Lost Lake Page 9

  “We all took tests during basic training; IQ, language proficiency. Like that. At first, we took the tests in a group, but I started getting singled out after a while. I’d be called in on a Saturday morning or midweek night, and I’d take these tests with two or three other guys. We were told not to talk about them. They were real strict about that. But I did talk to this one guy once. He was curious about it, too. It turns out his folks were Russian emigrants, so he was fluent. He knew that one of the other guys spoke an Asian language and another one had majored in Russian in college.”

  “And you?”

  “That’s what I couldn’t figure. I had high school French and my grades were good, but this guy spoke Russian like a native.”

  “Did anything else unusual happen in basic?”

  “Well, it wasn’t unusual. It was just unexpected.”

  “And that was?”

  “My posting. We were asked to indicate a preference for AIT,” Morelli said. When Ami looked puzzled, he explained. “Advanced Individual Training. I indicated OCS-officer candidate school-first, then Special Forces. I got Fort Holabird. It’s just outside Baltimore.”

  “What went on there?”

  “Intelligence training.”

  “And you didn’t indicate a preference for that?”

  “Nope. But mine was not to reason why, right? So I went along with the program.”

  “What did you learn at Fort Holabird?”

  “Intelligence stuff. How to tail someone, how to break and enter, electronic surveillance.”

  “Bugging?”

  “And other nifty skills.” Morelli smiled. “We got to go on these field trips.”

  “Give us an example.”

  “Oh, I’d pick a name out of the phone book and follow the mark all day. Another time I bugged a business. I broke in at night and put the bug in place. We listened to hours of the most boring shit. A few nights later I broke in again and took it out.”

  “What would have happened if you were caught?”

  “One guy was. The army smoothed things over. If it was cops, it was okay because they knew we did this stuff from time to time. If it was a civilian, they’d send over a colonel with a chest full of medals. First, he’d appeal to the guy’s patriotism, then his pocketbook. If that failed, he’d let the guy know how difficult life can be, in a very subtle way, of course.”

  “Did anything happen at Fort Holabird that was unusual?” Dr. French asked.

  Morelli nodded. “Around the end of my fourth month I was called out of training and told to report to an office on the base. There were two Green Berets waiting for me, both in full dress. They told me that they wanted me to apply for Special Forces training. They said that they were very impressed by my records and felt that I’d fit the mold. It was all low-key and very flattering. I was led to believe that I’d been singled out from all the others, and they hinted at clandestine missions and high-risk assignments.

  “You have to remember that I was just a kid and very impressionable. Both of the Green Berets were out of a John Wayne movie. Their chests were covered with decorations. And there was the mystique of the Special Forces.”

  George smiled. “I assume that you signed up.”

  “You bet. As soon as I finished up at Holabird I went to Airborne at Fort Benning, Georgia, for three weeks to learn how to jump out of planes. After that it was the Special Warfare Center at Fort Bragg, North Carolina.”

  “What did you do there?”

  “Intense physical and survival training. There were five-mile obstacle courses; we learned how to repel off mountains and build rope bridges; that sort of thing. The survival training was a bitch. They’d drop us in salt water in a remote coastal area. We’d learn how to get to shore and survive off the land. You know, what type of plants were edible in the region, how to build a fire, real Boy Scout stuff.

  “Then there was specialty training. Your basic unit in the Special Forces was the A team. That’s two officers and ten enlisted men. Each A team member has a specialty. There are combat engineers who train with explosives, medics, radio operators, language experts, weapons experts, and an expert in psychological operations. That was me.”

  “What exactly did you do?”

  “I learned how to use medical and agrarian assistance, assassination, and fear to bring people around and get noncombatants to work for us, and I learned how to interrogate prisoners.”

  Morelli paused for a moment, as if he had recalled something that he wished he had not remembered.

  “Anything else?” Dr. French asked in an effort to get the conversation going again.

  Morelli’s eyes refocused on the psychiatrist. “Practical operations,” he answered. “My team would go out as a unit. We trained in Alaska and Panama; cold weather, jungle climates. After I finished up at Fort Bragg, I went to Fort Perry in North Carolina for training in advanced interrogation techniques. Then back to Bragg.”

  “Did you ever get to put your training to use?”

  Morelli looked wary, but he nodded.

  “What were some of your assignments?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Is that because they were classified?”

  “I’m not going to discuss my assignments.”

  “All right.”

  Dr. French made some more notes. Ami thought Morelli’s energy was decreasing. He closed his eyes while French wrote on the pad, and his last few answers had been given quietly.

  “Ami told me that you were in Vietnam.”

  Morelli looked at Ami when he nodded.

  “And you were a prisoner of war?”

  Morelli nodded again.

  “How long were you a prisoner?”

  “About two weeks.”

  George tried to hide his surprise. “Why so short a time?”

  “I escaped.”

  “Where were you captured?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “This was Vietcong?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “How did you get away?”

  Morelli got a faraway look in his eyes. “I made up my mind that I was going. I’d had enough of the situation.”

  “Were you in a prison camp or a…?”

  “I wasn’t any place you’ve heard of.”

  “But it was in Vietnam?”

  Morelli didn’t answer.

  “Where did you go after your escape?” French asked.

  “Into the jungle. I have a fair ability to get by in the woods without a map or compass. It worked out okay.” Morelli closed his eyes again. “I’m getting tired, and I’d like to stop,” he said.

  “Fine,” French agreed. “Just one more question. What was your final rank?”

  “Captain.”

  Dr. French stood and Ami followed. “Thanks for talking to me.”

  Morelli didn’t respond.

  “I called a top criminal attorney about taking over your case, but he’s out of town,” Ami said. “I’ll get back to you when I know more.”

  Morelli nodded but seemed uninterested.

  “Vanessa is still in town. She still wants to talk to you. What should I tell her?”

  “She has to leave. Tell her to go while she still can.”

  “Is she in some danger, Dan?”

  “I’m tired,” Morelli answered.

  Dr. French touched Ami on the arm. “Let’s let Mr. Morelli rest,” he said. Ami was worried about Morelli, but the doctor was right. Her client had shut down and she knew they wouldn’t get anything more out of him today.

  ”What do you think?” George asked as they walked to their cars.

  “Dan was obviously not your typical GI,” Ami answered enthusiastically. “Can you imagine what it must have been like for him after his escape from the Vietnamese?”

  “Then you buy his story?” George asked, without revealing his own opinion.

  “It certainly sounded real. Why, do you have doubts?”

  “Last year, I was inv
olved with a fellow whose defense to an embezzlement charge was that he worked for the CIA and was using the funds for a covert operation. He was very convincing and could look you in the eye and say the most outrageous things, but they were all lies. He had read every book ever written on the CIA and spy novels and newsmagazines. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of the history of the CIA and its workings.”

  “You think that Morelli is making this up?”

  “He has the army training routines down, but those details are easy to learn. He could have known someone in the army or read about them in a library or online. Think about his story, Ami. Morelli wouldn’t discuss the smallest detail of any of his missions. I’ll tell you something else. I was in army intelligence during Vietnam. I’ve never heard of an American making a successful escape from a Vietnamese prison camp.”

  Ami’s unlawyerly enthusiasm for Morelli’s exciting story made her feel foolish. It had been a welcome addition to the life of someone whose excitement usually came mainly at her son’s Little League games.

  “Don’t look so glum,” George said with a light laugh. “I haven’t drawn any conclusions about Morelli yet. I’m just not going to accept a story like this without hard evidence. I have a friend who may be able to get us a copy of Morelli’s military records. Let’s see what they say.”

  “What are the implications if he’s telling the truth, George?”

  Dr. French thought for a moment. “The stress he would have been under if he was in a Vietnamese prison camp could cause PTSD. But I’d have to have a hell of a lot more proof that he was a prisoner and a lot more information about his conditions of captivity before I’d give that opinion in court.”

  “Let me ask you something else. What if he made it all up, but he believes he was some kind of commando? Would that make him legally insane?”

  “Well,” George said slowly, “that would be paranoid behavior, but he’s far too integrated to be paranoid schizophrenic. I don’t see that at all. He has good contact with reality. By that I mean that he speaks rationally, he’s aware of his situation, and his responses to questions are appropriate.”

  Dr. French paused. “Paranoid personality disorder is another possibility. The onset usually occurs in early adulthood. There’s a pervasive distrust of others. People’s motives are interpreted as being malevolent. But I don’t really see that here. Morelli was willing to talk to us. He confided sensitive information to us, which someone with this disorder would be reluctant to do.”

  They walked through the parking lot with Dr. French deep in thought. When they arrived at Ami’s car, French ventured another opinion.

  “There’s a possibility that Morelli is in a paranoid state, but that form of paranoia is extremely rare.”

  “Explain that to me.”

  “A person is in a paranoid state when he has a very tight delusional system that develops in early adulthood. It starts with a belief that an outside force, like the CIA, is controlling him. Once the delusion is in place the individual constructs an extremely complex delusional system that is based on it. If you buy the original premise, everything else in the system works logically and it’s almost impossible to crack it. This type of individual is always in the delusional system, but he keeps his mouth shut because he learns that talking about it gets him into trouble and he is healthy enough to control it.”

  “Would he open up to us because he’s afraid of going to jail?”

  “That’s possible, and you told him that his conversation was confidential. Opening up under those circumstances would be consistent with that type of paranoia.”

  “You said that a paranoid state is extremely rare.”

  “Almost as rare as meeting someone who’s done what Morelli claims to have done. Look, it’s more fun believing an exciting story like Morelli’s than subjecting it to scrutiny, but that’s what we have to do.”

  “Okay, get the military records. Call me if they confirm or rebut his contentions. Meanwhile, I’ll work on finding a lawyer with criminal experience who can take over Morelli’s case.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ami was in a good mood when she entered the office reception area two days after her meeting with Morelli and Dr. French. Ray Armitage, one of the top criminal defense attorneys in the country, had returned her call. He was in Colorado conducting pretrial motions in a murder case involving a member of the Olympic ski team, but he would be back in Portland on Monday and was interested in taking over Morelli’s case.

  Ami had called Vanessa as soon as she’d finished talking to Armitage. Vanessa was prepared to pay his retainer and any additional fees and expenses, even though they were steep. Ami was surprised that Vanessa had not asked if Morelli had changed his mind about meeting with her.

  “Good morning, Nancy,” Ami sang out.

  “Am I glad you’re here,” the receptionist answered. “The phone has been ringing off the hook.”

  Ami looked puzzled.

  “Don’t you read the morning paper or listen to the news? They indicted your friend for the Little League assault. It’s on the front page. Everyone knows you’re his attorney.”

  Nancy handed Ami the newspaper. The story was featured beneath the fold, but it took up the bottom third of the front page.

  “Oh, and there was a call from that man Kirkpatrick.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Morelli is being arraigned at the hospital at one o’clock.”

  “Today?”

  “That’s what the message said. He called last night after we forwarded the phones. The answering service took the call.”

  “And Kirkpatrick didn’t bother to tell them to try and reach me at home,” Ami thought to herself. “That bastard is trying to sandbag me. How am I going to handle an arraignment today, or anytime?”

  Ami had only the vaguest idea of what an arraignment was and no idea what one did at this type of court appearance. She grabbed her phone messages and fled to her office. Most of the calls were from the press. She put the message slips on top of a stack of unanswered mail and dialed Betty Sato, a classmate from law school who worked at the Multnomah County district attorney’s office.

  “Oh, my God!” Betty said when they were connected. “Ami Vergano, the world-famous criminal lawyer, is calling me. What did I do to deserve this honor?”

  “Stuff it, Sato.”

  Betty laughed.

  “You read the papers, huh?” Ami asked.

  “That, too. But Brendan Kirkpatrick found out that we were classmates and he pumped me about you. I’ve got to tell you, he’s not your biggest fan.”

  “That’s the least of my problems.”

  “Since when do you take criminal cases?” Betty asked.

  “It’s a long story,” Ami answered, a bit concerned that Kirkpatrick was checking up on her. “That’s why I’m calling you. You’re my only friend who knows anything about criminal law. I just found out that my client is going to be arraigned this afternoon, and I haven’t the foggiest idea what to do at an arraignment.”

  There was silence on Sato’s end of the line. When she spoke, she used the tone that a nurse in a psychiatric hospital uses with an irrational patient.

  “Can I say something, Ami? I mean, we’re friends, right?”

  “I know I’m in over my head, Betty. I’m talking to a very good criminal lawyer about taking over, but he can’t meet with me until next week. So I’m stuck doing the arraignment.”

  “I’m glad you’re getting someone to take this case.” Ami could hear the relief in her friend’s voice. “Brendan has a real hard-on for you and I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

  “Believe me I want to get off this case as soon as possible. But I can’t do it today. So tell me what to do?”

  “Okay, but you’ve got to promise not to tell anyone I helped you. Kirkpatrick would barbecue me if he found out.”

  “I promise.”

  “It’s simple. A chimpanzee can handle an arraignment. Kirkpatrick will give your
client a copy of the indictment. You waive the reading but reserve the right to move against it for legal defects. Then you tell the judge that your client pleads not guilty and wants a jury trial. Also, make sure that Brendan gives you discovery of all the police reports, because that’s when he has to do it-after there’s an indictment.”

  “What about bail?”

  “There will be an amount set already, but it will be high. Brendan’s charged attempted murder and assault. It doesn’t matter now, though. Your guy is in the hospital, so he’s not going anywhere for a while. Let the lawyer who takes over deal with getting him out. Bail hearings get complicated.”

  “Okay. The arraignment seems easy enough.”

  “It is, but it’s the last easy thing you’ll do in this case.”

  “I told you I’m getting out, okay. Cut me some slack. I’m stressed out as it is.”

  “Sorry. I’m just concerned that you’ll get hurt.”

  “I know. Thanks.” Ami paused. “What did you tell Kirkpatrick about me?”

  “That you’ll sleep with him if he throws the case.”

  “Think he’ll fall for it?”

  “You’re not staying on the case long enough to find out, remember.”

  “Seriously, what did you say?”

  “The truth. You’re really smart and hardworking, but I didn’t think you took criminal cases.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Brendan is as smart as you and single-minded. His wife died in a car accident three years ago and he has no children. The word is that he loved his wife and can’t stand going home to an empty house. That’s probably true because he’s always in the office working. Nothing gets by him because nothing matters except his cases. He’s arrogant and ruthless, but he’s also dedicated and scrupulously honest.”

  “I told you I was getting off the case, Betty. No need to scare me anymore.”

  “You wanted to know.”

  “Thanks. Look, let’s get together for dinner and a movie.”

  “Soon. It’s been too long since we’ve seen each other.”

  “The problems of being a single mom.”

  “Spring for a sitter and we’ll party.”

  Ami hung up. She felt calmer knowing that the arraignment was something that she could handle. Kirkpatrick’s message said that it would be held at the hospital. If they did it in the secure ward, she would not have to be in open court where her gaffs would be magnified by public scrutiny. Ami took a deep breath. She could do this. There was a small law library in the conference room. She would read the statutes on arraignments and learn as much about the law as she could. She checked her watch and decided that she might even have time to go to the law library at the courthouse and read some criminal law textbooks.