The Nominee

by Alan P Woodruff

  “He’s good,” White agreed.

  “Do you two run this routine on everyone?”

  Leslie smiled. “Only on people we like.”

  “And people we don’t like,” White added.

  “Yes. Them too,” Leslie agreed.

  Lancaster stared at them: first at White, then at Leslie, then back at White. “Are you two quite finished?”

  White and Leslie looked at each other, then at Lancaster, before responding, in unison, “For now.”

  “Jesus. Of all the people I could have as friends, I have to choose a couple of Abbott and Costello wannabes.”

  White and Leslie laughed.

  “So what do you want to know about the nomination?”

  White’s expression turned serious. “Graham Brochette called me yesterday. He’d just gotten a call from Congressman Tierney. Tierney mentioned that there were some rumblings of discontent over his nomination.”

  “And,” Lancaster interrupted, “he wanted you to find out if there was a problem.”

  “I told him there wasn’t anything you could do,” White apologized. “But, yes, I said I’d ask.”

  “You know my committee doesn’t have any involvement in the confirmation of presidential nominations?”

  “I do, and I reminded him of that.”

  “But I can tell you there have been some rumblings.”

  “From who?”

  “I’m not positive, but it’s coming from the Florida delegation.”

  White and Leslie exchanged glances.

  “Do you know who’s behind it?”

  “All I can say is that it’s someone who doesn’t want their position made public — yet!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know how things work around here, Lucius. Nobody takes a position on anything until they know which way the wind is blowing. The members get their staffers to talk with other staffers and drop hints about something they claim to have heard. Pretty soon the rumor takes on a life of its own. The staffers talk to their members, and all of a sudden it’s an issue.”

  “So what’s the issue?”

  “I can’t give you anything specific, but it seems to have something to do with Brochette’s private life. There also seem to be some questions about his disclosure of his financial condition and other obligations.”

  “Nothing more specific than that?”

  “Whoever is behind this is being secretive. They’ve leaked just enough to get other people talking and looking. If no one else comes up with anything concrete, they’ll probably leak a little more just to point other people in the right direction.”

  “How serious is it?”

  “It’s too early to say. But there’s one thing I can tell you. If he didn’t give complete and absolutely accurate financial disclosure, his nomination is dead.”

  “Isn’t that a little harsh?” Leslie asked.

  Lancaster shrugged. “The people elect morally degenerate, alcoholic wife-beaters to Congress. But as soon as they’re here, they become holier-than-thou and demand perfection in everyone else.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Maybe. But Mr. Brochette has been nominated to head the agency charged with maintaining integrity in the judiciary. With all the scandals we’ve had around Washington lately, the President would be forced to withdraw his nomination at the slightest suggestion of wrongdoing.”

  “It still sucks.”

  “I don’t make the rules.”

  “You said the problem seems to be in the Florida delegation,” White said. “Do you have any idea where it’s coming from?”

  “I don’t know if there’s a connection to the other rumors, but a staffer in Congressman St. James’s office asked me to look into something for the Congressman.”

  “Is that the Congressman St. James who represents Miami?”

  “Yes. He’s one of Miami’s representatives.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to know if the Justice Department has a formal policy on taking over drug cases from state authorities.”

  Beneath the table, Leslie squeezed White’s leg.

  “Isn’t that a little unusual? Why didn’t the Congressman ask someone at the DOJ?”

  “There was nothing unusual about the request. Congressman St. James isn’t on our committee or any committee that would put him in touch with anyone at Justice. We get these requests all the time.”

  “Did the Congressman say why he wanted the information?”

  “I only talked to his staffer. But, no. He didn’t say why he was interested.”

  White relaxed and waited for Lancaster to continue, as White knew he would.

  “Although,” Lancaster said as if the thought had suddenly occurred to him, “it might have something to do with the fact that the Congressman is lobbying the Speaker for an appointment to the judiciary committee.”

  White’s eyes narrowed.

  “Do you know something I should know?” Lancaster asked.

  White told him the story of his representation of Brochette’s son. When he was through, Lancaster drummed his fingers on the table for a moment before responding. “It sounds like you’re about to become an enemy of a powerful politician.”

  “Like who?”

  “Maybe you didn’t know it, but Congressman St. James was a detective with the Miami Police before he was elected — a narcotics detective. Ever since he got elected, he’s been on a crusade to fix both our drug laws and the laws relating to sentences for drug users. And he hates lawyers who represent drug dealers.”

  “I suppose that’s a reasonable feeling for an ex-narcotics cop?”

  “I’d agree if that was all there was to it. But St. James is vocal about his feelings. Almost too vocal?”

  “What are you saying.”

  “Just that he never misses an opportunity to lash out at defense attorneys. It’s as if he wants everyone to know that he thinks we should do something to hamper them.”

  “What do you suppose that means?”

  “I couldn’t guess. But it does seem like he brings the subject up a lot more often than is necessary. As in ‘methinks he doth protest too much’”

  “Do you think he has something in mind, or is he just trying to score political points?”

  “I can’t say. But if I had to guess I’d say it’s as much personal as it is political.”

  “As in, he’s been burned by a defense attorney?”

  “That could be part of it. But I think there’s something more.”

  White took a sip of his Pepsi and thought about what Lancaster had said, before continuing. “What changes in the drug laws is he proposing?”

  “I don’t think anyone knows. I don’t even think he knows what he wants done about the problem. All he’s done is lobby for the creation of a committee to study the issue and make recommendations.”

  “Do I have to guess who he has in mind to head the committee?”

  “You could guess, but you’d be wrong. He hasn’t suggested that he should chair the committee.”

  “I wonder why not.”

  “Because there is no chance that the House and Senate can agree on what such a committee should have the authority to do. He doesn’t really expect a committee to be established. He just wants the issue. Most of the marijuana and cocaine that reach the east coast comes through, past or over Florida. He gets lots of political mileage out of his issue without having to deliver anything.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “The senior Senator for Florida has announced that he won’t seek reelection. I think Congressman St. James is positioning himself to make a run for the Senate.”

  “So, what. Graham’s nomination will have been voted on before the election.”

  “But not before the primary election. St. James can get a lot of mileage out of opposing Graham’s nomination before the primary.

  :As long as you’re representing Graham’s son, your investigation could get caught in the po
litical cross-hairs. Congressman St James has a reputation for trying to destroy anyone who gets in his way.”

  20.

  White pulled back on the yoke and the nose of his Lear 45, the Legal Eagle, rose from the runway at Ronald Reagan National Airport. The plane banked sharply to the left and headed northwest, following the winding course of the Potomac River. The snow-covered city sank slowly away as they climbed over I-495 and turned south. Below them, the highway was a parking lot of morning commuter traffic.

  “I’ll take over if you like, Lucius,” his pilot, Captain John Atkins, USAF, Retired, said as he began setting the controls for the flight to Tampa.

  “How did I do?”

  “For a lawyer, you’re a half-way decent pilot.”

  White had the hours, and the skill, to fly his largest toy solo. But he had the common sense not to do so when there was a risk of a blizzard en route. Captain Atkins was now employed as an independent flight instructor and charter pilot and frequently flew the Legal Eagle when White traveled. Atkins was an avid hunter, and the two of them had become close friends.

  White released his harness and headed back to the cabin where Leslie was busy trying to figure out how to make coffee on an aircraft brewer. White took over the domestic chores as Leslie curled up on a leather seat beside the window. “What did you think about Jack’s news?”

  “His new granddaughter? I think it’s great.”

  “You know what I’m talking about, smart ass.”

  “Graham?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’d like to know who has a bug up his ass about Graham’s nomination.”

  “You don’t think it’s Congressman St. James?”

  “He’s put himself at the head of the list of suspects,” White said as he poured coffee for both of them and sat down opposite Leslie. “The question is, why would he care about Graham one way or the other.”

  “Who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out. We’re going to stop in Tampa on the way home. I’m meeting Graham for lunch.”

  #

  At nine-thirty, the Legal Eagle touched down at Tampa International Airport. By nine-forty-five, they were parked at the civilian air terminal, and White was heading for his meeting with Graham Brochette. At ten-thirty, he arrived at the Causeway Restaurant.

  It was too early for the lunch crowd, and the waterfront deck was still empty. A seagull landed on the railing, tucked its wings and cocked its head to the side looking for a morsel of food. Seagulls were actually good-looking birds. The problem was there were so many of them, and they made so much noise that no one tended to notice how attractive they could be. It didn’t help that they also shit on everything in sight.

  The waters of Tampa Bay lapped at the pilings and the rocks along the shore. It was low tide, and the shallow waters under the deck released a profusion of mixed sea smells, dead fish and rotting vegetation trapped in the eddies and various bi-valves clinging to the rotting pilings and seawall.

  Someone at the bar threw a french fry onto the middle of the deck. A dozen birds descended on it in a flurry of thrashing wings and screeches. White watched as the victorious bird sprang into the air, the french fry in his beak, and headed out across the sand with the remainder of the flock in hot pursuit.

  For the third time, White checked his watch. Traffic on the Courtney Campbell Causeway was light, and he wondered what was keeping Brochette. The Causeway Restaurant had been Brochette’s suggestion. It was ten miles from Brochette’s office in downtown Tampa, but White knew it was one of Brochette’s favorite eateries. He also knew it was important for Brochette to get away from the office.

  White sipped his Diet Pepsi and examined the long legs and firm ass of a waitress as she bent over to deliver drinks to the table across the deck.

  “Better not let Leslie catch you doing that,” Brochette said as he approached White, pulled out a chair and took a seat.

  “She doesn’t mind a little window shopping,” White said as he extended his hand. “She says it makes me appreciate what I’ve got.”

  “She’s right. You’d be hard pressed to find anyone better.”

  “Amen to that,” White said raising his glass in a toast.

  “By the way, where is Leslie? I thought she was traveling with you.”

  “She is. She had some shopping to take care of in town.”

  The waitress approached their table and slid a martini with three olives in front of Brochette.

  “You sure you don’t want one?” Brochette said, indicating his drink.

  “Wanting one, and being able to handle one, are two different things.”

  “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  “That I’m an alcoholic? Don’t worry about it.”

  “I… Well… To our wives and lovers,” Brochette said, touching his martini glass to the edge of White’s glass of Pepsi.

  “May they never meet,” White concluded the old saying, smiling faintly as he recognized that his relationship with Brochette was moving closer to friendship. Under other circumstances, he would welcome the change. He admired and respected Brochette, one of the few prosecutors he felt that way about. But personal feelings couldn’t be allowed to enter into the investigation. Besides, there were still too many questions about David Shepard for White to completely trust Brochette.

  The waitress took their orders and disappeared.

  Brochette looked hopefully at White.

  White waited, examining Brochette’s face as he considered what to say. He knew Brochette was becoming increasingly agitated over his son’s case — and with White’s refusal to tell him everything that was going on. White knew how he felt, but Brochette wasn’t his client, and he wasn’t entitled to know anything. More importantly, if Brochette knew too much he might have been tempted to do something, whether it was helpful or not. White’s argument that Brochette’s involvement in his son’s case could endanger his own nomination was equally unsatisfactory, and Brochette’s frustration was showing.

  White leaned against the table, his gaze fixed on the plate in front of him as he considered, once again, how much to disclose. After a moment of thought, he returned his attention to Brochette. “Congressman St. James has been asking questions that may relate to David’s case.”

  Brochette shook his head and shrugged. “Why would he care about David?”

  “I’m not sure it’s David he’s interested in. He was asking questions about Department of Justice policy for taking over state drug cases. He may want to know if you’re following policy in leaving David’s case in state court. If he can show that you’re not following policy with respect to David, he could muddy your confirmation.”

  “But my confirmation is up to the Senate. Why would he have any interest in it?”

  “That’s the big question. Have you ever had any run-ins with the Congressman?”

  “I’ve never even met him.”

  “Can you think of any reason for him to have an interest in your nomination?”

  Brochette though for a moment before responding. “Nothing comes to mind.”

  “Jack Lancaster said that one of the rumors about your nomination has something to do with your financial disclosures.”

  “I can’t imagine what kind of problem there would be. My accountant filled them out, and I reviewed them thoroughly.”

  “What about David. You said you’ve been providing financial support for him. Did you disclose your support payments?”

  “No. But they weren’t court ordered; they were entirely voluntary. Besides, I haven’t provided support for him in years.”

  The waitress brought their orders, smiled and turned away.

  “What about your new position? Maybe there’s some legitimate reason he doesn’t want you in that particular position.”

  “I can’t imagine what it is. The position is new, but it’s only a consolidation of functions that already exist under at least three different assistant attorneys gener
al.”

  “What functions are being consolidated?”

  “Well, first there’s the office of professional responsibility. That office has principal responsibility for investigating misconduct by U.S. attorneys. Then there’s the public integrity section. That office has responsibility for investigating misconduct by federal judges and public officials.”

  “And that’s where you used to work.”

  “For five years.”

  “What else?”

  “There’s been a consolidation and expansion of enforcement activities relating to the conduct of elected officials, election fraud and campaign funding and spending.”

  “What does that entail?”

  “The scope of its activity is a little fuzzy. So far, it hasn’t been the responsibility of any individual section. The President ran on a platform of campaign finance reform. He couldn’t get the legislation he wanted, so he decided to beef up the investigation and enforcement of existing campaign laws.”

  White nodded and continued eating.

  “Congress wasn’t all that happy about the reorganization. They want to investigate everyone except themselves and preferred to leave responsibility for any ethical investigations scattered around the Department of Justice.”

  “Just as long as the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing.”

  “Something like that,” Brochette agreed. “But no one dared take a position against the reorganization. That’s why they demanded that the new functions be headed by a Presidential appointee.”

  “So they could vote down any nominee they didn’t like.”

  “Or who looked like he could cause them trouble.”

  “Why would St. James think you’d cause him any trouble?”

  “You’d know better than I would.”

  White took a bite of his pastrami sandwich. “Maybe he’s just questioning your decision to leave your son’s case in the hands of the States attorney when the feds should have taken it over.”

  “Is it possible that’s all there is to it?”

  “It’s possible. It might be nothing more than a show. If it would make you feel any better, we’ll look into it.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”