legwork on the rest.”
“Can I carry a gun? I just got a license… in case.”
Sam has some serious mental issues. “No gun, Sam. This isn’t official police business. But you can say stuff like ‘ten-four’ and ‘roger’ if you like.”
“I copy that,” he says.
“Good. I want you to find me the best expert you can on the work that Walter Timmerman was doing.”
“What kind of work was he doing?” Sam asks, quite logically.
“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I admit.
“That’s going to make it harder.”
“Let’s start with DNA. Timmerman was an expert in it, and we have that e-mail about him sending his own DNA in to be tested. So we’ll start there. Bring me the mayor of DNA-ville.”
“Will do.”
“And Sam, if you find someone, but they don’t want to help, don’t shoot them. Move on to someone else.”
But Sam has already hung up, so he doesn’t hear me. I turn to Laurie, who has overheard my side of the conversation. “Sam has a gun?” she asks.
“Apparently so.”
“You might want to confiscate his bullets.”
My next call is to Martha Wyndham, who is not at home. I leave a message that I need to talk to her, and I give her the address of the house, should she be able to come over after court tomorrow.
Laurie and I talk some more about the case, and we then go upstairs to the bedroom. I head into the bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth, and when I come back Laurie is already in bed. This is not a surprise. What is a surprise is that she’s naked.
“You’re naked,” I say, trying not to drool.
“Wow, you don’t miss a thing.”
I put on a fake Western accent. “Where I come from, when a lady gets herself naked, she’s got a reason for it. At least that’s what my pappy always told me.”
“You had a wise pappy,” she said.
This is shaping up as a too-good-to-be-true moment, but I’m also slightly concerned about it. “You’re sure you’re okay?” I ask. “I mean, you’ve been through a lot. Are you up for this?”
She smiles. “I was going to ask you the same question.”
It turns out that we are both more than equal to the challenge. It also turns out to be one of the most intense, loving experiences of my life.
It wasn’t long ago that I thought I had lost Laurie forever, and now she’s here, with me, fully and completely.
As Al Michaels once said, “Do you believe in miracles? YES!”
ROBINSON ARRIVES AT THE HEARING with eight lawyers. Since I don’t attend bar association meetings, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen this many lawyers in a group before. I’m not even sure it’s called a “group” of lawyers; maybe it’s a flock or a gaggle.
The lead attorney is Stanford Markinson, one of the founding partners of Markinson, Berger, Lincoln amp; Simmons. It is one of the largest law firms in New Jersey, with offices around the state. Robinson must be a hell of a big client to get Markinson to show up personally at a dog custody hearing.
Hatchet makes it clear that he is not at all happy to have to be going through this, and he tells both sides to be economical with their time. This is going to be done before lunch, or he’s going to have the attorneys for lunch.
I am very concerned about this hearing, and it has nothing to do with the number or quality of lawyers that Robinson has enlisted to represent him. The fact is that I have very few legal bullets to fire; if I were Markinson I would view this as a slam dunk.
More important are the stakes involved. I don’t trust Robinson and view him as a possible suspect in the Timmerman killings, which automatically makes him a suspect in the attempted Waggy killing. Even if he were innocent of all that, I certainly don’t trust him to protect Waggy in the way that I have been doing.
Complicating matters is my inability to share with the court the danger that Waggy is facing. Clearly I can’t reference what Childs confessed to Marcus, and without that I have no evidence at all of any threat to Waggy.
I am also in the uncomfortable position of not really having a positive goal that I can verbalize. Robinson’s is clear: He wants to be named custodian of this dog. My preferred outcome is more vague. I want to maintain my role as the court-appointed decider when it comes to Waggy’s future, even though I have done nothing but avoid making a decision for months.
What I want is for Steven to take custody, but I certainly can’t guarantee with any certainty at all that Steven will ever again be in a position to do so. Hatchet knows that as well as anyone. I have to try to play a continuing delaying game until I can win Steven his freedom.
Markinson calls as his first witness a trainer named Pam Potter. She has been the primary trainer of Robinson’s show dogs for four years, and she describes the conditions that Robinson provides as humane and perfectly acceptable.
“You would be aware if that were not the case?” Markinson asks.
“Oh, yes. I’m around the dogs all the time. I wouldn’t stay there if they were being mistreated. I love dogs far too much for that.”
“And Mr. Robinson provides whatever veterinary care is necessary?”
“Certainly. Money is never an object.”
Markinson turns the witness over to me for cross-examination, but before I can start, Hatchet calls both of us to the bench for a whispered conference. He directs his comments to Markinson.
“What was that witness all about?” he asks.
Markinson is taken aback by the question; he’s not used to Hatchet’s eccentricities. “Well, Your Honor, we were using her to show that the dog will be well cared for by Mr. Robinson.”
“Why?”
“So that you would feel comfortable awarding the dog to him.”
Hatchet gives him the icy stare. “This dog is not going to the person who will provide the cushiest life. He is going to the person with the strongest legal claim to him. So stick to the ownership issues.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I would still like to cross-examine this witness, Your Honor,” I say.
“To what end?”
“To challenge what she said.”
Hatchet is not very adept at concealing his annoyance. “I just told you that what she said does not matter.”
“I understand, but it’s still in the record, and I would not like the record to show that it went unchallenged.”
“For possible appeal?” Hatchet asks.
“If we don’t prevail here,” I say. I’ve got to be careful with this, since Hatchet is not only the judge, he is also the jury. It doesn’t make much sense to piss him off.
“If you take more than fifteen seconds to cross-examine this woman, then it’s a good bet you won’t be prevailing,” he says.
I nod, and Markinson and I go back to our respective tables. He has been “Hatcheted” for the first time, and seems a little shocked by the experience.
“I have no questions for this witness,” I announce, and I see Markinson smile when I say it.
Markinson calls Charles Robinson to the stand, and studiously avoids asking any questions about how well the dog will be treated. He focuses on his friendship with Timmerman, and their partnership in owning three dogs, none of whom is in competition anymore.
