Chapter 2
Cover-up
Congressman Charles Bartlett had been in a Republican Congressman for nearly twenty-two years. Born and raised in Ojai, California, he had been a star football player for Ventura High School and later went on to USC on a full scholarship. He did well in college but a knee injury prevented him from being drafted into the NFL.
Even though his football career was over when he got back home to Ventura County he was still popular and in high demand as a guest or speaker at schools, clubs and business venues around the county. He got many offers of employment too when he returned home after graduation, but wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He eventually took a job selling commercial real estate as his notoriety got him lots of listings, yet the job wasn’t so demanding that he couldn’t play golf at least two or three times a week.
Much to his delight, the local country club offered him complimentary membership with the unwritten stipulation that he would play with the club owner’s friends and family from time to time. Bartlett had no problem with this as he was quite gregarious and enjoyed meeting new people, particularly if they were likely to send some listings his way.
Ventura County had long been a Republican stronghold so; it was inevitable that eventually Bartlett would be courted by the party to become a candidate for public office. The inevitable came to fruition in December 1955 when the district’s eleven-term congressman Burt Smallwood died. This meant a new candidate for congress had to be found quickly as the primary election was only six months away.
When the offer came, Bartlett jumped at the opportunity as he didn’t particularly like the commercial real estate business and saw a much more promising future for himself in politics. Once he got the nomination that first time, reelection had pretty much been a sure thing. He could be a congressman the rest of his life, if he wanted, or move on to higher office. He knew the only things that could derail him would be poor health, public scandal or disgrace. Since he was happily married, watched his drinking and exercised regularly he wasn’t worried about any of those things, but perhaps he should have been.
It was the fall of 1965 and his reelection campaign was just gearing up for another run. Bartlett had gotten an ominous phone call from his finance chairman, Tom Barnes, demanding an immediate meeting to discuss a very serious matter. Bartlett didn’t like the tone of the phone call and the fact that he’d had to cancel a tee time in order to accommodate the meeting.
The one aspect of running for Congress that had bothered Bartlett was campaign finance. Bartlett knew nothing about bookkeeping or accounting and even had trouble balancing his checkbook. So, when Barnes and Brewer, one of the most prestigious accounting firms in the county, offered him help in raising contributions and agreed to manage his campaign fund, he was greatly relieved and accepted the offer with alacrity.
Bartlett wasn’t in a good mood when he entered the firm’s reception area and walked up to the receptionist Margie Small. “Hi, Marge. I’m here to see Tom. He’s expecting me.”
“Yes, Congressman. I’ll buzz him right away and let him know you are here.”
“Thank you,” Bartlett said and took a seat in an overstuffed chair. Just as he was about to pick up the latest edition of Life Magazine Tom burst out of his office.
“Congressman. Come on in. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Bartlett got up and followed Tom into his spacious office overlooking downtown Ventura. Tom went directly to his chair and opened a ledger. Bartlett took a seat across from him and waited expectantly.
“I’ve got some bad news, really bad news,” Tom said anxiously. “I should have seen this sooner, but you just don’t expect something like this to happen.”
“What is it?” Bartlett said irritably. “Spit it out for godsakes!”
“It’s your campaign manager.”
Bartlett squinted. “Joel Roberts? What about him?”
“He’s been embezzling money from you.”
“What! No. You must be mistaken. That couldn’t be true.”
Tom shrugged. “I think so. It’s the only explanation for the mission cash.”
“Missing cash?”
“Right. Five million dollars.”
“Five million dollars! What are you talking about? How could five million dollars be missing?”
“Well, actually $4.7 million.”
“What? Haven’t you been paying attention to your job! How do I know you didn’t steal it?”
“I don’t write checks. I’m a bookkeeper. He’s been hiding it very well. I just noticed it today. He’s been writing checks to bogus companies and depositing money into an off-the-books account.”
Bartlett stood up and began to pace back and forth angrily. “You’re absolutely sure about this?”
Tom nodded meekly. “Yes, there is no doubt.”
“Have you told anyone?”
“No. You’re the first to know. We should contact the FBI.”
“No. We can’t do that. There would be an investigation. I’d be disgraced and a dozen people would run against me for reelection. We have to keep a lid on this.”
“But, how? We’re missing $4.7 million. What happens when we need to pay bills with that money?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, Joel will have some ideas for us. He’s a lawyer and I’m sure he doesn’t want to go to prison for the rest of his life.”
“Okay, I’ll set up a meeting. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“Yeah, you should be. If you’d have been doing your job you could have prevented this or at least caught it before it was a nuclear disaster. God damn it! I can’t believe this.”
Tom swallowed hard but didn’t say anything. Bartlett shook his head and stormed out angry and confused. Feeling tears welling in his eyes, he couldn’t look at Marge when he rushed by. When he got into the elevator, was alone and the door closed behind him, he pushed the stop button so he’d have a moment to compose himself.
That morning when he woke up he’d been looking forward to a little golf, some sunshine and a pleasant day at the club, he thought, taking a long deep breath. Now he was facing scandal, ridicule and ruin and he hadn’t done a goddamn thing wrong. “How could this have happened?” he moaned to himself. He closed his eyes. He had to fix this, he thought. There had to be a way out of this. If he lost his seat over this bullshit, somebody was going to fucking die!
Uncommon Thief Page 2