by Webb Hubbell
“Under pressure from the father, the prosecutor brought charges, and then it got worse. Roger’s first night in jail, a group of hooded vigilantes broke in—I guess the guards were on a break—beat the hell out of him, and hung him up by … well, not by his neck.”
I winced, even though I knew the story.
Micki continued, “Sam was the public defender back then, so his office defended Roger. They did their best, but the jury wanted no part of a teacher having sex with a student, and he was sentenced to ten years.”
Maggie interrupted: “Where does Woody come into the picture?”
“By then, everyone in Little Rock knew about the attack. As you can imagine, the story was the butt of a lot of jokes, and feelings were running high. Woody felt that Kent had been punished enough and was worried he’d be treated as badly, if not worse, in prison. He took on Roger’s cause as a personal mission, and he directed all his ammunition at Sam. He drummed up support from the ACLU, the teachers’ union, and other criminal-justice organizations. Woody’s attacks got very personal, accusing Sam of being incompetent and having tanked the case. He was relentless.
“Eventually, Woody got Russell Robinson, who was governor at the time, to pardon Kent, and Kent immediately fled to Brazil with the girl. Then the other shoe dropped. It turned out that Kent and the girl were major drug suppliers as well as lovers. Everybody had thought it was the father and his friends who’d strung him up, but in the end, it was all about the drugs. Kent hadn’t paid his suppliers, and they paid him back with a unique lynching. Governor Robinson was left with egg on his face, and he never issued another pardon. Even worse, Woody had sullied Sam’s reputation.”
I interjected: “Sam told me Woody wouldn’t listen to him and went off half-cocked in a take-no-prisoner’s campaign without knowing the full story. When it was over, Woody was horrified by what he’d done and has tried to apologize many times, but Sam was devastated and still refuses to talk to him. I think Sam will come around eventually, but for now … well, the whole thing’s pretty sad.”
More than ever, I wondered why Sam hadn’t recused himself and whether I could try to use this animosity as an issue.
I didn’t want to be late for my meeting with Woody. As I rose to leave, Maggie said, “Just one more detail.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“May I call Les?”
Micki said, “May I listen in?”
We all laughed.
“Maggie, you deserve that pleasure. Give him my fondest regards.”
22
AS CLOVIS DROVE me to the jail, I began to have second thoughts about my decision. Worried about watching someone else cross-examine a witness? Who was I kidding? Who would we cross-examine? We’d all seen it—Woody had shot Russell, plain and simple. Whether he meant to kill him wasn’t an issue, except to save him from execution. The best I could think of was to solve the puzzle of why, and hope the answer might help Helen with her grief and keep Woody off death row.
I also thought about Micki. She brought back memories of my law-school friends who had taken jobs with the public defender or practiced “people law.” I think they got it right, better than most of my law-school classmates, better than me. They represent their clients with compassion. They never demonize or look down on ordinary people with everyday problems. Their work evokes an odd combination of sadness and optimism. The sadness comes from the hopelessness of their work. The optimism arises from a hope that, in a few cases at least, justice will prevail. I suspect they regard me as less committed than they are, further away from where the real battle is fought every day. In essence, they represent people. I represent capital.
The press was at the curb when we pulled up to the jail. No quick entry this time. I expected to see Sam, but we were met by a deputy prosecuting attorney, a grumpy looking young guy in a gray suit. “Now that you’re actually here, I’ll have Mr. Cole brought around.” He seemed to imply that I’d kept him waiting.
I asked where Sam was—no response. “Well, the next time you see him, tell him I have a couple of things he might like to have.”
Now he turned friendly. “I’ll be happy to take them.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll give them either to Sam or to the court tomorrow afternoon. I don’t know you. Helen Cole opened up her home to men who claimed to be state troopers, and they took Woody’s computer and file cabinet. It’s either Sam or the court. Nothing else works.”
It was a safe bet that Sam would show up before I left.
I went through the same security routine as before, then a guard escorted me to the room Woody and I had met in yesterday. A minute later, the door opened, and Woody shuffled in, eyes on the ground. The guard unshackled the leg chains. Woody’s eyes remained fixed on the floor, his hands still cuffed. He didn’t look at me or say a word in response to my greeting.
“Guard, has Mr. Cole been sedated?”
“No, sir, we have orders. No medication for the prisoner. Not even an aspirin. Prosecutor says you’re to be out of here by two. If you need me, I’m right outside the door.” The guard wheeled around and left.
“Woody, are you okay?”
Woody slowly lifted his head. “What are you doing here? I told you to go home.”
I had no idea what was wrong with him, so I started talking—but it was like talking to a post. I told him about his mother. I told him how I’d been trying to piece together what had happened and to find a lawyer to defend him. The only thing that seemed to perk him up was telling him that Beth was here.
I’d had enough. “Goddamn it, Woody, I’d appreciate a little cooperation! I’m not here for the fun of it. I’m trying to figure out what the hell happened. The least you can do is talk to me.”
“I’m sorry, Jack, but don’t waste your time. I killed Russell, and all the reasons in the world don’t matter. I did something I can’t repair and I can’t take back. Is that what you need to hear?”
At least I had his attention. “Woody, anyone who can see knows you shot him. I need to know why.”
“I planned on being dead before you got here. My plan was to scare the shit out of Russell and then kill myself. I figured that Russell would do the right thing, and then you’d know why I was dead. It was a good plan, but I executed it poorly. That’s all I’m going to say.” He shrugged. “I killed Russell, and my hopes died with him. I’m going to take a page from your book and never say another word about what happened. You, of all people, should understand. Let me plead guilty and die. You, can’t help, Jack. Go home.”
“What about Helen?”
He laughed. “After all these years, you’re calling her Helen? Never thought I’d see that day.”
His tone grew reflective. “You know, Mom moved on after Dad died in the hunting accident. I never told you the story, and I’m not sure if Mom did. Some things just hurt too much to talk about. A hunter standing right next to Dad in the duck blind dropped his shotgun, and it went off in dad’s face. Killed him instantly. Ironic, isn’t it? The one time I pick up a gun, I shoot someone in the face. I know Mom’s miserable right now—knowing why this happened won’t help her. She’ll be okay. The quicker it’s over, the better.”
“What about Beth and me?”
“You and I have been friends for a long time, Jack. I considered you my best friend—probably still do. But you and Angie left Little Rock, and our lives drifted apart. I got to spend time with you in DC, but it wasn’t like it used to be. People change. I’m not who you remember.”
I thought of Sam’s words. You knew us a long time ago, but you left.
“If you don’t want to live, why not at least tell me why you came up with this so-called plan?”
He sighed. “It was stupid. I got angry, and instead of dealing with the issue within my principles, I let anger take over. Now Russell’s dead, I’m here, and Mom’s devastated. You all need to leave it alone. Just let me die, and move on.”
“And what if I can’t leave it alone?”
He looked at me through his horn-rimmed glasses. “You’re going to do what you have to do, Jack. You always have. But I won’t help you, and I’m begging—please go home.”
“Whether you want to help or not, I have to ask you some questions. Your note—what does it mean? And what in the hell do Jerry Maguire and an Egyptian figurine have to do with Russell?”
A flash of interest returned to his eyes, and he said, “I knew you’d figure out what the key unlocked. I should have left a pint of pure grain alcohol in there as well. You could make up a batch of purple passion, like the old days. Remember the recipe?—a pint of PGA, a large can of Hawaiian Punch and a large can of Hi-C grape juice?” I nodded and we both smiled. “As for the rest, I won’t help you. You’re on your own. But I’m not worth your trouble.”
I noticed that he was fidgeting with his handcuffs. It occurred to me that, for all the years I’d been practicing law, I had no idea how it felt to be in handcuffs.
I had to keep him talking. “I met with Lucy this morning. She ranted and raved, but what she really wants is access to the opposition research.”
“A detail I overlooked. There’s a lot in there Russell didn’t want Lucy to know. She should leave this alone and pray those files never make it to the light of day.”
“Where are the files?”
“In the hands of the law firm of Harold & Harold. Technically, Russell was the client, and the law firm, not the campaign, employed anyone who worked on the opposition-research team. Russell and I were the only people allowed to review their work, and everyone signed confidentiality forms. Lucy threw a fit, but Janis Harold convinced her that excluding her was the only way it would work. Only Russell or I can authorize their release.”
“I guess as Russell’s executor, Lucy can order the release to herself.”
“Except that Lucy’s not Russell’s executor. I’ve seen Russell’s will as part of the opposition-research project—his executor is Janis Harold, nice and neat.”
Lucy was going to be one unhappy camper. “Lucy wants those files. I suspect her lawyer told her she needs you to release them to her sooner rather than later. She also hinted that she might support leniency if you promise not to write a book. She’s trying to get your signature and silence in exchange for mercy.”
Woody looked thoughtful. “I’ll sign whatever she wants, but I don’t want her mercy. Hell, Russell would have hung me himself if he’d lived. He never commuted a death sentence as governor. He worried it might cost him a vote. Tell her she can have her research if she wants it, but she ought to leave it alone. Lucy and I never got along, but I wish her no ill will. Give her my word that, in the short time I’m alive, I won’t write a book.”
That hadn’t turn out the way I’d hoped. “Then I take it what’s in your file cabinet is not the opposition research?”
“Nope, you’re not even warm.”
“The state troopers—or at least, according to your mom, they appeared to be state troopers—confiscated your computer and file cabinet.”
No reaction. I tried another avenue. “Cheryl has been on TV a lot.” Woody raised his eyebrows. “She referred to you as a hanger-on, verbally abusive. She said your marriage had no passion. You weren’t interested in sex.”
He laughed out loud. “Not interested? No passion? That’s good. Poor Cheryl, she must need money again. She must not have gotten my last check.”
“She said you did drugs. She implied that Russell was about to fire you.”
“He was.”
“What do you mean? You were his right arm. Russell was nothing without you.”
“Let it go, Jack.”
“Well, I have to turn over the key, your note, and the locker’s contents to Sam.”
“Go ahead. They won’t mean a thing to Sam.”
“I’ve engaged a lawyer to help you—Micki Lawrence. Do you know her?”
“No, but don’t waste your money. I don’t need a lawyer.”
“If you don’t have a lawyer, the court will appoint one for you. She’s worth the fee I’m going to pay her to keep some doofus from being appointed.”
Woody shook his head and sighed. “Okay, if you’re so determined, I’ll pay her. Mom’s got my checkbook, and you can write a check on my account. I gave you my power of attorney the day before the shooting. I have money. In fact, I have over two hundred thousand dollars in my checking account, plus several large CDs. Everything else is in a trust for Mom, Cheryl, and Beth. Janis Harold has all the documents. I named you trustee and executor. You’ll see.” He looked downright smug.
“Two hundred thousand dollars? What’s going on, Woody? You never had any money.”
“No, I never spent any money. Cheryl always accused me of being a tightwad. I tried to pay Mom rent after I moved back in, but she wouldn’t have it, so I just kept socking it all away. The trust provides for Mom for the rest of her life. I’ve also taken care of Cheryl. She’s going to be shocked, happy, and pissed, all at the same time. I provide tuition, books, and a nice allowance for Beth for the rest of her college and graduate school. The re—“
I interrupted him. “No, Woody! I am very capable of—”
“I know you’re very capable. But Beth is the closest thing I have to a daughter, and I don’t have any other relatives to speak of. I want to do this, Jack. … Please, let me do this.”
We locked eyes for a few seconds—the reality was suddenly overwhelming. I blinked first.
Woody cleared his throat and continued. “The remaining income of the trust goes to a charitable foundation to fund environmental projects with you, then Beth, as trustee. I thought I’d be dead when y’all found out, but it doesn’t matter. The trust is irrevocable. There’s plenty of cash in the bank to pay the lawyer and to help Mom.”
“Wait a minute. You couldn’t have that kind of money, even if you had saved every penny you made.”
“Actually, I do. I had an investment strategy that went like this. If I hated a company for their environmental policies, their destruction of Main Street, or their greedy and unethical practices, I bought their stock. Initially, I did it so I could attend their meetings and harass them as a stockholder. But I noticed the value of my small portfolio kept getting bigger. The worse the company, the more its stock rose. Cheryl’s going to shit a brick when she finds out how much money I have. She’d never have left me.”
“Don’t you want to change your trust now? Cheryl’s been pretty awful.”
“Couldn’t if I wanted to—it’s ironclad. I made Janis promise, and when it comes to legal documents, she’s a regular Clarence Darrow. When Cheryl gets over being pissed, she’ll understand and be grateful. As to what she said, based on what you tell me, she didn’t lie. Like Obi-Wan said, she just told the truth from a different point of view. As far as being asexual, she knows the truth. I was a stud.” He grinned like the old Woody for a second. “I have many regrets, but taking care of Cheryl is not one of them.”
Woody’s story had grown more bizarre by the minute, and I was running out of time. I told him he would be arraigned on Tuesday morning and that I would meet the judge tomorrow afternoon.
When I asked him what I could tell the judge, he said, “It’s simple. Tell him I’m ready to be executed.”
“It’s not that easy. We don’t just let people die in this country. They’ll put you through tests to check your sanity, there’ll be groups who take up your cause, and I can’t advocate your death. You can’t ask that of me.”
“I’m not. Remember, I used to be one of those folks. I’d be raising money, carrying placards, and filing appeals—all that stuff. But I killed a US senator in cold blood. My execution is an easy call.”
“I don’t know … you’ve thrown me a lot of curves, Woody. I need some time to think. But right now, we have to go over a few other things, because they’re not going to let me see you again before Tuesday.”
As I went down my checklist, I thought of something. “Do you know why anyon
e wouldn’t want me around—someone who might go to great lengths to frighten me out of town?”
Woody grew very still, no longer fiddling with the handcuffs. He looked around the room warily and then leaned in. “Okay—it doesn’t change anything, but I’ve uncovered some pretty serious shit over the last few weeks. If the wrong people knew I’d found out what they’re up to, they’d probably want me dead, but not you.”
I snorted at his naiveté. “Unless they thought you’d tell me and I’d bring it out in public. Like, at your trial? Somebody tried to run me over yesterday. I mean run me over with a car, for God’s sake, and a note threatening both Beth and me was waiting at the hotel when we got here. I’m being followed, and someone is trying to bug our rooms. What’s going on, Woody?”
He paled and pushed away from the table, suddenly near panic. “Jack, you need to go home. Take Beth and leave. If people think you know what I found out, you’re in real danger. I’m begging you. Please, go home.”
“Now do you see why it’s important? Tell me what you discovered, Woody.”
He shook his head emphatically. “No, it’s important you don’t know. If you and Beth go home right now, you’ll be safe. Everyone will hear me plead guilty and ask for the death penalty. They’ll know you don’t have any idea what I know. It’s the only way.”
“Sorry, can’t do that. With or without your help, I’m staying. But I will make you a deal. I have a great bodyguard, and we’ve all got twenty-four-hour security. I’ll be careful. If I can’t figure it out on my own, I’ll stand with you and watch you plead guilty and then go home. But let’s say I find something that helps me understand what’s going on. Will you trust me enough to give me the next thirty-six hours to change your mind?”
Woody was still upset, but he was thinking. “You’ll give up and go home if you don’t find anything by Tuesday?”
I nodded yes.
“I really wish you’d leave now.”
“Well, I’m not going to. Do we have a deal?”