Unleashed

by David Rosenfelt

  It can’t be too lively, because that could take her out of that mood. But it can’t be too mellow, because it could make her doze off. Sleep, in a situation like this, is the mortal enemy.

  I choose an Eagles CD, but only time will tell if it’s going to work. We sit on the couch with Tara lying on the floor at our feet, talking occasionally but mostly sipping and listening. It is extraordinarily nice, not so much so that I don’t wish we could cut it short, but nice nonetheless.

  Finally, after an hour that seems like a very pleasant week, Laurie takes my hand and says, “Let’s go upstairs.”

  “If you insist,” I say.

  She smiles. “You think you’re going to get lucky?”

  “There’s no luck involved, babe.”

  We walk up the steps, Tara trailing behind us. She’s seen this movie before, and I can’t tell whether she approves or not. But I’m certainly not going to worry about it.

  Laurie’s in bed and I’m about to join her when the phone rings. “You want to get that?” she asks.

  “Not even if I knew it was the lottery commission calling to congratulate me,” I say. “The machine can get it.”

  The machine does get it, and the screened voice is Sam’s. “Andy, it’s me, Sam. Please pick up.”

  He sounds worried and upset, and Laurie and I make eye contact. Since her eyes are telling me to pick up the phone, I break off contact. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow.

  “Andy, come on, you’ve got to be home. This is important … I need your help.”

  Now I’ve got no choice. I want to be there for Sam, but I want to be there later. The problem is, Laurie watching me ignore a friend in trouble would likely be a major turnoff.

  What to do … what to do?

  I pick up the phone. “Sam, are you hanging off the edge of a cliff by your fingernails?”

  “No, I…”

  I’m hoping that the big crisis is that Crash has kennel cough. “Then call me tomorrow.”

  “Andy, please … I need your help.”

  It was surreal. Everybody had left at least an hour before, and Sam and Denise were in her den, talking and reflecting on the Barry they knew. A couple of times Sam made comments about leaving, but Denise obviously did not want him to go yet. It was as if his walking out the door would put the final end to Barry, and she would have to face the pain alone.

  It was almost nine o’clock when the knock on the door came. To Sam it was eerily like the other night, when Jennings and the other cop came to tell Denise about the crash.

  Obviously Denise had the same sensation, because she commented that she had not buzzed anyone in through the main gate, and with a slight, sardonic laugh on the way to the door, said, “I hope this works out better than last time.”

  It didn’t.

  Once again Jennings was leading the way, but this time he had three other officers with him, and they weren’t looking sympathetic. It all happened in a blur, but within seconds Denise was in handcuffs and Jennings was reading her her Miranda rights.

  This time Sam heard every word he said, including, “You are being charged with the murder of Barry Price.”

  All Denise could say was, “No, no … this can’t be happening.” She looked back at Sam as she was being led out the door, silently imploring him to help her, but that was simply not within his power.

  Jennings lingered behind to talk to Sam. “You seem to spend a lot of time here,” he said.

  “She’s my friend,” Sam said.

  Jennings nodded. “No doubt about that. See you soon.”

  Once Jennings left, Sam saw everyone get into their two cars and drive off. He realized he should have asked where they were going, so he ran to his own car to follow them.

  They didn’t drive particularly quickly; there was certainly no need for sirens. They already had what they were going after.

  It wasn’t long before Sam’s fear and concern turned to anger at how Denise was being treated and about Jennings’s veiled comments about Sam’s possible involvement.

  It made no sense. Denise and Sam were nowhere near the plane or the airport when it crashed. In fact, Jennings himself could provide the alibi for them: he saw them in the house soon after the event.

  What could they possibly be claiming? That Denise somehow sabotaged the plane so it would fall to the earth? Did they really think she had that expertise? It was ridiculous on its face. Jennings had to know that, so why the hell was Denise on the way to jail?

  Sam decided that he had to call Andy. He couldn’t imagine that Denise had access to a top criminal attorney, especially since Barry had inquired about Andy in the first place. If Barry didn’t know one, then Denise certainly wouldn’t. Any lawyers Barry had occasion to use would be more corporate, financial types.

  Sam knew Andy had said he didn’t want another client, and he respected that, but he thought he could convince him to at least get Denise through this initial process.

  So he made the call.

  And he begged.

  The Morristown County people are well versed on modern jail techniques. Their leading technique is to make it as difficult as possible for defense attorneys, obviously including defense attorneys who no longer want to be defense attorneys.

  I’ve brought Laurie with me, although this is not the way I had planned for us to spend this time. I’m actually surprised she was willing to come, but she didn’t resist when I made the suggestion.

  Sam is sitting in the lobby when we arrive, and he just about jumps out of his chair when he sees us. “Thanks for coming, guys. I had nowhere else to turn.”

  “Why don’t you tell us everything you know?” He hadn’t done so over the phone. I figured we might as well wait so that he could tell us in person.

  It turns out he doesn’t know much and is basically able only to describe the arrest as it took place.

  “So no details about how she might have done it?” I ask.

  “She didn’t do it.”

  “I’m talking about their theory of the case.”

  “Right. No … no details at all. Andy, it is simply not possible that she could have murdered Barry.”

  Sam has seen this woman only a couple of times since high school, so I’m not quite prepared to accept his judgment as definitive, but I’m also not about to tell him that.

  “They’ve made a mistake. She was with me when Barry died, but they won’t listen to me. They’ll listen to you.”

  At this point I don’t know Denise Price, and she might well be a murderer. Certainly the police must have some evidence that she is, though they obviously still need to prove their case. But I’m not worried about her; I’m worried about Sam. His ex-girlfriend may have murdered her husband while he was there with her. It’s not a huge leap for the cops to think that maybe a triangle was involved, with Sam in the role of Mr. Isosceles.

  I leave Laurie with Sam and head for the desk, where the annoying ritual can begin. I identify myself as Denise Price’s attorney, a stretch at the moment, and a temporary one at that. The knee-jerk reaction by the sergeant on duty is to tell me that she is undergoing the induction process, which, as I surely know, is time-consuming.

  “She was brought in almost two hours ago,” I exaggerate. “People have been inducted into Harvard fraternities faster.”

  “We have a process,” he says.

  “So do I. If I’m denied the ability to see my client in a reasonable time frame, I’ll make the denier testify as to why. You feel like spending a day in court?”

  “And leave all this?” he smiled, not exactly cowed by my threat.

  Sam, anxious to know what is going on, comes up behind me. “Can I see her when you do?”

  “What is this, camp visiting day?” the sergeant asks. “Go sit down over there.”

  It’s another half hour before I’m ushered in to see Denise. She looks like every person I’ve ever seen in the midst of his or her first jail experience: scared and beaten down.

  “Wh
o are you?” she asks me.

  “Andy Carpenter. I’m a defense attorney and a friend of Sam’s.”

  “Barry mentioned you,” she says, remembering. “I heard him ask Sam about you.”

  I’ve got a hunch that the key question in the case is going to be why Barry asked Sam about me and whether he was involved in criminal activities. But it’s way too premature for that.

  “Do you have a lawyer, Denise?”

  “For something like this? No. But you’re going to help me, aren’t you?”

  “I am now, yes. Later on we can sort out what’s best for you. For now the most important thing is that you talk to no one in here, about anything. If the police or prison authorities try to talk with you, just tell them to talk to me.”

  “Can you get me out of here? I have money.”

  “We will try to do that when you’re brought into court, but it will be difficult, if not impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is a murder case.”

  She looks bewildered. “His plane crashed. Barry’s plane crashed. How could I have murdered him?”

  “We’ll find out why they think so; they have to tell us. But it won’t be tonight, Denise. There is a process, and we have no choice but to go through it.”

  She nods her understanding, but she doesn’t really get it, not yet. It’s going to take a while to set in; it always does.

  I continue. “I’ll find out what I can, and I’ll be back to see you tomorrow. What are you not going to do until then?”

  “Talk to anyone.”

  “Good. I’ll see you soon.”

  The look of pain on her face is intense. “What has happened to my life?” she asks.

  It’s one of a whole bunch of questions that I don’t yet have the answer for.

  I go back to the lobby area and tell Sam the little that transpired. He is frustrated that there’s nothing to be done right now, but he understands it.

  “Thanks, Andy,” he says. “You’ll stay on this?”

  “For now. That’s all I can promise. But either way she’ll be well represented.”

  “She needs you,” he says.

  “Let’s talk tomorrow, Sam. Go home.”

  “If I stay, you think there’s any chance they’ll let me see her?”

  “Go home.”

  On the way back, Laurie asks what I thought of Denise Price.

  “I didn’t think she could be a murderer,” I say, “but she could definitely be a murderer.”

  Among the many great things about Laurie is that when I say stuff like that, she understands exactly what I mean. The way to find out if someone is guilty is to get the facts and assess them, not make snap judgments based on personality and intuition.

  “Sam seems somewhat taken with her,” Laurie says, understating things considerably.

  “I know. But if one is going to rekindle a relationship, there are probably better women to do it with than one facing trial for murdering her husband.”

  “So do you want to represent her?” she asks.

  “Nope.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I guess for now just get her through the arraignment, assess the situation, accumulate the facts.”

  As I say “accumulate the facts,” I steal a quick glance at Laurie, which is a major mistake, and she catches me on it.

  “So that’s why you wanted me with you here tonight.”

  Uh-oh. She knows that I want her to investigate the case, which would in turn prevent her from going back to Wisconsin. The only way out of this is probably for me to tell the truth, but since that’s not really my style, I decide to lie some more.

  “I don’t know what you mean. I wanted you with me because I always want you with me. I love and adore you.”

  “That’s bullshit,” she says.

  “Which part?”

  “The part where you didn’t admit you wanted me to get interested in the case so I would stay home and investigate it.”

  I snap my fingers. “Hey, that’s an idea I didn’t think of.”

  “Okay, here are my terms. I agree to delay my trip to help you investigate the situation—”

  I jump in. “Deal.”

  “I’m not finished,” she says. “You agree to work the case full-time until we get an answer.”

  “Deal.”

  She continues. “And you take on Denise Price as a client if we think she may be wrongly accused.”

  I’m stuck here; I can’t ask her to take on an assignment if I’m not willing to do the same. “If we strongly feel that’s the case, then it’s a deal,” I say grudgingly.

  “I’m still not finished,” she says. “Because I’m not leaving, you agree to give up your chance at going-away sex tonight.”

  I think we may have hit on a deal breaker. “What about if we do the whole wine and music thing again? Just maybe a shorter version?”

  We’re quiet for a while, and I’m trying to figure out if she’s really going to put off her trip. I don’t want to blow it, but the curiosity is killing me.

  “So you’re not leaving tomorrow?” I ask.

  “No.”

  I shouldn’t, but I ask, “Why?”

  “I guess because investigating is what I do, and I’m looking forward to getting back into it. But I also like to watch you, to see you engaged.”

  “You mean the other kind of engaged? Not the we’re-going-to-get-married engaged?”

  She smiles. “Yes, the other kind.”

  “Because either kind is fine,” I say. “You know that.”

  Another smile. “Yes, I know that.”

  Then she looks over at me and says, “Andy, you don’t ever have to worry about me leaving you.”

  “You did once.” I say it in a light tone, but it’s a subject that I will never regard as anything other than deadly serious.

  “I know that, but I came back. And I’ll never leave again.”

  “Anything is possible,” I say.

  “Then it’s possible you’ll leave me?”

  I think for a moment. “Anything is possible. Except for that.”

  The manhunt lasted for only nine hours and ended in disaster. Undercover cop Drew Keller’s car had remained in the parking lot behind the Concord, New Hampshire, bar, but Keller was gone. Patrons said he left with the man identified as Rodney Larsen, which fit with what Drew had recorded in several reports about his investigation. But the fact that his car was there and he had not called in was a thoroughly ominous sign. Drew would never have voluntarily gone off with Rodney without any possibility of backup.

  With one of their own in obvious danger, every officer was called in to join in the search. Unfortunately, all that would have been required was one officer, manning the 911 line.

  A call came in from a service station owner four miles from the bar. He opened in the morning, went into the back room, and discovered the horrific carnage.

  Detective Lieutenant Clarence Burke took charge of the investigation and analyzed the crime scene. There were four dead bodies including Drew, all shot. Drew and Rodney were each killed with one bullet to the head, while the other two men were shot twice each.

  Burke immediately distrusted what he was looking at. It was set up as if a firefight had taken place, but to Burke’s trained eye, the pieces didn’t fit, or at least there was one key piece missing. And that key piece had to be a fifth person, who had fled the scene.

  Drew had been shot in the center of the forehead, so there was no question that he had died instantly. Therefore, by definition he had to have shot the others before he was hit himself.

  But if Drew had shot the others before taking a bullet himself, it would mean that one of the other men, already mortally wounded, had nonetheless fired off a shot with perfect accuracy, killing Drew. It was certainly possible, but very, very unlikely.

  There were also no stray bullet holes around the room; it seemed that every shot had hit its target. In a chaotic situation like
this would have to have been, that simply was not credible.

  There had to have been a fifth person in the room. Since Drew would obviously have been his prime target, he would have likely shot Drew first. What didn’t make sense is why he would then have killed his three colleagues, if that’s what they were.

  It seemed to Burke highly unlikely that Drew had even fired a shot. If he had gone to the service station involuntarily, as was almost certainly the case, they would have taken his gun.

  Ballistics would determine a lot of what happened, and Burke had the feeling that Drew’s gun would be found to have fired the rounds that killed the other three men. But even though a gun was in the fallen Drew’s hand, Burke would bet his pension that Drew had never actually pulled the trigger. He would never have been let into that room with his gun, Burke knew. It must have been thrust into his hand after he was dead.

  So the investigation would begin, and Burke would not rest until he found the missing man, a mass murderer and cop killer. And not that he needed extra motivation, but Burke had some. Drew Keller had been his friend.

  Burke had an additional obligation. Drew was investigating people who had spoken about killing “a big shot.” Their threat hadn’t been independently determined to be real, but the fact that there were now four dead bodies made it instantly credible.

  Concord being the state capital, there had to be some concern that the big shot who was targeted was a political figure, perhaps even the governor. And if Burke was right about the way the killings went down, then the operation might still be intact.

  Anyone who could kill four people could make it five. Or more.

  So Burke went to his captain with the request that the FBI be alerted. If there was any suspicion of an assassination plot, that was protocol, and the captain instantly agreed.

  The FBI was called in, and security around the governor and other state officials was immediately increased.

  What they didn’t realize was that the effort was wasted, that Concord had just become one of the few places where no one was in danger.