Dog Tags

CHAPTER 16

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?” is the greeting that Eli Morrison gives me instead of hello. He’s just arrived in court and come straight over to me at the defense table.

“Fine, how are you, Eli?”

“A bail hearing for a dog?”

“Justice works in strange and wonderful ways.”

“I understand you have fun with this stuff, but some of us have important work to do,” he says.

“Eli, let me ask you something. Are you aware that there is an armed guard stationed around Milo twenty-four hours a day?”

“What?” he asks, though he doesn’t mean that he didn’t hear what I said. It’s clear by his face and tone that he had no idea about the armed guard, nor can he imagine why it would be done.

“If Milo is important enough to be guarded, he’s damn sure important enough to have a bail hearing.”

I can tell that Eli has more questions, none of which he has the time to ask, or I have the ability to answer. The bailiff signals the arrival of Judge Catchings, which forces a bewildered and irritated Eli back to the prosecution table.

Judge Horace Catchings takes his seat behind the bench, which he has been doing for thirty-two years. The first African-American judge in Passaic County, Judge Catchings stands six foot six, and his frame looms out over the courthouse. It seems as if he can reach out and touch the principals in the room. Baseball hitters might describe the experience of facing tall pitchers like Randy Johnson in much the same way. Judge Catchings can’t throw the curveball, but he has a wicked contempt of court.

The judge has already agreed that I can call witnesses to support my case, but that my presentation is to take no more than two hours. I pretended that it would be difficult to stay within that time frame, though in reality I couldn’t stretch it that long if I included a rendition of “MacArthur Park.”

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.