It was not because Rojas was a scary guy, though he is certainly that. Silvio considered himself a pretty tough and scary guy as well, and he believed he could handle anyone. No, Silvio followed Rojas’s instructions because Rojas had an apparently endless supply of money, and a willingness to share it.
When Silvio checked in, as always under an assumed name using a fake ID, he was given a very large old-fashioned metal key on a circular ring. The smiling desk clerk said that the hotel policy was for guests to leave the key at the front desk when they left the hotel and pick it up again on their return.
Silvio returned the smile, but had absolutely no intention of following that policy. With all the cash that would be in the room safe, should he leave the room even for a minute, no one else was going to have that key.
Twenty minutes after checking in, the front desk called to say there was a Mr. Rojas there to see him. He instructed the clerk to send him right up. Silvio had no doubt that Rojas was also not his real name, but it didn’t bother him in the slightest.
When Silvio opened the door, no greetings were exchanged. Silvio noted with satisfaction the small suitcase Rojas brought into the room, and knew it wasn’t filled with pajamas and toiletries. It was amazing how much money could be contained in a case that size, provided the bills were of large enough denominations.
It was a bit hard to believe that only one month had gone by since he and Rojas had last met; it seemed much longer, perhaps because it had been such an eventful time.
“A lot has happened since the last time we were together,” Silvio said.
The man calling himself Rojas nodded. “Some of it good, some bad.” As he talked he went to the minibar and took out a sparkling water. Silvio noticed that he was wearing skintight gloves. Because they were flesh colored, they would not call attention to the fact that he was wearing gloves in summer, but they’d prevent him from inadvertently leaving behind fingerprints.
“What does that mean?” Silvio asked.
“You have made mistakes.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“Violence should be the last resort,” Rojas said. “It does not help our business, and it brings unwanted attention.”
“Haley was not my fault,” Silvio said.
“Everything is your fault,” Rojas said. “Employing Adams was a grave mistake. You hired him, so his mistakes are yours. I hired you, so your mistakes are mine. In this case, you should have done the work yourself.”
“I can’t be everywhere at once.”
“You are being paid to be everywhere at once.”
“I corrected the Adams mistake.” Silvio was getting annoyed at having to defend himself.
“Yes, you did. Which was your next mistake. Adams’s body should never have been found. But all of that has already happened. More important is the fact that you are moving too slowly. Two markets is not enough; we are behind schedule.”
“That’s why I’m here in Boston, and after that Baltimore,” Silvio said. “Then I think we should move on to Ohio. I have good connections there.”
Rojas shook his head. “East Coast only, as we’ve discussed.”
“Okay. You’re the boss.” Silvio believed that Rojas might be utilizing other people to cover other areas of the country, but he wasn’t about to confront him with it. For the time being, he’d have to stick to the areas he was given. Later? Who knows?
“Yes,” Rojas agreed. “I am.” Then, without another word, he left the room, leaving the suitcase behind.
“Andy, I think I’m seeing a coincidence here,” Laurie says.
That would be like Laurie saying that on the way to the supermarket, she saw the Loch Ness monster. Coincidences are not recognized as possible in our business; we are as likely to run into a real one as the Knicks are to win the NBA Finals this year. Or next year. Or the decade after that.
And if a coincidence should actually happen, well, that’s just a coincidence.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re a criminal defense attorney and you’re known as a dog lover and rescuer. Adams could have brought Truman into any veterinarian in New Jersey, but he brought him to yours. Doesn’t that seem at least a little curious?”
“It does,” I say, because it certainly does. “But why would Adams possibly have any interest in bringing us into the case? And there was no reason to even think it would. Adams believed Dowling would put Truman down and that would be the end of it.”
She nods. “I can’t argue with that, but it’s still too convenient. Have you been getting discovery on the Adams killing?”
“Yes, but there’s not that much. I think it’s fair to say that this is not being treated with great importance. Commissions are not being formed to find out who gunned down poor George Adams. No one is looking for the second shooter on the grassy knoll.”
“It’s still a murder,” she says. As a former cop who still thinks like one, it annoys her to hear that a very serious crime like this is not the focus of an intense investigation, no matter who the victim is.
“Yes, but it’s one that is probably slipping through the law enforcement cracks. For one thing, Jersey cops have jurisdiction, but what are they looking at? A Philly mobster, a hit man himself, was killed in what looks like a mob hit. The murderer is probably back in Philly now, sucking on a cheese steak. You think cops here are going to solve this?”
She nods in agreement. “And the Philly cops are happy it happened here.”
“Right. All they care about is the Denise Adams hit, not that they are likely to solve that one either. For all we know, they could still be blaming that on hubby George. That would put the entire situation away in a nice little box.”
I head down to the Tara Foundation to check on Truman and all the other dogs down there. I’ve been spending very little time there, which I always feel guilty about. But Willie and Sondra understand the time constraints involved in preparing for a trial, and they are very good about it. It helps that they love what they do.
Willie is feeling pretty good when I get there. He’s pleased that Murphy, a mastiff mix that we rescued a few weeks ago, has just been adopted into what Willie views as a very good dog home. Willie has very strict standards about what constitutes an acceptable adopter; if he was okay with this family, then Murphy has done quite well for himself.
“How’s Truman?” I ask.
He smiles. “He’s a piece of work.”
“How so?”
“Well, for one thing, he bit me his second night here.”
I’m surprised and not at all happy to hear this. “Bad?”
“Nah, barely broke the skin. But it took him a while to get used to me. He was fine with Sondra from the beginning. Now he follows me everywhere.”
“You think we can place him?” There is always danger involved in placing a dog who bites, to say nothing of the difficulty in finding people who want those kind of dogs.
He nods. “I think so. It’ll just take time finding the right home. He’s a great dog once he gets to know you.”
“Okay, you’re calling the shots here.”
“I wonder if he bit Adams that night,” Willie says. “That would explain him wanting to get rid of him.”
I think Willie just solved Laurie’s coincidence question without realizing it. But the important question is not if Truman bit Adams that night.
It’s where he bit Adams that night.
“Adams brought Truman to the vet the day after the murder,” I say.
It brings a nod from Laurie and a one-word question: “So?”
“So where did he stay that night? Or any other nights he was here?”
“I have no idea,” she says. “Do you?”
“Not exactly, but close. You thought that the reason Adams brought Truman to my vet might have had something to do with me, but it couldn’t have. Adams wouldn’t have known about me, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have known who my vet was. And if he did, he wouldn’t have had any
reason to care.”
“So why that vet?”
“Because of where the office is. It must have been convenient to where Adams was staying. He probably saw the place; he might have driven by a couple of times. Adams just wanted to get rid of Truman; any vet would have done the trick for him. He wouldn’t have known one vet from the other up here, so he picked the easiest one.”
“So you think that by checking out the hotels within a reasonable radius, we might be able to find out where he was staying?”
I nod. “It’s worth a shot. It’s very possible that he left some things there that could give us a lead to what the hell is going on. He may have gotten himself killed before he planned to leave, and we know the police haven’t located where he was staying because it’s not in the discovery. I doubt they’re trying very hard.”
“There shouldn’t be that many possible places near there,” Laurie says.
“I agree.” Dowling’s office is in Glen Rock, which, when it comes to hotels, will never be confused with Las Vegas. “I’ll get Sam to work on a list; let’s start with a one-mile radius and work out from there as we need to.”
“He should also list places that allow dogs, if he has access to the information.”
“I’ll tell him, though I imagine Adams’s decision to take Truman was spur of the moment.”
I call Sam and tell him what we need and what we’re doing. “So this is a shoe-leather job?” he asks.
“A shoe-leather job? What does that mean?”
“You know, going door to door, asking questions, investigating,” he says. “Using shoe-leather the old-fashioned way.”
“Right. But Laurie is doing it. I doubt she’ll even wear leather shoes, more likely sneakers. So that would probably make it a canvas job, right?”
“Let me help, Andy. I can do this.”
“That’s okay, Sam.”
“Come on, I can ask the same questions. We’ll be able to cover it in half the time, and if I get a hit, I’ll call you and Laurie.”
It’s not a bad idea; I don’t really see how Sam could screw it up, though I recognize that Sam could definitely screw it up. He does considerably better in the cyber world than the real world. “Okay,” I say.
“Great.”
“Sam, no shooting, and no citizen’s arrests.”
“I won’t even bring my gun. Or maybe I will, just in case, but I won’t load it. Or maybe I’ll load it, but I’ll keep the safety on.”
“Sam…”
“Okay, okay.” Sam says he’ll get right on the list, and with the prospect of doing a shoe-leather job waiting for him when he finishes, I have no doubt that it will be quick.
That should give me time to write a letter to Ricky at camp, which I am embarrassed to say I haven’t done for three days. I have absolutely nothing new to say, so I stick with the old standards of asking him how it’s going, telling him how much I miss him, how much fun I hope he’s having, blah, blah, blah.
I also include information about the Mets, since we’re both fans, but that runs the risk of the letter getting too depressing. This is another in a series of “rebuilding” years for the Mets. The pyramids took less years getting built.
But I do promise to take Ricky to a game when he gets home, so I think the letter will be reasonably well received. I hope so; coming up with these things takes a lot of work.
Sam shows up about two hours after I gave him the assignment. There just aren’t that many places that Adams could have stayed, so Sam has extended the radius to five miles rather than one. Even with that, there are only twenty-six possibilities.
Laurie will take half and Sam the other half. We spend an hour carefully instructing Sam on what he should say when he visits each place, and he swears that he will do exactly as instructed. “No improvising,” he swears.
This may well come to nothing, but for the moment it is all we have. Should we get lucky, we’re going to have to be prepared. To that end, Laurie makes some phone calls to friends with an invitation and request for them to join our team, should they be needed.
They all agree, both out of friendship to Laurie and at the promise that they will be well paid for their efforts.
If we call on them, it will either be money well spent or money poured down the drain.
We’ll know when we know.
The ship sailed under a Chechen flag.
The crew carried Chechen passports, none of which were real, and all of which misstated their nationality.
They approached the coast near dusk and paused slightly more than three miles from land, staying just outside the territorial waters of the United States.
Once they reached that position, the men on deck signaled a request to the captain, who scanned the horizon before giving them permission to proceed.
Once that was accomplished, the ship went on to the Bahamas and docked in Nassau, there to unload its supplies of produce and household goods.
They would be back the following week, just as they were every week, occasionally even more often than that. They would be on a different ship, under a different flag, and with different passports.
But with the same mission.
That never changed.
“Andy, I found the place. I know where he stayed.”
I can hear the excitement in Sam’s voice as he reports this. It’s the second day that he and Laurie have been out there, and I was beginning to think they were wasting their time. Of course, what Sam’s telling me is a long way from being confirmed.
“Where are you?”
The Park Village garden apartments on Cedar Avenue in Hawthorne. It’s just under two miles from the vet’s office, but you have to pass by there to get to the highway, or to Paterson. Adams must have passed it a bunch of times if he did any driving.
“Are you there now?” I ask.
“Yes. I’m with the manager of the place, Tommy Halitzky; we’re in his office. He’s even heard of you; he’s seen you on television.”
“Stay right there,” I say. “Call Laurie and tell her to meet us there in fifteen minutes, and tell her to put the team on alert.”
“What team?”
“She’ll know.” I don’t want to keep this conversation going too long; I want to get there and see what we have. “I’m on my way, Sam.”
It takes me twenty minutes to get to the address in Hawthorne, and when I pull up to the manager’s office in front, I see that Laurie’s car is already there. She’s been canvassing hotels in the area as well, so was obviously close by.
I enter the office and Laurie, Sam, and a guy I can safely assume to be Tommy Halitzky look up. Halitzky is at his desk and Laurie and Sam are in the two chairs across from it.
“Here he is,” says Sam. “Looks just like he does on television, huh?”
“That’s because I use the same face for my TV appearances. Hello, Mr. Halitzky,” I say. “Andy Carpenter.”
We shake hands and I turn to Laurie. “So bring me up to date.”
“Mr. Halitzky has made a positive investigation of Mr. Adams based on the photograph we showed him.”
Halitzky nods. “I’m sure of it.”
Laurie continues, “He reports that Mr. Adams, using the name Charles Henderson, rented the apartment for one week and paid in cash. He stayed here for three or four days, Mr. Halitzky cannot be sure exactly how long, and then wasn’t seen again. He left behind some possessions, which remain in the apartment. There are other vacancies, so it was not necessary to remove them.”
Halitzky nods. “I thought he might come back. The guy owes me money now.”
I nod. “Understood. We’ll pay any back rent that he owes.”
Halitzky brightens at this. “Great.”
“All we ask is that we have access to the apartment so we can examine the materials. We’ll be bringing in qualified experts to supervise the process. And nothing will be lost or destroyed; as an officer of the court, I can personally guarantee that.”
Halitzky no
ds vigorously. “Sure. No problem. That’s good enough for me.” I can pretty much say anything and he’ll buy it. This is one smart guy.
“Great. We appreciate your cooperation.” I turn to Laurie. “Let’s get started.”
She nods. “I’ve already made the calls. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
So we wait. It gives me time to regale Halitzky with inside stories about some of the news personalities who have interviewed me on television. I have absolutely nothing interesting to say about any of them, since all I do is sit there and answer their questions. But Halitzky seems fine just basking in my reflected glory.
I like this guy a lot.
It takes about forty-five minutes for Mark Jamieson to arrive. I introduce him to Halitzky and Sam as Lieutenant Mark Jamieson, since that was his rank when he left the Paterson PD. He and Laurie go back a long way, though he stayed on the force for a number of years longer than she did.
Jamieson, like Laurie, has kept active by doing private investigative work, which is what he is technically doing for us now.
Five minutes later, Sergeant Rob Flory shows up. He’s the ex-forensics cop who got the fingerprints off the euthanasia form. We’re going to need his services again right now.
We have no idea what we will find in Adams’s room, or whether any of it will be of value to us. But if we get lucky, then all evidence must be able to survive prosecution challenges as to legitimacy, chain of custody, etc.
Flory and Jamieson can accomplish this for us. Between their involvement, and the fact that we are going to be careful and do everything by the book, we can accomplish our task of both preserving the evidence and keeping it secret until we are ready to reveal it.
That’s assuming, of course, that any evidence is here.
The team is ready, and everyone has a role, even Sam.
Flory is going in first, and he will dust for fingerprints and look for any other forensic evidence that can be found. He’s just one person with limited equipment, but he’ll do the best he can.
Bark of Night Page 8