David Rosenfelt - Dog Tags

“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.

CHAPTER 13

“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.”

“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.

“Sorry, Andy. That’s not the way it works. You want to file a brief?”

“Okay, sure,” I say, taking the envelope out of my pocket. “Here it is.”

“That was convenient. Anything you want me to add to it when I talk to him?” she asks.

“You mean like I won’t be going to the media with this unless he turns me down?”

Rita has seen how my previous cases with dogs have become national news, often making the authorities look bad, so she knows exactly what I’m saying.

“You don’t think he’ll take that as a threat?” she asks, smiling.

“Not if you smile like that when you say it. And maybe bat your eyes a little.”

“How about if I take off my top?”

“Even better.”

She laughs and stands up. “You want to hang out here until I get back?”

“Will he look at it right away?”

“Are you kidding? Absolutely.”

“Okay. I’ll wait. That way if I have to I can call Matt Lauer from here.”