Part 28 (1/2)
The only acceptable option Kevin and I can see is to be aggressive and shake matters up. We've got a client to defend.
I place a call to Hamadi's business phone number at Interpublic Trading and reach an answering service. It's seven o'clock, and it's logical that no one would still be there. When your company's sole function is to arrange the importation of absolutely nothing into the country, not much overtime is required.
I tell the woman that I am trying to reach Hamadi on absolutely urgent business. Her reaction is not exactly heartening; she sounds as if she's falling asleep as I give her the message. I ask her to tell Hamadi that ”I know about Franklin and the empty crates, and the world will know about it tomorrow.”
I hang up with no confidence that the message will be conveyed tonight. I try to get Hamadi's home number from information, but the operator says it's unlisted.
This is obviously a job for Sam Willis, who laughs in the face of unlisted phone numbers.
I call Sam, who, for the first time in my experience, doesn't answer his cell phone. This is so unusual that if I were a good friend I would start calling hospitals to see if he's in a coma somewhere. Instead I leave a message that it's urgent that he call me back.
Kevin and I start to go over the closing statement I will be giving. As with my openings, I like to plan the main notes that I am going to hit, but not write out a speech or memorize anything. I feel I connect better with the jury that way.
Less than ten minutes goes by before the phone rings. I pick it up quickly, expecting it to be Sam. It isn't.
”Mr. Carpenter, this is Yasir Hamadi.”
”Mr. Hamadi, you're about to be in a lot of trouble.”
”Or we can both walk away from this with our respective goals achieved.” He sounds unruffled and unworried. I, on the other hand, am very worried and thoroughly ruffled.
”Please explain that,” I say.
”As I'm sure you understand, this is coming at me quite suddenly. I will need some time to deal with it, and providing me with that time will very much be to your client's benefit.”
”How will my client benefit?”
”I will give you information that will result in his acquittal.”
”How much time do you need?” I ask, though I can't imagine an answer that I will be willing to go along with.
”Ninety-six hours.” I am struck not only by the absurdity of the number but also by its specificity.
”You're wasting my time. You have ninety-six minutes minutes to tell me what I need to know, and then, if it's as valuable as you say, I'll hold off on reporting what I already know.” I'm okay with making this pledge, since all I really have on him are suspicions without proof. to tell me what I need to know, and then, if it's as valuable as you say, I'll hold off on reporting what I already know.” I'm okay with making this pledge, since all I really have on him are suspicions without proof.
He doesn't answer for so long that I think he may have quietly hung up. Finally, ”I will meet you tonight.”
”In a public place,” I say, thinking of Franklin's arranged meeting with Karen.
”No, it can't be. Believe me, that is not possible.”
”Why not?” I ask.
”You don't know the people you are dealing with. But you can choose our meeting place, and you can bring anyone you want with you, so long as it is not the authorities. I will be alone.”
I'm not thrilled with this, but I don't think I can push him any further. I direct him to Eastside Park, where I will have home field advantage, and he says he can be there by eleven. That will give me plenty of time to make sure my buddy Marcus is there by my side.
As soon as I get off the phone I call Marcus. He's probably right outside the house but doesn't say so one way or the other when we talk. I tell him what is going on and that I want him here at 10:45. He grunts either yes or no; I'll know for sure at 10:45.
”What will you do if Marcus doesn't show up?” Kevin asks when I hang up.
”Call Pete Stanton and ask him to come.”
”Didn't Hamadi say no police?”
”I'll tell Pete not to show his badge.”
Marcus shows up right on time, and I explain the ground rules to him. ”I just want to talk to the guy. If he wants to do anything other than talk, you should stop him. As hard as you want.”
Marcus and I drive to the same area of the park where we had our encounter with Winds.h.i.+eld Man. It is on the lower level near the baseball fields, and to get there we drive down a road that we referred to as Dead Man's Curve when we were kids. While it's a fairly steep hill as it wraps around, the nickname we gave it shows that a child's perspective can be a little warped.
Marcus and I are there at a minute before eleven, and we get out of the car together. There's plenty of moonlight, and I walk a few yards to where I can see the curve, since that is the way Hamadi will be entering. There is no sign of him, but it's not that easy to find this place, so I'm willing to give him a grace period.
”Let's give him a few minutes,” I say to Marcus, but he doesn't answer, which is no great surprise. What is a surprise is that when I turn to look at Marcus, I discover that he is gone.
”Marcus?”
No answer. I'm going to take it on faith that Marcus is still here but has decided that protecting me is more easily accomplished by staying out of sight.
With nothing better to do, I look back toward the curve. At about ten after the hour I see a car up above, beginning to make its way down. It's traveling slowly, as if the driver is unsure where he is going. That's a good sign.
The car moves silently along until it is about halfway down the curve, wrapping around and descending toward me, though still at least two hundred yards away. Suddenly I hear a deafening noise and see a sight so amazing I have to do a double take to make sure it's real.
The car is now completely engulfed in a ball of flames, yet it continues to roll down the curve. In the darkness it looks surreal; it's momentarily hard to realize that someone has undoubtedly just burned to death in it.
Before I even have time to react, I feel a smas.h.i.+ng blow in my gut, and I find myself off my feet, up in the air. In an instant I am literally flying, and I've flown maybe twenty yards before I realize that I have been lifted off the ground by Marcus, and that I am draped over his shoulder.
He is carrying me away from my car, probably thinking that it might be the next target. We travel like this across the field and to the pavilion, which houses the snack bar and restrooms but which is, of course, closed at this hour. Once we're there he puts me down, and we watch the burning car complete its descent and crash into a tree.
Actually, I'm the only one watching it. Marcus has his eyes focused on the top level, since that is where the shooter must have been. What he used to shoot, I can't even imagine.
With Hamadi dead, I also can't imagine how the h.e.l.l I'm ever going to find out the truth.
”THIS, AS AS I told you in my opening statement, is a very easy case.” I told you in my opening statement, is a very easy case.”
That is how Hawpe starts his talk to the jury, who are paying rapt attention. I only wish they had been in Eastside Park with me until three in the morning; then they would be as groggy and unfocused as I am.
I spent the hours after the explosion playing a balancing act with Pete Stanton and his detectives. I gave them Hamadi's ident.i.ty and told them that he was coming to give me information about a case, but I revealed little else. Not knowing whether there are any federal law enforcement agencies I can trust with this, I decide to hold back for now.
I did take the opportunity to tell Pete Stanton about the money smuggling at the port, and Chaney's involvement in it. He'll go to the feds, and they'll start an investigation. Hopefully Chaney will go down, but Petrone will emerge unscathed, having been alerted by me as part of our deal. I'm not thrilled by my role in this, but it's the best I could do.
”And that is exactly what it has proven to be,” Hawpe continues. ”Richard Evans went out on a boat one night with his fiancee, and he killed her and threw her body overboard. He then tried to kill himself, an effort that was thwarted only by the Coast Guard.
”Witnesses have placed them alone on the boat together, and there has been no evidence to the contrary. The defense has suggested everything from murderous stowaways to marauding pirates but has offered not the slightest facts to back up their theories.
”We don't know why this crime was committed. Ms. Harriman told her neighbor that she and Richard Evans were having problems in their relations.h.i.+p, and she feared his temper. So perhaps he just flipped out in a momentary rage, then tried to kill himself when he realized what he had done.
”Or maybe he was depressed, and planned an evening that would provide a bizarre form of escape. Or it's possible that she told him she was leaving the relations.h.i.+p, and he couldn't handle the rejection.