It is clear from the moment I arrive that Massengale is angry, and it doesn’t take much longer to discover that it’s not me she’s angry with. “Stacy Harriman-Diana Carmichael-was part of WITSEC,” she says. “I shouldn’t be confirming that for you, but I am.”
“Thank you for that,” I say.
“I had been told otherwise, which is why I made those representations to the court.”
I believe her, and I tell her so. I also tell her that I am here to negotiate with the U.S. government, and I have chosen her as their representative.
“I have no standing to represent anyone,” she says.
“I think you’ll have all the standing you’ll need,” I say. “All I ask is that you convey my terms to the appropriate officials and tell them they have twenty-four hours to respond.”
She smiles; she doesn’t yet know what my terms are, but she thinks she’s going to like them. “Fair enough,” she says.
“Good. Here’s what I want. Richard Evans must be released from jail immediately; I don’t care how it’s done. I want him out and the conviction wiped from his record. Then I want ten million dollars to help compensate him for the loss of five years of his life, to say nothing of the pain and suffering he has had to endure. I believe he can get more in the lawsuit I will otherwise file.”
“What are you offering in return?” she asks.
“Partial confidentiality.”
“What does that mean?”
“Mr. Evans is free to discuss everything with the press, with the following exceptions. He will not reveal that the government was aware of his innocence, that it misrepresented to the court, or that it tried to wiretap and otherwise sabotage his legal team. He also will not reveal the terms of the settlement.”
“Ten million dollars is something of a reach, don’t you think?” she asks.
“Not compared to what the government will recover when they start digging into Hamadi and everyone else. Either way, it’s not negotiable. If my offer isn’t accepted by close of business tomorrow, we file suit the next morning and start booking talk show appearances immediately. And with what I know about Afghanistan and the government’s behavior in this case, ten million dollars to shut me up is a bargain.”
She agrees to convey my offer, and I get the feeling she’s relishing doing so. I also wouldn’t be surprised if she testified for our side, should this ever go to trial.
I head home for a planned meeting with Pete Stanton. Pete is feeling pretty good right now; the arrests of Stacy Harriman and Anthony Banks are by far the biggest of his career. He’s been all over the media talking about it, including an interview on the Today Show this morning. He has had to say repeatedly that he can’t reveal details of the investigation, so basically all he does is smile a lot.
If Pete is grateful to me for putting him in this position, he’s hiding it well. I tell him that there are a few things I still can’t figure out, and ask if he can fill me in on where the investigation stands.
“I should tell you, a private citizen, about confidential police work?” he asks. “Why would I do that?”
“Let me take a shot at a reason,” I say. “How about so you’re not forced to buy your own beer from now on at Charlie’s?”
“On the other hand, we need more openness between law enforcement and the private citizenry,” he says.
“Since it obviously wasn’t Stacy, whose body washed up on shore?” I ask.
“Still no ID on that. We’re checking missing-persons records for that period. Whoever it was, they took her hair and put it on the hairbrush at Richard’s house and then put some of her blood on the boat, so it would seem to match Stacy’s DNA.”
“They would have had to find someone with the same body type, hair color…”
He shakes his head sadly. “Good reason to get murdered, you know?”
“Any luck finding Gary Winston?” I ask.
“Not yet… Hopefully Stacy will give him up. But he’ll be found-surgeons aren’t the type to hide in the wilderness eating leaves and shit. They like to come out and have a good meal once in a while.”
As far as I can tell, and Pete agrees, Winston is the last missing member of the conspiracy. Had I realized earlier that Winston was a plastic surgeon, stationed in Afghanistan to deal with serious battle wounds, I might have caught on to the scam earlier.
I hadn’t recognized Durelle or Carelli from their pictures and just assumed that it was because they were taken years ago. In fact, Winston had altered their faces enough to be consistent with new identities, as he had done with Stacy.
Karen was targeted out of fear that because of her closeness to Stacy, she might see through it and recognize her. The night before she was shot, Franklin heard me agreeing to let her accompany me to Short Hills to see Hamadi. Their fear was that she might see Stacy then or shortly thereafter.
Stacy had obviously only pretended to be a witness for the government, to deflect suspicion from her. She was actually a key conspirator but allowed herself to be put into WITSEC, knowing full well she would not remain there.
“When is your client getting out of jail?” Pete asks.
“I’m working on it.”
“Let me see if I understand this,” he says. “You lose a murder case in which there was no murder, and you can’t spring your client even though the victim turned up?”
“These things are complicated.”
Pete nods. “I know one thing for sure. Clarence Darrow, you ain’t.”
* * * * *
“CHECK YOUR E-MAIL.”
That is the short and to-the-point message from Alice Massengale that is on my answering machine when I return from my morning walk with Tara and Reggie. Tara is clearly loving having Reggie back, so much so that I’m thinking maybe I should get another dog when he leaves. I’ll have to discuss it with her.
I turn on my computer, and I see an e-mail from Massengale, which seems to contain a document to be downloaded. After ten minutes of trying, I am forced to admit that downloading is simply not something at which I have the required expertise.
I am about to call Sam Willis, when the doorbell rings. It is Karen, coming over to find out in person if we’ve made any progress in getting Richard out of jail. The situation is even more frustrating to her than to me.
“Do you know how to download something from an e-mail?” I ask.
“You don’t?” is her incredulous response.
“Of course I do. It’s just that you said you wanted to help out on Richard’s case, and-”
“Where is it?”
I take her over to the computer, and she sits down. She makes a few clicks with the mouse, and within thirty seconds she is jumping up and down and screaming with pure joy.
My instincts tell me this is good news, but I sit down and look at the screen to find out just how good. The document Massengale sent is a letter, for me to sign, essentially agreeing on behalf of the government to the terms as I presented them to her.
Richard is going to be free, and Richard is going to be rich.
Karen prints out the agreement, and I sign it. She offers to hand-deliver it to Massengale’s office so I can focus on the mechanics of getting Richard out of jail.
I place a call to Hawpe’s office and am pleased to learn that the process has already begun. Massengale had assumed I would find the terms acceptable, since they were my terms, and had taken the initial necessary steps.
Once I’ve done all I can over the phone, I head down to the prison. It is my opinion, based on very substantial feedback over the years, that I can be even more obnoxious and annoying in person than on the phone.
Even under my relentless prodding, there is a limit to how fast the bureaucracy will move, and it’s not until three o’clock that I get to enjoy the sight of Richard Evans walking through the prison doors to freedom.