The Rose Conspiracy (43 page)

“Vinnie's in lockup now,” Blackstone said bluntly. “They caught her trying to leave the United States at the Canadian border. I'm just coming back from an emergency detention hearing. Judge Templeton revoked
bail. He's now considering a motion by the government to inform the jury of all this at trial. If he grants the motion and tells the jury, she's going to be in deep trouble.”

“I'm sorry, J.D.,” Julia said. “Really, I am.”

“On the other hand,” Blackstone said, “who knows. Maybe there won't be a trial.” He had a strange smile on his face when he said that. Julia gave him a puzzled look and went back to her document review.

When Blackstone was back in his office, he plunked down in his executive chair and dialed Tully. He got his voice mail.

“The minute you get anything more on Langley, please let me know, Tully,” he said. “I'm counting on you.”

Then his intercom buzzed. It was Frieda.

“Detective Cheski is on the line, from the DC Police Department.”

Blackstone took the call.

“Professor,” Cheski said. “I've got some good news about your shooting out at the equine center.”

“Great,” Blackstone said. “What do you have?”

“We've gone through literally hundreds of checks on white trucks and vans registered within a fifty-mile radius of the shooting,” Detective Cheski said. “You can't imagine how many vehicles with that kind of description there are in Northern Virginia.”

“I can take a wild guess,” Blackstone replied.

“Then we cross-referenced those owners with registered gun owners,” Cheski continued. “On the happenstance that we might get a match of both a vehicle type that you described and a registration of an AK-47, which we know was the weapon used.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Blackstone said. “Any luck?”

“Not yet. But we have three suspects in particular who lived less than ten miles from the shooting with similar vehicle types who had various gun registrations—although no known AK-47s. Anyway, we are now checking alibis on where they were and what they were doing at the time of the shooting. I get the feeling that something is going to break soon.”

“I bet you're right,” Blackstone said.

“Anyway,” Cheski said. “I didn't want you to think you were being ignored.”

“Don't worry about that,” Blackstone said. “In fact, if you want to, you can just skip my shooting case completely and put all your energy into the Vinnie Archmont trial instead.”

“Sorry that I can't oblige you on that,” Cheski said with a chuckle. “But I will be in the courtroom, at that trial date, as scheduled. Too bad you'll probably be on the losing side.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Blackstone said, “do any of your three suspects in my shooting seem to have any connection with the Smithsonian crimes?”

“We're checking for that,” Cheski said. “I will let you know immediately if we find anything.”

“Thanks for calling, Detective,” Blackstone said, and then hung up the phone.

Jason strode into Blackstone's office with a printed piece of paper.

“Sit down, Jason,” Blackstone said and motioned for his summary. Jason reached over the desk and handed it to him.

“I wanted to review some things with you,” Blackstone said. “You've been going through the FBI and police reports, crime lab records, evidence records, almost as much as I have.”

Jason nodded.

“Let's go over some things together,” Blackstone said. “How many forensic reports do we have?”

“Well,” Jason said. “Let's see…there was the report on the drinking glass—that came back negative. Blood splatter analysis. It was all Horace Langley's blood. No one else's. A report on some DNA inadvertently picked up from some of the investigating officers at the scene—one sweat drip from one of the crime lab technicians, Bert Thompson, and the other from Detective Cheski, both of them on the crime scene. There was a report indicating the presence of a partial fingerprint on a doorknob that they figured was from FBI Agent Ralph Johnson when he came in before he put on the gloves. Then there was a report on numerous fingerprints of Horace Langley all over the place—on several areas of the office. Of course there is the ballistics report on the bullets. One shooter, shooting from one direction, directly at Langley's chest. The report dusting for fingerprints on the side door activated by the keypad. No discernible
prints were detected. Lastly, the autopsy protocol from the medical examiner. I think that's it.”

“Just checking,” Blackstone said. Then he picked up Jason's summary. “You sure this is completely accurate?”

“Sure I'm sure,” he answered, now a little nervous.

“Okay. I trust you,” Blackstone said with a reassuring smile. “Now, how about your research on Savannah, Georgia?”

Jason flipped open his steno pad.

“Okay, here's what I found,” he said. “The Solomon's Lodge No. 1 of Savannah is America's oldest continuously operating Freemasons' Lodge.”

“Interesting,” Blackstone said. “Anything else?”

“Just this,” Jason said. “Savannah, in the 1700s was the site of the first appearance of ‘speculative Freemasonry' when it arrived here in the colonies from England.”

Blackstone smiled.

“Good work,” he said. Then he dismissed him.

The criminal law professor reviewed the summary that Jason had prepared.

Then he read it again.

And then a third time. And that is when he was able to break into a smile.

After that, he picked up the telephone and dialed the telephone number of federal prosecutor Henry Hartz.

CHAPTER 54

W
hile Blackstone was waiting for the secretary at the U.S. Attorney's office to transfer the call to Henry Hartz, Blackstone was looking over Jason's summary once again:

CHRONOLOGY REGARDING HORACE LANGLEY'S OFFICE

11:30 a.m.—Horace Langley arrives at his office

3:45 p.m.—Vinnie Archmont arrives

4:20 p.m.—Vinnie leaves

7:45 p.m.—Security guard William Portley checks in with Horace Langley

MIDNIGHT

12:50 a.m.—Probable time of death per medical examiner's report

1:15 a.m.—Security guard Jerry Lamont discovers Langley's body & calls District of Columbia police dispatch

1:22 a.m.—District of Columbia patrol officers Blunt and Janovak arrive

1:47 a.m.—FBI Agent Ralph Johnson arrives at scene, with Special Agent Bob Vorhees

1:59 a.m.—Crime lab team arrives from the FBI: technicians
Bert Thompson, and Lamar Linney, and crime lab chief Corbin Anglor. Forensic sweep of the room begins; District of Columbia police photographer arrives for forensic photos

2:44 a.m.—District of Columbia Detective Victor Cheski arrives

3:20 a.m.—Following interrogation, security guards Lamont and Portley are released and allowed to go home

3:30 a.m.—Police photographer leaves the scene

6:12 a.m.—Forensic analysis of crime scene complete; all crime lab staff from FBI leave

6:13 a.m.—FBI agents Ralph Johnson and Bob Vorhees leave

6:15 a.m.—Detective Cheski secures the scene and leaves

Then he heard Hartz pick up the line.

“Henry,” Blackstone said when the Assistant U.S. Attorney answered the phone.

“What do you want, Blackstone?”

“Just wanted to tell you something.”

“What's that?”

“You are going to lose this case.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Henry Hartz sort of guffawed.

But Blackstone was looking down at the summary that Jason had drafted.

“And when you realize that all is lost—when everything in your legal career begins to look the darkest and the most dreadful, then, Henry, that is exactly when, more than anything, you are going to want to talk with me. And do you know what?”

Hartz didn't respond.

“I am going to stand there with you and look you in the eye—and I am going to have a talk with you.”

“Blackstone,” Hartz said, “either you are going a little crazy—and I wouldn't doubt that a bit—either that, or else you are trying to pull some really lame psych-out trick on me. Some kind of psychological manipulation. Either way, I really don't care. Blackstone, you can't psych me. So don't waste my time with pranks like this anymore. You've got a client
facing the death chamber. If I were you, I'd be doing double-time trying to help my client. Not that it's going to help in the end. We
will
get a conviction. But maybe you can mount enough of a legal defense not to embarrass yourself…and save what's left of your legal career.”

Then Hartz remembered something.

“By the way, I've sent a courier from my office over to yours. He's bringing you a load of documents.”

“Sounds like fun,” Blackstone said. “I love being buried alive in useless paperwork. What's this all about?”

“I've decided,” Hartz said, “to furnish you with a complete set of records of the FBI's physical evidence inventory room for the last twelve months. Just to prove that we are not covering up anything in this moronic drinking glass evidence you've complained about—we both know that issue is a complete and total red herring. Anyway, when you and I see each other on the first day of trial, I don't want to hear any more whining from you about the missing drinking glass and how you think something sinister is going on just because we can't find it.”

“Let's put it this way, Henry,” Blackstone said. “When you and I see each other on the first day of trial—I'll guarantee one thing.”

“And that would be what?”

“I won't be whining,” Blackstone said.

After Hartz hung up the phone, Blackstone buzzed Julia. He asked her for the name and telephone number of Vinnie's apartment manager. He called the number and got his voice mail.

“Yes, this is J.D. Blackstone,” he announced in his message for the apartment manager. “I am the lawyer for Vinnie Archmont, one of your tenants. Her apartment is number 101, just down the hall from yours. I know my partner, Julia Robins, has already interviewed you, but I needed just a few minutes of your time. Give me a call.”

Blackstone left the apartment manager his home phone and cell phone numbers.

Less than an hour later, the courier arrived with a large package from the U.S. Attorney's Office.

Blackstone opened it up. Inside a box there was a stack of records about ten inches thick. On the top of the stack there was a typed sheet that read
United States of America v. Vinnie Archmont:
“Government
Disclosure of Evidence Room Records for Twelve Month Period—Six Months Prior to Date of Criminal Incident and Six Months Post Criminal Incident.”

Then Blackstone strode down to Julia's office. She was clearing off her desk for the day.

“Sorry to do this to you,” he said. “But I need your help with some records that just came in on Vinnie's case. More government discovery. This time it's records of their evidence room. You know, because I raised a ruckus about the missing drinking glass that had been at the scene of the crime. I'm sure there's nothing in these documents. But if we both take a pile and start reviewing them, it will go twice as fast.”

“Twice as fast for you, you mean,” Julia said. Then she nodded and added, “Fine. Let's get to it.” She stood up from her desk and started walking down to Blackstone's office, following him.

“How about I order some dinner in for both of us while we're working?” he said over his shoulder.

“Thanks anyway,” she said. “But let's just get this over with. I'll save dinner for when I am back in my apartment with my pj's on and my cat curled up next to me.”

“Alright. Just asking,” Blackstone said.