probably using the constitutional tort theory. The statute of limitations that would apply here is two years. But the Maryland statute, if you sue there, is three years. However, if you wait that long, you may have already lost potential claims related to the psychological evaluation, because those acts occurred earlier than three years prior.”
Harlan broke in, “The time limit is one reason we’re here.”
“Understand. Now, two. Everything in Washington is political, even the Intelligence agencies. You need to get that perspective put on this. I have an old friend who is a lawyer there. He used to be the general counsel of the CIA. I’ve already talked to him. He will take a look at this if you want me to ask him. There may be something that can be done politically or through the Congress. If there is, he can tell you.”
Harlan and Kathy glanced at each other. This news was strange.
“We have written this whole thing up in a memo that’s about twenty five pages long. Here’s the original…” Bossleman handed them an envelope thick with documents.
“And we attached a complete set of the police report and autopsy documents in case you don’t already have them. But again, Mike Carson is a good lawyer. He was right. We have good lawyers here. Everyone agrees that a legal case is a no-win, expensive proposition that we do not recommend you pursue.”
“Gabe, we were afraid you were going to say that.”
“I wish I could say something else. Believe me.”
Harlan and Kathy exchanged looks. They seemed not to need to vocalize what they were thinking. Harlan turned back to the lawyer.
“We appreciate your suggesting we have a Washington lawyer with inside contacts look at it. We’d like to pursue it.”
“Fair enough. Let me get him on the phone right now.”
Gabe fingered his Rolodex, which he still used because it had more numbers than he bothered to put in his electronic devices, pulled out a number, and dialed.
“Gabe Bossleman for Cord Anderson.”
“Cord, Gabe…”
“Yessir, I’m calling back on that same matter. I’m going to send you a copy of the memo we wrote for them. They do want to speak to you…”
“All right fine. Now, one favor. Don’t charge them anything unless you actually do something. We’re not. If you just talk to them I don’t want to hear you charged them an arm and a leg the way you do me…”
The lawyer laughed, then said, “Fair enough. I’ll have them call.”
He hung up and faced the Pierces. “Well, as you heard, he’ll take a look, which is more than you could get him to do on your own. I’m very sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But I’m sure you would want the real bottom line.”
“Gabe, we do appreciate it.”
“Now. Do you have any questions about this or anything at all?”
“Well I don’t think so. If you’d give our thanks to the folks here who worked on this…” Harlan hefted the envelope with the memo. “That will probably be all for us today.”
“Let me know how it turns out, or if there is anything I can do at all.”
“We’ll do it.”
Khalil Amar was the newest clerk in the Baltimore Police Department’s Central Repository. The police reports, all of them, eventually found their way here. Or were supposed to. It was an ocean of paper. Khalil handled requests for copies of reports.
When the request for the Pierce report came in from the lawyer in Omaha it took a while to find it. When he did, something did not make sense. He would ordinarily find evidence receipts attached as part of the report. This one had only one with an unreadable signature. So he kept a copy handy, just to see if it made some sense after he had been on the job a little longer.
The Omaha lawyer had called back and asked about the receipts. She had asked whether they were supposed to be in the file. At the time, he did not know. So he told her they were probably misfiled. That was absolutely true. He saw plenty of misfiled stuff.
But
Harlan broke in, “The time limit is one reason we’re here.”
“Understand. Now, two. Everything in Washington is political, even the Intelligence agencies. You need to get that perspective put on this. I have an old friend who is a lawyer there. He used to be the general counsel of the CIA. I’ve already talked to him. He will take a look at this if you want me to ask him. There may be something that can be done politically or through the Congress. If there is, he can tell you.”
Harlan and Kathy glanced at each other. This news was strange.
“We have written this whole thing up in a memo that’s about twenty five pages long. Here’s the original…” Bossleman handed them an envelope thick with documents.
“And we attached a complete set of the police report and autopsy documents in case you don’t already have them. But again, Mike Carson is a good lawyer. He was right. We have good lawyers here. Everyone agrees that a legal case is a no-win, expensive proposition that we do not recommend you pursue.”
“Gabe, we were afraid you were going to say that.”
“I wish I could say something else. Believe me.”
Harlan and Kathy exchanged looks. They seemed not to need to vocalize what they were thinking. Harlan turned back to the lawyer.
“We appreciate your suggesting we have a Washington lawyer with inside contacts look at it. We’d like to pursue it.”
“Fair enough. Let me get him on the phone right now.”
Gabe fingered his Rolodex, which he still used because it had more numbers than he bothered to put in his electronic devices, pulled out a number, and dialed.
“Gabe Bossleman for Cord Anderson.”
“Cord, Gabe…”
“Yessir, I’m calling back on that same matter. I’m going to send you a copy of the memo we wrote for them. They do want to speak to you…”
“All right fine. Now, one favor. Don’t charge them anything unless you actually do something. We’re not. If you just talk to them I don’t want to hear you charged them an arm and a leg the way you do me…”
The lawyer laughed, then said, “Fair enough. I’ll have them call.”
He hung up and faced the Pierces. “Well, as you heard, he’ll take a look, which is more than you could get him to do on your own. I’m very sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But I’m sure you would want the real bottom line.”
“Gabe, we do appreciate it.”
“Now. Do you have any questions about this or anything at all?”
“Well I don’t think so. If you’d give our thanks to the folks here who worked on this…” Harlan hefted the envelope with the memo. “That will probably be all for us today.”
“Let me know how it turns out, or if there is anything I can do at all.”
“We’ll do it.”
Khalil Amar was the newest clerk in the Baltimore Police Department’s Central Repository. The police reports, all of them, eventually found their way here. Or were supposed to. It was an ocean of paper. Khalil handled requests for copies of reports.
When the request for the Pierce report came in from the lawyer in Omaha it took a while to find it. When he did, something did not make sense. He would ordinarily find evidence receipts attached as part of the report. This one had only one with an unreadable signature. So he kept a copy handy, just to see if it made some sense after he had been on the job a little longer.
The Omaha lawyer had called back and asked about the receipts. She had asked whether they were supposed to be in the file. At the time, he did not know. So he told her they were probably misfiled. That was absolutely true. He saw plenty of misfiled stuff.
But
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