Dog Tags

CHAPTER 9

BILLY ZIMMERMAN 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.”