Tommy Haller is sitting at a desk; I recognize him from photos. If he’s upset by what he’s witnessed, he’s not showing it. “You Marcus Clark?” he asks.
I assume he isn’t talking to Laurie or me, but Marcus doesn’t seem interested in answering, so I fill the breach. “In the flesh,” I say. “He’s a personal friend of mine; we’re very close.”
Haller doesn’t look at me; he can’t seem to take his eyes off Marcus. “I heard of you,” he says. Then, maybe thinking we hadn’t understood, or were questioning the veracity of his statement, he repeats, “Yeah, I’ve heard of you.”
“Great,” I say. “That makes us all feel closer. Let’s talk about Pete Stanton.”
Haller continues to ignore me, reminding me in the moment of every girl I went to high school with. He stares at Marcus, while slowly reaching into a drawer and taking something out. It’s a gun, which would not have been my first choice of things to come out of that drawer. For example, I would have preferred M&M’S.
He points the gun at Marcus, who does not seem to consider this a negative development, or a positive one. “You know what this is?” he asks Marcus.
Suddenly there is a loud firecracker sound, and the gun goes flying out of Haller’s hand and onto the floor. He looks as stunned as I am, which is way up on any stun-o-meter that might be measuring the event. We both look to the other side of the room, where Laurie is holding her own gun, and pointing it at Haller.
There’s no other conclusion to be reached other than she literally shot the gun out of Haller’s hand, a feat the Lone Ranger would be proud of.
“The next one goes in your head, asshole,” she says. Laurie, if I haven’t mentioned this before, is not to be confused with a delicate flower.
At that moment, Enormous staggers into the room, having somewhat recovered from whatever Marcus did to him. He looks groggy, and when Laurie says, “Sit down,” he sees the gun and eagerly heads to the nearest chair.
“You just made a big mistake,” Haller says to Laurie. The net effect of that statement is that Marcus seems to edge slightly toward Haller, the first movement of any kind since we settled in. He isn’t crazy about anyone threatening Laurie, and Haller is smart enough to pick up on it.
“Okay,” Haller says, raising his palms in a gesture of surrender. “What do you want?”
I jump in again. “As I mentioned, we want to talk about Pete Stanton.”
“That piece of shit ain’t getting out of jail alive. I got people in there.”
“Is that why you set him up for the Diaz hit?” I use words like “hit” to demonstrate my street cred; I am as cool as they come.
“What the hell you talking about?”
“Why did you hit Diaz?”
“Who is … is that the guy Stanton iced?”
I didn’t come here for a confession, or for Haller to unburden his soul to us. I am here looking for a reaction, so that I can judge whether it is real or not.
This is real.
It’s clear that Tommy Haller had nothing whatsoever to do with killing Danny Diaz, or setting Pete up to take the fall for it.
But at least we had a fun morning.
Edna is helping Ricky with his homework when we get home.
That is unusual in itself, since it’s almost July, and school doesn’t start until September.
The mystery is cleared up when Edna speaks. “What’s a four-letter word for ‘king of the jungle’?”
“What are the letters?” Ricky asks.
She points. “See this? The first letter is an ‘l.’”
Ricky thinks for a moment, then brightens. “Lion!”
Edna looks up at us and says, “The kid is good.” Tara and Sebastian, who are lying on a blanket together munching on chewies, don’t seem terribly impressed.
Edna turns back to Ricky and says, “Now we need a three-letter word for insect, starting with a ‘b.’” Before he can answer, she looks up at me and says, “Oh, Richard Wallace called; he said it’s important.”
Laurie starts to praise Ricky for his crossword puzzling prowess, while I head to the phone to call Wallace. I usually have instincts regarding when I’m about to hear good or bad news. Unfortunately, those instincts are only correct on the bad side; good news never seems to arrive when anticipated.
This time alarm bells are going off in my head; prosecutors don’t call during the pretrial phase to share happy defense news. The only question, as I dial the phone, is how bad this is going to be.
Wallace gets on the phone immediately and gets right down to business, another bad sign. Within moments, the signs are no longer important; the ominous words take over.
“There is a new development, Andy. I wanted to tell you myself before it hits the media.”
“What is it?”
“We executed the search warrant on Pete’s house. The officers found heroin—street value over a hundred grand.”
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. “That’s insane, Richard.”
He doesn’t seem inclined to take my word for it. “It’s real, Andy.”
“I would be involved with drugs before Pete would,” I say, and I mean it. Pete is about the most antidrug person I know. In fact, I once did him a favor and defended his brother on a drug charge. I got him off on a technicality, but the scare got him to turn his life around. I saw firsthand Pete’s attitude about the subject; his using or dealing heroin is not within the realm of possible reality.
“I’m sorry, Andy, but it gets worse. Diaz had informed on Pete that he was dealing. So it goes directly to motive. It’s all in the discovery.”
“I haven’t seen that yet.”
“I know,” he says. “It’s on the way to you. Because it involved an informant, I had to navigate some police politics before I could share it. But it’s there.”
“It’s bullshit, Richard. This whole thing is bullshit. I don’t know how the drugs got there, but they’re not Pete’s. And they’re not evidence of murder. If there were drugs in that house, they were planted there by someone other than Pete.”
“One way or another, they’re getting in, Andy.”
I know he’s right. The judge might not consider the discovery of the drugs admissible, but that won’t deter Richard. He’ll just add a charge of drug possession, and then the jury will hear all about it.
I’m not going to get anywhere talking to Richard. Not only wouldn’t any arguments I make be productive, but if I want to make them effective, it’s best I not preview them to the opposition.
I get off the phone and signal for Laurie to come into the kitchen, out of earshot of Ricky. I relate to her exactly what Richard said to me. She is stunned, but in typical Laurie fashion, does not waste time saying so. Her focus is on how we can counter this.
“This changes things, Andy. We’ve been thinking too small.”
“I know. It’s well-financed to the point that they’re willing to throw away a hundred grand worth of heroin to help build their case.”
“And they’re smart; this has been planned and executed remarkably well. This is not a Tommy Haller–type operation; this is out of Tommy Haller’s league.”
“And Diaz was in on it,” I say.
“How can you be sure?”
“Diaz informed on Pete for drug dealing, and then drugs were found in Pete’s apartment. The two have to be connected. Either Diaz was part of the frame on his own, or he had no choice.”
Laurie nods. “And what he didn’t realize was that his own murder was going to be the clincher against Pete.”
“I guess it’s time to hear what Pete thinks.”
“Where is he?”
I look at my cell phone to see what time it is. I used to wear a watch, but I’m a techie now. “Guards should be bringing him home right about now.”
“He’s going to be upset.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe you should tell him.”
She smiles. “You can handle it.”
I he
ad over to Pete’s house, which is about a ten-minute drive from mine. It’s a trip I am sure I’ll be making quite a few times, and it certainly beats driving to the jail.
Pete is already home, and I find him sitting at the kitchen table with a uniformed officer, who I don’t recognize. Pete introduces him as Kevin Bogart, and Bogart gives me a smile and a big handshake.
“Kevin’s going to be doing the eight-to-five shift,” Pete says.
Kevin smiles again and says, “Easy duty.”
“Where are you going to be stationed?” I ask.
“Right outside the front door,” he says.
“Would you mind going there now? I need to talk to my client.”
“Sure,” Kevin says. “No problem.” He is one agreeable guy.
Once he leaves, Pete asks, “What’s up?”
“They searched this house yesterday.”
He frowns. “I know. I’ll be straightening everything up for two days.”
“You notice anything missing?”
“Like what?”
“Well, they walked out of here with about a hundred grand worth of heroin.”
“That better be a joke,” he says.
“I wish it was.”
“Andy, this is nuts. Where did they say it was?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m sure Wallace is going to add it to the list of charges, so he can get it admitted as motive evidence.”
“Motive for what?”
“Murder. Danny informed on you for drug dealing.”
Pete just sits there for a few moments, a stunned look on his face. It’s the first time I’ve seen him appear overwhelmed by events. Finally, “I don’t know what to say.”
“I can understand that. We are up against some wealthy, smart people who want nothing more than to put you in jail and leave you there for a long time.”
“So we need to figure out who, and we need to figure out why.”
“Right. And it all starts with Diaz. I want you to write out everything you know about him. Leave out nothing; email it to me.”
“If he said I was a drug dealer, then I might not know anything about him at all.”
“He may have been forced to do so; we won’t know that for a while. But one thing is for sure: he knew the people who have done this to you.”
I want to know everyone Danny Diaz spoke to on the phone.
Cell phone, home phone … every call in and out.”
If Sam Willis were worried about delivering the information to me, he’s hiding it well. “No problem.”
“How far back can you go?” I ask. Sam can access pretty much anything online, and since everything in the history of the world is now online, that makes him a valuable guy. The fact that he is not legally entitled to do much of what he does makes him even more valuable.
“How far back do you want to go?”
“Since birth, but I’ll take the last couple of months.”
“Give me twenty-four hours,” he says.
“I’ll be happy to give you twenty-four hours, as long as we can start them twelve hours ago.”
“Okay … I’m on it.”
“I want whatever the phone company has got. If he ordered a pizza, I want to know the toppings.”
“They don’t record the content of the calls, Andy. They just know when they were completed and how long they lasted.”
“We clearly have too much privacy in this country,” I say, but I have a hunch that Sam thinks I’m serious.
Sam goes off to do his computer magic, and as he walks out, Laurie walks in. I would make the ‘Sam for Laurie’ trade any day of the week, but I have a feeling that today is going to be an exception. It’s because of what she has in her hand.
A Frisbee.
“Feel like going to the park?” she asks.
My mind is racing. “The park? Are you crazy? It’s seventy degrees out.”
“Does that mean it’s too hot, or too cold?” she asks.
“Whatever. It certainly isn’t Frisbee weather.”
“I thought we’d take Ricky, Tara, and Sebastian to Eastside Park for a little while. He’s been cooped up in the house too long.”
“House-cooping is good; I just read a study on it somewhere. I only wish I had known about it when I was a kid.”
“We’ll be back in an hour or so; you can use a break. And it’ll be good bonding time for you and Ricky,” she says.
“Tell him to come in here and watch the Mets game with me.”
“Did you also see the study about women being more in the mood for sex after throwing a Frisbee in the park? It was in USA Today.”
Laurie and I have abstained since Ricky came to live with us. “No, I missed that.”
“The statistics show it to be a real turn-on. Never having actually played Frisbee with a man, I can’t confirm or deny that.”
“What did USA Today say happens when the woman is rejected on her Frisbee proposal?”
“It’s quite clear on that,” she says. “Icicle-city.”
“I’ll race you to the park.”
So we go to Eastside Park, Laurie, Ricky, Tara, Sebastian, and me. Within five minutes, we’re throwing the Frisbee on the lower level near the baseball fields, and Ricky and Laurie seem to be enjoying it. Tara and Sebastian have absolutely no interest in the process, and when Ricky throws it near them, trying to get them to jump at it, they just lie there and look at him like he’s nuts.
For myself, Frisbee-throwing has never really had much appeal. I like games that have a beginning and end, and you keep score and come up with a winner. If there’s no winner, how can you mock the loser?
The game of Frisbee, as best I can tell, consists of throwing it, and catching it. If you miss, you pick it up and throw it again, with no apparent penalty. I’m therefore not sure what the incentive is for catching it.
But it’s a beautiful day, and being in the park with our rapidly growing family is not unpleasant. I also recognize that there are going to be very few relaxing moments coming up; the intensity of preparing for trial simply does not allow for them.
We take a long detour on the way home and stop at the Fireplace, a restaurant on Route 17. I get hamburgers for Ricky, Tara, Sebastian, and myself, and a salad for Laurie, and we eat at an outdoor table. It’s the happiest I’ve seen Ricky, and that is definitely good to see.
I spill half a cup of soda on my shirt, which sends Ricky and Laurie into absolute spasms of laughter, pointing and generally mocking me. Ricky is laughing so hard that his orange juice starts coming up through his nose, causing even more laughter. It’s nice that my misfortune can bring such joy into people’s lives.
All in all, the day gives me a glimpse into what life is like for normal human beings, which will help me if I ever attempt to become one.
Ricky goes to bed soon after we get home. Laurie gives him a choice of who should tuck him in, Laurie or me, and he chooses her without hesitation. It’s hard to blame him; I would make the same choice.
Tara and Sebastian are completely wiped out from the excitement and exertion of the day. I’m not sure why lying on the grass is any more tiring than lying at home on a dog bed, but it apparently is.
Laurie and I have a glass of wine, and listen to some music, and then we go to bed. I am happy to report that those USA Today people really have their act together.
Veterinary medicine is a huge industry.
This year, in the United States alone, people will spend more than twelve billion dollars to provide medical care for their pets. And that number rises every year, both here and abroad. People often brag about how much they spend on their pet’s ailments as a badge of honor, as if it is proof of their love for their dog or cat.
A substantial portion of that is spent on drugs. In fact, almost eighty percent of all dogs receive medication each year. It is certainly no surprise that the drug companies have taken full advantage of this opportunity, and have jumped in with both feet. Research into animal drugs reaches an all-time
high every year.
But obviously, all the terrific care and medications in the world ultimately are not enough, and our pets’ lives eventually come to an end. The vast majority of pet owners wind up having them euthanized, after they’ve determined that the animal no longer has an acceptable quality of life.
Euthanasia obviously also requires the administering of a drug. Most commonly, the animal is given a sedative injection, and then a lethal drug is injected into a vein. It can be stressful for both animal and grieving owner.
Daniel Mathis set out to find a better way. Mathis is a highly regarded research chemist for Blaine Pharmaceuticals, a small to midsize company that found a niche in veterinary medicine, and the firm has fared quite well.
The founder and owner, Stephen Blaine, cashed out, selling his business to a private buyer. A new chief executive, Mitchell Blackman, was installed, but except for some minor cost-cutting, life went on as before. Certainly Daniel Mathis did not notice any change; he was valued by Blaine, and by the new owners.
Mathis had seen the euthanasia area as one of special promise. He submitted a proposal to Blackman in which he would set out to develop an easier, stress-free way for a stricken pet to be euthanized. It would not require any injections at all, but would be a pill that could be given conventionally, even in a treat.
Best of all, Mathis was confident this could be accomplished using natural compounds, already found in the body. He believed he could find a combination that would cause the animal’s heart to simply stop beating, with no pain or suffering. And because the compounds would be natural, they would be inexpensive to produce, thus yielding substantial profits.
And he did it. In a clinical trial, the compound was developed, produced in limited quantities in pill form, and given to a sample of animals who were at the end of their lives and ready for medical euthanasia. And it worked, better than Mathis even expected. The end for the aging and afflicted animals was painless and stress free; they simply silently and permanently went to sleep, essentially as the result of a sudden and massive heart attack.
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