David Rosenfelt - New Tricks

I realize that I haven’t even mentioned to Waggy yet that he may be a creation of science rather than sex, but I think I should. I don’t want him learning it from some stranger later in life.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a happier dog than Tara as we set out. I’m not sure if it’s that we’re going on the walk, or if it’s that she finally will get some time away from her lunatic companion. But away we go, Tara’s tail wagging and her nose sniffing, and me thinking.

There are two parallel tracks to this case. One is the trial itself, and the other is our investigation into whatever it was that Walter Timmerman was doing before he died. I am willing to believe that his work in some fashion caused the death of himself and his wife, mainly because it makes sense and it doesn’t help me to believe otherwise.

If this becomes purely a matter of defending Steven, we are in deep trouble. Richard is presenting the jury with some very compelling evidence. Though I am poking some holes in that evidence and questioning its authenticity, it is basically me asking the jury whether they want to believe me or “their own lying eyes.”

It still makes very little sense to me that Steven is in this position at all. If I believe that Walter was working on some powerful force that could have an international impact, and he was killed by some sinister entity intent on possessing or stifling that force, then where does Steven fit in? Why was it necessary to frame him? It was not an easy thing to do, and the process of doing it necessarily included the danger of detection.

I never thought I would say this after initially meeting Stanley McCarty, but I definitely believe he knew what he was talking about. His words were compelling, and he spoke them with an easy confidence. It also doesn’t help me not to believe him; the area of investigation it opens is also the only one I have worth pursuing.

My instincts, which place Charles Robinson somewhere near the center of this, might well be confirmed by what McCarty had to say. As a trader of energy with international contacts, he would have been the logical person for his friend Walter Timmerman to turn to with his discovery.

But once Timmerman approached him, Robinson would have looked at him as a cash cow, the possible key to untold wealth and power. Why then, would he have killed him? Had they had a dispute over the direction they should take? Had Timmerman ultimately betrayed him and gone elsewhere?

As my father would say, “I’m not going to know until I know. And maybe not even then.”

But one thing I do know: On the investigative track of this case, the time for playing defense is over. I cannot sit back and watch Steven go down the tube, or wait for someone to successfully kill Waggy. It’s time to go on the offense, which means Charles Robinson’s world is about to be shaken.

WHEN I GET BACK TO THE HOUSE, Pete Stanton is waiting for me.

Robinson has demanded an investigation into the Waggy kidnapping, and Pete has internally maneuvered to be the one to conduct an interview with me. Laurie is with us when he questions me.

“Do you have a search warrant?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No, not enough probable cause. I am here to interview you, which I know you’ll consent to, because you are a citizen concerned with justice and the American way.”

“That is beautiful. For the first time I feel understood.”

“Did you steal the dog?” he asks.

“Is this off the record?” I ask.

“Off the record? Who do I look like, Bob Woodward? I’m a cop; nothing is ever off the record.”

“I did not steal that poor animal, and I only hope you can find him and return him safely to Mr. Robinson. You and he are in my prayers.”

“Where were you last night at around eleven o’clock?”

“Home and in bed with the police chief of Findlay, Wisconsin.”

“We were snuggling,” Laurie adds.

“Do you have any idea where the dog is?” he asks.

“No, but I’m considering hiring a team of investigators to help in the hunt. Any information we get will be turned over to you immediately. This heartless criminal must be brought to justice.”

“You know what I think?” he asks. “I think you kidnapped the dog and he’s down in the basement right now.”

“But you didn’t bring a search warrant?”

“No.”

“And you aren’t going to get one?”

“No.”

“You policemen are relentless, you know that?”

Pete leaves, knowing full well what the truth is, and having no intention of attempting to expose it. I deeply appreciate that, and someday will tell him so.

Once he’s gone, I call Cindy Spodek. I call her rather than Agent Corvallis mainly because on Friday evening if would be difficult to reach him, and I have Cindy’s cell and home phone numbers. I also think it’s probably best that she approach him on my behalf, because she’ll lie and say that I’m credible and reliable.

Obviously she has caller ID, because she answers the phone with, “So, did you kidnap the dog?”

“That’s how you answer your phone? By accusing your old friend of committing a felony?”

“Knowing you and what a dog lunatic you are, I would say there’s a ninety-five percent chance you did it.”

“I just want you to know that I’m deeply hurt, but for the purposes of this conversation, I’m going to move past that.”

“My cup runneth over,” she says. “What can I do for you, old friend?”

“I want you to set up a meeting with Corvallis about the Timmerman case.”

“Aren’t we into a ‘been there, done that’ situation?”

“I believe we are.”

“It was a fascinating meeting, Andy, really it was. But I think I’m going to need a little more to get Corvallis in a room with you again.”

“I’m going to give you Charles Robinson.”

“The guy you stole the dog from? Why would I want him?” she asks.

“You wouldn’t, but Corvallis would,” I say, and then it dawns on me that she may not know anything about all this. She is not a member of the task force assigned to Timmerman, and may be on the outside of a need-to-know situation.

I ask her straight-out if she knows what is going on, and she admits that while she has some suspicions, she is basically in the dark.

“Would you like to be brought into the light?” I ask.

“I would.”

“And can I count on you to keep everything I tell you in confidence, except the parts you don’t have to keep in confidence?”

“Not knowing what the hell you are talking about, I’ll say yes.”

I proceed to tell her everything I know, and everything I suspect, about the Timmerman case. I’m glad to do so, because I’m pretty far out on a limb here, and Cindy is really smart. If she thinks I’m way off base, she’ll tell me so and show me how.

She doesn’t. Instead she just says, “You could be right about this, Andy. I’ll call Corvallis; when do you want to meet?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” she says.

“Boy, you FBI people are really sharp. Cindy, I would like to get moving on this before the jury delivers a verdict.”

“Okay, I’ll call you back.”

When I get off the phone, I update Laurie on what she said, and my request for a meeting tomorrow.

“If you get the meeting, I want to go with you,” she says.

“Why?”

“You’re starting to get into potentially dangerous territory, and dealing with danger is not exactly your forte.”

“Danger is my middle name,” I say.

“Robert is your middle name.”

“No, I changed it while you were in Wisconsin. I thought Danger would be more appealing to chicks.”