When Men Betray (21 page)

“Then let's not waste time. Let's do whatever we need to do.”

I told her I had hired a woman named Micki Lawrence as my co-counsel. “Micki … hmmm,” she said, nodding as I listed her credentials. “Is she single?” she asked hopefully. We were all glad to laugh a little. She had a one-track mind where Woody's future was concerned, regardless of the situation.

“To answer your question, yes. Micki is single and attractive to boot. She stands at least a head taller than Woody, but I promise you, the first time I get the chance I'm going to introduce them. Maybe a pretty woman can charm some sense into your son.”

“I know you'll need some money as a retainer. That's the right word, isn't it?” Helen got out of her chair and walked over to her desk. She opened a drawer and pulled out her checkbook.

“Helen, Woody told me he's made a few good investments over the years and actually has quite a bit of money put away. He told me to use it to hire Micki and cover any expenses you may incur. If we need more, I'll advance him the money.”

“Well, that's a load off my mind,” she said, exchanging her checkbook for Woody's. “I was just about to sell some of my stock to help pay your fee. You take his checkbook and pay Ms. Lawrence and yourself.”

“Helen, you know I won't charge a fee. But I do need a check for Micki, and I'm also going to spend a little money on security for you. It won't be intrusive, but I don't want you or your friends to be in any danger.”

Helen knew the decision had been made, but she still had to argue.

“Nobody's going to bother me. I'm not going anywhere except to
the funeral and to court on Tuesday. By the way, your man picked up both sets of Woody's court clothes. I had to borrow some ties.”

I took a deep breath, stood, and walked over to her. “Helen, about the funeral … I met with Lucy this morning, and among other things, she asked us not to attend the funeral.”

Helen didn't respond, so I went on. “I told her I'd honor her request and I believed you would too.”

Another uncomfortable silence lingered, before Helen held her hand in front of her, as if warding off more bad news, and said, “Don't say anything else. I don't like it, but I understand.” Eyes welling up, she turned to Maggie and Beth and said, “I've always believed in going to the funeral.”

I was very angry with Lucy at that moment and thought it was too bad that she couldn't see Helen's face.

Beth jumped up and put her arms around Helen. No one said anything, and I thought about her words. Helen lived by a set of principles that included making gestures of support when one didn't really have to and definitely didn't want to. Most of our days aren't engaged in some epic battle of good versus evil but in the choice between doing a small
good
versus doing nothing. In Helen's world, that kindness is returned—when we experienced our own difficulties, we'd turn around and find the room full of inconvenienced people ready to support us. The women sitting in her living room right now were living proof of that.

Helen wiped her eyes, straightened up, and began to rationalize in a productive way. “Mabel and I can watch it on TV, like we did for Princess Diana's funeral.”

I was glad to have that behind us. Once again, Helen had made things easier for me. We needed to move on, so I said, “Beth and Maggie are trying to help me figure out what upset Woody enough to come up with such a crazy plan. I told them the story you told me yesterday, but we all want to hear it again. Tell us again about Woody and those last days before Russell's shooting.”

Helen recounted the events in question—Woody depressed, Woody on the computer all night with the printer running, the room cleaned and the file cabinet locked the next morning. She talked about the night before the shooting—Woody being in a good mood
and drinking too much. The melancholy made sense, but we were no closer to the why than before.

I said, “Woody and Cheryl, both, said Russell was about to fire Woody. What do you know about that?”

Helen looked puzzled. “Woody said that? I can't imagine his not telling me about something like that.” I noticed she had begun to call him Woody, much as I'd begun calling her Helen.

“Was Woody going to come to DC?”

“Oh, no. Woody told me that Russell wanted him to be his chief of staff, but Woody said no. He said the only reason for him to go to DC was to visit you and Beth. He would be traveling a lot, not just to DC, but also to New York, Chicago, and California. Woody was going to set up Russell's Little Rock office, but then he would change jobs and work for some kind of committee Russell was forming. He told me that's why he was going to see you. You were going to help him with a fundraiser for the committee.”

This time I did my thinking out loud. “Woody wasn't being fired. I bet he was going to set up some form of Super PAC to further Russell's national ambitions—something that provides a way for heavy hitters to influence elections. He probably was going on the payroll of this new committee, not because he was being fired, but to continue to push Russell's larger agenda without running afoul of any Senate rules.”

I turned to Maggie. “We need to see Woody's attorney, Janis Harold, first thing tomorrow morning. I bet she knows all about this.” She agreed with a nod. I also needed to find out about Woody's last minute estate planning, but I didn't want to say anything about it in front of everyone.

“Helen, do you remember any disagreements between Russell and Woody? Any big issues when he was governor or senator?”

“The only time they were at loggerheads was over the death penalty. Woody wanted Russell to commute every execution, but Russell wouldn't have anything to do with commutation. Woody told me he went round and round with Russell, but he wouldn't budge. He admitted that Russell was right on the issue politically, but thought he should have the backbone to do something unpopular for a change. Woody swore he'd oppose the death penalty until the day he died.”

I filed that oath away for future use. Maybe it would help convince Woody to change his mind about pleading guilty and dying. It would be ironic for the State's most influential opponent of the death penalty to insist on suffering the punishment he'd opposed all his life. I remembered that, back in high school, Woody had forfeited the individual finals of the state debate tournament because he randomly drew the position of advocating for the death penalty. Stubborn ass.

Before we left, I asked the obligatory, “Does anyone have any more questions?”

I wasn't expecting Beth's question, but she had picked up on the one thing I'd forgotten. “Do you know what the press conference was about,” she asked Helen, “the one that was supposed to happen when Woody … when he accidentally shot Robinson?”

Helen thought for a moment. “Well, no, I don't. As I recall, Woody said it wasn't anything important, something about the Arts Center. I didn't think much about it, since Russell was always helping the Arts Center bring in collections or hold fundraisers. It was his own favorite charity, and he convinced the legislature to increase its appropriations almost every year. It's really quite nice. You should see it. Some of their collections are pretty famous.”

I told Helen we needed to be going, so she took my hand and walked us to the door. “Jack, I've always counted on you to bring Woody home. I knew no matter how many beers or how much of that awful purple passion y'all drank, you'd get him home.”

I felt a lump in my throat, but kept my voice even. “You know I'll do everything I can.” Woody wasn't just drunk this time; he was drowning.

O
N OUR WAY
back to the hotel, we rode in silence for a few minutes while Maggie jotted down some notes and Beth texted Jeff. I wondered whether the Arts Center could be part of the mystery. We needed more answers, not more questions.

“Let's find out as much as we can about that press conference. Surely his staff prepared a press release. Beth, if you think it will help, ask Paul to take you to the Arts Center so you can poke around, but do it soon.”

I took Woody's checkbook out of my breast pocket. “Maggie, you'd better take charge of this.” She took it from my hand, and as I rattled off more marching orders, I saw her catch Beth's eye. “What are you two smiling about?”

Beth said, “It's just fun to see Jack Patterson, attorney at law, in action. It's a new experience for me; it's almost intimidating.”

As we walked through the hotel lobby, I noticed the door to Brenda's office was slightly open. I told Beth and Maggie to go on up, that I'd join them shortly.

Ignoring their smirks, I tapped on Brenda's door and heard, “Come in.” She was on the phone and seemed frazzled. I motioned that I'd come back later, but she waved me in. Turning away, she lowered her voice, but I heard snippets of the conversation—”This is not a good
time,” and “Someone just stepped into the office”—but she didn't hang up.

I backed away from the desk and gazed self-consciously at her bookcase. She did have some very nice objects of art—a gold platter inlaid with what I assumed were semi-precious stones, a couple of vases that were modeled after some Egyptian vases I'd seen at the Smithsonian, and various other replicas of Greek and Egyptian art. I heard her put the phone down and turned to face her. She seemed distracted, no return smile.

“Hey—if it's a bad time, I can come back.”

She forced a smile and said, “No, no—it's okay. Is everything all right?”

“I'm fine. The day's been pretty uneventful—didn't fall on any broken beer bottles or anything.” Even though I was playing it light, I felt weird after this morning's kiss. “I can tell you're really busy. I should let you get back to work. Why don't I come by later?” She didn't object, and I walked out of her office.
What's the matter with me? Keep your mind on the job, Jack
.

Upstairs, Beth asked, “So how was Brenda?” When I gave her a discouraging frown, she sighed and said, “If I need to go to the Arts Center, I'll get Paul to go with me. Right now, I'm off to the second-floor conference room. Why don't we plan to eat dinner there so we can keep working? I'll order something.” Brenda had given us full use of the conference room as a sort of command post. Its long table, with eight surprisingly comfortable chairs, gave us room to spread out all our paraphernalia, which we were accumulating more of each day.

A text from Walter Matthews popped up saying he was waiting for me in the bar, so after Beth left, I went downstairs to meet with him.

Walter had already taken a quiet table in the corner. I sat and looked around the room. The posh bar provided the perfect city refuge—oak paneling, comfortable chairs, and no televisions. I ordered a glass of cabernet and asked, “How was your golf game?”

“Not bad, except for having to wait out a rain shower. Otherwise, it was good company and good golf. A perfect afternoon.” He swirled his scotch thoughtfully. “You know, I spend too much time in DC and not enough time with the lifeblood of my insurance company—the
agents and the field underwriters. I've learned more about what we're doing right and what we're doing wrong this weekend than in a month's worth of meetings. I don't suggest you get involved in a murder case every month or so, but it's actually good for me to get out of the office.”

“Happy to oblige,” I joked. “I'm glad somebody is getting something out of this weekend. Frankly, I wish we were having this drink at the Nineteenth Hole at Columbia.”

Walter turned serious. “I know you've got a lot on your mind, and this is coming from left field, but let me tell you what I'm thinking. Maggie has reinvigorated me, and I'm ready to take on challenges I thought I'd have to leave to the next generation. I've gotten off track. I want to do a total overhaul of Bridgeport Life. I intend to return to my original vision for the company when I founded it. I also believe the insurance industry itself has to change. Greed is driving it, and it has lost its purpose in society. We've become just another type of financial institution, and we no longer behave prudently, because we know failure isn't possible. The government's decided we're too big to fail. Regulators no longer regulate us, but simply cozy up so they'll be rewarded with employment when they leave government. Our policies are designed to seduce the middle class with dreams we can't fulfill. We've used innovation and creativity to enhance our profits, not to ease the burden on our policyholders—the people who entrust us with their money. Sorry … I'm on my soapbox. The point is, I intend to make changes to right my own ship, but to make a real difference, I need to be able to sell it to the rest of the industry.” He paused.

“Yeah, and?”

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “That's where you come in.”

“Me? I'm an antitrust lawyer. I don't know the first thing about insurance law.”