David Rosenfelt - Dog Tags

Then he would have to suffer through a cross-examination by Eli that would not be pretty. Billy is an admitted thief; in fact, that’s why he was there that night. Eli would harp on this until Billy looked like Jesse James. Then he would turn to the grudge Billy had against Erskine, which others have already testified to.

There is no question in my mind that the downside is greater than the upside. Laurie agrees with my assessment, and I call Hike to get his view. I have to take it with a grain of salt, since Hike is “Mr. Downside,” but he agrees as well.

I’m about to leave for the prison to have a final discussion about it with Billy when Cindy Spodek calls. “You’ve got your meeting,” she says. “Special Agent Dan Benson is waiting for your call.”

I’m not surprised. “The rhodium did the trick, huh?”

“It was like telling Superman that you knew where a kryptonite mine was.”

“You want me to bring you up to date about what’s going on?” I ask.

“Not particularly, unless you need help. This seems like a need-to-know situation. Benson was already pumping me for information that I was glad I didn’t have.”

“So he’s anxious?” I ask.

“Let’s put it this way. It’s Saturday, and he told me to give you his cell phone number. An FBI agent giving a defense attorney his cell phone number… does that strike you as anxious?”

I hang up and head down to the prison to talk to Billy. I call Benson on the way, and we set a meeting for early afternoon at his office in Newark.

I lay things out for Billy. I tell him our situation is grim, for reasons we have gone over repeatedly. I go on to say that I think his testimony would make things worse, but that it’s his call, and I’ll support him either way.

“But you’re against?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Then we don’t do it.” Billy is pretty much the ideal client, logical, unemotional, and realistic. I wish I could be doing better for him.

I tell him the latest developments in our investigation, which cheers him up, since it’s obvious we’re making more progress outside the courtroom than in. “The FBI agent is meeting with you on a Saturday?”

I nod. “As soon as I leave here.”

“He needs something.”

“So do we.”

As I’m about to leave, he asks, “How’s Milo?”

“Doing fine.”

“It just hit me that I’ll probably never see him again.”

“I’m nowhere near prepared to say that,” I say. “But either way he’ll be well taken care of, safe, and loved.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

FBI Special Agent Dan Benson is a tall, dignified-looking man, probably in his midforties, with a touch of gray starting at the temples, preparing to advance. He has the demeanor of a man who has seen everything there is to see, at least twice, which makes his anxiousness to see me all the more surprising.

I thought I’d have to force my way into a meeting, and here they are laying out the red carpet. I think they would have sent a limo to my house.

Once I’m settled in, Benson gets right to it. “You wanted this meeting.”

I nod. “I did.”

“Why is that?”

“I want to see my client acquitted, and I think you know he didn’t murder Erskine.”

“How would I know that?” he asks.

“Seconds after the fatal shot was fired, three men were on the scene. One checked on Erskine, and the others ran after the shooter, a guy by the name of Jerry Harris. Based on the way they were dressed, they were either FBI agents or on their way home from a hardware convention.”

I wait for him to respond, but he stays silent, so I push on. “Right after the murder, you were so interested in Milo that you intervened to have an armed guard stationed in front of his cage twenty-four hours a day. A few days later, I went to court to get him released, and you did absolutely nothing to stop me.”

“And you read that how?”

“Between those two events, Harris’s body was discovered. You had been tracking him; my guess is you wanted him to lead you to his bosses. But you lost him in the chaos after the murder, and when he was found dead, you covered it up. By then you needed something else to draw those bosses out. You were hoping Milo could do that, but he couldn’t do it in a guarded cage.”

“It’s Saturday, and it’s been a long week,” he says. “Can you move this along?”

“Sure. Your men know my client is innocent, yet you’ve let him sit in jail and face this trial. Using a technical legal term, that was a shitty thing to do. So you need to step forward and fix that.”

I’m far from sure that I’m right in all the things I’m saying, but I learned a long time ago that in these situations it’s best to sound confident. That confidence is increasing because of the fact that he hasn’t thrown me out or laughed at me yet.

Instead he changes the subject, though the two subjects are going to be related in any negotiation we might have. “You mentioned rhodium.”

“I did.”

“What about it?”

“The mine explosion in South Africa and the explosion in Iraq were caused by the same people for the same reason,” I say. “To move the market and make money.”

“Do you know who those people are?”

I shake my head. “Not yet; not all of them. But I will.”

“If you share with us what you know, and if it’s accurate, then we can use our resources to find out the rest.”

“Did you forget the part where I said my goal is to get my client acquitted?”

“This is the United States of America,” he says. “We can’t intervene in a criminal trial.”

“First of all, that’s bullshit; you can get the charges dropped if you want to. Second of all, that’s bullshit; your men were on the scene; they were eyewitnesses and can clear Billy with their testimony. Third of all, that’s bullshit; you know damn well that Jerry Harris killed Erskine. And fourth of all, that’s bullshit.”

“Carpenter…”

“Why do you care so much, anyway? You and the army whitewashed the Iraq report. I can’t imagine the South Africa explosion is a national security issue, and…”

Just then it hits me why he’s so interested, and I can’t believe I didn’t realize it earlier. “… you care about what’s going to happen next. You think there’s a third shoe to drop.”

“You don’t want this kind of blood on your hands,” he says, an almost direct admission that I’m right.

“Here’s what I’ve got on my hands,” I say. “I’ve got a client who is depending on me. I am legally bound to represent him to the best of my ability, and right now that requires me to tell you to kiss my ass.”

I turn and leave the office and go to my car. It takes me a few seconds to get the key in the ignition, because my hands are shaking so bad.

CHAPTER 78

“I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO.” I make this admission to Laurie and Hike, gathered at the house for a Sunday-morning strategy session. “Usually I know what the right thing to do legally and morally is, and then it’s up to me whether to do it or not. But this time I don’t even know that.”

“So he implied that there was going to be another incident, and that you could help prevent it?” Hike asks.

“He did more than imply it; he beat me over the head with it. He said I don’t want to have this kind of blood on my hands.”

“Let’s take it legally first,” Laurie says. “Am I right that your first obligation is to your client?”

“In part; I have to defend him as best I can. I could be disbarred if I didn’t. But as a citizen, I also have the obligation to do my best to prevent a future crime from happening.”

“You have no information about such a crime,” she says.