There are laws against animal abuse, but in no way does this go anywhere near that standard. Simon is not being tortured or confined or starved; the police are simply insisting that he continue the job for which he has been trained, in accordance with long-standing department policy.
While we’re talking, I get a call from Dr. Dan Dowling, Tara’s and Sebastian’s veterinarian, which in my mind makes him the “vet to the stars.” I had asked Corey Douglas to take Simon in for a full medical examination, and Dowling is calling to give his report.
“I did a full workup, Andy. X-rays, blood work, all of it.”
“What did you find?”
“For a dog his age he’s in good shape. Only abnormal test result was his thyroid level, and even that’s not too far off. It’s easily handled with Soloxine, which I gave Sergeant Douglas.”
“What about his hips?”
“That’s definitely an issue. He’s got some arthritis. It’s not overly dramatic for a shepherd his age and history, but it’s there and it’s concerning.”
“Is he in pain?”
“Definitely would be feeling some discomfort,” Dowling says. “Shepherds are stoic, so it’s not obvious, but it has to be there.”
“If for the next year he is on his feet all day, every day, will that worsen the condition? Can he even do it?”
“I’m sure he can manage to do it, but it will take its toll on him later on, and it will certainly increase his discomfort.”
I get off the phone and share the news with Hike, who of course says it works against us. “Arthritis is nothing; everybody’s got arthritis.”
“I didn’t realize arthritis was nothing. Thanks for sharing that.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve got arthritis that has arthritis.”
The idea of Simon’s possibly being in pain and moving with difficulty in his retirement annoys the hell out of me. “They’re treating him like a dog.”
“He is a dog,” Hike points out.
“He’s an employee; he’s a cop. He has spent his life protecting your arthritis-ridden body. If he was human, they would be reacting differently; they’d give him a gold watch, and an early retirement with a pension.”
“What are you saying? That they’re discriminating against him because he’s a dog?”
“Exactly.”
“Andy, even though you don’t, the world treats dogs differently than humans. And it works both ways; sometimes the dog is better off. For example, dogs can piss and shit on the street. If I tried to take a dump on the street, I’d be arrested, and it wouldn’t matter how many plastic bags I brought to clean it up.”
“You’d have to represent yourself in court; I’m not going anywhere near that.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And what I mean is that they are discriminating against a longtime employee because he happens to be a dog. If we don’t stop this, it will be a slippery slope. Cats, fish, monkeys … you name it, they will become second-class citizens.”
“Do you hear what you’re saying?” Hike asks. “They’re not citizens at all; they’re dogs, and cats, and fish, and monkeys.”
“Simon is an employee, pure and simple, and the establishment is stepping on him because of who he is.”
“So where exactly are you going with this?”
“We are about to sue the city of Paterson for species discrimination.”
When Laurie gets home, I can tell she’s upset.
Hike is still here, so I won’t find out what’s going on until he leaves. Laurie is not about to open up in front of Hike; she knows with complete certainty that whatever the problem is, he’ll make her feel worse.
I don’t think that I’ve done anything to upset Laurie; our relationship is surprisingly drama-free. But it’s always possible, and I’ll be relieved when and if I find out that I’m an innocent bystander in whatever is going on. I see myself as an observer of the human condition, not a cause of it.
Hike and I are pretty much done anyway; we have our legal strategy in place. I send him on his way with two assignments. One is to prepare the papers for a lawsuit we are going to file against the City of Paterson, and the other is to talk to Sam Willis.
Sam is my accountant and resident computer genius. He’s capable of finding anything that can be accessed through the internet, legally and otherwise. The good news is that every single thing in the world can be accessed through the internet.
Sam’s research will be crucial in our case preparation, and Hike will give him the particulars as to what we need. I also know that Sam will get right on it; he loves investigating almost as much as he dislikes accounting. Besides, Sam is a dog lover.
Before Hike leaves, he counsels me not to get my hopes up. “This is going nowhere. Simon is going to die on the job.”
“Keep thinking the good thoughts,” I say.
Once Hike leaves, I don’t have to prompt Laurie to tell me what’s on her mind. “I spoke to Mrs. Traynor.”
“Ricky’s teacher?” I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth; I’m somehow not able to remember our son Ricky’s third-grade teacher’s name in the moment, but I know that Traynor is not on the list of possibles.
“No, Andy. Ricky’s teacher is Ms. Zimmerman.”
“Right. I knew that; I was testing you. Good old Zim; they don’t make them like that anymore.”
“She’s thirty,” Laurie says. “Julie Traynor is Danny Traynor’s mother. He’s the little boy who left the wish on the tree.”
I nod. “Got it.”
“So I called her, told her that I had the gifts that Danny asked for. She knew what I was talking about, but she said Danny wrote it himself. I asked if I could bring them over, and she hesitated, but finally said it was okay.
“They live on Thirtieth Street just off Broadway; the upstairs apartment in a two-family house. Obviously not very well off financially, which explains the wishes. By the way, the dachshund is adorable.”
“What about the missing father?”
“I’m getting there. She was grateful that I brought the stuff, especially since Danny was at school. She said that they’ve had to tighten their belts lately, but didn’t say why. She’s going to hold on to it and give it to him at Christmas.”
“They haven’t started Christmas yet? Don’t they realize that Halloween is over?”
“Andy … She seemed wary, like she was worried about talking to me. I wasn’t going to bring up Danny’s missing father, but it was part of the wish, so…”
“You had no choice. The god of wishes says it is so, and it must be so.”
“Don’t make fun of me, Andy. I told her that Danny asked if we would find his father, and it was like I shocked her with electricity. She told me that her husband was fine, and he wasn’t missing, and that Danny had a wild imagination.”
“You didn’t believe her?”
“She didn’t have to be hooked up to a poly for me to know that she was lying. I told her that I was an investigator and a former cop, and that you were an attorney. She had heard of you. But she was more afraid of me than anything.”
“Maybe she just considers the subject personal. And it is personal; maybe their marriage is splitting up, or he’s having an affair, or she’s having an affair, or who knows what. It’s not our business, Laurie.”
“Maybe. But I was getting a weird vibe, Andy. This woman was scared, of her situation, of me, of the world. I think there is something going on there. I offered to help in any way I could, but she wanted none of it. She made that very obvious.”
“She could be scared that her husband ran off and left her to take care of their child by herself.”
“Maybe.” Laurie’s tone is the opposite of maybe.
Her instincts in matters like this are excellent, but that is sort of not the point. “Maybe there is something going on. But no matter what is wrong, it doesn’t involve us, no matter what the kid wished,” I say.
“I want to help her, and I really want
to help that little boy.”
We hear a noise outside.
Laurie glances quickly at her watch. “Ricky.”
It’s the school bus, and Laurie and I both go outside to meet it. Laurie picks Ricky up and gives him a huge hug. She looks like she is going to crush him. Ricky looks at me as if to ask, What the hell is going on?
“Ricky, just go with the flow. It’s Christmas.”
Noah Traynor watched the end of his life through the window of his motel room.
It was not unexpected; far from it. On some level he found it relieving; it had been a while since he had had any kind of control over events, and this was sort of making it official.
For the better part of ten days he had lived in this Paramus motel, not far off Route 4, leaving only to get his meals. His entire focus during that time had been on finding a solution to his predicament.
He had come up with absolutely nothing, and now it absolutely did not matter.
He could see the motel parking lot from his room, and farther in the distance the street behind it. That’s where they parked, so as not to call attention to themselves. The two cars were unmarked, but the four men that got out of them couldn’t have been police officers more obviously if they had had their ranks tattooed on their foreheads.
Traynor knew that there must be others, probably uniformed, parked outside his line of vision. Coming in force like this was understandable, but ultimately unnecessary. He was not going to resist.
He watched the plainclothes officers coming toward the motel until they split up into pairs and went to each side. They would be taking the stairs to the second floor, where Traynor’s room was.
He wasn’t at all surprised that they had found him; truly disappearing in this age of technology and information would take much more expertise and effort than Traynor had summoned. It didn’t matter how they did it, but he figured they probably traced his calls to Julie and then used the GPS built into his phone.
Whatever. They were here.
Traynor wanted to avoid the drama and violence of their breaking into the room, so instead he went outside and waited for them just beyond the door. He raised his arms in the air so there would be no confusion or misunderstanding.
Eight men appeared, the four in plainclothes and four in uniform. They drew their guns when they saw him and approached.
“Noah Traynor?”
“Yes.”
They ordered him to put his hands against the wall and frisked him to make sure he wasn’t armed. Then they read him his rights.
“What are you charging me with?” he asked, though he knew.
“The murder of Kristen McNeil.”
“I’m innocent,” he said, knowing that they were probably the most meaningless words he had ever spoken.
“Everybody is, Traynor,” said the arresting officer. “Everybody is.”
“I need your help, Vince.”
Vince Sanders is the editor of the local newspaper and one of the two people whom I share a regular table with at the wondrous establishment known as Charlie’s Sports Bar. I knew Vince would be here tonight; if he wasn’t, it would mean he was dead, which would have seriously impacted his usefulness to me.
Our other tablemate is Pete Stanton, captain in charge of Homicide in the Paterson Police. Pete is also here to eat and drink and watch sports, in this case NBA basketball. Vince and Pete watch sports because they are die-hard fans; they eat and drink because I pay all the checks.
Life for Vince and Pete is simple.
“You want my help?” Vince says. “I’m sort of busy now, so I don’t really like the sound of that.”
“Really? Tell me if you like the sound of this.” I call to the woman who has the misfortune to be our every-night waitress, “Sheila, from now on Vince is going to be running his own tab.”
Vince sits up as if I’d put a hot poker up his ass. “That Andy is some kidder, huh, Sheila? Disregard anything this funny guy says.” Then he turns to me. “I am a friend, and friends are here to help. Tell me what I can do.”
“This is nauseating,” Pete says.
I speak to Vince. “I want you to run a human interest story about a dog.”
“There’s a surprise,” says Pete, who has never understood my love for dogs.
“Don’t listen to him,” Vince says. “If it’s a human interest story, then humans are interested in it, and humans buy newspapers. If I run it, it might help circulation. So it’s good for business and helps my wonderful friend Andy. It’s a win-win.” Then, “And you’ll keep picking up the tab in here, right?”
“The birth of a Pulitzer,” Pete says.
“So what’s the story?” Vince asks.
“I don’t want to tell you in front of Sergeant Schultz over here.” I point to Pete. Since the story involves a lawsuit that we are filing in the morning against the Police Department, I don’t want to give Pete a heads-up. “I’ll come to your office in the morning to tell you the story and bring photos.”
Vince nods. “Will you by any chance be bringing doughnuts?”
“I’ll stop and pick up a dozen.”
“Chocolate-cream filled?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“I look forward to seeing you,” Vince says. “Have I mentioned how much I cherish our friendship?”
While Vince is pouring on the bullshit, Pete has taken out his phone and is looking at it. “Good news. You can talk away, geniuses. I’ve got to run.”
“Off to arrest another innocent person?” I ask.
“Dream on, counselor.” Then Pete looks at his half-eaten plate of burger and fries. “Looks like you didn’t get your money’s worth tonight.”
Once he leaves, I tell Vince the story about Simon and describe what I want Vince to do. He actually takes notes, and when I’m finished, he asks, “Are you still coming to my office in the morning?”
I shake my head. “No, not necessary anymore. I’ll email you the photos.”
“What about the chocolate-cream-filled doughnuts? I believe you mentioned something about a dozen.”
“Not happening.”
“This is very disappointing.”
When I get home, Laurie sees me pull up and comes out on the porch to greet me. This is rarely a good sign, especially since she’s not smiling.
“Did you hear what happened?” she asks.
“I doubt it.”
“They made an arrest in the Kristen McNeil murder.”
“Good. That must be why Pete left Charlie’s when he did.” My reaction did not take into account that Laurie does not seem happy. Usually an arrest of a murder suspect would be considered good news, so there must be more to it. “Is there a problem connected to this?”
“The person they arrested is Noah Traynor.”
The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. I do know it’s not Ricky’s teacher. “Refresh my memory.”
“He’s the father of Danny Traynor, the boy who asked us to find his father.”
“Poor kid; I feel for him. But his father appears to have been found.”
“Technically speaking, he asked us to bring his father home. That has not been accomplished.”
“Uh-oh.”
We head into the house; I follow Laurie into the den, where she has two glasses of wine waiting for us. This is a disaster waiting to happen; nobody pours glasses of wine in advance of what is meant to be a casual conversation. And the rest of the bottle is on the table as well; this could go on for a while.
I usually play the role of counterpuncher in situations like this, and it rarely works out. It’s time to be aggressive. “Laurie, the kid wrote a note, put it on a tree, and you did your best to make it come true. This is not a blood oath.”
“I took the note; that comes with a responsibility.”
“Play this out. You think if you didn’t take it, then Sherlock Holmes or Perry Mason would have come along and grabbed it? And they would have proven the father innocent? Your winding up with
the note did not ruin the kid’s chances of getting his father back. And if you’re feeling guilty, put the note back on the tree. Then it’s somebody else’s problem.”
“I know you don’t understand.”
“What do you think the chances are that he’s guilty?” As an ex-cop, Laurie always instinctively feels that the police would not make an arrest without a strong probability of guilt. As a defense attorney, my natural view is opposite of that.
She thinks for a moment. “Without knowing the facts? Ninety-five percent.”
“And if he did it, if he murdered that young woman, you think he should go home to his wife and kid and dachshund?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Good.”
She nods. “Then we agree. If we look into it and don’t think he’s innocent, we back off. You’re the best, Andy.”
How the hell did that happen?
Vince must love his free food and beer.
The story in the paper is absolutely perfect. A photo of Corey Douglas’s spectacular German shepherd accompanies it on page one, and it reads like the Paterson Police Department is trashing an American hero.
Which in my view they are.
Hike has filed a lawsuit on Simon’s behalf seeking expedited relief, warning that a delay would result in immediate and irreversible harm to our client. Dr. Dowling has sent a letter, which we included in the filing, basically supporting that position.
I went one step further and enlisted the help of Rita Gordon, the chief clerk at the courthouse. Rita is a good friend and was also a participant in a forty-five-minute affair with none other than yours truly, Andy Carpenter. It took place after Laurie went back to her hometown of Findlay, Wisconsin, to take the job of chief of police.
The affair lasted the full forty-five minutes for the same reason some prizefights go the distance. The obviously superior fighter will carry the lesser opponent so as to give the viewing audience their money’s worth and a good show. In our case Rita was clearly the titleholder, and while I wasn’t technically the viewing audience, she generously gave me an outstanding show.
Dachshund Through the Snow Page 2