Dog Tags (8 page)

I have avoided notifying the press about today’s hearing, mainly because I used them as a threat to get the judge to allow
it in the first place. While they may be valuable to me later, bringing them in now would only risk pissing Catchings off,
and since there is no jury, that wouldn’t be wise.

Willie Miller is next to me, sitting in his seat and looking around as if he were at a Broadway theater. “This is really cool,”
he says. Kevin’s courtroom comments, as I recall, were generally more helpful.

Eddie Lynch is not here. I didn’t think it necessary that he come, and he seemed to show no great desire to do so. But I will
be relying on his brief to a considerable degree.

Judge Catchings welcomes us to his courtroom and admonishes us not to be long-winded. He also asks us if we have anything
to say before we begin.

Eli stands and says, “Your Honor, while we have not had much time to prepare on this issue, and it is unique to say the least,
I cannot find in any statute any right to bail for an animal.”

“That may be true,” the judge says. “The way I look at it is that we are here to decide if the continuing confinement of the
dog known as Milo is warranted. As Mr. Carpenter’s brief points out, there are
any number of ways that his release could be handled legally. Bail is simply one of them.”

That is already a small victory for me. Now I just have to show that Milo shouldn’t be kept captive; I don’t have to jump
through quite as many legal hoops as I anticipated to manage it.

I nod my thanks to Judge Catchings and say, “Your Honor, the defense calls Thomas Basilio.”

Thomas Basilio is the forty-one-year-old head of animal control in Passaic County. It is not a coveted position; dogcatchers
are not exactly widely loved in most communities, and he is the king of the catchers. Because of the overwhelming number of
unwanted dogs, it means that his department must euthanize a good number of them. It’s not a position I’d want to be in.

I have spent some time socially with Basilio, and he’s a decent guy with a disarming sense of humor. He’s not going to get
a chance to use it today.

“Mr. Basilio, you are aware that you have a German shepherd named Milo in your custody?”

“Yes.”

“He’s at the shelter in Paterson?”

“Yes.”

“How did he come to be incarcerated there?”

“The police turned him over to us.”

“Why? What did he do wrong?

“I don’t know that he did anything wrong. They didn’t share that with me.”

“Are you aware that they have stationed a guard outside his cage twenty-four hours a day?”

“Yes.”

“Did they tell you why?”

He shakes his head. “No. I asked, but they said it had to do with a case and was confidential.”

“Under what circumstances do you keep dogs in the shelters?” I ask.

“There can be a few reasons. Dogs can be found stray, and we hold them until perhaps their owner can find them. If not, we
hope they will be adopted by a new owner. Or an owner might not want a dog anymore, and he brings it to our shelter.”

“Is that it?”

“No. If a dog is a danger to the community, say if he has attacked or bitten someone, then we keep him confined. Often we
have to put those dogs to sleep.”

“That means kill them?”

“Yes.”

“Which of those reasons speaks to why Milo is there?”

He thinks for a moment. “I’m not sure. His owner is, as I understand it, unavailable to take care of him. As far as whether
he’s dangerous, I suppose the police would know better about that.”

I introduce as evidence a letter from Billy Zimmerman giving me ownership of Milo. I had privately assured Billy that it was
a temporary, though necessary, move.

“So if I am the owner of Milo, and I want to take him home and care for him, that would remove one of the reasons for his
confinement?”

Basilio shrugs. “I suppose it would.”

I turn the witness over to Eli, but he doesn’t have any questions. I suspect that Eli will be reluctant to ask many questions
throughout the hearing. Lawyers classically will not ask questions they don’t know the answer to, and since Eli didn’t even
know about the guard, he’ll be extra careful.

We’re off to a good start.

D
ETECTIVE
C
ARL
O
AKES LOOKS LIKE HE WOULD RATHER BE ANYWHERE ELSE BUT ON THE STAND.
His body language and facial expressions seem to indicate that taking his time up on a matter as trivial as this is beneath
his dignity. As his adversary, that gives me an advantage, because nothing is beneath my dignity.

“Detective Oakes, you personally gave the order for Milo to be incarcerated in the Passaic County Animal Shelter?”

“It wasn’t an order. It was a request.”

“Did he bite anyone?” I ask.

“Not that I know of,” he says.

“Have you ever made a request like this before?”

“When we arrest someone who has an animal, and there is no one to care for it, it is turned over to the shelter.”

“You personally do that?” I ask.

“Not usually.”

“Ever?”

“I don’t recall,” he says, obviously annoyed.

“Why did you personally make the request in this case?”

“I told you. There was no one to care for the dog.”

That doesn’t come close to answering my question, but I let it go.

“So if I told you I was Milo’s new owner, and that I would care for him, that would alleviate your concern and you would tell
the shelter you no longer wanted him held there?”

“I didn’t say that. The dog committed a theft.”

I smile. “Milo is a crook?”

“He committed a theft.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” I introduce as evidence the letter I got from Eli, confirming that Milo was being held
because of the robbery.

After I read it out loud, I ask Oakes if he agrees with it.

“I do,” he says.

“So now the police and prosecutor are on record as saying that Milo is in jail because he committed a theft. Has he ever been
arrested or charged before?”

Oakes can’t conceal his disgust with my questions. “Come on…,” he says.

“Is that a no? Has he ever been arrested or charged before?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Not a member of organized crime? Not part of a canine Cosa Nostra?”

Oakes is not about to be humiliated, so he turns to Judge Catchings for help. “Judge…”

I turn to Judge Catchings as well. “Your Honor, we’ve established that this is Milo’s first arrest. Bail for a first-time
offender is certainly warranted. And he can be released on my recognizance; I will assume full responsibility for his future
actions.”

“I’ll reserve judgment on that,” he says. “Continue.” Then he adds, sternly, “In a serious manner.”

Before I can ask another question, Oakes says, “The dog is a danger to the community. He could keep stealing things; that’s
how he’s been trained.”

“Where was he trained?”

“At the police academy.”

“He learned to be a thief at the police academy?” I ask, and the fifteen or so spectators in the gallery laugh.

Oakes doesn’t seem inclined to answer that question, so I ask another one. “Detective, why is an armed guard stationed outside
Milo’s cage?”

“I can’t say,” he mumbles, obviously uncomfortable with the subject.

“You don’t know, or you feel you shouldn’t say?” I ask.

“I can’t say.” His emphasis is on “can’t.”

“Do you want to use a lifeline? Maybe phone a friend?”

Eli objects that I’m being disrespectful to the witness, which I never knew was an official objection, but the judge sustains
it anyway, and asks me to rephrase.

“At taxpayers’ expense, an officer is sitting in an animal shelter twenty-four hours a day, and you can’t tell us why?”

“No.”

I turn to Judge Catchings. “Your Honor…”

“Detective Oakes,” he says, “you’re going to have to do better than that.”

Oakes thinks about it for a few moments and then says, “We received a request from the federal authorities.”

Pete was right; the feds are somehow in on this. What is puzzling to me is why they would go to such lengths to guard Milo,
but then take no action to intervene in this hearing.

Neither the judge nor Eli seems to know what to make of this, and I certainly can’t shed any light on it. Catchings lets Oakes
off the hook, accepting the cryptic reference to the feds as his final answer. I wish I could probe more, but he won’t let
me.

My final witness is Juliet Corsinita, a dog trainer whose home and office are in Teaneck, but who has developed a geographically
wide clientele. She has a local TV show in which she dispenses training tips, and her dry sense of humor and easy way with
dogs have earned her quite a following.

Juliet has a training camp of sorts on her property, and people bring their animals to her for six weeks of “boot camp” during
which they learn pretty much all a dog can learn. I’ve watched her in action, and the training is done with love and care;
there is no fear or punishment, and certainly no physical violence involved.

As soon as Juliet is called, Eli stands up to object. “Your Honor, I fail to see the relevance. It is my understanding that
Ms. Corsinita, whatever her qualifications, has never worked with the dog in question, and has no direct knowledge of the
incident itself.”

Eli has obviously had his staff do quick homework on this; when he saw Juliet’s name on the witness list, he must have had
someone question her in advance of her appearance.

“Your Honor,” I say, “Ms. Corsinita is being called to testify about my client’s state of mind.” This draws a roar from the
gallery and a loud laugh and thigh slap from Willie, whom I will have to admonish about correct conduct at the defense table.

Eli has to stifle a smile himself, and he says, “Your Honor, this has moved from the ridiculous to the bizarre.”

The judge turns to me and asks, “How can Ms. Corsinita possibly testify to this dog’s state of mind? And why is that relevant?”

“Your Honor, Ms. Corsinita is an expert on dogs and how they think. She has studied Milo’s history, and will be able to inform
the court substantially as to the general way that a dog in his situation would react. If the court feels it is unhelpful,
it can certainly disregard her point of view. There is no jury impact to worry about.”

“It’s a waste of the court’s time,” Eli says. “And it has the potential to further send this proceeding into chaos.”

Judge Catchings stares daggers at Eli; apparently he doesn’t like being accused of running a chaotic courtroom.

“Your Honor,” I say, “I think everyone will agree that Milo is being held on a simple charge of theft. The prosecutor and
arresting officer have admitted it. In such cases, when it is a first offense, there are two factors among those to consider
as it relates to bail or an outright acquittal. First, is the accused a continuing threat to the community? And second, is
he a flight risk?”

Now Judge Catchings turns his withering stare at me. “You do not need to educate the court.”

“I know that, Your Honor. But there is another factor that I would also ask you to consider. In order to be ultimately convicted
of this crime, the accused has to know the difference between right and wrong. Ms. Corsinita can help with that.”

Eli jumps from his chair; this is too much. “Right and wrong? He’s a dog!”

“I think Your Honor is already aware of the species we are talking about.”

Judge Catchings shakes his head, probably unhappy with how far afield this has gotten. But the train has left the tracks,
and there’s no stopping it now. “I’ll allow the witness,” he says.

Juliet describes the type of training that Milo would have had at the police academy, and I get her to focus on the specific
manner in which he was taught to grab weapons out of the hands of dangerous criminals.

“So his job was to take deadly weapons out of the hands of criminals who were using them to threaten people?”

“That’s correct,” she says.

“So he’s a hero?” I ask, and before Eli can voice an objection, Juliet says, “In my mind he certainly is.”

“So let’s assume for the sake of argument that after he left the police force, he was trained to take other items from people
who were holding them. Though this is strictly hypothetical, would that have been an easy thing to teach him?”

“Very. I could do it in a day.”

“If he then used that training and took certain items, as directed, would he think he was doing something wrong?”

“Certainly not. That was his training. He would expect and deserve praise.”

“Thank you. Now regarding his future danger to society, what is your view on that?”

She hesitates. “Well, if the person who trained him had control and directed him to steal in the same fashion, he would do
that.”

“What if he were under my control, and I gave no such instructions?”

“Then he wouldn’t do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

I turn Juliet over to Eli, who gets her to admit that dogs don’t always behave in completely predictable ways. It’s not exactly
a stunning admission, and doesn’t harm our case in any appreciable way, unless the judge is predisposed against us.