David Rosenfelt - Dog Tags

He nods solemnly. “We are still grieving that loss.”

“Stanley Freeman was the co-founder with you of this company?” Freeman and Chaplin are considered pioneers in the hedge fund industry.

“Yes,” he says. “And my best friend in the world.”

“What about the other man killed? Alex Bryant.”

“Alex was twenty-nine years old. Much too young… much too young. I’m still dealing with the guilt.”

“Guilt?”

“Yes. I was supposed to go on the trip with Stanley, but I was taken ill. Alex went in my stead.” He shakes his head sadly. “I wound up going to his funeral.”

“What was his position here?” I ask.

“He was an investment analyst. One of our brightest stars. Definitely could have been sitting in this chair one day. What does this have to do with your client?”

I shrug. “Probably nothing; I’m just checking boxes. After they died, did you follow the investigation that the army conducted?”

“As best I could,” he says. “They weren’t very forthcoming with information, especially since I wasn’t family.”

“Anything strike you as unusual, maybe cause you concern?”

“I don’t think so, other than my annoyance that they could let something like that happen.”

“Did you feel security measures were lax?” It’s a stupid question, since eighteen people getting killed by a sixteen-year-old girl is by definition less-than-impressive security.

“I did, and I do. But they simply said that sometimes these things are impossible to prevent.”

“Were Mr. Freeman and Mr. Bryant married?”

He hesitates a moment before answering. “No. Stanley had been recently divorced. I don’t believe Alex was married. Is there anything else, Mr. Carpenter? I’m quite busy.”

I stand. “I know how it is; Freddie is the same way. Sometimes Edna can’t even get him on the phone.”

He doesn’t seem to find this particularly amusing, and we just say good-bye.

I hadn’t expected much from this meeting, and I got what I expected.

CHAPTER 36

KEVIN BACON IS AT LEAST FOUR DEGREES BEHIND VINCE SANDERS. There simply isn’t anyone that Vince either doesn’t know or can’t instantly get to. Sometime I would like to test him, just for the fun of it. The problem is that Vince isn’t familiar with the concept of fun.

But I do know that if I asked him whether he could get me in to see the Dalai Lama, he would say, “Now you ask me? I just got off the phone with him.” Or maybe, “I don’t know him, but I can set it up through his sister-in-law, Shirley Lama.”

Of course, in real life it’s not that easy. First Vince has to show his obnoxious side, which is not a problem for him, since that is the only side he has.

I call Vince at home, and he answers with “What do you want now?”

“Did you ever consider the possibility that I might be just calling my good friend to say, Hope you had a good day ?”

“That is not something I considered, no,” he says. “I feel so ashamed.”

“I forgive you, old friend. In fact, there may be a way you can make it up to me.”

“I’m all tingly at the prospect.”

“I need to talk to someone who understands the world oil market.”

“Why?” he asks.

“It’s in connection with a case,” I say, knowing what is coming next.

“A case that might prove to be newsworthy?”

“Yes, and if there’s a story that comes out of it, you will get the exclusive.”

“You got a pen?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Call the Institute for Energy…”

“Hold on, I need to get the pen,” I say.

“You thought when I asked if you had a pen, I meant did you own one? I was asking if you had it ready.”

“Vince… Okay, I’m ready.”

“Call the Institute for Energy Independence, it’s in Manhattan on West Forty-eighth Street, and ask for Eliot Conyers. He’s the director.”

“And he’s knowledgeable about the oil market?” I ask, instantly regretting it.

“No, I just thought you two would make a nice couple. In case Laurie wises up and goes back to Wisconsin.”

Vince gives me the phone number of the institute, so after we hang up I wait ten minutes, and then call it. Three minutes after that I have an appointment for tomorrow morning with Eliot Conyers.

Vince is amazing.

I’ve been focusing my energies on the explosion in Iraq for a couple of reasons. For one thing, the prosecution is going to use it as evidence of Billy’s motive, claiming that he was getting revenge for what he thought was Erskine’s culpability that day in Iraq.

In addition, there is always the chance that what happened that day ultimately led to Erskine’s murder. According to Billy, the death of the newly appointed Iraqi oil minister enabled corruption to go on unchecked, with billions of dollars the prize. If Erskine was truly involved in that world, certainly subsequent violence could be expected for a variety of reasons.

But there is of course another possibility: that I am spinning my wheels, that the explosion in Iraq has nothing whatsoever to do with Erskine’s death. I won’t know that until it’s over, and maybe not even then, but it’s something I have to pursue.

Besides, it gives me something to do.

CHAPTER 37

IT PAINS ME TO DO IT, BUT I TURN OFF THE METS GAME. It’s in the fourth inning of a scoreless game, but it’s time for one of the “trust sessions” that I’ve been doing with Milo every night. Juliet Corsinita told me I should try to hold them as close to the same time as possible, and even though I don’t have a clue why that would be important, I’m following her advice.

She also told me not to have a television on, and to limit the distractions. The only thing I wouldn’t go along with is her suggestion to keep Tara out of the room. As the song sort of goes, “If being with Tara is wrong, I don’t want to be right.”

Trust sessions with dogs are different than I imagine they would be with people. There is no endless and cloying talk about “feelings,” and nobody is falling backward, counting on the other party to catch them before they hit the ground. Instead it’s all about basic commands and consistency.

I have never been a practitioner of commands with dogs. In my mind it seems demeaning to the dog to force him to obey commands or do tricks. Even the “sit” and “come” orders irritate me; if somebody tried to get me to do that stuff I’d be pissed and would refuse.

Unless, of course, it was Laurie doing the commanding, or Marcus.

But with Milo I have to make an exception, since Juliet and Billy agree that trust will be the key if we’re to have a chance of getting Milo to lead us to the envelope.

So Milo takes his position on the floor, me standing beside him. Tara reclines on the couch, watching the action. Occasionally she looks around, maybe for a biscuit vendor, but mostly she just enjoys the show.

“Sit, Milo, sit!” I say, followed by “Good boy!” when he performs the task. Unfortunately, I’m forced to say this and all other praising comments in a ridiculous, high-pitched voice that Juliet says will somehow remind him of his time in the womb.

I am supposed to ask minor, easy things of him, like sitting, coming to me, and walking obediently on a leash.

Once he does these things, which he’s smart enough to do in his sleep, I’ve been told to reward him with these special treats, which Billy said he loves. I’ve been stuffing him with so many treats that he’s going to be too fat to lead us anywhere.

The one who’s enjoying this process the most is Tara on the couch. Since I can’t give treats to Milo without giving them to her, she’s got it made. She’s sucking down the treats without having to do anything to earn them. If I know Tara, when I’m not around she’s counseling Milo against finding the envelope, since that would effectively shut off the treat faucet.