Dog Tags

CHAPTER 66

“KISS MY ASS” IS A PHRASE I AM QUITE FAMILIAR WITH. Starting with teenage girls in high school, who certainly did not mean it literally, up through cops, prosecutors, and friends, it’s a request I’ve become accustomed to hearing. So I wouldn’t be particularly wounded if Erskine had meant it for me, though he certainly didn’t.

Our caravan makes an uneventful return home, and Laurie, Hike, and I ponder what this latest discovery means. Clearly Erskine’s killer did not arrange that clandestine meeting with him to get the contents of the envelope as we viewed them. He obviously thought there was something else, something valuable, inside. Erskine must have given him reason to think so.

But Erskine was reneging on that agreement. If it was blackmail, as we’ve suspected all along, then Erskine thought he could get away with not turning over the promised material in return for payment. If that is the case, it was a brazen and risky act, because surely Erskine must have known he was dealing with dangerous people.

Of course, the contents of the envelope did not figure in Erskine’s death, since the shooter hadn’t had a chance to open it before Milo intervened. The murder was committed as Milo entered the picture, which means that the shooter, or whoever sent him, still believed wrongly that Erskine would uphold his end of the bargain.

“Let’s assume that they were killing Erskine for what he knew, and just getting the envelope wasn’t good enough to make them feel secure,” Laurie says. “They must have believed that the other soldiers knew the same thing, so they set about to eliminate them as well.”

“Santiago asked me about Jason Greer,” I say. “He claimed that he and Greer were the only ones who knew the truth, that Greer had confided in him.”

Laurie nods. “But the killers didn’t know that, or at least didn’t want to chance it. If they eliminate everyone, then no one can hurt them.”

“They think the envelope lost out there is just as dangerous, which is why they want Milo.”

Milo looks up at the mention of his name. I think he’s a little annoyed that no one is paying much attention to him or praising him for his performance. It’s sort of like Eliza Doolittle’s pique that she didn’t get the credit from Professor Higgins for doing so well at the fancy party.

Milo, of course, has a point. It’s not his fault the envelope contained basically nothing. He did his job, and this is the thanks he gets.

“What do we do with the envelope?” Hike asks.

It’s a good question, and one I should have been thinking about. “What’s your recommendation?” I ask.

“We sit on it. We have no obligation to turn it over to the court. It wasn’t part of the prosecution’s case, but even if it was, I think we’re on solid grounds holding on to it.”

I nod. “Agreed.”

“The other positive in not revealing it is that the killers will be more likely to make a mistake and reveal themselves if they think the envelope is still out there and dangerous to them.”

“Of course, their mistake could involve killing Milo and Billy’s lead counsel, better known as me,” I say.

Laurie turns to Hike. “I’d say that’s a risk we have to take, wouldn’t you?”

Hike shrugs. “No guts, no glory.”

“How are you doing with the evening news show that his wife says upset Alex Bryant?”

“It was supposed to be delivered to my house this morning,” he says. “I’m going to watch it now, unless you want to go over tomorrow’s witnesses.”

I shake my head. “I can do that myself. That tape is important; we’re running out of things to count on.” The envelope turning up dry was a big letdown for us. Had it contained incriminating facts about the bombing in Iraq, it could have gone a huge way toward making our case.

I was prepared for the envelope not to help us, because I thought it unlikely that we could get Milo to find it. The fact that he did, and we still received no help, is a major disappointment.

But I am feeling slightly more confident about the trial overall. We begin presenting our case tomorrow, and I think there’s a decent chance the jury will find Santiago’s murder, as well as the disappearance of his fellow soldiers, to be relevant to the case before them. And if it’s relevant, it certainly has the capacity to create reasonable doubt.

My problem is in connecting Erskine more closely to the other soldiers. They were found culpable and discharged from the army; he was not. They seem to have come into sudden wealth; we have found no evidence that the same is true for Erskine. And unfortunately, Erskine is the one Billy is accused of murdering.

I spend the evening reviewing my approach for our witnesses. I just try to go over the basic facts and make sure I can recall them completely and instantly. I never prepare actual questions to memorize or read during trial; it cuts down on the spontaneity. But even in direct testimony, surprises can take place, and I have to be prepared to deal with them instantly and effectively.

I close the file and go into the bedroom at eleven thirty. Laurie has waited up for me, which is a good sign. She is naked under the covers, which is an extraordinarily good sign.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

I nod. “Yup.”

“Then take your clothes off and get into bed.” This is a comment that would earn entry into the Good Sign Hall of Fame, if one existed.

Unfortunately, just as I’m ripping my clothes off, the phone rings. I am fully prepared to ignore it, but Laurie says I should answer it, pointing out that this late at night, it could be important.

I answer, and I hear Hike’s voice, which is the audio equivalent of a cold shower. “Sorry I called so late,” he says. “I must have had a bad piece of fish; I’ve been puking my guts out.”

“Hike…”

“This a good time?” he asks.

“Not anymore,” I say. “What’s up?”

“I went over the tape of the news show. There’s not much there; mostly local shit. Murders, city council meetings, car accidents, weather forecasts… that kind of stuff.”

“Nothing on a bigger scale?”

“A few things, but nothing obvious. I’ve made a list of everything, minute by minute. We can go over it tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks.” What I don’t tell him is that he’s just given me an idea as to how we can narrow it down and figure out what Alex Bryant was reacting to that night. I don’t tell him this, because it would prolong the conversation, and I would rather set my feet on fire.

I hang up and immediately call Sam Willis. He answers on the first ring, as he’s done every time I’ve ever called him. “Willis.”

“Sam, sorry to call so late, but I need you to access phone records.” Sam has demonstrated the ability to do this in the past, and neither of us has let the illegalities of the process deter us.

“Sure, what’s the number?”

“I don’t remember,” I say. “It’s in my office. But the phone was registered to Alex and Kathy Bryant. They live in Teaneck, on Chapman Avenue.”

“I’ll get the number,” he says. “Is it a landline?”

“I think so.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Calls made from that number on March fourteenth between ten PM and midnight. I want to know who was called and the exact time the calls were made.”

“No problem,” he says. “When do you need it?”

“How fast can you get it?”

“Give me half an hour.”

I look over at Laurie, who is still wide awake. “I’ll give you until tomorrow,” I say, and hang up.

“Anything you want to tell me?” Laurie asks.

“You look great,” I say.

“I meant about the case.”

“No,” I say.

“Good.”