First degree - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,75
everything was possible," I say.
Reid smiles. "Yes, he did."
Reid leaves, suggesting we go over to the mess hall, as aptly named an establishment as has ever existed, for lunch. I just have some coffee, then watch as even Kevin is challenged to find something edible. Finally, he settles on a plate of what looks like baked linoleum. He puts things in his stomach I wouldn't put in a Dumpster.
"It's not bad," he says, and goes up to see if he can negotiate another helping. The server agrees; I'm sure it's the first time he's ever been confronted with a request for seconds. Kevin is polishing off plate number two when a soldier comes in and summons us back to see Captain Reid.
"You guys get enough to eat?" Reid asks us when we return.
"I would say we both had as much as we wanted," I say.
"Good. Terry Murdoch has not exactly been a credit to the army since he went civilian."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"He's currently serving time in Lansing."
Lansing is a federal prison in Pennsylvania, less than a hundred miles from here. "What is he in for?"
"Counterfeiting," he says. "Twenty-five to life, must serve the twenty-five minimum?"
"Which means he can't get out until he's seventy-five years old. Can you get us in to talk to him?"
Reid hesitates. "Lieutenant Colonel Prentice didn't mention anything about interceding with federal prison authorities."
"I'm sure it just slipped his mind," I say, and then turn to Kevin. "He's your brother-in-law, why don't you call and ask him?"
Captain Reid shakes his head with authority. Actually, he does everything with authority. "Won't be necessary," he says. "When do you want to go?"
It's getting late in the day, and we haven't done any case preparation yet. I also want some time to figure out how to approach Murdoch, so I say, "How about tomorrow, late afternoon?"
Reid nods. "Done. He'll be expecting you. Whether he talks to you or not is up to him."
Reid tells me that I should not hesitate to contact him if I need anything else, so before we leave, I test that by asking if we can have copies of the files on all three men. Within moments I have them. This kind of power is so intoxicating that I've decided I want to be a lieutenant colonel when I grow up.
We get home, and after briefing Laurie on what we've learned, Kevin and I get started on preparing for our own witnesses. Edna is there, making sure we have pens, paper, coffee, or whatever else we might need. After all this is over I'm going to take some time to reflect on the concept of Edna working weekends.
The most difficult part of the preparation is our belief that a significant part of the defense will involve the Dorsey-Cahill-Murdoch connection, yet we don't know where that is going to take us. We may even have to try to string out our case, delaying and taking more time while we follow the dots. One of our problems is that Hatchet's never been real big on case stringing.
In order to maximize our time, and to pretend I'm a big shot, I agree to spend six thousand dollars to charter a private plane to fly to Lansing. Having somebody go to all this effort and expense just to see him will no doubt make Murdoch the envy of the entire cellblock.
I have Edna reserve the plane, and I'm so focused on the case that alarm bells don't go off in my head when she asks, almost offhandedly, "How much do you weigh?"
When I see the contraption she has chartered the next morning, the meaning behind Edna's questions becomes clear, and I immediately wish I had exercised more at Vince's gym. But Clyde, the pilot, seems like a nice enough guy, and he swears that we'll make it, no problem, so I get on.
I have a great time, the first relaxing moments I've had in a while. Clyde lets me take the controls, and I mentally shoot down about thirty Russian MIGs, anachronistically teaching those "dirty commies" what American skill and courage are all about.
As we land at a small private airport just outside Lansing, ground control tells the pilot that the prison has sent somebody out to meet me. Good old Captain Reid can really get things done.
A car pulls right up to the plane as we taxi in. I get out and am greeted by a thin, pasty-complexioned guy who gives me a limp handshake and