When Men Betray (22 page)

“I don't need another lawyer. I need someone who's forward thinking and whose judgment I trust. While I overhaul my company, Maggie and I want to create a foundation to begin grappling with the larger issues, including our country's economic model. It's got to be restructured. We must tilt from consumption to production and investment in infrastructure—away from speculation and outright
gambling with other people's money. We need to educate our employees so they develop transferable skills and competence in technology. Bottom line—our companies have to become caring innovators, not simply profit machines. In America, real change has always started with people like you and me—so why not now? There's a lot more to my idea, and I think I can get others on board, but my first recruit is you. I want you to head the foundation, be its president and CEO. In case you're wondering, no is an unacceptable answer. I've already enlisted a compensation consultant to design your package, and I'm sure it will be satisfactory.”

I was stunned. “Well … thanks, Walter. I'm honored. You're right. This does come out of left field. Of course, I'll have a million questions, but I've got to ask … Why now?”

“Maggie knew you'd wonder about that. First, let me emphasize that this proposal isn't something I've dreamed up while we've been here in Little Rock. I've been thinking about these issues for a long time. Yesterday afternoon, I heard from my general counsel, Bill Dean. He got a call from the lead insurance partner at Banks and Tuohey. The partner told Bill that the firm was being ‘forced to consider' terminating you. He wanted to make sure it wouldn't affect the company's relationship with the firm. I've given Bill total discretion over such matters, but he wanted me to know what was happening. Since Maggie has resigned, I told her about Bill's call, and we agreed that I should extend the offer now.

“We don't want you to think you need to rush back to DC to save your job. We both think you need to see this thing through. I also want to get my offer on the table first. If word gets out that you're on the market—if your firm is stupid enough to let you go—you're going to be swamped with offers.”

Toying with my wine glass, I said, “I don't know about that, but it's very considerate of you to say so. I heard about a partners' meeting from a friend earlier today. The smart money says I should head home, beg for forgiveness, and get back to work. But your offer is very appealing, and, no, I'm not ready to leave Little Rock just yet. I hope the firm won't make any decision so quickly, but no matter what happens, I won't make a move until you and I have talked again. Okay?”

“Okay. Fair enough.”

I moved to go. “I'm sorry. There's nothing I'd rather do than stay here and enjoy another glass of wine, but my team is sitting on go upstairs, and I need to get back in the game.”

“It's not going well, is it?” he asked sympathetically.

“It's hard to get around the fact that my client shot a US senator in front of at least a million witnesses.”

Walter nodded his head in commiseration and then said, “Before you go, don't you want to hear the rest of Bill's story?”

“Sure.”

“Bill told the lawyer that he'd always been confident in the way the firm handled our business, which was apparently all the answer the lawyer wanted to hear, because he didn't ask anything else. However, Bill told me he'd surely reconsider his confidence if they fired Jack Patterson.”

A
FTER LEAVING
W
ALTER
, I felt myself reeling a bit and sat down in a lobby chair. In the last few days, I'd been offered an unbelievable job, met an interesting woman, and been forced to confront the distant past. After decades of being away, Little Rock brought back many good memories; almost enough to erase the bad ones. The atmosphere felt good—even seductive.

My life had changed for the better when I'd moved to Little Rock. I'd made real friends, fallen in love with Angie, and nearly realized my lifelong dream of playing professional baseball. Could I at last call a truce with my old hometown? I didn't know what was around the corner, but I'd just have to make the turn and find out. The one thing I did know—Woody needed my full attention.

I took the elevator to the second floor, and I saw Paul standing outside the conference-room door. He quietly asked me if I had a minute.

“After y'all got back from Mrs. Cole's, Beth asked if I'd take her to the Arts Center. It was such a nice day, she wanted to walk. We'd gone about two blocks, when I realized we were being followed by a pickup, moving real slow, about a block behind us. Traffic was light, so I could hardly miss it. I gave it a minute or so, but it was a tail all right. I didn't want to alarm her, so I said I didn't think we had enough time before the Arts Center closed and that we should head back to the hotel. She figured out what was going on pretty quick, and she did exactly what
I asked. She's a smart young woman. Clovis already knows about this, and said I should tell you.”

I gave a little nod to the gods, thankful that nothing worse had happened, but Paul's report heightened my sense of unease and confirmed the need for security.

I opened the door and found Maggie, Beth, Micki, and Clovis enjoying the fried chicken that Beth had ordered for dinner. Paul and I filled our plates, got some tea, and sat down at the table.

Clovis said he had some news. “The police located Woody's car in a parking lot close to the rotunda. There wasn't a single piece of paper or anything else in it except the owner's manual.”

I was incredulous. “That's impossible! Woody's car was always a pit. Wrappers, coffee cups, stale Cheerios, you name it—and it usually smelled, too.”

“Clean as a whistle. What's more, there wasn't a single fingerprint anywhere, not even Woody's. It's been wiped clean, inside and out.”

I had told Micki about the figurine and the DVD of
Jerry Maguire
that Clovis and I had found in the locker, and she said, “Maybe the people who cleaned out Woody's car cleaned out the lock box at the train station and left you what they didn't want?”

“No, I had the only key. We still can't make any sense out of the contents. The movie is a mystery. As for the figurine, Clovis looked it up online and best we can tell it's an ushabti—a small Egyptian funeral statuette. Apparently, it was something buried with a person to serve as a worker in the afterworld in place of the deceased.”

Clovis read from a single sheet of paper quoting a paragraph from a Wikipedia search:

“These highly
stylized burial figurines commonly depict a body prepared in the traditional Egyptian way, with its arms crossed holding Egyptian artifacts and a headpiece adorning the face of the ushabti. The backs of these small figurines are usually designed with a seed pouch slung over the shoulder and with tools to sow and reap the fields of the afterworld
. So, we've got a totally clean car, a sports movie, and a copy of an old Egyptian statue. I don't have any idea what any of it means, but I guarantee you it will drive Sam crazy.”

“No, it won't.” Micki retorted. “Sam's the prosecutor, not a detective. Sam's perspective on this case is different from yours, Clovis.
Normally, he receives a nice, tidy case from the police or the sheriff, not a mystery or a bunch of clues to figure out. It's a package, and Sam only worries about whether he can prove his case beyond a reasonable doubt. He doesn't wrestle with motive unless there's real doubt that the defendant committed the act. As long as he makes no mistakes, he has no reason to believe this won't be a slam-dunk for the prosecution. He presents the senator's body, the murder weapon, places the murder weapon in Woody's hands, and sits down”

She stopped speaking and looked at me, but I could see she wasn't finished. I gestured for her to go on.

“The difference between you and me, Jack, is that I look at this purely as a defense lawyer. Can I create a reasonable doubt about intent by developing the relationship between Woody and Russell and Woody's claim that it was an accident? Can I garner enough sympathy for Woody that the jury doesn't want him executed? What will it take to get the charges reduced to second degree murder or manslaughter? I don't think Sam foresees an accident as our defense, but when he gets wind of it through discovery, he'll get prepared. I'll try to nibble enough around the edges to make him nervous, and maybe he'll make a mistake.”

I nodded. “I'm with you.”

“As Woody's friend,” Micki said, “you're trying to make sense out of it all. You still think understanding why he did it can help Woody. I'm not so sure it will. The ‘why' may be the motive, but it's not necessarily a defense. Sometimes you end up finding more than you wanted to know. It seems that Woody had this pretty well planned out. The only flaw, from his point of view, is that the wrong person is dead. Dig too deep and you might bury your friend.”

No one said a word.

“Was I too blunt?” she asked.

“No,” I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck, “that's why you're here. I just wish it were different. Truth is, though, there won't
be
any defense unless I figure out enough of it to prevent Woody from pleading guilty.”

“Touché,” Micki said.

“No, it's just the reality we're faced with. You know a different Sam than I have known, but some things in a man or woman don't change.
Deep down, Sam's bothered. He's bothered for the same reasons I'm bothered. Sam's going to want to know about the ‘why' as much as I do”

I asked Clovis, “Do you think I can take a walk in the morning?”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“Surely there's a way—some high-school track off the beaten path where you can have a clear view of the surroundings? I've got to get outside to clear my head.”

“I want to go too,” Beth said, glaring at Paul. “I haven't even been able to get in a good walk, much less a real run.”

Micki joined in, “If it's okay, Beth, I'd like to join you, although I'm not sure I can keep up.”

I stifled a grin. A marathoner telling Beth she may not be able to keep up—this was going to be fun.

“What about Riverfront Park? It's flat with no obstructed views, and it's plenty busy. If Clovis walked with Jack, and Paul joined Beth and me, we'd be okay.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Clovis said, smiling. I imagined we were thinking the same thing. Poor Paul was in for the run of his life. “What time are we shooting for?”

“Six-thirty—plenty of light by then,” Micki replied.

Beth groaned, “I'm not a morning person. I'm, like, suicidal before eight.”

Micki said, “Well, sugar, it's probably time to get over that.”

Maggie informed me that Ron had called again. I knew why he was calling. I needed to have my wits about me when we spoke, so I put off the call. She also gave us each copies of the clips she'd been sent, pointing out the headline on the top page: “Assassin's Former Wife Alleges Abuse.” I picked my stack up and chucked it in the trash.

Maggie looked peeved and a little hurt.

“I'm sorry—I know we need them, but I can't look, at least not now. I need to get a quick walk-through of local criminal law from Micki, and I need to spend some time going over Beth's research. Clovis, I know you have plenty to do, and Maggie, you have a fiancé who would probably like to see you for at least an after dinner drink. It's been a long day. We'll meet in the morning.”

Maggie and Clovis got their things together and left. As Beth, Micki, and I were gathering our various papers, I mused, “We meet the judge
tomorrow. Another fun variable for our equation. Any idea what we should expect?”

“Well,” Micki said, “he runs a very tight ship. He's intelligent and his rulings are fair. He doesn't lean pro-prosecution or defense. He's very literal; sarcasm goes right by him, so don't try it. All in all, he's as good as we can hope for.” She smirked as she looked pointedly at the news clips I had just thrown in the trash. “It's been in all the papers—Judge Marshall Fitzgerald.”

“Uncle Marshall?” Beth's surprised look must have mirrored my own.

Micki frowned, “You know Judge Fitzgerald?”

“He's my godfather.”

“Who
are
you people?”

I responded, “Let's go upstairs, and I'll tell you all about Marshall Matthew Fitzgerald.”

It had never crossed my mind that Marshall might be our judge.
There's no way Marshall will hear this case. He'll recuse
. Then again, Sam hadn't.