David Rosenfelt - One Dog Night

The phone rings, and since Edna is either not in the office or hiding, I pick it up. A woman’s voice says, “Mr. Carpenter?” and I confirm that it’s me. She then tells me to hold for Mr. Campbell.

Dylan picks up moments later. “Andy, glad I got you,” he says. “There’s been a new development in the case, which is obviously not included in the discovery yet. It’s pretty important, so I thought I should tell you right away.”

Based on Dylan’s calling me like this, and the upbeat tone of his voice, the chance that this is bad news for Noah is exactly one hundred percent.

I don’t ask Dylan what it is, because he’s going to tell me anyway, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. So without prodding, he continues. “A body was found in a parking lot in Jean, Nevada, just outside of Vegas. The deceased is Danny Butler.”

“Cause of death?”

“Well, the autopsy hasn’t been done yet, but it shouldn’t be too difficult. Butler was decapitated, and the head hasn’t been found.”

“That’s it?” I ask.

“That’s it.”

“Nice chatting with you, Dylan.”

“Damn, I forgot, there’s one more thing. They found a note on the body. It says, ‘Talkers die.’”

The death of Danny Butler is a major problem for Noah.

Not as big a problem as it is for Danny Butler, but it’s a serious blow, at least if Noah’s case goes to trial. No trial, then no harm, no foul.

The damage is on two levels. First of all, the timing of the murder, along with the note on the body, makes it look like it is a revenge killing for Danny’s squealing on Noah. While Noah’s presence in jail obviously disqualifies him as the actual killer, his possible connection to criminal elements in the drug world would suggest that he could have requested it be done.

At the very least, it suggests that perhaps Noah has substantial influence with, and connection to, murderers. That is never a good thing for a murder defendant to have on his résumé.

Even more serious than that is the potential legal impact. If there is a trial, there will be a legal battle, and I’ll be arguing that the statement Butler gave to the police should not be admitted.

I will cite the Confrontation Clause in the Sixth Amendment to the Constitution, which states that the accused “shall enjoy the right… to be confronted with the witnesses against him.” Though I certainly would not agree with the use of the word “enjoy,” it’s a crucial part of our legal system.

It insures that everything comes to light, and most importantly, that a defendant’s lawyer has the right to cross-examine the witness. We lawyers think we can break witnesses down, and reduce the impact of the negative things they have to say about our clients.

In Danny’s case, we would have had a minor advantage, in that everything he had to say was committed to a statement, which he signed. If I could have gotten him to deviate in any way from that statement, and I almost always can do that, then the jury might tend to disbelieve him.

So I would make all these arguments, citing the Constitution, and I would lose. Because over time, judges and lawyers have carved some holes in that document, and Noah is about to fall into a big one. In fact, two of them.

There are two reasons the judge will admit Butler’s statement. First of all, it represents a confession. Not by Butler, of course, but Butler was reporting Noah’s alleged confession. That is admissible, and represents an exception to the Confrontation Clause, as well as to the hearsay rule.

The other factor insuring our legal defeat is that the law says that witnesses can be exempt from testifying, with their prior statements being admissible, if that witness is legitimately unavailable.

When you’re wrapped in cellophane and missing your head, that’s about as unavailable as it gets.

Hike and I discuss this new development. As big a pain in the ass as Hike can be, he’s got a brilliant legal mind, and I’m hoping that he can come up with something we can use.

“Anything at all you can think of?” I ask.

“Nope.”

Thanks, Hike.

The more I think about it, the more I see a silver lining, albeit not in any legal cloud. The only reason I opened this investigation at all was that I believed Noah when he said he didn’t confess the arson to Butler, and wouldn’t have been able to supply the details of the crime even if he wanted to.

So, assuming Butler didn’t wake up one day and decide for no reason to randomly pick Noah as the person to lie about, then he was put up to it.

His subsequent murder, which I refuse to believe is a coincidence, confirms the existence of an evil third party here. The people that used Butler decided they didn’t need him anymore, and that his knowledge of their involvement could be risky for them. Killing him put another nail in Noah’s legal coffin, and shut Butler up in the process.

A twofer, wrapped in cellophane.

I call Becky Galloway. It’s easier to get in touch with her than with Noah, since Noah is behind bars, which are in turn behind walls.

“Has Noah ever been to Vegas?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“Why of course?”

“He was born there. That’s where he grew up.”

I’m talking to Becky, but I can hear Dylan salivating. He’s going to talk about how Noah knows people there, people with whom he learned to do drugs, and they killed Danny Butler at their friend Noah’s behest.

He won’t have any evidence of it, or at least I hope he won’t, but he’ll have one advantage. It will sound true, and the jury will think it makes logical sense that it’s true.

And unfortunately, as trials go, that’s all that matters. Because the idea that trials are a search for the truth is just a myth. Trials are a search for that which the jury will believe is the truth.

“Senator Ryan, this is Brett Fowler. Thank you for taking my call.”

“You told my assistant it was urgent,” Ryan said, though the truth was he would have taken the call anyway. Fowler was very well connected in Washington, and though Ryan never used him in his role as consultant, he was always worth talking to.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” Fowler said. “I’m afraid it is.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Well, please understand that I am simply acting as an intermediary here, but I have some instructions for you.”

“Is that right?” Even though Ryan was worried about where this could be going, he wasn’t about to let a political flack start issuing instructions to a senator of his stature.

“Yes, sir. When you leave the office tonight, you’ll find a package on the passenger seat of your car. Don’t open it until you get home, but when you do please examine it carefully.”

“What is it?” Ryan asked. “What the hell is this about?”

“Please, Senator, just do as I say. Believe me, it’s better for both of us if you do. After you are familiar with the contents of the package, we will need to meet.”

“I don’t like this,” Ryan said. “I don’t like the mystery, and I don’t like the way you’re talking to me.”

“Senator, it is what it is. You’ll see that soon enough. Just call me when you are ready to meet.”

The package was waiting in the car, just as Fowler had said. But Ryan was not about to wait until he got home to open it, and he did so before he even pulled out of the parking lot.

It was a DVD, unmarked, and the thought of what might be on it made Ryan sick to his stomach. And with no DVD player in the car, all he could do was as he was told-to go home and play it.

When he arrived home, he realized that he had forgotten that his daughter and future son-in-law were over for dinner. After saying hello to them and his wife, Linda, he said that he had to make an important call.