the new trial for Richard, I’m going to be intensely occupied with it.
I’ll still be jealous and worried about what she might be doing in Wisconsin, and who she might be doing it with. That usually begins about twenty-four hours after she gets on the plane to go home. She has never given me any reason to be concerned; my jealousy is more about my insecurity than her lack of trustworthiness.
“I wish I could stay and help you,” Laurie says.
“You’ve got your own criminals to catch.”
“You’ll keep me updated on what’s going on?”
She’s feeling left out; she’s not used to seeing me work a case without her having a role as my investigator. “I will.”
“I’m sorry, Andy. I’m having a tough time with this.”
“Move back here, Laurie. That’s the only way I’ll ever be completely happy.” That’s what my mind is thinking. What my mouth winds up saying is, “It’ll be fine, Laurie. It’ll be fine.”
And maybe it will. And maybe it won’t.
* * * * *
IN MY NEXT life I want to be an Army colonel.
Okay, maybe it’s not my first choice. But if I can’t be the starting quarterback for the Giants, or an all-star shortstop for the Yankees, then Army colonel is right up there on the list.
People listen to colonels. They follow their orders and don’t ask questions. They don’t ask if they can do it later or why it has to be done at all. Working for a colonel, Edna wouldn’t last ten minutes. What’s a five-letter word for “you’re out of a job, woman”?
The second-best thing to being a colonel is having one on our side, and thanks to Kevin’s sister’s choice of a husband, we have a beauty. I’m sure Kevin would have preferred that she marry an internist, but this has worked out pretty well.
Kevin has explained to Colonel Prentice that we need his help, and after asking a few questions, he made a phone call, and here we are at Fort Monmouth.
It’s the second time we’ve been to Fort Monmouth, and the place still does not look like an army base. It looks more like a collection of civilian office buildings, which is probably what it is about to be. The Army is closing Fort Monmouth as part of their overall base-closing plans. The town, like other towns facing the same situation, is quite upset about it. The base is a source of jobs and revenue that is hard to replace.
Last time Colonel Prentice helped us, he did so by sending us down here to meet with Captain Gary Reid, and he’s done the same thing this time. Captain Reid is now Major Reid, and he greets us just as crisply and politely this time. He informs us that he has already processed Kevin’s telephone request and has copies of the documents we need. They cannot leave the post or be recopied, he says, but we are free to sit in a private office and study them as long as we want. We are also allowed to take notes.
Archie Durelle’s Army record is relatively distinguished. He enlisted in 1994 and entered infantry training. He reached the rank of sergeant by the time he was sent to Afghanistan in 2001, and was a participant in the overthrow of the Taliban. He won a Purple Heart for his efforts, the result of a laceration from shrapnel.
It was about three months later that he was hitching a ride on a helicopter back to Kabul. The chopper crashed in a remote area, and Durelle was killed along with the pilot, a Special Forces officer named Mike Carelli, and two others. One was Captain Gary Winston, an Army surgeon whose tour of duty was up in just three days, and the other was Lieutenant Anthony Banks, a special services officer assigned to assist in Afghani reconstruction. It took a while for the American command to realize that the chopper had gone down, and another significant amount of time to find and reach the wreckage.
By the time search and rescue arrived on the scene, the enemy forces had been there first. The bodies and anything else of value had long since been carted off-at least, that’s what the report said. We now know the truth is that Durelle’s body was never there at all; if it had been, he wouldn’t have made it to the New Jersey Turnpike with a gun in his hand-a gun that was shooting bullets at me.
There are pictures of all the victims in the file, but I never would have recognized Durelle. I got only a brief glimpse of him on the highway, and I’m sure I was paying more attention to the gun in his hand. Also, the picture is at least eight to ten years old.
If Durelle had a family, it’s not listed in these reports, so instead we copy down the names of the others allegedly on the downed chopper, along with any family contacts they had. I have no idea if the others were involved with Durelle in anything criminal, but it’s an avenue we need to pursue.
We leave the base, having gotten all the available information, but disappointed with what we got. I had no reason to expect any kind of smoking gun, but it would have been nice to gain a little insight into what the hell is going on.
There isn’t exactly a lot of insight waiting for us back at the office, either. Keith Franklin has left a cryptic message that indicates he has been keeping his eyes open but has not detected anything unusual about Roy Chaney’s operations at customs.
Karen Evans is also waiting for us, and I can tell that the stress of waiting for a ruling on the new trial is straining even her natural level of exuberance. She’s been visiting Richard every day at the jail, which makes me feel a little better, since I haven’t been getting there as often as I should.
“How’s he doing?” I ask.
“Not great,” she says. “I’m trying to keep him upbeat, but he knows everything’s riding on this. Not knowing when the answer is coming is pretty tough, also. Even for me.”
I nod. “How about the solitary confinement? How’s he handling that?”
She smiles. “I think he likes it, at least for now. He hadn’t made a lot of friends there anyway.”
“I wish I had some news for both of you,” I say.
She nods. “I know… and I don’t want to be a pain, but is it okay if I hang around here more? It feels like if I’m here I’m closer to hearing the good news.”
“What about your dress designing?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I’ve been working on that at night; I haven’t been sleeping much. So what do you say?”
There’s no reason to deny her that request, so I don’t. “Sure. Come by anytime.”
I hang around for a while longer and then head for home. That doesn’t cheer me up a hell of a lot, either, since Laurie is back in Wisconsin. But Tara and Reggie are both there, tails wagging and smiles on their faces, and I reward them for their good mood with a two-hour walk in the park.
When we get back I turn on the television to the local news and then play the message on my blinking answering machine. In this way, the newscaster and the court clerk give me the message simultaneously: A decision has been reached in the Evans case, and it will be announced at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.
I spend the rest of the night fielding calls about the upcoming decision, from Laurie, Kevin, Karen, and an assortment of media types. I profess confidence to everyone outside our team; if we get the new trial, it is best if it appears we had expected nothing less. If we don’t get the trial, then nothing else matters anyway.
Karen professes certainty that the news will be good, though I can’t tell if she believes it or is trying to convince herself. Laurie is supportive and hopeful but really has no more idea about what awaits us than I do. Kevin is typically pragmatic, insisting that we plan our first steps after the new trial is granted. It’s the right approach, because we will have to move quickly to be ready for trial. And if there’s no trial to be ready for, then we’ll still push toward another appeal.
In a lot of ways this is even worse than waiting for a verdict. When the jury reaches a decision, there is the possibility that the client will be free and exonerated. Here we’re just hoping for the chance to
Tara and Reggie seem to reflect my stress, getting close to me, as if being supportive. It’s embarrassing to admit, but I actually feel as though I owe Reggie something, and I don’t want to let him down. And not reuniting him with Richard would be letting him down.
Before I go to sleep I pet Reggie’s head. “Big day tomorrow, buddy,” I say.
He just looks at me, as if not willing to let me off the hook that easily. I look over and see Tara staring as well, supporting her friend against the hand that feeds her.
I pet him again. “No matter what happens, you’ve always got a home here.”
