Dog Tags (40 page)

“Right. I think it’s safe to come back now.”

They talked for a brief time, since Andy had to get off to answer
more police questions. Willie promised to get a flight back the next morning.

But there was plenty of time until morning, so Willie went back to the bar to have a few more beers and watch the TV coverage.
He wasn’t going to be chasing M that night, or ever, so he could drink without worrying about staying alert.

Jason Greer came into the hotel a few minutes later. He had been repeatedly admonished by M to stay out of public view as
much as possible, since his picture had been one of those that Carpenter had shown on Larry King.

But M hadn’t called in the two days since he left, and Greer had been going nuts in the room. So he went out to a fast-food
restaurant, using the drive-thru so that customers wouldn’t see him.

Then, when he returned to the hotel, he did what he had been doing all along, which was self-park the van rather than use
the valet. This was far less to avoid being recognized than to prevent anyone from seeing what was in the locked rear section
of the van.

Greer walked down the lobby toward the elevators, casually looking into the bar and the televisions that were on in there.
He stopped in his tracks when the first thing he saw was the picture of M, and a graphic saying that he had been killed.

Trying to control his rising feeling of panic, Greer went into the bar to watch the television and find out whatever he could.
He didn’t notice Willie Miller drinking a beer at the end of the bar, nor would it have meant anything if he had. He didn’t
know who Willie was, or what he looked like.

But Willie noticed him.

He couldn’t be sure, but he had a good eye for faces, and he thought he recognized Greer from the picture Andy had shown on
television. And the way Greer was staring at the screen, trying unsuccessfully to hide the look of confusion and fear on his
face, made it far more likely that he was right.

Willie went out and called Andy again, doing so from a vantage point where he could see the bar. No one answered, so Willie
left a message in which he said that he thought he was looking at Greer, but he wasn’t sure.

As he was getting off the phone, Greer was leaving the bar. Willie followed him and got on the same elevator. Greer pressed
9, and Willie briefly debated whether he should press a different floor so as not to look suspicious. He decided to go to
9 as well, since Greer would have no reason to think that Willie was tailing him. If a potential tail, probably a cop, knew
Greer’s whereabouts well enough to be in the hotel, there would be little reason to follow him to his room. They would have
other ways of learning the room number, if they didn’t know it already.

Willie caught a break when Greer got off the elevator and went to room 942, which was almost directly across from the elevator.
Willie was thus able to walk past him as if heading for a different room.

Willie then went to his own room, which was on the third floor, to watch more of the coverage and figure out his next move.
He couldn’t be sure it was Greer; his mind and memory could have been playing tricks on him and causing him to be overly suspicious.

But it would be worth a day or two to find out, even though the idea of more time alone in Everett was not all that appealing.
Regardless, he would stay and keep an eye on Greer.

The question he needed to answer was how.

A
LMOST GETTING KILLED CAN BE EXHAUSTING, AND
I
WOULD LOVE TO GET SOME SLEEP.
Unfortunately, detectives usually have a lot of questions to ask when they find someone with their head blown open on a kitchen
floor. The media have set up camp on the street outside, but they’re easier to avoid.

Even though Pete Stanton is in charge, and therefore we are obviously not under suspicion, the process is very time consuming.
This is especially true since two people, Laurie and me, are very much involved. Milo, arguably the key player in the entire
incident, escapes unscathed, and he and Tara are in the corner, sleeping together.

When we’ve finally answered everything there is to be answered, and when forensics and the coroner have concluded their respective
business, my need for sleep is put on another hold. That’s because Benson and two other FBI agents show up at around two
AM
to make a long night much longer.

Benson talks to Pete for a while, probably getting an update, and when they’re finished Pete comes over and asks me if I want
him to hang around as a buffer. I thank him but say it’s not necessary; I’ve had plenty of experience going one-on-one with
Benson.

“You’ve been a busy boy,” Benson says when he comes over to me.

“As have you. Any chance that with Landon and M out of the way, we’re out of bad guys?”

“We’re never out of bad guys,” he says. “You called my office before.”

I nod. “Speaking of bad guys… Jonathan Chaplin is somebody for you to check out. He runs a hedge fund called C and F Investments.
Landon was making the investments through that fund, and they were doing it through a bunch of different brokerage houses.”

“Chaplin know what was going on?” he asks.

I nod. “Definitely. But I’ve got something else for you that’s more important.”

“What is it?”

“First we need to make a deal,” I say.

“What a surprise” is his dry response, which I ignore.

“I want your word that an announcement will be made tomorrow stating in no uncertain terms that Billy Zimmerman is innocent.
I don’t want people thinking he’s a murderer who was released on a technicality. The truth is he’s been a goddamn hero all
his life, and when Erskine got shot he ran at the killer and disarmed him, even though he couldn’t stand Erskine.”

Benson nods. “Fair enough. Done.”

“And I want him taken care of financially.”

“Kiss my ass, Carpenter.”

“That’s what Erskine’s note said… did you write it for him?”

He ignores the question. “You want me to give Zimmerman my pension?”

“I don’t care how it happens. Zimmerman has been sitting in jail for a crime you knew he didn’t commit. Beyond that, the FBI
committed jury tampering. I don’t think that was your call; I’ll bet it goes high up to people who will be seriously pissed
and embarrassed to
have it made public. Well, I’ll go on
60 Minutes
to get the story out, if I have to, and you’ll have every reporter in America digging for more.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he says.

“You’ll do better than that.” I’m trying to extract a promise from Benson, though he wouldn’t be above breaking it if it suited
him. My threat to go public is my insurance.

“Okay,” he says. “Are you finished now? Or do you want my firstborn?”

“I’m finished.”

“Okay, now here are my terms,” he says. “As long as I deliver on my end, you tell no one about FBI involvement in this case.
And you tell me everything you know, right now.”

“Deal. I have reason to believe that the next commodity that Landon was hoping to profit from is natural gas.”

“Why do you say that?” he asks.

“The same companies that profited from the oil and rhodium through C and F are poised to make an even bigger profit on gas.”

“Do you know what they’re planning?”

I shake my head. “No. But with Landon and M gone, I would hope there’s no one else to plan anything.”

“You keep hoping,” Benson says, the implication being that he plans on doing a lot more than that.

Once Benson leaves, Laurie and I get into bed. The implications of what happened here hit me full-bore, and being able to
hold her is a substantial comfort. Of course, momentous events are not a requirement for me to enjoy holding Laurie, but tonight
it seems even more necessary.

It’s not until the morning that I think to check my phone messages, and I have one from Willie, telling me that he thinks
he has seen Jason Greer. My very strong hunch is that he’s imagining things, especially since it now seems very unlikely that
the M sighting in Everett was real.

I call Willie back, but his cell phone doesn’t answer. I leave a message expressing my doubts, in gentle terms, and tell him
to call me.

Now it’s time to experience the absolute best part of my job. I head down to the prison to get Billy, who is being processed
out. I have to wait less than twenty minutes, a blip in prison time, and there he is.

We do a real firm handshake, and he grabs my left arm with his left hand, but we avoid the full-on man-hug. Then we head outside
to my car, with him stopping briefly to look up at the sky and take a deep breath. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be cooped
up in a cell, so I have no insight as to how it feels to be finally let out of that cell.

But if Billy’s expression is any indication, it must feel great.

B
ILLY DOESN’T WANT TO GO OUT FOR A BIG BREAKFAST.
He also doesn’t want to have a beer, or go to a park, or see any friends. He wants to go directly to my house, because that’s
where Milo is.

On the way he asks me to tell him what has gone on, and I tell him I will when we get home. For the time being I describe
how Milo saved my life last night.

He smiles and says, “I know what that feels like. He saved mine when I got back from Iraq.”

We pull up in front of the house, and I tell Billy to hurry up and get inside. I say this because Milo is at the window, clawing
at it and going nuts at the sight of Billy, and I’m afraid he’s going to come crashing through.

I open the door and let Billy in first, and Milo re-creates the flying-dog trick he did on M. Except this time he’s not after
anything in Billy’s hand; he’s after Billy. They roll around on the floor for a while, with Billy laughing the whole time.
Tara looks at me as if wondering who these two lunatics are on the floor.

Laurie hears the chaos and comes downstairs, laughing when
she sees Billy and Milo. I wait until they’ve calmed down before introducing her, since she and Billy have never met.

Laurie makes pancakes, her specialty, and Billy inhales them in Marcus-like fashion. “I never thought I was going to have
food this good again,” he says.

Billy pauses chewing long enough to again ask me to fill him in on everything he’s missed relating to his case. I do that
in some detail, only leaving out the parts about the FBI’s being on the murder scene that night, and the jury tampering. I
promised Benson I would keep that to myself, and I don’t want to jeopardize the financial payoff I’ve arranged for Billy.

“So it’s over?” Billy asks.

“Yes. You’ll be fully exonerated today.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t mean my case. I mean the operation they were running.”

“I think so, but I certainly can’t be sure. And I don’t think Benson agrees, though he’s not in a position to just assume
the best.”

“I agree with Benson,” he says.

Laurie nods. “So do I.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons,” Billy says. “One, there’s a lot of money that’s been made, and a lot more to come. If Landon and M were alone
at the top of this, then that money has no one to collect it, and no one to spend it. In my experience money is always surrounded
by people.”

“And the second reason?” I say, though I am formulating my own.

Laurie provides it for him. “Erskine. He doesn’t figure. If he was bad and in on it, then he would have no reason to blackmail
them; they were his money source and there was plenty to go around. If he wasn’t bad, then who recruited the other soldiers?”

Billy nods. “Right,” he says, though I already knew that. “There’s
got to be someone else, someone who could get to Erskine’s people, who also has the smarts to handle the financial end of
this.”

It hits me like a ton of bricks. I know exactly who that someone is. My mind is racing such that I can barely hear Billy continue.

“You know who worries me right now?” he says, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Greer.”

I grab the phone, in the moment deciding which of two crucial phone calls I should make first. I call Willie, but again his
phone goes to voice mail. I leave another message, this time far more urgent.