Animal Instinct

by Rosenfelt, David

  Andy objects that Dylan is badgering the witness, and Judge Wallace sustains. Dylan then asks, “Is there anything in there that says that Gerald is in danger?”

  “Not specifically, no.”

  “And either way, this would be Lisa Yates’s opinion, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “You said that you were not aware of other Geralds in this investigation, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it possible that she was not referring to Gerald Kline?”

  “Possible. I consider it unlikely.”

  “Do you know how many Geralds there are in the United States?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Would you be surprised if I told you that census records list more than five hundred and fourteen thousand people named Gerald?”

  “I told you I had no idea; therefore I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “As long as we’re talking about things for which you have no idea, do you know why Richard Mahler committed suicide?”

  “No.”

  “To your knowledge, was Richard Mahler in the house the night Gerald Kline was killed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you know how Richard Mahler might have come into possession of Mr. Douglas’s clothing and kitchen knife?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Thank you.”

  Judge Wallace turns to Andy to see if he has any more witnesses to call. I almost want to grab him and say that I changed my mind, and that I insist on testifying, but I don’t.

  So all I do is listen as Andy says five of the scariest words I’ve ever heard: “Your Honor, the defense rests.”

  “I can’t find anyone who knows her,” Sam says.

  He’s calling me on the way home from Somers Point and reporting on his quest to connect me with friends of Doris Landry’s.

  This is exactly what I was expecting. “You asked her neighbors?”

  “I did my best. Her house is empty; somebody obviously cleared it out. But the whole neighborhood is mostly abandoned; they’re going to be knocking it all down to put in an extension on a highway. So there aren’t many people left, and the ones who are still there have no idea who I am talking about.”

  “Okay. Thanks for trying, Sam.”

  “When I get back, I can do more research … maybe access her phone records.”

  “Not necessary. I’ll take it from here.”

  When we get off the phone, I call Andy. Laurie gets on the extension, and I tell them about my conversation with Sam.

  “So you think this proves your theory?” Laurie asks.

  “Absolutely. One hundred percent.”

  “You have a tendency toward overconfidence,” Andy says. “You think you can handle this from here?”

  “With my teammates? One hundred percent.”

  “There’s that overconfidence again.”

  “It’s part of my charm.”

  I get off the phone and call Don Crystal, my pajama-wearing, Tang-drinking buddy. Like last time, he answers with “Yo.”

  “You ready to help bring down Jason Musgrove?” I ask.

  “What do you mean ‘bring down’?”

  “Send to jail, destroy … think of it in those terms.”

  “Man, if that’s what you’re talking about, you don’t even have to buy me a meal.” Then Crystal adds, “Unless you want to.”

  “When this is over, it’s all-you-can-eat.”

  “Just point me in the right direction.”

  “Okay, there will be more, but start with this. You were right; it’s an insurance scam. You got a pen?”

  “Hold on.” Then, “Okay, go ahead.”

  “There are three people. Doris Landry of Somers Point, New Jersey; Samuel Devers, of Springfield, Massachusetts; and Eric Seaver of Brunswick, Maine. I want to know what insurance companies Ardmore sent their medical information to.”

  “I don’t work there anymore. I can’t get into their system.”

  “Bullshit. You can get in.”

  He pauses for a few moments. “Yeah, I can get in. Just keep it between us. It ain’t legal.”

  “That’s okay. What Musgrove did ain’t legal either. Get back to me when you have the information. But soon.”

  DYLAN stands to make his closing argument.

  He pauses as if to show the heavy weight that his words will carry, so he wants to choose his words carefully. My guess is he has rehearsed every word of it and only wants it to appear spontaneous and heartfelt.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve participated in a lot of trials. They have included a lot of different charges against defendants from all walks of life. Some of those trials have been quick, and some have dragged on endlessly. And to be honest, I’ve won some and I’ve lost some.

  “But this trial has been unusual in one important regard. You’ve sat through a lot of testimony by many witnesses, yet nothing has changed. Let me repeat that … nothing has changed.

  “Right at the beginning, you learned that Corey Douglas was in Gerald Kline’s house that fateful night. You learned that he carried a grudge against Mr. Kline; he voiced it repeatedly, even to a police officer. You learned that Mr. Douglas’s blood-soaked clothing and knife were hidden in a Dumpster four houses down from Mr. Kline’s house.

  “You learned all that at the outset of the trial, and you know what? It’s all still true. And you know what else? You have not heard an explanation from the defense for any of it.

  “They have tried to distract you with stories of other deaths, none of which have anything to do with the murder of Gerald Kline. Have they identified anyone else besides Mr. Douglas who had a vendetta against Mr. Kline? Have they identified anyone else besides Mr. Douglas who had a motive to kill him?

  “Have they identified anyone else whose bloodstained clothing and knife were found near the scene? No, but by all means, they want you to clear Mr. Douglas of this crime because someone else murdered someone else.

  “It’s crazy. Was Lee Harvey Oswald innocent because someone else murdered Martin Luther King? That is literally the logic behind the defense position.

  “Don’t be fooled by all of the smoke and mirrors. Focus on the facts … on the access, on the motive, and on the evidence. That is all you need; it tells you all you have to know to make the correct decision.

  “Thank you.”

  Andy wastes no time getting up; he starts speaking at the very moment that Judge Wallace invites him to do so.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I would respectfully disagree with Mr. Campbell. Because in my view one thing is certain, and that is that everything has changed.

  “At the beginning of the trial, Mr. Kline seemed to be a successful entrepreneur who was tragically murdered. And let me make one thing clear: that murder, like all violent deaths, was and is tragic.

  “But since then, you have learned that he lived in a dangerous world, surrounded by chaos and, yes, death. You have learned that a phone belonging to Jake Gardener, a man identified by the man in charge of the Homicide Division of the Paterson Police Department as a contract killer, was in Gerald Kline’s house an hour before his body was discovered.

  “Mr. Campbell implied that perhaps the phone was there but that Mr. Gardener was not. Does it seem logical to you that Gardener lent someone his phone to go to Mr. Kline’s house and then took it back? Because Mr. Gardener had it in his possession when his own body was discovered.

  “You’ve learned that Lisa Yates, a very close friend of Mr. Kline, was also murdered. You saw an email she wrote in which she expressed worry for her own safety from someone named Rico, and which included Mr. Kline commenting on Rico’s potential dangerousness. And you’ve learned that Rico, Richard Mahler, has himself recently died by violent means, possibly suicide, possibly not.

  “You’ve learned that Mr. Douglas, while investigating this case, was the target of still another contract killer. He was able to thwart the attack and kill the intruder. Is it reasonable to consider it
possible that the purpose of the killer was to abort the investigation? I think so.

  “I don’t know for sure how Mr. Douglas’s clothing and knife happened to wind up in that Dumpster. But I can tell you this. When I left for court this morning, I did not lock my sweatpants and kitchen utensils in a safe. Did you? When I get home each night, I would not notice if a sweatshirt and knife were missing. Would you?

  “But the prosecution would have you believe that Mr. Douglas, a savvy police officer of twenty-five years, hid incriminating evidence where he had to know it would be found. Then he called the police to the scene and waited for them to arrive.

  “Let me ask you this: Why wouldn’t he have just left, taking that incriminating evidence with him? Why do everything to call attention to himself, to make himself the obvious suspect, if he didn’t have to? Do his actions make any sense at all? Would such a smart cop become such a stupid criminal?

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I would submit that not only has the prosecution’s reasonable doubt threshold not been met, it hasn’t even been approached. Corey Douglas served this community well and heroically for twenty-five years. He has done nothing wrong. At the very least, we owe him our thanks and his freedom.”

  Andy comes back and sits next to me at the defense table. I lean over, offer my hand, and as we shake hands, I say, “You were worth every penny.”

  I have never experienced anything like this … not even close.

  I’m not sure too many people have.

  It’s been thirty-six hours since Judge Wallace sent twelve strangers into a room to decide whether I will spend most or all of the rest of my life in prison. Neither Andy nor I have any idea what is going on in that room, and we will not know until they have made their final decision.

  Andy refuses to make a prediction and does not even want to talk about it. He has about half a million weird superstitions that he observes during a verdict watch, and pretty much everything I say violates one of them, so we don’t discuss it at all.

  Today is Saturday, but the jury has been sequestered, and the plan is to deliberate through the entire weekend, or less if they reach their verdict.

  Andy is very much aware, as is Laurie, of the other major pressure that I am experiencing. I am in a race to break open the conspiracy that has been going on at Ardmore. There is no time to wait; if I don’t act quickly, then it will be impossible to accomplish. It will literally disappear; that is the very nature of it.

  But if I am found guilty, I will go to prison for a time, no matter what I am able to accomplish at Ardmore. The justice system moves slowly, and possibly not at all.

  Don Crystal has gotten back to me with the information on the three people I asked about, Landry, Devers, and Seaver. He is awaiting further instructions.

  I have talked to the people I need to talk to, and everything is arranged as well as it can be.

  So all is in place.

  Today is the day.

  I make the phone calls necessary to start the process and to confirm that Jason Musgrove and Stephanie Downes are at their respective homes. I’m about to take the next step when Andy calls. His three words cause my heart to start pounding in my chest.

  “There’s a verdict.”

  He tells me that we need to be in court in forty-five minutes, and that he’ll meet me at the courthouse.

  “I can’t be there, Andy.” He has to know why I am saying this since Laurie has already left their house to get into position.

  “You can’t be there to hear your own verdict?” he says, incredulous.

  “No. I really can’t. You know that.”

  “Judge Wallace will be beyond pissed off. He’s got this little idiosyncrasy about him: when he tells the defendant to rise, he likes the defendant to actually be in the courtroom.”

  “Sorry. Andy, I gotta go. There’s no other way.”

  “I’ll cover for you. Just be careful. Be really careful.”

  The drive to Jason Musgrove’s house takes about twenty minutes. Simon is in the back seat. I think he senses something is up; he sits up straight when we’re working. He probably doesn’t have a role to play here, but since he’s been involved throughout, I feel like I owe it to him for him to be around for the resolution.

  I pull into the driveway. I don’t want to hide; I want it to be obvious to anyone interested that I’m here.

  I ring the bell and he answers the door. I’m glad he lives alone; if he had a wife here, it would complicate matters greatly. It wouldn’t make this impossible, but it would make it more difficult.

  It takes a few moments for him to register and figure out who I am; then he probably switches to wondering what the hell I’m doing here. “Mr. Douglas. This is an unwelcome surprise.”

  “If I had a nickel for every time someone said that to me…” I walk past him and into the house.

  He follows me into the den. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “You can ask, but it’s not going to happen.”

  “Then I will call the police.”

  “Okay, here’s the situation. If you pick up that phone, I will beat you to death with it. Then I will shoot you, which will be an unnecessary act because I would have already beaten you to death. So are we clear? Now sit your ass down on that chair. I have to make a phone call, and then I will tell you exactly what is going to happen.”

  I take out my cell phone and dial; Stephanie Downes picks up on the third ring. “Mr. Douglas” is how she answers.

  “You recognized my ring.”

  She laughs. “That, and caller ID. To what do I owe this call?”

  “You owe it to your being deeply involved in a criminal conspiracy to commit fraud, murder, and a whole bunch of other stuff.”

  The lightness leaves her voice, which is no great surprise. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “No need to tell you what you already know. But I know everything about the insurance operation; in fact, I owe part of it to you. You never knew Richard Mahler in high school, and his nickname was not Rico.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “We’re already talking; you need to listen. An hour from now I will be at Jason Musgrove’s house with my lawyer. He is prepared to write out a full confession, which we will then deliver to the police and the judge trying my case. You can use the time to get your things together; think of this as a courtesy call.”

  “Mr. Douglas, I—”

  I don’t get to hear the end of her sentence because I hang up on her. She doesn’t know it, but everything now depends on her.

  Five minutes later, Laurie calls me: “She made the call.” That is as good a sentence as I’ve ever heard.

  “She may or may not try to leave,” I say.

  “I’ll see that she doesn’t.”

  “Is Marcus in place to clean up if there are any left behind after they leave?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I thank her, hang up, and turn to Jason Musgrove. “Now we wait.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  “For your close friends to come kill you. Actually, to come kill us.”

  WHEN Andy arrived at the courthouse, he requested a meeting in chambers with Judge Wallace and Dylan.

  Once they were seated, Wallace said, “I must say this is unusual, Mr. Carpenter. My curiosity is piqued.”

  “Unusual is a good way to put it, Your Honor. I didn’t want to inform you of this in open court, but my client will not be in court today to hear the verdict.”

  Dylan made a noise, somewhere between a snort and a grunt, but didn’t say any actual words.

  “My ears must be deceiving me. Did you just say your client will not be here?”

  “I did say that, Your Honor. This is not an issue with your ears.”

  “Has he violated terms of his bail? Is he missing? Is there a medical emergency?”

  “None of the above, Your Honor. There is an emergency, but it is not medical. It has to do with an investigation Mr. Dougl
as is conducting, which relates directly to this trial.”

  “Mr. Carpenter, this is not like cutting a class in high school. His attendance is mandatory.”

  “I can promise you that if he is found guilty, Mr. Douglas will turn himself in today. But at the risk of further annoying Your Honor, I would point out that his attendance is not mandatory. His absence is unusual, but not illegal. And when this is over, I believe you will consider it justified.”

  “I will not consider it justified. I want him here within fifteen minutes,” Wallace said, his annoyance having turned to anger.

  “I’m afraid that is impossible. If Your Honor wants to delay the reading of the verdict, I can guarantee Mr. Douglas’s presence tomorrow.”

  “We will go forward today. Right now.”

  They all marched into the courtroom. Andy and Eddie Dowd sat alone at the defense table as the jury was brought in. One of Andy’s superstitions is that he always puts his hand on his client’s shoulder as verdicts are read. The problem in this case was that the client, and his shoulders, were not actually in the courtroom.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, have you reached a verdict?”

  The foreperson stood and nodded. “Yes, Your Honor. We have.”

  “YOU know, you should be thanking me.”

  Jason Musgrove smiles, but he’s not really amused. “I should be thanking you?”

  I nod. “Yup. They would have killed you for sure. Just like they’re going to try to kill you now. You and Stephanie Downes are probably the only two people on the planet who know who they are. They are going to disappear; why would they leave behind loose ends?” I shake my head as if I’m saddened by it all. “After all you did for them, how does it feel to be a loose end?”

  He doesn’t answer. I go to the window and look out for at least the tenth time. I sure as hell hope they’re coming.

  Musgrove speaks, the first time in at least a half hour. “Why did you bring your dog?”

  “He’s not my dog; he’s my partner. And unlike your partners, I can trust him. He’ll also let me know when they arrive; he is impossible to sneak up on.”