Marine One (19 page)

The door from the back of the conference room opened and the witness walked in. He wasn't at all what I expected. He was dressed poorly, had a bad haircut, and obviously did not eat well or exercise. He wasn't exactly fat, but he was lumpy. He had the hands of a workingman, and the eyes of someone who could anger quickly, particularly when intoxicated, which I guessed was often. He sat next to Flannery across the table from us.

"Good evening, I'm Mike Nolan and this is Rachel Long."

The man sat silently and stared at us. His attorney responded, "He would love to tell you his name, but we are not to that point yet. The purpose of this meeting of course is to discuss whether or not you're interested in the information that he has, and whether you are willing to meet his terms to obtain that information." Flannery paused as he searched for exactly the right words. "I am taking no position on the appropriateness of his demands. He has asked me to put this meeting together, to protect his identity, and to make sure he crosses no boundaries. I have done that, and he is here. You may ask him questions, to which he will respond as he deems appropriate."

I wasn't sure where to start. An uneasy tension was in the room. "You have some information about the accident that you think we might want to know. I believe that's why you called me."

"Yeah. I called. I have information that will blow the case wide-open."

"In what direction?"

"In all directions. Case over."

" 'Case over' meaning what exactly?"

"I can't go into it until we decide whether you're going to meet my terms."

"I'm not even going to consider your terms until we find out what information you have, at least in general. Do you know why this helicopter crashed?"

"I know what happened to the helicopter before it flew. And it will end the case."

"How? How did you gain access to this knowledge?"

"I was there."

"Meaning what?" I watched him as he considered how to answer.

"I'm not going to say. You might figure out who I am." He sat back in the leather chair. He looked uncomfortable.

"If I don't know how you got your information, let alone what it is, how can I recommend that you get paid?"

"You have to tell me that you're willing. You have to give me your word. Then I'll tell you."

"Will it be admissible? Can I get it into evidence at trial?"

"I don't know anything about that."

"And what if your information is all crap and you don't know anything?"

"You want this or not?"

"I don't know. What kind of compensation are you looking for?"

"Hundred thousand dollars, cash. No questions asked. Tell you what, you bring that cash to this attorney here, leave it with him, I'll tell you what I know. You don't like it, you take the money back. Otherwise, I take the money and disappear. You'll be able to get more based on what I tell you. You can go ask other people questions. You think about it."

The man stood up and walked through the door from which he had come. I looked at his attorney as I closed my notebook, not having written anything. "This is real sketchy."

Flannery was uninterested in a discussion. "I'll be here when you call."

As I pulled out of the garage, Rachel said, "Are you buying that?"

"I don't know. I really don't. I'm going to tell WorldCopter about it and see what they think. I want you to take another look at Braden's memo. Check the cases and ethics opinions of the state bar. See how close to the line this is. And check one other thing. What if the client does the paying and not the attorney? They're not bound by our ethical obligations. What if we can't control them?"

"Can't?"

"Or don't."

The next morning my cell phone rang as I was dressing. New York number. I answered quietly, "Mike Nolan."

"What were you thinking?" a female voice demanded.

It sent an awakening jolt of adrenaline through me. It was Kathryn. "What do you mean?"

"You let the
press
sit in on Melissa Collins's deposition? Have you seen the headlines? Let me read from the front page of this morning's
New York Post
, which I was just privileged to pick up. 'WorldCopter Lawyer Grills Marine One Pilot's Widow on Sex Life.' Did you do that?"

"I wouldn't put it like that, but basically, yeah. Of course. Just like you did when you were practicing. Those questions are routine."

"You don't grill a widow about her sex life in front of a roomful of reporters!"

"I didn't anticipate him inviting them, but it wouldn't have made any difference. I could have adjourned the depo and gotten a protective order, which probably would have been denied, and that would have been worse. 'WorldCopter Tries to Grill Widow in Secret.' And then I would have asked the same questions anyway."

"The protective order may have been granted. It would have cut down on the circus. We have to get a protective order for the other depos now. Hackett's whole idea is manipulation, winning in the press. It has nothing to do with the facts."

"I know that, and
you
know that. But we've got to be willing to take some lumps to prepare this case. Otherwise you can just write him a check."

She paused, obviously frustrated. "Just try to see these things coming so we can talk about it before it happens. All right? I don't like talking about bad things unless I anticipated them and prepared for them."

"Fair enough." I'd been working with Kathryn for years. I'd never heard her raise her voice. Hackett was really starting to piss me off. Trial was now sixty days off, and I had thirty days to finish my discovery, come up with my theory, get my expert reports together, and otherwise look like a genius. This thing was going to trial whether I was ready or not.

As I drafted an e-mail on my BlackBerry to Rachel about a protective order, I saw a new e-mail from Tripp at WorldCopter. The light bluish white screen glowed in the dark as Debbie slept. Tripp had read my e-mail report on the secret witness and wanted to meet with him immediately. If this guy was going to lead us to evidence, Tripp wanted to get on it right away.

I told Tripp where Flannery's office was and he said he was on his way. I called Flannery after Tripp, and he said he could have the witness there at 9 AM. I had a couple of minutes to talk to Tripp before we went into the conference room. I sent Rachel an e-mail asking for anything she had found about Braden's memo.

We went to the same conference room as the day before, and Flannery went through the familiar routine of lowering the shades. The witness walked in right on cue. He was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the night before, and his hands were still dirty.

Tripp didn't want to hear about his clothes or hands or what he might do for a living. He knew the man had information that could exonerate WorldCopter. After the introductions, Tripp jumped right in. "What is it that you know that would be so valuable to us?"

The guy shook his head. "I'm not going to go into it until I get paid."

"Let's say that we can arrange for you to be paid. Can you tell me the kind of information that you have?"

"If I tell you what I know, I'll lose my job, I won't be able to hang around here anymore. I want you to move me to a different place and find me a job. I'm not afraid they're going to like kill me or anything, but I'm going to have to get out of here. I want to go to Montana and set up my own tire store. I'll need at least a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and moving expenses. Probably another thirty or so. So a hundred and eighty grand."

I said, "We could just subpoena you. And last time you said a hundred thousand. What changed?"

"No, you can't. You'll never find me. You don't know my name or where I work, and-"

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. There's no way you could. So I won't be there when you come looking for me. And I've been thinking about everything I will need to do. One fifty is the minimum."

Tripp said, "Let's agree in principle-"

"Can I talk to you for a second?" I said, indicating the door.

Tripp stopped, looked at me, and said begrudgingly, "Sure."

We got up and walked into Flannery's deserted lobby. I looked around and saw that we were alone. I said in a loud whisper, "We don't know anything about this guy. We can't pay him. It will taint the whole case. If this gets out-and I assume
everything
will get out at some point in this case-we'll be crucified. I say we shut this guy down. Challenge him to testify about the truth, or shut the hell up with this cloak-and-dagger bullshit."

Tripp's face turned red. "Mike, we may miss a chance to blow this case wide-open if we don't take this guy up on his offer. What's a hundred fifty grand in the big scheme of things?"

"It's not the money, it's the principle."

"What principle? Helping a witness who has critical information not to have his life ruined for bringing the information out? We'll tell the jury what we paid and why. They'll understand."

"No, they won't. And it's probably unethical. I could be disbarred."

"So what? You can get rebarred. We'll bring you in-house to work for us until you're cleared again."

I stood back and looked around. He started to turn. I grabbed him arm. "David, I'm advising you not to do this. Let's walk away. It smells."

"I can't. I've got to find out at least what he knows. Come on." Tripp turned and hurried back into the conference room.

Before we even sat down again he said to the witness, "What kind of information do you have that would make it worth that much money?"

The man leaned forward and looked Tripp squarely in the eye. "Are you saying you can do this? That you will?"

"I don't know. I'm saying I might. Depends on the kind of information you have. You've got to let me know why it would be worth our while."

The man spoke softly but openly, "But if I convince you that it's worth it, you're willing to do this?"

I leaned over to speak to Tripp, but he was already responding, "Yes."

The man nodded eagerly and sat back. "Smart man. What I've got are maintenance records."

Tripp waved his hand at him dismissively. "We've already got all the maintenance records. We've been through them with a fine-tooth comb."

"You don't have
these maintenance records."

"What are you talking about?"

"Maintenance records on the rotor blade the day before the accident."

Tripp swallowed, not believing what he'd just heard. "You have maintenance records on the blade right before the accident? Where'd you get them?"

"Never mind. I'll give you copies, hard copies that you can then pursue. There are maintenance guys' names on them, and it shows what they did to the rotor blade."

"What did they do?"

"You'll have to wait to see. You wire the money to this law firm-I forget what they call it-"

"Our client trust account," Flannery said.

"Right, the trust account. Then I will have him fax to you and send hard copies overnight of the five pages of maintenance records."

"How do we know you have any?"

The man pulled a folded piece of paper out of his Windbreaker pocket, unfolded it, and passed it across the table. I immediately recognized it as a standard Marine Corps maintenance form. It was a copy of a sheet noting vibration in the helicopter three days before the accident. He said, "Bet you've never seen this."

We both examined it and looked at each other. We hadn't. Tripp asked, "Is this one of the five pages?"

"Yup. The juicy stuff though is on the other four pages."

"May I keep this?"

"Yup, and I want the money in this account within forty-eight hours. Can you do that?"

I couldn't just sit there. This just didn't make sense. "Let me make sure I understand. You give us an example of a maintenance record that we've not seen, you tell us there are others that have critical information on them, but you won't tell us what that information is, and we're just supposed to wire a buttload of money to you?"

"Yes, sir."

I shook my head. "It's up to my client, but I'm telling you this, I won't recommend that he do this unless you tell me right now what the content of those records is. We can't use it without you or without the records. Maybe we can find the Marine who did the work, but it sure gives us some motivation to comply with your request if you tell us what they did. Otherwise, I'm not sure why we would do it."

The man thought about my request. He had been playing with a paper clip the entire time he was speaking. This nervous habit seemed out of line for somebody who was so sure and steady. After an interminable pause, he replied, "It's about the tip weights, they had an incident with that blade. It was worked on the day before the accident. I'll prove it to you."

Tripp was about to wet his pants. "Give me the account number."

"Give me your e-mail address and I'll get it to you," Flannery said. Tripp stood. "We'll wire the money tomorrow."

NEVER DID I think bringing a motion for a protective order would work against us. The next day was the date set for the first lady's deposition. I was up most of the night and early in the morning doing the final preparation. I was driving to Hackett's office with Rachel when they announced on NPR that Hackett was holding a press conference to disclose "dramatic new developments" in the case against WorldCopter. He was undoubtedly holding the press conference in the very office where the deposition was about to take place, the one subject to the newly issued protective order excluding everyone except parties to the lawsuit and their attorneys. Journalists from all over the world were probably standing in the reception area of his law firm where he had placed a lectern on which to mount all the microphones. NPR switched live to the press conference, and Hackett's unmistakable voice came through our radio.

Hackett said, "Thank you for coming so early this morning. I'm sorry to get you out of your normal routine, but this development was so remarkable to me that I wanted to let you know as soon as I had heard of it. First of all, for purposes of background, the first lady's deposition is set for this morning at nine o'clock. I would like for you to be able to see it, to hear the questions asked and answers given as with Mrs. Collins, but WorldCopter is apparently unwilling to let others see the kinds of questions they ask the widows in this case. They have asked the court to keep the press, and the public, out of the deposition so I will be unable to let you attend the deposition. For that I apologize, but it is out of my hands. I believe in full disclosure, but I am not in control of WorldCopter or their tactics.

"But my reason for talking to you this morning is something that happened last night. I received a phone call from a gentleman with whom I've spoken before. He had approached me with evidence that he said would solve the case for all of us. I, of course, rejected it immediately as an obvious scam. Yet, apparently yesterday, attorneys for WorldCopter and the vice president and general counsel of WorldCopter himself agreed to pay this man one hundred fifty thousand dollars for forged Marine Corps maintenance records. They were apparently so eager for good news in this case that they walked into a con. He apparently had access to some blank Marine Corps maintenance sheets, made up some fake records, and sold them to WorldCopter." Hackett paused, looking at the journalists. "I am shocked and saddened that WorldCopter would resort to such desperate tactics to avoid liability in the case where their helicopter is responsible for the death of the president of the United States and six others."

Several reporters began yelling questions. Hackett said, "I'll have time for a few questions at the end. But there's another thing; not only is it bad judgment to try and buy a witness, to buy testimony that is favorable to your case, but it's
unethical
. The attorney involved here, Mr. Mike Nolan of Annapolis, Maryland, the attorney in charge of the defense of WorldCopter, violated the ethical rules of the state of Maryland.

"Because of that, we will be filing a motion for sanctions against WorldCopter and Mr. Nolan, and a motion to disqualify Mr. Nolan as counsel for WorldCopter due to his unethical conduct. We're frankly surprised by these developments as Mr. Nolan was not known to violate the ethical rules, at least not to this extent, prior to this time. So as I said, we will be moving to disqualify him and for sanctions against him and WorldCopter. The motion is already prepared and will be filed later today. I do want you to know as members of the press, though, that this will in no way delay the trial that is currently scheduled for sixty days from today. We are going to trial because we need to have our day in court. The first lady has waited long enough for justice, and justice delayed is justice denied."

The journalists were in disbelief and hurled questions at Hackett.

"I'm sorry, I just noticed the time. I must go prepare the first lady for her deposition with the same Mr. Nolan. I don't know what he has in mind, but we certainly need to discuss what he might try to do at this deposition. Again, I'm sorry that you cannot attend because WorldCopter did not want you to be there. I therefore regrettably don't really have time for the questions I know you have and that I expected to be able to answer. I need to go back to my office. But Mr. Nolan will be here shortly to conduct the deposition. There is no protective order from the court that says you can't ask
him
questions. And you're welcome to stay here in the lobby of my office until the deposition starts. Thank you."

Rachel muttered, "You've got to be shitting me."

"Don't worry about it. He's overplayed his hand this time."

Rachel sat up and turned toward me. "How, exactly? Didn't Tripp offer to pay this liar? And that doesn't make us look bad?"

"He offered all right. Sort of. But this isn't as simple as Hackett thinks."

"Well, help me understand then. 'Cause it looks pretty simple to me."

"You'll hear it when I tell the press."

We entered the District of Columbia at a snail's pace with the rest of the traffic coming in from Maryland. We arrived at Hackett's building, parked in the garage, and came up in the elevator. By the time I got to Hackett's office, the journalists had not only not left, they had increased in number. Those who hadn't been invited to the press conference had heard that the deposition was about to occur and immediately went to the office. The reception area was jammed, and they were all waiting for me.

As I opened the door and walked in with Rachel, they began firing questions. Did you pay a witness to testify against the first lady? Can you go to jail for ethics charges? Do you think WorldCopter will keep you on the case after this ethical breach? Will the judge hold you in contempt? Will she put you in jail? Have you been charged with ethics violations before? Why doesn't WorldCopter admit it was their fault and settle the case? Are you going to ask the first lady about her sex life with the president? Why did you ask the judge to keep us out of the deposition? Are you trying to hide something?

I put my hand up, smiled, and asked if they could please excuse me so I could get through to the conference room. Two refused to move from the door to the conference room unless I answered some questions. I turned to the journalists. "I don't believe in trying a case in the press."

They were not to be deterred. My statement just encouraged them. I turned, put my briefcase down, and moved to the podium that Hackett had so recently vacated after his press conference. "All right, I'll answer a couple of questions, but I don't have much time."

I stood behind the microphones, which they had notably not taken off the podium. "Yes," I said, pointing to a female journalist in the front.

"What do you have to say about the charges of Tom Hackett that you tried to pay a witness to testify to false information? Did you meet with a witness who wanted to be paid?"

I waited for the group to become completely quiet. "Mr. Hackett seems to have gotten some bad information. A few days ago I did receive a phone call from a gentleman who refused to identify himself and said he had conclusive proof that the accident was not WorldCopter's fault. This was obviously of interest, but he said he wanted to be paid for his testimony. I met with him and his attorney to evaluate him, and then met with him a second time to hear him out and find out what his terms were. It became clear to me that his request would be impossible. However, I obtained from him a sample of the evidence he said he could produce. It was a single-page maintenance record.

"We did not tell him no, and we left him with the impression that we were going to meet his demands. But of course we weren't, and we didn't. Since I had met him before and could describe him, the second time we met, I had my private investigator post some of his coworkers at every conceivable exit from the building in which we met. We had him followed. We know where he lives, and what he drives.

"But most important, I gave to my investigator my copy of the bogus maintenance record this gentleman had given to me. As I suspected, since it was that shiny kind of copying paper, there was a good fingerprint on it. The Washington, D.C., police were happy to trace this print for us as it would lead to the identity of someone trying to defraud those involved in a very important civil case.

"The man claiming to have records is a convicted criminal from New York. He is known to associate with a certain William Watters."

The journalist was stunned. She couldn't not ask the question. "Who is William Watters?"

"I believe he is a private investigator who has worked with many New York attorneys in the past. Check him out."

Someone yelled, "Including Tom Hackett?"

"Ask him."

"So you didn't pay the witness?"

"Of course not."

"What about the deposition? Why did you ask the court to close the depositions to the press?"

"Well, since Mr. Hackett is so familiar with Maryland State Bar ethics opinions, he should also be aware of the bar opinion where a plaintiff's attorney from Baltimore was disbarred for repeatedly trying his cases in the press. Several of the type of statements Mr. Hackett insists on making to you are prohibited by the Maryland Code of Professional Responsibility. You can't make public statements that are intended to bias prospective jurors. That's what seems to be happening, at least if journalists are any indication of public perception. So because it is unfair to my clients to try this case in the press, I asked the court for the chance to have this case tried in a courtroom, where it belongs. You may not like that, which I understand, but that's what the court thought was the right result as well. Now if you'll excuse me…"

I headed toward the conference room. As we entered, Rachel said quietly, "Do you think we should have told them about Tinny?"

"I just told them we had an investigator."

"Everyone knows who you use."

I shut the door behind me. The court reporter and the videographer were in place for the deposition. Hackett was there, the Secret Service was there, and the first lady sat across the table from the point where I entered. It was the first time I'd ever seen her in person. She was beautiful. She was elegant and composed and would make the best imaginable witness.

"Good morning. Everyone ready? I'm sure we all want to get out of here as soon as we can."

Hackett stood and reached across the table to shake my hand. "Good morning, Mr. Nolan," he said, trying not to smile.

I shook his hand.

He said, "Do you expect to continue on this case now that you'll be facing ethical charges?"

I stared at him. "I guess you didn't hear what I just said to the press. Why don't you ask me that question again after you've had a chance to hear it."

He looked confused. "What did you say?"

I took off my coat, put it on the back of my chair, and was about to sit down when the first lady rose. She smiled at me and held out her hand. "Good morning, Mr. Nolan. I'm Rebecca Adams."

I smiled at her as I shook her hand gently. She had soft hands but a firm handshake. I noticed her thin fingers. I was surprised that while she had probably had a manicure, she wore no nail polish, nothing fancy. "Yes, ma'am. I know who you are. It's very nice to meet you. I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances."

"So am I."

She sat back down. She was wearing an expensive dark green suit with a cream-colored silk blouse. She was taller than I had expected. She was probably five-eight. I don't know what I'd expected, probably five-five or so. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a fashionable style, and she looked poised and ready to go.

I pulled out the binders that Rachel had prepared, glanced at my outline, turned to the court reporter, and said, "Please swear the witness." The first lady turned toward the court reporter, raised her hand, swore to tell the truth, and turned back to face me.

The first couple of hours of questioning were boring and tedious, by design. I asked her about her background, education, employment, and her work as the first lady. Then about President Adams. I got to hear his whole life's story from childhood to being elected president. In a wrongful-death case, the value of the case is based to a great extent on the earning power of the person who died. Needless to say, a former president has massive earning power, even though few actually take full advantage of it. Aggressively pursuing money is thought to be unseemly for a former president.

The longer he stayed in politics though, the lower his lifetime earnings would be. So if he was likely to get reelected-a point worthy of debate-his earnings would substantially decrease. Only after leaving the presidency would his earnings have dramatically gone up. She might make a claim for book royalties, similar to the $8 million advance that Bill Clinton got for his memoirs, or the $100,000 a pop speaking engagements that Gerald Ford was paid for years. Former presidents could make even more if they served on corporate boards or as advisers to corporations, but most thought that was beneath them. They had lifetime pay at the same salary they earned as president, so anything earned on top of that was simply bonus money. They also had lifetime Secret Service protection and office staff. We tediously covered all that and much more in the deposition.

As we approached lunch, I decided to ask her about the photographs, indirectly. She said she went to all the White House receptions, it was part of her job as first lady. She spoke with everyone, whoever was nearby. She tried to concentrate on the guests of honor, their spouses, assistants, and staff, but talked to numerous people throughout the evening. She liked to circulate and keep the reception flowing and energetic.

"Did you ever have the opportunity to have conversations with Colonel Collins?" I detected a slight hesitation in the first lady's eyes, a sense of danger. Hackett was alerted and stared at me suspiciously. He stopped taking notes.

"Perhaps on occasion, I don't really remember."

"Well, on December seventeenth, there was a reception for the prime minister of Japan. Do you recall that?"