False Witness Read online

  “I don’t mind driving to where you are,” Jamie said. “It’s really no problem.” She wondered how Snowball ended up on the opposite side of Lake Lanier. The perimeter of the lake must be at least thirty miles.

  “No, is no problem for us, either. We can meet at the campground. We will be driving a white Trailblazer SUV with tinted windows.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there in about ten minutes max. Is this your cell number—the one you called from?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great. Can I ask your name?”

  “Dmitri. And you are Jamie, right?”

  For a moment, the fact that he knew her name startled her. Then she remembered the posters. And Snowball’s name tag and owner information.

  “That’s right.” She was already heading for her 4Runner. “See you in a few minutes, Dmitri. And thanks again.”

  “It is no problem.”

  When she arrived at the KOA campground, the Trailblazer was already there. Through the front windshield, Jamie could see two men sitting in the front seat, and she thought she noticed the silhouettes of two others in the back as well, though it was hard to tell. The driver was a middle-aged guy, balding with just a stubble of hair on top, a dark complexion, and five o’clock shadow. The passenger was younger—a close-cropped blond with darting, ice blue eyes. Both men appeared thin. The passenger smiled and hopped out of the SUV. He was tall, maybe six-three or six-four, with a pensive air and a small earring in his left ear.

  Jamie got out of her car as well, waiting anxiously for Snowball to come bounding out the back door of the Trailblazer. The passenger walked toward Jamie and extended a hand. “You must be Jamie.”

  She shook it and glanced around him at the Trailblazer. “Are you Dmitri?”

  “Yes.”

  Something was not right. This wasn’t the way to return a healthy dog. “Is Snowball in the backseat?”

  In answer, the man reached to his lower back and pulled a gun from his waistband. He jammed it into Jamie’s side. “Get back in your car,” he growled. The pleasantness was gone, along with the stilted Eastern European accent.

  Her mind racing, Jamie did as she was told. Dmitri hopped in the backseat and placed the cold steel of the barrel at the base of Jamie’s neck. “Follow my directions and nobody gets hurt,” he said.

  “What do you want?”

  He jammed the gun into her neck. “No questions. Just drive.”

  Trembling, Jamie did as she was told, turning where Dmitri said to turn, glancing in her rearview mirror as the Trailblazer followed. A few miles from the campground, Dmitri guided her down an abandoned dirt road and into a remote clearing that seemed miles away from the nearest house. Jamie tried not to panic, knowing she would need her wits about her for any chance of escape.

  Like a lawyer, she analyzed the cold, hard facts, assuming the worst. Four men. A vulnerable young woman. A remote location where her screams couldn’t be heard.

  They had probably seen her posters and decided to use the dog to lure her to this spot. She was certain they would try to rape her. She would not go down without a fight.

  “Stop here,” Dmitri said.

  She stopped the car.

  “Turn it off.”

  She obeyed. Though she knew that every order she followed made her more vulnerable, she also knew that she must choose carefully her point of resistance. Right now, the man had a gun pointed at the back of her head.

  “Don’t move.”

  From the backseat, Dmitri placed a gag cloth in Jamie’s mouth and pulled it tight, tying it behind her head, cutting into the corner of her lips. As he did so, he gently pulled her short, dark hair out of the way, giving her the creeps as his fingers brushed lightly against her skin.

  “Lean forward and place your hands behind your back.”

  Jamie slowly leaned into the wheel, her mind in hyperdrive. Is this the time? I can’t let him tie me up like this! But if I try to turn on him now . . . She placed her hands behind her and felt Dmitri slap a pair of plastic handcuffs on her wrists. He tightened them.

  Next, they dragged her out of the car—Dmitri and his shorter companion, a sinister-looking man who leered at Jamie as if he couldn’t wait to take his turn. They stood her against the hood of her 4Runner, facing the Trailblazer.

  The back door of the vehicle cracked open, and Snowball came flying out! He crash-landed on the ground and plunged headlong toward Jamie, flying at her, forgetting everything she had taught him about not jumping on people. They had muzzled him, but he had no leash to slow him down. At the last second, Jamie turned sideways, bearing the brunt of the big dog’s loving blow with her hip. He nuzzled her, rubbing up against her, wagging his tail, then hopped around in nervous excitement, probably wondering why she didn’t reach down and give him a hug.

  Seeing him brought tears to her eyes.

  Jamie bent down, hands cuffed behind her back, and let Snowball maul her. It felt so good, even the scratches on her legs and arms. She rubbed her face against his head.

  She stood and tried to grunt some commands through the gag—Attack, Snowball! Attack! But it came out indistinguishable, and Snowball only cocked his head and looked at her with curious concern. Attack! Jamie tried to scream. She made a little kicking motion toward the shorter man, the American.

  He laughed.

  But Snowball sensed something was wrong. He pawed in the dirt and pine needles near Jamie’s feet, then turned and faced the men, standing his guard—straight back, his eyes darting warily from one man to the other. He sensed Jamie’s helplessness and let out a low, muzzled growl. She loved that dog.

  “Smart dog,” Dmitri said. “Like I said, I like dogs.”

  Jamie stared him down, her fierce eyes drilling through him. She would not let them see weakness.

  Dmitri stepped closer, less than an arm’s length away. Snowball stood his ground, a low growl emanating from the back of his throat. Jamie knew that if Dmitri touched her, Snowball would attack. Muzzled or not, he would do everything within his power.

  “Dogs are great, but accidents happen,” Dmitri said softly, leaning even closer. Jamie could see the dirty pores on his face, the sweat beading on his forehead. She could smell the stale breath. He pointed his gun at Snowball’s head.

  No!

  Jamie leaped at him, head down, trying to split open his face. But Dmitri was quick and sidestepped her attack. He smiled, aimed the gun at a lunging Snowball, and pulled the trigger.

  39

  The gun merely clicked, and Dmitri laughed, simultaneously landing a vicious kick squarely against Snowball’s ribs, sending the dog sprawling to the ground. Without a whimper, Snowball was up again, jumping at Dmitri, who kicked the dog a second time. Jamie went after Dmitri too, but another man grabbed her from behind and threw her against the vehicle.

  Somehow, in a blur, Dmitri ended up in her face, his body pinning hers against the SUV. He was stronger and quicker than she had anticipated. His buddy was dragging Snowball away by the collar.

  “You’ve got a client named David Hoffman,” Dmitri snarled. He was like a dog himself, baring his teeth. “He’s got something that belongs to me. Something very important. More important, even, than that dog is to you.” He paused for a second. Jamie leaned back as far as possible against the vehicle, but Dmitri was so close she could hardly bring him into focus.

  “If you hear from him, it is imperative that you contact me. I must talk with him. This time we are just giving you a warning. A silly little game. If you hear from Hoffman and don’t get in touch with me immediately . . . I will use real bullets next time and your puppy dies.” Dmitri smiled—dull white teeth, the bottom ones crowded, Jamie noticed, as she tried to fight back the fear and blaze every detail into her memory.

  “Of course,” Dmitri continued, the smile gone, “this should be our little secret. If you tell anybody—anybody at all—there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

  Jamie stared him down. Not even the satisfaction of
a nod, though she trembled on the inside.

  “Do you understand?”

  She did not flinch.

  Dmitri nodded and took a half step back. “We’ll see how tough you are when you start losing the things you love.”

  He took a piece of paper out of his pocket, pulled down the collar of Jamie’s T-shirt, then stuffed the paper in her sports bra as she twisted away. “Keep this number close to your heart, Jamie,” he said. “Call it if Hoffman contacts you. Leave us a message letting us know where he is. Don’t try to play games with us.”

  Dmitri grabbed Jamie’s shoulder and twisted her around, cutting the cuffs off. When she faced him again, he had the gun aimed at her forehead as he backed away. Dmitri turned to his unnamed companion. “Let him go,” he said. Snowball circled in front of Dmitri, positioning himself between Jamie and her assailant.

  After the men climbed into their TrailBlazer and drove away, Jamie dropped to her knees. She had the gag out of her mouth in a matter of seconds and threw her arms around her dog. She removed his muzzle, and Snowball took full advantage, his long tongue slobbering everywhere as he sensed that the danger had passed. He couldn’t get close enough as she rubbed him and told him everything would be all right. When she touched his ribs, he whimpered a little. She couldn’t tell if the ribs were broken, but Snowball seemed to be moving around okay.

  Then Jamie’s emotional dam burst. The whole thing had been so sudden, so unexpected, so incredibly bizarre. As the emotions came flooding out, Jamie trembled and hugged her dog, tears soaking into Snowball’s warm and wiry fur. She kept saying over and over, “You’re a good boy, Snowball. You’re a good boy. Mommy’s proud of you.”

  Eventually she stood and wiped her cheeks. She and Snowball climbed into the 4Runner, and Jamie immediately picked up her cell phone. She dialed 911. “My name is Jamie Brock, and I’d like to report an assault and battery,” she said.

  Jamie spent a frustrating two hours at the Fulton County police precinct, recounting her story, examining photos of Russian felons, and helping a sketch artist put together a composite. On the good side, they allowed her to take Snowball into the interview room, where he tried clumsily to make new friends before settling down. And they took her complaint seriously—it was, after all, kidnapping, assault, and battery. The young detective who asked most of the questions, a handsome, patient, and soft-spoken man named Drew Jacobsen, treated her with dignity and compassion.

  On the bad side, the whole experience brought back flashes of the night her mother had been murdered. The sterile police environment—radios squawking, the endless questions, the secretive looks exchanged between officers, and worst of all, the sense of futility that came from sitting in an interview room answering questions and filling out forms while the perpetrators roamed free.

  But Jamie believed in the system. Hers was not the kind of naive belief that many have—she knew its warts and imperfections due to human frailty—but she had seen the system work. Her mother’s killer was on death row, exhausting one appeal after another. Some day, the system would exact its ultimate revenge.

  In the second hour of questioning, exhaustion settled in on Jamie. It was a bone weariness, the result of adrenaline turbocharging her body for hours and then leaving her system as precipitously as it came, the emotional fatigue from a roller coaster of grief, desperation, fear, and anger. As the evening wore on, she could hardly concentrate on the composite of Dmitri.

  “I think the nose was a little longer, a little thinner.” She waited patiently, Snowball lying at her feet, as the sketch artist made his changes. Too much, she thought.

  “Better?” the sketch artist asked.

  She made a not-really face. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe not quite that thin.”

  And so it went. “The chin—a little too blocky. . . . No, I think the eyes were a lighter blue, eerie, almost like an albino. . . . Yes, that’s it. But something’s still wrong with the face structure . . . cheekbones, I don’t know.”

  After three-quarters of an hour, Jamie gave up. According to Detective Jacobsen, they needed to get the composites out as soon as possible; every minute was critical. And when she closed her eyes, Jamie was no longer sure if she was seeing the man who had abducted her or the features she and the sketch artist had been toying with for the past forty-five minutes.

  “That’s him,” she finally announced.

  “Are you sure?”

  Jamie would soon be a lawyer. She had seen her own father grilled on the stand by the defense lawyer for her mother’s killer. Jamie knew the weaknesses of eyewitness testimony better than most. She knew that every word she uttered would be twisted by a defense attorney later, particularly if she expressed any doubt.

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  As Jamie left the station, Drew Jacobsen said he would be in touch if anything major broke. He told her again, for the third time, to contact him if she heard anything from David Hoffman. The investigators had considered having Jamie call the phone number Dmitri had given her so the police could set up a sting operation. But for now, Jacobsen explained, they had decided against it. They didn’t want to increase the risk of danger to Jamie. In the meantime, they were running traces on the number.

  Jamie thanked Jacobsen and said she hoped to hear from him soon. She meant it, too. The man had won Jamie’s unqualified admiration when he took Snowball outside during Jamie’s stint with the sketch artist—right now, any friend of Snowball’s was a friend of Jamie’s. Plus, he had these amazing brown eyes and a square jaw that made Jamie feel safer just being around him. And one other thing, though technically it didn’t matter since she was on a celibacy pledge until she graduated—the man wasn’t wearing a ring.

  Jamie knew that the safety she felt at the precinct would evaporate when she walked out the front door. The television cops could send someone to watch your condo night and day, but in reality the police worked under the constraints of city and county budgets. And they had hundreds of unsolved cases all vying for their attention. Jamie trusted Drew Jacobsen, and she didn’t regret coming here. Still, as she left, even with Snowball sticking close to her side, Jamie felt very much alone.

  After she pulled away from the precinct, Jamie zigzagged through side streets and pulled enough U-turns to convince herself that she wasn’t being followed. She worked her way to I-85 north and headed out of town, merging onto I-985 and making it about sixty miles before she nearly dozed off. She suddenly realized that she couldn’t even remember going past the last two exits. She found a hotel that allowed dogs, a grubby little place that smelled like smoke even in the nonsmoking rooms. She checked the chain lock twice before lying down on the bed with the lights on.

  Snowball didn’t waste any time joining her on the bed, scratching and circling for a minute before he found the perfect spot and plopped down. He curled up in the crook of Jamie’s legs, right where she could reach down and rub his ears.

  Within ten minutes, with the television blaring and the lights shining bright, both dog and master were sound asleep.

  40

  Sunday, March 30

  The next morning, Jamie slept until nearly nine. She would have slept longer, but Snowball just couldn’t take it anymore, rooting around on the bed, trotting around in little circles on the floor, and then finally sitting by the door and staring intently as if his bladder might burst at any moment. Jamie took him outside to do his business, then drove to a nearby convenience store for toothpaste, a toothbrush, deodorant, and a brush. She returned to the hotel and spent about five minutes getting ready. She herded Snowball into the 4Runner and headed north. They could stop for breakfast at a QT and still be at her brother’s house before he got home from church.

  As she entered the mountains of northern Georgia, the altitude and breathtaking scenery helped her forget the images from yesterday’s trauma, turning her thoughts to Chris and his family. Sometimes it was hard to believe that she and Chris sprouted from the same pool of DNA. Sure, t
here were physical similarities. Chris was three years older and had the same sculpted facial features as Jamie—prominent cheekbones, dark brown eyes, straight white teeth, and matching dimples when he smiled. The girls in high school and college had swooned over Jamie’s older brother. And, she had to admit, her more feminine version of the same face had not fared half-bad with the boys in college.

  But the skin-deep similarities of the Brock siblings only accentuated their personality differences. Chris was an extrovert; Jamie brooded. Chris was a small-church pastor; Jamie wanted to be a prosecutor. Chris had already married and fathered two lovely children. Right now, the only men Jamie had time for in her life were the legends of the law—Judge Learned Hand, Benjamin Cardozo, and John Wigmore, the author of a famous evidence treatise. They didn’t exactly make great bedfellows.

  And most important of all, Chris had forgiven their mother’s killer. Jamie wanted to see him get the needle—she needed revenge.

  Like all siblings, they had a few things in common. A once-revered father who had suffered a stroke and now barely recognized either of them. Fond memories of a loving mother. Intolerance for the arrogant UGA fans who dominated the state. Adoration for Chris’s two children. And a love for Snowball.

  Snowball showed the feeling was mutual when Chris and his family pulled into the driveway of their house at a few minutes before one o’clock and found Jamie and her dog camped out on the front porch. There was supposed to be a key hidden under the mat, but somebody had apparently used it and forgotten to put it back.

  Snowball bolted straight for Chris and would have flattened the preacher but for Jamie’s call, reminding Snowball of his obedience school training. Private Snowball heeded his boot camp lessons, stopped short of his uncle, and waited for Chris to bend over and rub his head in approval. The dog’s tail swung wildly back and forth, nearly knocking over Chris’s two little girls, who tried to give him hugs. The girls giggled as Snowball wagged and nuzzled and drooled.