by James Ross
“I’ve never heard of them . . . are they new?” J Dub inquired.
“No, but all the partners are female. Apparently, divorce litigation is their specialty. They represent ex-wives and gang up on men. How bad is that?” Curt responded nonchalantly.
J Dub started to smirk, “You mean to tell me you went into an all-female law firm with the initials of ‘PMS’?”
Curt began to choke on swallows of Coke. The laughter was causing the fizz to back up through his nose. “Maybe that was why they had complimentary candy dishes filled with Midol in the reception area. I did notice that a lot of the attorneys were wearing Birkenstocks now that you mention it.”
J Dub spit his coke back into his glass as the two laughed to relieve the stress that had been building. “That sounds to me like it is the perfect firm to take on Lew. We need some pit bulls to go after that slimeball.”
Curt was in hysterics as he finished his story. “J Dub, you should have seen the Midol. Each one was stamped with ‘PMS, LLC’.” The brothers laughed and laughed until it was out of their systems.
“Oh, Curt, thank you for that. I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard,” J Dub offered. “Okay, back to business. Who else did you see?”
Curt pulled out his notes and reviewed them. He wanted to make sure that he hadn’t left out any of the places that he had called on. “AHERN, JOHNSON & GUNTHER represented Lew before. They have a conflict.”
“Is anybody left in town?” J Dub asked.
“The phone book is full of attorneys. There are seventy-nine pages in the yellow pages of the phone book,” Curt deadpanned.
“Are any of them any good?” J Dub inquired.
Curt was ready with an answer. “You’ve got the divorce attorneys, the ambulance chasers, the DUI specialists, the workmen’s comp guys . . .”
“ . . . and none of them have an accounting background,” J Dub groaned.
“It just appears that the good ones have a conflict with either, Lew, Walter or the Pierce brothers,” Curt quipped, “or just men in general.”
“The old saying is true,” J Dub conceded.
“What is that?”
“It takes money to make money,” J Dub muttered.
“It sure looks that way right now,” Curt agreed.
J Dub was flustered and discouraged. Getting good legal representation was going to be next to impossible. Lew was way too connected. “What’s the next move?”
“ROLAND, WILHITE, KEEGAN & ROWE will take the case if you put up a fifty thousand dollar retainer,” Curt offered.
“I bet they will! Are you out of your mind?” J Dub roared. “Marcia will throw a fit. That’s not an option.”
“Then let’s put our heads together and come up with an alternative plan,” Curt suggested.
“Why don’t I throw in the towel and become a stockbroker?” J Dub commented.
“You’re good with people little brother but I doubt if you’d last a day and a half in that racket,” Curt smirked.
“Maybe I can go back to the driving range and give lessons,” J Dub proposed. “At least I can be good for something.”
Curt offered his opinion. “From where you’ve been that’s taking a couple of steps backward.”
J Dub threw out an idea. “ . . . How about real estate sales? That’s how Lew made his money.”
Curt shook his head. “Don’t worry about anything. Something will turn up. You’ve got a five year window on the Statute of Limitations for fraud,” Curt informed.
“I sure the heck hope that something happens before that,” J Dub moaned.
An idea popped into Curt’s head. “Hey, I’ve got a thought.”
J Dub was getting tired of thoughts. He wanted some action. “I’ve had a few of those lately too but they don’t seem to go anywhere.”
“What about that guy that represented the Morton Estate in their lawsuit against the course?”
J Dub was mystified. “I don’t even remember his name.”
“Do you think that you can find out?” Curt asked. “He has to know something more than what we know.”
“A copy of the lawsuit has to be around in one of these boxes.”
“Let’s give him a call. If he sued Lew and the course, then he won’t have a conflict with Zerrmann,” Curt rationalized.
“Why didn’t we think of him before now?” J Dub asked.
“Maybe we just had to go through some three putt greens before we started dropping some one-putts,” Curt summarized.
Vim and vigor returned to J Dub’s face. He could relate to the golf analogy. “I’ll find his number. It doesn’t hurt to give him a call.” They clicked soda cans in agreement.
Chapter Eighty-Four
Raymond Parsons knew how to play his cards and he got it right. It was no wonder that he continued to be victorious in his district. On election day he normally won by the widest margin in the country. That was pretty good for a Midwestern guy with modest roots and run-of-the-mill aspirations.
After the resignation of Ellie Hackett, Ray followed with a keen interest the happenings in and around the U. S. Attorney’s office. All kinds of names were being thrown around as to who her successor was going to be. In fact, the whole office was going to be overhauled. Ellie wasn’t the only one that needed to be replaced. Peter Dooley had been fired and an Assistant U. S. Attorney needed to be hired.
In the beginning, speculation was that someone from within the office would be promoted. However, in the end, the government decided to bring in an outsider. They reached to the East Coast and appointed a fair-haired, lily-white lad that had gotten his feet wet with some local smuggling rings.
Donald Stokes was in his early forties and looked the part. He could have passed as a poster child for the clean and friendly. The government hoped that he could be stern and straightforward in a district known for its corruption. Only time would tell.
Ray took it upon himself to welcome Donald to town. He scheduled an appointment to meet him on his turf. Because of new safety regulations the three-story office building had been erected behind a wrought iron security fence. Electronic gates and video surveillance prevented unwanted traffic and unauthorized vehicles from the parking lot. A metal detector in the lobby further strengthened security of the building.
Times had changed. Criminals were so brazen now that every precaution was taken to keep them from entering the premises and taking justice into their own hands. It was an intimidating fortress to penetrate. The government wanted to do everything in its power to protect the “good” guys.
Ray made it past the maze of safety features and found himself in front of Donald Stokes. “Congratulations on your appointment, Don.”
“Thank you.”
Raymond knew that the best way to get someone to warm up was to get them to talk about themselves. “Now where is it you’re coming in from?”
“Virginia,” Don replied.
“What a pretty part of the country. I’ve spent a lot of time there on my travels to the Capitol,” Ray continued.
“We got our start there,” Don apprised. He referred to his family when he made the comment. He had married his college sweetheart and the “Old Dominion State” had been the birthplace of both of his sons.
Don’s credentials were very impressive. He had done his undergraduate work at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina and had been accepted to Law School at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville. The government took notice and moved him right into the fast track.
“That’s quite a different world than what we live in back here,” Ray said with a chuckle.
“I’m sure that we’ll adapt very nicely,” Don commented. “I hear nothing but good things about the people in this part of the country.”
“Some of the best that you’ll ever run into,” Ray added. “What are you into for enjoyment?”
Don couldn’t help but laugh. “Is there any time for that? It seems that I work well past the eight-hour day.”
&nb
sp; “You have to like to hunt or fish or boat,” Ray said as he stretched for any sort of common ground between the two.
“Seeing as I’ve had the opportunity to fish and go boating, I guess that I’d like to go hunting if the occasion ever presented itself,” Don stated.
“Have I got just the place for you!” Ray exclaimed. “We’ve got one of the best duck hunting areas in all of the country. It’s right down on the Mississippi River.”
“That would be a new one for me,” Don said with a twinge of excitement.
“The property is owned by a very good friend of mine,” Ray offered.
“I’d like to do that,” Don stated as he eagerly accepted the invitation.
“There’s really nothing to it, you know,” Ray continued. “I’ve been around these parts all of my life and have been serving the people in this area for over thirty years now.”
“You have to be getting senior tenure in the House,” Don added.
Ray smiled. “A good way to get your career around here off to a healthy start might be to get politically involved with the right people.”
“I’m not here to play party favorites,” Don interrupted.
“I’m not here asking for that,” Ray said as the freckles on his face blushed. He ran his hand through his wavy, reddish-blonde hair. “I just wanted to let you know that there are plenty of nice folks to meet and wonderful things to do around here. I’m here to throw down the welcome mat and assist with that.”
“That’s thoughtful, Ray.”
“Of course, if you think that you’ve been righted, then . . .”
“What do you need, Ray?” Don interrupted. He had been around the block. He knew what direction the conversation was headed.
“Well, you know that duck hunting site that I was talking about?” Ray stammered.
Don nodded.
“The gentleman that owns that is a very, very good political friend of mine. Your predecessor has been after him for well over three years in what could be termed a witch hunt. I’d like for you to take a good, long, hard look at the evidence and see if there is anything there.” He got the feeling that Donald Stokes was going to be much better to work with than the uncooperative female that held the position before him. Raymond got up, shook Donald’s hand, and left with a satisfied look on his face.
Chapter Eighty-Five
Booker and Hayden assumed the worst, but hoped for the best. For the better part of three years they had been working in close association with Ellie Hackett and Peter Dooley. When the call came from the U. S. Attorney’s office to sit down and provide an update on the Zerrmann investigation they licked their chops in anticipation.
Their first impression of Donald Stokes was favorable. He seemed like an all-around good guy. His style was in stark contrast to the manner in which Ellie approached a case. She shot from the hip and went from the gut. Don played by the book.
Stokes needed an indoctrination period. Once the apprenticeship in the new area was complete, then it was down to the business at hand. His first priority was the existing files that were being investigated. He needed to cut through the chaff and get up-to-speed in a hurry.
Not everyone that was being investigated by the U. S. Attorney’s office was going to be brought to justice. Some would fall through the cracks. The time and expense of an investigation was costly so the government wanted to make sure that those brought to trial were going to be convicted. Don had a keen eye for the law and which cases might be stronger than others.
Booker and Hayden were eager to keep their momentum in the investigation of Zerrmann and Hancock. They walked into Don’s office well prepared for an informative conference.
“Sorry it’s taken me so long to have you fellows come in,” Don started.
“What’s another day or two?” Booker chuckled. “We’ve been on this investigation for quite a while.”
“It’s my understanding that it hasn’t gone very smoothly,” Don declared.
“Not so much that,” Booker answered, “but it’s an extremely complex case.”
“We haven’t been able to get the targets to talk,” Hayden added.
“Everything is circumstantial,” Booker responded. “We’ve tracked the evidence and cross referenced the documentation. I’ve developed a very accurate timeline that details all of the deception.”
“It’s our opinion that with the overwhelming amount of deceit and trickery that these two characters pulled off, a jury will convict,” Hayden replied.
“In reading the summary report, the legal team sees some possible holes in our case,” Don countered.
“There’s no doubt that it’s a tricky case,” Booker admitted, “but with the right litigator on our side we think that the evidence will be crushing.”
Don had never met Booker and Hayden. He had no idea how much work they had put in on this investigation. Nor did he care. “We’ve got a case that the jury won’t understand. The defense team can put up a very good case for avoidance that will shoot the heck out of our evasion theory.”
Booker and Hayden had known that Ellie was going to go to bat for them and roll the dice on a favorable jury decision. She was going to tackle the odds. It appeared that her successor was not willing to go down that road. He was going to walk away from a difficult situation and not fight for them. That made Booker hostile. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re closing the file. I’m making a recommendation not to prosecute,” Don informed the two. True to form, Stokes was playing by the book. He wasn’t going to take any chances on an acquittal.
“We’ve got three years of hard work into that investigation,” Booker complained.
“And what you did came up short,” Don chastised them.
“I beg your pardon!” Hayden shouted. He was the one that did all of the forensic accounting work to connect the dots.
“It’s going nowhere,” Don calmly explained.
“The circumstantial evidence is overwhelming!” Booker urged.
“Based on the evidence and testimony and depositions, we cannot prove with a one hundred percent chance of certainty that they intended to evade taxes,” Don maintained.
“The case is ready to go to trial,” Booker argued.
“It won’t fly,” Don said adamantly. “I want this office to keep its unblemished record. I don’t want to take a chance of losing my first case in this district.”
“That’s bullshit!” Booker yelled. The curse word slipped out. He had put his standing with the agency in jeopardy, but he was clearly frustrated.
“We’ll have none of that talk in my office,” Don stated as he lowered the boom. “The file is closed with a recommendation not to prosecute.”
“These two guys had a racket going for a number of years and we can prove it,” Hayden declared.
“As far as I’m concerned it is a civil case between the IRS and the taxpayer,” Don announced.
“You know as well as we do that, the chance of us going after a taxpayer without a criminal conviction is slim,” Booker pleaded.
“I don’t know how your agency works,” Don proclaimed.
“I’ll tell you how it works,” Hayden persisted. “We just wasted three years.”
“Look, my decision is final. We’ve spent three years on this guy and nearly a half of million dollars on this investigation,” Don continued.
“We’ve got nearly four million in back taxes, penalties, fines and interest to gain,” Booker begged.
Don shook his head. “No. Enough is enough.” He closed the file and got up. “I’ve got other things to do.”
Chapter Eighty-Six
March 1998 . . .
J Dub and Curt found their way into the rehabbed, historic part of town. They walked up the same steep and creaky steps that Lucille Morton and her son, Matt, had walked several years earlier. The stencil on the frosted window read Dennis K. Sneed, Attorney at Law.
The two middle-aged men couldn’t help but shake their heads af
ter they knocked on the door and entered the law office. Life had traversed from the gentle, tranquil and serene setting of a golf course environment to the slow-moving, high-risked, uncertain path known as the United States legal system. J Dub felt at home with a driver, sand wedge, or putter in his hands. He wasn’t quite as familiar with a conference room in a law office, a deposition and a court reporter.
Denny was on the phone when they entered. He motioned with his head for them to enter. Neither one of the men could take a seat. Stacks of papers covered both of the chairs that were across from Denny’s desk. The pictures on the wall suggested that Denny’s family was the product of an interracial marriage. They saw what appeared to be an Eastern Indian wife, an Asian daughter and an African son.
In one of the photos Denny wore what looked like a white robe but was actually an Achkan suit with a Nehru collar. An impressive array of prayer beads dangled from his neck. J Dub and Curt glanced at each other. They wondered if they should have taken off their shoes and looked for a pillow to sit on.
As Denny ended the phone conversation, J Dub spoke. “Where are the candles?”
“And the incense,” Curt added.
“That’s a fine way to meet,” Denny said as he rose to shake their hands. “Go ahead and put those papers on the floor.”
“Nice filing system,” J Dub blurted.
“Don’t worry about that. I know where everything is,” Denny said apologetically.
“That’s reassuring,” J Dub muttered. “I’m about to talk to you about something that’s very important to me. I hope that you’re organized enough to handle it.”
“Don’t let this bother you,” Denny exclaimed. “How can I help?”
“Like we talked on the phone, we might be in a situation where we can help each other,” J Dub started. “I need an attorney and you were the one that was involved in suing Prairie Winds Golf Course.”
“That’s right. For some out-of-town clients,” Denny verified.
“I just got caught in a squeeze play buyout, but I think that I was defrauded,” J Dub explained.
“His ex-partner and the accountant for the business were under investigation by the IRS for tax evasion,” Curt added.