Who Let the Dog Out? (16 page)

I’m not an expert on smuggling things into the country, diamonds or anything else, but my guess is that very little of it comes into places like Des Moines or Omaha. It most likely comes into our ports, and one of those is Port Newark.

I have no idea whether Parelli has anything to do with this case; for all I know he and Downey could have been on the same bowling team. But I’m going to find out.

In the meantime, I move on to reading Brantley’s travel records. He certainly didn’t get away much, and it appears none of the trips he did take were vacations. He’d been to three conferences in the past two years: one in Cleveland, one in San Francisco, and one in Zurich.

The Zurich trip was a conference sponsored by an international organization of chemists, of which Brantley was a member. The fact that it took place almost a year ago makes it moderately interesting to me, but not as interesting as one other fact that Hilda has uncovered. Rather than fly directly home, Brantley flew to Johannesburg, where he spent three days. Johannesburg is known to be a key city in the diamond world.

I call Sam and ask him to check Brantley’s and Downey’s phone records for the thirty days after Brantley returned to the United States. There is no way to know why Brantley went to South Africa, or whether it has anything concrete to do with our case.

But it sure as hell is interesting.

Add “dockworker” to the list of jobs I don’t want to have. I wouldn’t like it any day, but especially not one like today, when the temperature is approaching ninety degrees. Just going from my car to the docks feels like I’m tightrope walking on the equator. And though just being out here is bad enough, the prospect of adding manual labor to the situation makes this one of those rare times I’m glad I went to law school.

I reach what seems to be a main building, but is really only a warehouse. I walk inside, and am surprised and delighted to discover that it is air-conditioned. I see a guy in a white shirt, holding a clipboard and writing on it. Clipboards seem to imply that the holder knows what he or she is doing, so I approach the guy. “I’m looking for Gino Parelli,” I say.

“Ask me if I give a shit,” he says, without looking up or stopping his writing.

“Do you give a shit?”

He writes a little more, then looks up. “Nope,” he says.

“I’m glad we cleared that up. Do you know where Parelli is?”

He looks at the clipboard. “Dock fifteen.”

I point to the dock just outside the building. “Which one is this?”

“That would be dock one,” he says, meaning I’ve got a really long walk to dock fifteen.

“Any chance they count by twos?”

“Nope. But you could drive there.”

That being the best idea I’ve heard in a while, I get in my car and drive down to dock fifteen. Had I attempted to walk it in this heat, I would never have been heard from again.

When I get there, I am disappointed to discover that not only is there not an air-conditioned building, but there is actually no building at all. I find another clipboard person, this time a woman, and she points out Parelli, who is apparently taking a break, sitting on a bench and smoking a cigarette.

“Gino Parelli?” I ask as I approach him.

“Yeah?” It’s more of a question than a response, but it’s asked warily, so I take it as a yes.

“My name is Andy Carpenter. I’m an attorney, and I’d like to talk to you about Gerald Downey,” I say.

“What about him?” he asks. In situations like this I don’t call ahead and arrange a meeting, because I want to see how people react without having time to prepare. In the case of Parelli, there is a clear look of either fear or worry on his face.

“Your relationship with him.”

“I don’t know any Gerald Downey.”

He’s lying. I know that because if he really didn’t know Downey, his response would have been “Who’s that?” or “Never heard of him.” His first response would not have been to ask, “What about him?” It’s like if someone calls and asks for you when you answer the phone, once you ask “Who’s calling?” you can’t later claim they got a wrong number.

“Boy, that’s weird,” I say. “You don’t know him, but you helped him smuggle diamonds into the country?”

“That’s bullshit,” he says, but his tone is still more fear than anger. “Get out of here.”

“Have you ever testified under oath, Gino?”

“I said get out of here. I’m not talking to you.”

“Wrong again, Gino. You’ll be talking to me in a courtroom.” I look up at the sun. “An air-conditioned courtroom.”

Once I’m in the cool comfort of my car, I call Sam Willis. “There’s a guy named Gino Parelli, and—”

Sam interrupts. “He was on the Downey call list. What about him?”

“I want you to give him a cyber rectal exam.”

“You’re about to find out that being a juror is a tough job” is how Dylan starts his opening remarks. I can sense Tommy sitting up slightly higher in his seat. This is it, it’s showtime.

We have been through three days of jury selection and some pretrial bullshit. I’m sure it felt to Tommy like we’d never get to the actual trial, but we’re here now, and he’s happier about it than I am. That’s probably because I know the state of our case.

“First of all, it goes against our grain,” Dylan continues. “Haven’t our parents, and our teachers, and our friends always told us that it’s somehow wrong to judge other people? Isn’t that somehow beneath us?

“Well, let me deal with that right here and now. You are not judging Thomas Infante; that’s not your job. You are trying to determine whether or not he committed a particular act, and you are trying to do so beyond a reasonable doubt. Once you have determined that, it is for others to judge, and others to punish, should that be called for.

“But secondly, there is a lot of pressure on you; you are probably feeling it already. Because you do not live in a vacuum, you know full well that Mr. Infante’s future is at stake, and riding on what you determine to be the true facts.

“And it is a lot of pressure, and everyone in this courtroom feels it. But you must put that aside, and let the facts lead you. Because they call this ‘jury duty’ for a reason: you have a duty to your fellow citizens, and to yourselves, to do your best to get this right.

“Many, many people have been in your situation, and have faced what you are facing. I sympathize with you, but on some level I envy you. You have a chance to contribute to your community, your state, and your country.

“I would submit that your task is actually easier than many others have faced. Sometimes juries are confronted with extraordinarily complicated cases that seem to defy a simple yes or no. But as you will see when the facts unfold before you, this case is fairly straightforward.

“You are being asked to determine whether or not Thomas Infante murdered Gerald Downey. The state of New Jersey, and myself personally, believe that he did so, well beyond a reasonable doubt. We will, through our witnesses, tell you exactly why we feel that way.

“I am confident that you will agree, and I am equally confident that you will do your duty. Thank you.”

It was a very low-key opening statement by Dylan, probably the most evenhanded I have ever heard him give. I have no doubt that it’s because he truly is confident in his case and the ability of the jury to understand it.

Judge Klingman gives me the opportunity to deliver my opening statement now, or defer it to the start of our case. As always, I opt to do it now, so that the jury can understand we are not about to roll over.

I stand up and steal a glance at the gallery and media assembled behind me. Time has eroded some of the “glamor” of the near-decapitation death, and there are a number of empty seats in the courtroom. It doesn’t much matter to me either way; this case was not the type that was going to be unduly influenced by media or public pressure.

“Mr. Campbell and I will agree on almost nothing throughout the course of this trial. It is the nature of the process: he has his job and his point of view, and I have mine. We are adversaries, and this is an adversarial proceeding.

“But we do agree on a couple of things, so let’s get those agreeable items out of the way, so we can move on. We agree that you have a duty to perform, and it is an admirable one that entails a lot of pressure, because much is at stake.

“We also agree on something that he didn’t mention in his statement, that Thomas Infante has never been in this position before. I don’t mean that he has never been tried for murder; I mean that he has never been tried for anything. Never tried, never convicted, never arrested. Never.

“But Mr. Campbell and I strongly disagree on the difficulty of the task ahead of you. This is not a simple case, and by the time it is over you will not be able to understand how he could describe it that way. Because while this murder took place in New Jersey, the process of understanding it will take you to the far corners of the world.

“You will be asked to understand and consider a massive international conspiracy, involving remarkable amounts of money and violence. And you will find that this is way bigger than Gerald Downey, and way bigger than Thomas Infante.

“Simple?” I smile my wryest smile. “I don’t think so, and you won’t either.”

I sit down, first patting Tommy on the shoulder in a gesture of support. I would be feeling reasonably good about my statement, except for the fact that I have no confidence I can back it up. I wish the jury could cast their votes now, because this might be our high point.

In a perfect world, Judge Klingman would say, “Mr. Carpenter, that was such an extraordinary opening statement that I am declaring your client innocent. On behalf of the state of New Jersey I would like to thank you for being such a brilliant lawyer.”

Instead, what he says is what I have been dreading. “Mr. Campbell, you may call your first witness.”

“Captain Stanton, you were the first police officer on the scene?” Dylan asks.

Pete nods. “I was.”

“What made you enter the house?”

“I had probable cause that a robbery had been committed. Mr. Downey was a suspect.”

Dylan has called Pete to establish the foundation; he needs him to set the scene. It’s something he had to do, but likely not something he was relishing.

“Please describe what you saw when you entered the house.”

“Mr. Downey was sitting in a chair. His throat had been cut to the point that his head was barely on his torso. There was a dog sitting near Mr. Downey.”

“Did you search the house?”

“I didn’t personally, but some of my officers did.”

“Did it appear as if a robbery had taken place?”

“It did not.”

Dylan asks him a few more questions about procedure, and then turns him over to me.

“Captain Stanton, who was with you when you entered Mr. Downey’s house?”

“You were, and Willie Miller; you had called me to report the robbery.”

“And what did we say had been stolen?”

“You believed that Mr. Downey had stolen a dog from your rescue foundation. The GPS on the dog’s collar had led you to that house.”

“Did we hear barking when we rang the doorbell?”

He nods. “Yes, Willie Miller said he was positive that the barking was that of the stolen dog. That’s what gave me the probable cause to enter.”

“When you were in the house, did you get a good look at the dog?” I ask.

“I did.”

I walk back to the defense table, and Hike hands me an envelope. I take some photographs out of it and bring them to Judge Klingman. I ask him to admit them as defense exhibits, and Dylan agrees, albeit reluctantly. He knows what is coming, but doesn’t want to object in advance, since he would lose, and it would look to the jury as if he has something to hide.

“Captain Stanton, is that the dog that was in Mr. Downey’s house?”

“It certainly looks like her.”

Dylan stands up. “Objection, Your Honor. Captain Stanton just spent a few minutes with that dog. There is no way he can make a positive identification.”

The judge turns to me. “Mr. Carpenter?”

“Your Honor, I would like to continue; there will be testimony later confirming the identification beyond any doubt.”

“Very well. Objection overruled.”

I turn back to Pete. “In the first three pictures, can you tell who that is holding the dog’s leash?”

Dylan objects again, but is again overruled. The judge tells Pete that he may answer.

“Yes, that is Eric Brantley,” he says.

I feign surprise. “The Eric Brantley who was wanted for murder, and who was himself murdered?”

Dylan jumps up and objects, but hasn’t a legal leg to stand on.

I smile. “I’m sorry, Your Honor, but with all the Eric Brantleys running around, I wanted to make sure we were talking about the same one.”

Klingman seems to have trouble containing a smile, but he manages. “There are a lot of Eric Brantleys running around?” he asks.

I nod. “Throw a dart out your window and you’re sure to hit one.”

Klingman tells Pete he can answer the question, and he confirms that it is the now-deceased Eric Brantley.

“Do you know why Gerald Downey stole Eric Brantley’s dog?”

“No, I don’t,” Pete says.

“Do you know what their relationship with each other was?”

“No.”

“Do you know who killed Eric Brantley?”

“No.”

“Do you know where Thomas Infante was when Eric Brantley was killed?”

“Yes. He was in jail.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

I love watching jurors’ faces when Janet Carlson is on the witness stand. She is beautiful, to the point where she is in Laurie’s class, and believe me, that is an honors class. In any event, she’s the best-looking witness in any trial she’s a part of.

But that is not what is so striking about the jurors’ reaction to her. Janet is the county coroner, so she is often called upon to give graphic, sometimes pretty disgusting, descriptions of bodies she has examined. It just seems weird coming out of her mouth, even to me, and I’ve seen her do it many, many times.

It’s in Dylan’s best interest to make this murder appear as heinous as possible, and considering the circumstances, that’s not too difficult. He’s effectively using Janet to make his point.