Dog Tags

CHAPTER 63

TODAY IS SCIENCE DAY, and Eli starts the morning court session by bringing in his forensics witnesses. The first is Police Sergeant Roger Halicki, a seasoned veteran who has no doubt spent more days in court than I have.

Halicki and Eli go through the rehearsed testimony without missing a beat, and the jury pays complete attention for the two hours it takes to go through it. Billy had gunpowder residue on his hand and blood on his shirt, both of which are thoroughly incriminating.

By the time I get up, I don’t know whether to cross-examine him or change our plea to guilty.

“Sergeant Halicki, in the diagram you showed, am I wrong in thinking that the gunpowder residue was concentrated on the right side of the right hand of Mr. Zimmerman?”

“You’re correct.”

“Is that normal?” I ask.

“I’m not sure there is a normal. But it could be explained by various factors; for instance, the victim was shot at close range. He could have been grabbing for the gun as the trigger was being pulled.”

“Did you find residue on the victim’s hand?”

Halicki shakes his head. “No.”

“But if he had such residue, that would have been a possible explanation for the pattern found on Mr. Zimmerman?”

“Yes.”

“So if someone else was holding the gun along with Mr. Zimmerman, that would help explain it?”

“I’m not aware of anyone else who was holding the gun at the time.”

I nod. “So therefore you didn’t test anyone else.”

“Correct.”

I’ve gotten as much as I can out of this, which isn’t much, so I change the subject. “You said there were two shots fired, one of which hit and killed Mr. Erskine. Where did the other shot go?”

I let him use the diagram of the scene that Eli employed, and Halicki shows that the other bullet was found down and across the street.

“So it was fired in a completely different direction from where the victim was standing?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Any idea why?”

“Again, if the victim were wrestling for the gun…”

“Excuse me, Sergeant Halicki, but is this the same wrestling match we’ve already determined you have no evidence of ever happening?”

Eli objects that I’m being argumentative, and Catchings sustains.

“Can you tell if the gunpowder residue on Mr. Zimmerman’s hand was from the first or second bullet?” I ask.

“No, we cannot determine that.”

“Is it possible the second shot was aimed at the dog, Milo? Others have testified that he was running off with the envelope in that direction.”

“I have no way of knowing that,” Halicki says.

“Do you own a dog?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“I do.”

“As a dog owner, does it make sense to you that Mr. Zimmerman would arrange for his dog to take the envelope, and then try to shoot him once he had done so?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“But you would agree that the shot missed badly?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Sergeant, if Mr. Zimmerman were going to shoot Mr. Erskine, why bother to have the dog steal the envelope? Why not just take it from him after he was shot?”

Eli objects that Halicki cannot be expected to read Billy’s mind, so I withdraw the question and move on.

“Now, where did you catch Mr. Zimmerman?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean where was he, and how did you find him? Maybe an anonymous tip, or security trapped him at an airport trying to leave the country? That kind of thing.”

“He was at the scene,” he says.

I feign surprise; I am a terrific surprise feigner. “So there was a shootout?”

“No.”

“Was he holding the gun when you arrived? Maybe threatening to shoot some hostages?”

“No.”

“Where was the gun?”

“On the ground next to Mr. Erskine’s body.”

I’m wearing my most confused face. “About how long after the shooting did the police arrive?”

“Less than ten minutes.”

“And he just hung out waiting for you?”

“He was on the scene,” he repeats, making little effort to conceal his annoyance.

“So if I can sum up your testimony so far, your theory is that Mr. Zimmerman directed his dog to steal an envelope from the victim, which the dog did. Mr. Zimmerman then shot Mr. Erskine, after which he turned and tried to shoot his own dog, who had the envelope.

“Failing that, Mr. Zimmerman decided to hang out with the body until the police could get there to arrest him. Is that about it?”

Not surprisingly, Halicki argues with my version, and after a few minutes I move on.

“So let me try it another way. Here’s a hypothetical, based on your testimony. If another person were there, wrestling with Mr. Zimmerman for the gun, could that explain the strange residue pattern, the fact that a shot was taken at Milo, and the fact that the shot missed badly?”

“I’m not aware of any other man being present,” he says, which irritates me.

“Are you familiar with the concept of hypothetical questions?”

“Of course I am.”

“Great, then please answer the one I asked. Hypothetically, could the presence of another man, the shooter, have caused all these factors to occur?”

He’d love to avoid answering the question, but can’t figure out a way to do so. “It’s hypothetically possible,” he says.

“Glad to hear it.”

As soon as court is over I call Colonel Mickelson, and I’m put right through to him. It could be due to his continuing desire to suck up to Kevin’s brother-in-law, General Prentice, or it could be that he’s very interested in any developments in this case. Or both.

“Too bad about Santiago,” he says when I mention the murder.

I’m annoyed that an FBI agent and army investigator were at the scene to question Santiago, and I ask him if he had any part in it.

“Sure,” he says. “Captain Meade was there on my orders. But I can’t speak to the presence of the FBI agent.”

“You were interfering with my witness.”

“Back on the streets, I think the expression we would use as a response to that comment is ‘tough shit.’”

I don’t think I’ve fully intimidated him.

“You think our conversation was in confidence?” he asks. “What am I, your priest?”

“Santiago was—”

“Santiago was a soldier, and he was corrupt. And people died because of him, some of whom were in my command. Now, you may think I’m fine with that, and I’ll just back off and let you go about your business. But that’s not how the army operates; we take care of our own, and we deal with them when they need to be dealt with.”

“So Santiago is dead,” I say.

“That’s not my fault.”

“Somebody tipped the shooter off.”

“And when we find out who that was, they will be dealt with. But if you’re trying to find him in the army, you’re wasting your time.”

“Right, I forgot. Your men are pure as the driven snow. Erskine, and Chambers, and Lawson, and Iverson, and Greer, and Santiago, they were all choirboys.”

“You left out Zimmerman,” he says, a trace of amusement in his voice. My anger is having absolutely no impression on him.

“Billy Zimmerman is the only innocent one in the bunch.”

“So go into court and prove it.”