Dog Tags (5 page)

B
ILLY
Z
IMMERMAN ISN’T JUST ANY COUNTY JAIL INMATE.
He gets special accommodations, separate from the others awaiting their turn at the justice system. That’s because Billy
is a former cop, and that’s a group that generally doesn’t do well in this type of environment. For instance, they get stabbed
a lot.

Beyond the separation from the other inmates, the treatment former cops get from the guards can be hit or miss. Some guards
feel a kinship with the prisoner, a carryover bond from his former career. Others view the ex-cop as a traitor, a turncoat,
and someone even more despicable than the average crook.

When Billy is first brought out to see me in a private room set up for the occasion, my guess is that he’s one of the lucky
ones. He seems relaxed, surprisingly so, for a man facing a murder charge. Billy has to know how difficult this is going to
be, and he must be aware that he may literally never spend another day enjoying freedom. Yet if he’s panicked or tormented,
he’s hiding it well.

“Hey, Andy Carpenter, right?” He extends his hands to shake mine, an awkward movement since his hands are cuffed together.
I extend both of mine in sort of a solidarity gesture, and we do a four-handed shake.

“Right.”

“Thanks for coming. Pete said I could count on you.”

“Pete’s a good friend.”

He nods vigorously. “Of mine, too. Stand-up guy.”

Since I’m pissed off that Pete got me into this in the first place, I’m of a mind to cut short the Pete-praising portion of
the conversation. “He said you wanted me to help your dog, which I am trying to do.”

He nods. “Good. That’s great.”

“I tried to contact your lawyer about this, but you don’t seem to have one.”

Another nod. “Right. No problem. You can talk to me.”

There’s something weird going on here; his affect is one of being in charge of his situation, and it doesn’t come close to
fitting with the facts as I know them.

“Okay,” I say. “I went to see Milo, who is currently at the county shelter.”

“Is he all right?” Billy asks, the first concern I’ve seen so far.

“He’s fine. He’s being treated basically like you are, away from the other prisoners.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“The unusual part is that there’s an armed guard outside his cage.”

Still another nod. “Good.”

I’m obviously pleasing him, even though I don’t have a clue as to what I’m talking about. “You have any idea why the guard
is there?”

“So nobody can come in and steal him.”

“Why would they want to do that?” I ask.

“I can’t get into that right now. But I’m sure there are people who think he can help them.”

“People think Milo can help them? How? Why?”

He holds his hands out, palms upward, and shrugs. “Sorry, I really can’t go there.”

I’ve had more than enough of this, so I stand up. “I’ve got to tell you, Pete is a good friend, but nobody is that good a
friend. I like to help dogs, and I would have helped yours. But there’s plenty of dogs in that shelter who don’t have armed
guards to protect them, so I’m going to focus my efforts on helping them.”

For the first time, I see worry in his face. “Hey, come on, I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just that the things you’re
asking… I really can’t go there.”

“I understand,” I say. “So I’m going to go there.” I point to the door so he’ll know what I’m talking about, and then start
walking toward it. My hope is that he won’t say anything until I’m safely out the other side.

“Wait. Please,” he says, in a tone that no longer contains arrogance or confidence. It has just enough vulnerability to stop
a sucker like me in my tracks. I stare at him and don’t say anything; if this is going to get anywhere, he’s going to have
to do the talking.

“I need you to be my lawyer,” he says.

That is something I have a singular lack of interest in. “We’re talking about Milo,” I say. “Besides, I thought you didn’t
want or need a lawyer?”

“I don’t. But if I’m going to tell you anything, I have to be sure you’re bound by confidentiality. The only way I can be
sure of that is if I hire you as my attorney.”

He’s right about that, of course, so I nod. I tell him that I’ll draw up an agreement in which he can hire me for a finite
time for a fee of one dollar. For now the agreement can be verbal, and I will honor it.

He thinks for a few moments, and then seems to decide that this will be acceptable. Lucky me.

Once that’s accomplished, he says, “Okay, here’s what I can tell you. When I returned from Iraq, I tried to get my old job
back on the force. There was no way.”

“Why?”

“They told me that with the economy and all, there was a freeze on hiring, that they might be able to give me a part-time
desk job. It was bullshit; they had no interest in a one-legged cop. They always viewed me as a pain in the ass anyway.”

“Were you?”

“A pain in the ass?” He laughs. “Sure. A major one. Anyway, Milo used to be my partner on the job; he rode in the squad car
with me. And I found out he was about to get dumped as well.”

“For being a pain in the ass?” I ask.

“No, for being too old. He was about to turn seven. That’s the limit for the department. So when I made the request, they
were happy to give him to me.”

“Why did you want him?”

He looks surprised by the question. “I love that dog; it sounds stupid, but he is my best friend in the entire world. Pete
told me you’re a dog nut, so you should get it.”

“I get it,” I say, because I do.

“Milo was trained to disarm perpetrators. He was amazing at it; the best in the department. Somebody would be holding a gun
one second, and the next thing you know Milo is flying through the air and taking it right out of his hand.”

“So?”

“So once I got him back, I enhanced that training a little bit. Now he can take anything he wants from anyone; he could take
the fillings out of your teeth.”

“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.

T
ARA 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.