Who Let the Dog Out?

by David Rosenfelt

  “Gino Parelli?” I ask as I approach him.

  “Yeah?” It’s more of a question than a response, but it’s asked warily, so I take it as a yes.

  “My name is Andy Carpenter. I’m an attorney, and I’d like to talk to you about Gerald Downey,” I say.

  “What about him?” he asks. In situations like this I don’t call ahead and arrange a meeting, because I want to see how people react without having time to prepare. In the case of Parelli, there is a clear look of either fear or worry on his face.

  “Your relationship with him.”

  “I don’t know any Gerald Downey.”

  He’s lying. I know that because if he really didn’t know Downey, his response would have been “Who’s that?” or “Never heard of him.” His first response would not have been to ask, “What about him?” It’s like if someone calls and asks for you when you answer the phone, once you ask “Who’s calling?” you can’t later claim they got a wrong number.

  “Boy, that’s weird,” I say. “You don’t know him, but you helped him smuggle diamonds into the country?”

  “That’s bullshit,” he says, but his tone is still more fear than anger. “Get out of here.”

  “Have you ever testified under oath, Gino?”

  “I said get out of here. I’m not talking to you.”

  “Wrong again, Gino. You’ll be talking to me in a courtroom.” I look up at the sun. “An air-conditioned courtroom.”

  Once I’m in the cool comfort of my car, I call Sam Willis. “There’s a guy named Gino Parelli, and—”

  Sam interrupts. “He was on the Downey call list. What about him?”

  “I want you to give him a cyber rectal exam.”

  “You’re about to find out that being a juror is a tough job” is how Dylan starts his opening remarks. I can sense Tommy sitting up slightly higher in his seat. This is it, it’s showtime.

  We have been through three days of jury selection and some pretrial bullshit. I’m sure it felt to Tommy like we’d never get to the actual trial, but we’re here now, and he’s happier about it than I am. That’s probably because I know the state of our case.

  “First of all, it goes against our grain,” Dylan continues. “Haven’t our parents, and our teachers, and our friends always told us that it’s somehow wrong to judge other people? Isn’t that somehow beneath us?

  “Well, let me deal with that right here and now. You are not judging Thomas Infante; that’s not your job. You are trying to determine whether or not he committed a particular act, and you are trying to do so beyond a reasonable doubt. Once you have determined that, it is for others to judge, and others to punish, should that be called for.

  “But secondly, there is a lot of pressure on you; you are probably feeling it already. Because you do not live in a vacuum, you know full well that Mr. Infante’s future is at stake, and riding on what you determine to be the true facts.

  “And it is a lot of pressure, and everyone in this courtroom feels it. But you must put that aside, and let the facts lead you. Because they call this ‘jury duty’ for a reason: you have a duty to your fellow citizens, and to yourselves, to do your best to get this right.

  “Many, many people have been in your situation, and have faced what you are facing. I sympathize with you, but on some level I envy you. You have a chance to contribute to your community, your state, and your country.

  “I would submit that your task is actually easier than many others have faced. Sometimes juries are confronted with extraordinarily complicated cases that seem to defy a simple yes or no. But as you will see when the facts unfold before you, this case is fairly straightforward.

  “You are being asked to determine whether or not Thomas Infante murdered Gerald Downey. The state of New Jersey, and myself personally, believe that he did so, well beyond a reasonable doubt. We will, through our witnesses, tell you exactly why we feel that way.

  “I am confident that you will agree, and I am equally confident that you will do your duty. Thank you.”

  It was a very low-key opening statement by Dylan, probably the most evenhanded I have ever heard him give. I have no doubt that it’s because he truly is confident in his case and the ability of the jury to understand it.

  Judge Klingman gives me the opportunity to deliver my opening statement now, or defer it to the start of our case. As always, I opt to do it now, so that the jury can understand we are not about to roll over.

  I stand up and steal a glance at the gallery and media assembled behind me. Time has eroded some of the “glamor” of the near-decapitation death, and there are a number of empty seats in the courtroom. It doesn’t much matter to me either way; this case was not the type that was going to be unduly influenced by media or public pressure.

  “Mr. Campbell and I will agree on almost nothing throughout the course of this trial. It is the nature of the process: he has his job and his point of view, and I have mine. We are adversaries, and this is an adversarial proceeding.

  “But we do agree on a couple of things, so let’s get those agreeable items out of the way, so we can move on. We agree that you have a duty to perform, and it is an admirable one that entails a lot of pressure, because much is at stake.

  “We also agree on something that he didn’t mention in his statement, that Thomas Infante has never been in this position before. I don’t mean that he has never been tried for murder; I mean that he has never been tried for anything. Never tried, never convicted, never arrested. Never.

  “But Mr. Campbell and I strongly disagree on the difficulty of the task ahead of you. This is not a simple case, and by the time it is over you will not be able to understand how he could describe it that way. Because while this murder took place in New Jersey, the process of understanding it will take you to the far corners of the world.

  “You will be asked to understand and consider a massive international conspiracy, involving remarkable amounts of money and violence. And you will find that this is way bigger than Gerald Downey, and way bigger than Thomas Infante.

  “Simple?” I smile my wryest smile. “I don’t think so, and you won’t either.”

  I sit down, first patting Tommy on the shoulder in a gesture of support. I would be feeling reasonably good about my statement, except for the fact that I have no confidence I can back it up. I wish the jury could cast their votes now, because this might be our high point.

  In a perfect world, Judge Klingman would say, “Mr. Carpenter, that was such an extraordinary opening statement that I am declaring your client innocent. On behalf of the state of New Jersey I would like to thank you for being such a brilliant lawyer.”

  Instead, what he says is what I have been dreading. “Mr. Campbell, you may call your first witness.”

  “Captain Stanton, you were the first police officer on the scene?” Dylan asks.

  Pete nods. “I was.”

  “What made you enter the house?”

  “I had probable cause that a robbery had been committed. Mr. Downey was a suspect.”

  Dylan has called Pete to establish the foundation; he needs him to set the scene. It’s something he had to do, but likely not something he was relishing.

  “Please describe what you saw when you entered the house.”

  “Mr. Downey was sitting in a chair. His throat had been cut to the point that his head was barely on his torso. There was a dog sitting near Mr. Downey.”

  “Did you search the house?”

  “I didn’t personally, but some of my officers did.”

  “Did it appear as if a robbery had taken place?”

  “It did not.”

  Dylan asks him a few more questions about procedure, and then turns him over to me.

  “Captain Stanton, who was with you when you entered Mr. Downey’s house?”

  “You were, and Willie Miller; you had called me to report the robbery.”

  “And what did we say had been stolen?”

  “You believed that Mr. Downey had stol
en a dog from your rescue foundation. The GPS on the dog’s collar had led you to that house.”

  “Did we hear barking when we rang the doorbell?”

  He nods. “Yes, Willie Miller said he was positive that the barking was that of the stolen dog. That’s what gave me the probable cause to enter.”

  “When you were in the house, did you get a good look at the dog?” I ask.

  “I did.”

  I walk back to the defense table, and Hike hands me an envelope. I take some photographs out of it and bring them to Judge Klingman. I ask him to admit them as defense exhibits, and Dylan agrees, albeit reluctantly. He knows what is coming, but doesn’t want to object in advance, since he would lose, and it would look to the jury as if he has something to hide.

  “Captain Stanton, is that the dog that was in Mr. Downey’s house?”

  “It certainly looks like her.”

  Dylan stands up. “Objection, Your Honor. Captain Stanton just spent a few minutes with that dog. There is no way he can make a positive identification.”

  The judge turns to me. “Mr. Carpenter?”

  “Your Honor, I would like to continue; there will be testimony later confirming the identification beyond any doubt.”

  “Very well. Objection overruled.”

  I turn back to Pete. “In the first three pictures, can you tell who that is holding the dog’s leash?”

  Dylan objects again, but is again overruled. The judge tells Pete that he may answer.

  “Yes, that is Eric Brantley,” he says.

  I feign surprise. “The Eric Brantley who was wanted for murder, and who was himself murdered?”

  Dylan jumps up and objects, but hasn’t a legal leg to stand on.

  I smile. “I’m sorry, Your Honor, but with all the Eric Brantleys running around, I wanted to make sure we were talking about the same one.”

  Klingman seems to have trouble containing a smile, but he manages. “There are a lot of Eric Brantleys running around?” he asks.

  I nod. “Throw a dart out your window and you’re sure to hit one.”

  Klingman tells Pete he can answer the question, and he confirms that it is the now-deceased Eric Brantley.

  “Do you know why Gerald Downey stole Eric Brantley’s dog?”

  “No, I don’t,” Pete says.

  “Do you know what their relationship with each other was?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who killed Eric Brantley?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know where Thomas Infante was when Eric Brantley was killed?”

  “Yes. He was in jail.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  I love watching jurors’ faces when Janet Carlson is on the witness stand. She is beautiful, to the point where she is in Laurie’s class, and believe me, that is an honors class. In any event, she’s the best-looking witness in any trial she’s a part of.

  But that is not what is so striking about the jurors’ reaction to her. Janet is the county coroner, so she is often called upon to give graphic, sometimes pretty disgusting, descriptions of bodies she has examined. It just seems weird coming out of her mouth, even to me, and I’ve seen her do it many, many times.

  It’s in Dylan’s best interest to make this murder appear as heinous as possible, and considering the circumstances, that’s not too difficult. He’s effectively using Janet to make his point.

  “So you would describe this as a near decapitation?” Dylan asks, even though she has previously described it that way twice during this testimony.

  “Yes, I would.”

  “How many cut marks were made?”

  “You mean how many times was the knife used?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “At least four or five; the blade was apparently not very sharp.”

  “So would you say it was almost like a sawing, and not a slicing?” Dylan asks.

  She nods. “That’s a fair statement.”

  “Did you find any other wounds or bruises?”

  “A few facial lacerations,” she says. “Some scrape marks where his hands were cuffed behind him.”

  “Was the victim conscious while all this was happening?”

  “I see no reason to believe otherwise,” she says. “I think the answer to that is almost definitely yes.”

  Dylan doesn’t say anything for a few moments, no doubt letting the horror of what Janet is describing sink into the jurors’ minds. Then he says, “No further questions.”

  I don’t have much to get out of Janet; her testimony was merely a recitation of the facts. There’s nothing new here; the jury already knew that Downey was murdered, and they knew the way he was murdered.

  Her negative impact, from our point of view, was emotional. The jury had to be horrified by the graphic description they heard, and their natural instinct will be to punish someone for it. Unfortunately, the only person they have available to punish is Tommy Infante.

  “That’s a horrible way to die” is how I start my cross-examination. I’m not telling anyone in the courtroom anything they don’t already know; I am merely establishing that the defense shares their feelings. I am telling them that in fact Tommy Infante shares their feelings, because he had as little to do with this crime as they did.

  “Certainly was,” Janet agrees.

  “Would the killer have to have been particularly strong to do this?” I ask. Since Tommy is a large man, I want to establish that significant strength was not necessary.

  “No, I wouldn’t say so, since the victim was bound and therefore unable to resist.”

  “And if the killer was able to threaten with a gun or knife, handcuffing the victim to the chair wouldn’t have taken great strength either, would it?”

  “I wouldn’t think so.”

  “Based on the angle, would the killer have to have been tall?” Tommy is six foot four.

  “No, because Mr. Downey was sitting in a chair. Any normal-sized person would have been angling the knife downward.”

  “And you said the killer was in front of his victim when he attacked him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would there have been a lot of blood?” I ask.

  She nods. “Absolutely. The jugular was sliced.”

  “Any way the killer could have avoided getting blood on his clothing?”

  “That would not be possible, no.”

  I let Janet off the stand. I’ve accomplished what I needed to, and will take advantage of it later in the trial.

  I recognize the face as soon as I see it on the screen. It’s Professor Charles Horowitz, Eric Brantley’s boss at Markham College. I don’t have to wait to hear what the newscaster is saying, because there’s a banner across the screen that says it all:

  BRANTLEY PROFESSOR MISSING

  For some reason the first thing that flashes across my mind is that a noted professor is missing, but in their banner they’ve reduced the poor guy to nothing more than a player in the Brantley case.

  I’ve just woken up, and since Laurie is still sleeping, I have the sound on mute. Since I need to hear what is being said, I turn the sound up to a level I can hear, but that hopefully will not wake her. It doesn’t work. In an instant she’s up and watching with me.

  The announcer is saying that Horowitz hasn’t shown up for four days, which is completely uncharacteristic for him. No one has seen him since he left work a few nights ago, and he has not used his phone. His car is in his driveway, but he’s not in the house.

  The police have classified Horowitz as a missing person, which isn’t exactly an earthshaking announcement, since he is a person, and he is missing. If they have any idea how or if it actually ties in to the Brantley case, they clearly haven’t shared it with this announcer.

  When he’s finished, I say to Laurie, “That’s the guy I met with.”

  She nods. “I know. Any reason to think he’s a threat to anyone?”

  “No, but I really don’t have a clue. He could also be on the run.”
>
  “Unlikely,” she says, “if he drove home and left his car there. He could have rented one, but he had to have a way to get to the rental place. That leaves a trail, as would the rental itself.”

  I look online for more information, which is something I find myself doing more and more frequently these days. Television, despite the proliferation of twenty-four-hour news channels, just doesn’t provide the in-depth coverage that can be found online.

  Unfortunately, my online search doesn’t turn up many more details about Horowitz’s disappearance. Apparently the police are not sharing information, and it’s too early in the process for reporters to have dug up much.

  There is one unconfirmed report that is interesting. It talks of an investigation going on at Markham College over some missing equipment from the labs. The implication, which as far as I can tell is unsubstantiated, is that perhaps Horowitz had something to do with it. I guess the theory is that he went on the run rather than deal with the repercussions of his theft, but that doesn’t really seem plausible to me.

  Horowitz had spent years educating himself and attaining a respected position in the academic world. The idea that he would steal some equipment and blow it all seems far-fetched, and is not consistent with how he came across to me. There is no doubt in my mind that Horowitz’s disappearance is tied to Brantley.

  But obviously I could be wrong.

  The irritating, and scary, thing about this situation is that even if I’m right it won’t matter. The only place I’ve established a connection between Brantley and the Downey murder is in my own mind. I am nowhere close to getting Judge Klingman to allow the jury to hear about it.

  Before I even get out of bed, I call Sam. Once again he answers on the first ring, but instead of saying “hello,” he says, “Horowitz?”

  “You got it,” I say. I don’t have to tell Sam what I want; he knows I want him to dig into Horowitz’s life, especially the last few months. I want to know everyone he’s talked to, as well as where he has been.