When Men Betray (40 page)

E
VEN THOUGH
M
ARSHALL
had notified the press that this morning's hearing would be in chambers, the crowd outside the courthouse was enormous—folks waving signs and banners, talking and waving to each other, kids out of school, even moms with strollers. Folks for and against the death penalty, folks for and against gun control, but mostly just riled up folks wanting to be part of something. Vendors sold water and soft drinks and even little American flags. Except for the ugly shouts, it could have been a street fair. Several ingenious protestors had figured out how we were getting in and out of the courthouse and stood where they could pelt our car with eggs and rotten fruit before we made it to the safety of the police-protected area. I was glad Helen wasn't here to see the spectacle. One thing was certain—my conduct yesterday hadn't changed many hearts or minds about Woody's fate.

Marshall's clerk seemed surprised to see us. Everyone in the office had heard about the bomb, and she'd assumed we'd ask for a continuance. Micki assured her that “no little car bomb” was going to get in our way.

Sam and his entourage showed up, as did Peggy and Rodney. I brushed off what had happened. I knew in my gut that the best thing I could do to protect everyone was to present the case today.

Micki had been to the holding cell to tell Woody about the bomb. She had also made it clear to Woody that, like a mother's good child,
he was not to speak unless spoken to. He'd first made the decision to remain silent—now we would hold him to it.

Marshall invited us into chambers and directed us to sit down. I tried my best to give Woody a reassuring look. Dark circles had formed under his eyes, and his hands shook. For the first time, he looked frightened.

Marshall looked at me and cleared his throat. “Before we go on the record, the court is aware that a bomb destroyed Mr. Jones's car this morning. I'm relieved beyond words that no one was hurt. I've been assured that local and federal authorities are investigating, but if you need some time, this court is open to a continuance, no matter what the members of the media or your US attorney may say, Mr. Fitzhugh.”

I'd heard that Dub Blanchard had already appeared on a morning news show, suggesting that the bomb was a “publicity stunt or worse,” to buy time or garner sympathy. Now, Rodney Fitzhugh remained quiet. I sympathized with him—he couldn't disparage his own boss, and he couldn't defend stupidity.

“Your Honor,” I said, “I appreciate your concern, but we're all okay. I didn't have time to listen to the US attorney, but I'm sure he wasn't speaking in his official capacity. We're ready to move forward and believe it's in everyone's interest to do so.”

Accepting my reasoning with a concerned look, Marshall turned directly to business.

“The media was upset to learn that today's proceedings will occur in chambers. However, they will be transcribed by the court reporter. You will notice that a video camera is set up and operating. Any objections?”

Sam was quick to say no.

I said firmly, “Your Honor, it is my request that this hearing remain private. I ask the court to hold off ruling on whether to make it public until it's over. I believe there is a compelling need for a private hearing. If, at its conclusion, you believe the public's right to know trumps my reasoning, I'm sure you'll rule accordingly.”

Marshall agreed, but expressed his continuing reluctance about the very concept of a proffer. He'd allow it, but he warned me not to take advantage of the opportunity. I should put forth only whatever
proof I had in accordance with traditional rules of evidence. I told him that was fine, but asked to make opening remarks, just as Sam had in court the day before.

During the ride to the courthouse, Micki and I had speculated as to why Sam hadn't objected to my proffer in the first place. We surmised that he liked the idea of getting a sneak preview of our case. With the stipulation, he was all but assured that Woody would be bound over to trial. Now he could sit back and hear our defense, knowing he'd have time to shoot holes in any theory we presented. If this had been a typical murder case, I ought to have kept my pitiful cards close to the vest, but this case was anything but typical, and as they say in poker, I was going “all in.”

Marshall suggested that, before we went on record, we take a short break—he needed coffee. Maggie offered to get us coffee and hot tea for herself. She'd be lucky to find hot tea in a southern courthouse. Woody asked Micki why he couldn't just plead guilty and get it all over with.

What was it with this death wish?

Tersely, I answered for her. “Because, I'm holding you to your word.”

Marshall placed his coffee carefully on a knitted coaster and turned to Woody.

“Mr. Cole, this stipulation is a bit unusual, so I want to ask you some questions. Has your counsel gone over the terms of this stipulation and told you of its potential consequences?”

Woody seemed to draw on some deep well of strength, sat up straight in his chair, squared his shoulders, and said, “They have. In fact, Ms. Lawrence told me I was a damn fool to agree to it.” That caused the raising of a few eyebrows, but Woody continued. “They went over it, and I listened to Ms. Lawrence's concerns. I told Jack, excuse me, Mr. Patterson, that I wanted to enter into this agreement. In fact, I told them I'd fire them if they refused to let me sign it.”

“And you're telling me you authorized your counsel to prepare this stipulation and that you understand its terms and consequences?” Marshall asked.

Woody said yes.

“Mr. Prosecutor, are you satisfied?”

Sam looked at his team and said, “We are, Your Honor.”

“The stipulation having been agreed to by counsel, and by the defendant himself, it will be entered into the record. Now, Mr. Pagano, do you have any further proof that you'd like to present?”

“No, sir. The prosecution rests.”

I took a deep breath as the gravity of the moment struck me. I stood a little unsteadily and addressed the court.

“Your Honor. No training, no education, none of my experience is adequate to prepare me to defend a life, but here I am. Sadly, nothing I can do or say can change the fact that Russell Robinson is dead. But Woody Cole is alive. It's his life that brought me back to Little Rock, and it brings me before you today.

“Like all of you, I've watched the horrible scene at the capitol rotunda over and over, and I've had the same reaction each time—why?

“My proffer today will go a long way toward answering that question. Yesterday, the prosecution presented a picture of a man I didn't recognize. It wasn't the Woody Cole I've known all these years. Instead, they showed us an embittered employee, angry at his boss and so consumed with hate that he killed him in front of the whole world. The prosecution paints a distorted portrait of Woody Cole that fits their image of a killer and a bitter man, not the image of the Woody Cole I know and not the one that fits the true facts once you put them into context.”

Sam jumped up. “Your Honor, it sounds like counsel is testifying.”

“He asked to give a brief opening statement. It is going to be brief, isn't it, counsel?”

“I will be brief, Your Honor. Context defines content, and you can't define Woody Cole's actions outside the context of what led up to that terrible day or what brings us here today. I'm here despite menacing threats to both my daughter and me and three actual attempts on my life. They are part of the context. The authorities want to shrug off these attempts as the act of a drunk driver, a knife-happy mugger, and now, this morning, maybe a rabid environmentalist who hates SUVs. I believe they were the deliberate actions of those who don't want me to present what I'm here to tell you.”

“Today, in order to bring context to the death of Senator Robinson, I'll submit proof of who wants me dead and why.”

Surely that would get everyone's attention
.

“As we begin, let's not forget what was established yesterday: Mr. Cole's computer and file cabinets were stolen, his car was searched and wiped clean of prints, and the gun dealer who sold him the gun was interviewed by mysterious men before the gun was even fired. Other critical evidence is also missing—namely, the bullet fired from Woody's gun.”

That got Sam up. “Your Honor, we have a stipulation.”

“Your Honor, we have a stipulation that a bullet from the gun purchased by the defendant caused Russell's death. We didn't stipulate that the bullet has been found. Has it, Sam?”

He sat down as quickly as he had stood up. I continued, “This morning we'll proffer evidence that establishes the true relationship between Senator Robinson and Mr. Cole, a relationship that is inconsistent with the picture painted by the prosecution. We will present evidence of what Mr. Cole discovered before the shooting. We will offer proof about the cause of the disagreement between Russell and Woody. We will produce evidence of what Woody Cole did the day before the shooting. And last, Your Honor, we'll present a different picture of the shooting than the one you saw yesterday.”

At last, Woody looked interested.

Marshall interrupted. “Counsel, I've not heard anything that gives me any justification for keeping the public out of this hearing. I'm inclined to recess and invite them in.”

“Your Honor, that's because you asked me to be brief in my opening statement. I beg the court's indulgence.”

Marshall looked skeptical, but gave me the benefit of the doubt. “Proceed.”

“Your Honor, the defense first proffers the testimony of Helen Cole, who will counter the evidence put on by the prosecution. She will describe Woody's strong aversion to guns resulting from a hunting accident that killed his father. She'll verify his admiration for Russell Robinson, and his involvement in each and every one of Russell's political campaigns. She will reveal that Woody was disturbed by something in the days before the shooting, telling us that he worked night after night at his computer, printing out something that he locked in his file cabinet, that he made his bed and cleaned his room from top to bottom each morning.”

Both Marshall and Sam would grasp the relevance. They knew Woody never made his bed and that, wherever he was—at home, in a car, or in his office—the place was a mess.

“She will describe his mood the night before the shooting as upbeat and filled with nostalgia about his high school friends—drinking expensive wine.” Again, Marshall and Sam knew this was atypical. “She will identify an envelope containing a note and a key to a locker that Woody left for me the morning of the shooting.”

Maggie handed Marshall and Rodney copies of the envelope, the note, and key.

“Last, she will testify about the men who identified themselves as state troopers and carried off Woody's file cabinet and computer.”

I waited as Marshall carefully read the note. “Will she also explain this?”

“No, Your Honor. The explanation will reveal itself later. But I feel sure that the court will find the testimony of Helen Cole, although she is naturally biased, to be factual and above reproach.

“Next, I will proffer the testimony of four members of Governor Russell Robinson's staff before he was elected to the US Senate—his deputy chief of staff, his counsel, his press secretary, and his chief legislative assistant. They will counter any perception that Woody was a ‘flunky' or ‘hanger-on.' Their testimony will confirm that Woody was Russell's chief of staff, campaign manager, and right-hand man for many years. Their testimony will show that virtually all decisions about legislation, appointments, and appropriations went through Woody Cole. They will also testify that Woody managed Russell's campaign for senator.”

Although this was certainly not the image Lucy was trying to foist on the public, Sam knew the truth. So I was surprised when he interjected a comment.

“Your Honor, I won't object to any of this, but it seems that counsel is proving my case: Mr. Cole was upset that, after this long service, he wasn't going to Washington but instead was about to be fired. If necessary, I believe the senator's wife will confirm this.”

So … Lucy was ready to testify. It would almost be worth going public just to have the opportunity to cross-examine her.

I spoke quickly, before Marshall could react. “The prosecutor might want to rethink calling the first lady until he's heard what my next witness will have to say, but let me get back to the four employees. There are only two areas where the governor led the charge on legislation and took a keen interest in both the exact language of a bill or an appropriation—the environment and the Townsend Arts Center. These four witnesses will say that because of the governor's intense involvement in those areas, Woody Cole was hands-off, while the governor was completely hands-on.”

Marshall unexpectedly stopped me … maybe it was the coffee. “Counsel, I'm calling a ten-minute break. When we return, it's time for you to get on with whatever you've got.”

Micki and I walked down the hall to stretch.

“Where did you come up with the governor's staff members?” she asked. “You can get in trouble proffering evidence that doesn't exist.”

“Not a problem. One of the projects I gave Clovis before you came on board was to interview people who worked for Russell and Woody. I have at least fifteen affidavits swearing to what I just told the court. I hope Sam takes the bait so I can hand him all fifteen. The four I mentioned are the most prominent, but I have plenty more, and plenty more detail. Lucy pissed me off when she called Woody a flunky.”

“Well, I can tell Marshall's still bothered by your request to keep this secret. He's getting impatient. I think you've about reached your limit with him.”

I nodded and smiled. “You're right. It's time to let the cat out of the bag.”