Injustice (37 page)

“Gas tax legislation,” I say. “Worth hundreds of millions to the industry.”

Right in the middle of the board, he writes $$$ and draws the biggest circle of all.

I say, “Last-minute amendments delayed the bill two years in a row.”

“How do you know that?”

I tell him about Lizzy's work and about Representative Porter.

Upton grins. “Aha!” he says. “Lizzy! We have a secret weapon.” He writes “Amendments” on the board. Medium-sized circle. Then he writes “Porter” and draws a circle overlapping the “Amendments” circle.

I tell Upton about the big construction projects that Porter landed for his district.

“But there's nothing illegal about horse-trading like that,” Upton says. “One guy gets a pork barrel project for his district. In exchange he tags an amendment, a rider, on a bill for someone else. It goes on all the time.”

“I guess.”

“It's only illegal if payoffs are involved. But there's no evidence of any payoff to this schmuck.” Upton writes “Pork” and puts a medium circle around it abutting the Porter circle.

We're at a standstill. Both of us stare at the board. Upton says, “You know what we need to do now?”

“No, what?”

He opens two more beers and hands me one. “This is what.”

I study the whiteboard. I like how the circles are spread out in a pleasing pattern. I like the arrangement and how he balanced size and space. “I think you have some serious artistic talent,” I say.

He nods gravely. “Yes. I must.”

“Because that puddle chart . . .”

“Bubble shark.”

“Puddle shark?”

“Yes. The puddle shark is, like, a masterpiece.”

“I know. Right?”

“I know.”

I gaze at the bubble chart. I pick up my cell phone and take a photo of it. Upton lifts some of the Subsurface files and starts flipping through. I take the Jimmy Mailing documents from the box, but its contents slide out of the manila folder and onto the floor. I get off my chair and kneel on the floor collecting all the pages, then sit back down and start going through them one by one. Some are upside down. I try arranging them back into order. The page on top now is a list of phone numbers, and without thinking about it, I start scanning down.

Suddenly, I'm thinking about Detective Sabin. She's very nice. And attractive. I don't think she was conning me in the park that night. She took my arm and I patted her hand and we walked together.

I think about Tina. I miss her. But she is barricaded in her fortress of emotional withdrawal, making me sleep at Friendly City like Napoleon in exile at Elba.

I chuckle out loud. “Napoleon,” I say.

Upton ignores me.

But Sabin: The reason I'm thinking of her right now, I realize, is because I'm staring at her birthday. (
Christmas Day
, she said.
Twelve-twenty-five. It's my birthday. Ironic for a Jewish girl
.) It was when we were looking at the texts from Lydia's prepaid cell phone: Lydia and her secret lover. The Christmas number belonged to the lover:
Something something something twelve-twenty-five
. Right now I'm looking at a list of numbers from . . . I don't know what.

I flip to the first page of whatever I'm holding. It is the call log from the phone found in Jimmy Mailing's car after he was killed. The phone was an untraceable, prepaid disposable. I get up and go
into my office for my file on Lydia's murder. I get the printout of texts between Lydia and her lover. The lover's phone number is 555-1225. The number of whoever called Jimmy Mailing on the evening before his murder was 555-1225.

“Upton, look at this.” I push the printouts in front of him and go to the coffee machine and brew a fresh pot. By the time I'm back with two steaming cups, Upton is upright at the desk studying the printouts.

“Do you realize what this means?” he says.

“It means my sister-in-law's secret lover, who is a person of extreme interest in the investigation of her murder, is also an associate of Jimmy Mailing's—maybe the last one to see him alive—and a person of extreme interest in
his
murder.”

“Why didn't anybody catch this before?”

It's a rhetorical question, a place holder while he gets some coffee into his system.

“Three phones,” I say. “Lydia's, Mailing's, and the Christmas one.”

“Christmas?”

“Twelve-twenty-five. They are all burners. Prepaid. No owner info. And since the investigation of Lydia's murder is in the hands of the local cops, and Dunbar's is the jurisdiction of the Bureau . . .”

“The only place the investigations meet is right here with you,” Upton says.

“We should assume that whoever called Mailing late on the night of his murder was setting up a meeting to kill him.”

“And if the mystery caller is who killed Mailing . . .”

“Maybe he killed Lydia, too,” I say.

“And the shootings have the same MO,” Upton says.

“Single shot to the head.”

“But I thought Henry killed Lydia,” Upton says.

“Of course he did.”

We drink coffee and try to think our way through this. I'm having trouble holding it all in my mind.

“Puddle shark,” I say.

Upton gets up and turns the whiteboard around. It's double-sided. He writes “Christmas number” and circles it. He writes “Bullet to head” and circles it. He writes “Henry” and “Murdering pedophile” and “Subsurface fixer” and “Lydia's lover” and circles them all. We draw arrows between the bubbles, we erase them, we move them around. But we can't make it all make sense.

“Is Henry involved somehow in the Subsurface mess?” Upton says. We ponder. It doesn't sound right. Henry is about perversion, not money.

“We have to find out who the Christmas number is,” I say. I dial Chip and ask if he can jump in his car and drive to my office. He was on his way home but says he'll turn around.

“What about those state detectives?” Upton says. “You should call them, too.”

I
should
call them. That was actually my first thought:
I should call Sabin.
But I wasn't sure whether I was calling her because of this new discovery or because I just wanted to call her. I could call Philbin, but with Henry's trial going on and Philbin and me both being called as witnesses, it isn't a good idea. I call Sabin.

Chip, Upton, Sabin, and I sit in Upton's office for over an hour, talking it through, but we don't come up with much. The only thing we're certain of is that these two cases, Lydia's murder and Mailing's murder, have just become entangled.

I
n the witness box, I raise my right hand and swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Will I?

I assume Monica has called me as a witness because she hopes to make Henry look as human as possible. She wants it known that he was my friend; that he was a good prosecutor (albeit inexperienced). That he cared about his career and displayed empathy for victims, integrity in his work, compassion in his relationships. That despite being initially shy and awkward, he was witty and fun-loving and relaxed once you got to know him. And that he was part of my family.

I remember the weekend at our cabin on the lake. It was after Lydia's murder. I have in my mind the image of Henry and Barnaby standing in the fading light of evening, throwing stones into the water. I was glad Henry was with us, pleased that he seemed to be recovering and moving forward.

I see the two of them side by side. Henry and Barnaby.

Will I tell the truth?

No. I will say anything to convict that man—to condemn him to hell. To remove him as far as possible from Barnaby, and from Tina and Lizzy and me, and from every other decent person on earth.

Will I tell the whole truth?
Nobody wants the whole truth. The court doesn't, and Monica definitely doesn't. Court cases are icebergs: The jury sees only a small tip of facts poking above the surface. Monica will try to elicit a few select truths that she can weave into one big lie that Henry is innocent. She doesn't want the truth that he date-raped a girl in high school. She doesn't want the truth that his fiancée had a lover because Henry, as a violent pedophile, had no interest in a normal adult relationship with a committed
partner. And Monica definitely won't want the truth that Henry killed Lydia because she had discovered his secret. Monica will pick and choose the truths she asks for, so maybe I'll pick and choose the truths I give.

She starts with basic questions: name and address. Then she asks what I do for a living:

MR. DAVIS:
I am an assistant U.S. attorney, head of the criminal division.

MS. BRILL:
And can you describe for the court your duties in that position?

I give a brief narrative of my job.

MS. BRILL:
And did you at some point have occasion to meet the defendant Henry Tatlock?

I say that yes, I did. She leads me through a history of my relationship with Henry and his work at the office. But she moves quickly, and the questions are superficial. Where I expect her to slow down and delve into something that could make him sound human and likable, she just pushes forward, seeming to barely hear my answers.

MS. BRILL:
So you're saying he'd become part of the family?

MR. DAVIS:
Yes.

MS. BRILL:
And he was engaged to your sister-in-law?

MR. DAVIS:
Yes.

MS. BRILL:
Are they still engaged? Are they married?

I'm astounded. Lydia's murder was mentioned briefly by Philbin in his testimony. Now Monica has offered me another wide-open door to talk about the murder. She definitely has a plan, but I have no idea what it could be.

MR. DAVIS:
No. Lydia was murdered last July Fourth. She was shot in the head at Rokeby Park. It was nighttime, and the killer made a halfhearted attempt to make it look like sexual assault and robbery. Her killer has not been found.

MS. BRILL:
I'm so sorry for this loss that your family experienced, Nick.

MR. DAVIS:
Thank you.

MS. BRILL:
So tell me, do you believe Henry Tatlock killed Lydia Trevor?

Before answering, I look at Gregory Nations. The question is outrageously objectionable for several reasons. But the answer can only help the prosecution. Of course I think he's guilty. I
know
he's guilty. Gregory Nations makes eye contact with me. He shrugs. So I answer:

MR. DAVIS:
Yes. I believe with all my heart that Henry Tatlock killed my sister-in-law.

MS. BRILL:
And when did you come to that belief?

MR. DAVIS:
When we got the DNA results from Kyle Runion's remains. That's when I finally recognized what a monster Henry is. I guess I had a blind spot until then.

MS. BRILL:
And that was in late October, wasn't it?

MR. DAVIS:
Yes.

MS. BRILL:
And so for almost four months, you held on to the belief that Henry had nothing to do with Lydia's death?

Gregory finally objects. The question is leading, and my belief isn't relevant. Judge Ballard sustains the objection.

MS. BRILL:
Let's go in a different direction, Nick. Let's talk about the investigation into Lydia's murder. Were you involved in that investigation?

MR. DAVIS:
Not directly, no.

MS. BRILL:
But did you follow it?

MR. DAVIS:
Of course.

MS. BRILL:
And did you meet with investigators to discuss it?

MR. DAVIS:
Yes.

MS. BRILL:
Can you name them?

MR. DAVIS:
Captain Jerome Dorsey and detectives Patrick Philbin and Rachel Sabin, all with the state troopers.

MS. BRILL:
And did these officers tell you who their main suspect was?

This is another open door, and again I bolt through.

MR. DAVIS:
Because of my relationship with Henry, they were hesitant to be real direct with me. At least Sabin and Dorsey were. But I knew they were looking at Henry.

MS. BRILL:
Are you implying that Detective Philbin made no bones about suspecting Henry Tatlock?

MR. DAVIS:
Yes. He was direct about it. He knew from the start that Henry had done it, and he was quite open about pursuing Henry.

MS. BRILL:
Did you think he was too focused on Henry, and that he wasn't open to looking for other suspects, and that the real killer was getting further and further beyond reach?

It's too much for Gregory. He objects again. The question was leading. Monica reponds by asking to have me declared a hostile witness, just as Bauer was. The judge calls Monica and Gregory up to the bench. They talk in whispers.