Pete comes over and joins the discussion, mainly to report once again that no progress has been made toward finding Reggie, and that he seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. I’m going crazy about it and getting more and more pessimistic that we’ll never get a ransom demand. If we were going to get one, it would have come already.
We bring Pete up to date on what we know and what we suspect about Stacy’s real identity and why she was a protected witness. He has a slightly different take on this. “If it’s money that was stolen, maybe they put her in the program not so much so that she could someday testify, but rather to insure that she never would.”
I don’t understand, and I tell him so. He continues, “That money is gone; they’re never going to see it again. If they catch the crooks and have a trial, then they have to publicly confront the embarrassment that they screwed up and lost billions of dollars. If they don’t, then nobody finds out the truth about it.”
“Right. But if there was some other kind of misconduct, like if she witnessed torture or something, the army might also want to keep that quiet.”
Either scenario makes sense in light of the way the government has acted, trying to keep the case from being reopened and, failing that, attempting to thwart us at every turn.
We kick this around a while longer until it’s time for Kevin and me to start our trial preparation for tomorrow. It’s extraordinarily frustrating to realize that nothing that we have learned today or talked about tonight is going to make it to the jury.
Before Pete leaves, he gives me three sheets of paper. It is the result of the investigation I suggested into Franklin’s work at customs, a comparison of the cargo entering before and after his death. I want to look at it because I still have no idea where Franklin fits into all this, but I just don’t have the time right now.
Kevin and I are at it until almost one in the morning, including a half-hour walk that he takes with Tara and me. I’ve been trying to get Kevin to get a dog, since he loves them, and he’s weakening. He explains that right now he’s trying to figure out what he would do with the dog if he had to spend an extended time in the hospital.
“Why? Are you sick?” I ask.
He smiles weakly. “You have no idea; I just don’t like to talk about it.”
Oh.
Our first witness in the morning session is Michelle Miller, a travel agent with an office in Englewood. She met with Richard the day before Stacy died, and she testifies that the meeting was to finalize their honeymoon plans.
“They were going on a cruise through the Panama Canal,” she says.
“Did he give you a deposit?”
She nods. “He did. One thousand dollars.”
“Was it refundable in the event that they had to cancel their trip?” I ask.
“It was not.”
I turn her over to Hawpe. “Had you spent a great deal of time with Mr. Evans and Ms. Harriman when they were together?”
She shakes her head. “No, I actually never met Ms. Harriman.”
“I see. So you did not know what you would describe as intimate details of their marriage?”
“I did not.”
“If the deposit had been refundable and then Mr. Evans committed suicide, would he have been around to receive the refund?”
I object and Judge Gordon sustains, but Hawpe’s point had been made. A murder-suicide is an irrational act, and simply making a honeymoon reservation is no proof at all that Richard could not have done it.
We then call a series of witnesses who spent time with Richard and Stacy and who talk about how much they seemed to love each other.
Hawpe is basically dismissive of these witnesses, getting each one to admit that they have no idea what goes on behind the closed doors of anyone’s relationship other than their own.
It’s been a day of making small gains and pretending they are big, but we’re going to have to do much better. And our chance will come tomorrow, when we call Dr. King and Jeffrey Blalock.
I head home for a long night with Kevin preparing for our witnesses. Dr. King presents an interesting problem, and a role reversal of sorts. In most cases where there has been a preliminary hearing, the witnesses that testify are almost exclusively those of the prosecution, since the purpose is to establish probable cause. The defense thus has the advantage of having heard the testimony before it is given again at trial.
In this case, because the burden was on us at the hearing to bring this to a retrial, it is our witnesses, like Dr. King, who have already been on record. It’s an advantage for Hawpe, but one we have to live with.
It’s almost midnight when we’re finishing our preparations. Kevin’s getting ready to leave, and I’m reading the report Pete left with me, when I immediately see it. “Look at this,” I say.
Kevin comes over, and I hand him the papers. “It’s the list of companies bringing large amounts of goods into Franklin’s area of customs, before and after his death.”
Kevin looks at it, but nothing registers. “And?”
At the bottom of the second page is a list of companies that have had dramatically less come through customs since Franklin’s death. “If I remember correctly, a few of those names were on the list that Sam tracked down. The companies that Hamadi was dealing with.”
I check back through the files and confirm my suspicions; four of the companies are on both lists. The man whom a worried Donna Banks called after my visit seems to have been involved with Franklin in customs activity. I don’t believe in coincidences, but even if I did, this wouldn’t be one of them.
By the time Kevin and I finish thrashing this out, it’s one thirty in the morning and we’ve got a plan. At least, I’ve got a plan; Kevin cautions me against it.
The first part of the plan involves calling Vince Sanders. I want to do it now rather than the morning, because I will be heading for court early, and I want him to get on it first thing. Also, psychologically I want to get the ball rolling.
Vince groggily answers the phone with “This better be good, asshole.” Apparently he’s not so sleepy that he can’t see his caller ID.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Vince, but I need a big favor.”
He doesn’t say a word, which could mean he doesn’t want to, or else that he fell back asleep. I decide to push on. “Vince, I need to speak to Dominic Petrone.”
“Is that all?” he asks, and then speaks to an imaginary person in bed with him. “Dominic, honey, Andy Carpenter wants to talk to you. And when you’re finished, could you run over to the asshole’s house and put a bullet in his head?”
“Vince, it’s urgent, and I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that he’ll be glad you set up the meeting.”
“You want to tell me what it’s about?”
“I wish I could, but I can’t.”
“Repeat after me. If a story of any kind comes out of this, Vince is the person I will give it to, along with an exclusive interview.”
I repeat the vow, and Vince agrees to call Petrone in the morning.
Tomorrow is showing signs of being an important day.
* * * * *
DR. GERALD KING has brought his A game to court today.
In direct examination, he is even more effective than he was at the hearing. He’s a consummate witness; all a defense attorney has to do is wind him up and let him go.
I let him go over his assessment of what happened that night on the boat, and his absolute certainty that Richard did not take any pills. It’s basically the same story he told at the hearing, with more charts and even more assertiveness.
Hawpe certainly has been preparing for him for weeks, but if he makes a dent, it’s not worth calling the insurance company to repair. The best Hawpe can get from him is an admission that the prosecution’s version of events is “not impossible,” but even that draws a sharp comeback from Dr. King.