3

The following afternoon, Jack was on the fifth floor of the U.S. attorney’s office in downtown Miami. He’d been up most of the night combing over a copy of the NCIS report Lindsey Hart had left with him. Jack had never seen an investigative report from the Naval Criminal Investigative Services before, but it was similar to scores of civilian homicide reports he’d examined over the years, with one major exception: the blacked-out information. It seemed that something-sometimes an entire paragraph, even an entire witness statement-was excised from each page, deemed by Naval Command to be too sensitive for civilian eyes.

Jack’s first thought had been that the NCIS was withholding information from Lindsey because she was a murder suspect. He phoned a friend in the JAG Reserves, however, and discovered that it wasn’t all that unusual for the family of slain military personnel to receive highly redacted investigative reports. Even when death was unrelated to combat-be it homicide, suicide, or accident-survivors didn’t always have the privilege of knowing exactly what their loved one was doing when he died, whom he’d last spoken to, or even what he might have written in his diary just hours before a 9 mm slug shattered the back of his skull. To be sure, the military often had legitimate needs for secrecy, especially at a place like Guant'anamo, the only remaining U.S. base on communist soil. But it was Jack’s job to be skeptical.

“You know I wasn’t being cute on the phone, right, Jack? I really do have absolutely nothing to do with the Hart case.”

Gerry Chafetz was seated behind his desk, hands clasped behind his head, a posture Jack had seen him assume countless times when Gerry was his supervisor. Back then, they’d toil late into the evening, arguing over just about everything from whether the Miami Dolphins had won more football games wearing their aqua jerseys or their white jerseys to whether their star witness was a dead man with or without the federal witness protection program. Jack sometimes missed the old days, but he knew that even if he’d stayed, things could never have been the same. Gerry had worked his way up to chief assistant to the U.S. attorney, which would have made him a lot less fun to argue with, since now he knew everything.

“The case is here in Miami. Am I right?” asked Jack.

Gerry was stone silent. Jack said, “Look, it’s no secret that Lindsey Hart is a civilian who can’t stand trial in a military court. She’s originally from Miami, so it doesn’t take a breach of national security to figure out that if she’s indicted for the murder of her husband, it will be right here in the Southern District of Florida.”

Still no reply from Gerry.

A smile tugged at the corner of Jack’s mouth. “Come on, Gerry. You won’t even give me that much?”

“Let me put it this way: Theoretically, you’d be correct.”

“Good. Theoretically, then, I’d like you to convey a message from me to the prosecutor assigned to this case. I’ve read the NCIS report. What there is of it anyway. Half of it was blacked out.”

“Actually, Ms. Hart is pretty lucky to have a report at all.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It can take as long as six months, at least, for the agency to issue a final report. This one moved very quickly. Your client should be happy about that.”

Jack smiled to himself. Just as he’d thought: The chief assistant did know everything. Jack said, “Technically, she’s not my client. Not yet, anyway. Like I said on the phone, I’m still debating whether to take the case.”

“How do you know there’s going to be a case?”

“The NCIS ruled her husband’s death a homicide.”

“I meant a case against her.”

Jack gave him an assessing look. “Are you telling me-”

“I’m not telling you anything. I thought I’d made that clear from the beginning.”

“Okay. Right or wrong, Ms. Hart seems to think she’s the prime suspect.”

Gerry was deadpan, silent.

Jack said, “That’s a pretty nerve-racking position to be in, for a woman who maintains her complete innocence.”

“They all maintain their innocence. That’s why I’m still sitting on this side of the desk. I respect you, Jack, but I sleep easier knowing that I don’t defend the guilty.”

Jack moved to the edge of his chair, locking eyes with his old boss. “That’s why I’m here. I’m in a tough spot with this case. Lindsey Hart is-” He stopped himself, not wanting to say too much. Gerry was an old buddy, but he was still on the other side. “Let’s just say she’s a friend of a friend. Of a very close friend. I want to help her if I can. But I don’t want to get involved in this if…”

“If what?” Gerry said, scoffing. “If she’s guilty?”

Jack didn’t return the smile. His expression was dead serious.

“Come on, Jack. You didn’t expect me to look you in the eye and say, ‘Yup, you’re right buddy. Take the case. These investigators are breathing down the neck of the wrong suspect.’ Or did you?”

“At this point, I just want to know how honest my own client is being with me. I need to verify something. It has to do with the time of death.”

“Even if I knew the details of this case, which I don’t, I couldn’t comment on the investigation.”

“Sure you could. It’s just a question of whether you will or not.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“Because I’m calling in every favor, every ounce of friendship that ever existed between us.”

Gerry averted his eyes, as if the plea had made him uncomfortable. “You’re making this awfully personal.”

“For me, it doesn’t get any more personal than this.”

Gerry sat quietly for a moment, thinking. Finally, he looked at Jack and said, “What do you need?”

“There’s a ton of information missing from the NCIS report, but one hole in particular has me scratching my head. Lindsey Hart says that her husband was alive when she left the house at five-thirty A.M. The medical examiner puts the time of death between three and five A.M.”

“Not the first time the forensic evidence contradicts a suspect’s version of events.”

“Hear me out on this. The victim was shot in the head with his own weapon. The report makes no mention of a silencer. In fact, he was shot with his own gun, which was recovered in the bedroom just a few feet away from his body. No silencer in sight, no tattered pillow or blanket that was used to muffle the noise.”

“So?”

“They had a ten-year-old son. If Lindsey Hart shot her husband between three and five A.M., don’t you think their son would have heard the gun go off?”

“Depends on how big the house is.”

“This is a military base. Even for officer housing, we’re talking two bedrooms right next to each other, eleven hundred total square feet.”

“What does the NCIS report say?”

“Nothing that I could find. Maybe it’s on one of the pages that was blacked out.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I want to know how the investigators account for the sound of the gunshot. How is it that a woman fires off a 9 mm Beretta, and her ten-year-old-son in the next room sleeps right through it?”

“Could be a sound sleeper.”

“Sure. That could well be their explanation.”

“And if it is?”

Jack paused, as if to underscore his words. “If that’s the best they can come up with, Lindsey Hart may have just found herself a lawyer.”

A weighty silence lingered between them. Finally, Gerry said, “I’ll see what I can do. Keeping Jack Swyteck off the case might be just enough incentive for the lead prosecutor to cough up a little information.”

“Wow. That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

“Or maybe I just don’t like women who murder their husbands and then run out and hire a sharp defense lawyer.”

Jack nodded slowly, as if he’d deserved that. “The sooner the better on this, okay?”

“Like I said, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Sure.” He rose and shook Gerry’s hand, then thanked him and said good-bye. He knew the way out.