David Rosenfelt - Airtight

The implications were ominous. Cops were loathe to reopen solved cases, especially ones in which they had gunned down the alleged killer. For them to admit an error in a situation like that would be to expose themselves to outrage and ridicule, not something they were inclined to do under any circumstances.

So Somers must have something significant, Carlton figured, or he wouldn’t be going down that path. And he came on so strong, almost accusing Carlton of involvement in the murder, that it left no doubt he was ready and willing to cause problems. And anything that interfered with the sale, for any reason, was an unacceptable problem.

Hanson Oil and Gas was a committed buyer, but deals are not closed until they are closed. The kind of publicity that Somers might bring to bear, talk of murdering Federal judges, could spook them. They had a Board of Directors to answer to, and were listed on the New York Stock Exchange. Companies like that have to be careful of ugly controversy, and Daniel Brennan’s murder was as ugly as it gets.

The only saving grace, it seemed to Carlton, was that Somers appeared to be on something of a solo crusade. The fact that he showed up at the hotel alone was somewhat revealing, but the key fact was that Somers was the one who killed Steven Gallagher. Maybe he was haunted by that, and feeling a need to find out whether Gallagher deserved his fate.

Carlton and his partners were close, way too close for things to get derailed now. So Carlton made the phone call, and explained the situation.

“It’s not a problem,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Easy for you to say; he didn’t come to see you. He knows something, and he’s not the type to let it go.”

“I’ll take care of it. Don’t call me on this line again.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take care of it.”

“Don’t overreact,” Carlton said, but by then he was talking to a dead phone.

He hung up, already regretting that he had made the call.

It was “unofficial update” time.

I had promised Captain Barone that I would keep him informed about what was going on, and I entered his office to do that.

“How’s your brother?” was his first question.

“Hanging in. He’s got four and a half days to live; if I was in his position I’d be doing a lot worse.”

“So you’re not making progress?” he asked.

“Actually, more than I thought I would. I think there’s a reasonable chance that Steven Gallagher did not kill Daniel Brennan.” I hadn’t planned to share that with Barone at this point, because I didn’t think he’d react well and I had more important things to do than manage his moods. But he was a partner in this, he had a stake in the outcome, and he had a right to know.

“Can you rephrase that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, maybe it’s just semantics, but it would be better if you could say it this way: ‘I’ve confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that Steven Gallagher killed Daniel Brennan.’”

I smiled for the first time in a while. “So these unofficial updates are not supposed to be accurate?”

“It’s not a requirement, no. But since we’ve started down this path, tell me why you feel this way.”

I went over basically the same items I had discussed with Julie. Barone kept shaking his head; I couldn’t tell whether he was disagreeing or just upset by the possibility that we, that I, had tracked down and killed the wrong man.

When I finished, he said, “Maybe the Today show was a mistake.”

“You understand I’ve got more important things to worry about than how this is going to look.”

He nodded. “I do understand that. How can I help?”

“I think we need to put more pressure on Carlton, maybe plant some items in the press. We need to force him into making a mistake.”

“Luke, you’re guessing on this thing, and it’s not even a particularly educated guess.”

“I know that, Captain. But the jury here is Gallagher; I don’t have to go by the strict rules of evidence.”

“Carlton is not without resources; we start libeling him in the press, we could be bringing problems on the department, on me, without any benefit coming from it. I can handle the hassle, and I’m willing to, but I need to see more potential upside.”

I was annoyed by his attitude, even though I expected it, and even though I knew he was basically right. “OK, so we don’t mention him by name; we just let the word get out that we’re still checking some key leads in the Brennan murder. And we say the focus of the investigation has switched to Brayton.”

“Even though we already shot the guilty party.” It wasn’t a question; it wasn’t even said to me. Barone was sort of rolling it around in his mind, trying to see how it would play.

“I shot him,” I pointed out. “Captain, even if my brother was sitting on a beach on the Riviera sucking down pina coladas with umbrellas in them, I wouldn’t let this go.” I was basically telling him that he had no choice, that I was going to keep pulling on this string until I got to the end.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Barone said.

“I’m aware of that.”

“Do it.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“You probably already have,” he said.

“Yes, I have.”

“Did I mention that you’re a pain in the ass?”

“I’ll check my notes, but I believe you did.”

“So now what?”

“A tour of New Jersey.”

The decision was announced on the court website and made available in the clerk’s office.

The three-judge panel of the Second Circuit Court of Appeals had issued their ruling in the matter of Brayton vs. Carlton Industries.

In boxing parlance, it was a split decision, the court coming down 2–1 on the side of Carlton. But this wasn’t boxing, and there was no provision for a rematch. Simply put, while a close call, the net result for Brayton was devastating.

Judge Susan Dembeck wrote the majority opinion. While acknowledging the legal right, in fact the duty, of a town to protect its citizens, she argued that Brayton had failed to establish that the fracking would cause real damage. She felt that the purchasing company, Hanson Oil and Gas, had in their brief established a regimen that would adequately monitor the environmental effects. The data would be shared with the town, and the court would be receptive to reconsideration, if circumstances warranted. But, she felt, the town had simply not met its burden.

Judge Richard O’Brien, in a blistering dissent, said that Carlton and Hanson had not come close to meeting their own burden of guaranteeing that the health of the innocent citizens of Brayton would not be irrevocably damaged. He even trotted out the “can’t unring a bell” cliche, meaning that once the damage was done, it could not be effectively removed.

But by far the most devastating aspect of the ruling was the requirement that Brayton, if they were going to appeal to the Supreme Court, would have to post a bond in the amount of five hundred million dollars. There was no way that they could afford to do so; they did not even have the resources to make the appeal, no less post the bond.

Left unsaid in the opinion, of course, were the actions that the decision would trigger. Within thirty-six hours, the sale of the land to Hanson Oil and Gas would close; the documents were already signed and sealed. The money would automatically transfer to Carlton and the company that shared ownership of the land, Tarrant Industries.

Richard Carlton had known that the decision was coming, down to the time of day it would be released. He also knew that it would be a favorable one, yet he still felt substantial relief that it had come to pass.