When Men Betray

by Webb Hubbell

  Maggie gave Beth a huge hug, looked at me, and said, “It’s good to see you both, but we have a lot to do. Let’s get started.”

  Immediately, there was another rap, and Beth opened the door again, happy to see the room service guy with her breakfast and Maggie’s hot water. Maggie carefully made herself a cup of tea, powered up her laptop, and looked up at me expectantly. I was relieved to see her, even if I had tried to talk her out of coming. We got down to business right away.

  First came the schedule. I told her I was set to see Sam Pagano at twelve thirty p.m. and Woody at one, followed by another visit with Helen.

  She added these to the Outlook calendar. “Okay, Jack. I’ve put two folders on the desktop. The first contains all the messages you received at the office. I’ll go over the ones you have here and update the folder by the time you return from seeing Woody. Now that I know your schedule, I’ll confirm our meeting with the hotel security people. Walter recommended an independent security person, so I’ve asked him to come as well.”

  My irritation was obvious, but before I could complain, she cut me off. “You can complain after you’ve met him, but not before.” She didn’t even pause. “The second folder is a report on all outstanding client matters. I thought you and I could go over these first, and I can e-mail instructions to the appropriate associates. Unless you need us, Beth and I can meet with your friend Tucker about temporary office space while you’re with Woody. Let me know if you want us to meet you at Mrs. Cole’s house. So far, that’s all I have scheduled for today.”

  Maggie knew I wanted to go back to the security issue, so she continued to talk.

  “I contacted Gloria at the NACDL, and I’ve set up meetings for tomorrow afternoon with two attorneys she recommended. Both lawyers were more than accommodating and agreed to meet with you on a Sunday.”

  I bet they were—they just might be given the biggest case of their careers. But Maggie was on a roll, so I merely nodded and kept my comments to myself.

  “I brought you a sampling of the media from DC and around the country. I’ve engaged a clipping service for a week so you can keep up with how others are reacting.”

  Suites, security, and now a clipping service. I frowned, but Maggie was way ahead of me.

  “I ran the expense by Ron. He agreed that we need to be proactive with the press.”

  I gave up. If tightwad Ron had approved the clipping service, who was I to complain? Now, if only I could get a word in edgewise to talk about the other expenses.

  “We can talk about finances once we know how long we are going to be here. But for now, let’s get to work. We have a lot to catch up on.” I swear, the woman can read my mind.

  Beth announced that she was on her way to the exercise room, and I remembered something I’d thought of earlier. I folded one hundred dollars into a hotel envelope along with a short note and asked Beth to give it to Brenda.

  “What’s this?”

  “Some of the messages I’ve received the last few days were pretty ugly. No one should have to put up with that kind of trash. Ask Brenda to make sure it gets in the right hands, okay?”

  “So it’s ‘Brenda’ already,” Beth teased, but she was out the door before I could respond. She was quickly learning from Maggie.

  I ignored Maggie’s raised eyebrows and went to work. It felt good to reenter the world of antitrust law, if only for a short while.

  It seemed as if no time had passed when Beth returned. I remembered another phone call I had to make, and at the same time, Maggie handed me an envelope from Ron marked “personal.” Inside was a handwritten note.

  Jack, what in the hell are you doing? You’re making a fool of yourself! The majority leader called Paul Anthony to complain. The Legal Times is calling about our radical step in taking on the defense of an assassin. Every day you’re in that godforsaken place we are losing business and respectability. Leave now and keep your mouth shut! Ron.

  I looked up from the note and commented to Maggie, “I see things are a little tense.”

  Maggie gave me a knowing smile. “The lawyers most upset are the government-relations types.”

  Their fancy label always amused me. Why don’t they call themselves what they are—lobbyists.

  “They were delighted when you enlisted them to organize a function for Senator Robinson. Now they’re avoiding calls from Hill staff, trying to pretend they don’t know you.”

  I made a mental note to call Paul Anthony, former congressman from Alabama and head of our government-relations section. I also thought about calling Ron, but thought better of it. Until I talked to Woody, I wouldn’t have much to say.

  I picked up the phone and made the call I’d been putting off.

  “This is Jack Patterson. Mrs. Robinson’s assistant asked that I call to make an appointment.”

  There was a long silence, followed by an ice-cold voice. “We’ve been expecting your call. Be at the family home at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Please don’t be late.”

  Between last night’s threat, Ron’s note, and the chill from Lucy’s assistant, the welcome mat had certainly been rolled out for me in Little Rock.

  10

  THERE WAS A knock at the door, and I was pleasantly surprised to see Brenda followed closely by two very large guys.

  “Jack, this is Bruce Morgan, our head of security, and Clovis Jones, who I understand has been retained by Ms. Baxter. I thought I should sit in, if you don’t mind.”

  Maggie gave me an apologetic look—she’d obviously hired Jones without consulting me. I kept quiet, and Bruce Morgan took the lead.

  “Mr. Patterson, the hotel needs to take some unusual precautions for your safety, and I’d like your cooperation.”

  “Unusual precautions?” I asked, with possibly more skepticism than I intended.

  “I’m afraid your presence is creating a number of security problems. If it were up to me, I’d suggest you change hotels, but Ms. Warner has made it very clear that’s not an option.”

  I noticed his glance toward Brenda, who was nodding firmly.

  “The press is a nuisance. We can limit their access, but we can’t keep them from camping outside. Frankly, it’s not the press I’m worried about. They’ll turn their attention to the Westin as soon as the vice president and other dignitaries arrive. I’m worried because the hotel is receiving threats.”

  “What kind of threats?” Beth asked.

  Morgan looked at Beth and then at me.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “This affects Beth too.”

  “The hotel has received two bomb threats. We’re working with Little Rock Police and the ATF, and, thank heaven, we haven’t had any bombs yet. But we have received a number of worrisome threats against both you and your daughter. We need to take precautions to be sure both you and our other guests are safe.”

  I knew about the one threat, but multiple threats? Flushing with anger, I sputtered, “Threats to Beth? If anything … Who…?”

  Clovis Jones, who looked closer to seven feet tall than six and packed at least 260 pounds of muscle, interrupted in a surprisingly soft voice, “Calm down, Mr. Patterson. That’s why I’m here. Nothing will happen to either of you. But we need to make a plan, and that involves me setting the rules and you two following them.”

  “What do you have in mind? Do I need a babysitter?” Beth’s voice was cool and a little cocky. I sighed. Great time for an attitude.

  Jones chose to ignore her, asking about our schedule for the next few days and quizzing Bruce about the hotel’s plans to beef up security. He insisted that either he or one of his people drive at all times, and that neither Beth nor I leave our room without alerting his people.

  Thinking of the disturbing note I’d hidden in the desk drawer, I asked if it might be better for Beth to return to Davidson. I got a glare from Beth, and Jones shook his head with certainty.

  “For now, she’s better off here.” He turned to Beth. “So far, only your dad has been in the papers, but
there are pictures of you online. Until things die down, someone might try to track you down at school. You don’t need that.”

  I looked at Beth. She didn’t look quite so sure of herself now.

  Offering my hand to our new bodyguard, I said, “Thank you, Mr. Jones. And please, call me Jack.”

  “You’re welcome. The name’s Clovis.”

  Clovis and Bruce Morgan gave us all kinds of cell phone and pager numbers before they left to work out the details of our security. Brenda stood to leave, and as we shook hands, she put her other hand on my arm and said softly, “Things will get better, Jack.” I looked across the room and saw Beth and Maggie watching us.

  After everyone left, I sank into the chair in the corner of the room and stared, off into space. Threats and round-the-clock security … what had I gotten us into?

  Beth and Maggie were going over my notes and organizing messages on the laptop, so I took the opportunity to slip into my bedroom and call Tucker. It seemed like Clovis was on the up-and-up, but I wanted a local’s take on him. Tucker told me that Clovis Jones had been the starting linebacker for Tennessee Tech in Cookeville. He’d been a sure thing to be a top draft pick and star in the NFL when a freak car accident had cut his football career short. He now owned his own security company here in Little Rock and was a well-regarded private investigator. Feeling better about things, I went back into the sitting area to get some work done.

  I hardly noticed when room service brought in sandwiches. Maggie’s stern voice jolted me back to reality.

  “You need to eat something before you leave to see Woody.”

  “Shit. You’re right.” I took a bite of the sandwich Maggie had put in front of me, and it suddenly hit me that I had packed for a leisurely weekend with my daughter. I only had golf shirts and khaki pants for the weekend. I shot up out of my chair and said, “I’m headed to the jail within the hour in golf clothes!” I was about to swear again, but Maggie, borrowing a habit of mine, put her hand firmly on my arm.

  Looking a bit uncomfortable, she said, “It’s okay, Jack. It occurred to me that you might need different clothes while you were here, so I dropped by your house and picked some up for both of you. Beth, I know most of your clothes are at Davidson, so I wasn’t quite sure what to pack for you. I assumed you’d both want to attend the funeral. The bags should be here soon.”

  Beth said, “Whatever you brought will be fine. Actually, did you happen to grab my old Seven jeans?”

  “Seven jeans?” I was confused. “What do you need with seven pairs of—”

  Rolling her eyes, Beth said, “Dad. It’s a label.”

  Like magic, the bellman knocked on the door, bringing our luggage. He was followed by Clovis and another, much smaller man.

  Clovis was trying not to smile as Beth rummaged through her bags, looking disgruntled. She pulled out khaki pants and a black button-down shirt, an ensemble I had not seen since the summer she worked at our neighborhood coffee shop. I laughed before I could stop myself, recalling how much she despised wearing that uniform. She was not amused.

  Clovis had a real knack for knowing when to intervene. “So, Beth, I want you to meet Paul. He won’t be your babysitter, but he will be sitting in a chair outside your suite.”

  Paul nodded wordlessly. He wasn’t much bigger than Woody and wore the same nerdy glasses. I guess I looked a little doubtful.

  “Paul may not look intimidating, but he was an NCAA-champion wrestler in his weight class, and is an expert in martial arts. You don’t want to mess with him Jack, I’ll be out in the hallway with Paul going over some things. Come on out when you’re ready to go.”

  When the door closed, Beth chuckled. “Martial arts?” she whispered. “Our bodyguard is a retired Power Ranger?”

  “Honey, you need to …” I tried to scold, but came up short. Frustrated, I grabbed my bag and jerked it into my room.

  I felt better after changing into a sports coat, button-down shirt, and conservative tie. I tried to anticipate the scene at the jail. The press would be salivating for a sound bite, and Woody’s lawyer needed to be ready to give them a good one. Oh my God! Did I just call myself Woody’s lawyer? I had to get that concept out of my head or I would have no chance of convincing others.

  CLOVIS DROVE A late-model Tahoe. Just looking at it could make a person feel secure. When we got in, I handed him the note I’d saved from the previous night.

  He frowned, and I said, “It was in a batch of messages that had been left at the desk before I arrived. What bothers me is that very few people knew Beth was with me.”

  “You know, almost anyone could have called her college dorm and found out Beth had left with you. I’ll get this to the police, but I don’t think it’ll do much good. I’ll give Paul a heads up as well as Bruce Morgan. But if you ask me, this note is for real. Somebody wants you out of town. I don’t know why. But I’m going to take it seriously. You should do the same.”

  We rode in silence until we were almost to the county jail. We could see the satellite trucks lining the road as we approached. We parked, and as Clovis came around to open my door, I heard, “There he is! There’s Cole’s lawyer!” A wave of reporters juggling microphones barged straight toward me. Cameramen, with their cameras held like rocket launchers, were right behind. Clovis began to earn his pay, shouldering through the oncoming wave with ease. The reporters were shouting questions, shoving their cameras and mikes right into my face, but Clovis led interference and the sea parted. Within moments, we were past them and entering the jail.

  I went through the usual process a visitor is subjected to when entering a jail or prison. I was relieved to find out that strip searches weren’t required of attorneys visiting their clients. I was given a visitor’s pass with no comment—just some dirty looks from the jail personnel.

  I gathered my belongings and looked around, only to find myself facing Sam Pagano, who was wearing a smile that I supposed he reserved for the press—there was certainly nothing personal about it. All men age, most not so gracefully, but Sam was the exception. I don’t mean just from the last time I’d seen him, which had been less than a year ago; I mean from college days. He’d always looked younger than his age, which helped, but to top it off, Sam was flat-out good looking. He had, as Angie once described them, “bedroom eyes,” and had stayed in shape running and cycling, although I did notice the beginning of a middle-age paunch. He’s shorter than I am, but has a broad chest and slim hips. His Italian heritage shows in his olive skin, which turns a deep gold every summer. Everyone in the jail except the inmates seemed to be lining the halls to catch a glimpse of the Washington lawyer. Sam was well aware of the scrutiny. His greeting gave no hint of a prior friendship.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Patterson, and welcome to the Pulaski County Jail.” We shook hands. “I need you to sign some paperwork if you don’t mind. Please come with me.” He turned on his heel, leading me into a nearby office. As the door shut, we both broke into huge grins, and in an instant, Sam was giving me a bear hug and slapping me across the back.

  “Shit, Jack,” Sam said as he stepped back, “we’re in one fine mess. But you’re still a sight for sore eyes—and here in Little Rock, no less.”

  We would have laughed if not for the sadness of it all.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I told him. “I don’t know why I’m here, and I damn sure don’t know what to do. I need some help.”

  Sam’s smile disappeared, and I felt sure that whatever was going to next wouldn’t be good.

  “Jack, I know you understand the need for that charade out in the hall. Every member of the press is looking for a story, and the last thing either of us needs is some story implying that the county prosecutor is in bed with the defendant’s attorney. Right now, in front of anyone, and I mean anyone, not just the press, you and I can be polite but certainly can not act like the lifelong pals we are. If you think the press is on your ass, imagine what they’re doing to mine. Any hint that I’m anything less
than a hard-ass will get me tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail. Worse, I’ve got a lunkhead US attorney dying to take over the case and embarrass me while he’s at it.”

  “Well, Sam, I—”

  He cut me off. “I know you’ve got a lot to say, but hear me out. I’ve been thinking about what I was going to say for two days. I’m sure your coming here is important to Helen. Whether he knows it or not, I’m sure it’s good for Woody. But it isn’t good for me, and it’s damn sure not good for you. Some reporter is going to start digging around, and they’re going to figure out that Russell, Woody, you, and I are all connected, and there’ll be hell to pay if they snoop too deep. What I’m trying to say, Jack, is that you should get the hell out before you get stuck in the muck.”

  Somewhat taken aback by his fervor, I let out my breath and said, “Well, thanks for the advice—I think. Sam, I’m not a criminal attorney. I can’t get Helen to understand that yet, but as soon as I see Woody and figure out how I can help Helen, I’ll be gone. I know I run a risk by being here, but I owe it to Helen, Woody, and myself to do what I can. I’d be doing the same for you.”

  “Jack, I understand your loyalty. But it’s misplaced, and besides, at some point, some reporter is going to figure out why you left Little Rock.”

  I controlled the anger welling up and said, “That’s nobody’s business. There’s no reason for it to come up.”

  “Yeah, well, say it does. You and Angie are going to become as much of a story as Woody and Russell. I promised I’d never say a word about what happened, but your presence puts me in a very precarious position if it comes to light.”

  “Sam, I’ve thought long and hard about that—you know I’d rather cut off my arm than hurt you in any way. I have no intention of being Woody’s lawyer. I just want to do what I can and get out of Dodge.”

  There was a brief silence as we each tried to size up the situation. Then Sam said quietly, “Don’t tell me again you’re not Woody’s lawyer, or I can’t let you see him. He isn’t allowed visitors until he sees the judge. Just do what you have to do and get the hell out of town.”