David Rosenfelt - Dog Tags

Willie has been sitting patiently through this, and when there is a lull he asks, “So what do you want me to do?”

“Follow Chaplin wherever he goes. Take pictures of anybody you see him meeting with. But don’t let him see you.”

Willie nods. “Cool.”

Laurie seems a little worried about this, as I knew she would be. “You comfortable with this, Willie?”

“Sure. No sweat.”

I give him the address of Chaplin’s home and office, which Sam had gotten for me. We go online and find a bunch of pictures of Chaplin, so Willie will recognize him. Finally, I give him my digital camera; it’s not CIA-issue, but it should work. He promises to get started first thing in the morning, and then leaves.

“This may not be the best use of Willie’s talents,” Laurie says, probably understating how she really feels.

“I know,” I say, “but I think he can handle it. And there’s not much downside if he can’t.”

“How is that?”

“Well, I don’t see Chaplin as savvy in these matters, so he probably isn’t good at spotting a tail. But if he does, then he’ll feel pressured and worried, and that’s a good thing. Maybe it will force him into a mistake.”

She seems unconvinced. “You may be right, but I’m worried about Willie.”

“He can handle himself even better than I can,” I say.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

I guess not.

CHAPTER 71

ALAN LANDON COULD HAVE REACTED TO THE CALL FROM CHAPLIN WITH ANGER, BUT THAT WASN’T HIS STYLE. He certainly would have been justified in being furious. He had covered every base, thought of almost every eventuality, but was in this difficult position because of the incompetence of others.

Landon knew Carpenter was a danger from day one. He was smart, and he had resources, and once he took on a client he did whatever was necessary to defend him. That was why Landon had ordered Zimmerman murdered in the prison; if Carpenter’s client had been killed, he would have had no reason to keep going. But that attack had failed, and this was the result.

Landon knew this was coming eventually; there was too much money at stake, too many people involved, too many moving parts, for it to have remained under the radar forever. He had planned for this moment, and he would be fine. He just wished it had waited another seventy-two hours to happen.

“Carpenter knows about the rhodium,” Chaplin had said, a trace of panic in his voice. “He’s putting the whole thing together with Iraq.”

“Does he know the details?”

“No,” Chaplin said. “I don’t think so. If he did, he wouldn’t have been trying to pressure me. He’d be talking to the feds instead.”

“Good,” said Landon. He agreed with Chaplin’s assessment. “Then it’s important you not give in to that pressure. This will all be over very soon.”

“For you, maybe. But I’ve got to go on with my life. I can’t disappear.”

“You won’t have to,” Landon said, even though his plan all along was for Chaplin to involuntarily disappear when the time came. “Everything is under control.”

“That’s not how it looks from here.”

“You need to continue to trust me. By next week, this will be behind you.”

“Right. Okay,” Chaplin said, not very convincingly.

“You have done nothing wrong. You made investments on behalf of your clients, investments you were directed to make.”

“People died,” Chaplin said. “Stanley died, for Christ’s sake.”

“That was an unfortunate accident—”

Chaplin interrupted. “Was it?”

“—that you had nothing whatsoever to do with.”

“I don’t want to go to jail, Alan.”

“That won’t happen.” What Landon didn’t add was the rest of his thought. Because you will be dead.

Once they were off the phone, Landon called M. “Carpenter is making Chaplin nervous.”

The news came as no surprise to M. “I told you Chaplin couldn’t be counted on.”

“He’ll make it for the next week,” Landon said. “And then it won’t matter.”

“I hope you’re right,” M said. He was noticing less confidence in Landon’s voice, a sure sign that he was more worried about Chaplin than he was letting on.

“Are things under control on your end?”

“Totally. We’re just waiting until the target is in place.”

“Good. When you’re finished, we start cleaning up. Chaplin, Carpenter… everyone.”

M couldn’t help but smile. Landon had no doubt that he was in charge, that M would do whatever he asked.

Wrong on both counts.

CHAPTER 72

WILLIE MILLER WAS SURPRISED AT HOW EASY IT WAS TO FOLLOW SOMEBODY; he just wished it wasn’t so boring. He was down the street from Chaplin’s Short Hills house when he left in the morning, and followed him all the way to his office.

He waited outside the entire day, but Chaplin never left, not even for lunch. Willie figured they must have one of those executive chefs he’d read about; maybe he should hire one of them for the Tara Foundation. That person could cook for him and Sondra, and maybe make homemade dog biscuits the rest of the day.

At least it was something to think about during the endless hours he spent waiting for Chaplin to leave. Finally at six thirty his car pulled out, and Willie followed him. He went straight home, and when the lights went off on the house’s lower level at ten fifteen, Willie left.

Willie was not particularly introspective, but he knew enough about himself to realize that more days like this would drive him crazy.

If tomorrow repeated this pattern, Willie would just have to make something happen.

CHAPTER 73

WE ARE IN DEEP TROUBLE. I probably shouldn’t say “we,” since it is my client, Billy Zimmerman, who is really the one in trouble. If we lose this case, and that’s the direction we’re heading, he is the one who will have to spend the rest of his life in prison. I will still get to go home, and sleep with Laurie, and play with Tara, and watch Giants games in the fall.

I will be upset, and I’ll feel guilty, but my life will go on. Billy’s, for all intents and purposes, will not.

I have a few minutes’ time for conversation with Billy before the start of court, and he broaches the subject straight-out. “How do you think we’re doing?” he asks.

“At this point, we’re behind.”

He seems surprised. “Really? I think you’re getting your points across.”

“I probably am, but they’re the wrong points. I’m talking about conspiracy theories and people missing and murders happening halfway around the world. Eli’s talking about a guy on an Edgewater street with a gun and a dead body.”

“So we’re going to lose?”

“At this point it’s more likely than not. But we’re making good progress in our investigation outside of court, and that gives us a fighting chance.”

I start to detail what we’ve learned, but I don’t get to finish because Judge Catchings enters the courtroom. Today is going to be a short day, because the judge has some personal business to attend to this afternoon. I’d be fine if he had a month’s worth of personal business.

My first witness is Nina Rodriguez, a patron at the bar that night who is one of the few people who saw the events remotely close to the way I want them to be seen.

She testifies that she was walking out of the bar and across the street when she happened to look over and see Erskine talking with a man. Less than thirty seconds later, gunshots were fired and chaos erupted.

“Was the victim talking to the defendant?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. This man was taller; I mean, he could have been a basketball player. The other man, the man who died, looked up at him when he talked.”