Dog Tags (33 page)

One of the problems is that C&F is a private company, and therefore has considerably fewer reporting requirements. The trades
it makes on behalf of its clients are proprietary information, and correctly should not be allowed to be viewed by those that
could be competitors.

One way or another we’ll get the information, but if Sam can’t do it, and the company contests it, we might not have it before
Billy is up for parole. It’s definitely a time to be aggressive.

Chaplin is actually wearing a tuxedo when I arrive, no doubt for the dinner engagement he spoke about. The only way I’d be
wearing a tuxedo to dinner is if I were having it at Buckingham Palace, and I were going to be knighted as Sir Andy of Paterson.

“I feel underdressed,” I say.

He smiles. “I envy you. These charity dinners… sometimes I wish I could just stay home and write a check. So what can I do
for you?”

“Well, if you don’t mind, can I just borrow your phone for a minute? I left my cell in the car, and I just have to tell my
co-counsel something.”

He nods and points to the phone on his desk. “Use my private line.”

“Thanks.” I pick up the phone and dial Sam Willis’s number,
and he of course answers on the first ring. “Got the number,” he says.

“Hike, it’s Andy. I need the forensics documents for tonight, but I left them in the office. Can you get me copies?”

Sam laughs. “Sure. No problem.”

I hang up and turn to Chaplin. “Thanks. So I have money to invest, and I’m thinking of putting it into rhodium.”

He actually flinches at the word, though he regains his composure quickly. “Rhodium,” he repeats.

“Rhodium,” I say, probably breaking the record for the most times “rhodium” has been said consecutively.

“I don’t really know much about it,” he says.

“Really? My information is that your company was heavily invested in it when that mine blew up in South Africa. Congratulations
on that, by the way. I hear you cleaned up. That’s exactly the kind of thing Freddie misses out on.”

“Can’t help you,” Chaplin says. “So if you’ll excuse me…”

“Between that and the money you made on oil when your partner and Alex Bryant got killed, you’ve had quite a year.”

“What are you trying to say, Carpenter?” His voice is cold, and his whole attitude has convinced me that I am right in my
suspicions. There’s plenty I don’t know yet, but what I believe is that this guy is dirty. And that he was involved in the
deaths of a lot of people, including his partner and Alex Bryant. He’s a piece of garbage, dressed in a tuxedo.

“I’m trying to say that pretty soon you won’t have to go to any more charity dinners looking like an asshole.”

As exit lines go, I’ve had worse, and I turn and walk out the door.

I get in my car and drive around the block. I park in a spot from which I can see the parking lot of Chaplin’s building. I
don’t know what kind of car he drives, and over the next twenty minutes three
cars exit the lot. It’s too dark to see if he’s driving, but I don’t follow them because they’re relatively inexpensive, domestic
cars.

Not Chaplin’s type.

Finally a Jaguar comes out of the lot, and I follow it at a distance. This is not my strong point, and a couple of times I
almost lose him. But I manage to stay with him, and he leads me to the Woodcliff Hilton Hotel.

I follow him into the parking lot, and watch as he leaves the car with the valet. The valet is busy, and almost all his other
customers are dressed in formal attire as well, so my assumption is that Chaplin was not so distressed by my visit that it
caused him to miss the charity dinner.

I head home, calling Sam on the way. “He didn’t make a call,” Sam says. “At least not from that phone.”

My hope had been that Chaplin would have called a co-conspirator from the phone I had used, which Sam could then have traced.
That has worked for us before, but Chaplin was either too smart or too lucky.

“Okay… it was worth a try.”

“I tried to get his cell phone number,” he says. “But there’s none in his name; they’re all registered to the company. More
than eighty of them.”

My next call is to Willie. “You ready to play private eye?”

“You’d better believe it,” he says. “What have you got?”

I ask him if he can come right over, and he’s eager to do so. Rather than talk to him on the phone, I’d like Laurie to be
around, so I can update her on my meeting with Chaplin and in the process get her input.

Willie is at the house before I am; he and Laurie are in the kitchen with the dogs, and he is eating what I am sure was meant
to be my dinner. Between him and Marcus, if this case doesn’t end soon, I’m going to starve to death.

I bring them up to date on everything that has transpired, right through Sam’s lack of success in getting Chaplin’s cell phone
number. When I’m finished, Laurie asks, “Who were you hoping he would call?”

“Somebody else involved in the operation. A co-conspirator.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have one; maybe Erskine was the only guy. With M doing the dirty work.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. This feels bigger than that. If I had to guess, I think Chaplin’s company was used as
the conduit for investments in oil and rhodium. Maybe Freeman and Bryant were complicit in it, but I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Because Kathy Bryant said that Alex was upset when he saw the report about the rhodium blast.”

“So maybe he and Freeman were considered a risk to blow the whistle, and that’s why they were killed in the explosion.”

I nod. “Which would have made it three for the price of one. The blast sent the price of oil way up, and killed the two guys
who were a danger to the scheme.”

Willie has been sitting patiently through this, and when there is a lull he asks, “So what do you want me to do?”

“Follow Chaplin wherever he goes. Take pictures of anybody you see him meeting with. But don’t let him see you.”

Willie nods. “Cool.”

Laurie seems a little worried about this, as I knew she would be. “You comfortable with this, Willie?”

“Sure. No sweat.”

I give him the address of Chaplin’s home and office, which Sam had gotten for me. We go online and find a bunch of pictures
of Chaplin, so Willie will recognize him. Finally, I give him my digital camera; it’s not CIA-issue, but it should work. He
promises to get started first thing in the morning, and then leaves.

“This may not be the best use of Willie’s talents,” Laurie says, probably understating how she really feels.

“I know,” I say, “but I think he can handle it. And there’s not much downside if he can’t.”

“How is that?”

“Well, I don’t see Chaplin as savvy in these matters, so he probably isn’t good at spotting a tail. But if he does, then he’ll
feel pressured and worried, and that’s a good thing. Maybe it will force him into a mistake.”

She seems unconvinced. “You may be right, but I’m worried about Willie.”

“He can handle himself even better than I can,” I say.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

I guess not.

A
LAN
L
ANDON COULD HAVE REACTED TO THE CALL FROM
C
HAPLIN WITH ANGER, BUT THAT WASN’T HIS STYLE.
He certainly would have been justified in being furious. He had covered every base, thought of almost every eventuality,
but was in this difficult position because of the incompetence of others.

Landon knew Carpenter was a danger from day one. He was smart, and he had resources, and once he took on a client he did whatever
was necessary to defend him. That was why Landon had ordered Zimmerman murdered in the prison; if Carpenter’s client had been
killed, he would have had no reason to keep going. But that attack had failed, and this was the result.

Landon knew this was coming eventually; there was too much money at stake, too many people involved, too many moving parts,
for it to have remained under the radar forever. He had planned for this moment, and he would be fine. He just wished it had
waited another seventy-two hours to happen.

“Carpenter knows about the rhodium,” Chaplin had said, a trace of panic in his voice. “He’s putting the whole thing together
with Iraq.”

“Does he know the details?”

“No,” Chaplin said. “I don’t think so. If he did, he wouldn’t have been trying to pressure me. He’d be talking to the feds
instead.”

“Good,” said Landon. He agreed with Chaplin’s assessment. “Then it’s important you not give in to that pressure. This will
all be over very soon.”

“For you, maybe. But I’ve got to go on with my life. I can’t disappear.”

“You won’t have to,” Landon said, even though his plan all along was for Chaplin to involuntarily disappear when the time
came. “Everything is under control.”

“That’s not how it looks from here.”

“You need to continue to trust me. By next week, this will be behind you.”

“Right. Okay,” Chaplin said, not very convincingly.

“You have done nothing wrong. You made investments on behalf of your clients, investments you were directed to make.”

“People died,” Chaplin said. “Stanley died, for Christ’s sake.”

“That was an unfortunate accident—”

Chaplin interrupted. “Was it?”

“—that you had nothing whatsoever to do with.”

“I don’t want to go to jail, Alan.”

“That won’t happen.” What Landon didn’t add was the rest of his thought.
Because you will be dead.

Once they were off the phone, Landon called M. “Carpenter is making Chaplin nervous.”

The news came as no surprise to M. “I told you Chaplin couldn’t be counted on.”

“He’ll make it for the next week,” Landon said. “And then it won’t matter.”

“I hope you’re right,” M said. He was noticing less confidence in
Landon’s voice, a sure sign that he was more worried about Chaplin than he was letting on.

“Are things under control on your end?”

“Totally. We’re just waiting until the target is in place.”

“Good. When you’re finished, we start cleaning up. Chaplin, Carpenter… everyone.”

M couldn’t help but smile. Landon had no doubt that he was in charge, that M would do whatever he asked.

Wrong on both counts.

W
ILLIE
M
ILLER WAS SURPRISED AT HOW EASY IT WAS TO FOLLOW SOMEBODY;
he just wished it wasn’t so boring. He was down the street from Chaplin’s Short Hills house when he left in the morning,
and followed him all the way to his office.

He waited outside the entire day, but Chaplin never left, not even for lunch. Willie figured they must have one of those executive
chefs he’d read about; maybe he should hire one of them for the Tara Foundation. That person could cook for him and Sondra,
and maybe make homemade dog biscuits the rest of the day.

At least it was something to think about during the endless hours he spent waiting for Chaplin to leave. Finally at six thirty
his car pulled out, and Willie followed him. He went straight home, and when the lights went off on the house’s lower level
at ten fifteen, Willie left.

Willie was not particularly introspective, but he knew enough about himself to realize that more days like this would drive
him crazy.

If tomorrow repeated this pattern, Willie would just have to make something happen.