David Rosenfelt - Dog Tags

Security was jointly planned and executed by the American military and Iraqi police, with Erskine in charge of the American end of things. It was understood but unspoken that he would therefore be in the lead position for the entire operation.

Billy, like just about every other soldier or MP stationed there, was assigned a role in the operation. He was not at one of the checkpoints through which citizens were admitted into the area; his task was a more general one of being on patrol inside and looking for anything suspicious.

“I saw this girl,” he says. “She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, although I’m usually not that good a judge of age. There was something about her that caught my attention.”

“What was it?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe something about the eyes. They were afraid, but fear is something you saw a lot of over there. Anyway, I wasn’t too worried, because if she had a weapon, she would have been stopped at the checkpoint.”

“So what did you do?”

“I watched her for a while. That was really the only job I had that day, to watch for something suspicious, and I thought that she qualified. She walked pretty close to the stand that was set up, where the dignitaries were. But that wasn’t unusual, because that’s what everybody was there to see.”

He’s talking slowly, carefully and with emotion, and I wonder if this is the first time he’s told the story out loud.

“I watched her for about five minutes, and she was just standing there. She didn’t seem to have any interest in what was going on, and it wasn’t like she was there with any friends. After a while I stopped watching, because if she was going to do anything, by that point she would have done it already.

“Anyway, I walked away from her, which is the only reason I’m alive today. A few minutes later I looked back in her direction, but I couldn’t see her. All I saw was a wall of flame shooting up, and these bleachers that had been constructed were coming down on me. They pinned me down and landed on what used to be my leg, but I don’t remember much of it.”

“How many people were killed?” I ask.

“Eighteen, with another seventy-one badly wounded. The Iraqi oil minister was killed, a guy by the name of Yasir al-Hakim. He was most likely the target. Two of the dead were American businessmen.”

“Where does Erskine fit in?”

He shrugs. “You want to know what I know? Or what I think?”

“Start with what you know,” I say.

“Nothing.”

“Then let’s try what you think.”

“The Iraqi that was killed… the oil minister, al-Hakim… he was new to that job, and the word was that he was going to clean up the corruption. And believe me, there was plenty of corruption to clean up. And I think Erskine was in position to have a piece of it.”

“So you think Erskine was in on having this guy killed?”

He nods. “I do. There’s no way that girl should have been able to get in there with a bomb that size strapped to her. It had to be a setup, and Erskine was one of the people in a perfect position to make that happen.”

“Was there an investigation?”

He laughs. “Sure. Went nowhere.”

“Could it have been an Iraqi that let the girl in?”

“No way. There were American MPs and soldiers everywhere. It just doesn’t ring true. Anyway, Erskine didn’t get off scot-free. The incident at least put him out of favor, and he left the army.” He shakes his head. “The son of a bitch. He lost his command, eighteen people lost their lives, and I lost my leg.”

“So you’ve been watching him since he got back?” I ask.

He nods. “On and off.”

“And you were at the club that night because he was there.”

“Right. And I don’t know what was in that envelope, but the way he was acting, it had to be something important. Something that everyone will want.”

“And you think the prosecutor will trade your freedom for the chance to get it back?”

“I think he’ll be instructed to.”

“Have you told other people your feelings about Erskine?” I ask.

“You mean that I hated his guts? I would say a number of people know that.”

“That will be used against you,” I say.

“Only if I go to trial.”

There’s a lot more for me to learn, but I don’t need to ask those questions now. He’s given me enough to bargain on his behalf, or at least to discover if we have a bargaining position at all.

It’s time to find that out.

CHAPTER 22

ELI SEEMS FAR LESS WILLING TO MEET WITH ME THIS TIME, BUT HE FINALLY AGREES.

“Let me guess” is how he greets me when I arrive at his office. “You’re representing a goldfish in a paternity suit.”

“Nope.”

“Okay. You’re handling a probate matter for a ferret.”

“You’re a bitter loser,” I say.

His mood suddenly seems to change and he laughs. “Not this time. This time I actually thought it was pretty funny. Did you get the dog?”

“No, I filed the paper with the court, but it hasn’t been approved yet. Should hear anytime.”

“So what do you want now?”

“I’m representing Billy Zimmerman for the purpose of plea bargaining.”

“Then this will be a short meeting. Which plea bargain are you talking about?’

“The one we’re about to have.”

He frowns. “Okay, I’ll start. He cops to first degree, forty years minimum.”

“You must be bitter,” I say. “Because that’s ridiculous.”

“Andy, he robbed and killed a former high-ranking army officer, just returned from a tour of duty in Iraq. We have eyewitnesses, patrons from the bar. We also have the gun with his prints all over it, and gunpowder residue on his hands. This is not exactly a whodunit; why would we possibly take less?”

This is not going well. “Eli, during the trial there were references made to federal agents involved with the dog. Have you checked into that?”

“You think I’m going to share that with you?”

“I have reason to believe that they might have a point of view on my client’s situation.”

“Andy, I’ve talked to them, and as far as I can tell they don’t give a shit what happens to your client. And to tell you the truth, neither do I.”

This represents proof that Billy has completely misjudged his situation, which does not surprise me. If Eli was under any pressure, federal or otherwise, to make a deal, he wouldn’t be rejecting my overtures so definitively. And Billy’s idea that he can trade for his freedom is clearly not on any table I can find.

What continues to surprise me is the hands-off attitude the feds are taking. They were so anxious to hang on to Milo that they installed an armed guard on his cage, but they didn’t try to prevent my getting him at the hearing. Now they seem to show no interest in Billy at all.

I decide to change the subject, since this particular subject is going nowhere. “Did you find out why they were guarding Milo?” I ask.

“Andy, I must have missed that day in law school when they taught how before a case the prosecutor is supposed to tell the defense everything he knows.”

“Where did you go to law school, the University of Mars? It’s called discovery.”

“Discovery relates to evidence. Any conversations that I may or may not have had with federal authorities are not evidence. Which reminds me, are you Zimmerman’s attorney? Because there is a lot of actual discoverable material to turn over when and if he gets himself a lawyer.”

This is the moment of truth, at least for me. “Yeah. Send it over.”

He nods. “Will do. And unless he’s willing to accept the forty years, I’ll see you in court, counselor.”

As soon as I leave Eli’s office, I get a call from Rita Gordon telling me that Judge Catchings has approved the release of Milo to me.