Hounded

by David Rosenfelt

  We reach the front door of the house, and enter. “What else?”

  “I think I’ll let Laurie tell you about it.”

  Before I get a chance to ask him what the hell he is talking about, we turn the corner of the foyer into the den. Standing there is Laurie, and in her left hand is a leash, at the end of which is a basset hound.

  But for the moment, I’m more concerned with what is in her right hand. It’s another hand, much smaller, which is attached to a small arm, which in turn is attached to a small boy. The hand, arm, and boy are all human.

  Uh-oh.

  “Andy, this is Ricky,” she says. “And that’s Sebastian.”

  I don’t say anything; I just turn and look at Pete. “It’s a pretty big favor,” he says. “I will definitely owe you one.” Then, to Laurie, he says, “Call me and let me know how things are going, okay?”

  She nods. “I will.”

  Pete then leans over and gives Ricky a kiss on the top of his head. “See you soon, Ricky.”

  “Bye, Uncle Pete.”

  “Ricky and Sebastian are coming home with us for a while,” Laurie says.

  “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” is what I’m thinking. What my mouth winds up saying is, “Great. Good to meet you, Ricky.”

  We head for the car, me carrying a suitcase that I assume contains Ricky’s clothing, but for all I know it may have another child in it.

  The day has taken an unexpected turn.

  The ride home is fairly uncomfortable.

  I try to make small talk with Ricky, but he’s not very responsive. And I can’t ask Laurie what the hell is going on while Ricky is there. Sebastian, for his part, is sound asleep. Stretched out on the backseat, he looks like a horizontal fire hydrant.

  Ricky also falls asleep just before we get home, so Laurie carries him into the house. It’s up to me to get Sebastian and the suitcase in, which is no easy task, but I finally get it done.

  Tara, who pretty much goes with the flow, looks at me curiously when I bring in Sebastian, and they sniff each other for a minute or so. Tara is used to me bringing home strange friends, so she takes it in stride. I have no idea if Sebastian is house-trained, but I grab two leashes and take him and Tara for a walk.

  Usually our walks are at least twenty minutes, but I cut this one down to ten, because I’m anxious to talk to Laurie and find out what is happening. Sebastian does what he is supposed to do, which gives me hope that he’s house-trained after all.

  We get back to the house, and Laurie is waiting for me downstairs. “Ricky is up in his room,” she says.

  “Ricky has a room?”

  She nods. “The one next to ours. I’m sorry we didn’t talk about this before, Andy, but I knew you wouldn’t refuse Pete.”

  “What are you talking about? I was practicing refusing him in the car, remember?”

  “That was about taking on a client. This is different; you would have agreed.”

  “What exactly would I have agreed to?”

  “Pete has a good relationship with people at Children’s Social Services. He’s going to work it out so that Ricky can stay here while his future is being decided, rather than being put into the system right away.”

  “What kind of a time frame are we looking at?”

  “Not very long,” she says.

  “You’re saying that, but you really have no idea, right?”

  “Right.”

  I pause a short while to take stock of the situation. It’s obvious that this boat has sailed, so even if I wanted to resist it, there is no way I would get anywhere. I mean, the kid already has a room, and he is currently sleeping in it.

  “So I can’t swear around the house anymore?” I ask.

  She smiles. “Andy, you hardly ever swear.”

  “I know, but it’s comforting to know that I could if I want to.”

  “Write it out and slip it to me in a note,” she says. Then, “Andy, he found his father’s body.”

  I fully realize that I’m being selfish in being unsure about this arrangement, but selfishness has always been my default reaction. “Poor kid,” I say.

  “Yes.”

  “I was talking about me.”

  She smiles again; it is a smile for which I simply do not have a defense. “So was I.”

  “Do they know who killed Diaz?”

  “I don’t think so,” she says. “But I really didn’t get into that with Pete. He was focused on helping Ricky.”

  “I guess it could be worse. Pete could have had a client for me, and it would have meant me going back to work.”

  “God forbid.”

  “So what do we do now?” I ask.

  “My friend Rosie Benson is a child therapist. I’ll give her a call tomorrow, and hopefully she can tell us how we handle this. But my guess is we just have to make Ricky feel secure and loved. He’s lost two parents in a very short time.”

  “Where is his mother?”

  “According to Pete, she’s his stepmother. But nobody seems to know where she is,” she says.

  “Poor kid.” Now I say it with a little more feeling.

  “You talking about him this time?” she asks.

  “I am.”

  I pour Laurie and myself glasses of wine, and we sit and talk some more. Tara and Sebastian hang out with us, sound asleep. They don’t seem to need wine to relax and unwind.

  About an hour later we go up to bed. Laurie stops at the open door to Ricky’s bedroom, and we look in. He appears to be asleep, or at least he’s not moving or making a sound.

  Laurie walks over to his bed, leans down, and kisses him lightly on the head. She walks back toward me, then stops and gives me a hug so sudden and intense I think she might be practicing a frontal Heimlich maneuver.

  I hold on to her and realize that it is the first time I have ever seen Laurie cry.

  I wake up at six-thirty, because I hear noise in the house.

  As I get up, I remember about Ricky, and the fact that he’s in the room next door. Somehow I had forgotten all about it during my sleep, but it comes flooding back to me.

  Laurie is not in bed; she must have gotten up without my realizing it. That’s fairly unusual; typically I get up first, bring us both coffee, and then take Tara for a walk. I’ve got a feeling we’re about to enter a period in which nothing is typical.

  I look in Ricky’s room, but he’s not there. No one is in the kitchen either; all I see are a couple of empty plates with crumbs on them sitting on the table. Apparently, the rest of the house has been up for quite a while. I hope that’s not a sign of things to come.

  I follow the sounds, which now seem to be muffled laughter, to the den, and look in. Tara and Sebastian are on the couch, and I can make out a human hand and bare foot under them. They are smothering Ricky, and based on the sound, he is loving it.

  “Where’s Ricky?” Laurie asks, to no one in particular. Then, when she sees me walk in, she smoothly switches that to, “Andy, where’s Ricky?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe we should ask Tara or Sebastian.”

  Laurie asks them the question, but they don’t seem inclined to respond. Finally, Ricky’s head peers out from under them.

  “There he is!” Laurie yells in mock surprise.

  Now that the “where’s Ricky?” question appears to be solved, I’m moving on to, “Where’s coffee?”

  I get coffee for myself and Laurie. I am a creature of habit, and by this time I am always in the den, watching the CBS Morning News. I used to watch the Today Show, until they came up with something called “The Orange Room.” Basically, they go there to tell us what people are tweeting to the Today Show Orange Room. People who would take the time to tweet to the Today Show Orange Room are among the people in the world whose opinions interest me least, so I stopped watching it.

  When I get back, though, the TV is on and Ricky has already chosen the station. Unless the CBS Morning News has switched to an all-cartoon format, I’m going to have to acquire
new habits.

  But he’s engrossed in it, so it gives Laurie and me a little time to talk. We don’t have that much more so say than we did last night, although apparently Laurie has spent enough time with Ricky this morning to pronounce him “a great kid.”

  Laurie is just waiting until a decent hour to call her therapist friend, Rosie Benson, and she points out that for the time being at least, we can’t both be out of the house at the same time, unless we take Ricky with us. She asks if I had any plans for the day.

  “I was hoping to go down to the police station and strangle Pete.”

  “He did the right thing in calling us,” she says, and looking in on Ricky, I have to admit that she is right. He is in a much more comforting and welcoming environment than he would have been if he’d just been brought into the child welfare system, as well intentioned as the people running that system might be.

  Once I’m showered and dressed, I head down to the police station to see Pete. In addition to torturing him about asking us to take Ricky and Sebastian, I want to find out if he has a long-term plan, and if he has discussed it with the proper children’s agencies.

  I had called ahead to make sure he would be available, but when I get there, the desk sergeant tells me that Pete has been called into the captain’s office.

  “He said he’d be available,” I say.

  “Well, he ain’t.”

  The sergeant has no idea how long the meeting will last, and has no intention of making any effort to find out. It’s another demonstration of defense attorneys being less than revered by police officers, even though I consider us to be quite lovable.

  After a half hour, I decide I am not going to wait anymore, even though I basically have no place to go. “Tell him I’ll see him tonight,” I say.

  “Do I look like a message taker?”

  “Now that you mention it, you don’t look bright enough. But do your best.”

  I call Laurie, and she tells me that she is going to meet with her therapist friend that evening, after regular office hours. She would need me to watch Ricky.

  “I was going to talk to Pete tonight at Charlie’s,” I say.

  “That’s not going to work.”

  “Laurie, if I can’t go to my favorite sports bar, drink beer, and talk drivel with my friends, then the entire system is breaking down.”

  “You can bring Ricky,” she says. “Be good for him to get out and spend some time with you.”

  “Bring Ricky to a sports bar?”

  “It’s a restaurant,” she points out. “Buy him a burger and come home early. You’ll have fun. Just try not to swear, drool, or leer at women.”

  “You’re taking all the fun out of it.”

  “You like hamburgers?” I ask.

  We’re on the way to Charlie’s and Ricky has been quiet. He seems uncomfortable with me, and I’m certainly uncomfortable with him, so I come up with the only question I can think of.

  “They’re okay,” he says, without enthusiasm.

  “Charlie’s has the best hamburgers.”

  “They’re okay,” he repeats. I think he’s still talking about hamburgers in general and not those at Charlie’s. I’m afraid if I ask him to confirm that, the conversation could get bogged down.

  “What do you like?”

  “Fried chicken.”

  “Good. Because their fried chicken is even better than their hamburgers. It’s not greasy, you know?”

  “I guess.…”

  That’s pretty much the extent of the conversation. I’m careful about what to say, because I’m afraid he’ll starting asking me questions about his father. I cannot imagine what this kid has gone through, or how he can manage to cope with it.

  Laurie calls me on the cell. Just before she left the house, Pete called to talk to me, and she told him I was on the way to Charlie’s. He said he’d meet me down there. Then, “How’s it going with you and Ricky?”

  “Good. He likes fried chicken; grease doesn’t seem to be much of a factor. Hamburgers are okay.”

  When I get to Charlie’s, Vince Sanders is already sitting at our regular table. Vince is a friend, but not exactly a ray of sunshine. Exposing Ricky to him could legitimately be called child abuse.

  Vince stares at us as we walk to the table, his mouth open in shock. “Vince, this is Ricky Diaz,” I say, with an emphasis on “Diaz.” Vince is editor of the local paper, and the murder of Ricky’s father was on the front page, so he should be able to put two and two together. “Ricky, say hello to Vince Sanders.”

  “Hello,” Ricky says.

  “Hey, kid. You want something to drink?”

  “Sure. What is there?”

  “You got a fake ID?”

  “Vince…,” I say.

  “I just figured maybe a light beer,” Vince explains.

  Pete comes into the restaurant and walks toward the table. He looks stressed about something, but makes an effort to brighten up when he sees Ricky there. “Hey, Rick, how’s it going? These guys treating you okay?”

  Ricky nods happily when he sees Pete, offering up a smile that had so far been reserved for Laurie. I guess Vince and I don’t bring out the best in kids.

  Pete leans over and whispers to me, “You and I need to talk.”

  “You got that right.”

  I’m not sure when we’re going to have that talk, since we clearly can’t do so in front of Ricky. So instead we just watch some sports and order hamburgers. Ricky orders a chocolate milk, which causes Vince to cringe and ask, “What is that? Milk, like with chocolate in it?”

  The door opens and two men come in, both of whom look familiar to me. Pete sees them as well, and he seems to tense up as they head toward our table. He stands up and says to me, “Come on.”

  “Come on where?”

  “Follow me. Vince, hang out with Ricky for a few minutes.”

  I get up as well, and we take three steps toward the door when the two men reach us. By now I recognize them as two of Pete’s colleagues on the force. “Hey, Pete,” one of them says. “We need to talk with you.”

  “So talk.”

  “Let’s do it outside.”

  Pete nods and starts to follow them. I’m sort of frozen in place, which is generally my default position in life. “Come on,” Pete says to me.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You need to be there,” he says, clearing up absolutely nothing in the process.

  I follow them outside, and there are three uniformed patrolmen waiting for us. One of the detectives who had entered the restaurant starts reciting the Miranda warning, signifying an arrest, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone there to arrest.

  Then I realize that they are talking to Pete, and he doesn’t seem at all surprised by it.

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask, but for the moment no one answers me.

  “I’m sorry, Pete, but we need to cuff you.”

  Pete nods his assent to this, and puts his hands behind his back to facilitate them doing so.

  “What are you charging him with?” I ask.

  “What is your role in this?” the detective asks me.

  “He’s my attorney,” Pete says.

  “So what is the charge?” I repeat.

  “Pete Stanton has been charged with the murder of Danny Diaz.”

  “I know you understand the system,” I say to Pete, before they take him away. “But it’s a different system when you’re on the other side. So do not say one word without me present, okay? Not one word.”

  He nods. “Got it.”

  “I’ll follow you down there.”

  He shakes his head. “No, there’s nothing you can do tonight. I’ll get processed, and that takes time. And you can’t leave Ricky with Vince; he’s been through enough.”

  It is Pete’s attempt to lighten the situation, but the strain in his face makes that impossible. Having said that, he is right about my inability to do anything tonight. “Okay, I’ll be there first thing in the morning.
”

  They put Pete into a waiting squad car, and I go back into the restaurant. Vince and Ricky seem to be engaged in an actual conversation, and when I get there, Vince says, “Hey, this kid knows more about sports than you do. Of course, this napkin knows more about sports than you do.”

  “Thanks, Vince. Ricky, we have to leave.”

  “We do?” Ricky asks, clearly not relishing the prospect. “Where’s Uncle Pete?”

  “We do. Uncle Pete had to go. We’ll see him later. Vince, call me … we need to talk.”

  He nods; Vince is no dummy and can sense something is wrong.

  Ricky says, “Goodbye, Uncle Vince.”

  Uncle Vince?

  Ricky is quiet again on the way home, which gives me time to think, and that turns out to give me time to get angry. I’m sure they have what they consider good reason to arrest Pete, but there is no way he’s guilty. He’s as good a cop and human being as anyone I know, and him being put in cuffs and taken away is not how he deserves to be treated.

  As we pull up at home, Laurie is arriving as well. She gets out, and I can see by her face that she knows what’s happening. “I was listening to the news on the radio,” she says, not wanting to reveal more in front of Ricky.

  We go inside, and while she is getting Ricky ready for bed, I take Tara and Sebastian for a walk. When Laurie and I have something serious to talk about, we often do so while strolling in the park with Tara. It’s a little jolting that Ricky’s presence prevents that, but nothing I can’t deal with.

  By the time I get back, Ricky is in bed, and Laurie is waiting for me in the den, two glasses of wine already poured. “Were you there when it happened?” she asks.

  “I was. They took him right out of Charlie’s.”

  “Did Ricky witness it?”

  “No, the actual arrest was outside. Ricky doesn’t know what happened.”

  “Good,” she says, obviously relieved. “Now tell me everything you know.”

  “That won’t take long. I don’t know a thing.”

  “You have to represent him. You know that, right?”

  “Of course.”

  I haven’t had any interest in taking on new clients for a very long time, the inevitable result of substantial personal wealth, and very substantial personal laziness. But I do not have to be convinced to help Pete; he is as good a friend as I have ever had.