Our waiter walks by, and Pete stops him. “Bring me a glass of the most expensive drink you have.”
“What kind of drink?” he asks.
“Doesn’t matter; make it a double; and one for my friend Vince.” Pete points to me. “Just put it all on his tab.”
Vince sighs his relief. “Ah, back to normal. Life is good.”
“Why did you do that?” Pete asks. “Really.”
“In the moment I thought he was entitled to representation; he had rights and I felt he should be aware of them. And—”
Pete interrupts. “Here it comes.”
“Never mind; in a million years you wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Vince nods. “Try him.”
“It was the dog. This guy was in deep trouble, the police were all over him, and he was worried about what would happen to Aggie.”
Pete thinks for a moment, then nods. “For once you’re right; it would take a lot more than a million years to get me to understand that bullshit.”
The waiter brings the expensive drinks that Pete ordered. They’re in a tiny glass. It’s such a small amount that if Pete pours it on my head, which is very possible, I doubt I could tell my hair was wet.
Instead he downs his in one gulp, then says, “Worth every penny.” And then, “It pays to buy the best.”
“He says he’s innocent and that there is an explanation for everything.”
Pete frowns his derision. “There’s a news event. Print that, Vince: ‘Suspect claims innocence.’ Stop the damn presses.”
“This is off the record, Vince,” I say.
Vince frowns. “I hate that expression.”
“Where is your client now?” Pete asks.
“He’s not my client. I was merely an innocent, bystanding dog rescuer.”
“Well, one way or the other, he’s going down, so you might as well collect your fee.”
“Are you going to arrest him?”
“We’ll see. But the state cops were very interested in what I had to say. I got the feeling it fit the puzzle they are working on quite neatly.”
I shrug. “Not my problem.”
My days are fairly predictable since my retirement.
I sleep until seven, take Tara and Sebastian for a walk in the park, come home for breakfast with Laurie and Ricky, then walk Ricky to school. It’s May, so in a couple of months Ricky will be off at camp. I’ll have to find something else to fill that time slot; maybe I’ll work a nap into the schedule.
This morning starts out differently, and I have learned that “different” is rarely a positive. Laurie wakes me at six forty-five, and she’s holding the local newspaper. She hands it to me. “Did you arrange this with Vince?”
The headline on the front page is “Alleged Murder Victim Turns Up Alive and Well.”
“I can’t believe he did this. I told him it was off-the-record. He knows that everything we say at Charlie’s is off-the-record.”
“So you talked about it last night?”
“Yes. Pete was rather agitated. But I specifically told Vince—”
The phone rings, and Laurie answers it. “He’s right here.” She hands me the phone. “It’s your favorite newspaperman.”
“I’m listening, Vince” is all I say.
“I know you’re pissed. But I didn’t quote you and I didn’t use anything that you said.”
“The conversation was off-the-record.”
“And I kept it that way, Andy. After you left, Pete told me everything that happened and said I could run the story. It had nothing to do with you. I kept you out of it; it was all from him.”
“You should have told me.”
“I probably should have. But it was late when we got out of there, and I had to hurry to get the story in. You couldn’t have killed it anyway because you really weren’t involved. I was hoping to get to you this morning before you saw it, but clearly that didn’t work out.”
“I’m still pissed, Vince.”
“Won’t-keep-paying-the-tab pissed, or soon-you’ll-get-over-it pissed?”
“Good-bye, Vince.” I hang up the phone. Let him worry where his next burger is coming from.
As I’m getting off, Laurie is coming back into the bedroom. “Cable news channels are picking it up.”
“Damn.”
“Why are you so upset?”
I can tell it’s a good question because I have no answer for it. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to have a role in whatever the hell is going on, and this makes me feel like a part of it.”
Of course Laurie takes a calmer view. “At the end of the day, this story running is not going to wind up a key factor. It was eventually going to come out that Vogel is alive, and the police are going to get to the bottom of what happened. The most this might do is speed things up a bit, but even that is not likely.”
I spend a few minutes watching CNN, and sure enough they have picked up Vince’s story and are running with it. Murders are not such a big deal in the eyes of the media, but murder victims who come back from the dead make for a hot story.
Tara and Sebastian seem unconcerned by the developments; they just want to go for their walk in the park. I’m happy to oblige; I enjoy the walks almost as much as they do. I also do some of my best thinking while we casually stroll through Eastside Park.
Self-reflection has never been a specialty of mine, but I try to do some on the walk. What I come up with actually surprises me:
I’m curious.
While I want no part of this or any other case, I have to admit, at least to myself, that I am wondering what Vogel’s story is. A successful executive goes out on a boat with two colleagues, blows the thing up, murders both of them, and fakes his own death?
Why would he do that? There could be a number of motives for murder, and almost as many for faking his death, but both?
I know nothing about the case, so I can’t come close to answering those questions, but I’m curious. Not the kind of curious that would make me represent Vogel; not that strong. But I would like to know.
I liked Vogel during the brief time we were together. Whatever the reason was for his doing what he did, he came out of hiding because he loved his dog. Two points for him, and another two for being concerned about what would happen to Aggie if the police took him into custody.
That amounts to a four-point play under pressure. Not bad at all.
I fully understand that someone could love a dog and still be a murderer. But for him to take the risk that he did, well, that is some serious dog love.
It just makes me even more curious.
The state police arrested Alex Vogel at 3:34 this afternoon.
An enterprising local reporter who covers northern New Jersey for the NBC affiliate in New York had a camera crew on hand when the state police showed up at the garden apartment that Vogel was renting in Ridgewood.
No mention was made as to how he knew where Vogel was staying, whether an arrest was imminent, or when exactly it would happen. Clearly, a leak came from somewhere in the law enforcement operation; perhaps they thought it would look good for people to see them acting quickly and decisively.
The reporter had a brief interview with the public relations spokesman for the state police, who said that the publicity that morning about Vogel’s actually being alive had nothing to do with the timing of the arrest. The camera only showed the spokesman’s head and upper body, but I have no doubt that had they scanned lower, it would have shown that his pants were actually on fire.
I’m sure that the police had been following Vogel ever since he showed up at the Tara Foundation, and maybe long before that. Pete indicated that his feeling from his phone call to them was that they seemed not surprised that Vogel might be alive.
They were certainly building their case, with no particular pressure to make a move until they were positive that they were ready. But when the public learned that Vogel was alive, that pressure was ratchet
ed up enormously.
Additionally, his knowledge that the police knew about his survival made him a serious flight risk. If he could fake his death and disappear once, albeit unsuccessfully, he could clearly attempt to disappear again. That is especially true since he apparently has financial resources at his disposal.
I’m assuming that the police have been gathering evidence all along. That Vogel is alive is not enough to justify his arrest. Even though the media and the authorities identified him as having likely died in the explosion, he was under no legal obligation to come forward and tell them that they were wrong.
Simply disappearing, or not correcting faulty media information, is not a crime. Murder, on the other hand, is definitely a crime, and the reports are that Vogel was arrested for a double homicide.
He told me that he had an explanation for everything. There’d better be, or he is in deep trouble.
Laurie has been out buying camp clothes with Ricky. Based on the number of shopping bags they tote in, I feel bad for the other kids who will be in his bunk. If they haven’t gone shopping yet, they are going to be upset to find that no clothes are left in the stores.
Laurie and I decide we’ll talk about the Vogel situation tonight after dinner, when Ricky is in bed. We try not to discuss murders in front of him, though on occasions he has overheard us. It makes for some uncomfortable questions, which I invariably let Laurie deal with.
While I’m taking Tara and Sebastian for our pre-dinner walk, I realize I have forgotten about one other important issue … Aggie. It would be normal procedure when an arrest like this is made that a suspect’s dog or cat would be taken to the county shelter, where he or she would be housed until the resolution of the case.
Since cases take a long time to be resolved in the quickest of circumstances, that would likely mean that Aggie would be in a cage at the shelter for months. There are two words for that:
No. Chance.
I cut the walk a little short because I want to get back home and start to deal with this. Tara and Sebastian don’t seem to mind; maybe they sense that their sacrifice is going toward the greater goal of helping one of their own kind.
When we get back, Laurie tells me that Beth Morris called and wants me to call her back. I decide to do so first, since she might have some information on Aggie’s whereabouts.
She does.
“Aggie is at the Passaic County Shelter.” She’s obviously upset about it. “I went down there, but they said they can’t let me have her. I asked for how long, and they said until the legal stuff was worked out.”
“Who did you speak to?”
“The shelter director … I think his name is Brandenberger.”
“I know him very well. I’ll take care of it.”
“You can get her out?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Whatever it takes. At gunpoint if necessary. How did you find out where she is?”
Beth hesitates for a few moments. “Alex Vogel called me.”
“After he was arrested?”
“Yes. If it’s true that they really only get one phone call, he used it to call me. They had told him where they were taking Aggie and he wanted me to help her.”
Once again I am impressed by Vogel’s care for his dog; I understand it, but a lot of people would behave differently given his circumstances.
“Don’t worry about her, Beth; I’m on it.”
“There’s one other thing,” she says, again hesitating a bit.
Uh-oh. “What is it?”
“He wants to talk to you. He asked me to try and get you to come see him.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I couldn’t make any promises, but that I would convey the message.”
“Consider it conveyed.”
“Will you see him? I know I have absolutely no experience with these things, and I don’t want to have any, but there’s something about him, Andy. If he’s guilty, then he deserves whatever comes to him. But if there’s any chance he isn’t…”
I’m a little annoyed at her for pressuring me like this, but I know it’s coming from a good place, so I don’t come down on her for it.
“I’ll think about it, Beth. But no matter what happens, Aggie will be fine. I can promise you that.”
Today is a two-jail day, which means it is not going to be fun-filled.
It’s something of a sad commentary on my life that I have been to both of these houses of incarceration many times before. They both take some getting used to, and I’m not making much progress in that regard.
The first jail is the Passaic County Animal Shelter. While prisoners in human jails often claim to be innocent, the inmates here really are. In most cases the humans that abandoned them or carelessly let them run off are the guilty ones and should be in a cage eating cheap kibble. But they’re out there running free.
Like many shelters around the country, this one is constantly overcrowded and always underfunded. It makes for a bad combination, which is why I am here so often. The Tara Foundation gets many of its dogs from here, so that we can make sure their end result is a loving home, rather than euthanasia.
Fred Brandenberger, a terrific guy in a thankless job, runs the shelter. He does everything he possibly can to make sure that every animal that comes his way leaves for a better life. Sometimes he succeeds and sometimes he doesn’t. You can see the pain in his face and hear it in his voice when he fails.
“You here about Aggie?” Fred asks me when I show up.
“How’d you know?”
“Beth told me she was going to talk to you. She’s pretty persuasive.”
“That dog doesn’t deserve to be in here.”
He frowns. “Show me a dog who does.”
“That’s why we do what we do,” I say, playing my hole card probably sooner than necessary. Fred needs us; without our intervention he would have to euthanize many more animals. He also knows that there are plenty of other shelters in New Jersey, just as overcrowded, that we could use to get dogs.
The truth is we would never abandon Fred, and down deep he knows that, but he appreciates what we do and is accommodating.
“I’m not supposed to let her out of here.”
“I know. You’re supposed to keep a great dog locked in a cage for months.”
“Stupid, huh?” He knows how this is going to end.
“Fred, I’ll take full responsibility for her and make sure she’s cared for and happy. In the process it will open up a needed space for you. It’s a win-win.”
“And what happens if her owner gets out of jail?”
“We won’t place her until it’s resolved; she’ll live with Willie and Sondra. They’ll feed her biscuits and bonbons every night. If the owner goes free, he will get her back. If he gets convicted, we’ll find her a great home. You have my word on all of it.”
Fred nods. “Good enough for me. But we keep it between us, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“You want to take her now?”
“Willie will be in to pick her up later this morning. I’ve got somewhere else to go.”
“She’ll be ready; I’ll make sure she gets a bath.”
“Thanks, Fred. You’re doing the right thing.”
“What am I doing here? I should have gone to law school.”
I smile. “And I shouldn’t have.”
When I leave, I call Willie and tell him about my discussion with Fred. We’ve already talked about it, and he and Sondra were both happy to bring Aggie into their home. Their dog, Cash, likes it much more when he has a buddy to play with.
“How long do you think we’ll have her?” Willie asks.
“Not sure, but it won’t be quick. I’m heading down to the jail now, so I might get a better sense of where things stand.”
“Are you going to take his case?”
“No. I’m retired.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“But this time I mea
n it.”
“I’ve also heard that before. But if you want Aggie to get back with her owner, you’ll take the case.”
“You sound like Laurie.”
I’m sure that Alex Vogel considers jail to be the worst experience of his life.
People in his situation, meaning first-timers who have never been behind bars before, always feel this way. And while their reaction is both understandable and accurate, what they don’t realize is that it’s a day at the beach compared to what is ahead of them.
In county jail there are things happening … arraignments, meetings with lawyers, preparing for trial, and so forth. There’s action going on, and while the system has decided you need to be locked up, you’re still going to be able to present your side of things to a jury of your peers. It gives you something to look forward to.
State prison is different; nobody is talking to you, your legal boat has sailed, and it feels like the world has forgotten you. Which, of course, it has.
I would rather go to an animal shelter a hundred times than to a human jail or prison once. I can accomplish something at an animal shelter; I can save lives just by deciding to do it. In the human version, it’s much different. Yes, I can take on a client and maybe get that person acquitted, or maybe not. But there are so many variables that I can’t control that I feel somewhere between ineffectual and totally helpless.
I tell the guard manning the desk that I am Vogel’s attorney. It doesn’t take much convincing because the guy recognizes me. I do it because it will allow us to meet in a private room, allegedly free of eavesdropping by prison authorities. Emphasis on allegedly.
Vogel is brought in after I’m in place. He’s not in handcuffs, which is a bit unusual. Not that there is a risk of escape; I’ve been searched for weapons, and guards will be stationed outside the door.
“Thanks for coming,” Vogel says. “I appreciate it.”
“Beth said you wanted to talk to me.”
“It’s awful in here.”
I just wait; I know he didn’t ask me here to educate me on life in jail.
“Where is Aggie?” is his next question.
Still another point for Vogel on the Andy Carpenter scorecard. “She’s fine; she’s going to live with my partner and his wife until you’re free.”
Muzzled Page 3
