Dog Tags (30 page)

“How is your trial going?” she asks. “I’m afraid I don’t follow the news much anymore.”

“It’s difficult,” I understate. “But now we get to put on our case.”

“Good luck,” she says. “ If your client is innocent, that is.”

“Thank you.”

“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” she asks, with unconcealed wariness in her voice. If she weren’t so polite, she
would be cringing openly.

“Something you mentioned to me last time we talked,” I say. “You said that Alex was stressed about work, especially in the
last
couple of months. You said he wasn’t sleeping well, and that the quality of your lives depended on things like the price of
oil and gold.”

She nods, the memory all too fresh. “Yes.”

“I know it can’t be pleasant to think back on this, but I’d appreciate it if you’d try. Can you recall any specific things
that upset him, or anything he mentioned to you about it?”

“No, it was always general; he didn’t like to talk about work. He said he didn’t want to bring it home with him, but of course
it was with him all the time.”

“Might there have been any conversations you overheard? Anything that related to why he was stressed?”

“I need to ask you a question,” she says.

“Of course.”

“Why do you want to know all this? Alex was a bystander that day; he wasn’t the target. How could it possibly benefit your
case to know why he was stressed?”

Moment-of-truth time. I should gloss over this, not tell her what I’m getting at. It’s a shot in the dark, and there’s no
reason she has to enter the tunnel with me.

On the other hand, if I were her I would want to know and judge it for myself. “He may not have been a bystander,” I say.
“I’m not saying that for sure; I’m not even saying it’s probable. But there’s a chance.”

She nods, but doesn’t say anything for at least one full minute. Finally, “There is one thing that might help you.”

“What is that?”

“We were watching the news one night; it must have been the ten o’clock news, because we were in bed. I think I was reading,
so I wasn’t paying much attention to the television.”

“Okay…”

“Something Alex saw upset him; I could feel him tense up. He immediately grabbed the phone and made a call.”

“Do you know who he called?”

She nods. “I heard him say Stanley, so it must have been Stanley Freeman. Alex walked out of the room as he was making the
call, but I heard him say, ‘Stanley, did you hear what happened?’”

“And you didn’t hear any more of the conversation?”

“No. But he was on the phone for a long time… maybe fifteen minutes. For him to call Mr. Freeman at that hour, I knew it was
something very important. But when Alex came back, he tried to shrug it off, as if it were nothing.”

“Do you know what Alex saw on television that upset him?”

“No. But…”

She gets up and goes to the desk, opening the drawer and looking through some envelopes and papers. She seems to find what
she’s looking for, and takes a few moments to read it.

“I can tell you it was on Friday, March fourteenth.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, because the next day was my niece’s second birthday, and we were supposed to go to her party. But Alex told me in the
morning that he couldn’t go, that he had something he had to take care of at work. I knew it had to concern whatever he spoke
to Mr. Freeman about, but I didn’t ask him.”

“Do you know what channel you were watching?” I ask.

“Definitely Channel Five. That’s the only local news we watch.”

I stand. “Thank you, this could turn out to be very helpful. If you think of anything else, please call me at any time.”

“I will. And Mr. Carpenter, if you learn anything about Alex’s… about Alex’s death… that is different from what I’ve been
told, I want to know about it immediately. Please.”

“You have my word.”

I call Hike on the way home, and relate my conversation with Kathy Bryant to him. I ask him to immediately get on to the task
of getting a copy of that night’s news broadcast. “If they give you any problem, ask the court to subpoena it. Judge Catchings
will approve it in a second.”

“I’m on it,” he says. “And I’ll get the other stations as well; if she was reading, she could be wrong about the station.”

“Good idea. Thanks.”

Hike just volunteered to do extra work. Can Edna be far behind?

“M
ILO, TODAY IS SHOWTIME.”
If Milo doesn’t trust me enough to find the envelope by now, he’s never going to. And since this is the Sunday before we
present the defense case, there couldn’t be a better time.

Laurie and Marcus are in charge of security, and Willie is along to provide extra backup. Hike has gone on ahead to prepare
for his role, and I’ve allowed Laurie to hire two off-duty cops to help out as well. They are two guys Pete recommended, and
whom Laurie already knew.

Billy had said that there was more chance that Milo would deliver if we did it late at night, so as to mimic the actual event.
But that creates too many dangers, and I’m just not going to risk it.

It’s a tricky operation to pull off. We are all cognizant of the danger to Milo; Santiago’s death removed any doubt that our
enemy is resourceful and ruthless. So maximum security is required, but we have to avoid freaking Milo out. We need him as
relaxed as possible.

Laurie attaches the GPS device to Milo’s collar, and we all examine a diagram of the neighborhood surrounding the bar. This
is not the first time we’ve studied it; speaking for myself, by now I know it
better than the Paterson streets where I live. We go over where each of us will be during the operation; no matter which direction
Milo goes, some of us will be in position to follow him.

Of course, if he just sits there like he did last time, he’ll be fairly easy to follow.

Marcus grunts a signal to Laurie that the coast is clear, and we’re on our way in what amounts to a deceptive caravan, since
we’re pretty spread out to avoid attracting attention. Milo is in the backseat of my car with Willie, who has coaxed him into
laying his head on his lap. Willie seems unconcerned that his own head remains in the line of fire.

When we arrive we all go to our designated spots. Hike stands in the position where Erskine stood, in front of the bar. I
stand where Billy stood, and Willie puts Milo in the place where he waited for the signal from Billy that night.

Today the signal will come from me, the guy Milo does or does not trust.

Everybody else fans out, in the general direction that Milo ran that night with the envelope. We all have GPS monitors and
small walkie-talkies, so if he gets out of our sight, we’ll be able to track him quickly. I’m very nervous about the whole
thing, but Milo looks serenely confident. According to Billy, Milo is great under pressure. If I’m ever stuck in a war in
a dog-hole, Milo is the guy I want next to me.

Of course, just as we’re ready to begin the action, it starts to rain. Not a pleasant, drizzly summer rain, but a strong downpour,
with the drops banging up off the pavement as they hit. As the commanding general of this operation, I have to make a decision:
go or no go.

I opt for go; we’ve come too far to turn back now, and to do it again just increases the danger. Besides, Milo shows no sign
of being affected by the rain. He’s just sitting there patiently, waiting for his cue.

Hike looks somewhat less joyful than Milo; I’m assuming that standing out in the rain in front of a bar, and not being able
to go in, dry off, and order a drink, is not his idea of a good time. It’s becoming quite conceivable that Hike doesn’t possess
an idea of a good time. At least I haven’t discovered it.

Laurie represents the command center; everybody is supposed to call in to her and report when they are set. Finally she gives
me the signal… whenever I’m ready.

I motion to Hike, who nods and slowly starts to walk down to where Erskine stood when he was shot. Milo watches him and then
turns to me, and I consider that a hopeful sign. He seems to be waiting for a signal.

Hike reaches the spot and stands there for a few moments. Milo seems to tense a little, maybe sensing that his moment is coming.
As planned, Hike waits for about ninety seconds before taking an envelope out of his pocket. It’s a letter-size manila envelope,
which is what Billy believes Erskine was carrying. Inside the open envelope is a piece of Erskine’s shirt; we are covering
all the bases.

Once I see this, I make the hand motion to Milo that signifies he is supposed to make his move. He reacts immediately, jumping
up and running toward Hike, who holds out the envelope while recoiling as if he is about to be run over by enemy tanks.

Milo launches in the air, truly an amazing sight each time I see it. He grabs the envelope out of Hike’s hand, much as he
did from Juliet the last time we tried this. Of course, last time he just sat afterward looking for a treat, so this is the
moment of truth.

And he runs… full speed, the envelope in his mouth. He runs back past the bar, just as he is reported to have done that night.

“He’s on the move!” I yell into the walkie-talkie, and I hear everybody’s excited response on the other end. I start running
after Milo, though I don’t want to get too close, since I’m afraid he’ll stop and come running back to me for a treat.

Within seconds it becomes obvious that my running is a waste of time and oxygen; Milo is out of my sight after a few strides.
The last I see of him he is making a right turn at the corner and heading up a small hill.

I report this to the others, then run to my car. I start the car and drive in the direction I saw Milo run, checking my GPS
periodically. GPS reading is not my strength; I certainly hope my fellow GPSers can do better.

They can. With Laurie directing the way, they keep close tabs on Milo, and I’m able to head in that general direction in my
car.

“Roosevelt Park!” Laurie yells. “Near the tennis courts.”

It’s a park about six blocks from the bar, fairly small and very quiet. At this time of day, there might be a few people playing
tennis, and perhaps some mothers watching their children play on swing sets. Though I would imagine the rain would have scared
them off already.

Except for Hike, I’m the last of our group to get there, so I just head for the collection of parked cars. I park as well,
then jump out and run toward the tennis courts. I see Laurie, Marcus, Willie, and the two off-duty cops, but I don’t see Milo.
When I get closer, I realize that they are blocking the view, and he is just behind them.

Milo is digging furiously in some brush and dirt. The area has gotten muddy because of the rain, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
The envelope that he just took from Hike lies on the ground nearby.

Watching Milo dig is mesmerizing—his legs pump furiously, and the dirt and brush and mud go flying. He’s like a canine shovel,
and in seconds we see it, the envelope we’ve been searching for, lying there exposed.

Laurie reaches in, takes it out of the hole, and hands it to me. I wipe some of the dirt off and tear it open as neatly as
I can. I can’t imagine that the buried and now wet envelope could have fingerprints or other forensic material on it, but
I’m careful anyway.
Inside the envelope is a packet of papers, fastened together with a paper clip.

The cover sheet is blank. And so are the rest.

Except for the last one.

Which says, “Kiss My Ass.”

“K
ISS 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.