When Men Betray

by Webb Hubbell

  Micki started to say something, but I touched her elbow lightly. “Your Honor, we have no intention of showing anything but respect for this court. However, one need look no farther than the gallery to realize we are playing on a different stage than normal. This nation, the media, and the US government are scrutinizing every action taken by each of us. So if I waive a defendant’s right, I’d better have a good reason for doing so. I’m sure Sam is even more aware of the increased scrutiny. He has a headline-grabbing US attorney looking over his shoulder.

  “In eighteen ninety-five, in Coffin v. the United States, the Supreme Court called the presumption of innocence the ‘bedrock’ of our criminal-justice system, and its enforcement lies at the foundation of our criminal law. Unfortunately, while it may be the bedrock, it’s seldom the reality. Thanks to the media, the accused are often presumed guilty from the very get-go, and defense attorneys fight an uphill battle just to get where the law says we should start.

  “Your Honor, I’m not accusing the prosecutor of doing anything inappropriate. I’m a realist. Every person in this state believes Woody Cole is guilty, and for me to have even a fighting chance, I have to use every tool the law gives me. I intend to hold the prosecution to strict proof. There’ll be no waivers from the defense. Whatever legal or constitutional protections are left to my client, I intend to use.

  “Our tactics are not meant as a lack of respect for the prosecution or the court. Micki and I will stay within the rules, but we intend to use the rules when they work to our advantage. We represent a client who leaves the dugout for the pitcher’s mound with the bases loaded, three balls on the batter, and a rubber arm. We need a few warm-up pitches.

  “One last thing: My client was roughed up last night. I don’t have to remind this court or the prosecution of the mess we’d all be in if something were to happen to Woody. We’d be accused of being part of some grand conspiracy, like Lee Harvey Oswald or James Earl Ray. I know Your Honor has admonished the sheriff, but I’m concerned about my client’s safety. I think there are people who want Mr. Cole dead before a trial can occur, and I guarantee that if anybody so much as spits at him, I’m going to the US attorney and asking him to take over both his protection and this case. I won’t have Woody harmed or worse before this trial if I can help it.”

  Marshall cleared his throat. “I have no intention of letting something happen to the defendant. I have made this clear to sheriff Barnes. Sam, you might speak to the sheriff, as well. And your points about presumption of innocence are well taken. Now that you’ve laid your hand on the table, I’ll show you mine: It is my intention to conduct these proceedings in a manner completely above board and within the rules. You want a hearing tomorrow. You’ve got it. You want to hold Sam to strict proof. He’s forewarned. But I also warn you: no theatrics, no withholding evidence, and no trying the case in the press. From this moment, on there’s a gag order on all of you. I’ll catch heat from the press, but I’ll have no leaks and no press conferences. Sam, you’ve been quiet.”

  “I’ll be ready tomorrow to present a case to the court that there’s probable cause to bind Mr. Cole over for trial on all counts. I appreciate the warning that I’m to be held to strict proof. The state will meet its burden. All will be above board on our end.” Sam spoke clearly, without a hint of emotion.

  Marshall said that, if there wasn’t anything further, we all had a lot of work to do. He hadn’t counted on needing security in the courtroom for the week, and he was sure the media would ruin the rest of his day. Micki went off into a corner with Sam’s deputies to talk about exhibits and how we could get copies on such short notice, so Sam and I were left to twiddle our thumbs. He looked at me thoughtfully.

  “You know hiring Micki was a dirty trick, don’t you?”

  “She assured me that whatever there was between the two of you was over.”

  “I thought so myself, but seeing her yesterday and now today, I’m wondering what I was thinking.”

  I nudged him on the shoulder. “You weren’t.”

  39

  AT LEAST WE were still in the game. Woody hadn’t forfeited before the kickoff. Micki and I felt sure that Sam would never back away from a challenge, and we trusted Marshall’s confidence in Sam’s ability to present his case tomorrow. Now we had our preliminary hearing, but I doubted the rest of our plan would work so easily.

  I found Helen and Mabel waiting for me in the hall. Helen looked exhausted, but I wasn’t surprised to find that she had easily understood the proceedings. She was even able to joke about the good-looking security guard who was waiting to take them home. I had a few things to do yet, so Micki left with Paul, Jeff, and Beth, but Maggie stayed to help me. The crowds were still milling around when Clovis picked us up about thirty minutes later. As we pulled away from the courthouse, I noticed that the number of satellite trucks seemed to have multiplied like hangers in a closet.

  After we had gone a few blocks, Maggie looked around and asked, “Where are we going? This isn’t the way back to the hotel.”

  I rolled down the window, enjoying the fine spring air. Clovis about had heart failure. My reckless behavior earned me a stern look in the rear-view mirror, but I needed to breathe. “We’re not going back to the hotel. Clovis doesn’t think we’re safe, so we’re getting new digs. He moved us all out of the hotel during the hearing.”

  Before Maggie could ask anything else, I punched in a phone number. “Janis Harold, please.” I waited. “Janis, I forgot to ask. Did Woody give you anything to put in the opposition-research files in the last couple of weeks?”

  Almost—but not quite—apologetic, Janis confirmed my suspicion. He had given her a large envelope, which she hadn’t yet placed in the storage unit with the other files. It was still in their safe at the law office. I thanked her, and told her Clovis would come by to pick it up. Janis had already heard about today’s courtroom proceedings, and gently inquired if our ploy had been wise. I said I wasn’t sure, which was the truth.

  Maggie frowned. “So we’re leaving the hotel. Just like that. Does Brenda know?”

  “Of course she does,” Clovis answered. “She’s the manager of the hotel. I told her we need more room. I don’t imagine she was happy to lose the rooms, but she didn’t exactly have a choice. The reality is, I’m not satisfied with the security at the hotel. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it with her, but it’s time to find other quarters.”

  “No argument from me,” Maggie said. “I was just curious. So where are we going?”

  “To a large, secluded home right outside of town. The risks are different, but we should be safe for a few days.”

  “Where did you find a secluded home that … oh.” It dawned on her.

  Clovis grinned. “Yup—Micki’s place. We asked her even before we asked Jack. I think you’re gonna like it. And yes to your next question—Walter knows about it.”

  We’d been traveling on a country road for several miles when there, at the base of a small mountain, lay a spread of more than two hundred acres, beautifully fenced with split rails and an arched gate at the entry. Horses grazed in the pastures, and a clear, spring-fed stream meandered through the property. Pecan trees edged both sides of a drive that led to a sprawling ranch house. A brand-new barn had been built behind the main building. How in the world did Micki get the money to buy this spread, much less keep it up?

  We found Micki showing Beth and Jeff the stable. “I’m impressed,” I told her.

  Micki explained that it was a dream come true, realized partly through plain good luck. A reclusive investment banker who wanted a country house for his family had built the house about five years ago. Before he could move his family in, the wife fell in love with the couple’s marriage counselor, left him, and took the kids to Miami. In the divorce, Micki had represented the banker, who’d let her come out and ride on occasion. After the divorce was finalized, he suggested that she move in as a caretaker so the house wouldn’t stand empty. When the banker met s
omeone new who wanted nothing to do with country life, he offered to let Micki buy the property over time. He offered her very generous terms, and she exchanged legal work for partial forgiveness of the mortgage.

  Micki called it a work in progress, but there was plenty of room inside, and enough bedrooms to accommodate all of us. Fortunately, Micki’s benefactor had left her most of his furniture. I still wondered how she kept it up, but she said she had plenty of clients who needed ways to work off their bills, so she had a steady source of labor to do maintenance and landscaping.

  The large dining room and living area became our work center. Beth and Jeff took over a corner for their research, and Micki and I spread our papers and supplies on the dining table.

  Late in the afternoon, we took a break. Micki and Maggie went to ride horses, while Jeff and Beth took a long walk. Almost as soon as Maggie and Micki had saddled their horses and trotted off, Clovis returned carrying a large envelope from Janis Harold, plus the court exhibits, which included a DVD of the shooting. While Clovis loaded the DVD in the player, I opened the envelope. It contained a well-worn book that appeared to be a guest register. Here was the payoff for my hunch that Woody must have discovered something recently that bothered him profoundly. That he’d stashed the book with the opposition research made perfect sense. The question was, what did this register contain?

  I dove eagerly into the handwritten pages, and quickly realized what they represented. How foolish! What were they thinking? Russell had asked each guest at his duck club to sign the register. Nearly every visitor made a comment on the accommodations or the hunt. Some of the comments were unguarded, to say the least. No wonder Woody wanted to keep the book secret.

  I put the register down, and Clovis turned on the DVD. Once again, I watched Woody as he walked up to the podium where Russell was standing, and they began to argue. Woody raised the gun, and Russell went down. I couldn’t actually see the tip of the gun because of the camera angle. Clovis tried to slow it down to catch the exact frame when the gun went off, but couldn’t. We watched again and again, but nothing changed.

  I asked him to play it one final time. I tried to concentrate on the whole scene rather than just the gun, and something caught my eye that didn’t look right. Clovis didn’t see it at all. Again, he tried to isolate the exact frame, but couldn’t. He said he could try to find more sophisticated equipment. It was a long shot, but I told him to see what he could do.

  Clovis raised another roadblock—he wouldn’t be able to deal with my special project in the rotunda until Thursday morning, due to some scheduled event. This project was part of a nagging feeling I had about the shooting, but I needed some proof. I also needed to buy another day, which wasn’t going to be easy. I’d pushed Sam and Marshall to have the hearing tomorrow, and now I was the one who needed a day. Another thought had occurred to me while I was thumbing through the register.

  “Clovis, did you know Russell owned a duck club?”

  “Yeah, sure—he had hunting parties there all the time. Rumor has it he got it as a wedding present.”

  “Well, do you think you can find out exactly who was allowed on the property? You know, did he have security, housekeepers, cooks, that sort of thing.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll work on it.”

  Soon, Maggie and Micki came in from their ride, obviously on a high. Beth and Jeff returned as well, so I had my chickens back in the roost. I asked if anyone had thought about dinner. Micki admitted she wasn’t much of a cook, and except for beer, wine, and Bagel Bites, her cupboards were bare.

  Clovis looked smug. “I said I’d handle everything. How about ribs, slaw, potato salad, and hushpuppies for dinner?”

  We all cheered. Clovis was worth his weight in gold—and that’s a lot these days.

  When Clovis returned from Ben’s, we dove into the feast. Jeff and Paul seemed to be having a contest over who could eat the most ribs. Maggie ate her two ribs with a fork and put up with my teasing. The cold beer washed the barbecue down just right. I hated that we had to go back to work. Maggie enlisted Beth and Jeff to help her prepare the notebooks I needed for tomorrow, and Micki and I continued to talk about witness cross-examination.

  After a while, the air turned chilly; Paul and Jeff built a fire in the huge fireplace. As we finished our work, everyone got comfortable around the fire. I felt strangely relaxed. We could have been at a resort in the Rockies, following a long day on the slopes. The truth was, I’d done all I could for Woody, and I felt pretty good, if not confident. I was a little like a football coach who’s spent hours in the film room and on the practice field, putting together the game plan. At some point, you just have to let the game begin.

  WEDNESDAY

  40

  I WOKE UP the next morning to the irresistible smell of hot coffee and bacon. It was only six thirty, but Clovis was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, and a tiny saint from heaven was cooking bacon and hash browns. As she took a pan of golden-brown, homemade biscuits out of the oven, she asked me how I liked my eggs. As soon as I sat down, hot coffee appeared in front of me.

  Clovis was grinning like he’d just discovered the secret to life. In between bites he said, “Jack, meet Bea Taylor. Bea’s one of the best cooks I know, and she used to work at Senator Robinson’s duck club. We talked last night, and she told me that Lucy let her go after the shooting. She said she’d be happy to cook for us for a few days. I figured she could stay here, and maybe y’all could talk after court today.”

  Even if she hadn’t been Russell’s duck-club cook, Bea’s breakfast was enough for me to put her on the permanent payroll. But I had a feeling she could be the break we were hoping for.

  ON THE RIDE in to court, both Micki and Maggie asked me what was up. I reminded them that patience was a virtue, another of my grandmother’s favorites. Wasn’t a breakfast like the one they’d just enjoyed worth a little mystery?

  If anything, the crowd outside the courthouse looked even larger. Dozens of signs bobbed up and down calling for justice for Russell and his family and for Woody’s head. We went directly to the judge’s chambers. We didn’t have time to meet with Woody, but I figured, if I didn’t see him, he couldn’t tell me he had changed his mind.

  At precisely nine o’clock, the door to Marshall’s office opened, and we were invited in. I had a chance to look around while we were waiting for Sam. Marshall’s robe hung on the old-fashioned coat-rack in the corner. His desk was completely clear except for the ever-present yellow legal pad and cheap ballpoint pen. The credenza behind his desk was covered with a dozen or more pictures of his boys and wife.

  Sam rushed in trailed by his three deputies. Marshall asked if there were any problems. Micki said no. He then asked if there were any problems with our sharing information. Again, no problems. He nodded, seemingly satisfied, then looked at me. “Jack?”

  “Your Honor, I’ve got two concerns right now. I’ve given the prosecutor the note and key Mr. Cole left for me. I’ve also told him the location of the locker that the key opens and given him its contents. When I first got to Little Rock, Mrs. Cole told me that some men claiming to be state troopers came to her home and carted away Mr. Cole’s computer and file cabinet. Sam has concluded that whoever entered Mrs. Cole’s home, they were not, in fact, state troopers, and the computer and file cabinet are still missing.”

  Marshall raised an eyebrow and looked at Sam.

  “Your Honor, Jack’s rendition is essentially correct. I can assure the court we’re trying to discover who the imposters were and the current location of the items taken. We no longer believe that Jack or Mrs. Cole withheld anything. I’ll also say, I don’t believe this has any bearing on the case.”

  “Thank you,” I told Sam. “Your Honor, in addition, I heard that Woody’s car was discovered parked at the state capitol. It was immaculate—absolutely nothing in it or on it, including fingerprints. I’m sure Sam will verify this as well.”

  Sam nodded in agreement
.

  “What’s your point, counsel?” Marshall asked.

  “Well, it seems unusual that Mr. Cole’s home was raided almost immediately after the shooting, that his car was found without a single piece of paper or even a gum wrapper in it, free of fingerprints, and that no one has any idea who’s responsible.”

  Sam was about to respond, but Marshall said, “Counsel, I don’t see the relevance to this preliminary hearing. If evidence is missing, that’s a subject for another day.”

  “I understand, Your Honor. One last thing—I’ve been recently made aware that opposition research was done as part of Senator Robinson’s campaign. This sensitive information about the deceased is currently in the possession of Janis Harold, counsel to the campaign. The only persons who can access this research are Mr. Cole and me, as his attorney. I have no idea what’s in these files, but I don’t want something to happen to them, and then later you both say you didn’t know about their existence. Too many files have disappeared already.”

  Sam’s deputy prosecutor spoke up. “That’s easy. We’ll just advise Ms. Harold not to release the files until we decide what to do about them.”