Double Tap

by Steve Martini

  “Not personally, no.”

  “Would you know him if you saw him?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how would you know what he looked like?”

  “From military records,” says the witness. “I had occasion to examine his Army records—including photographs, his military ID number—which also contained documents bearing his signature.”

  “Is Mr. Ruiz in the courtroom today?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “Could you identify him for the jury.”

  Before the witness can point, Ruiz stands up at our table. We have been prepared for this and decided that it would be best that Emiliano not be caught sitting or slouching at the table as if skulking from the jury.

  “That’s him,” says the witness.

  “May the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant, Emiliano Ruiz,” says Templeton. “Now, let me ask you, does your office or your department have any records evidencing the transfer of this weapon to anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Does your office or your department have any records evidencing the surrender or return of this firearm by Mr. Ruiz back to the military or to the Department of Defense upon his discharge from the military three years ago?”

  “No, we do not.”

  “Was Mr. Ruiz required by law to return this weapon to the military—to turn it in at the time of his discharge?”

  “He was.”

  “But he failed to do so, is that correct?”

  “Apparently,” says the witness.

  With each question, the noose tightens.

  “So the weapon in question, that handgun”—Templeton points to the evidence table—“People’s exhibit six, is actually property belonging to the United States government, is that right?”

  “It is.”

  Templeton has the witness testify as to Ruiz’s skill with a handgun: the fact that he was at one time, according to records, on the Army Pistol Team and that his last assignment was as a range instructor at Fort Bragg. He offers no specifics. After some tugging and word twisting, Templeton gets the major to agree that Ruiz could be considered a “world-class” shooter. I object on grounds that the term is vague, and the judge strikes it from the record and instructs the jury to disregard it. As if he can unring the gong.

  Templeton then slows the beat a bit. He casts about in the stack of papers on the podium until he finds what he wants.

  “Let me ask you, Major, do you also serve as liaison in the Pentagon for small-arms training at certain military bases, including Fort Bragg in North Carolina?”

  “I do.”

  “In this capacity, are you familiar with small-arms training techniques?”

  “I’m not an instructor but I am familiar with techniques and training regimens.”

  “Are you familiar with firearms training techniques that are involved in what is called CQBs, otherwise known as close-quarters battles?”

  “I am.”

  “Can you explain to the jury what is involved in close-quarters-battle training?”

  “It depends on the unit involved, but for the most part it focuses on small-group team techniques. The coordination used in a close-quarters assault. It’s designed to teach techniques that might be used for the assault on a building to capture it, or possibly for hostage rescue or to take prisoners. The training would emphasize selective fire so that only intended targets are shot: shooting on the move, engaging multiple targets, how to sweep an area with the muzzle of a firearm to avoid friendly-fire accidents. It would also include procedures and practices for entry so as to provide covering fire for members of the team.”

  “Would this involve training with live fire? Weapons that are actually loaded with live ammunition?”

  “Oh, yes. Again, depending on the unit, it could be anything from hundreds to thousands of hours. It would involve intensive live-fire training in realistic situations so that the techniques that are imparted become instinctive, instilled,” Ellis says.

  “By instinctive you mean second nature?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do these techniques take a long time to learn?”

  “To learn them well, so that they can be performed reliably in actual armed confrontations, yes. In almost any situation it always comes back to training,” says the witness. “Studies show that what you learn at the instinctive level is what you will do when it comes time to perform, especially under stress.”

  “Now let me ask you, with reference to that particular firearm”—Templeton motions toward the table where the Mark 23 is laid out—“People’s exhibit six. To your knowledge, was that model of weapon designed for any specific purpose?”

  “Yes. It was designed under contract for the military, Special Operations Command, for use principally in specified situations including close-quarters battle.”

  Most of this is included with the literature on the handgun from the manufacturer and in online articles, but the fact that Templeton has someone in uniform on the stand reciting it gives it more credence as it is delivered to the jury.

  “Is that why the kit included with the gun contains a silencer—the suppressor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, by the way, while I’m at it, do you know whether the possession of a silencer, a suppressor, by a private citizen, not a member of the active military, is a violation of law?”

  “Objection as to relevance, Your Honor. There is no charge as to that issue.”

  Templeton tries to slip one in under the belt.

  “Sustained. Move on, Mr. Templeton.”

  “Just a few more questions, Your Honor.” He regroups. “So the weapon, People’s exhibit six, was specifically designed for applications involved in close-quarters battle?”

  “Yes. It could be used in other situations as well.”

  Templeton draws the witness back before he can wander too far: “But it was designed with that in mind, is that right?”

  “That’s correct. The United States military ceased use of the forty-five automatic as the standard-issue sidearm some years ago. They went to a nine-millimeter pistol manufactured by Beretta at that time.”

  “That’s a smaller caliber, is that correct? Smaller than the forty-five?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So what was the military trying to achieve by returning to the forty-five automatic in the form of that particular handgun? Again, I’m talking about People’s exhibit number six.”

  “Lethality,” says the witness.

  Templeton turns to look at the jury wide-eyed, as if to say, Where have we heard that term before? Templeton’s physical gestures and timing are worth the price of admission: his diminutive stature seems to magnify their effect.

  “The forty-five automatic has more stopping power,” Ellis continues testifying right through Templeton’s pantomime.

  “One final point. You stated earlier that this model of firearm, People’s exhibit six, was designed in part for close-quarters combat. With regard to training in that area, have you ever heard the term double tap used?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell the jury what the term means within the realm of military training?”

  “A double tap is a technique for firing two shots in quick succession into a single target.”

  “And can you tell the jury the purpose of the double tap—what it’s intended to accomplish?”

  “To make sure that a target that goes down does not get up again,” says the witness.

  “To make sure that the target has been killed, in other words?”

  The witness nods. “In a word, yes.”

  “And would this technique, the use of the double tap, be instinctively instilled by training through close-quarters battle techniques in those who underwent such training?”

  “If the training was done properly, yes.”

  “So that it might become second nature?”

  “I would say so, yes.”

  “Do you
know whether the defendant Emiliano Michael Ruiz was schooled in these techniques, methods of close-quarters battle, and specifically the application of the double tap?”

  “Yes. He was.”

  Templeton turns on his stool toward me. “Your witness,” he says.

  Early Saturday morning, in the middle of a trial, I am camped out at the office, going over damage assessments.

  The testimony by Major Ellis put some sizable holes in us. But this morning I am thinking that it could have been worse. During his testimony I had one of those moments of sudden revelation, as when the finger of the grim reaper brushes your shoulder. There was the definite sensation that Templeton had dropped something in my path that he wanted me to touch.

  Unless I am wrong, Hammon Ellis was the evidentiary equivalent of live ordnance, high explosives attached to a trembler switch just waiting for me to touch him the wrong way.

  Templeton set the fuse when he had Ellis testify that he, the witness, had access to Ruiz’s personnel files and used it to compare signatures. At that moment I realized that the prosecution knew more about my client’s background than I did. Templeton is no doubt being fed information by the feds, who would like to wrap the case up and make it go away as quickly as possible. The fact that Templeton can get willing cooperation out of the Pentagon in the form of witnesses is an indication of their position.

  Other than the broad field of training with firearms, Templeton never asked Ellis for specifics regarding what it was that Ruiz had done in the military. He left this dangling in front of me for a reason. He wanted me to tug on it. That way he could have picked the pieces of what was left of me off the courtroom walls after the answer.

  Without knowing exactly what Ellis would say in front of the jury, I had to steer clear. But I am convinced that any question regarding Ruiz’s background would have gone off in my face. The fact that Templeton would set this trap causes me to think that Emiliano’s repeated assurances that none of this is relevant are wrong.

  On cross, all I could do with Ellis was to get the witness to acknowledge that the original military kit containing the murder weapon also included a “laser-light–aiming module,” the missing laser sight. The witness went so far as to admit that if this sight had been mounted on the pistol the evening of the murder, it would have made targeting easier. The question is, for whom?

  There is something Ruiz is not telling us. While his skill with a handgun is clear, the details of what he did in the Army, besides range training, is a looming mystery that now has my stomach producing acid around the clock.

  Efforts to plumb this with subpoenas served on the personnel office at Fort Bragg as well as the Pentagon have netted nothing beyond copies of the records already in our files, the ones with a seven-year hole in them. Phone calls by Herman along with a three-day trip to North Carolina turned up nothing. When Herman told them what he was looking for, he was even denied admission onto the base at Fort Bragg. With the publicity surrounding the trial, and with the political heat turned up under the IFS program, the screws have been tightened by the brass at the Pentagon, so that any information bearing on our case is now verboten.

  As I’m sitting in my chair, weighing all of this, I feel a vibration on my belt. A second later the familiar chime on my cell phone rings. I take it out of the holster and check the incoming number. It’s Harry’s home phone. I flip open the phone and hit the talk button.

  “Hello.”

  “Where the hell are you? I called your house, there’s no answer.”

  “Sarah is off for the weekend with some friends. I’m at the office.”

  “Guess what. I’ve got some news for you. Remember the name you were looking for?” asks Harry.

  “What name?”

  “The day we were going over the evidence. You wanted to know the name of the person who called Chapman’s house from the restaurant the evening she was killed—who it was who called the cops.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ll never guess.”

  “Keep me in suspense,” I say.

  “Maxwell Rufus. As in Karr, Rufus and Associates. Ruiz’s employer,” says Harry. “And there’s more.”

  To pick up the slack, Harry hired another investigator, one of the larger firms downtown. Their report came by fax to his house late last night.

  “They must work all hours,” he says. “I found it on the floor in front of the machine in my study when I got up this morning. And the thing ran out of paper, so there may be more. Karr, Rufus is in trouble. According to the information in the report, the firm is facing serious financial problems, a settlement in a class-action death case that could push them into bankruptcy.”

  Rufus is one of Templeton’s witnesses who is probably nearing the on-deck circle. We are guessing that he is likely to be up on the stand Monday or Tuesday.

  “Are you sure of the information?”

  “The report has an awful lot of detail, including a court-case number. It was filed in Texas eighteen months ago. They’re on the brink,” says Harry.

  According to the information, five years ago, while expanding their empire into the state of Texas, Karr, Rufus swallowed up a poorly operated competitor in Houston. Two years into the deal, one of their uniformed security guards apparently started stalking a female employee of one of the large accounting agencies in a high-rise in Houston’s tony financial district. Karr, Rufus had the contract to provide security in the building.

  To makes things worse, the guard in question, who was armed under the terms of the contract, had a prior felony conviction for assault and domestic violence in another state, something Karr, Rufus claimed they didn’t know anything about.

  “The problem is,” says Harry, “according to the FBI, which did a routine criminal background check on the man when he was hired—part of the normal background check required by the state for licensing of security guards—Karr, Rufus was notified in writing of the guy’s felony conviction almost a year earlier. How it slipped through the cracks, nobody knows. The employee had lied to the company when he applied for the job, checking the box on the application that said no prior criminal record.

  “It hit the fan on August eighteenth three years ago,” Harry goes on. “The guard walked into the accounting firm’s main office on the twenty-second floor armed with two semiautomatic nine-millimeter Glocks and started shooting employees. When the melee was over, seven people were dead, including the guard, who shot himself along with the woman who was the object of his affections. The civil complaint was for seventy-five million dollars and change,” says Harry. “Karr, Rufus settled out of court under terms of a confidential settlement. But they had to borrow money because the settlement was in excess of their insurance coverage. The firm’s headquarters in La Jolla was used as security on the note, which is due in ninety days. According to the information in the report, unless they can refinance the note—and so far they haven’t been able to—Karr, Rufus is insolvent. The bank will land on everything they have, including the building in La Jolla.

  “Rufus won’t be able to make payroll,” says Harry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  This morning Larry Templeton positions himself to lay one more stone on top of the platform that is beginning to crush Emiliano Ruiz.

  Gilcrest’s earlier ruling that the state may not use the security tape of Chapman and Ruiz on the couch in her office because of its prejudicial effect has forced Templeton to do the next best thing. He calls Karen Rogan to the stand.

  Rogan is the only firsthand witness who saw any part of the events shown on the tape, even though from the film it appears that she was in the room only briefly.

  Templeton has already had a chance to evaluate Rogan during Sims’s motion to quash the evidence that is still bottled up out at Isotenics. Rogan was not entirely cooperative during that outing, and Templeton knows it. He seems tentative in his approach with her.

  “What is your position at Isotenics?”

  “Personal assis
tant.”

  He is looking down at the podium, checking to make sure he has all the items covered in his notes.

  “To whom?” He looks up and realizes that the question isn’t clear to the witness. “For whom did you provide these services?”

  “At the present time, for Mr. Havlitz,” she says.

  “No. No. That’s not what I mean. Before that. Before Mr. Havlitz.”

  “Who did I work for?”

  “Yes.”

  “Madelyn Chapman.”

  “So you were Ms. Chapman’s personal assistant, is that correct?”

  “Objection: leading the witness.” The objection is weak. The judge would probably overrule it, but he doesn’t get the chance.

  Templeton rephrases the statement into a question before Gilcrest can rule. “What was your position in regards to Ms. Chapman?”

  The game here is one of control. With the objection, Rogan’s eyes dart toward me. It doesn’t take a palm reader to anticipate that Rogan might not be comfortable testifying about the events in Chapman’s office that afternoon. I try to give her a signal: she has friends in court.

  “I’m sorry, what was your question?” she says.

  “Your position in regards to Ms. Chapman: What did you do for her?” Templeton has to work to get her attention back on himself. His task is to control her as best he can.

  “Oh. Personal assistant,” she says.

  “I take it that that was a position of trust?” Templeton is back to his notes.

  “I don’t understand what you mean by trust,” she snaps at him a little, piercing green eyes from under the red hair.

  When he looks up, Templeton seems flummoxed, flustered, suddenly overcome by a convulsion of awkward gestures.

  “I didn’t mean that you betrayed any trust.” Seen from behind, standing on the stool, his arms waving, he looks like half of a conductor whose orchestra is out of tune. “What I meant … what I meant to say is, did you have ready access to her office, to the private space where Madelyn Chapman worked?”

  “I suppose.”

  Templeton’s misstep in his choice of words has made her wary.