Gray Mountain (33 page)

“So the FBI will be back shortly, this time looking for you.”

“I think so, yes. They believe Donovan had the documents, now they know the other lawyers do not, so where are they?”

“Where are they?”

“Close by.”

“And you have them?”

“Yes.”

They walked a block in silence. Jeff called out to an old man sitting under a blanket on a porch. A few steps later, she asked, “How did he get the documents?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“I’m not sure. But knowledge is not a crime, is it?”

“You’re the lawyer.”

They turned a corner onto a darker street. Jeff coughed, cleared his throat, and began, “At first, Donovan hired a hacker, this Israeli guy who travels the world selling his talents for nice sums of money. Krull had digitized some of its internal stuff, and the hacker got inside without too much of a hassle. He found some pretty interesting material about the Peck Mountain mine site and slurry pond, enough to get Donovan excited. It was obvious, though, that Krull had kept a lot of records out of its digital storage system. The hacker went as far as he could, then bailed out, covered his tracks, and disappeared. Fifteen thousand bucks for a week’s work. Not bad, I guess. Risky, though, because he got caught on another job three months ago and is now sitting in jail in Vancouver. Anyway, Donovan made the decision to scope out Krull’s headquarters near Harlan, Kentucky. It’s a small town and it’s kinda strange having such a big operation based in such a rural area, but that’s not unusual in the coalfields. Donovan visited a few times, always changing disguises; he loved the cloak-and-dagger stuff and thought he was a real genius at espionage. And he was very good. He picked a holiday weekend, Memorial Day of last year, and went in on a Friday afternoon, dressed like a phone repairman. He rented a white, unmarked cargo van and parked it with some other cars in a lot. He even put fake license plates on the
van. Once inside, he vanished into an attic and waited until closing time. There were armed security guards and surveillance cameras outside, but not much inside. I was watching from nearby, so was Vic, both of us armed and ready with an emergency plan in case something went wrong. For three days, Donovan was on the inside and we were on the outside, hiding in the woods, watching, waiting, fighting off ticks and mosquitoes. It was miserable. We were using high-frequency radios to keep in touch and to keep each other awake. Donovan found the kitchen, ate all the food, and slept on a sofa in the lobby. Vic and I were sleeping in our trucks. Donovan also found the records, a treasure trove of incriminating documents that detailed Krull’s cover-up of the Peck Mountain site and all its problems. He copied thousands of documents and put the originals back in the files as if nothing happened. On that Monday, Memorial Day, a cleaning crew showed up, and they almost caught him. I saw them first, called Donovan, and he barely made it back into the attic before the janitors entered the building. He stayed there for three hours, smothering in the heat.”

“How did he get the documents out?”

“Trash bags, just another load of garbage. He put seven bags in a Dumpster behind the office building. We knew the garbage truck would run Tuesday morning. Vic and I followed it to the landfill. Donovan walked out of the office, changed costumes and became an FBI agent, and showed up at the landfill with a badge. The people who work at landfills really don’t care where the stuff comes from, or what happens to it, and after a few harsh words from Agent Donovan they threw up their hands. We loaded the trash bags into the rental van and sprinted back to Brady. We worked around the clock for three days sorting, arranging, and indexing, then we hid the documents in a mini-storage not far from Vic’s home near Beckley. Later, we moved them again, and again.”

“And the good folks at Krull Mining had no clue that someone had vandalized their offices?”

“It wasn’t that clean. Donovan had to jimmy some locks and break into some file cabinets, and he kept some of the original
documents. He left a trail. There were surveillance cameras all over the exterior, and we’re sure they recorded images of him. But you would never know it was him because of the disguises. Plus, Donovan and Vic thought it was important for Krull to know that someone had been there. We went back later that afternoon, that Tuesday, and watched from a distance. Police cars were coming and going. Folks were obviously agitated.”

“It’s a great story, but it strikes me as being incredibly reckless.”

“Of course it was. But that was my brother. His philosophy was that since the bad guys are always cheating—”

“I know, I know. He told me more than once. What’s on his computer hard drives?”

“Nothing sensitive. He wasn’t stupid.”

“Then why did you take them?”

“He told me to. I had strict instructions in the event something happened to him. There was a case in Mississippi a few years back where the FBI raided a law office and grabbed all the computers. Donovan lived in fear of that, so I had my orders.”

“And what are you supposed to do with the Krull documents?”

“Deliver them to the other lawyers before the FBI finds them.”

“Can the FBI find them?”

“Highly unlikely.” They were approaching the courthouse from a narrow side street. Jeff pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her. “It’s a prepaid cell phone,” he said. “Your very own.”

She stared at it and said, “I have a phone. Thanks.”

“But your phone is not secure. This one is.”

She looked at him and did not reach for the phone. “And why might I need this?”

“To talk to me and Vic, no one else.”

She took a step back and shook her head. “I don’t believe this, Jeff. If I take that phone, then I join your little conspiracy. Why me?”

“Because we trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I’ve only been here for two months.”

“Exactly. You don’t know anyone, or anything. You’ve yet to be corrupted. You don’t talk because you have no one to talk to. You’re smart as hell, fun to be around, and very cute.”

“Oh great. Just what I need to hear. I’ll look spectacular in an orange jumpsuit with chains around my ankles.”

“You would, yes. You’d look great in anything, or nothing.”

“Was that a pickup line?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay, the answer is not now. Jeff, I’m seriously considering packing my bags, hopping in my rented car, slinging gravel out of here, as you locals like to say, and not stopping until I get to New York City, where I belong. I don’t like what’s happening around me and I did not ask for all this trouble.”

“You can’t leave. You know too much.”

“After twenty-four hours in Manhattan I’ll forget it all, believe me.”

Down the street, Sarge slammed the door to the café and lumbered away. Nothing else moved on Main Street. Jeff gently took her arm and led her off the sidewalk to a dark spot beneath some trees near a memorial to Noland County’s war dead. He pointed to something in the distance, far behind the courthouse, two blocks away. Almost whispering he said, “See that black Ford pickup truck parked next to the old Volkswagen?”

“I don’t know a Ford from a Dodge. Who is it?”

“There are two of them, probably your new pal Bozo and a jackass I refer to as Jimmy.”

“Jimmy?”

“Jimmy Carter. Big teeth, big smile, sandy hair.”

“Got it. How clever. What are Bozo and Jimmy doing sitting in a parked truck at eight thirty tonight?”

“Talking about us.”

“I want to go to New York, where it’s safe.”

“Can’t really blame you. Look, I’m disappearing for a couple of days. Please take this phone so I’ll have someone to talk to.” He slid the prepaid cell phone into her hand, and after a second or two, she took it.

E
arly Tuesday morning, Samantha left Brady and headed for Madison, West Virginia, an hour-and-a-half drive that could take twice that long if the roads were choked with coal trucks and school buses. A strong breeze scattered the few leaves still on the trees. The color was gone, and the ridges and valleys were a dull, depressing shade of brown that wouldn’t change until spring. There was a chance of light snow tomorrow, the first of the season. She caught herself glancing into the rearview mirror, and at times managed to smile at her paranoia. Why would anyone waste time following her through the mountains of Appalachia? She was just a temp, an unpaid intern who was growing more homesick by the day. She planned to spend Christmas in New York, to catch up with friends and places, and she was already wondering if she would have the guts to return to Appalachia.

Her new cell phone was on the passenger seat, and she glanced at it and wondered what Jeff was doing. For an hour she thought about calling him just to see if it worked, but she knew it did. And when, exactly, was she supposed to use the damned thing? And for what purpose?

On the main highway south of town she found the meeting place—the Cedar Grove Missionary Baptist Church. She had explained to her clients that they needed to talk, in private, and not at the gas station where Buddy drank his morning coffee and everyone
felt free to participate in every conversation. The Ryzers suggested their church, and Samantha speculated it was because they did not want her to see their home. They were sitting in Buddy’s truck in the parking lot, watching the occasional car go by, seemingly without a care in the world. Mavis hugged Samantha as if she were family, and they walked to the fellowship hall behind the small chapel. The door was unlocked; the large room was empty. They pulled folding chairs around a card table and talked about the weather and Christmas plans.

Finally, Samantha got around to business. “I assume you received the letter from Donovan’s office with the tragic news.”

Both nodded sadly. Buddy mumbled, “Such a good man.” Mavis asked, “What does it mean, you know, for us and the case?”

“That’s why I’m here. To explain and answer questions. The black lung claim will continue at full speed. It was filed last month and, as you know, we’re waiting for the medical exam. But I’m afraid the big lawsuit is dead, for now anyway. When Donovan filed the case over in Lexington, he was acting alone. Usually, in these big cases, especially ones that take years and eat up a lot of cash, Donovan would put together a litigation team of several other lawyers and firms. They would split the labor and expenses. But in your case, he was still trying to convince some of his lawyer buddies to hop on board. Frankly, they were reluctant. Taking on Lonerock Coal and its law firm and trying to prove behavior that’s criminal is a huge job.”

“Y’all explained all this before,” Buddy said bluntly.

“Donovan explained it. I was in the room, but, as I made clear, I was not joining the big case as a lawyer.”

“So we have no one?” Mavis asked.

“That’s correct. As of now, there’s no one to handle the case, and it has to be dismissed. I’m sorry.”

Buddy’s breathing was labored enough when he was perfectly content, but the slightest bit of stress or unpleasantness made him gasp. “This ain’t right,” he said, his mouth wide open as he sucked in air. Mavis stared at her in disbelief, then wiped a tear from her cheek.

“No, it’s not right,” Samantha said. “But what happened to Donovan was not right either. He was only thirty-nine years old and was doing great work as a lawyer. His death was a senseless tragedy that has left all of his clients out in the cold. You’re not the only ones who are looking for answers.”

“Y’all suspect foul play?” Buddy asked.

“It’s still under investigation and so far there’s no evidence of wrongdoing. A lot of unanswered questions, but no real proof.”

“Looks kinda fishy to me,” he said. “We catch them sumbitches red-handed hiding documents and screwing people, then Donovan files a billion-dollar lawsuit, and then his airplane crashes under mysterious circumstances.”

“Buddy, your language,” Mavis scolded. “You are in church.”

“I’m in the fellowship hall. The church is right over there.”

“It’s still the church. Watch your language.”

Chastised, Buddy shrugged and said, “I’ll bet they find something.”

Mavis said, “They’re harassing him at work. It started right after we filed the big lawsuit over in Lexington. Tell her about it, Buddy. Don’t you think it’s important, Samantha? Don’t you need to know?”

“It ain’t nothing I can’t handle,” Buddy said. “Just a little nuisance treatment. They put me back driving a haul truck, which is a little rougher than the track loader, but it ain’t no big deal. And they put me to working nights three times last week. My schedule was set for months, and now they’re jacking me around with different shifts. I can take it. I still got a job at a good wage. Hell, the way it is now with no union protection, they could walk in tomorrow and fire me on the spot. I couldn’t do nothing about it. They busted our union twenty years ago and we’ve been fair game ever since. I’m lucky to have a job.”

Mavis said, “True, but you can’t work much longer. He has to climb up these steps to get in the haul truck, and he can barely make it. They watch him too, just waiting for him to collapse or something so they can say he’s disabled and therefore a danger, then they can fire him.”

“They can fire me anyway. I just said that.”

Mavis bit her tongue as Buddy inhaled noisily. Samantha removed some papers from her briefcase and placed them on the table. She said, “This is a motion to dismiss, and I need you to sign it.”

“Dismiss what?” Buddy asked, though he knew the answer. He refused to look at the papers.

“The federal lawsuit against Lonerock Coal and Casper Slate.”

“Who files it?”

“You met Mattie, my boss at the clinic. She is Donovan’s aunt and she’s also the attorney for his estate. The court will give her the authority to wind up his business.”

“And what if I don’t sign it?”

Samantha had not anticipated this, and, knowing so little about federal procedure, she wasn’t sure of her answer, but a quick response was needed nonetheless. “If the case is not pushed by you, the plaintiff, then it will eventually be dismissed by the court.”