Hardwick’s expression was darkening. “Like I said, things were moving fast. I’d just come from the arson by the lake—seven dead people, Davey, seven—and I was a fuckload more focused on the main battle than with the niceties of your tête-à-tête with Mick the Dick.” Hardwick went on, reminding Gurney that ambiguous promises and expedient lies were the hidden foundation stones of the criminal justice system. He wound up with a semi-rhetorical question. “Why the hell would you worry about a piece of shit like Klemper?”
Gurney opted for a practical and simplistic response, prompted by his memory of the odor of alcohol on the man and the almost incoherent message he left on Gurney’s voice mail the next day. “My concern is that Mick Klemper is an angry drunk being backed into a corner, and that he might be desperate enough to do something stupid.”
When Hardwick said nothing, Gurney continued. “So I’m keeping my Beretta a little closer than usual, just in case. In the meantime, Esti asked about the videos. So let’s take a look. I’ll run the street-view sequence first, then the long shot of the cemetery.”
Chapter 48. Montell Jones
After they watched the security camera videos twice, Hardwick asked, “Can we prove that Klemper had these in his possession at the time of the trial?”
“I’m not sure we can prove he ever had them. The electronics store owner might be talked into providing an affidavit, saying he turned the videos over, but he’s shadier than Klemper. And besides—”
Esti broke in. “But you asked Klemper for the recordings and he gave them to you.”
“I told him if I got the recordings, things might go better for him. And the next day they appeared in my mailbox. You and I know what that means. But legally, it’s a yard or two short of proving possession. In any event, who had the recordings or when they had them isn’t the important thing. What’s important is what’s on them.”
Hardwick looked ready to object, but Gurney pressed on. “The importance of the long-distance cemetery sequence is that it shows Carl being shot in the exact spot where everyone said he was shot—which essentially confirms the impossibility of the shot having come from the window that Klemper’s team claims it came from.”
Esti looked troubled. “This is like the fourth time I’ve heard you talk about the bullet thing—the contradiction in where it came from. What do you think is the answer?”
“Honestly, Esti? I’m going around in circles on that one. The physical and chemical evidence in the apartment where the murder weapon was found says that’s where the bullet must have been fired. The line of sight to the victim says it couldn’t have been.”
“This reminds me of the Montell Jones mess over in Schenectady. You remember that one, Jack? Five, six years ago?”
“Drug dealer? Big controversy over whether it was a righteous kill?”
“Right.” She turned to Gurney. “Young officer in a cruiser is making his rounds in a druggy neighborhood—bright, sunny day—when he gets a ‘shots fired’ call, location about two blocks from where he is. Ten seconds, he’s there, out of the car. People on the street point him to a broad alley between two warehouses, say that’s where they heard two shots a couple of minutes earlier. He’s first on the scene, should wait for backup, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls out his nine-millimeter, steps into the alley. Facing him, about fifty feet away, is Montell Jones, local bad guy, violent drug dealer, super-long rap sheet. The way the officer tells it, he sees that Montell’s got his own nine. In his hand. He raises it slowly in the officer’s direction. Officer shouts at him to drop it. The nine keeps coming up. Officer fires one round. Montell goes down. Other cruisers start arriving. Montell’s bleeding out through a hole in his stomach. Ambulance comes, takes him away, he’s pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. Everything seems totally righteous. Young officer is a hero for about twenty-four hours. Then everything goes to hell. Internal Affairs calls him in and gets his account of the shooting. He has no doubt about anything. All crystal-clear—facing Montell, sunny, perfect visibility, Montell’s nine rising toward him. Officer fires, Montell goes down. End of story. The IA interviewer asks him again. He goes through it again. And again. They have it all on tape. They have the whole thing transcribed, printed out, he signs it. Then they drop the bombshell. ‘We have a problem here. The ME says the stomach wound was an exit wound, not an entry wound.’ The officer is speechless, he can’t grasp what he just heard. He asks them what the hell they’re talking about. They tell him it’s simple. He shot Montell in the back. And now they’d like to know why.”
“Sounds like every cop’s worst nightmare,” said Gurney. “But at least this Montell guy had a loaded weapon, right?”
“He did. That much was okay. But the bullet in the back was a big problem.”
“Did the cop try to use the old ‘He turned away just as I pulled the trigger’ explanation?”
“No. He kept saying that the shooting went down exactly the way he described it. He even insisted that Montell absolutely did not turn away, that he was facing him straight on from start to finish.”
“Interesting,” said Gurney, a thoughtful light in his eyes. “What’s the punch line?”
“Montell had actually been shot in the back a couple of minutes earlier by an unknown assailant—hence the original report of shots fired to which the officer was responding. After being left to die in the alley, Montell managed to get back up on his feet—just in time for our hero to arrive. Montell was probably in a state of shock, didn’t know what the hell he was doing with his gun. Officer fires—misses Montell completely—and Montell collapses again.”
“How did IA finally put it all together?”
“A thorough second search of the area turned up a slug in the gutter outside the alley with a trace of Montell’s DNA on it—the gutter behind where the officer had been standing, meaning the original round had come from the opposite direction.”
“Lucky find,” said Gurney. “Could have turned out differently.”
“Don’t knock it,” said Esti. “Sometimes luck is all you got.”
Hardwick was drumming his fingertips on the table. “How does this alley thing relate to the Spalter shooting?”
“I don’t know. But for some reason it came to mind. So maybe it does relate somehow,” Esti said.
“How? You think Carl was shot from a different direction? Not from the apartment house?”
“I don’t know, Jack. The story happened to come to mind. I can’t explain it. What do you think, Dave?”
Gurney answered hesitatingly. “It’s an interesting example of two things occurring in a way that everyone assumes are connected but aren’t.”
“What two things?”
“The officer shooting at Montell, and Montell getting shot.”
Chapter 49. Positively Satanic
While they were finishing their second round of coffee, Gurney played the recording of his Skype conversation with Jonah Spalter.
When it ended, Hardwick was the first to react. “I don’t know who’s the bigger piece of shit—Mick the Dick or this asshole.”