Hounded (14 page)

“Where nobody will ever find her.”

“So you did exactly what I asked?”

“Yup. Everything right to the letter.”

“All phone calls to her husband were made from her cell phone?”

Reese hesitated. There had been one time when cell service at the apartment was weak, and he had let her use the apartment phone. He regretted doing so, but assumed Parker would never find out. How could Parker have known that?

“Yeah,” he said, with an obvious hesitation. “All calls were from the cell phone.”

“You’re sure?” Parker asked.

“I’m sure.”

“You’d bet your life on it?”

“Hey man, I told you she used the cell phone, okay? How about giving me my money, and letting me get out of here?”

“You already bet your life on it,” Parker said, the gun by then in his hand. “And you already lost.”

A state of bewilderment has become my home state.

Of course, I would prefer it if I knew exactly what I was doing, and how to do it. But I’m able to find the positive in a situation like this, one in which I have no idea what is going on.

It instills a sense of discipline in me. I don’t know enough to know what is important and what isn’t, so I treat everything as if it is crucial. Not to do so would mean that I might gloss over something that is vital to our case.

I think we’re on to something with the Juanita Diaz angle. Based on his meeting with Joseph Russo, Danny Diaz seemed to think his wife was being held against her will. That may or may not have been true; he could have been led to believe that, and she could have played a role in the deception.

But one thing seems very likely: whatever situation she was in, it was being used to apply pressure to Danny. And there seems to be a strong probability that it had something to do with his murder, and likely his false identification of Pete as a drug dealer.

Of course, none of this is admissible or even relevant in court, not at this stage. Not only couldn’t we get any of it in, but Richard and the jury would laugh us out of the courtroom if we did.

What the hell is the difference whether Diaz informed on Pete because he was under pressure? It doesn’t mean what he said isn’t true. And the prosecution would claim that whether it was true or not, it wouldn’t lessen Pete’s anger, or desire for revenge.

But not knowing what really happened with Juanita Diaz is motivation for me to keep looking at everything else, including Pete’s suspicions about the apparent heart attack death of William Hambler. Pete believed that there were other, similar deaths, and I plan to look into them as well. But first I’m going to follow up on Hambler.

It’s an excuse to see Janet Carlson, the coroner in Passaic County. Janet looks very much like Laurie, which is to say she is the best-looking coroner in the history of coroners. I know lawyers who try to depose her on their cases even when nobody involved died.

I had called and told her I wanted to discuss the Hambler case with her, and she said, “I didn’t know that Hambler would be considered a case.”

But she agreed to meet with me, and when I show up she has the file open and is rereading her notes to remind her of the facts. When she finishes, she looks up and says, “Okay, I give up. Why are you interested in this?”

“I think he might have been murdered.”

“Think again.”

“You’re sure?”

“Andy, the guy had a heart attack.”

“But what caused the heart attack?”

“You want my professional opinion?”

“Yes.”

“A bad heart.”

This is getting frustrating. “Work with me here, Janet. Is there any way a heart attack can appear to be a natural event, but actually be induced? This guy was apparently in excellent physical condition.”

She looks like she is going to answer quickly, but then pauses and opens the file again. She reads for a minute or so, and then says, “Mmmm.”

“Now you’re talking,” I say.

“There are a couple ways that heart attacks can be induced, though I am certainly not saying that it happened here. One might be an electric shock to the system, but it would have to be a severe event, and the result could not be guaranteed. Plus there might be other, noticeable effects, possibly burn marks.”

“What else?”

“Well, there are certain compounds that occur naturally in the body, but when ingested in combination can cause a sudden cardiac arrest.”

“What kind of compounds?”

“There’s a bunch of them—potassium, chlorine, calcium … it depends on the combination and the concentration.”

“Would you be able to detect them in an autopsy?”

“In those kinds of levels? Unlikely, unless the autopsy were done very quickly.”

“How fast was this one done?”

“Twenty hours. It was a busy time, and this did not appear to be a suspicious death.”

“So that’s enough time for those kinds of compounds to break down?”

“Way more than enough. In certain cases an hour is more than enough.”

“And it wouldn’t leave a trace?”

She looks at the file again. “Certain compounds are elevated in the test results, but they could be elevated naturally. It would take a suspicious mind to read anything into it.”

“Then we caught a break, because I happen to have a suspicious mind,” I say.

She laughs. “I’ve become aware of that over the years. You want to fill me in on what is going on?”

“I’m trying to figure out who set Pete Stanton up. I have reason to believe that if Hambler was murdered, then the killer is the man I’m looking for.”

She turns completely serious. “If I can help Pete in any way, don’t hesitate. I know you won’t, but I want to reemphasize it. Do. Not. Hesitate.”

“Thanks, Janet. I appreciate that, and so will Pete. But I … actually, there might be something you could do.”

“Name it.”

“There’s at least two other cases, like Hambler’s, that I need to look into. If I give you the details, could you call your counterparts in those jurisdictions and get copies of the autopsy results? Maybe compare them to Hambler’s?

“No problem at all. Just get me the names and locations.”

“Will do.”

“Can I watch with you?”

I look up from the couch and see that Ricky has entered the den. Actually, it would more accurately be described as Ricky and his entourage, since Tara and Sebastian follow him around pretty much twenty-four/seven.

I’ve got the Mets game on, but in truth I’m not really watching it. I’m reading through case notes and discovery documents, and the game is on mostly as background noise.

“Sure,” I say. “You like baseball?”

He shrugs. “It’s okay.”

“Who do you root for?”

“Who do you root for?” is his response.

“I like the Mets,” I say.

He nods. “Me too.” Then he sits down and asks, “What’s the score?”

“Mets are ahead of the Cubs two to one.”

“Chicago Cubs?”

“Very good,” I say, and he brightens at the compliment.

I put the file down, and we watch the game together. He doesn’t know many of the rules, but he’s aware of the basic concepts. He’s got a lot of questions and seems sincerely interested in learning. If given enough time, I could mold him into a sports degenerate in my own image.

The Cubs tie the game and it goes into extra innings. In the bottom of the tenth, the Cubs have the bases loaded and two out. The next batter hits one toward the gap in left center, and it seems certain to end the game. But miracle of miracles, the Mets center fielder makes a diving catch to end the inning.

Ricky and I jump up, screaming, and we slap each other a high five. I’m not a big fan of high fives, but I like this one, even though his height causes the high five to be relatively low.

Laurie hears the noise and comes down the stairs quickly and enters the den. She sees what is going on, and her face does something between smiling and crying. I’m not sure what the expression means exactly, but I know I’ve never done it.

“Careful what you say, Ricky. There are women folk in the room.”

She smiles. “Is this club for men only?”

“No, you can stay,” Ricky says, then turns to me. “Can Laurie stay?”

“Okay,” I say. “She can stay, if she watches the game.”

“Will you watch the game?” Ricky asks.

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll go make some popcorn.”

“All right!” Ricky yells. I think if given a choice between popcorn and watching the eleventh inning, he’d opt for the popcorn.

The game goes fourteen innings, but I’m the only one who has to watch the Cubs score the game winner on an error by the Mets’s second baseman. By then Laurie is sound asleep on the couch next to me, and Ricky is out cold as well, sleeping across the two of us, his head resting in Laurie’s lap. Tara and Sebastian lie at our feet, also gone to the world. When I turn the television off, the only sound that can be heard is Sebastian’s snoring.

The last thing I want to do is disturb the tranquility of this setting, so I reach over and start reading the case documents again. I’m doing this for about twenty minutes when the phone rings. The noise is jarring in the silence, but neither Laurie, Ricky, nor the two dogs so much as stir, even when I jostle them to get up to get the phone.

“Mr. Carpenter? My name is Jonathon Castro. I represent Carson Reynolds.”

It takes a moment for me to make the connection, even though it was just this morning that I called Carson Reynolds’s office and said that I wanted to meet with him. Reynolds’s wife Katherine was the death that Pete said had most interested him, and that the state cop had called him about.

I had to leave a message when I called, and was deliberately vague, simply saying that I was an attorney and my business with him was very important and very personal.

I have had some very high profile cases recently, and certainly would have been surprised if Reynolds had not heard of me. Apparently he had, which is why he took the message seriously enough to have his lawyer call me back.

“Yes, Mr. Castro, thanks for calling. I would like to meet with your client.”

“In reference to what?”

“It’s a personal matter.”

“So I understand,” he says. “Fortunately, I am empowered to discuss Mr. Reynolds’s personal matters.”

“Then consider yourself invited to the meeting,” I say.

“Mr. Reynolds is in mourning; he has lost his wife.”

“I am aware of that. Our meeting will be brief and hopefully painless, and should not interfere with the mourning process.” I find I often dislike people the moment I meet them, but in Castro’s case, he’s on my nerves and we haven’t even met yet.

“I’m afraid I—”

Based on the way that sentence started, it seems like a good time to interrupt. “Look, Mr. Castro, I’m a serious guy, and I’m not interested in bothering Mr. Reynolds. But I need to speak with him about a matter currently before the court. I can ask the judge to intervene, but that will make the process far more intrusive and time consuming for Mr. Reynolds.”

I’m bluffing; I wouldn’t have a prayer of getting a judge to intervene. It’s the kind of bluff that almost always works, even with a lawyer like Castro. He’s probably a corporate attorney, and therefore relatively unfamiliar with the comparatively slimy world that he believes we criminal attorneys inhabit.

Besides, Castro could not possibly know why I need to speak to Reynolds. He probably did the research and learned that my only current client is Pete Stanton, but the connection between Reynolds and Pete’s case is so thin as to be invisible.

“Very well, I am relying on your professionalism,” Castro says, which in and of itself proves he doesn’t have a clue. “Mr. Reynolds will see you tomorrow morning at ten a.m. at his home in Alpine. You will have fifteen minutes to state your business.”

“Super; I’m a really fast business-stater,” I say, and I write down the address he gives me. “See you tomorrow.”

I hang up and take Tara and Sebastian for their nightly walk. When we get back, Laurie and Ricky are no longer in the den. I go upstairs, look into Ricky’s room, and see Laurie tucking him into bed.

She kisses him lightly on the head, then tiptoes out of the room toward me, still standing in the doorway. I get a kiss on the lips, and a very big hug. The full body kind, which is a personal favorite of mine.

“Thank you, Andy,” she says.

When you get thanked like that for watching a Mets game, life is good.

Where was Daniel Mathis?

Sharon Dalton had been unable to think about anything else.

It had been a week since she had the conversation with Daniel about going to the authorities and reporting the theft of the pills from his office. He had seemed relieved, as if the decision to do so had already begun to remove a heavy burden. She had been proud of him, and said she would be there to support him.

But that was the last she heard from him. He was supposed to call her the next day to update her on what happened, but she waited for a call that never came. She tried him on both his phones, but he never answered.

By the third day, she was very worried. This was completely uncharacteristic of the Daniel she had come to know. She could have imagined him having second thoughts about coming forward, but she could not imagine him cutting off from her like this.

She went to his apartment and cajoled the superintendent into letting her in by saying that she was worried for his safety. And in fact she was; after all, at the core of the issue were drugs that could be used to quickly and painlessly commit suicide. Could he have been that desperate?

But Daniel was not there, either alive or dead. His bed was made, and everything was neat and orderly. There was no sign that anything was wrong, but there was absolutely no sign of Daniel.

Since Sharon had previously worked at Blaine Pharmaceuticals, she knew the people Daniel worked with. She called a few of them and learned that Daniel had not been to work either.

Then she called a friend in HR, who said that Daniel had been behaving strangely, that he had seemed withdrawn and anxious in his last weeks at the company. This came as no surprise to Sharon, since she knew what he was worried about.