Dog Tags by David Rosenfelt Page B

“No problem, Andy. I’m cool with the whole plan.”
    I leave with Snickers, who seems perfectly happy to get out of his cage and play a role in this production. Just before we
     go outside, I tell him, “If anybody asks, your name is Milo, your lawyer is brilliant, and you have full confidence in the
     justice system. Beyond that, you have no comment.”
    When we get outside, I stop to briefly answer some questions. In my experience, down deep everyone likes to talk to the press,
     for various reasons, but nobody will admit it.
    People can watch their forty-five closest relatives killed by lightning, and the next morning they’re on the
Today
show gabbing about it. Of course, if you ask them why, they don’t admit that they think it’s really cool to be on television.
     Instead they’ll say that they just want to make sure a tragedy like this doesn’t happen to anyone else, and please, everyone,
     stay indoors if it rains.
    My reason for talking to the press is that I want to accomplish something: I want to get a specific message out. But of course
     I don’t want to reveal my purpose, so I act guarded and let them draw it out of me.
    “Andy, where is Milo going to live?” is the first question I’m asked, and the only one I really want to answer.
    “That’s something I can’t share with you,” I say. “If the police saw fit to station an armed guard outside his cage, then
     we’ll assume there’s reason to worry about his safety. So I won’t be disclosing his location. But if you want to send him
     biscuits or toys, send them to me and I’ll make sure he gets them.”
    This gets some laughs, which is what the press is hoping for. They view this as a feel-good story, while I see it as part
     of a very serious murder investigation.
    “Will you have him guarded as well?”
    I shake my head. “I really can’t go too deeply into this, but I can tell you that Milo will live in a secluded place very
     far away from here,” I lie as I pet the fake Milo’s head.
    “Out of state?” a reporter asks.
    I grimace, as if the questions are torturing me, but finally I sigh, nod, and lie again. “Out of state. But that’s all I’m
     saying about it.”
    I answer a few more frivolous questions about Milo, but when the reporters turn their attention to the murder and Billy’s
     defense, I deflect them and leave with Snickers, who has played his part to perfection.
    Fifteen minutes later Willie calls me on my cell. “Okay, man. Milo and I are on the road.”
    “The press were all out of there?”
    “Yup. Five minutes after you took off, the place was empty.”
    “And you’re sure you’re okay with keeping him?”
    “Absolutely. Sondra and Cash are cool with it.” Sondra is Willie’s wife, and Cash is his dog, a Lab mix whom Willie and I
     found on the street.
    “Okay. Keep in touch if anything unusual happens.”
    “Anything happens, I’ll deal with it.” Willie grew up in the toughest of Paterson neighborhoods, and he can take very good
     care of himself. He’s a black belt in karate, though that won’t help against someone armed, unless the bullet happens to hit
     him in the belt.
    Getting Milo out was enjoyable and satisfying. Now comes the tough part. I have to tell Billy he’s not quite so lucky.

M WATCHED AS W ILLIE M ILLER AND M ILO LEFT THE SHELTER THROUGH THE BACK DOOR. He saw Willie put Milo in the back of his car, and then look around to make sure he wasn’t being watched. M was at a well-concealed
     vantage point, so he wasn’t worried that Willie would see him.
    M had been smart enough to realize that the lawyer might try to come up with a diversion. That was why he stationed himself
     in the back. Not taking any chances, he had some people covering the front and following the lawyer as he left, but M was
     right that the whole thing was a fake.
    The fact that Landon had told him not to take any action other than following the dog seemed to M a mistake. It would be the
     easiest