One Dog Night

by David Rosenfelt

  He nods. “Me too. I think you’ve done an amazing job, and Becky and I will be grateful to you for as long as we live. But if I were on the jury I would vote to convict.”

  “I think we’re going to win,” Hike says.

  Hike, who at any given time expects the world to come to an end within an hour, thinks we’re going to win.

  “There you go,” I say to Noah. “The incurable optimist has spoken.”

  Noah laughs; he has gotten to know Hike quite well. “Why do you say that?” he asks.

  Hike shrugs. “I’ve just got faith in human nature.”

  I’ve got to get out of here before he breaks out in a rendition of “Put on a Happy Face.”

  Once I leave I turn on my cell phone. There’s a message from Laurie asking that I call her, which I do.

  “I got the travel records from Gail Lockman for her husband.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “He made four trips in the six weeks before the fire. The first one was to Texas, then Georgia, Arkansas, and Texas again.”

  “If there’s something revealing in there, I’m missing it.”

  “You’ll find it eventually.”

  “Eventually isn’t going to be nearly good enough.”

  When I get back to the office, Agent Mulcahy is waiting for me.

  Which is good, because I was going to call him. We have a lot to talk about.

  The fact that he has come to my office gives me a small advantage; usually in a case like this he would try to summon me to the bureau offices, and then intimidate me when I got there. Of course, that small advantage does not quite make up for the fact that he has the entire government of the United States behind him, while I have Hike and Edna.

  But for now it’s just him and me talking alone in my office, which is interesting in itself. Usually agents like Mulcahy travel in twos, and play “good cop/bad cop.” In this case Mulcahy is playing “only cop,” and that could mean he wants to trade.

  “Nice place you got here,” he says, looking around as if he stepped in shit.

  “Thanks; I’ll convey your appreciation to my decorator.”

  “You do that,” he says. “So I read the transcript of your interview with our agents in Delaware. From what I gather, you and the judge were just chatting away, about nothing in particular, and he shot himself?”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” I say.

  “Having heard you talk in court, it does make some sense,” he says. “I took the bullets out of my own gun before coming here, just in case.”

  I nod. “Wise move.”

  “Other than you annoying him to death, why did he do it?”

  “Mmmm, that’s a tough one.”

  “Be careful, Carpenter.”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ve got a guy who’s never hurt a soul probably going off to prison for the rest of his life. If I’m going to prevent that, the last thing I need to be is careful.”

  “Is that right?” He doesn’t seem cowed, but I’m not in the mood to care.

  “That’s exactly right. And you know what else? I think you know he never set that fire, and you’re sitting back and watching it happen.”

  “You should have presented a more effective case,” he says.

  “Okay, here’s the way we’re going to do it. You’re going to tell me information you have that can help me, and then I’m going to tell you information that I have that will help you. And you’re going to go first.”

  “Why would I go first?”

  “Because I don’t trust you, and because you’re worried, and because my information is probably better than yours.”

  He smiles, as if he thinks that’s amusing as hell, even though he doesn’t. “What would possibly make you think I’m worried?”

  “Because you’re sitting here. Your agents already asked me every question there was to ask. If you’re sitting here, it’s because you have a different agenda.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Deal.”

  “I’m not finished with the terms yet. You’re going to go to the judge with me, on the record or off, and tell him to reopen the trial.”

  “You think I can tell De Luca what to do?”

  “I think you can try. Now tell me something I don’t know.”

  He pauses, as if trying to decide what to say. There’s no doubt that he knew even before he got here what he could and could not say; he’s probably under very specific orders about it. But his open pondering is to give the illusion that he is in charge.

  “There has been a lot of chatter these last few months.”

  I interrupt. “Chatter?”

  “That’s spy talk meaning we hear stuff. A foreign entity has been very interested in the result of the Delaware trial.”

  “Which foreign entity?”

  “You don’t need to know that,” he says. “Let’s just say that it isn’t Switzerland or Luxembourg. It’s a country that we very much do not want to have WMDs.”

  “And is that what this is about? This chatter?”

  “It’s very possible,” he says. “Which makes this a little bigger than Noah Galloway.”

  I shake my head. “That’s not how the system works. I’m his lawyer; for me there’s nothing bigger than Noah Galloway. How long have you known that this foreign stuff is tied to this case?”

  “Not very long; in fact, we’re still not positive that it does. But you’re making a good case; we’re more willing to see all possibilities than a jury is.”

  “Tell it to the judge.”

  He nods. “Now tell me what I don’t know.”

  “There’s a cottage blackmail industry that’s been thriving; Loney was one of the people behind it. They find things out about people, or they do them very illegal favors. Either way they’ve got them from that point on, and they extract favors from them. Judge Holland was one of those people; Alex Bauer was another.”

  “And they told Holland how to rule in that case?”

  “I’m sure they did. Alex Bauer told me so.” I feel as if I can break the confidentiality of what Bauer told me; being dead means he doesn’t require protection.

  “Give me a name besides Loney,” Mulcahy says.

  “Brett Fowler. He’s a political consultant in D.C. He either killed Bauer or had it done.”

  Mulcahy doesn’t take any notes; he either knows Fowler or has confidence in his own memory. “What else?”

  I don’t want to tell him about Judge Holland’s son. I don’t see how I could be risking national security in the process. It doesn’t matter what they were blackmailing Holland with; the important point is that they were doing it.

  “Steven Lockman was an assayer employed by Milgram. He disappeared around the time of the fire, and was never heard from again.”

  “You think he was in the fire?”

  “I do. I’m speculating here, but I think he found something important, maybe on Milgram land, and the wrong people found out about it before his management did. They killed him, and used Bauer to get the company. But it took a long time.”

  “The people we’re dealing with are patient,” he says. “We think in weeks; they think in decades.”

  “Lockman’s last trip before he died was to Texas; he flew into Dallas. He went there twice, and Milgram has land in east Texas waiting to be drilled on.”

  “It can’t be about oil,” he says.

  “What about something dangerous, like uranium?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Uranium can be had; it’s enriching it that’s the tough part.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to respond. “Thanks for this,” he says. “Set up the meeting with De Luca.”

  I get a little anxious while waiting for a verdict.

  At least that’s how I would describe it. Laurie sees it a little differently; she says I get “totally psychotic” and “unbearable to be with.”

  I am not generally a superstitious person, but during a verdict-wait superstitions run my life. Everything I’ve
ever done during this period on a case I’ve ultimately won becomes something I have to do each subsequent time. It’s exhausting.

  I’m always pessimistic while waiting for a jury; but this time I’m even more sure we’re going to lose; I believe that if I were on the panel I’d vote to convict.

  It’s the ultimate defense attorney’s nightmare. A client whom he likes and knows to be innocent gets convicted and spends year after year in jail. There is no question that a life sentence for Noah would mean one of my own as well.

  Usually I have nothing to do other than wait, but this time is different. If we’re going to lose this trial, then we need to develop evidence that can exonerate Noah, or at least earn him a new trial. Focusing on the investigation at least takes my mind off the verdict. A little bit, anyway.

  I spend some time on a computer trying to figure out what could possibly be on that land that could be of consequence to a foreign power looking to develop WMDs.

  One of the things I examine is the possibility that certain plants or bacteria could be growing there, perhaps a rare growth that could be used to make biological or chemical weapons. So I spend hours reading scientific stuff online, only to discover I have no idea what I’m reading, or what I’m talking about.

  “Let’s look at where we are,” I say to Laurie. “We know from Mulcahy that there is the potential for a country to be helped in its WMD program from Entech buying Milgram. It can’t be intellectual property; there’s no secret formula in the Milgram safe, with Entech now having the combination.”

  Laurie nods. “So it has to be something substantive, something tangible.”

  “Right. Plus, I’m positive that Lockman’s disappearance ties into this. And Lockman’s profession was to analyze what materials are in the ground. I don’t know what that material is that is so important, but it doesn’t matter for our purposes. We just know it’s there, and that Entech now owns it.”

  “This is the endgame for the bad guys,” Laurie says. “All the other blackmails were small potatoes. Killing off Bauer, and especially Loney, means that they want to eliminate everyone who knows anything. The payoff from this is big enough that they are willing to dismantle the operation.”

  “What about the people physically taking the stuff out of the ground?” I ask, knowing the answer as I ask the question.

  “I wouldn’t want to be holding their life insurance policies.”

  “Ricci behind this?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. I think he provided the muscle, and maybe some financing, but that’s it.”

  “Why didn’t he get revenge for Loney?” I ask.

  “Maybe he did. Or maybe Petrone got him to back off. That’s still to be learned.”

  “So where are we?”

  She thinks for a minute. “I’m not sure, but I know where we should be. East Texas.”

  Laurie, Marcus, Hike, and Sam are on a flight to Dallas, when I get the call.

  FBI lawyers have petitioned De Luca to grant status to address the court in camera this afternoon. That literally means “in a chamber,” but in the non-Latin world means “in private.” De Luca has granted the request, which was a formality. The meeting is called for two P.M.

  We had no real strategy for sending the “east Texas delegation,” even Laurie admitted that. We just felt that was where the real action was, so that’s where they should be. I would have gone along, but I needed to be here to deal with the court.

  They’re going to drive around the land owned by Milgram, which is now owned by Entech. It’s an enormous area to cover, and the chances of them actually hitting on something are minute. They’ll ask people about unusual activity, but chances are what is going on does not seem unusual to anyone.

  The plan is to split into pairs to cover more area, and I can just imagine the maneuvering going on to avoid being paired with Hike. I hope Marcus doesn’t draw the straw, because Sam or Laurie would just throw Hike out of the car when he got annoying. Marcus would kill him.

  Dylan, Mulcahy, and I assemble in De Luca’s chambers at the appointed hour. De Luca has invited lead counsel only, which is just as well, since my “staff” is driving around Texas looking for bad guys. Mulcahy brings a bureau attorney with him.

  “To what do I owe this interference in the workings of this court?” is how De Luca opens the session. I would have to say that as opening lines go, that one is not a particularly good sign.

  “We have information which leads us to strongly believe that a conviction of Noah Galloway would represent a miscarriage of justice.”

  “Very well,” De Luca says. “Let’s hear it.”

  Mulcahy turns it over to the FBI attorney, who proceeds to give a dry recitation of facts, head down and reading every word. Worse yet, it’s basically just a rehash of the case we’ve already presented. Since De Luca turned down our request to reopen the trial, there is nothing here to make him reconsider, other than possibly the fact that the FBI is doing the talking, instead of me.

  De Luca seems as unimpressed as I am. “That’s it?” he asks.

  “Not quite,” Mulcahy says. “There are two more things. The fire that killed Bauer in his car was started with an almost identical mixture of chemicals as that of the house fire.” This surprises me, and I assume it was left out of the media reports for investigative purposes.

  “Second, and far more important, is the fact that there are serious national security implications to this case.”

  That gets De Luca’s attention. “Are you officially telling me that the national security of the United States is threatened by the jury reaching a verdict in this trial?’

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. But I am saying there are serious connections between this case and matters of national security.”

  De Luca considers this for a few moments, and then says, “Okay, gentlemen. Here’s where I come out on this. Basically the information before me has not changed. What I am being told is that the FBI thinks Mr. Galloway is innocent.”

  Mulcahy nods. “We do, Your Honor.”

  “However, the reason this trial ever started, the reason Mr. Galloway was arrested in the first place, was because the FBI conducted an investigation and came to the conclusion he was guilty.”

  “The facts have changed,” I point out.

  De Luca nods. “Maybe, or maybe just the interpretation of those facts have changed. In any event, even though the FBI originally thought Mr. Galloway was guilty, our system decided in its infinite wisdom not to just accept that and convict him. It decided a jury was better equipped to make that decision.”

  This is heading south.

  De Luca continues. “I’m going to side with the system, gentlemen, and let the jury make the call, without interruption.”

  The FBI lawyer starts packing up his briefcase. He couldn’t have cared less which way De Luca was going to rule; it was simply his job to present the case and get out. Mulcahy looks at me with some sympathy; I think he wanted the right thing to happen here, and he knows it didn’t.

  Dylan hasn’t said a word since “good afternoon,” but I think he’s never been more eloquent.

  I leave the court, having accomplished absolutely nothing. The only way the visit could have been worse was if I was there to hear the verdict.

  When I leave I call Laurie, who sounds like she’s had a worse day than I have.

  “We’ve accomplished absolutely nothing,” she says.

  “Join the club,” I say, and then update her on the meeting with De Luca.

  After that’s over, she says, “There’s a lot of land out here, Andy, especially since we have no real idea where to look, or what we’re looking for.”

  “And you’re asking people that you see?”

  “When we can find any. But of course they have no idea what we’re talking about, because we have no idea what we’re talking about. And that’s not the worst part.”

  She hesitates for a moment, then. �
��Hike.” Another pause. “He’s driving me crazy.”

  I’m glad she can’t see me smiling. Whenever I complain about Hike, she defends him and tells me I’m too hard on him. Now that she’s spent time with him alone, it appears that the depressing tide has turned.

  “Really? Hike?” I ask.

  “Yes. I’m with Hike, and Marcus is with Sam. Everywhere we go the land is dry and desolate, and Hike says it reminds him of the Dust Bowl during the Great Depression.”

  “Interesting historical reference,” I say.

  “Andy, Hike thinks of the Great Depression as the good old days. He says we’re heading for much worse, that the way things are going, the United States is soon going to consist of two things, Wall Street and dust.”

  I try to stifle a laugh, but can’t quite do so.

  “Andy…”

  “I’m sorry. Where is he now?”

  “In a diner, possibly using the bathroom.”

  “Why possibly?”

  “It’s our fourth try. The last three weren’t sanitary enough. He said something about dysentery, and lizards, or something. I’m losing track.”

  “What are you and Hike doing tomorrow?” I ask.

  “We’re going to drive around for a while, and then I’m going to strangle him and bury his body.”

  I’ve got nothing to do and nowhere to go.

  I’d like to be in Texas with Laurie and the team, but I need to be here in case the jury has a question or, God forbid, a verdict. What I really should have done was keep Hike here, and gone down there in his place. I think Laurie would have been in favor of that.

  So I’m tied to the phone, hoping Laurie will call with good news, and hoping the court will not call with bad news. Instead nobody calls, with the exception of Willie Miller, asking me if I’d read his book when it’s finished, which is apparently going to be any day.

  “You think I need to read it?” he asks.

  “No, you already know the ending.”

  “Cool.”

  I head down to the jail to see Noah and brief him on what’s going on. I’ve been a little lax in doing so, and he wasn’t even aware that the meeting was taking place between the FBI and Judge De Luca.