Dog Tags (27 page)

Once again, I’m wrong.

“I spoke to Santiago,” she says. “He saw you on the show last night. He’s willing to talk, but he wants immunity.”

“Did you tell him I have no authority to do that?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Where is he now?”

“He wouldn’t say, but caller ID showed he was at a pay phone outside Detroit. He’ll be here tomorrow evening, so I would imagine
he’s driving.”

“We could have sent someone to get him.”

“I told him that, but he wanted to do it himself. He sounded really scared.”

“Is he coming to the house?”

“He’s meeting Marcus at seven o’clock at the corner of Broadway and Thirty-third, and Marcus will bring him to the house.”

“Perfect. Did you describe Marcus to him? If he’s going to be our witness, I’d just as soon he not have a heart attack.”

“I tried, but Marcus is pretty hard to describe.”

Laurie and I go back to the house, where Marcus has been standing guard on Milo. The dogs are in the kitchen, because that’s
where Marcus is. Marcus is in the kitchen because that’s where the refrigerator is, though by the time we get home the refrigerator
is empty.

Court is not in session tomorrow, so that Judge Catchings can attend to what he calls housekeeping issues. Mostly that means
attending to matters on his docket that he has fallen behind on, and dealing with motions that Eli and I have filed along
the way.

I am going to use this occasion to give Catchings and Eli a preview of our defense, and to obtain approval from Catchings
for our approach. This will be one of the key moments in the trial; if Catchings rules against us, Billy might as well change
his plea to guilty.

I continue to be impressed by both Hike’s legal skills and his preparation. I had told him what we’d be talking about tonight,
and he’s researched the matter thoroughly. I have very little to do, basically just listen to him and try to remember the
points he’s making.

The meeting in Catchings’s chambers is at two o’clock, which gives me time to keep an appointment with Colonel William Mickelson,
Erskine’s immediate superior. As promised, he’s in New York for the day, and has offered me thirty minutes of his time.

To be more precise, the colonel’s aide, Sergeant Brosnan, told me the colonel would “grant” me the thirty minutes. She said
it in such a way that I should consider myself blessed, but for some reason I didn’t.

New York’s bridges are consistently underrated. The George Washington gets some props, and the Brooklyn gets included in
jokes about con men trying to sell it to unsuspecting dupes, but that’s pretty much it.

Yet New York has some spectacular bridges that surprisingly never get mentioned. Maybe it’s a naming issue. “Throgs Neck”
and “Tappan Zee” don’t exactly roll off the tongue, and certainly don’t evoke the image that “Golden Gate” does. But they’re
both actually spectacular, as is the one I’m currently under, the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge.

I’m at Fort Hamilton, which rests below the bridge in Brooklyn, and which serves as one of only two US Army bases in New York
State. The other is Camp Drum, all the way up in frigid Watertown. If you are going to be stationed in New York and you like
pizza, or civilization, you’re considerably better off here.

Fort Hamilton basically exists as a home for the Army Corps of Engineers, but it is Hamilton that Colonel Mickelson is using
as his base of operations while in New York. It doesn’t really feel like an army post; certainly you don’t see platoons jogging
in lockstep and chanting,
I want to be an Airborne Ranger; I want to live a life of danger.

Colonel Mickelson looks like he could defend Fort Hamilton by himself if Staten Island ever declared war and invaded. About
forty-five, he appears to be in as good a shape as someone twenty years younger. His face is chiseled in a young Kirk Douglas
kind of way, and everything about him says,
Don’t you dare bullshit me.

If Jack Nicholson looked like this when he yelled that Tom Cruise couldn’t handle the truth, Cruise would have said,
Yes, you’re right, I’m sorry. My bad.

“Carpenter, you’ve got fifteen minutes” is how he greets me, which I assume is army-talk for “Hello. Nice to meet you.”

“I was granted half an hour,” I say.

“Shit happens.”

“Did General Prentice tell you what I wanted to discuss?” I ask.

“You trying to pull rank on me?”

“I was hoping he already did that.”

He nods. “You want to talk about Erskine.”

“Yes. What are the chances he conspired with the five soldiers under him to deliberately let that suicide bomber get by the
checkpoint?”

“Somewhere between ninety-nine and a hundred and one percent.”

That’s the last thing I expected him to say, and I immediately shelve my next five questions, since they’re now unnecessary.
“Why did the investigative report not even mention the possibility of intent?”

“No proof. They put in those reports what they know, not what they suspect. Otherwise it’s all downside.”

“What do you mean?”

“If they say they think it was a crime, then they look incompetent for not arresting the bad guys, the overall publicity is
a disaster, and they get sued by the families of the victims. You see much upside in that?”

“What about ‘truth is its own reward’?” I ask.

“You’re using your fifteen minutes to ask questions like that?”

“Are you familiar with the circumstances surrounding the explosion?”

“Of course. I was there,” he says.

That surprises me; the report did not mention that Mickelson was at the scene that day. “What are the chances that the oil
minister was not the target?”

He reacts slightly; the question has surprised him. “Why do you ask that?”

“You’re using up my fifteen minutes to ask questions?” I ask.

“Don’t be a wise-ass.”

“I’m told that once the girl got inside the checkpoint, she could
have gone anywhere. She took her time, but she didn’t get near the minister. He almost survived, while most of the others
were killed instantly.”

He thinks about this for a solid one of my fifteen minutes. “So who was the target?”

I shrug. “I don’t know; I’m not there yet.” I don’t bother to add that the obvious way to figure out who the target was just
hit me. I make it a rule never to reveal anything to anyone until I know how it will play out for my client. “But I know about
other targets,” I say.

“That’s a little cryptic for me,” he says.

“I believe at least two of the discharged soldiers have been killed. Another is heading here even as we speak.”

“To turn himself in?”

“To talk to me first.”

“Make sure you provide adequate protection.”

“That will be in the hands of the state police.”

He ponders this for a few moments. “Looks like the army’s version may undergo a slight revision.” He doesn’t seem thrilled
at the prospect; if Santiago talks, it will make the army’s whitewash version of a report seem inept. “We should talk to Santiago
first,” he says. “This is an army matter.”

“Not anymore; he’s been discharged. And the army had plenty of time to talk to him when they did their report.”

He nods, recognizing the truth of that statement. “Maybe next time they’ll be more thorough.”

I use up the rest of my time asking him if he had any idea what might have been in the envelope that Erskine handed over to
his killer before Milo swooped in and ran off with it.

He professes to have no idea, but adds, “If you find out, let me know.”

“If I find out, I’ll let the jury know.”

“You know, I met your client on one of my trips over there. He’s a first-class, stand-up guy. You think you can get him off?”

“If I can’t get him off, nothing else matters.”

“You mean the truth isn’t its own reward?” he asks.

“Not even close.”

“Y
OUR
H
ONOR, WE BELIEVE THE
E
RSKINE MURDER WAS JUST THE BEGINNING.”
That is how I begin the meeting with Judge Catchings and Eli in the judge’s chambers. It’s lead counsels only; Hike and Eli’s
three assistants have not been invited, at my request. This is going to be an argument I need to win, so I want it kept as
focused as possible.

“It all goes back to that day in Iraq, when eighteen people were killed and my client lost his leg. After the conclusion of
the army’s investigation, Erskine quietly resigned his commission, and five other soldiers on duty that day were discharged.

“We have reason to believe that at least two of those soldiers have since been killed, we cannot trace two others, and the
fifth is in fear of his life.”

I can tell that Eli already does not like where this is going. “You have reason to believe they’ve been killed,” he repeats.
“Does that mean you lack hard evidence? Like bodies?”

“We have evidence, compelling but not conclusive,” I say. “Certainly we can demonstrate that they have disappeared under mysterious
circumstances.”

“I trust you’ll be submitting this evidence to the court for consideration?” Catchings asks.

“We will, Your Honor, at the conclusion of this meeting. At the very least we believe it is sufficiently powerful and relevant
to the Erskine murder to warrant presentation to the jury.”

“I certainly look forward to seeing it as well,” says Eli. “But the fact that two men may have disappeared does not seem on
the surface to be significant. They all knew one another in the army; maybe they went off on a trip together. Or maybe they
heard that Erskine was killed and feared that someone was trying to exact revenge on them for their apparent negligence in
Iraq. That could have sent them all into hiding.”

“I wish you would save this stuff for your closing argument, Eli. Because if the jury sees this evidence, they’ll laugh you
out of the courtroom.”

“I haven’t heard much laughter so far,” Eli says.

“Relax, gentlemen. I’ll examine the evidence and reserve judgment,” Catchings says. “What about the fifth soldier, the one
you said fears for his life?”

I nod. “Thank you, I was about to get to that. I should be speaking with him this evening. After I speak with him, I expect
he will need protection, and I would appreciate it if you would order the state police to do that on a contingency basis.”

Laurie and I had debated this, and we decided that we wanted Marcus to continue keeping an eye on the house, and Milo. I also
like the idea of having Judge Catchings order the protection; it has the effect of making him at least slightly vested in
the effort.

Catchings agrees to order the state police to provide the protection, if I consider it necessary. “But this is not a free
ride,” he says. “I don’t want him taking in a Broadway show while he’s in town. And if you can’t determine in good faith that
he has relevant and
important testimony to provide for this trial, do not attempt to put this order into effect.”

That is a reasonable condition to impose, and I agree to it.

“What is his name?” Catchings asks.

“Raymond Santiago.”

Catchings picks up the phone and directs the clerk to reach Captain Robert Dessens of the New Jersey State Police. Once that
is accomplished, he issues the protection order verbally, with the written order to follow.

The arrangement is made by which I will contact Dessens if protection is necessary, and tell him where they can pick up Santiago.
The truth is that I have no idea if Santiago will willingly allow himself to be taken into custody. I may have to scare him
into it.

Based on my performance in this case so far, the best way to scare Santiago would be to threaten to become his lawyer.

I head home after the meeting, fairly pleased with how it went. I believe that Judge Catchings will probably rule our evidence
admissible, since it seems at least worthy of jury consideration. I also believe that in a first-degree case like this, he
would be loath to preclude what is essentially the entire defense case. That would be the kind of maneuver that appeals courts
would take a very careful look at.

I tell Laurie what transpired over an early dinner. We’re both anxious to talk to Santiago, a meeting that has become even
more important since I took what was a calculated risk in the meeting with Catchings and Eli.

By dangling Santiago out there as I did, and by asking for protection for him, I portrayed him as someone important to our
case. If he turns out to be a dud and provides nothing whatsoever that we can use, it will therefore make us look bad, and
might make Catchings less inclined to respect our position.

When we finish dinner I take out the diagram from the army report on the bombing. It places all of the victims in their positions
when the blast went off, though the way the bodies were scattered, I don’t know how accurate it could be.

According to the diagram, the two closest victims to the bomber were Iraqi bureaucrats. Next in order were a French businesswoman,
a German businessman, and then Stanley Freeman and his protégé, Alex Bryant. Had the bomber chosen to, she could have gotten
considerably closer to the oil minister, but she did not.