On to the lawbreaking Lazy Dog Diner.
It’s a fairly small place, with seven tables and a counter. Three of the tables are occupied, and there are four people at the counter. There’s a smell I notice, like potpourri or something, probably designed to mask accidents by the patrons.
Each of the three occupied tables has a dog with the people, but there are no dogs with the counter patrons. We take one of the tables, and a waitress immediately comes over with water dishes and dog biscuits.
This is my kind of place.
I am constitutionally incapable of seeing a dog and not petting it. I’m just drawn to them. So while we’re waiting for our food, I walk over to each table and ask the people if I can pet their dogs. All of them agree, as I knew they would. Dog owners like to show off their dogs. They’re also proud of them, and the fact that a stranger would be drawn to them is a form of confirmation of their greatness.
Of course, these people will never have a dog nearly as great as Tara, but I don’t need to throw that in their faces.
I ask each group of people how old their dogs are, how long they’ve had them, and so on. It’s just babble designed to keep me there, petting away.
At the third table, sitting with a young couple, is a mutt of some sort, maybe fifty pounds, but long and lanky. I’m thinking maybe a Lab-hound mix, although it’s impossible to tell. People who try to guess the mixture in mutts are spinning their wheels. It’s not like two purebreds mated; chances are each of this dog’s parents were the products of many different ancestral mixes.
“How old is he?” I ask.
The woman at the table says, “We don’t know. The shelter said probably three, but there’s no way to tell.” She talks to the dog. “And you won’t tell us, will you, Boomer?” Then, to me, “The shelter gave him that name, but it felt right, so we kept it.”
“Good; you rescued him from a shelter? From around here?”
She laughs. “Not exactly. The shelter is in Little Rock, Arkansas. He came a long way to find us.”
“A rescue group brought him up?” I ask.
Now it’s the man’s turn to talk. “Seems like it. We found him stray with a tag saying he was from this shelter down in Little Rock. So we called them, and they ID’d him. They were damn annoyed that he was running stray.”
“When was this?”
“About four months ago. Actually, it was on my birthday, May 14.” He stares at his wife. “It was the only present I got.”
She laughs. “Sorry, honey.”
I ask everyone in the restaurant if they recognize the Eric Benjamin photo and also if they’ve seen a tractor trailer filled with dogs. I get negative responses all around and some weird looks when I bring up the dog-filled tractor trailer.
I know it’s a stretch, but I’m betting that the hound mix was on Kenny Zimmer’s truck from an earlier trip than the one that ended in his death; the Little Rock connection cannot be a coincidence. It ran away, maybe while being walked. And Kenny probably made no effort to find it, because Kenny didn’t give a damn about dogs.
But what it means is that both Eric Benjamin and Kenny Zimmer were in Chesterfield. I don’t know if they were ever there together, and I sure don’t know why they were there.
But somehow I’ve got a feeling that the answer to a lot of questions is in Chesterfield, New Jersey.
“The defense calls Dave Kramer.”
Kramer stands and walks forward, taking the oath to tell the truth and then sitting in the witness-box. He seems calm and collected, unlike his lawyer, who is rather nervous. I don’t like it when my clients testify.
I start off by taking him through the event two years ago when he beat up Kenny Zimmer. “Why did you do it?” I ask.
“He molested a young girl. He admitted it and laughed about it. I would like to say that I did it because I knew that otherwise he would get away with it without being punished. But I wasn’t thinking that clearly; I was just so angry at what he had done, and his attitude about it, that I lost control for a moment.”
“Did you regret it later?” I ask.
“No.”
He talks about how he threatened Kenny that if anything like this happened again he would kill him, and about losing his investigator’s license as a result of the incident. I’m getting all of this on the record, because I know that otherwise Carla will do it on cross-examination, and she’ll make it sound worse.
“And did you have any contact with Zimmer for the next two and a half years?” I ask.
“None whatsoever.”
“Did you think about him? Plan violence against him?”
He smiles slightly. “I did not. He never entered my mind.”
“Did you then speak to him at any point?”
“Yes. He called me. Twice actually, to set up a meeting.”
“Did he say what the subject of the meeting was to be?”
“He said he had information to help me on a case I was working on. When I asked why he would want to help me, he said it would be good for both of us.”
“Did you believe him?” I ask.
“Of course not. If Kenny Zimmer ever told the truth, it would be by accident.”
He goes on to say that the meeting was planned for the rest stop, that Zimmer said he would be on his truck. He agreed to meet with Zimmer mostly out of curiosity as to what he could possibly want.
Kramer says that he waited for him to arrive, and when he did, he boarded the truck. All of that is confirmed by the video.
“What happened when you boarded?” I ask.
“At first nothing. I didn’t see him; I just saw all these dogs in cages. They were barking like crazy. Then suddenly Zimmer jumped out from behind a pillar and swung this large knife at me … at my throat.”
“What happened next?”
“He missed me, just by a few inches. Then he came after me again and I avoided it. I took out my gun and I shot him before he could swing at me a third time.”
“Could you have run off without shooting him?” I ask.
“Not without taking a big risk. There were dog cages around, so I would have had to turn around to find a direct way out. He could have gotten me from behind with the knife.”
Then Kramer says that he left after confirming that Kenny was in fact dead. He describes how he left the note for the police and came to my house, where he was arrested.
After that, I finish up by taking him through his work investigating the Craddock death, and I introduce a police report that his house was broken into, with the files ransacked. He said that there was a Craddock file in there, but the police did not include it in their inventory, so it must have been the target of the theft.
All in all, he comes off as credible and likable, but that was on direct examination. That is the easy part.
Carla approaches the bench. “That was quite a story, Mr. Kramer.”
“Thank you,” he says, immediately violating my instructions. He was being sarcastic, or at least tongue in cheek, and I cautioned him against it. He’s on trial for his future, and under no circumstances is it remotely a joking matter.
“So you were so furious at something Mr. Zimmer said to you that you lost control and assaulted him?”
“He said he molested a child.”
“Please answer the question, and I think you can cover it with a yes or no. You were so furious at something Mr. Zimmer said to you that you lost control and assaulted him?”
“Yes.”
“And then you threatened his life?”
“If he were to do something like that again,” Kramer says.
“And now this terrible person, whose life you threatened and who must certainly hate you for beating him up, calls and wants to have a meeting.”
“Yes.”
“And you think, Sure, why not? I’ll go see my old buddy, who I haven’t seen since I put him in the hospital. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you think he might attack you?”
>
“I thought it was possible.”
“But you weren’t worried?”
“No.”
“What if he’d had a gun rather than an invisible knife?”
“I have confidence in myself in situations like that.”
“You’re comfortable with violence?” she asks.
“I can handle myself when I have to. I spent a lot of years in the service and on the police force learning how. I try not to have to use what I learned.”
“Why did you run away?”
“I wouldn’t characterize it as running away. I left the scene.”
“I didn’t ask you to characterize it; please answer the question.”
“I left the scene because I was concerned that with my history with Zimmer, the police would not believe that it was self-defense. Unfortunately, I was proven correct.”
“You mean the fact that Mr. Zimmer had no weapon while you had a gun wouldn’t look like you were in mortal danger?”
“He had a weapon.”
“I forgot. The invisible knife.”
All in all, Carla goes at him like this for almost an hour. He holds up well, better than I’d expected, but the picture of what happened that day is not a positive for our side.
But it could have been worse. It could always be worse.
Judge Avery asks if I have any other witnesses to call, and I respond by speaking the scariest words in the trial lawyer’s vocabulary.
“Your Honor, the defense rests.”
Every element of the operation was difficult. Raising seed money. Finding investors. Removing obstacles. Getting the weapons into the country. Finding and building the perfect location. Moving them into position.
Only one real task remained—to wire them in such a way that they could be fired remotely—because Rodgers did not want to be there when the authorities realized their source.
And that would happen quickly.
After that, all that would be left to do would be to take in the money and give the investors their share.
Then the manhunt would begin, and the fingers would be pointed.
But Rodgers would be gone by then.
Because Rodgers didn’t exist.
Closing arguments are today, and I’m more anxious than usual. Of course, I’m rarely anxious at all, so it isn’t a high anxiety bar to clear. But unless I can somehow reach the jury in a way I haven’t so far, I believe we’re going to lose.
I spent last night going over the points I want to make. I never write out what I am going to say in detail; I think it hurts the spontaneity. This approach has always worked pretty well for me in the past.
But I’m still a bit edgy, so on the way to court, I stop at the Tara Foundation. Petting the dogs, throwing a tennis ball for them to fetch, things like that tend to relax me. The fact that their lives are so simple, their needs and their joys so obvious and uncomplicated, somehow helps clear my mind.
I arrive at 8:00 A.M., and Willie and Sondra are already here, walking and feeding the dogs. They are remarkable in their dedication, and I truly believe that they are telling the truth when they say there is nothing they would rather do with their time.
I pet them all, but as always, I am drawn to the golden, Wiggy, and her puppies. The puppies have reached the age where they can be placed in homes. Everybody is going to want them, and Willie will be incredibly rigorous in his screening of the potential adopters. Only the best dog homes satisfy Willie.
There are twenty-two dogs left from the original group, including Wiggy and the puppies. I’m still puzzled that Zimmer had no destination set up to receive them, or at least none that I know of.
“They’ll all be in homes in a couple of weeks,” Willie says. “We’ve got applicants lined up and waiting. It’s been great.”
“Maybe we should look into doing this more often,” I say. “If you’re up for it.”
“You mean bringing dogs up from down South? I’ll talk to Sondra, but I’m sure she’ll want to do it. It’s a great idea.”
“We’d have to get reliable drivers,” I say. “It’s a big responsibility. I saw a dog down in Chesterfield that I think got lost from one of Zimmer’s runs.”
“What kind of dog?” he asks. It’s a simple, ordinary question, but it hits me like a ton of bricks.
“Willie, remember you said there was an empty cage on the truck, that a dog was missing?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Do you still have the card that was on his cage? Did it say what kind of dog it was?”
“Should be in the office; let me check.”
He goes off, leaving me with Wiggy to talk to. “Wig, this could be big.”
Willie comes back with the card in his hand. “It says he was a hound mix, three years old.”
“Does it have a name on it?”
He nods. “Boomer.”
It’s getting late enough that I need to leave for court, so I call Sam Willis on the way. “Sam, please drop anything else and find out whatever you can about George Davenport. All I have on him is his cell phone number and the fact that he operated the dog transports and owned the truck. And he said he placed ads on Craigslist; that’s how he found Zimmer.”
I give Sam the number, and he says he was in court the day Davenport testified, so he knows what he looks like. That will somehow help in the process, according to Sam. It’s something about Google images …
I arrive in court about thirty seconds before Judge Avery takes his seat on the bench.
“Everything okay?” Kramer asks. He’s surprised at my timing, since I’m usually there at least fifteen minutes before court is called to order.
“It just might be,” I say.
“I don’t like to blow my own horn,” Carla says. Then she puts on a fake sheepish smile. “Well, actually I do; I just wish I had more opportunities. But this is one time I was right, and I’m not too modest to say it.
“The very first thing I told you at the beginning of the trial was that this was an important responsibility that you were undertaking, but that did not mean it was going to be difficult or complicated.
“And I was right. It’s a straightforward case and has been from the beginning. Mr. Carpenter has tried to muddy the waters, bringing in extraneous crimes and villains, but he hasn’t come close to denting the core of this case.
“David Kramer murdered Kenny Zimmer. That’s what it has been about from the beginning. It doesn’t matter what Eric Benjamin did to John Craddock or whether Victor Andreson slept with a prostitute. That is all designed to confuse you, to make you throw up your hands and say that you can’t keep track of all this.
“But he underestimates you; you can and have been keeping track. All you had to do was focus on the issue you are here to decide and let some other future jury worry about the rest.
“David Kramer hated Kenny Zimmer to the point where not only did he beat him up once, but he then threatened his life. So he met Mr. Zimmer in a truck at a deserted rest stop, where no one could be a witness, and he shot and killed him. And then he ran.
“He says it was self-defense, that Mr. Zimmer attacked him with a knife. Well, where is the knife? Mr. Carpenter would have you believe that a third party was on the truck, and he removed the knife. In fact, he said they parked the truck so that the person could leave without being seen by the cameras.
“I submit that makes no sense. Why plan an exit, when the real plan was for Mr. Kramer to be dead? And why did the third person not kill Mr. Kramer when Mr. Zimmer supposedly failed to do so? He could have used a gun, which is a bit more effective and a bit more certain than a knife.
“And through the wonder of security cameras, you saw a great deal of it. And at least as important as what you saw is what you didn’t see; the mysterious fleeing third person. And by the way, where did that third person go? Did he carry the invisible knife out to the highway and then hitchhike home?
“No, ladies and gentlemen, this is not a tough call. You saw what he did, you
know what he did, and I have no doubt your verdict will reflect it. Thank you for your service.”
Carla has done an effective job in getting the jury to consider the main facts, the ones they can see clearly. I have to now switch their focus to that which is not so clear, the outside conspiracy that I have brought in. I’m at a clear disadvantage here.
“Ladies and gentlemen, like Ms. Westrum, I would like to take you back to the start of trial, to what I said in my opening statement. I told you that you would have to rely on logic and common sense, and that remains true.
“But for the moment, and only for the moment, I want you to use your imagination. I’ve presented witnesses with some hypotheticals during this trial, and I want to give you one too.
“Imagine that you came to court this morning, and Judge Avery said he had something to discuss with you. He told you that there was a police action last night, and arrests were made, and a conspiracy uncovered. And among the things that were learned in the process was the fact that Kenny Zimmer in fact tried to kill David Kramer, and Eric Benjamin in fact did remove the weapon from the truck.
“What do you imagine your reaction would have been? Some surprise that I was right all along? Relief that you would get to go home and not have to listen to lawyers babble anymore? Either of those reactions would make perfect sense.
“But I’ll tell you how I don’t think you would have reacted. I don’t think you would have said, ‘Judge, that’s just not possible. You must be mistaken, because what you are saying defies reason.’
“And that is because I have presented a plausible theory. And most importantly, it’s a theory backed up by facts. For example, it is a fact that Kenny Zimmer received $75,000 from a mysterious source just before this incident.
“It is probably more money than he had ever had in his life, and why did someone give it to him? I presented a logical reason, that he was being paid to commit a murder. Did Ms. Westrum give you her version of it? If she did, I didn’t hear it.
“Eric Benjamin’s fingerprint was found on the truck. I gave you my theory as to why it was there. Did Ms. Westrum give you her version of it? If she did, I didn’t hear it.
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