When Men Betray (18 page)

“That's why you need me. Do you think Les knows shit about the law? That's why poor Peter and Emily look so tired all the time. Any out-of-state lawyer needs a second chair familiar with specific state practices. I understand Maggie is always second chair, so I'm applying for third chair.”

She leaned back, and I could tell she felt she had presented her best case. The problem was that what she was proposing was impossible. I would have to move to Little Rock for months and would be kicked out of my firm to boot. Maggie was getting married and leaving in two weeks. My mind raced with all the downsides.

“What if the job is first chair, not third? Maggie and I will provide you everything we can.”

“I'd consider it, but it's sure not my first choice. Let me propose that for now, you do what you do best, and I do what I do best. We've got less than two days to prepare for the arraignment. We appear together and make decisions together. After the arraignment, we revisit. The judge will understand if either of us bows out, but we present the best face possible on Tuesday.”

As I was thinking about it, Micki continued. “Ask yourself why you came here. Ask yourself, deep down, what's in Woody's best interest, not yours, or anyone else's. And when it's all said and done, can you really stand by and watch me or someone else take over, especially if Woody is executed?”

She stopped talking, and I could hear the ticking of the Seth Thomas clock on the wall. I've never been good at watching another lawyer try a case or even cross-examine a witness. How could I stand to watch another lawyer handle Woody's defense, knowing what was at stake?

I toyed with a pencil. “How much is that brood mare?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars,” she said proudly.

“Well, you've bought yourself a horse.”

“I have? Oh my God.”

After a few minutes of congratulations, we got down to business. Maggie briefed her on the schedule, explained that Clovis handled investigative work as well as security, and brought her up to speed on what had happened so far.

I tried to pay attention, but got lost in my own thoughts. I had just agreed to be Woody's lawyer, at least for the next couple of days—a course of action I'd been denying loud and clear to anyone and everyone. What had made me take this leap? Finding Micki was supposed to be my out. I couldn't really drop my practice for more than a few more days. But in the end, she was right—it was Woody. I had the sense that I had come to a turning point: there would be no turning back.

I shook off my foreboding to hear Maggie say, “You mentioned the Kent affair, and Jack told me that Sam and Woody had a falling out over it. What happened?”

“Roger Kent was a teacher at Westside High who taught American history. You'll hear multiple versions of how it all got started, but the upshot is that he had an affair with a sixteen-year-old student, and eventually, they got caught. Kent immediately resigned, but the girl's father demanded that the prosecutor charge him with statutory rape.

“Under pressure from the father, the prosecutor brought charges, and then it got worse. Roger's first night in jail, a group of hooded vigilantes broke in—I guess the guards were on a break—beat the hell out of him, and hung him up by … well, not by his neck.”

I winced, even though I knew the story.

Micki continued, “Sam was the public defender back then, so his office defended Roger. They did their best, but the jury wanted no part of a teacher having sex with a student, and he was sentenced to ten years.”

Maggie interrupted: “Where does Woody come into the picture?”

“By then, everyone in Little Rock knew about the attack. As you can imagine, the story was the butt of a lot of jokes, and feelings were running high. Woody felt that Kent had been punished enough and was worried he'd be treated as badly, if not worse, in prison. He took on Roger's cause as a personal mission, and he directed all his ammunition at Sam. He drummed up support from the ACLU, the teachers' union, and other criminal-justice organizations. Woody's attacks got very personal, accusing Sam of being incompetent and having tanked the case. He was relentless.

“Eventually, Woody got Russell Robinson, who was governor at the time, to pardon Kent, and Kent immediately fled to Brazil with the girl. Then the other shoe dropped. It turned out that Kent and the girl were major drug suppliers as well as lovers. Everybody had thought it was the father and his friends who'd strung him up, but in the end, it was all about the drugs. Kent hadn't paid his suppliers, and they paid him back with a unique lynching. Governor Robinson was left with egg on his face, and he never issued another pardon. Even worse, Woody had sullied Sam's reputation.”

I interjected: “Sam told me Woody wouldn't listen to him and went off half-cocked in a take-no-prisoner's campaign without knowing the full story. When it was over, Woody was horrified by what he'd done and has tried to apologize many times, but Sam was devastated and
still refuses to talk to him. I think Sam will come around eventually, but for now … well, the whole thing's pretty sad.”

More than ever, I wondered why Sam hadn't recused himself and whether I could try to use this animosity as an issue.

I didn't want to be late for my meeting with Woody. As I rose to leave, Maggie said, “Just one more detail.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“May I call Les?”

Micki said, “May I listen in?”

We all laughed.

“Maggie, you deserve that pleasure. Give him my fondest regards.”

A
S
C
LOVIS DROVE
me to the jail, I began to have second thoughts about my decision.
Worried about watching someone else cross-examine a witness?
Who was I kidding? Who would we cross-examine? We'd all seen it—Woody had shot Russell, plain and simple. Whether he meant to kill him wasn't an issue, except to save him from execution. The best I could think of was to solve the puzzle of why, and hope the answer might help Helen with her grief and keep Woody off death row.

I also thought about Micki. She brought back memories of my law-school friends who had taken jobs with the public defender or practiced “people law.” I think they got it right, better than most of my law-school classmates, better than me. They represent their clients with compassion. They never demonize or look down on ordinary people with everyday problems. Their work evokes an odd combination of sadness and optimism. The sadness comes from the hopelessness of their work. The optimism arises from a hope that, in a few cases at least, justice will prevail. I suspect they regard me as less committed than they are, further away from where the real battle is fought every day. In essence, they represent people. I represent capital.

The press was at the curb when we pulled up to the jail. No quick entry this time. I expected to see Sam, but we were met by a deputy prosecuting attorney, a grumpy looking young guy in a gray suit. “Now
that you're actually here, I'll have Mr. Cole brought around.” He seemed to imply that I'd kept him waiting.

I asked where Sam was—no response. “Well, the next time you see him, tell him I have a couple of things he might like to have.”

Now he turned friendly. “I'll be happy to take them.”

“No, you won't. I'll give them either to Sam or to the court tomorrow afternoon. I don't know you. Helen Cole opened up her home to men who claimed to be state troopers, and they took Woody's computer and file cabinet. It's either Sam or the court. Nothing else works.”

It was a safe bet that Sam would show up before I left.

I went through the same security routine as before, then a guard escorted me to the room Woody and I had met in yesterday. A minute later, the door opened, and Woody shuffled in, eyes on the ground. The guard unshackled the leg chains. Woody's eyes remained fixed on the floor, his hands still cuffed. He didn't look at me or say a word in response to my greeting.

“Guard, has Mr. Cole been sedated?”

“No, sir, we have orders. No medication for the prisoner. Not even an aspirin. Prosecutor says you're to be out of here by two. If you need me, I'm right outside the door.” The guard wheeled around and left.

“Woody, are you okay?”

Woody slowly lifted his head. “What are you doing here? I told you to go home.”

I had no idea what was wrong with him, so I started talking—but it was like talking to a post. I told him about his mother. I told him how I'd been trying to piece together what had happened and to find a lawyer to defend him. The only thing that seemed to perk him up was telling him that Beth was here.

I'd had enough. “Goddamn it, Woody, I'd appreciate a little cooperation! I'm not here for the fun of it. I'm trying to figure out what the hell happened. The least you can do is talk to me.”

“I'm sorry, Jack, but don't waste your time. I killed Russell, and all the reasons in the world don't matter. I did something I can't repair and I can't take back. Is that what you need to hear?”

At least I had his attention. “Woody, anyone who can see knows you shot him. I need to know why.”

“I planned on being dead before you got here. My plan was to
scare the shit out of Russell and then kill myself. I figured that Russell would do the right thing, and then you'd know why I was dead. It was a good plan, but I executed it poorly. That's all I'm going to say.” He shrugged. “I killed Russell, and my hopes died with him. I'm going to take a page from your book and never say another word about what happened. You, of all people, should understand. Let me plead guilty and die. You, can't help, Jack. Go home.”

“What about Helen?”

He laughed. “After all these years, you're calling her Helen? Never thought I'd see that day.”

His tone grew reflective. “You know, Mom moved on after Dad died in the hunting accident. I never told you the story, and I'm not sure if Mom did. Some things just hurt too much to talk about. A hunter standing right next to Dad in the duck blind dropped his shotgun, and it went off in dad's face. Killed him instantly. Ironic, isn't it? The one time I pick up a gun, I shoot someone in the face. I know Mom's miserable right now—knowing why this happened won't help her. She'll be okay. The quicker it's over, the better.”

“What about Beth and me?”

“You and I have been friends for a long time, Jack. I considered you my best friend—probably still do. But you and Angie left Little Rock, and our lives drifted apart. I got to spend time with you in DC, but it wasn't like it used to be. People change. I'm not who you remember.”

I thought of Sam's words.
You knew us a long time ago, but you left
.

“If you don't want to live, why not at least tell me why you came up with this so-called plan?”

He sighed. “It was stupid. I got angry, and instead of dealing with the issue within my principles, I let anger take over. Now Russell's dead, I'm here, and Mom's devastated. You all need to leave it alone. Just let me die, and move on.”

“And what if I can't leave it alone?”

He looked at me through his horn-rimmed glasses. “You're going to do what you have to do, Jack. You always have. But I won't help you, and I'm begging—please go home.”

“Whether you want to help or not, I have to ask you some questions. Your note—what does it mean? And what in the hell do
Jerry Maguire
and an Egyptian figurine have to do with Russell?”

A flash of interest returned to his eyes, and he said, “I knew you'd figure out what the key unlocked. I should have left a pint of pure grain alcohol in there as well. You could make up a batch of purple passion, like the old days. Remember the recipe?—a pint of PGA, a large can of Hawaiian Punch and a large can of Hi-C grape juice?” I nodded and we both smiled. “As for the rest, I won't help you. You're on your own. But I'm not worth your trouble.”

I noticed that he was fidgeting with his handcuffs. It occurred to me that, for all the years I'd been practicing law, I had no idea how it felt to be in handcuffs.

I had to keep him talking. “I met with Lucy this morning. She ranted and raved, but what she really wants is access to the opposition research.”

“A detail I overlooked. There's a lot in there Russell didn't want Lucy to know. She should leave this alone and pray those files never make it to the light of day.”

“Where are the files?”

“In the hands of the law firm of Harold & Harold. Technically, Russell was the client, and the law firm, not the campaign, employed anyone who worked on the opposition-research team. Russell and I were the only people allowed to review their work, and everyone signed confidentiality forms. Lucy threw a fit, but Janis Harold convinced her that excluding her was the only way it would work. Only Russell or I can authorize their release.”

“I guess as Russell's executor, Lucy can order the release to herself.”