell him I love him. It’s a ritual I’m hoping to be able to continue until he’s in his mid-fifties.

  I leave his room and gather the leashes to take Tara and Sebastian for their evening walk. That is delayed when Laurie comes to me with the phone and says, “It’s Cindy Spodek. It’s about the amephrotane.”

  We had asked Cindy if the blood tests on any of the other murdered homeless men had shown the presence of amephrotane, as it did in Tolbert’s and the Philadelphia cases.

  When I get on the phone, Cindy says, “Andy, you seem to have struck a nerve by asking about the amephrotane. It showed up in almost all of the other cases.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “DEA got word of it and they’re very interested. They want to talk to you,” she says.

  “What about?”

  “They think you might be able to help them. I don’t know any more than that.”

  “Can you give them a message for me? Tell them I said tough shit.”

  Laurie is standing near me, listening to my end of the conversation. She does a double take when she hears what I said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, Laurie always tells me I mumble a lot. What I said was, ‘Tell them I said tough shit.’”

  “You won’t meet with them?”

  “What tipped you off?”

  “Is there a problem here?” she asks, obviously annoyed with me.

  “Yes, there’s a problem. Remember when all this started and we talked about a quid pro quo? Well, I’ve done plenty of quidding, but your side hasn’t done any pro-quo-ing. And meanwhile my client is twisting in the wind.”

  “Andy, I think you’re making a m
istake here.”

  “You know what, maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t just refuse; maybe I should put conditions on this. So here’s my condition: You, or they, get me the following information for every single murder of a homeless person that fits the pattern. I want copies of the autopsy and toxicology reports, whether they had been thought by friends or family to have been drug addicts, and when they were last reported as having been seen alive. They get me all that, or you get me all that, and I’ll meet with them. And they will be happy with what I have to tell them, believe me.”

  “Andy, these are not people you can dictate terms to, and I am not either.”

  “Sorry, Cindy, but this is the way it’s going to be. If they don’t want me to dictate the terms of our meeting, then they don’t have to meet with me. We can all go our separate ways. Oh, and Laurie is going to scan and send you a photograph of a guy. When they want to talk to me about him, if they haven’t met my conditions, you can refer them to my previous comment about ‘tough shit.’”

  I hang up and hand the phone to Laurie. “What the hell was that?” she asks.

  “Wrong number.”

  “You said they’re going to be happy with what you have to tell them? Why exactly is that?”

  “Because Ricky just solved the whole case for me. Oh, and we need Marcus to go back down to Florida. And he should take Willie with him.”

  I call Willie and explain the situation. He’s all too happy to go to Florida with Marcus. Willie loves getting in on the action almost as much as Sam does, the difference being that Willie can handle himself. Willie even likes hanging around with Marcus.

  Laurie makes the call to Marcus, and we book the flights.

  And for the first time in a while, I’m feeling pretty damn good about things. Of course, it won’t last. It never does.

  Sergeant Xavier Jennings has been working in forensics on the Paterson police force forever.

  I think he was already here when Urban Blight, idiot son of Nehemiah and Rebecca Blight, discovered the place. Jennings is approaching retirement age and it’s likely that every defense attorney in the county, including me, will chip in and throw him a party. Just the fact that we would never have to see him on a witness stand again would be cause for celebration.

  Jennings is competent and unflappable, two annoying traits in a police witness. If you’re scoring at home, put me down as preferring incompetent and ultraflappable.

  Dylan is going to use Jennings to place Joey at the murder scene, and it will be a piece of cake for Jennings to do so. Dylan takes him through his fingerprint identification work and asks if Joey’s prints were at the scene.

  “Yes,” Jennings says. “In fourteen locations in the house.”

  “Did you match the prints before Mr. Gamble was arrested?”

  “Yes. His prints were in the system from some previous charges.”

  I could object to this; it is a cheap and unethical way for Dylan to get “prior bad acts” in, when they would have been inadmissible if introduced by other means. But I’ll deal with it in cross-examination.

  “Did you find Mr. Gamble’s DNA in the house as well?”

  “We did.”

  “Is there any doubt in your mind that Mr. Gamble was in the victim’s house?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “Thank you.”

  I start my cross with, “Sergeant Jennings, how many different sets of fingerprints did you find in that house?”

  “Well, the house was rented out a lot, so…”

  “Sergeant Jennings, if Mr. Campbell or I want to know the history of the house, we can call a real estate agent to the stand. You’re here to answer questions about your work, so let’s start over. How many different sets of fingerprints did you find in that house?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Seventeen different people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did some of them leave prints in multiple locations in the house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Based on your work, were any of those seventeen other people in the house that night?” I ask.

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “Based on your work, was Mr. Gamble in the house that night?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  I nod. “Because you don’t know when all those prints were left, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “As I’m sure you know, Mr. Haley’s body was found in the hallway near the back door,” I say. “Were Mr. Gamble’s prints found back there?”

  “No.”

  “The back door lock was broken. Were Mr. Gamble’s prints found on the door?”

  “No.”

  “So if he was in either of those places, he took care to make sure he did not leave prints?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “How long have you been doing forensics for the Paterson police, Sergeant Jennings?”

  “Thirty-six years.”

  “Based on all those years of experience, can you think of a reason why a person would take care not to leave prints in the back hallway and on the back door, yet would happily leave them everywhere else in the house?”

  He surprises me by smiling the smile of somebody near retirement age who doesn’t really give a shit. “I just lift the prints,” he says. “I don’t explain them.”

  I return the smile. “By the way, Sergeant, you testified that Mr. Gamble’s prints were on file. It was a way for Mr. Campbell to get the jury to incorrectly believe that he had a criminal record. Do you remember that?”

  Dylan jumps out of his seat, objecting and acting wounded by the accusation. The judge sustains the objection, and I rephrase.

  “Do you remember your testimony in that regard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you aware that while Mr. Gamble was interrogated by police in the past, he was never actually charged with a crime?”

  Dylan objects again, this time stating that the question assumes facts not in evidence. The objection is sustained, so I again rephrase.

  “Sergeant, to your knowledge, has Mr. Gamble ever been charged with a crime before this?”

  “No, he has not.”

  “Thank you,” I say, as I stare at Dylan in silent reproach. My silent reproach stares are not as good as Laurie’s, but I’m learning from the master.

  I let Jennings off the stand. I did some damage, which I’m pleased with, but I’m sure Dylan is pleased as well. He placed Joey in the house, which means Joey was physically in a position to have committed the crime.

  My difficulty is going to be getting the actual reason for Joey’s being there—his being interviewed by Haley—in front of the jury without putting Joey on the stand.

  But first I have to get through this afternoon.

  Lieutenant Luther Crenshaw has been described by Pete Stanton as the best cop in his department.

  Pete was including himself in that assessment, and Pete thinks rather highly of himself. Crenshaw is that good.

  Unfortunately, he was also the detective assigned to supervise the James Haley murder investigation, and he’s in court to tell the jury what went into it and why they should put Joey Gamble in jail for the rest of his life.

  “Lieutenant Crenshaw, did you execute a search warrant on the house of Joseph Gamble?”

  “Yes, pursuant to a court order. We were investigating the homicide of James Haley two nights earlier.”

  “You suspected Mr. Gamble of having committed the homicide?”

  “Yes, based on fingerprint evidence at the scene and a witness report identifying Mr. Gamble as having left Mr. Haley’s house at around the time of the shooting.”

  Dylan takes four more questions to get Crenshaw to say what he could have gotten in just one: that he found possessions belonging to Haley, including his wallet, and a .38-caliber revolver buried behind Gamble’s garage. He also says that ballistics tests demonstrated that the same weapon fired the fatal bullets into Mr. Haley.

  Then Dylan
reverses the chronology and has Crenshaw describe the murder scene, including his theory of how the murder took place. It’s not surprising; he believes Joey broke in through the back door, was met by Haley, and gunned him down in the back hallway.

  “It’s possible he did not realize that Mr. Haley was at home; there’s no way for us to know that. But once he was discovered and shot the victim, he then went upstairs and ransacked the place, taking certain items with him.”

  “So you believe it was a robbery gone bad?” Dylan asks.

  “I believe it was an armed robbery gone bad. But in my experience, a thief does not bring a loaded weapon to commit a burglary unless he is willing to use it. In this case, the perpetrator was willing to use it.”

  “Lieutenant Crenshaw,” I say after Dylan turns the witness over to me, “let’s talk some more about your theory of the events in question. You’ve testified that the killer came in the back door by breaking the lock, was surprised by Mr. Haley, and shot him right there. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And there was a light on in the hall?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “What is your theory as to why the killer left the back door open when he went into the house to burglarize it?”

  “Hard to say. Maybe he was panicked at having just killed Mr. Haley and didn’t realize that he hadn’t closed it.”

  “But not panicked enough to just leave and not follow through on the robbery?”

  “The robbery was why he was there,” Crenshaw says.

  “Or perhaps he wanted to make the robbery look like the reason he was there,” I say. Dylan objects that I am testifying for the witness, and Judge Matthews sustains the objection.

  “Is it possible that the killer did not, in fact, leave the door open at that point, but instead left it open later on, when he left the house?”

  “He left through the front. A witness testified to that.”

  “No, the witness testified that Mr. Gamble left through the front. He didn’t say anything about the killer; at that point, he wasn’t even aware there had been a killing. But I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest something that doesn’t fit your preconceived theories of the case.”