Dog Tags (9 page)

Eli has put in an uncharacteristically weak effort. I attribute this to a basic indifference to whether Milo is kept in the
shelter or not, and perhaps to some annoyance about being kept in the dark regarding the armed guard. The feds obviously saw
fit to deal with the police but not the prosecutor. This is not the best tack to take when the issue could wind up in court.

Eli and I make closing statements, and then I expect Judge Catchings to defer his ruling for at least a few days.

He doesn’t. “It is the opinion of this court that the county has not made a compelling case for depriving this dog of his
liberty. I direct the defense to present to the court a statement stipulating how Milo will be cared for, and what arrangements
and precautions will be made to guarantee that he will not participate in any further actions contrary to the public good.

“Once that statement has been approved by the court, I will order him released to your custody, Mr. Carpenter.”

“Your Honor, can I request that the guard remain on duty at the shelter until you have approved my submitted statement?”

“So ordered. My opinion in its entirety will be posted on the court Web site.”

Game, set, and match.

I
GO STRAIGHT FROM THE OFFICE TO THE COUNTY JAIL TO TELL
B
ILLY THE GOOD NEWS.
It’s generally very easy for an attorney to see his client, and no previous appointment is necessary. This is especially
true during the phase in which the accused has not yet gone to trial or been convicted. This is the time when contact between
lawyer and client is most crucial, and there are few roadblocks to overcome.

I’m therefore surprised and annoyed at having to wait an hour before anyone comes out to escort me inside. When they finally
arrive, it’s not a uniformed guard, but rather a civilian employee.

This is unusual, but is partially explained when the man says, “The warden wants to see you.”

“Why?” I ask.

“He should be the one to tell you that.”

I’m ushered directly to the warden’s office. His name is Daniel Maddow, and I’ve met him a few times over the years, mostly
when I’ve been dissatisfied with the hospitality his people have shown to my clients. He’s been in the job for a while, at
least ten years, though he’s no older than forty. He seems to present himself as something of a contradiction; while he has
the demeanor of a grizzled veteran
who’s seen it all, he talks carefully, in a refined, almost delicate manner.

Maddow gets up from his desk when I come in, and we shake hands. “I’m afraid I have some distressing news,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Mr. Zimmerman was attacked in the lavatory early this morning. He was badly injured.”

“How badly?”

“Three broken ribs, broken clavicle, minor concussion, knife wound on his arm, possibly some internal injuries. My understanding
is that none of it is considered life threatening.”

“Who did it?” I ask.

“We believe there were three assailants. We’ve identified one of them, which was fairly easy, because he’s dead.”

“As a result of the same fight?”

“Yes. The man suffered a broken neck. Let’s just say Mr. Zimmerman put up more than a token resistance.”

“How did they get to him? I thought he was in a separate area for protection?”

Maddow nods, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. “He was. There seems to have been some cooperation between the assailants
and one or more guards, though we haven’t been able to identify those culpable yet.”

“That is terrible,” I say. “Inexcusable.”

He nods. “Yes, but I’m afraid it reflects the realities of modern prison conditions. We of course have zero tolerance for
this type of thing, but unfortunately our level of tolerance is not always a deterrent.”

“Can I see him?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, but he’s not here at the moment,” he says. “He was transferred to Saint Joseph’s Hospital,
where I am told he is in intensive care.”

“What’s going to happen when he comes back here?”

“Believe me, that is a matter that will be intensely analyzed, and adequate security will be provided.”

“You’ll understand if I’m not completely confident with that?” I ask.

He nods. “Certainly.”

Once I leave, I call the hospital and learn that if all goes well, Billy should be out of intensive care by early evening,
and I can see him then. I ask for the head nurse on the floor, who in my experience is the person in the hospital who basically
runs the place and knows everything that’s going on. I ask her if Billy is being protected, and she assures me that a police
officer is there to guard him.

It’s taken a while, but Billy’s finally attained the same status as Milo.

When I get back to the office, I’m surprised to find that Hike is there. “Hey, we won,” I say. “It couldn’t have gone better.”

“For now. If they appeal, who knows?”

“You trying to cheer me up?” I ask.

“Nah, I just came to drop off my bill.”

He hands me a bill for the time he put into writing the brief. It’s lower than I expected; he certainly didn’t pad the hours.

“Great. If you can wait a minute, I’ll give you a check.”

“Where am I going?” he asks. This is obviously a guy who likes to be paid on time.

I write out the check, realizing as I’m doing so that Milo and I never negotiated a fee structure. If he gives me a problem,
I’ll just withhold his kibble until he pays, or maybe I’ll send Hike around to collect.

Before Hike leaves, he asks the obvious question. “What are you going to do with the dog when you get him?”

“I’m not sure. You got any ideas?”

“Nope,” he says, and leaves.

Thanks, Hike.

B
ILLY DOESN’T LEAVE INTENSIVE CARE UNTIL THE MORNING, SO
I
’M AT THE HOSPITAL AT NINE AM.

The decision has already been made to keep him in the hospital for at least the next few days, rather than transferring him
to the prison infirmary. I support the decision and would have fought for it if there was resistance. If solitary confinement
in the prison couldn’t prevent this attack, the infirmary would be a shooting gallery.

There are two guards outside Billy’s room when I arrive. He looks like he’s been through a meat grinder, but he does not seem
the type to complain about it. “You okay?” I ask. “Are they treating you well?”

“No problem, although what the hell is the deal with this male nurse thing?”

“You’ve got a male nurse?”

“Damn straight; he’s gotta be six foot two. He wanted to sponge me down. I told him if he tried it, he’d be taking my bed
in intensive care.”

“Do you need anything?”

He nods. “Yeah. I need you to get me out of here.”

“The hospital?” I ask.

“No… prison. But first tell me about Milo. I heard you got him off.”

“Yes. We prevailed.”

“Man, Pete was right. You must be good. Where’s Milo now?”

“Still at the shelter. I should have him out by tomorrow. Which brings up the question of what I should do with him.”

“Can you hold on to him until you get me out?”

“What makes you think you’re getting out?”

“If you go to the prosecutor, I think he’ll be willing to make a deal.”

“You’re going to plead?”

He shakes his head. “I’m going to trade.”

“Billy, I don’t think you get it. First of all, I’m not your lawyer; I only represented you for the purpose of getting Milo
out. Second of all, if I was your lawyer, I wouldn’t put up with this cryptic bullshit.”

He is aware that I’m angry, and backs off immediately. “Okay, I’m sorry, you’re right. I need you to be my lawyer, full-time.
I want you to do for me what you did for Milo.”

“No thanks. I’ve got all the clients I need.”

“Do it as a favor for Pete.”

“Been there, done that. Besides, he hasn’t asked me to represent you,” I point out.

“He will.” When I don’t respond, he says, “Come on, man, I’m a wounded veteran. Don’t you care about your country? What do
I have to do?” he asks. “Sing ‘God Bless America’?”

There’s something obnoxiously charming about Billy, but I’ve always been able to resist obnoxious charm. Maybe it’s because
I possess so much of it myself. The truth is, I don’t want this case; in fact, I don’t want any case. But I also can’t leave
him confined to this hospital bed with no one to help him.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll compromise with you. I’ll handle your plea bargain—”

He interrupts to correct me. “Trade.”

I nod. “Trade. But you’re going to tell me what it is you have to trade. I’m not going in there unless I know what I’m talking
about.”

He thinks for a moment, weighing his options, and then nods. “Okay. Jack Erskine… the guy that was killed… if there was ever
someone on this planet who deserved to die, it was him.”

A
LAN
L
ANDON WAS LISTENING TO THE MOST BORING SPEECH EVER DELIVERED WHEN HIS CELL PHONE RANG.
More accurately, it didn’t ring; it vibrated. And it wasn’t his cell phone, at least not his main one. It was his second
phone; the one he always answered, no matter what.

Since he was sitting on the dais next to the mayor of New York, and it was the same mayor who was giving the boring speech,
answering the phone took some delicate maneuvering. He quietly got up and walked off the stage, hoping that everyone would
assume he was going to the restroom. Since the mayor was twenty minutes into a talk on the intricacies of educational reform,
the likelihood was that the audience was so close to comatose that they wouldn’t have noticed a hand grenade going off on
stage.

As Landon was walking, he opened the phone in his pocket so that the call would go through without cutting to voice mail.
He knew the caller would be smart enough to hold on and wait for Landon to answer.

Actually, there was no doubt that Marvin Emerson would hold on. M had called Landon at least thirty times in the last year,
and
Landon had answered every single time. He also always knew that it was M calling even before he said a word, yet M’s phone
ID was blocked. It could only mean one thing: He was the only one who called on that particular phone.

When Landon reached an area in the hallway that afforded him some privacy, he took the phone out of his pocket and spoke into
it. “You have news?”

“I do,” said M. “The lawyer pulled it off. The dog is going to be released from the shelter.”

Landon couldn’t help but smile. “Justice triumphs. When will this take place?”

“I’m told tomorrow.”

“Where will it be taken?” Landon asked.

“I don’t have that information yet. But I will. Our people will be there, waiting to follow whoever takes him.”

“Make sure that you are personally involved in that process. But don’t take any action yet. Just keep track of his whereabouts.”

“Will do,” M said.

“Is that all?”

“No, and the other news is not as good.”

Landon hated statements like that. He didn’t need anyone to characterize news in advance; he could certainly figure out for
himself whether it was good or not. Those were wasted words, which amounted to wasted time. “Speak.”