David Rosenfelt - Play Dead

“You first walk in the door at eight o’clock at night? Where were you? Nightclubbing?”

“Actually, I was doing paperwork in the office. I just came home to change before going back out. I hate dancing in my uniform.”

“Before you go, I need your opinion.” I describe to her what I’ve learned-or, more correctly, what I haven’t learned-about Stacy Harriman’s background.

She listens without interrupting until I finish. Then, “Can you check the other records besides the credit reports more thoroughly?”

“Sam is starting on that right now. But can you think of an explanation for the credit reports never being updated or closed?”

She thinks for a moment. “It could always be some kind of mistake. Maybe some computer glitch that froze her records in time. But she is not just anyone; she is a murder victim.”

“That she is,” I say.

“So coincidences and mistakes are not to be trusted.”

“No, they’re not. So what’s your take on it?”

“If Sam keeps hitting dead ends-and I’ve got a feeling he will-then her background has been created as a deception. And it’s not a deception that she could have pulled off herself.”

“Right,” I say. “People don’t get to write their own credit reports.”

“But there are people who can write them for you.”

“Government people,” I say. “Witness protection program people.”

“It all fits, Andy. The government has been looking over your shoulder on this from day one. If the victim was someone they were protecting, they would absolutely be interested.”

“Not if they thought Richard did it,” I say. “If Richard killed her, they’d just cross her off their list and move on.”

“The strange thing is the time that’s passed, Andy. It’s more than five years later. I don’t know what they could be trying to find out from you or why they took over that highway shooting investigation.”

I can feel my anger starting to build. “And if we’re right about this, then those bastards let Richard Evans get sentenced to life imprisonment for a murder they damn well knew he didn’t commit.”

“Let’s first find out if we’re right,” she says, ever logical. “Call me after Sam reports back to you, and I’ll talk to a detective I know in LAPD.”

In an instant my anger turns to childlike jealousy. “You know a detective in Los Angeles? What’s her name?”

“His name is Matt Wagner. We worked together on a case about five years ago. We’ve kept in touch.”

“You’ve kept in touch?” I ask. What could that mean? Physical touch? Emotional touch? There is no level that I can’t sink to.

“Andy, give it a rest. He’s worked on a couple of witness protection cases. He knows how they operate. I’ll give him the broad picture, no specifics and no names, and see what he says.”

“Make sure he doesn’t repeat any of it to his wife and six children.”

“I will,” she says.

“Good night, Laurie.”

“Good night, Andy. I love you.”

“Then come home,” I say, but she has already hung up. I knew that she had, which is the only reason I had the guts to say it in the first place.

I’m on the way home when my cell phone rings. “Andy, I’m at your house.” It’s Pete Stanton calling, and his tone of voice sends me into an instant panic. “It was broken into, and the alarm company called-”

“Is Tara all right?”

“She’s fine. I’m actually petting her while we’re talking. How far away are you?”

“About ten minutes. What about Reggie?”

“That’s the other dog?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?” he asks.

“Is he okay?”

“He was staying at your house?” Pete asks, and the feeling of panic returns.

“Yes. Isn’t he there?”

“Andy, there’s just one dog here, and that’s Tara. I’m reading her name off the tag.”

Within thirty seconds of my getting home, it’s obvious that this was a straight kidnapping.

Unfortunately, that’s the only thing that is obvious. Pete considers it a professional job, yet they took no money, no possessions, and left Tara alone and unharmed. They came here for Reggie, and they got what they came for. They either knew exactly what he looked like, or read his tag.

I think this might be the angriest I have ever been, and it takes an extraordinary effort to put aside the anger temporarily and try to understand what could be behind this.

Based on Pete’s feelings about the professionalism of the thieves, and the precision of the operation, I discount the possibility that it was done by teenagers or vandals. Knowing how important Reggie has been to our case, and the publicity he has received, it’s conceivable that we will get a ransom demand. That is my hope.

More worrisome is the idea that somehow, Reggie could represent a threat to someone. I don’t want to think about the implications of that.

I call Laurie and tell her what has happened, though there is no way she can comfort me. The fact that Reggie is out there and I can’t protect him is a constant agony that starts in my head and travels to my gut. And back to my head. And back to my gut.

Next I call Karen to give her the bad news. She is just as stunned and upset as I knew she’d be, as I am. I promise to call her if I get any new information, but I’m not likely to for a while.

I’m not going to sleep much tonight. I’m going to think about what to do next, and hug Tara until she gets sick of it.

* * * * *

I CALL KEVIN at six a.m. and tell him about Reggie.

His reaction mirrors mine; he’s angry, confused and helpless. I ask him to join me for a meeting with Richard before court begins.

I had planned this meeting even before Reggie was taken; I need to talk to Richard about what we’ve learned about Stacy. I don’t usually like to spring things on clients until I have all the facts, but we’re in the middle of trial, which means we don’t have the luxury of time.

If Stacy was in the witness protection program, then by definition there were very dangerous people after her. Exactly the kind of people I can point to in front of a jury and say, “They did it, not my client.” So what we will have to do is figure out a way to prove it, and get it admitted as evidence. That will be a difficult assignment, and Kevin is already trying to develop a strategy.

Richard is stunned and disbelieving when we tell him our theory. What is important is not his skepticism but rather his inability to prove it wrong. He cannot come up with a single fact that would give credibility to Stacy’s supposed background. He never met any of her previous friends, never visited where she had lived, and never knew her colleagues from work. She had always been vague, and Richard hadn’t pressed her, because he suspected emotional trauma from which she was trying to escape.

Her need to escape may well have been more urgent than that.

As we are preparing to go into court, I make a decision. “Kevin, you need to go to Minneapolis.”

He’s obviously surprised. “When?”

“First flight you can get. You can check out Stacy’s background personally, go to her high school, talk to her neighbors…”

He’s obviously not thrilled with the prospect. “Well, I could do that… but… I’ve got sinus issues,” he says.

“Sinus issues?”

He nods. “They’re inflamed. Taking off and landing could be a problem.”

“A serious problem?” I ask.

“Definitely. It could lead to an ear infection. Everything is connected.”

I turn to Richard, who has been listening to Kevin’s hypochondria with an open mouth. He should be careful about that, because something could enter his mouth and head straight for his ears, since everything is connected.