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“Reggie. You saw how he reacted to me. There’s no doubt about it.”
    “It certainly seems like it,” I agree.
    “So will you help me?” she asks.
    “How?”
    “Get my brother out of prison. You’re a lawyer, right? Isn’t that what you do?”
    Even though I am Andy Carpenter, crack defense attorney, I can’t see how she can go from Reggie’s survival to her brother’s innocence. “How would you suggest I do that?” I ask.
    “Look, you don’t know Richard. There’s no way he could have hurt anybody.”
    “The people to convince of that would have been the members of the jury.”
    “But if Reggie is alive, then he wasn’t thrown overboard. Then neither was Stacy.”
    “But they found her body. And her blood on the railing.” It gives me no pleasure to point this out, but it does seem time for a reality check.
    It doesn’t seem to faze her. “I know. But Richard didn’t kill her. Just like he didn’t kill Reggie. If the jury was wrong about one thing, why couldn’t they be wrong about another?”
    “Karen, goldens are great swimmers. Isn’t it possible that he swam back to shore?”
    She shakes her head. “No, they were too far out. And there was a big storm; that’s why the Coast Guard was out there.”
    She can see I’m not at all convinced, so she presses her case. “Andy, Richard loved this dog more than anything in the world.” She points to Tara. “You love her, right? Could you throw her overboard to drown?”
    Clarence Darrow never gave a better closing argument than Karen just did. “I’ll look into it. But your hopes are way too high.”
    “Thank you. And it’s okay. I’ve spent the last five years with no hope, so this feels pretty good.”
    We agree that I’ll keep Reggie in my house, and I promise that until this is all resolved I won’t do anything about finding him a permanent home. She thinks his permanent home will be with her brother Richard, as soon as I convince the justice system of his innocence.
    As for me, this is not that big a deal, and pretty much a no-lose proposition. In the unlikely event that she’s right, I will be attempting to help an innocent man get his freedom. If she’s wrong, then I’ll get the pleasure of seeing someone who could throw a golden into the ocean rot in prison.
    Besides, what else do I have to do?

P OLICE OFFICERS , WITH the notable exception of Laurie, can’t stand me.
    This is partly due to the natural antipathy between cops and defense attorneys, though it is also true that I am disliked by people of many occupations.
    Actually, I do have one buddy in the Paterson Police Department, Lieutenant Pete Stanton. He’s a pretty good friend, which means we drink a lot of beer together while watching TV sports, and when we call each other “shithead” we don’t mean it personally. Professionally, ever since I helped his brother out on a legal matter about five years ago, it’s become a one-way street. I often call on him for favors, and after endless grumbling he obliges.
    This time I call him to see if he can set up a meeting for me with someone in the Asbury Park Police Department. I tell him that in a perfect world it would be with someone who was involved in the Richard Evans murder case five years ago.
    “You’re representing Evans?” he asks, with evident surprise.
    “Not yet. For now I’m looking into it for a friend.”
    “What’s the matter?” he asks. “You run out of scumbag murderers to help in North Jersey?”
    “Only because of your inability to arrest any.”
    “You call for a favor and then insult me?” he asks.
    “You know, I have some friends who would do me a favor without first putting me through the wringer.”
    “Is that right?” he asks. “Then why don’t you call one of them?”
    He finally agrees to make a phone call to a detective he knows down there, and within fifteen minutes he calls me back. “You’re set up to see Lieutenant Siegle of Asbury Park PD tomorrow morning at