Supreme Justice

Chapter Twenty-nine

Max Dietz was in his office reading the motions Mary Garrett had filed in Woodruff when his intercom buzzed.

“Mr. Dietz,” the receptionist said, “there’s a police officer who would like to talk to you.”

Dietz didn’t like to be interrupted when he was working, and he hadn’t scheduled any meetings with police officers.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Tom Oswald. He’s from the Shelby Police Department.

The word Shelby created a sense of unease in the deputy district attorney, but he didn’t know why.

“I don’t have any cases involving Shelby. What did he say this was about?”

“A fingerprint. He asked for Mr. Pike first, but Mr. Pike is in trial. When he told me his business concerned the Woodruff case, I told him you were lead counsel, and he asked to speak to you.”

Suddenly everything fell into place. That little cretin Pike had disobeyed his orders and had spoken to someone at Shelby PD about the fingerprint that had been raised in Sarah Woodruff’s apartment.

“Show Oswald back,” Dietz ordered. He’d find out what the policeman had to say. Then he’d take care of Pike.

A minute later, the receptionist stood back to let Tom Oswald into Max Dietz’s office. Oswald looked uneasy as he waited for the receptionist to close the door behind him.

“How can I help you?” Dietz asked as soon as the policeman was seated.

“It’s about the fingerprint.”

“Yes, the fingerprint,” Dietz answered noncommittally, hoping that his confident tone would convey an impression that he knew exactly what Oswald was talking about.

“I don’t feel completely comfortable being here, but I’ve been worrying that the print might be important.”

“What’s bothering you?”

“I was told flat-out by Homeland Security to back off, and my chief told me to turn over the case.”

Homeland Security! What the hell did they have to do with Sarah Woodruff?

“I see,” Dietz said out loud, “but you felt it was important to tell us about the fingerprint.”

“It’s a murder case, and the defendant is a cop. I wanted to make sure that the right person is being prosecuted.”

“Certainly. So, tell me about the print.”

Over the next twenty minutes, Oswald told Max Dietz about the dead men and the hashish on the China Sea and the cover-up that followed. Each new revelation tightened the knot in the DA’s stomach. Mary Garrett would have a field day if she learned that a fingerprint in Woodruff’s condo matched a fingerprint on a hatch covering a mountain of hashish that had been confiscated by a government intelligence agency.

“The chief told me to write a report about what happened,” Oswald said when he finished telling his tale to Dietz. He held out a rolled set of papers that had been stapled at one corner. “I brought a copy if you want it.”

“Yes, thank you,” Dietz said as he took the report. “And you were certainly right to come to me. But I concur with Chief Miles. You should put this incident behind you. Let me deal with it from here on out. I’ve got plenty of contacts in the U.S. Attorney’s office and the FBI. If something odd is going on, I’ll get to the bottom of it. By the way, did you conduct any lab tests on this so-called hashish to verify your opinion?”

“No, the feds took all of it.”

“OK. Well, my advice to you is that you carry on with your duties in Shelby. Rest assured I’ll keep this between us. I have no intention of telling Chief Miles about our meeting. I don’t want to put your job in danger. And I certainly don’t want anyone at Homeland Security or the CIA investigating you.”

“Will you need me to testify?” Oswald asked.

“I’ll try to keep you out of this, but give me your number so I can get in touch with you if I conclude that your evidence is important.”

Oswald thanked Dietz. He looked relieved that the incident on the China Sea was now someone else’s problem.

Dietz was not aware that his door had closed behind Oswald. He was too busy fantasizing scenarios in which a fully conscious Monte Pike was dismembered by chain saws and his body parts scattered over the Willamette River from the back of Dietz’s boat. The fantasies were cathartic and helped him relax.

He had no intention whatsoever of following up on Oswald’s story. In Brady v. Maryland, the United States Supreme Court had made up a terrible rule that forced district attorneys to turn over to the defense any evidence that might possibly clear a defendant. Dietz hated the case, and he was a master at rationalizing the withholding of evidence that was arguably discoverable under Brady.

By the time Dietz left for the day, he had arrived at several conclusions. First, he hadn’t seen a fingerprint or its supposed match, and no one knew when these alleged prints had been left on the ship or in Woodruff’s condo. How did he know the prints even matched? Errors were made in the comparison of fingerprints all the time. Why, close to home there was the Brandon Mayfield case, in which an Oregon attorney had been accused of being part of a terrorist group that had blown up those trains in Madrid because the FBI mistakenly identified a print of a known terrorist as Mayfield’s.

And the hashish-was it really hashish? Oswald hadn’t tested it. Who knew what was in the hold of that ship?

No, Dietz didn’t see a Brady issue here, and he certainly wasn’t going to go out of his way to help the defense create an absurd alternative theory of the crime involving drug dealers and intelligence agents. Let Garrett do her job. He wasn’t paid to do the work of the defense.

That left Monte Pike. If Dietz called him on the carpet for disobeying orders, he would have to tell him about Oswald’s visit. The traitorous little prick might go behind his back and leak the information about the ship to Garrett. Better to let sleeping dogs lie, even if it deprived Dietz of the opportunity to ream out the little punk. The way Pike was acting, Dietz was certain other opportunities would present themselves.