J.A. Jance - Dead Wrong

“You’re welcome. See you when you get here. I’m not holding dinner.”

By then Frank was turning off the freeway at an exit on the far outskirts of Tucson. At the Triple T Truck Stop, Joanna had ordered her hot roast beef sandwich and was studying her swollen ankles when her phone rang. The caller turned out to be Dr. Millicent Ross.

“This is a very bad scene, Joanna,” the vet said.

“How bad?”

“You were right. The dogs that were chained in the yard were so vicious even I couldn’t get near them,” Millicent said. “I had to tranquilize them first and put them down.”

“How many?”

“Ten.”

Joanna closed her eyes. Ten dead dogs would be a public relations disaster. No one would be the least bit interested in the fact that the Cochise County Sheriff’s Department had dealt with three human murders and saved the lives of two innocent children that same day. All media attention would be focused on the poor unfortunate dogs whose lives had been lost.

“What about the puppies?”

“They’re in bad shape, too,” Millicent said. “So are the bitches. They’re sick, filthy, covered with fleas and ticks, and practically starving. But the worst thing about it is, they’re really a pack of wild animals. They’ve had absolutely no socialization.”

“Does that mean you’re going to have to put them down, too?” Joanna asked.

“Maybe not,” Millicent said. “I just had an idea.”

“Dr. Ross, we don’t have the manpower or the facilities to take on that many-”

“Hear me out,” Millicent interrupted. “I’ve been reading about how various prisons around the country have been using prisoners to care for abused and abandoned animals as a way of turning around the prisoners’ lives and the animals’ lives as well.”

“What are you proposing?”

“I’m suggesting that we talk to the inmates in the Cochise County Jail. I’ll be glad to do it if you want me to. We’ll let them know what the problem is and that the only chance these dogs have to survive is if they can be cared for and nurtured back to health so that they can be placed in adoptive homes. I’ll also be glad to help out with this,” Millicent added. “I can come to the jail and show the inmates how to feed the puppies as well as how to handle, care for, and train them.”

“You’re suggesting turning my jail into an extension of the dog pound?” Joanna demanded.

“A temporary rehab facility,” Millicent said. “After all, desperate times call for desperate measures. Temporary and entirely voluntary. Only inmates who genuinely want to be involved should be allowed to participate. Each one would be given responsibility for a single dog. If an inmate breaks any rules-any rules at all-their dog would be taken away. I can’t help but think that having one person fostering each animal would be good for the individual dogs because what these animals need is personal attention. I’m guessing that being responsible for raising and training a puppy would be good for your inmates, too.”

Across the table, Frank was watching Joanna with one eyebrow raised inquisitively. She held the phone away from her ear and explained to her chief deputy what was going on.

“Do it,” Frank said immediately.

“Do it?” Joanna repeated. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not. Think about it. Putting down even vicious dogs is political suicide. Saving poor puppies is a PR dream- everybody’s best bet for a touchy-feely feature. It’ll turn you into a folk hero. Look at the guy up in Maricopa County. When the health department condemned one of his jails as ‘unfit for human habitation,” he stuck his inmates in tents and turned the air-conditioned ex-jail into an animal shelter. You’d be doing him one better, since both the dogs and the inmates would be inside.

“And think about the results Ted Chapman has been getting with some of these guys,” Frank continued. “Sometimes expecting inmates to do the right thing makes them do exactly that.”

“But what about the mess?” Joanna objected. “These are puppies, after all. Once the health department gets wind of the-”

“Dr. Ross is right,” Frank interjected. “Cleaning up the messes puppies make is part of the responsibility of taking care of them.”

The waitress showed up with their food just then. “Let me think about this,” she said into the phone. “Frank Montoya and I will talk it over, then I’ll call you back.”

“I think it’ll work,” Frank said.

Joanna dug into a mound of gravy-smothered mashed potatoes that accompanied her sandwich. “But how?” she asked.

“Let’s get Tom Hadlock on the speaker phone,” Frank suggested. “Since this would affect his operation and his people, let’s see what the jail commander thinks.”

To Joanna’s amazement, once Frank explained it, even Tom Hadlock was amenable to the idea. “It wouldn’t be permanent, of course,” he said. “How long does it take to get puppies ready for adoption? Six weeks or so?”

“About that,” Joanna agreed. “Maybe longer for the sick ones.”

“So it’s not forever. I think it’s an interesting idea,” Hadlock added after a moment’s reflection, “especially considering the sticky situation we had here last week. Having a group of bad-boy puppies around for a while might help to resolve some of the tension that’s built up in the jail. I agree, of course, that participation would have to be on a totally voluntary basis. If there are prisoners around who don’t want to have anything to do with the program, we’ll move them into separate units from the ones who do. What kind of equipment do you think we’ll need?”

Joanna thought about Jenny’s deaf black Lab puppy. Lucky had come into the family as a demonically possessed chewer who had mangled his way through one of Jenny’s cowboy boots after another-and only one boot per pair-until he’d finally grown up enough to stop being called Destructo Dog. How many inmate shoes would be chewed up in the process of socializing almost wild puppies? She thought about the messes of housebreaking and the knocked-over food and water dishes.

“Lots,” Joanna said finally. “Bowls, beds, food, you name it. I can’t see how we can afford to take this on.”

“Why don’t I talk to Dr. Ross and get back to you?” Tom Hadlock returned. “Maybe between the two of us we can get a better handle on everything that’s involved.”

“Go ahead,” Joanna agreed at last. “It looks like I’m outvoted on this one.”

After that, Joanna managed to choke down only a few more halfhearted forkfuls of food. Finally, giving up, she laid her knife and fork across her plate.

“What’s the matter?” Frank asked. “Food’s no good?”

Joanna shook her head. “I guess it’s all starting to hit me. Three people are dead, two little kids could have been, and one man has been shot, yet here we are focused on saving a bunch of dogs. It doesn’t seem right.”

“The dogs are in jeopardy because the people were killed,” Frank returned. “And we all know they weren’t nice people to begin with. Our department is in charge of cleaning up a problem someone else created, so don’t go around giving yourself a hard time feeling guilty about it. What you should be doing is patting yourself on the back. If it hadn’t been for you and Deputy Thomas, one or both of those kids might be dead right now.”

“You’re going to have to keep reminding me of that,” she told him.

After leaving the Triple T, Frank drove directly to the DPS office on South Tucson Boulevard. Deputy Thomas was leaving the building as Joanna entered.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I did like you said, Sheriff Brady. I told them the truth.”