“I am conducting an investigation into the murder of Judge Daniel Brennan.”
He looked surprised. “I thought that crime was solved rather violently. Wasn’t a young man shot to death?”
“If the crime were solved I wouldn’t be here,” I said.
“Then why are you here?”
“We have strong reason to believe that the murder of Judge Brennan is directly connected to the fracking case before the Court of Appeals.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that the Judge was considered a solid vote on behalf of the town of Brayton.” I was vastly overstating it; Julie had solicited opinions that confirmed Holland’s view that Brennan was more likely to side with the town than Judge Dembeck. But it was far from a slam dunk.
“So?”
I decided not to answer that directly, at least not right then. “You share ownership of the land in question with an offshore company, Tarrant Industries.”
Carlton was clearly annoyed with my impertinence. “My company shares ownership, not me personally.”
“You own eighty percent of your company.”
“Is that a question?” He made a motion to look at his watch, as if he was late. It would have been more effective had he been wearing a watch.
“Tarrant Industries has set up a structure which is difficult to penetrate. Can you tell me the names of the principals of that company?”
“No,” he said.
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
“I can’t, but I wouldn’t if I could.”
“Are you denying that you own Tarrant as well?”
“I do not own Tarrant; that much I can tell you,” he said.
“Mr. Carlton, are you familiar with the concept of motive?”
He was now openly hostile. “What are you saying?”
“Your chances of making hundreds of million of dollars have increased dramatically now that Judge Brennan will not be on that court.”
He stood up. “You clearly have no idea who you are talking to. This interview is over. Direct any further communication to my attorney.”
With that he strode out of the room, and William entered moments later. “If you’ll follow me, Lieutenant…”
“Just a heads-up, William. Carlton seems a little pissy today.”
I can’t hear anything … total silence. It’s as if I’m at the bottom of the earth.
It was her fault, Lucas, and it was yours. But I can’t deal with that now. All I seem to be able to do is watch television, and the clock. I don’t think five minutes has gone by without me looking at the clock.
Please tell me about your investigation. I need something to think about that doesn’t involve me worried about being able to breathe.
“Three areas in New Jersey and one in Long Island experienced outages,” Julie said.
“But the Long Island one lasted for twenty minutes, so it doesn’t seem to fit what Bryan said. All the documents from the satellite company are in the folder, and I included a map showing where they are. The supervisor for that area was very helpful.”
Julie and I were having a quick dinner at a coffee shop near her office. Everything seemed to be quick these days, including the days themselves. Bryan was running out of time, so every second seemed precious.
“Terrific,” I said.
“What does it do for us?” she asked, picking at her French fries. Julie is the healthiest eater I know; she throws down broccoli and brussel sprouts like I do M amp;M’s. But this time she ordered a burger and fries, which probably said something about her mental state.
“At this point not enough. But if we get more information, we can cross-check it against this.”
She asked that I bring her up to date on the status of the investigations, which I did, starting with my concerns about Steven Gallagher’s ability to get to and from the crime scene.
“You really think he could have been framed?” she asked, her tone clearly displaying her skepticism.
“I think there’s a lot that a defense attorney could have used, if I had let it get to that.”
“He could have hitched a ride with a friend. He could have stolen a car and then dumped it.”
“There is no evidence that this kid ever harmed a fly in his entire life. He had probably been before a half-dozen judges on drug offenses in the past. All of a sudden he tracks down this one and becomes Jack the Goddamn Ripper?”
She seemed exasperated. “Come on, Luke, you’ve never arrested a first-time murderer? People snap, and drugs make them even more unstable.”
“You seem anxious for me to be wrong about this,” I said.
She shook her head. “I actually don’t care either way right now if Steven Gallagher was a killer or an altar boy. But I want you to focus on the prize, and not waste your time on re-solving the case.”
For some reason while she was talking I was looking at the wedding band she wore on her finger. I’m not sure why; I don’t think I’d ever noticed a ring on a woman in my life.
“You know, when I got there that day, the first thing Steven yelled was something like, ‘You said you wouldn’t come back here.’”
“So?”
“So maybe he thought he was talking to people that had framed him. Maybe they left the bloody clothes there, and he thought they had come back.”
She sighed. “You need to separate the facts there are from the facts that you wish there were,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means he had motive. It means he probably couldn’t think clearly because of the drugs. It means he had the Judge’s blood on his clothes. And it means there’s not a jury in America that wouldn’t have convicted him.”
“That’s all true.” She was right in that I was having some difficulty in separating what I wanted to be facts from what I knew to be facts.