Dog Tags

CHAPTER 68

HIKE COMES OVER AFTER COURT SO THAT WE CAN GO OVER THE TAPE. He brings with him his list of which stories could possibly have upset Alex Bryant and prompted his phone call to his boss. Sam is supposed to come over in a little while with the phone records; hopefully we can match them up.

It’s almost six o’clock when Hike gets there, and Laurie asks him if he’d like to have dinner with us before we start on the tape. He eagerly accepts the invitation, a decision I think he regrets when he discovers that Marcus will be sitting across the table from him.

Laurie makes chicken parmigiana, one of her few hundred specialties. Hike spends the entire meal trying not to look at Marcus, who only says one word: “Yuh.” But he says it three times, it serving as an affirmative response each time Laurie asks him if he wants more chicken.

Suffice it to say that this session will never be confused with the Algonquin Round Table.

I can see Milo and Tara lying on beds in the den and not looking too pleased. Milo’s triumph in finding the envelope has resulted in the termination of the now unnecessary trust sessions. I don’t think he or Tara would be too broken up about that, except for the fact that those sessions were treat and biscuit buffets.

This turn of events is really not fair to them, and I get up from the table and slip them each a couple of biscuits. I can do this secure in the knowledge that I won’t be missing out on any conversational gems at the dinner table.

Once we’re finished eating and Marcus has polished off three-quarters of an apple pie, he goes off to wherever it is Marcus goes off to. Hike, Laurie, and I settle down to watch the tape.

Local news is always boring, and local news that is months old is incredibly boring. It was raining heavily that day, and they kept cutting to field reporters standing in various parts of the metropolitan area, earnestly revealing that things were really wet.

National news barely made an appearance, mostly in snippets between rain reports. I agree with Hike on the four possibilities, though none seems particularly promising. There was a home invasion murder of a business executive and his wife, a rhodium mine explosion in South Africa that resulted in the deaths of two miners, a serious disease outbreak on a cruise ship off the coast of Mexico, and a congressional vote failing to renew a trade agreement with three Latin American governments as punishment for their alleged failure to rein in illegal drug production.

Sam comes over about ten minutes after we’ve finished with copies of Alex Bryant’s phone records from that night. He called his boss, Stanley Freeman, at ten forty-seven, a call that lasted for twelve minutes.

The only two stories from the tape that were on our list and matched up with that time were the cruise ship, which ran at ten forty-one, and the rhodium mine explosion, which ran at ten forty-four.

“Can we get a list of the passengers on the ship?” I ask.

Hike frowns. “We could subpoena it, but we’d have to demonstrate relevance to our case. I’m not sure we can do that.”

I turn to Sam, who is the person I was talking to in the first place. “Piece of cake,” he says.

“Good. Now, what the hell is rhodium?”

“I think it’s used in catalytic converters,” Hike says.

“That doesn’t quite clear it up for me,” I say. “What are catalytic converters?”

“You know those harmful emissions that come out of your car? Catalytic converters make them less harmful.”

“Doesn’t sound like something people in high finance would be interested in,” I say. “But you should check it out.”

“I’ll do that,” Sam says.

“Still nothing on Jason Greer or Jeremy Iverson?” I ask. I’m especially interested in Greer, the soldier Santiago referred to as knowing the truth. In fact, he said that the killers would have gone after him first, and revealed that Greer told him the details.

Sam shakes his head. “No. They’ve both disappeared off the face of the earth.”

I suspect that is literally true, that Greer and Iverson have been a few feet under the earth for quite a while now. I have no real hope of ever hearing from them, but evidence of their demise would be compelling to the jury.

Sam sniffs the air, as if first noticing something. “What’s that smell? Veal parmigiana?”

“Chicken,” I say.

“You got any left?”

“Marcus joined us for dinner.”

“Oh. I’ll stop for something on the way home.”

“You’ve never seen anything like it,” Hike says.

“Yes, I have,” Sam says. “June twenty-eighth, 2003. I ate with Andy and Marcus at Charlie’s; he ate everything on the menu and then started eating the menu. Cooks were collapsing in the kitchen. They have a plaque on the wall to commemorate the occasion.”

“We’ve got some dog biscuits,” I say.

“You want a tuna sandwich?” Laurie is asking the question from the doorway, having listened to some of the conversation. “I keep it hidden for emergencies like this. Marcus has no idea.”

“No thanks,” Sam says. “I’d be too nervous. What if he came back?”

Laurie tries to get Sam to have the sandwich, telling him that she replaces it every few days to keep it fresh, and this one is on its third day. But he begs off, choosing instead to go home to his computer. Hike leaves as well, and it will be up to Laurie and me to figure out what to do with the precious sandwich.

I stay up until almost eleven, going over the information for tomorrow’s court day. Then I take Tara for a late-night walk. The grass is wet from dew, or from whatever makes grass wet, and Tara loves it. She rolls around on her back, feet up in the air, completely joyful.

For the five millionth time, I love and envy her.

Laurie is already asleep when I get to bed, so I pet Milo and Tara for a while and then go to sleep myself.

The phone wakes me at a little after twelve, and the voice is Sam’s. He doesn’t say hello, just starts with, “Guess what is a form of platinum but worth even more.”

Even in my groggy state, I know the answer. “Rhodium.”

“You got it. There’s only twenty-five tons of it produced each year. The mine that was blown up was responsible for almost thirty percent of that.”

“How much is it worth?” I ask, since I know Sam would have researched this fully before calling.

“The price generally fluctuates between one and four thousand dollars an ounce.”

Now comes the key question: “What was it worth in the week after the explosion?”

“Over ten grand.”

Kaboom.