Play Dead Part 9

"Could it have gotten there any other way?"

He nods. "Yes, which is why it didn't attract much attention. It is found in sh.e.l.lfish."

Kevin speaks for the first time. "So where does that leave us?"

"In great shape," I say. "Richard is allergic to sh.e.l.lfish. I read it in the medical records."

Dr. King smiles as if his student had just made him proud. "Exactly. And it is a severe allergy. If he wanted to commit suicide, all he would have had to do was have a shrimp c.o.c.ktail."

Dr. King leaves, and I have to restrain myself from giving Kevin a high five. This is a very substantial development and, if accurate, puts a major dent in the prosecution case. Coupled with Reggie's existence, it could well be enough to get us a hearing. Kevin agrees and sets out to write a brief to file with the court.

My euphoria is short-lived, as Laurie shows up with Sergeant Allen Paulsen, one of the technology experts in the Paterson Police Department.

She comes right to the point. "Allen found a tap on your phone."

He holds up a small, clear plastic bag with a device in it. "It looks new-no weather marks or anything. It could be a couple of weeks old, but based on what Laurie witnessed, my best guess is, it was installed this morning."

"Are you here to check the office phones?"

He nods. "Right."

"That's not all, Andy," she says.

I don't like the way she said that. "It's not?"

She turns to Paulsen, inviting him to explain.

He does, again holding up the device. "This device is state-of-the-art; I've never seen one like it. I would bet a month's pay it's government issue."

Oh, s.h.i.t. "Local, state, or federal?" I ask, in descending order of preference.

"Federal," he says. "Definitely federal. Which agency, that I can't tell you."

Paulsen goes off to check the office and, after about fifteen minutes, tells me that the place is clean. He gives me the name of a guy and tells me that I should hire him to sweep my home and office for taps and bugs at least twice a week.

"They may not do it again," he says. "Because now that we've removed the first tap, they'll know you're on to them."

Paulsen leaves Laurie, Kevin, and me to ponder what all this means. In the brief time that I've been Richard's lawyer, I've been shot at by two hoods, one of whom was supposed to be dead, and had my phone tapped by a government agency.

"And I don't have a clue what the h.e.l.l it's all about."

"It's all about somebody wanting Richard Evans to stay in jail," Laurie says.

I nod. "Or not wanting the case opened up. Kevin, as part of the brief you should include the attempt on my life, and the phone tap. Request that Richard be moved to a secure area of the prison, in solitary if necessary."

"You think he's in danger?" Kevin asks.

"If he's dead there's no case to open up," Laurie points out.

"On the other hand, then there would be no reason to kill his lawyers," I say.

I'm a gla.s.s-half-full kind of guy.

THERE IS NOT a very high standard for getting a hearing. a very high standard for getting a hearing.

That's the good news. The bad news is, the standard for prevailing prevailing in the hearing, for being granted a new trial, is quite high. The defense needs to show that the new evidence would do more than just create reasonable doubt; it must show that an injustice is likely being committed by keeping the accused incarcerated. in the hearing, for being granted a new trial, is quite high. The defense needs to show that the new evidence would do more than just create reasonable doubt; it must show that an injustice is likely being committed by keeping the accused incarcerated.

Kevin's brief is terrific, which is no surprise, since he is probably the best I have ever seen at preparing them. The question we face is whether we should submit it now, since a hearing is likely to be held quickly if granted. By submitting the brief we are saying that we are ready to proceed, when in reality we are not.

Arguing for haste are the ominous things that have been happening to me, and the very real chance that Richard could be in jeopardy in prison. Without submitting the briefs, we have no chance to get him isolated, and therefore no way to get him out of grave danger.

After weighing all the factors, we send Kevin down to submit it while I meet with Sam Willis in his office, which is just down the hall from mine, to get a report on his computer investigation of the victim, Stacy Harriman.

I'm pleasantly surprised that he comes in all business, with no song or movie talking. He has her credit history, educational background, employment history, former addresses, birth certificate-the entire picture.

"Nothing unusual, Andy. Never in a lot of debt, never a late payment, straight B average in school, paid her taxes. If she lived, she would have had a house on Normal Lane and 2.2 children."

"Ever do any government work?" I ask.

"Not unless you consider teaching third grade to be government work."

He takes me through some more of her history, which further confirms my feeling that this is about Richard. Stacy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Thanks, Sam, you did a great job."

"It's nothing, Andy."

"No, really. You're terrific at it, you're fast, and you do it right the first time. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate it. You're a valuable member of the team."

"Andy... you had me at 'h.e.l.lo.'"

Sam leaves, and I use this alone time to figure out what it is I know, or at least what I believe. It promises to be a short session.

I would bet that Roy Chaney was worried when I showed up. Couple that with the fact that some branch of the government was eavesdropping on me, probably operating without court authority, and it's a decent bet that whatever it is has to do with Richard's job with U.S. Customs.

Complicating matters is the incident on the highway. It's clearly not the government's style to send shooters after me like that. It's certainly not a random shooting or a coincidence, but it's just as certainly beyond my capacity to figure it out at this moment.

One question that will ultimately have to be answered is the one Richard raised. Why, if the bad guys wanted to get him out of the way, did they go to the trouble of killing Stacy and faking his suicide? Why not just kill him?

The only answer I can come up with is that by making the murder-suicide look to be about a personal, domestic problem, it would take the focus off Richard's work. If he were simply murdered, the police would start searching for motive, and they might look toward his job. That would likely have been dangerous for the real killers. If it's a suicide, there are no killers to look for, no further reasons to investigate.

When I get back to my office, I am treated, if that's the right word, to an amazing sight. A three-way conversation is taking place between Karen Evans, Edna, and Marcus Clark. Kevin is sitting off to the side, openmouthed at what he is seeing and hearing.

Karen's genuine enthusiasm for anything and everything has actually bridged the gap between Edna and Marcus. These are two people with absolutely nothing in common and nothing to say to each other, yet Karen has gotten them connected.

As Edna has her pencil at the ready, Karen asks Marcus, "What's a three-letter word for 'foreign machine gun'?"

Edna says, "Second letter is a 'Z.'"

Marcus thinks for a moment. "Uzi." For Marcus this is the equivalent of a Shakespearean soliloquy.

Karen practically leaps out of her chair in delight. "That's right! That's right!" Then she turns to Edna. "It fits, right?"

Edna smiles and writes it down. "Perfect."

Karen turns to slap Marcus five, but he clearly isn't familiar with the concept, and she hits him in the shoulder. He doesn't seem to mind at all.

I can't overstate what an immense diplomatic and personal accomplishment this is for Karen. Were I president, I would immediately appoint her secretary of state. It makes Jimmy Carter's achievement at Camp David seem insignificant. Compared to Edna and Marcus, Arafat and Begin were blood brothers.

It's a mesmerizing sight, and it's with the greatest reluctance that I pull Kevin away. I've arranged for another interview with Richard to discuss his former job in more detail, to try to learn what it might have to do with the murder.

The unfortunate result of my departure will be that Marcus will follow close behind in his bodyguard role, thus breaking up this threesome. I'm not sure that even Karen's wizardry can ever re-create it.

The drive out to the prison is becoming an all too familiar one, and it's not something I enjoy. The place always looks the same, the guards always act the same, and the depressing nature of the surroundings always makes me feel the same.

But Richard looks more upbeat each time I see him. It's understandable; he has spent five years being ignored, a ward of the system, whom n.o.body cared about, other than his sister. Now there is activity, his lawyers are frequently coming to talk about his case, and just that alone brightens his day.

I tell him my feeling that Roy Chaney was hiding something, but he cannot be helpful in that regard, because he never even met Chaney. He certainly hasn't kept up with developments at the Customs Service; there would have been no reason to. Moreover, 9/11-inspired protective measures have had an evolving impact on how the customs people do their jobs, and Richard would have no way to be familiar with many of these new procedures.

Kevin asks, "Do you know anyone who still works there that we could talk to?"

Richard thinks for a moment and then nods. "You could try Keith Franklin."

"Who is he?" I ask.

"He works down at the pier, same level as I was. I'm pretty sure he's still there."

"You haven't kept in contact with him?"

Richard shakes his head. "Not for a few years. We were good friends; he and his girlfriend went out with Stacy and me a lot. But..."

"He dropped you when this all went down?" I ask.

He shrugs. "He was supportive during the trial, and then visited me on and off for a short time after that, but then he stopped coming. I can't say as I blame him."

"Do you have his home address or phone number?" I ask. "I'd rather not talk to him at his office."

"Not anymore, but you could ask Karen. She knew him pretty well; she was friendly with his sister." He smiles. "Karen, in case you haven't guessed, is friendly with everybody."

"I've picked up on that."

"Have you picked up anything else about her?"

The question surprises me. "Just that she designs dresses and would rather talk about you than herself."

He nods with some sadness. "She designs dresses so well that she has a standing offer to do a show in Rome. But she won't go, because she doesn't want to leave me. It's the same reason she left school."

"Where did she go to school?"

"Yale, majoring in English literature with a 3.8 average." He notices my surprise and then continues. "Then this happened. She's decided that if my life is going to be wasted, she'll join the party. She thinks she's helping me, but it makes it worse."

These are things about Karen that I never would have guessed. "You want me to try and talk to her?"

He shakes his head. "That won't help."

"What will?" I ask.

"Getting me out of here."

I nod and tell him that we have applied for a hearing and that it could take place within a couple of weeks. He is excited by the prospect, but it is tempered by concern. "What if we don't get the hearing?"

"Then we keep digging until we turn over more evidence, and then reapply," I say. "n.o.body's abandoning you, Richard."

"Thank you."

"But it may feel like that for a while. I'm concerned for your safety, so we're requesting that they put you into a more secure area."

"Solitary?"

I nod. "I'm sorry. I wouldn't be asking for it if I wasn't worried."

"Why would anybody want to go after me? I've been in here five years; who could I be a threat to?"

"Richard, when we answer that question, we'll know everything."

HAVING L LAURIE WAITING for me at home is as good as it gets. for me at home is as good as it gets.

Her pasta sauce is simmering on the stove while she's in the backyard playing with Tara and Reggie. I see them before they see me, and it's such a perfect sight that I almost want to hide and watch.

I try to be as positive a person as I can, but my logical mind always forces me to see the imperfections in any situation. In this case, the fact that Laurie and I are together maybe six or eight weeks out of the year is not exactly a subtle imperfection, and it sure as h.e.l.l doesn't fully satisfy my enjoyment drive.

Laurie sees me and yells, "Daddy's home!" and the two dogs run over to me, tails wagging, to receive the petting that is their due. We grab a couple of leashes and go for a walk in the park, and midway through, a thunderstorm hits. It's one of those warm rains that feel great, and none of us is of a mind to let it curtail our walk. By the time we get home we're all drenched and happy.

After dinner we sit down to watch a DVD of The Graduate. The Graduate. For some reason, Laurie feels about movies the way most people feel about wines, that they get better with age. For some reason, Laurie feels about movies the way most people feel about wines, that they get better with age. The Graduate The Graduate is barely forty years old and is a little current for Laurie's taste, but she relaxes her standards because it's so good. is barely forty years old and is a little current for Laurie's taste, but she relaxes her standards because it's so good.

We sit on the couch and drink chardonnay as we watch, and Tara and Reggie are up there with us. It's such a wonderful moment that it's hard for me to concentrate on the film, but I try to focus mainly because I need dialogue lines to compete with Sam Willis. Unfortunately, it's going to be tough to get "Mrs. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me?" into a conversation with Sam. Maybe I'll just scream "Elaine! Elaine!" at him the next time I see him. That should throw him off.

When the movie is over, I realize I haven't called Karen to ask if she can put me in touch with Keith Franklin. When I do, she says that she hasn't seen him in a while, but still knows his sister and will do whatever is necessary to make this happen.

"I'll get right on it," she says. "I'm on the case."

Laurie's already in the bedroom, which is sufficient incentive for me to sprint there. She's lying on the bed, writing in a journal that she keeps, recording the day's events and her thoughts about them. Laurie has told me that she has kept a journal since she was nine years old.

If you supplied me with all the paper and time in the world and paid me in solid gold coins, I would still not keep a journal. I'm going to go back and read about my own life? To learn my own point of view? Why would I want to know what I think after the fact? I already know what I think during the fact. I've always felt that the purpose of reading is to find out what other people think.