Who Let the Dog Out? Read Online Free PDF

working on it. There’s a chance I can find something out which gets you off the hook.”
    “Getting off the hook is an appealing idea,” he says, and we launch into a mini-negotiation. At its conclusion, he hires me as his lawyer for an hour, and gives me an IOU for one dollar. It binds me to confidentiality regarding anything he might say.
    Once that is out of the way, his question is as deflating as it is simple and short.
    “Downey stole a dog?”

 
    “Why would he steal a dog?” Tommy presses, his confusion evident.
    “That’s what I just asked you,” I point out, though it’s become obvious Tommy is not going to enlighten me on the matter.
    “I have no idea,” he says. “I never saw Downey with a dog. He wasn’t even the dog type.”
    “How did you know him?”
    “We hung out in the same places.”
    “You were friends?”
    He hesitates. “At one point. Not lately.”
    “Why is that?” I ask.
    “We committed a robbery together,” he says, and then provides a legally insignificant correction. “He did the robbery; I drove the car.”
    “What did you steal?’
    “We hit a jewelry store in downtown Paterson. I needed the money; I’ve got a sick kid. Downey never paid me my share.”
    “So that helps them with motive,” I say, more to myself than to him.
    “It gets much worse. I ran into Downey in a bar, last Monday night. We had an argument about it, in front of a lot of people.”
    “Did you threaten him?”
    He nods. “I said if he didn’t give me my money, I would slit his damn throat.”
    The first thing they teach you in law school is that when someone gets their throat sliced, it’s never good to be the person who threatened to do the slicing. It has a tendency to make the police slightly suspicious.
    Infante says that he could never commit such a crime, and certainly didn’t do so. He says it was an empty threat, born out of frustration, and he knows how bad that looks.
    “Any idea what other evidence they have?” I ask.
    He shakes his head. “They couldn’t have any, at least nothing legitimate. I didn’t do it.”
    “They wouldn’t make the arrest based on just the threat. They have to have something else.”
    “I didn’t kill the guy,” he says.
    I have no idea if he’s telling the truth, and even when I do have instincts in matters like this, I am wrong as often as right. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything that you can use.”
    “I need help,” he says. “I need you to help me.”
    My mind tells my mouth not to answer that, but my mouth rarely cares what my mind says. “I’ll take you through the arraignment, and then I’ll see to it you get a good lawyer.”
    I’m not exactly thrilled with the outcome of my meeting with Tommy. I got none of the information that I wanted, and instead wound up with a temporary client that I definitely did not want. It was a lose-lose.
    Heading home I find myself starting to accept the fact that I may never find out how or if Cheyenne is tied in to Downey’s murder. At this point it would seem the only possible way would be to discover who Cheyenne’s previous owner was, but I can’t figure out a way to do that.
    Cheyenne was found stray, alone on a Paterson street, and was taken to the shelter by an animal control officer. She was held there for the required five days, necessary to give an owner time to find her there. No one claimed her, and soon after that we took her out of the shelter and into our foundation.
    I get home just in time for dinner with Laurie and Ricky. We used to order in quite frequently, but since adopting Ricky, Laurie has been cooking a lot more. I think it’s some kind of motherly instinct, or something. Whatever it is, I don’t think I have it, because tonight I’d rather bring in a pizza.
    After dinner, Ricky and I go on our evening walk with Tara and Sebastian. It’s time that Tara and I used to have to ourselves, but I find that I enjoy the addition of Ricky and Sebastian. Maybe