When Men Betray (30 page)

M
AGGIE WAS RIGHT
—I did feel better after I changed my clothes. I called the front desk to check on the availability of the private dining room. Then I called Clovis to ask him to join all of us downstairs for dinner in about an hour.

Maggie was waiting for me in the bar, Scotch in hand. It looked tempting, but I had to keep my wits about me tonight. I settled for a cabernet.

She didn't beat around the bush. “What's wrong? I can tell you're wound tighter than a drum. And don't tell me it's the courtroom—you're more comfortable there than in a La-Z-Boy.”

I took a long sip of wine and smiled. “No, it's not that. I loved being in the old Little Rock courtroom. In that atmosphere, I could see myself as Atticus Finch, defending the innocent and railing against bigotry and injustice.”

“Are you still thinking about the knife attack?”

“Maybe I should be, but no; it's Woody. My objective judgment tells me I should let Micki try to get him a sentence that doesn't include execution. If he refuses to cooperate … well, just walk away. Woody killed a man, and I can't change that. Whatever his reasons, whatever he found out about Russell, nothing changes that one fact.” I swirled the wine in my glass and sighed. I seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.

Maggie nodded, her face openly empathetic.

“Remember the line from
The Godfather
, ‘It's not personal, it's strictly business?' In most every other case I've handled, it's been strictly business. My clients are corporations, and all their problems can be fixed by money. This time it's personal, and it's Woody's life at stake. So what if he thought he'd be dead by now. How can I ignore the note and clues he left me? How can I just let him die? Even if I can get him to cooperate, how can I be sure I'm not doing this out of some shining-knight fantasy that I can make everything right?” The wine almost spilled as I set the glass down too hard. “Bottom line—I need to be sure that what I'm doing is the right thing for Woody, not for me.”

Maggie put a gentle hand on my arm. “Why don't you walk away? You could, you know. You've comforted Helen, and you've found Woody a great lawyer. Is it because you walked away from Little Rock once before? Because Jack, whatever happened …”

“No, that's one of the things I've worked through. Last time, I left because of Angie—to protect her—and it was the right decision. There wasn't much choice, and I had no way of controlling events. This time, what happens
is
in my control, at least somewhat. I have a theory and a plan, but I shouldn't move forward unless I'm certain that I'm doing the right thing for Woody, regardless of what he says he wants. What happens if my theory is wrong and my plan backfires? I've already screwed up my career—what if I make things worse?”

“How can you possibly make things worse for Woody? He's already staring at death. And maybe it was time to leave Banks and Tuohey, time to start something new. Besides, if I know you, your cockeyed plan is exactly what Woody needs. How can I help?” Maggie Baxter looked ready to battle giants. I gave myself a mental shake—it was time to fish or cut bait.

“You just did. No more wavering. You're right—my plan is cockeyed, and I'm far from having what I need to pull it off. I have to convince Woody to trust me, to believe his life is worth living. A lot of pieces have to fall into place, pieces I don't have yet, and we need a break. If it doesn't all come together, if it turns out I'm wrong—well, Woody's toast.”

Maggie waved away my doubts. “Without you, he's already toast.”

“The biggest hurdle right now is Woody himself. We'll talk about
it tonight, but if Woody doesn't give me a little wiggle room, I won't have a choice. I'll have to leave it with Micki.”

“With no regrets. You should have no regrets.”

“But I will. When a man chooses to end his own life, the burden of the act falls on the people who love him. He's free, but they're left with grief compounded by guilt and anger. It's painful, and many never get over the guilt. Helen doesn't deserve—”

Maggie squeezed my arm. “I'm convinced we're all here for a reason. Persuading Woody to live may be your ‘why.' You won't fail.”

Now that my doubts and fears were out in the open, I suddenly felt energized. Somehow, we were going to pull this off.

We finished our drinks and walked to the private dining room. Beth and Jeff were already sitting together, lost in their own world. Watching them, I had a flashback to Angie and me at that age, in love and willing to face whatever life threw at us. I was oblivious to the problems a mixed-race couple would face in Little Rock. Angie wasn't, but she had been willing to take it all on. I hoped their love was strong enough to overcome the hurdles they'd face. I also hoped that wherever they landed, people's attitudes had improved.

Clovis and Micki soon arrived, and after we had given our orders to the waiter, I began. “I want to apologize for my lack of focus and for being, well … a little testy. I've had each of you working on pieces of a puzzle, but I haven't told you why or what I'm looking for. The reason is simple—I wasn't confident that I was close to being right. I halfway expected you to come up empty, but you haven't. And because you haven't, I have a plan. I want you to hear me out, and then I want you to shoot holes in it. If, at the end, we all agree it's worth going for, we'll put all our time and energy into carrying it out.

“I've also got to convince Woody to go along with my scheme. I'd like your advice on that, because if he won't, we'll all be packing up except for Micki, and we'll have made her job a lot harder.”

Micki grinned. “Lay it out, partner. It's time everyone knew.”

I gave them the high points of why I thought Woody had acted as he did and why he had been so distressed. I told them what our strategy would be for tomorrow morning and how we thought Marshall and Sam would react. This was a gamble on our part, and we knew we'd have to be flexible. If we were right about their reactions,
we just might get a full-blown preliminary hearing on Wednesday and Thursday. That would give us at least until Friday to come up with the proof we needed to support my theory about the oil companies' involvement with Russell. If we couldn't get the documentation and evidence we needed by the end of the week, then we'd have to resort to plan B, which essentially entailed Micki trying to cut a deal for Woody's life.

By the time I'd finished my spiel, the waiter was wheeling our dinner through the door. We kept the conversation light through the salad and entrees, listening to Micki as she told us about her horses, her 200 acres west of town, and what she hoped to do with the property. After the plates were cleared and coffee had been served, Clovis returned to the issues that concerned him.

“If you're right about all this, we're into some serious shit, and somebody has a huge interest in seeing you dead.”

“Not to mention Woody,” I added.

“You got that right. If Woody found out what you think he did, I'm surprised he's still alive. These people don't play games. His life in prison won't be worth a plug nickel; he'll be dead on arrival.”

His blunt assessment produced an uncomfortable silence. After a bit, I cleared my throat.

“I'm worried about Woody right now. As you pointed out, Clovis, bad things happen to people in jail, and the quicker Woody is permanently silenced the better for the bad guys. The same probably goes for me. The irony is that if they hadn't tried to chase me off or kill me, I'd probably be home playing with the cat. I take it you think my theory has some plausibility?”

Clovis nodded slowly. “I guess I do.”

Beth jumped in. “Now I understand what I was doing, but why didn't you just tell me to begin with? I wasted a lot of time on dead ends.”

I explained that I had to eliminate any other possibilities. “It's like modern medicine—they run a bunch of tests to eliminate what you don't have before they tell you what you do have, which is what they thought you had all along.”

“What should we be looking for now?”

I gave her a few ideas, including going back over Russell's legislative
agendas and getting more information about Russell's support for the Arts Center.

I turned to Micki. I knew she was on board with tomorrow's trial tactics, but now she was grappling with the consequences. I waited while she tried to formulate her thoughts.

“Your theory is so off the wall that no sane lawyer would agree to be a part of it. It currently has no support by way of real evidence. If you're right, you're likely to be killed, and probably the rest of us for good measure. At best, we could be found in contempt of court.”

“I take it my partner says no?” I asked.

“Whatever gave you that idea? I'm in. It's going to be a lot more exciting than defending some dope dealer who claims he was playing go fish with his mother all night.” Micki drained her glass of wine and laughed.

Not for the first time, I thought,
Sam Pagano, you're an idiot
. I looked around the room. Everyone looked ready to march through fire. I thought of Gimli's line in
The Lord of the Rings:
“Certainty of death? Small chance of success? What are we waiting for?”

“Okay. Let's take a break and then figure out how to sell it to Woody.”

W
HEN EVERYONE HAD
settled down with a fresh drink, Clovis led the way.

“First, my expertise is security, not law, but if he were my friend, I'd tell Woody his plea won't work. A bunch of bleeding hearts will take up his cause and drag it out forever. Meanwhile, he'll be on death row where he'll be cooped up all day long and won't see the sun for more than an hour a day. That existence really will drive him insane. He's better off cutting a deal and getting into a regular-prison environment, where at least he'll have access to a library, mail, and human contact. Extended solitary makes hell attractive.” His matter-of-fact assessment was chilling.

Maggie was next. “I'd talk about what effect this will have on his mother. She might be able to live with her son accidentally shooting someone. But for a son to give up on life, how can a mother handle that? I see a sort of honor in wanting to plead guilty and take what's coming, but to ask to die goes too far. Unconsciously, he's inflicting immeasurable pain on the people he loves.”

Micki stuck to the law. “Talk to him about the process. He's entitled to have a jury hear his story. We have a chance to convince them that he never intended to kill Senator Robinson. We have a chance at second degree and an outside chance at manslaughter. If he's worried
about the senator's reputation, tell him we don't have to attack the victim in order to defend him.”

Beth played on family. “Dad, Woody loves us. Remember when I was so depressed after Mom died? Even after I went to college, he flew to Davidson and spent weekends, letting me cry, scream, and get shit-faced drunk. Use me and say you'll never be able to explain to me why now, of all times, he won't trust you. Just tell him to trust you.”

I looked across the room at Jeff. “I know this is all new to you, but feel free to weigh in. I'm interested in what you think.”

“I've never met Mr. Cole. Beth told me that eventually, I'd have to run the gauntlet of meeting Sam, Woody, and her Uncle Marshall. What I hear is that your friend wanted to commit suicide and still does. If you're going to talk him off the ledge, you need to know why he wants to jump. It sounds to me like he thinks he did something wrong, something he couldn't undo or correct. I'd focus on him.”

I made a mental note not to underestimate Jeff. He'd struck a nerve with everyone, because soon the table was abuzz with ideas as to why Woody wanted to face execution. We could have gone on all night, but I had something I needed to get off my chest. I pushed back my chair and asked if Micki and Maggie could join me upstairs. Maggie laughed and said that, with Walter in DC she had nothing but time on her hands, and Micki said my plans were her plans for the foreseeable future. Beth and Jeff were happy to have some time alone, and Clovis had plenty to do, so I took care of the waiter, and we left the dining room.

Micki grabbed a beer from the mini-bar and Maggie fixed herself a cup of tea. I poured myself a glass of cabernet, and once we were all seated, plunged right in. “If we're going to have any chance to keep Woody from jumping off that ledge, you both need to know everything, including what happened in Little Rock all those years ago. It's why I left, and it may give us a clue as to Woody's state of mind now. I've never told this story to anyone, not even Beth, and it's going to be tough, so let me tell you the whole thing before you ask questions.

“You both know how I met Angie, and about Marshall's role in our early romance. From the moment we walked to the Union, I wanted to be with her all the time. My friendships with Woody, Sam, and Marshall
suffered, but Marshall understood, because he knew Angie, and Sam and Woody did once they got to know her—especially Woody. He had a crush on her. Angie made it easy on all of us by confronting Woody directly. She told him she was only interested in me. It was Angie's way to confront, where mine was to avoid.