Dog Tags (34 page)

W
E ARE IN DEEP TROUBLE.
I probably shouldn’t say “we,” since it is my client, Billy Zimmerman, who is really the one in trouble. If we lose this
case, and that’s the direction we’re heading, he is the one who will have to spend the rest of his life in prison. I will
still get to go home, and sleep with Laurie, and play with Tara, and watch Giants games in the fall.

I will be upset, and I’ll feel guilty, but my life will go on. Billy’s, for all intents and purposes, will not.

I have a few minutes’ time for conversation with Billy before the start of court, and he broaches the subject straight-out.
“How do you think we’re doing?” he asks.

“At this point, we’re behind.”

He seems surprised. “Really? I think you’re getting your points across.”

“I probably am, but they’re the wrong points. I’m talking about conspiracy theories and people missing and murders happening
halfway around the world. Eli’s talking about a guy on an Edgewater street with a gun and a dead body.”

“So we’re going to lose?”

“At this point it’s more likely than not. But we’re making good
progress in our investigation outside of court, and that gives us a fighting chance.”

I start to detail what we’ve learned, but I don’t get to finish because Judge Catchings enters the courtroom. Today is going
to be a short day, because the judge has some personal business to attend to this afternoon. I’d be fine if he had a month’s
worth of personal business.

My first witness is Nina Rodriguez, a patron at the bar that night who is one of the few people who saw the events remotely
close to the way I want them to be seen.

She testifies that she was walking out of the bar and across the street when she happened to look over and see Erskine talking
with a man. Less than thirty seconds later, gunshots were fired and chaos erupted.

“Was the victim talking to the defendant?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “No. This man was taller; I mean, he could have been a basketball player. The other man, the man who
died, looked up at him when he talked.”

“You could see that from where you were?”

“Yes.”

“What happened after you heard the shots?”

“Well, I thought it was firecrackers, but my boyfriend, he knew what it was. So he pulled me behind a car, and we waited a
couple of minutes. Some men ran by us at first, toward the shooting, but we waited. When we finally looked up, there were
people everywhere, and Mr. Zimmerman was standing next to the body.”

I turn her over to Eli, who has little difficulty in diluting the effect of her testimony. He demonstrates how difficult it
is to tell height from that distance, in that light. Besides, as he points out, Billy is six foot two, and Erskine was five
ten. Erskine would have been looking up at Billy as well.

Next I call Pete Stanton, whom I will use as a character witness
for Billy. They came up in the force together, and Pete was anxious to do it. I haven’t gotten a chance to do a final prep
session with Pete this morning; he arrived as court was beginning. But I have no doubt that he’ll handle things fine. He’s
an experienced witness.

As he walks toward the stand, he passes me and whispers under his breath, “We need to talk.”

I don’t know what to make of that; I’m certain he doesn’t mean the talk we’re about to have in front of the jury. I’m worried
that he somehow has ominous news, but I’ll have to wait until court is over to hear it.

Pete handles himself very well, powerfully defending Billy’s character, courage, and honesty, and Eli’s cross-examination
is quick. He points out that Pete and Billy had spent very little time together since Billy got back from Iraq, the implication
being that Billy’s injury and desire for revenge turned him into a different person.

But basically Eli has little desire to tangle with Pete on the stand, and he knows that the testimony is just not that damaging.
Fortunately for me, he’s taken enough time that Pete is the last witness of the day, and Catchings adjourns the session.

I walk over to Pete, but before I can say anything, he says, “Let’s grab a sandwich.”

We go over to the diner near the courthouse. If Pete is taking me to such an inexpensive place to eat, it means the goal is
not to drain me of my money. It’s to tell me something important.

Even before we order, he gets right down to it. “If anybody finds out where you got this, I will chop up your body and feed
it piece by piece to sharks.”

“I don’t think I’ll order the fish.”

“I mean it. They won’t be able to identify you with dental records.”

“Pete, you have my word. Now, will you land the plane already?”

That’s good enough for him, so he continues. “A good friend of mine on the force, who shall remain nameless, told me something
today. A body was fished out of the Passaic River, and he took the call.”

I have no idea where this is going, but I don’t want to interrupt and ask questions. It will only delay hearing the rest.

“The body had ID on it. A guy by the name of Jerry Harris. He’s a hired gun out of Philadelphia; doesn’t come cheap. I checked
it out, Jerry Harris was six foot six.”

This completely gets my attention, but Pete isn’t finished.

“My friend is upset, because since he found the body he hasn’t heard a thing. Nobody’s been assigned to it, and as far as
we know a case file hasn’t been opened.”

“When was the body found?” I ask.

“Three days after Erskine was killed. So my friend asked the captain why he hasn’t heard anything, and the captain said he
couldn’t talk about it. That the feds put a lid on it.”

I let this sink in for a few moments. It can have monumental implications for my case, though at this moment I don’t know
what they are, or how I can manipulate them.

“You know I have to use this,” I say.

He nods. “Yeah, I know.”

I thank Pete and leave, after doing two things that he insists on. One is to promise once again that I will not mention his
name in this, and the other is to pay the check. They seem of equal importance to him.

When I get home, I tell Laurie what I’ve learned. “The FBI has been all over this from day one,” she says.

I nod. “It’s time to find out why.”

I call Cindy Spodek, who can tell from the fact that I don’t engage in preliminary banter that this is serious. “Cindy, I
need to meet with the agent at the FBI who is in charge of the Erskine case.”

Cindy certainly has not been involved in it, so she’s not sure what to make of the request. “How do you know there is such
a person? Just because you have an Erskine case doesn’t mean the bureau does.”

“Take my word for it. Please ask your boss to get the word to the agent in charge that we need to meet.”

“Why would that person agree to it?”

“Just say I want to talk about three things. Oil, Jerry Harris, and rhodium.”

T
HIS WAS NOTHING LIKE THE DETECTIVE SHOWS ON
TV
. Willie knew that was true, even though he didn’t watch anything on TV except sports. Because if detective shows were
this boring, nobody would watch them, and they would be taken off the air.

Willie had been outside Chaplin’s home when he left in the morning, and had once again followed him to his office. As he had
the day before, Chaplin spent the entire day there, not leaving until it was time to go home.

It was while following him home that Willie had an idea. He figured Andy would be pissed off, but that was something he was
willing to risk. It’s not that he wasn’t okay with following Chaplin for weeks; it was a job and Willie was willing to do
it. It’s just that it didn’t seem like it would accomplish anything.

Willie followed until he was comfortable that Chaplin was heading home, and then he pulled ahead of him. It was easy, because
Chaplin was a slow and careful driver, something Willie would never be accused of.

He got to Chaplin’s house a full ten minutes ahead of him, and parked down the street. He ran on foot to the house, positioning
himself at the end of the winding driveway. He made the assumption that Chaplin would park in the same place as he had the
night before; if he didn’t, Willie would just abort the plan.

Willie waited for Chaplin to arrive. He wasn’t nervous; in fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he was nervous. Certainly
it was before he went to prison. That experience had changed him in quite a few ways.

Chaplin pulled in and parked in the exact same place as the night before. When he got out of his car, Willie hit him in the
temple with his right hand. He came from the side, which he wished he didn’t have to do, since he had never sucker-punched
anyone like that in his life. But he couldn’t afford to be seen.

Chaplin literally did not know what hit him, and he was out cold before he reached the ground. Willie caught him before he
landed, preventing his head from hitting the concrete.

Willie quickly looked through his pockets until he found his cell phone. He was going to leave it at that, but then made the
decision to take his wallet as well. This way it would be possible that Chaplin might think this was a real robbery, and that
getting the cell phone was not the goal.

Within two minutes, Willie was in his car and on the way to Andy’s. Knocking out Chaplin and getting his phone was the easy
part; now he had to deal with Andy.

M
HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS GOING ON WITH
C
HAPLIN OR
W
ILLIE,
and really wouldn’t have been terribly interested anyway. He was holed up in a hotel room in Everett, Massachusetts, with
nothing to do other than watch television.

M had a simple job before him, and once it was done none of the other bullshit would matter. There would still be some cleaning
up to do, some people to kill, much money to collect. He would then leave the country, possibly never to come back, but he
was fine with that either way.

As M stared out the window toward the harbor, he smiled to himself at the exquisite irony of it. He was waiting for his ship
to come in, both literally and figuratively.

When it did, all hell would break loose.

Which most definitely was not his problem.

“Y
OU WHAT?”

It’s nine o’clock, and I’ve had a long day, but it sounded to me like Willie just said, “This is Chaplin’s cell phone. I took
it from him.” So I’ve asked him again to be sure.

“This is Chaplin’s cell phone. I took it from him.” I hear this coming out of Willie’s mouth again, which significantly increases
the chance that I heard it correctly the first time.

I look over at Laurie, who seems amazed to have heard it as well. Tara and Milo obviously expected something like this from
Willie, because they appear only mildly amused.

There is a seemingly endless list of questions for me to ask, so I might as well start with the one-word ones. They’re quicker.

“How?”

“I waited for him in his driveway, and when he got out of the car I knocked him out and took it from him. I got his wallet
also, to make it look like a robbery.”