When Men Betray (34 page)

Almost—but not quite—apologetic, Janis confirmed my suspicion. He had given her a large envelope, which she hadn't yet placed in the storage unit with the other files. It was still in their safe at the law office. I thanked her, and told her Clovis would come by to pick it up. Janis had already heard about today's courtroom proceedings, and gently inquired if our ploy had been wise. I said I wasn't sure, which was the truth.

Maggie frowned. “So we're leaving the hotel. Just like that. Does Brenda know?”

“Of course she does,” Clovis answered. “She's the manager of the hotel. I told her we need more room. I don't imagine she was happy to lose the rooms, but she didn't exactly have a choice. The reality is, I'm not satisfied with the security at the hotel. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it with her, but it's time to find other quarters.”

“No argument from me,” Maggie said. “I was just curious. So where are we going?”

“To a large, secluded home right outside of town. The risks are different, but we should be safe for a few days.”

“Where did you find a secluded home that … oh.” It dawned on her.

Clovis grinned. “Yup—Micki's place. We asked her even before we asked Jack. I think you're gonna like it. And yes to your next question—Walter knows about it.”

We'd been traveling on a country road for several miles when there, at the base of a small mountain, lay a spread of more than two hundred acres, beautifully fenced with split rails and an arched gate at the entry. Horses grazed in the pastures, and a clear, spring-fed stream meandered through the property. Pecan trees edged both sides of a drive that led to a sprawling ranch house. A brand-new barn had been built behind the main building. How in the world did Micki get the money to buy this spread, much less keep it up?

We found Micki showing Beth and Jeff the stable. “I'm impressed,” I told her.

Micki explained that it was a dream come true, realized partly through plain good luck. A reclusive investment banker who wanted a country house for his family had built the house about five years ago. Before he could move his family in, the wife fell in love with the couple's marriage counselor, left him, and took the kids to Miami. In the divorce, Micki had represented the banker, who'd let her come out and ride on occasion. After the divorce was finalized, he suggested that she move in as a caretaker so the house wouldn't stand empty. When the banker met someone new who wanted nothing to do with country life, he offered to let Micki buy the property over time. He offered her very generous terms, and she exchanged legal work for partial forgiveness of the mortgage.

Micki called it a work in progress, but there was plenty of room inside, and enough bedrooms to accommodate all of us. Fortunately, Micki's benefactor had left her most of his furniture. I still wondered how she kept it up, but she said she had plenty of clients who needed ways to work off their bills, so she had a steady source of labor to do maintenance and landscaping.

The large dining room and living area became our work center. Beth and Jeff took over a corner for their research, and Micki and I spread our papers and supplies on the dining table.

Late in the afternoon, we took a break. Micki and Maggie went to ride horses, while Jeff and Beth took a long walk. Almost as soon as Maggie and Micki had saddled their horses and trotted off, Clovis returned carrying a large envelope from Janis Harold, plus the court exhibits, which included a DVD of the shooting. While Clovis loaded the DVD in the player, I opened the envelope. It contained a well-worn book that appeared to be a guest register. Here was the payoff for my hunch that Woody must have discovered something recently that bothered him profoundly. That he'd stashed the book with the opposition research made perfect sense. The question was, what did this register contain?

I dove eagerly into the handwritten pages, and quickly realized what they represented.
How foolish! What were they thinking?
Russell had asked each guest at his duck club to sign the register. Nearly every visitor made a comment on the accommodations or the hunt. Some of the comments were unguarded, to say the least. No wonder Woody wanted to keep the book secret.

I put the register down, and Clovis turned on the DVD. Once again, I watched Woody as he walked up to the podium where Russell was standing, and they began to argue. Woody raised the gun, and Russell went down. I couldn't actually see the tip of the gun because of the camera angle. Clovis tried to slow it down to catch the exact frame when the gun went off, but couldn't. We watched again and again, but nothing changed.

I asked him to play it one final time. I tried to concentrate on the whole scene rather than just the gun, and something caught my eye that didn't look right. Clovis didn't see it at all. Again, he tried to isolate the exact frame, but couldn't. He said he could try to find more sophisticated equipment. It was a long shot, but I told him to see what he could do.

Clovis raised another roadblock—he wouldn't be able to deal with my special project in the rotunda until Thursday morning, due to some scheduled event. This project was part of a nagging feeling I had about the shooting, but I needed some proof. I also needed to buy another day, which wasn't going to be easy. I'd pushed Sam and Marshall to have the hearing tomorrow, and now
I
was the one who needed a day. Another thought had occurred to me while I was thumbing through the register.

“Clovis, did you know Russell owned a duck club?”

“Yeah, sure—he had hunting parties there all the time. Rumor has it he got it as a wedding present.”

“Well, do you think you can find out exactly who was allowed on the property? You know, did he have security, housekeepers, cooks, that sort of thing.”

“Shouldn't be too hard. I'll work on it.”

Soon, Maggie and Micki came in from their ride, obviously on a high. Beth and Jeff returned as well, so I had my chickens back in the roost. I asked if anyone had thought about dinner. Micki admitted she wasn't much of a cook, and except for beer, wine, and Bagel Bites, her cupboards were bare.

Clovis looked smug. “I said I'd handle everything. How about ribs, slaw, potato salad, and hushpuppies for dinner?”

We all cheered. Clovis was worth his weight in gold—and that's a lot these days.

When Clovis returned from Ben's, we dove into the feast. Jeff and Paul seemed to be having a contest over who could eat the most ribs. Maggie ate her two ribs with a fork and put up with my teasing. The cold beer washed the barbecue down just right. I hated that we had to go back to work. Maggie enlisted Beth and Jeff to help her prepare the notebooks I needed for tomorrow, and Micki and I continued to talk about witness cross-examination.

After a while, the air turned chilly; Paul and Jeff built a fire in the huge fireplace. As we finished our work, everyone got comfortable around the fire. I felt strangely relaxed. We could have been at a resort in the Rockies, following a long day on the slopes. The truth was, I'd done all I could for Woody, and I felt pretty good, if not confident. I was a little like a football coach who's spent hours in the film room and on the practice field, putting together the game plan. At some point, you just have to let the game begin.

I
WOKE UP
the next morning to the irresistible smell of hot coffee and bacon. It was only six thirty, but Clovis was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, and a tiny saint from heaven was cooking bacon and hash browns. As she took a pan of golden-brown, homemade biscuits out of the oven, she asked me how I liked my eggs. As soon as I sat down, hot coffee appeared in front of me.

Clovis was grinning like he'd just discovered the secret to life. In between bites he said, “Jack, meet Bea Taylor. Bea's one of the best cooks I know, and she used to work at Senator Robinson's duck club. We talked last night, and she told me that Lucy let her go after the shooting. She said she'd be happy to cook for us for a few days. I figured she could stay here, and maybe y'all could talk after court today.”

Even if she hadn't been Russell's duck-club cook, Bea's breakfast was enough for me to put her on the permanent payroll. But I had a feeling she could be the break we were hoping for.

O
N THE RIDE
in to court, both Micki and Maggie asked me what was up. I reminded them that patience was a virtue, another of my grandmother's favorites. Wasn't a breakfast like the one they'd just enjoyed worth a little mystery?

If anything, the crowd outside the courthouse looked even larger. Dozens of signs bobbed up and down calling for justice for Russell
and his family and for Woody's head. We went directly to the judge's chambers. We didn't have time to meet with Woody, but I figured, if I didn't see him, he couldn't tell me he had changed his mind.

At precisely nine o'clock, the door to Marshall's office opened, and we were invited in. I had a chance to look around while we were waiting for Sam. Marshall's robe hung on the old-fashioned coat-rack in the corner. His desk was completely clear except for the ever-present yellow legal pad and cheap ballpoint pen. The credenza behind his desk was covered with a dozen or more pictures of his boys and wife.

Sam rushed in trailed by his three deputies. Marshall asked if there were any problems. Micki said no. He then asked if there were any problems with our sharing information. Again, no problems. He nodded, seemingly satisfied, then looked at me. “Jack?”

“Your Honor, I've got two concerns right now. I've given the prosecutor the note and key Mr. Cole left for me. I've also told him the location of the locker that the key opens and given him its contents. When I first got to Little Rock, Mrs. Cole told me that some men claiming to be state troopers came to her home and carted away Mr. Cole's computer and file cabinet. Sam has concluded that whoever entered Mrs. Cole's home, they were not, in fact, state troopers, and the computer and file cabinet are still missing.”

Marshall raised an eyebrow and looked at Sam.

“Your Honor, Jack's rendition is essentially correct. I can assure the court we're trying to discover who the imposters were and the current location of the items taken. We no longer believe that Jack or Mrs. Cole withheld anything. I'll also say, I don't believe this has any bearing on the case.”

“Thank you,” I told Sam. “Your Honor, in addition, I heard that Woody's car was discovered parked at the state capitol. It was immaculate—absolutely nothing in it or on it, including fingerprints. I'm sure Sam will verify this as well.”

Sam nodded in agreement.

“What's your point, counsel?” Marshall asked.

“Well, it seems unusual that Mr. Cole's home was raided almost immediately after the shooting, that his car was found without a single piece of paper or even a gum wrapper in it, free of fingerprints, and that no one has any idea who's responsible.”

Sam was about to respond, but Marshall said, “Counsel, I don't see the relevance to this preliminary hearing. If evidence is missing, that's a subject for another day.”

“I understand, Your Honor. One last thing—I've been recently made aware that opposition research was done as part of Senator Robinson's campaign. This sensitive information about the deceased is currently in the possession of Janis Harold, counsel to the campaign. The only persons who can access this research are Mr. Cole and me, as his attorney. I have no idea what's in these files, but I don't want something to happen to them, and then later you both say you didn't know about their existence. Too many files have disappeared already.”

Sam's deputy prosecutor spoke up. “That's easy. We'll just advise Ms. Harold not to release the files until we decide what to do about them.”

Marshall looked at me, and I shrugged. As long as I wasn't the one holding up their delivery to Lucy, it was fine with me.

Marshall said, “I still don't see the relevance, but since Sam's deputy is going to contact Janis, I don't think you need me. Anything else? … If not, the preliminary hearing will begin at ten o'clock.”

We went directly into the courtroom, which was packed and noisy. Helen was already in her place, flanked by Beth and Jeff. Sitting next to Rodney Fitzhugh was my friend Peggy Fortson, the career deputy attorney general in the Criminal Division at main Justice. I reached into my briefcase and pulled out a binder that Beth had prepared the previous day. I walked over to greet Rodney and Peggy and handed the binder to Peggy.

She weighed the binder in her hands. “Is this all?”

“No, but it's what I've got for now. Call me if it piques your interest. By the way, where's Dub?”

She laughed. “He's with my staff, trying to stay as far away from the judge as he can. Don't worry—I'm sure you haven't seen the last of him.”

Peggy and I had interned at Justice together during law school and had begun our careers there at the same time a year later. She was extremely smart, vivacious, and had an endearing personality. She turned more than a few heads with her long dark hair and Italian good looks. She'd had to overcome lingering sexism in the male-entrenched Justice Department, but her intelligence ultimately trumped the good-old-boy
network. Rather than leave to make money, as I had done, she'd chosen Justice as her career, quickly becoming the lawyer whom all politically appointed attorneys turned to for advice and counsel.