The Liar

by Steve Cavanagh

  The flashlights aimed at the hole in the ground.

  Over the course of the night that I’d first met Agent Harper, and in the last twenty-four hours, I’d come to admire her. She was smart, and hard. Brave too. If I really thought about it, she was one of the toughest people I’d ever met.

  It didn’t stop the tears covering Harper’s face as she stared into the depths of that hole. Not that I could blame her. Staring down, I only had one question in mind: How? How is it possible for a human being to do that to a seventeen-year-old girl?

  It was beyond my understanding. In fact, it was one of those moments when I was pretty sure I shouldn’t understand. There was no sense in it. Only evil.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  I waited in the conference room of the White Plains PD office. It was coming up on nine a.m. Adrenaline can only keep you going so far. My legs were agony. I couldn’t wait to get home, take off my pants so they wouldn’t rub against the cuts. Captain Powers had extended me some courtesies. Use of a laptop and printer. I was waiting for him to bring me Copeland so I could tie up a few loose ends.

  Alexander Berlin came in to the room. The man from the Justice Department. He still had that stick up his ass, and the only question on my mind was whether he was going to take it out and beat me with it.

  “I won’t take up much of your time. I know you’re tired and awaiting a guest, but I want to have a little talk about your tie pin, Eddie. We’ve checked the courtroom security cameras. Seems you lost that pin right before your client tried to take his life. The guard in the prisoner transport van says he saw you pick up a pin off the floor of Howell’s transport cell.”

  I said nothing. Berlin took a seat beside me.

  “Here’s what I think, Eddie,” said Berlin. “Captain Powers could arrest you. But I don’t think that’s fair. Your client was in pain. He wanted a way out. Maybe you gave him one? Maybe he swiped the pin without you knowing it when he grabbed your shirt in court?”

  Neither of us spoke.

  “Here’s the thing, Eddie,” continued Berlin, “I used to have a dog. I found him in a bad place and I took him home. I fed him. Protected him. Trained him to go out into the world and help us find the other bad dogs in the neighborhood. But see, sometimes that dog just can’t change its nature. It’ll turn up years down the line and it’ll try to bite you – it turns rabid.

  “Justice demands we take care of rabid dogs. Barker will go down for the murder of McAuley. He’ll also serve time for conspiracy to murder. There will be further charges relating to agent Washington’s wounding et cetera. Suffice to say, I’ve got my dog back under control and I’m putting him away for good.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said.

  “Now, about that pin …” said Berlin.

  “What pin?” I asked.

  “Exactly. Right now, I’ve forgotten about that pin. My memory comes and goes. The thing about a good dog turning bad is you still need to replace the dog. I’ve heard your name mentioned before. Can’t say where. The cases you’ve been involved in sometimes cross our radar. Right now, you’re a puppy. When you grow up, I might have need of your services.”

  I didn’t like this. I was nobody’s dog. Good or bad.

  “And what if I said I wasn’t interested?” I said.

  “Then, my memory might improve drastically. Don’t worry. I don’t need you now. Maybe I’ll never have need of you. But if I do, I’ll whistle. And I’ll expect you to come running.”

  Without another word, he stood and left.

  The conference room was empty and cold. The heater hadn’t come on yet and the central heating system was playing up. I put my hands underneath my arms to keep them warm. My suit was still damp from the grass at the cemetery. The thought of that place, and what I’d seen when we pulled back the steel plate …

  I shook my head, trying to get rid of the memory, popped the tab on a coke and took a long, long drink.

  A knock on the door, then it opened and Harper led Max Copeland into the room. She told him to sit at the other end of the conference table, well away from me, and then she left and closed the door behind her.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he said.

  Other than advising a client during questioning, Copeland had never spent the night in a police station. He certainly hadn’t spent a night in the cells before. He’d loosened his tie, undone his top button and he carried his jacket draped over his right arm. He let the jacket fall to the floor and folded his arms.

  “I’ll be suing the police for wrongful arrest,” said Copeland. “I’ll file the suit soon as I get out. Oh, and I’m still suing you for assault. Don’t think I’d forgotten about you.”

  The urge to cave in Copeland’s head hadn’t left me from the first moment I’d met the man. I reminded myself that there were better ways to do things.

  “The police and the feds are still considering charges, Copeland. This isn’t over. Far as I’m concerned, you helped a man kidnap and murder a seventeen-year-old girl.”

  “Prove it. And who says it’s murder?” he said.

  My eyes found the dark wooden knots on the desk, and lingered there.

  “A few hours ago, it became murder,” I said. “But this can all go away, Max.”

  I took his iPhone out of my pocket, skidded it across the table.

  “So it was you who stole my phone.”

  “I found it. Right here in the corner of this room. Must’ve fallen out of your pocket. Anyways, I didn’t know who it belonged to so I checked the messages, and the voicemail …” I paused to watch the color evaporate from Copeland’s face.

  “And the voice recordings,” I added.

  I watched his big fingers swipe at the phone. He was going to delete the recordings. I took out my own phone and started playing one of them.

  “You can’t do that,” said Copeland.

  “I already did. You go ahead and delete them. I’ve got a few copies. One for the cops, one for the feds too. They only listened to the first session. The vanilla meeting. I listened to both recordings. You knew your client was going to be questioned about the murder and disappearance of a young woman, he gave you the name Caroline Howell, and he helped you draft the immunity agreement. You came into this precinct with that thing already done. You knew about this before Caroline was reported missing and you did nothing. How’s the bar disciplinary committee going to view that one? More to the point, how’s a jury going to look at that?”

  The man’s porcelain-white face began to shudder as the tremors took over. I could feel his fear howling around the room like a cold draft.

  “It doesn’t have to be like this. I could help you,” I said.

  His thought processes split in two. He wanted me to help him, but he sure as hell didn’t trust me. Because he was in such a state, he wasn’t thinking as clearly as he should have been. The decision came down to time. If not now, then soon. But in the very near future Copeland’s fear would eventually get the better of him and he’d ask for my help.

  In the end, I didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds.

  “How could you help me? And why would you do that?”

  “You’re not a bad person, you’ve just been led astray. Could happen to any lawyer. You think you’re doing something in your client’s best interests. That’s all that the job requires, really. But then you start getting close to the line. Sooner or later you leap over that line and there’s no going back. It’s easily done. I’ve done it myself.”

  He said nothing, but a glint of hope appeared on his face.

  “How could you help me?” he said again.

  “I could make the recording disappear, together with all the copies. That’s the only thing that ties you down to any wrongdoing in this case. You want it gone? I can do that. But you gotta do something for me.”

  “I have money. I could cut you a check for—”

  “I’m not interested in money. You’ll do two things. You’ll sign this affidavit fi
rst.”

  I took the printout of the affidavit I’d typed that morning, got up and handed it to Copeland.

  “This affidavit withdraws all of the allegations you’ve made against Harry Ford in the Rosen appeal. All of them. In fact, you’re going to state for the record that Judge Ford performed his role at the original Rosen hearing according to the best traditions of the New York Bar. You’ll also see the affidavit stipulates that you did not have a reasonable belief that Harry Ford had acted negligently in the presentation of the Rosen case.”

  “I can’t do that. If I sign this I’m saying to the court that I lied in my earlier affidavits. I’ll be disbarred.”

  “Of course you will. That’s the whole point. Or would you rather take your chances in court and face a conspiracy to kidnap and murder charge?”

  He read the affidavit again.

  “You’ve got about ten seconds before I call Powers in here to arrest you,” I said.

  Copeland had made his money already. He didn’t need to work – he just enjoyed it. I took some pleasure in taking that away from him. He rubbed at his bald head in frustration, took up a pen and signed the sworn declaration.

  “That it?” he said.

  “No, there’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Second thing is easy too, all you have to do is deliver a message.”

  “What kind of message?” he said.

  “A personal one.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  “What happened? Did you make it? Is she alive?” said Barker.

  He sat in a chair across the table from me in a police interview room. Copeland remained standing. He didn’t take up the other seat at the table beside me. Instead, he looked at his shoes.

  “Well? Did you get her?!” screamed Barker.

  My voice was slow, soft and heavy.

  “We got to the cemetery by chopper. It was the only way we could be sure to make it there before time ran out. Marlon must’ve heard the helicopter landing in the adjacent field. Before we got up the hill to the tomb, he opened fire with an assault weapon. Killed the lead agent. The FBI took out Marlon and we got into the tomb.”

  The more I spoke, the deeper Barker’s breaths became. His chest was heaving now. His mouth was open and his expression searched every word, every minor intonation – looking for the answer.

  I could’ve just told him, but I wanted to drag it out. He deserved it.

  “We pulled back the steel plate. Put a flashlight in the hole.”

  I hung my head.

  “What?”

  “We figure that when he heard the helicopter, Marlon opened the chamber, and shot Caroline in the head. Closed it, and went out to meet us, head on.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Copeland.

  I stood up just before the fit took hold of Barker. He bared his teeth and sprung to his feet. There was no panic alarm in this room. But I didn’t need one. His anger wasn’t targeted at anyone else in that room but himself.

  His fists pounded the steel table. Over and over again. The noise was deafening. And he said, “No, no, no, no, no …” again and again as his fists began to bleed.

  It took Copeland well over five minutes to calm him down. To get him back onto his seat. Tears pooled in the indentations on the table, and mixed with the blood from Barker’s knuckles as he whispered Emily’s name.

  I sat down again, and listened while Copeland spoke to him, gently.

  “You can never make up for this,” I said. “But there is one small thing you can do to try and make things right. It’s the only thing you can do. I’m going to ask you about the night of the ransom drop. You almost died in that fire. I have some questions, and you’re going to give me straight answers,” I said.

  Copeland gave Barker a Kleenex. He rubbed Barker’s back, tried to console him. This was the message I asked Copeland to give to Barker.

  Cooperate.

  The two men looked at each other. Barker nodded. Copeland nodded.

  They had an understanding.

  After that, Barker calmed down a little. He gave me his attention and said, “Tell me what you want to know.”

  “Everything. I want to know everything.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Ten minutes later I left Copeland and Barker alone in the consulting room. The look on Barker’s face wasn’t exactly calm. I could see the anxiety, the sheer tonnage of guilt that now pressed upon him, but he was not concerned about the jail time ahead of him. No, Barker didn’t care about it. He was in hell now, and he’d no choice but to stay there.

  Harper stood at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall. Her arms were folded across her chest and not for the first time, I noticed how big the gun looked on her hip in comparison to her light, short frame. The morning sun streamed through windows behind her, masking her in silhouette.

  I put my back to the wall and heard the door to the consultation room open. Copeland came out, shut the door and gave me a slight nod.

  “Are my release papers complete yet?” he said.

  I pushed off the wall, looked behind him at Harper who hadn’t moved.

  “They’ll be ready in a few minutes. I believe Agent Harper is processing those papers now,” I said.

  He turned and looked at Harper. Swung back to me and said, “She looks like she’s in a real hurry too.”

  “That’s how it goes. The wheels of justice take time. Ten minutes should be enough,” I said.

  I resumed my position with my back against the wall. I closed my eyes and let the information that Barker had just told me sink into my mind. He’d cut the power lines to the outside lights of Howell’s property the day Caroline went missing. He’d tracked her car, abducted her, taken her blood and planted it in the basement. He’d set up the explosive device with Marlon’s help. Marlon had killed McAuley and buried the body, on Barker’s instructions. He’d played it perfectly. But this wasn’t over. There was a time and a place for tying up loose ends. And today was not that day.

  The silence of the corridor was routinely broken by Copeland’s heels on the hard linoleum floor. He paced up and down.

  “Are we done yet? What the hell is the delay here?” he said.

  I checked my watch. Nine minutes had passed. I waved at Harper and she stood up straight and walked away. It was only Copeland and me in that corridor.

  “It’s time,” I said.

  Copeland looked puzzled. “Time for what?”

  He was standing directly in front of the consulting-room door, his hands raised and a puzzled look in his face.

  Captain Powers came around the corner, a pair of handcuffs swinging from his fingers. Before Copeland could react, Powers slammed him, face first, into the wall, grabbed his arms and put the cuffs on his wrists, tight.

  “Max Copeland, you are under arrest for conspiracy to commit kidnapping, and murder,” said Powers, before reading Copeland his rights.

  “What the hell is this? We had a deal!” he cried.

  “Not with me. We got everything Barker said on tape. He confirmed Caroline Howell’s kidnapping was planned, to the last detail. We also have video of your consultations with Barker after his arrest. You don’t show him that immunity agreement, you don’t say a word. With Barker confirming the plan, and you coming into the station with that agreement already written, we can prove you knew what your client had done. Now, you’re done.”

  “Let me give you a little piece of advice. Defense attorney to defense attorney,” I said. “The recordings you made of your client were illegal. He didn’t know he was being recorded. You did it to protect yourself from him. Smart. But you couldn’t get past the fact that you’d recorded Barker illegally. I have to tell you, whether the recording was illegal or not, doesn’t change the fact that it’s attorney client work product. It’s part of attorney client privilege. Doesn’t matter if I found that phone, or if I stole from you. Without a warrant from a judge I can’t listen to that recording or use it. T
he fact of the matter is, you couldn’t have been prosecuted on the strength of that evidence because it was obtained, by me, illegally. It would never see the inside of a court. But when you got your client to talk about the plan, just now, he waived privilege.”

  Copeland fell against the door. His hand reached toward his heart.

  “I want you to know this, Max. The phone could never have been used against you. You were gonna walk out of here, free and clear. Now, you’re screwed. I want you to think about that.”

  “No, no, no …” he said, lunging toward me. Powers hauled on the cuffs, pulling him back.

  “Come on,” said Powers, taking him away.

  As I watched Copeland being led away I couldn’t stop a shudder running through me. There but for the grace of God go I.

  I’d lied to Copeland. I’d lied to Barker.

  I had crossed the line too. And there was no coming back.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  Three days later, Harry and I were led into a private room on the fourteenth floor of the White Plains General Hospital. Lenny Howell sat up in bed, staring at the ceiling. We’d been told by the sister that her nurses had removed the heavy bandage around his throat the day before. He’d made good progress since he regained consciousness, but he was still weak.

  “Some friends to see you,” said the nurse who’d showed us to his room.

  He didn’t react when he saw me, but he looked puzzled at seeing Harry.

  “How you feeling, Lenny? This is a friend of mine. Judge Harry Ford. You met him a while back, but you were still a little out of it. You can call him Harry,” I said.

  Only when Howell tried to raise his hand did I see exactly how weak he remained. Harry took his hand gently, and nodded.

  “Eddie,” Howell said, “I appreciate you coming to see me, but I don’t want to hear about the trial right now.”

  I looked around the room.

  “Notice anything?” I said.