Play Dead

“I believe this is a DIA or CIA operation, probably using WITSEC’s physical structure and operational capability. So I think that the Marshals Service could conceivably deny that she was ‘under their control.’”

I go on to admit that there could be another explanation, that Massengale herself might have been kept in the dark and was therefore telling the truth as she believed it.

Hawpe cuts in. “Your Honor, with all due respect, Mr. Carpenter is making this up on the fly, with no facts to support him.”

I’m prepared to argue some more, but Judge Gordon surprises me with a quick decision. He still prohibits Blalock’s mentioning the witness protection program or WITSEC, but will allow his opinion that an unnamed government entity may have participated in or created the deception.

It’s a partial victory for us, which right now feels pretty good.

Back in court, I take Blalock through all the documentation we have that demonstrates conclusively that Stacy Harriman was not who she claimed to be. In his expert hands the story is spellbinding, and it’s not just my imagination in thinking that the jury is the most attentive it has been throughout the trial.

After we have gone through everything, I say, “A fake credit report… birth records… high school transcript… all these things-how could she have accomplished all this?”

“She couldn’t,” Blalock says. “She had to have help.”

“You mean like a friend who was good with a computer?”

Blalock smiles. “No, much more than that. Far, far more than that. It would have had to be a government agency that made these organizations do their bidding. No citizen could have pulled this off.”

I let him off, and Hawpe starts his cross-examination. He takes an interesting tactic, essentially conceding that Stacy’s identity was a fake, but instead focusing on why that might be.

“Mr. Blalock, have you come in contact with many people who have created new identities for themselves?”

“Yes, quite a few.”

“And they do so for a variety of reasons?”

“Yes.”

“Would one be to get a fresh start, perhaps after a bad marriage?” Hawpe asks.

“It could.”

“How about escaping financial problems?” Hawpe asks.

Blalock nods his agreement. “Certainly.”

“And there could be many others?”

“Absolutely.”

“Of these people who you’ve worked with that have changed their identity, have any of them been murdered?”

“No.”

Hawpe spends very little time on Blalock, perhaps in an effort to diminish his importance. His cross-examination has been well done, effectively telling the jury that just because someone is not who they seem to be, that doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with their murder.

All in all, I think Blalock’s testimony went well, and I tell that to Richard when he leans over and asks me. “Where do we go next?” he whispers.

“To the jury,” I say, and then I stand and address the judge. “Your Honor, the defense rests.”

The phrase “the defense rests” is unfortunately not to be taken literally. We don’t rest at all after saying it; instead we prepare for any rebuttal witnesses the prosecution might call, and for our closing argument.

Resting is for suckers.

This time I’m going to get even less rest than usual, since at five o’clock I’ve got to place a call to Dominic Petrone, which in turn might lead me in any one of many directions, none of them restful.

I make the call, and the person who answers the phone gives me a different number to call. That call yields a third number. I assume this must have to do with some security concerns, but I’m not sure how.

I finally get through to Petrone, and he says, “I have your information.”

“Great.”

“Those companies you listed did not receive any goods coming through customs.”

This both troubles and confuses me. “I have the documentation that they did.”

“That was intentional. The documents listed shipments that never actually were delivered-that did not even exist.”

This doesn’t make sense. I expected arms, or drugs-“nothing” was not on my list of possibilities.

“Do you know why?” I ask.

“I neither know nor care.”

“But you’re sure about this?” I ask, and immediately regret the question.

“I only say things I am sure of,” he responds. “As an example of that, let me say that I do not want to hear from you again.” With that, he hangs up the phone. Just to show he can’t push me around, I hang up my dead phone as well.

So Stacy Harriman was killed because she knew that certain people were smuggling nothing into the country.

I’m glad we cleared that up.

* * * * *

I FEEL AS if we are operating in parallel universes.

There is the trial, which is nearing conclusion and can certainly go either way. If I were inclined to make predictions, which I am not, I would say we’re in some trouble.

Then there is the investigation operating outside the trial. We are making progress there, but not nearly fast enough. I am gripped by the fear that we’re going to win the eventual investigation battle but lose the immediate war. I don’t want to have to tell Richard the truth about Stacy in a visiting room at the state prison.