Play Dead

“We’re the ones who made the call to 911,” I say. “They shot out a window in our car.”

“Who did?” the officer asks. He probably is not even aware that there was a prior incident on the road; to him this must just be a crash scene.

“The two guys in that car,” I say. “They shot at us, we called it in, and they must have crashed in the pursuit.”

The officer considers this a moment. “Stay right here,” he says, and then goes toward the crash scene to check with his superiors. A few moments later he comes back and says, “Follow me.”

We do so, and as we get close to the crash, it looks as if the car containing the shooters smashed into a car parked along the side of the highway. It then flipped over, perhaps more than once, and came to rest as a complete wreck.

There is no doubt in my mind that no one in that car could have survived. The police have already set up a trailer, where they will spend the night as they investigate what they will consider a crime scene.

The officer takes us toward the trailer, and just before we get there, I whisper to Sam, “Do not say anything about the Evans case.”

He nods. “Gotcha.” Then, “This is so cool.”

“Sam, you might want to get some professional mental help. On an urgent basis.”

“You mean see a shrink?”

“No, I mean as an inpatient. A locked-in patient.”

We are led inside the trailer, and I can’t stifle a groan when I see that the officer in charge is Captain Dessens of the New Jersey State Police. I have had a couple of run-ins with Dessens on previous cases, and it would be accurate to say that we can’t stand each other.

Dessens looks up, sees me, and returns the groan. “What the hell are you doing here?” He looks around. “Who let this clown in?”

The officer who brought us in says, “These guys are the ones I told you about.”

Dessens shakes his head. “Well, so much for motive.”

The officer standing next to him says, “What do you mean?”

“That’s Andy Carpenter, the lawyer. I don’t know anybody who wouldn’t want to take a shot at him.”

“Is the shooter dead?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“You’ll still find a way to screw up the arrest.”

Dessens starts an angry response and then seems to think better of it. He motions for us to sit down, then questions us on the details of what happened. Sam lets me do most of the talking; he just seems happy and content to be a part of it.

After we’ve given our statements, Dessens asks if I think the shooting was random or if I might have an idea who could be after me.

“Everybody loves me,” I say.

Sam nods. “Me, too.”

Dessens asks a few more questions and then tells us that they will want to check out my car and that an officer will drive us home.

“Did you ID the dead guys?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer and instead calls out to one of the other officers, asking him to take us outside. He’s apparently not into sharing.

It’s not until I get home and have a glass of wine that I really think about what just happened. Word got out today that I was taking Richard Evans’s case, and somebody tried to kill me tonight.

I don’t believe in coincidences, and it wouldn’t be productive to start now. I have to believe that the shooting is connected to Evans, even though I would much rather not. If somebody could react this quickly and this violently to my simply taking on Evans as a client, then he’s got some very determined and deadly enemies.

Which means I now have them as well.

Laurie calls just as I’m about to get into bed, and I tell her the entire story. She believes in coincidences even less than I do, and I can hear the worry in her voice. Laurie is one of the toughest people I know, but she’s well aware that toughness is a trait she and I don’t share.

She’s frustrated that she can’t get away from her job to come back east until the end of the month, and cautions me to be extra careful. She also has one other piece of advice, the one I expected.

“Get Marcus.”

* * * * *

MARCUS CLARK IS a terrific investigator, but that is not what initially comes to mind when one thinks of him. Focusing on his investigating talents first would be like somebody asking for your view of Pamela Anderson, only to have you respond that you hear she’s a pretty good bowler. It may or may not be true, but it’s not “top of mind.”

Marcus is the scariest person I have ever seen, and there is no one in second place. He is cast in bronze iron, impervious to fear or pain, and possesses a stare that makes me want to carry around a piece of kryptonite, just in case.

He has been one of my key investigators since even before Laurie went to Wisconsin, and has displayed an uncanny knack for getting people to reveal information. They confide in him, operating under the assumption that they can talk or die. I, for example, would tell Marcus whatever he wanted to know, whenever he wanted to know it. And I would thank him for the opportunity.