Unleashed (24 page)

I get the rest of the information that Hilda and Eli have, and then leave them with Hike. It’s not a fair thing to do to them, considering what they’ve come up with. But I go into the other room to call Agent Muñoz. He’s not available, so I leave word that I need to speak with him urgently.

He calls back within three minutes; when Andy Carpenter speaks, agents listen.

“This better be good,” Muñoz says. “I’m at my daughter’s dance recital.”

“It’s good, but first we deal.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass, Carpenter.”

“In my life, I think that’s the sentence I’ve heard more often than any other. In second place is ‘Kiss my ass, Carpenter.’ The two are neck and neck.”

“What have you got?”

“I’ll tell you on two conditions. One, when you investigate it you tell me what you come up with.”

“Deal, within reason,” he says.

That was the easy one. “Two, you testify at the hearing on Friday.”

“Kiss my ass, Carpenter.”

“The gap is being narrowed,” I say. “But those are my terms.”

A pause, and then, “Okay, but it has to be real good.”

“There’s a man named Cardenas. He lives in Elizabeth, but he works in Newark. He also received wired money from the Imachu account.”

“That’s it?” Muñoz asks, not yet impressed and not knowing that I have a flair for the dramatic.

“Except for one thing,” I say. “That job he has in Newark? It’s at the port. He’s a customs manager.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and then finally, “I’ve gotta go. My daughter can’t dance for shit anyway.”

“Are you going to testify?”

Another pause. “I’ll be there Friday.”

It’s probably the only conversation with Hike that I’ve ever looked forward to. I’m sitting in the witness box, having just sworn to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And Hike is preparing to take me through direct testimony.

It’s amazing how different the room looks from here. I’ve approached witnesses hundreds of times, so I’ve certainly been standing near here. But somehow it’s a very different perspective. It’s like sitting in the first row of a theater versus sitting on the stage.

“Good morning, Mr. Carpenter.”

“Good morning, Mr. Lynch.”

Hike briefly takes me through my past involvement in the case, especially my representation of Denise Price. He does this for two reasons. One is to get it all in the record, even though Judge Hurdle is quite familiar with all of it. The other reason is to establish why I was involved with the situations and events I am about to testify to.

Hike asks me why I took the trip to Augusta, and I say that it was to see Donald Susser, who had contacted me and requested the meeting. “I was investigating Barry Price’s murder, and I had learned that he was flying to Augusta when his plane crashed. Additionally, I was aware that Mr. Price called Mr. Susser three times in the day before he died.”

“And you met with him?”

“I did, and with two of his friends. They said that they had been paid money to commit a murder, though they were not yet aware who the target was. They called it an assassination.”

“Where are those men today?”

“In a cemetery. They were murdered later that night.”

“To your knowledge, have the police made arrests in connection with those murders?”

“They have not. I confirmed that this morning.”

Hike, as per our plan, takes me through the events in Concord and Columbus, and the details about Imachu and its bank accounts. It feels endless to me, but in fact we do it much more quickly than originally planned.

Muñoz is going to testify to basically the same information, and it will have much more credibility and impact coming from an FBI agent. Therefore, Hike and I agreed before court began to cut our version short.

It’s a calculated gamble; we’re counting on Muñoz to be an effective witness. If he starts taking refuge in things being classified, or if he says that he can comment only in a very limited way on an ongoing investigation, we will be in big trouble.

More accurately put, Sam will be in big trouble.

Bader hasn’t objected at all during my testimony. He seems to be trying to indicate by his posture and attitude that this is all silly and really not worthy of time and effort. But he’s not about to give up the chance to cross-examine me.

“Mr. Carpenter, that’s quite a story.”

I smile. “Thank you. I thought I told it well.”

“I’d have to go through the transcript to be sure, but in all your testimony, did you mention the murder weapon, botulinum poisoning?”

“I don’t believe I did.”

“With all those people you mentioned, in Augusta and Concord and Columbus and wherever, did you present any evidence that any of them killed Barry Price?”

“No. But I did point out that Barry Price’s murder was just one of many.”

Bader turns to Judge Hurdle. “Your Honor, please instruct the witness to only answer the questions he’s asked.”

“Mr. Carpenter, consider yourself so instructed.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Bader continues. “Did you place any of the people you mentioned in the house where the poison was prepared?”

“No.”

“Did you present any evidence that any of those people had ever even met Barry Price?’

“No.”

He smiles. “But you have my compliments. It was a really good story. No further questions.”

Bader’s cross-examination was very effective, and at this point in the hearing I would say that we have very little chance to prevail. I would say it, that is, if I didn’t have Special Agent Muñoz coming in to testify on our behalf.

Once I’m off the stand and back at the defense table, I ask Judge Hurdle for a continuance. My request is that court not be in session tomorrow, Thursday, and resume on Friday.

“Mr. Carpenter, do you recall my mentioning that this hearing will be concluded before the holiday weekend?”

“I’ve committed it to memory, Your Honor, and I would not dream of doing anything to violate your wishes.”

“Then why the continuance request?”

“I have only one witness remaining, and he cannot be here until Friday.”

“And who might that be?”

“FBI Special Agent Ricardo Muñoz.”

It’s going to be a long day. I basically have nothing to do, at least as far as the preliminary hearing goes. Muñoz is my last witness, and he’s not here for me to prep him on his testimony. I know what my line of questioning will be, so no further study today is necessary.

The more I think about it, even with Muñoz’s testimony I’m pessimistic about our ability to prevail. I’ve started the process of beating myself up over my decision to ask for the prelim. I created media expectations that I don’t feel I’ve delivered on, and that’s not a good thing at all.

Muñoz is going to say the same things that I said when I testified. Even though he’ll have more credibility as an FBI agent than I do as Sam’s lawyer, the thrust of Bader’s cross of me will hold for Muñoz as well.

We’re telling a great story, but what the hell does it have to do with Barry Price?

It will drive me crazy that Sam is likely going to sit in jail, for at least a couple of months, awaiting trial. Even worse, there is no reason, at least right now, to think that we will prevail in that trial.

So I have got to dig deeper into the conspiracy that resulted in Barry Price dying on that airplane. I just wish I knew where to put my shovel. Each time that I thought I was getting close, whether with Donald Susser or Richard Glennon, they met a violent end. And they left no one behind to tell their story.

And then I realize that maybe they did. There was the woman who answered the phone when I called Donald Susser, who sounded scared and told me she probably couldn’t reach him. Maybe she knows something.

Closer to home, there’s Richard Glennon’s wife, whom I saw at the morgue when she was identifying his body. He said she was scared, so she must have known what was going on. Maybe she knows a great deal, and maybe she has a desire to get back at her husband’s killer.

I decide to start with Glennon’s wife for two reasons. First of all, she’s geographically closer, and I have to be here early tomorrow for the resumption of the hearing. Second, and more important, my feeling is that Susser was out on the periphery, that he was not central to whatever Barry Price was involved with.

Glennon, on the other hand, was where the money is, and I feel like this has been about the money all along. Whatever is going on, money is making it possible.

I’m not sure how to approach Mrs. Glennon. She’s just lost her husband, never the best time to talk to a lawyer involved in his death. Obviously I have no standing to make her talk to me if she doesn’t want to, and it seems rather unlikely that she’ll want to.

I could call Pete Stanton and ask him to come along, using his position as a detective investigating Glennon’s death. It wouldn’t be proper, and he’d torture me in the process, but he’d probably go along with it. Pete knows and likes Sam, and certainly doesn’t consider him a murderer.

I decide not to ask him to come with me. There’s a chance that his presence might inhibit Mrs. Glennon from telling me what I need to know, and if I don’t get anywhere with her, I can always try it again with Pete.

“I think I should go with you,” Laurie says.

“Why?”

“A female presence might make her more comfortable.”

“I don’t make women comfortable?” I ask. “Who makes women more comfortable than me?”

“With the notable and unfathomable exception of me,” she says, “have you had much luck with women in your life?”

“On second thought, maybe your coming is a good idea. My incredible manliness can be intimidating.”

I once again go through the file on Glennon; included in it was an address of a home in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, and an apartment on Eighty-seventh Street in Manhattan.

I call Pete Stanton, who I’m sure has been dealing with Mrs. Glennon in connection with his investigation, to ask if he knows where she is.

“Why?” is his response.

“I need to talk to her.”

“She hasn’t suffered enough?”

“I’ll be charming, and I’m bringing Laurie. But she might have information that can help Sam, so my usual waiting period to talk to grieving widows is going to have to be shortened this time.”

“She’s at the house in Jersey,” Pete says. “I told her that would be a good idea in case we needed her come in. I have a phone call scheduled with her in five minutes.”

“It would be helpful if you could suggest she talk to me.”

“Helpful to who?”

“Sam.” I’m trying to take further advantage of Pete’s positive feelings toward him.

Pete thinks about this for a moment. “I’ll tell her that your interest is in finding her husband’s killer and that talking to you might help her avoid testifying in court.”

“Perfect,” I say.

“I can’t tell you how delighted I am to have your approval.”

Click.

I wait twenty minutes and then call Mrs. Glennon. Pete has obviously spoken to her, because she says that I can come over right away, though she makes it clear she doesn’t have much time to give me.

I’ll take whatever I can get.

The visit by Mark Clemens was totally unexpected. Special Agent Muñoz had interviewed him twice in regard to the Price murder and its connections to the threatened assassinations, but little information had come out of those sessions.

Clemens had been calm and in command in those interviews, professing a desire to help and regretting that he was unable to really do so. But his demeanor now was different.

He was scared.

He was also, as they say, lawyered up. With him was Douglas Wagner, a prominent defense attorney in Manhattan, which showed that while Clemens might be scared, he wasn’t stupid.

“My client is in possession of some information that I believe you will find valuable, and he is prepared to submit a formal proffer of that information,” Wagner says.

“And in return?” Muñoz asks.

“In return he would receive immunity from prosecution.”

Clemens adds, “And protection.”

“Protection from what?”

“They’re going to try to kill me,” he says. “They’re killing everyone.”

According to the long-established plan, communications had already ended. Exceptions were permitted for unexpected emergencies, but the standard was that they must be mission threatening.

The men in the field had long been in place and had ample time to prepare and scout out their local field of fire. The media had unknowingly provided considerable help, broadcasting the time and route the parades would take, and more important, the specifics as to the political speeches that would be made at the conclusion.

Of course, not all the attacks would come at the respective parades’ conclusions. For example, once the ones on the East Coast had been executed, and the magnitude of the disaster hit, cities in earlier time zones would immediately go into full alert, and plans would be changed.

In those cities, other plans had already been made. In some cases the attacks would take place at the beginning of the festivities, and in others it would happen midroute. It was crucial that all attacks happen as close together as possible, to cut down on the ability of local law enforcement to anticipate and react.

But there was no scenario under which the overall impact of the day would not be devastating. The result would be that the entire power of the United States, military and civilian, would do whatever was necessary to track down the perpetrators.

Without question, some of the men in the field would be identified and arrested. That was understood by all and went with the territory.

But for those who had sent them there, those who directed the operation so brilliantly and effectively, it was a different situation entirely.

They would never be found.

Pete had successfully cleared the way. Diane Glennon is waiting for us. She is probably in her early thirties. I had never actually met her husband, only seen pictures of him, but the information I had said that he was forty-three.