Double Tap by Steve Martini Page A

problem for Ruiz is that government records show the firearm by serial number as having been issued to one E. Ruiz, his signature and military ID number on a form nine years before the murder. After that there is nothing, no record to show that he ever turned it in or surrendered it upon his discharge from the military.
    “Tell us about the gun,” I say. “How did you get it?”
    Ruiz cocks his head a little to one side, shrugs a shoulder. “I kept it when I left the Army. No big thing,” he says. “It’s not that unusual. A lot of times they don’t even check. Hell, half the people I know retired from the Army kept their sidearms. Besides, a piece like that, it’s accurized. You know, I mean for your own touch and feel. It’s like a pair of boots: once you break ‘em in, who else is going to wear them? I spent maybe a hundred hours working on it, stripping it down, changing out bushings, shot out I don’t remember how many barrels and replaced them, reworked the action, adjusted the pull on the trigger for my finger. I lived with the thing. By the time I was finished with it, there probably weren’t two parts in that firearm that were the same as when it was issued. The action, that’s it.”
    “Yes, but unfortunately for you, one of them was the frame with the serial number,” Harry counters.
    The expression on Ruiz’s face concedes the point.
    “All of that aside,” Harry continues, “let’s be up front. You stole it, right?”
    There is a lot of grousing, grudging expressions from Ruiz on this before he finally says: “Yeah, I suppose you could say that.”
    “You can be sure that’s what the cops are going to say when they get on the stand in your trial,” says Harry. “It’s a major point for them, and while it doesn’t go to the murder itself, it goes to the murder weapon, the tracing of the firearm. We probably can’t keep it out.”
    “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I say.
    “What?” Harry turns to me. “Like a jury isn’t going to make inferences that a man who steals a gun might use it in a crime? Let’s be realistic.”
    “Actually, that might be a point for our side,” I tell him. “After all, Mr. Ruiz had to know that the firearm was registered in his name on military records. You did know that, didn’t you?” I look at Ruiz.
    He nods.
    “So if he knew the weapon was going to be traced back to him, why would he use it to kill Madelyn Chapman? It doesn’t make any sense.”
    “Lovers’ quarrel, crime of passion. People don’t take time to think under those circumstances,” Harry points out. “Besides, it’s the fact the gun was stolen that puts him in a bad light. You have to admit, it’s not something that helps the case.”
    “That may depend on whether Mr. Ruiz takes the stand. Right now all they can say is that the firearm once owned by the federal government, according to their records, was last known to be in the possession of our client. That was six years ago. Without Mr. Ruiz’s admission on the stand, they can’t say whether it was stolen by him or lost somewhere along the way. Fact is, they don’t know
what
happened to it.”
    Harry looks at me a little cross-eyed, like I’m crazy. Any rational jury can connect the dots. “What are you saying? That we can sell the jury on the theory that somebody else managed to get ahold of a firearm that was once issued to the defendant? That they held it for God knows how many years and they used it to kill Madelyn Chapman so they could frame him? Why?”
    I give him a look like
Who knows
? “I’d be willing to bet that military records regarding issuance of firearms and ammunition aren’t that orderly or neat. You can bet they make mistakes and that somewhere there’s a written report or a government audit showing the frequency of such errors: lost or stolen firearms, military weapons used in crimes. It’s the one thing you can count on in any government bureaucracy: they keep records on everything,