Outfoxed: An Andy Carpenter Mystery (23 page)

“Where did you follow them to?”

“A rest area on the Garden State Parkway. When we arrived, Mr. Atkins was walking the dog he had escaped with.”

“How did you know that Mr. Carpenter knew Mr. Atkins’s location?”

“I was hopeful but had no knowledge. It turned out that he actually didn’t know his whereabouts; they were following a GPS signal on the dog’s collar.”

“Did Mr. Atkins resist arrest?”

“No, he did not.”

Trell thanks Pete and turns him over to me. If Pete is worried about a potential attack, he’s hiding it well. “Captain Stanton, in addition to Mr. Atkins, who else did you consider a suspect during any point in your investigation?”

“Mr. Atkins was the only suspect,” he says.

“So you heard about him from Ms. Maurer at around 6:00
P.M.
, and at around 9:30
A.M
. the next morning you arrested him. Did you sleep that night?”

He nods. “I did.”

“How long?”

“I don’t remember exactly. Maybe seven hours.”

“So if we deduct time for dinner and breakfast, as well as the hour and a half following me, your active investigation prior to arresting Mr. Atkins was about five hours or so, during all of which you were focused on him?”

Pete smiles, as if tolerating this silliness. “I’ll go with your math.”

“Did your investigation after the arrest include looking for any possible additional suspects?” I ask.

“There was no need for that.”

“Because an eyewitness placed Mr. Atkins at the scene?”

“That was a main reason,” he says.

“Ms. Maurer was also at the scene. Why wasn’t she a suspect?”

“She hadn’t escaped from prison.”

“So it was the escape that preempted your investigation? Did you ever consider that he might have escaped to prevent the murders?”

“I did not.”

“Obviously,” I say. Trell objects and Hatchet sustains. “You said when you arrived on the scene, there was a great deal of blood.”

“Yes.”

“Were there bloody footprints leading from the bodies?”

He nods. “There were some, yes.”

“Were the forensics people able to measure the size of the shoes that made those prints?”

“It was very difficult because they were smeared. The estimate was ten and a half.”

“Do you know the size the defendant wears?” I ask.

“Nine and a half.”

“But that information didn’t cause you to question your lack of investigation?”

“No. As I said, forensics had little confidence in the measurement,” he says.

“Are you familiar with the earlier testimony that based on the wounds, there would definitely have been blood spurting onto the perpetrators and around the scene?”

“I did not hear that testimony, but I believe that it’s likely, though not certain,” he says.

“Yet Ms. Maurer did not see blood on Mr. Atkins’s clothing, did she?”

“She did not report seeing any, no.”

“Seeing blood all over someone is the kind of thing that makes an impression, doesn’t it? It’s sort of memorable, right?”

Trell objects, and Hatchet sustains and tells Pete not to answer.

I continue. “When you took Mr. Atkins into custody, did you find blood on his clothing?”

“No.”

“In his car?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Not even a trace?” I ask, feigning surprise.

“No.”

“What about the motel room where he had spent the night? Any blood there?”

“No.”

“Captain Stanton, if you had investigated for an additional ten minutes or so, would you have wondered why there was no blood?”

“He could have changed his clothes and discarded the blood-stained ones.”

“Well, the prison officials didn’t see him carrying a suitcase with him, so do you think he walked into a store, wearing blood-soaked clothing, and bought a new outfit?”

“I don’t know what he did. It was a well-planned escape; he could certainly have arranged for a change of clothes.”

“Have any local stores reported that he was a customer?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Did you canvass local businesses to ask if he’d bought clothes or supplies?”

“No.”

“Did you find the murder weapon in Mr. Atkins’s possessions?”

“No.”

“Any local store come forward to say that they sold him a knife?”

“No.”

“So, if I can recap, the only evidence of any kind that you found is the eyewitness testimony of Ms. Maurer?”

“We have him present at the scene, and we have him fleeing the scene.”

“Is fleeing the scene the same as leaving?”

“In this case it is.”

“Is it possible that he feared you would conduct an incomplete investigation and jump to the conclusion that he was guilty? Could he be smart enough to know exactly what would actually happen?”

Another objection, which is sustained, so Pete doesn’t have to answer.

“Last question, Captain. When you and the other police cars arrived on the scene at the Garden State Parkway rest stop, did anything happen with the dog that Mr. Atkins was walking?”

“Yes, it ran in front of the cars as they were pulling up.”

“What did Mr. Atkins do?”

“He ran toward it and pulled it away before it could be hit.”

“Risking his own safety in the process?”

“Definitely,” Pete says, earning him points in my mind, and hopefully earning Brian points in the minds of any dog lovers on the jury.

“Thank you, Captain. No further questions.”

It’s going to be a long weekend. Just the act of readying the defense case is pressure enough; I need to be completely prepared to elicit exactly what I want from every witness. But this situation is infinitely more difficult, because I have to focus on getting Hatchet to let us present the case we want in the first place.

There is no doubt that Westman’s computer, as well as Bowie’s, constitutes a strong case of criminality. That is an easy argument to make; the problem is trying to make it to this jury. Because Hatchet’s question, posed in judge-speak, is going to be, “What the hell does that have to do with these murders?”

So I have to get by Hatchet and then deal with Trell. The latter presents another series of problems, but those are more traditional, and I face them every time. I have to anticipate the weaknesses he will see, and respond to them in my own head, before I can do so in front of the jury.

There is one thing that has bugged me right from the start. I don’t believe in coincidences; I never have. By that I mean I know they can happen, but chalking something up to coincidence is a last resort. Nothing can be classified as a simple coincidence until every other possible explanation is exhausted.

The coincidence in this case is Gerry Wright and Denise Atkins being murdered on the same day that Brian Atkins escaped. The timing worked perfectly to blame him for the crime, even though the killers could not have known he was going to escape, or when he was going to.

Or maybe they could.

I have no idea why I didn’t think of this earlier, but I don’t have time to beat myself up over it now. I’ve got to get out to the prison.

I get there in no time, because there is so little traffic on Saturdays. Brian is surprised to see me, since this is an unplanned visit. “Something wrong?” he asks. The question makes sense; the way the trial has gone so far there’s more reason to think a new development is negative than positive.

“Just some questions I need answers to,” I say. “When you were communicating with Denise in the days leading up to the escape, were you talking on the phone? I assumed you were, because you said cell phones are so prevalent.”

“They are, but we were mostly texting.”

“So the stuff about Petrone, about the danger, about how worried she was? Those were texts?”

“Mostly. I can’t say for sure that it was all of it. We did talk on the phone some.”

“What about the escape itself? Did you tell her you were about to do it in a text?”

“Yes, I’m sure I did.”

“Why did you text?”

“Because there are listening devices all over jails, Andy. Nobody can hear a text.”

“Can’t they intercept them somehow?”

He smiles, remembering whom he is dealing with. “No, all texts are encrypted; they can’t be intercepted and read.”

“Do you still have the phone with the texts on it?” I ask.

“No, they took everything when I was arrested.”

I leave the prison and head back home, calling Hike on the way. “Hike, I need you to get some things urgently.”

“Hold on,” he says. “Let me get a pen.”

This is apparently a larger task than one would imagine, because it takes about forty-five seconds. When he comes back, he says, “These things never write. And half of them leak; I got ink stains on three shirts last year. I have to wear a sweater over them.”

“Hike, are you familiar with the concept of ‘urgently’?”

“I’m ready,” he says. “Go ahead.”

“I need Brian’s cell phone, the one they took from him when he was arrested. I also need Denise Atkins’s cell phone and personal computer.”

“Okay, I’ll go right to Trell on this,” he says, uncharacteristically springing into action. “If he gives me any trouble, we’ll get a judge to authorize it.”

“Perfect. Get back to me as soon as you can.” Hike is actually an outstanding attorney, for a pain in the ass.

When I get home I brief Laurie on what is happening, and she has some more good news to give me. Cindy called, and her bosses are willing to give Tony Costa the use immunity we talked about.

I call Costa on the number he gave me and tell him what the government is going to do. I expect some resistance, some hesitancy to follow through on our deal, but I get none. The chance to help nail Petrone is very appealing to him.

Almost as appealing as it is to me.

Besides being really smart, the upside to Hike is that he’s an equal opportunity pain in the ass. When he wants something from people, he doesn’t just ask for it. He chews on their ankle and tortures them until they beg him to take it, just to get rid of him. It’s a somewhat-less-than-endearing quality, but I’m okay with it when I’m the one sending him on the mission.

In this case, Norman Trell was the unfortunate victim of Hike’s personality, and it took him little more than a day to cave. To get the bureaucracy to move on a weekend is no small task, but under pressure from Hike, Trell managed to secure and turn over Brian’s cell phone, as well as Denise’s computer and cell phone.

“What do you want me to do with them?” Hike asks when he calls to tell me the good news.

“Take them to Sam’s office. He’ll be waiting for you.”

I had called Sam to tell him what was going on, and of the need to go over the devices as quickly and thoroughly as possible. He promised that he would, and we arrange to meet before court in the morning.

My preparations for tomorrow’s court session are finished, and Sam is off doing his work, so I have some rare downtime. “You want to go out for dinner?” I ask Laurie.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Where do you want to go? Fancy as you like; money’s no object. You can even order an appetizer if you want.”

“Thanks, Diamond Jim,” she says. “Let’s go to Charlie’s.”

This is my kind of woman.

On the way there, Laurie says, “We need to talk.”

Uh-oh. I can’t remember ever enjoying a talk that I needed to have. “Hurry up and tell me,” I say. “It’s not safe for me to cringe and drive.”

“Nothing to cringe about,” she says. “I just think I should go to be with Ricky. The investigating phase is about over, and I can tell from our conversations on the phone that he’s missing us. And I’m sure as hell missing him.”

I nod. “So am I. It turns out that having a child is different than having a turtle.”

She smiles. “That it is. And as great as Celia is, and as much as Ricky likes her, I just don’t want him to feel like we dumped him there.”

“You think we should bring him home?” I ask.

“Not yet, not when we’ve gone this far. There’s too much downside risk. Soon.”

“Okay, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

She smiles. “Good.”

When we get to Charlie’s, Pete is sitting at our regular table. I’m not happy about that, but it could be worse. Vince could have been here also.

I’d prefer to sit alone with Laurie at a different table, but she lights up when she sees Pete and drags me over there. “Can we join you?” Laurie asks.

Pete looks at me, then says to her, “Just you? Or F. Lee Shithead as well?”

She laughs. “Both of us.” And she sits down, not waiting for an answer. I sit down as well.

“Pete’s upset because I made him look like a blithering idiot on the stand. Actually, that’s not accurate. I merely brought out the fact that he’s a blithering idiot.”

“I wiped the floor with you,” he says.

Neither of us are telling the truth, so we move past it quickly enough. The presence of Laurie and beer are more than enough to take us both out of our bad moods. Before long we’re actually having a good time.

As we’re getting the check, or more accurately, as I’m getting the check, Pete says, “So, you going to throw yourself on the mercy of the court tomorrow?”

“Actually, I’m going to do something you’ve been trying to do for years, without any success. And I don’t mean look presentable and not sound like an idiot.”

“What might that be?” he asks, ignoring the insults.

“I’m going to get Dominic Petrone.”

“You got life insurance?” he says, as I see Laurie wince slightly.

“Of course. Marcus.”

He nods. “Good enough.”

As we’re getting up, he says, “Andy, wait a minute.”

“What now?”

“If you need help, I’m the first call you make. You got that?”

“Got it.”

“You’re an asshole, but you’re my friend,” he says.

“This is a moment I’ll cherish,” I say.

“Thank you, Pete, sincerely,” Laurie says. “He’s an asshole, but he’s my husband.”

“I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,” I say, and head for the exit.

I meet Sam in the office at 7:00
A.M.
to hear what he found on the devices. He doesn’t look tired, which leads me to observe, “Doesn’t look like you stayed here all night.”