Dog Tags

by David Rosenfelt

  “He’s a thief?” I ask.

  Billy grins. “We both are. And we’re as good as it gets. Milo and Clyde.”

  “Who do you steal from?”

  “Well, the good news is that people worth stealing from are the ones who can afford it. You know, they’re insured and all. So we’re pretty selective, and we aren’t out to get rich. Just get by.”

  “So that’s what you were doing the night of the shooting?”

  He nods. “Yes. Milo grabbed something from the victim just before he got shot.”

  I don’t want to ask him who did the shooting, because I don’t want to hear the answer. But implicit in his story is a denial of guilt; if they were out to steal something utilizing Milo’s talents, the fact that he had just stolen it would have made the shooting unnecessary. There could have been additional circumstances, but for now, that’s how I read what he is saying.

  “I didn’t shoot him,” Billy says, reading my mind.

  “Who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where is the item that Milo stole?”

  He grins again. “That is the billion-dollar question.”

  A GOOD NUMBER OF LAWYERS THINK THEY CAN INSTINCTIVELY TELL WHEN SOMEONE IS LYING. I am not among them. I have my instincts and hunches about the veracity of the things people tell me, but I am probably wrong as often as I am right. In this case, my hunch is that Billy is telling me the truth, but I don’t have great confidence in it.

  He tells me that he knew the victim, a man named Jack Erskine, and that he served with him in Iraq. He also stands by his claim not to know what was in the envelope that Milo took, but adds that a number of people will likely be desperate to get their hands on it.

  I could push it and try to get more out of him, but it’s not necessary for what I have to do. I also feel that the less involved I get with Billy and his story, the better.

  “So that’s why Milo is being guarded? Because the police are afraid that someone will take him in the hope he’ll lead them to what he stole?”

  Billy nods. “That’s what they think, but he won’t do it. At least not for them.”

  “But he’ll do it for you?”

  He smiles. “Could be. I told you; we’re buddies. He trusts me.”

  Billy’s strategy is becoming clear to me now, even if the facts of the case aren’t. “So the reason you’re not worried about yourself is that you think they’ll come to you with a deal. You and Milo find the package, and they drop the charges.”

  “Pete said you were smart,” Billy says. “He was right.”

  “I’m only smart compared with you,” I say.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re facing life in prison, and you’re doing nothing to protect yourself. Instead you’re sitting in your cell plotting a strategy that consists of hoping everything will fall neatly into place.”

  “It will.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe they’ll find out what was in the envelope through other means, or maybe someone in power will decide they’re better off not finding the envelope at all. Or maybe someone will get by the guard and take a shot at Milo, or figure out a way to poison his kibble. Any one of those maybes, or a hundred others, leaves you with an hour a day’s exercise in the yard for the rest of your life.”

  I think I can see in his face a sign that I’m getting through to him, or maybe not. I’m not even sure that I want to, because this is one human client I definitely don’t need.

  “Can you get Milo out?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “And what would I do with him if I did?”

  “One step at a time,” he says. “He doesn’t belong in a cage.”

  Finally, a statement that I’m sure is true.

  I promise Billy that I’ll do my best, then I head home rather than to the office. I find I do my best thinking when I’m walking Tara, and some productive thinking is certainly going to be required here. A law enforcement system that considers it necessary to put an armed guard around a dog is not going to passively let that dog walk out the door.

  Whatever the approach I decide on, it’s going to take an ample dose of legal maneuvering. To that end I call Kevin. He and Kelly had decided not to take a honeymoon, since they were to be leaving for Bangladesh in less than two weeks.

  “Kev, we’ve got a case.”

  “You’ve got a case” is his response. “I’m going to Bangladesh.”

  “What’s your rush?”

  “Poverty, hunger, illiteracy…”

  “And you think if you don’t hurry and get there all that stuff will be gone?” I’m admittedly sounding pathetic, but I really could use Kevin’s help.

  “Andy, I wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I understand. I guess my not losing the ring doesn’t mean you owe me.”

  “Is the client at least a human this time?”

  “Damn close. He’s a German shepherd, but a really smart one.” I tell Kevin the basics of the case, and I can tell he’s intrigued by it, but he’s firm that he and Kelly are off to save the world.

  “Get Eddie Lynch,” he says. “He writes legal briefs that make mine look like they were done with crayon.”

  “Kevin, he’s Mr. Doom and Gloom.”

  “He thinks of himself as a realist. In any event, there are two reasons you should have him write the briefs.”

  “And they are?”

  “He’ll do a great job, and when he does, you won’t have to.”

  The man has a point.

  TARA IS NOT AS YOUNG AS SHE USED TO BE, but you could never tell that by her attitude when we go for a walk.

  Her tail is always wagging, her nose is always sniffing, and she’s always alert to her surroundings. When she hears an unusual sound, her ears perk up and she looks around to see if a new adventure awaits her.

  I admire her in terms of her attitude toward life, and I would like to emulate it. Unfortunately, I can’t get my ears to perk.

  In any event, while I don’t think I have ever encountered a golden retriever who is less than extraordinary, Tara has somehow ascended to an even higher level.

  Many people, when talking about their dogs, laughingly praise them by saying that the dog thinks it’s human, as if being human is something a dog might aspire to. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent a lot of time dealing with the criminal justice system, but the average dog I know is paws and shoulders above my species.

  Dogs almost unanimously possess dignity, compassion, and innate intelligence. In these areas, humans tend to be a little more hit or miss. But Tara rises above them all.

  In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit of a dog lunatic.

  The task at hand is to represent Milo against the system that has imprisoned him. In addition to having no idea what kind of tactic to use, I don’t even know what I want the final result to be. If I get him out, where will he go, with his owner in prison? And if an armed guard is necessary to protect him in the shelter, who will protect him on the outside?

  On the other hand, I am keenly aware that a dog’s life is all too short. The average life expectancy for a German shepherd is twelve years, and every day spent in a cage is a day he’ll never get back.

  By the time I get back from my walk with Tara, I have reaffirmed my decision to get Milo out. I just have to figure out how.

  Laurie is waiting for us at home when we arrive. She has taken something of a career turn since she moved back to New Jersey and in with me. Her previous résumé includes stints as a cop in Paterson, a private investigator working mostly for me, and a year as the police chief of Findlay, Wisconsin.

  Last year, while visiting me in New Jersey, she was shot and badly wounded. Still suffering mild aftereffects of her injury, she decided to teach criminology at nearby William Paterson University. It’s no surprise to me that she fully embraced this new line of work, or that she loves it.

  I relate the situation to her over dinner, spending most of my t
ime describing Billy’s rather cavalier attitude about his predicament, and the fact that he knows more than he’s willing to reveal.

  She stops me midstory. “I’m sorry, Andy, but none of that is important, at least not now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your goal is to help the dog, right? So all you need to focus on is how to get him out of the shelter. The rest of the stuff doesn’t matter.”

  “Except that whatever is behind this is the reason they’re paying so much attention to him. Most dogs in the shelter don’t have their own bodyguards.”

  She shakes her head. “It still doesn’t matter. You’re going to fight it out on legal grounds; they either have the right to keep Milo or they don’t. And it doesn’t sound like they would be willing to make everything public anyway.”

  She’s right, of course, but it still leaves me without a concrete plan of action. “The legal grounds are the problem,” I say. “At the moment I don’t have any. I don’t even know what their official reason is for keeping him.”

  “What could it be?”

  “As far as I know, the only valid reason for keeping the dog would be if he was dangerous. If he had bitten someone.”

  “He didn’t, right?”

  “Not as far as I know. All he did was steal an envelope.”

  She smiles. “So he’s a thief. You’ve represented a few of those before, haven’t you?”

  “Never. All my clients are innocent.” I say this with a straight face, but Laurie clearly knows better.

  “So then defend Milo like you defended them.”

  I think about it for a few moments, and the idea that is forming in my mind causes me to smile.

  “You know something? I can do that.”

  “YOU’RE HERE TO TALK ABOUT HIS DOG?” Eli Morrison is obviously surprised by my announcement, and probably more than a little annoyed. As the county attorney handling the Billy Zimmerman murder case, he cleared his schedule to make time for me when I told him Billy had hired me, and that an immediate meeting was necessary.

  Eli is considered an old-timer in the prosecutor’s office: His tenure there began when my father was in charge of the department. He’s one of the few who never attempted to use it as a stepping-stone to a more lucrative career on the defense side, or for political gain.

  We’ve had a pretty good relationship over the years, and I can’t say that about too many prosecutors.

  In this case, chances are Eli figured I was going to broach the possibility of a plea bargain for Billy, though I don’t know if he would have been amenable to it or not.

  “Yes,” I say. “His name is Milo, and he’s being unfairly detained.”

  “He’s a dog, Andy,” he explains, though I assume he knows that I’m already aware of that.

  “He’s a dog with rights.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Why are you holding him?” I ask.

  “Well, for one thing, he’s a thief. Witnesses saw him run off with an envelope that we believe belonged to the victim. We’ve also tied him to two other thefts that he and Zimmerman pulled off over the last few months.”

  “So why don’t you charge him?”

  “Charge who? The dog?”

  “Yes. And his name is Milo; it’s demeaning to keep calling him ‘the dog.’”

  Eli laughs, demonstrating an ability to move from incredulity to amusement. “You want me to charge the dog… Milo… with theft?”

  “No, I want you to let him go.”

  “Where is he going to go?” he asks.

  “That’s not your problem.”

  “Andy, this thing you have with dogs may not be completely healthy. Maybe you should see a shrink.” He laughs again. “Or a trainer.”

  “Look, Eli, I’m handling this as a favor for a friend. If you can’t release the dog because he stole something, that’s your call. But just so I can close the lid on this thing, can you write me a letter to that effect? I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “Thanks. Let me know when it’s ready and I’ll have it picked up.”

  “Anytime tomorrow morning,” he says. “Now, you’re not representing Zimmerman for the murder?”

  “Nope. Just Milo.”

  “This has been a pretty weird meeting.”

  “Really?” I ask, standing up. “For me it’s just business as usual.”

  I leave Eli’s office having accomplished everything I wanted. Once I get the letter from him accusing Milo of being a four-legged crook, I need to get another letter from Billy. After that I’ll be able to make my legal move, which will be at best a long shot.

  Unfortunately, there’s actual work, detail-oriented work, that goes into the legal process. It’s unfortunate because the actual work, especially the detail-oriented work, is the part I hate.

  With Kevin unavailable, I definitely need someone to help me. My choices are to ask around and start interviewing prospective candidates, or hire Eddie Lynch, the incurable pessimist that Kevin recommended. The first approach would involve a substantial commitment of time and energy from me, while the second approach would consist of making one phone call.

  Mmmm… many hours of work, or one phone call. What to do? What to do?

  “Eddie?” I say when he picks up the phone. “Andy Carpenter. We met at Kevin’s wedding.”

  “I remember,” he says. “I hope you didn’t eat the crab cakes. I had diarrhea every twenty minutes for two days.”

  “Well, I—”

  “It left me with hemorrhoids the size of basketballs. I can’t sit down without tipping over.”

  “Thanks for sharing that,” I say. “I was calling to see if you were interested in doing some legal work with me on a case. Kevin recommended you.”

  I can almost see him shrug through the phone. “Might as well.”

  “Great, Eddie. That’s the kind of enthusiasm we’re going to need.”

  “Call me Hike,” he reminds me. “What’s the case?”

  I tell him all about Milo, and my plan to get him out. “That’s not bad,” he says, grudgingly. “I like it. We’ll probably get our clock cleaned, but I like it.”

  We talk about the legal brief he will write supporting our position, and I’m impressed by how quickly he grasps it. I shouldn’t be surprised; Kevin told me what a brilliant lawyer Hike is, and I would pretty much take Kevin’s word on something like that over anybody’s.

  We come to terms on an hourly rate that I will pay him; the fact that he agrees immediately means I could have gotten him for less. We plan to meet at my office the next morning. I ask him if he’ll stop off at the jail and get the letter from Billy, and he’s fine with that. He’ll also stop at Eli’s office and pick up the promised document about Milo.

  My sense is that as long as Hike’s getting paid by the hour, he’ll shovel shit if that’s what I want. That’s okay with me; I think I’m going to like having a work slave again.

  “MAN, I LOVE WHEN YOU DO THIS STUFF,” Willie Miller says. Because he’s my partner in the Tara Foundation, our dog-rescue operation, I’ve come to the foundation building to talk to him about the situation with Milo, and what we might do with him should we get him out.

  “What kind of stuff?” I ask.

  “Lawyer stuff. Stuff like this thing with Milo. You know, with judges and witnesses and shit. Damn, I should have been a lawyer.”

  “Did you ever consider it?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah. It would have meant finishing college, and high school, and eighth grade, and seventh grade…” He stops talking, no doubt exhausted by the amount of education he is contemplating.

  “It’s not all fun and games,” I say.

  “You have fun at my trial?” he asks. Willie was on death row for seven years for a murder he did not commit; we got him off on a retrial.

  “I was scared out of my mind at your trial. I thought we were going to lose, right up until the time the verdict came in.”
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  “Not me,” he says. “I knew it was in the bag all along. I’m lucky like that.”

  I refrain from asking him how come, if he’s so lucky, he was wrongly imprisoned for seven years of his life. Instead I ask, “You want to sit at the defense table with me for this one? Kevin’s gone, so you can be my assistant.”

  “No shit? Man, that’d be great.” Then, “What does an assistant do?”

  “You get me coffee, or soda, or M&M’s, and every once in a while you tell me how great I’m doing.”

  “That’s easy,” he says. “I can do that.”

  “If we win, what are we gonna do with Milo?”

  “You really think somebody’s trying to kill him?” he asks.

  “Either that or steal him. The cops seem to think he needs protection.”

  Willie thinks for a few moments. “Well, he can’t stay here. Not unless we hire a guard ourselves.”

  We talk about it for a while but don’t reach a final decision. We can worry about that later, if we win.

  Having recruited a trusty assistant, I head back to the office, where Eddie Lynch is waiting for me with the brief he has written to file with the court. It’s only six pages, minute by legal standards, but it is outstanding in every respect.

  “This is absolutely great, Hike,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, right.”

  “I’m serious. It’s exactly what I need.”

  “You’re going to need a hell of a lot more than this,” he says.

  Buoyed by his optimism, I drive down to the courthouse to fire the opening salvo in the legal war over Milo. I tell Rita Gordon that I want to get a bail hearing on the court’s calendar for my client.

  “For Billy Zimmerman?” she asks. “Bail was already denied when the PD was handling his case.”

  I shake my head. “Different client. This is for Milo Zimmerman.”

  “The dog? You want a bail hearing for the dog?”

  “Correct. On an expedited basis. He was entitled to it already. Which judge is assigned to the Zimmerman case?”

  “Judge Catchings. I was just going in there now.”

  That’s actually a break for me. Of all the judges in Passaic County, he’s probably the one who hates me the least. He also has a terrific, dry sense of humor, which he’s going to need. “Let me talk to him,” I say.