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Milo.
    Just as I’m preparing to go home, having exhausted myself from thinking nonstop for forty-five minutes, Rita Gordon calls.
     She has contacted Billy Zimmerman, who had previously been not at all responsive to any contacts from representatives of the
     justice system.
    “Milo was the magic word,” she says. “He says he’ll see you at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
    I’m a little irritated by a prisoner, no less one I’m doing a favor for, dictating the time of our meeting. “Gee,” I say,
     “that barely gives me time to find something to wear.”
    “Shall I set it up?” she asks, choosing to ignore my sarcasm.
    My inclination is to tell her to tell him to shove it, but I can’t get the image of Milo in a cage out of my mind.
    “Okay. I’ll be there.”

B ILLY Z IMMERMAN 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,