Jack drafted the discovery to O’Connell and filed it with his answer. It would be electronically served on Christiansen who would undoubtedly email it to O’Connell. He decided to wait to serve discovery on Maria Hale and the Hale children until he received responses from O’Connell. One battle at a time. In the back of his head, he kept hearing a voice say, “Follow the money.”
Once Jack had efiled the documents with the clerk, he called Walt. “When you can spare a day away from the governor? We need to meet. I suggest you plan to spend the night and we can do some strategizing.”
“Hell, I’m off the next two days. I’ve got a couple of honey-dos in the morning. I’ll be at your place about four.”
“Perfect. I’ll invite J.D. He’s interested in being a lawyer after his playing days are over. I presume you still like your steaks rare?”
“You got it.”
“Oh, and I’m emailing our answer and some discovery. We’re going on attack right out of the gate.”
Walt turned into the driveway promptly at four the next afternoon, punched in the code and drove to the back. He was getting his overnighter out of the back seat of his Crown Vic when he heard the door open. He turned to find Jack, Colby and J.D. walking toward him.
“Walt, I’m so sorry,” Colby said. “Just when you think you can get your life back to normal, this happens.” She gave him a hug.
“Thanks, Colby. Fortunately, I’ve got the best lawyer in the country.” He turned to shake hands with Jack and J.D. “You ready for the combine, big guy?”
“Yes, sir. Counting the days.”
When they entered the house, Jack led the way through the kitchen to the living room. “Drop your bag at the foot of the stairs. We have recently discovered we have a living room. Drinks?”
“Bourbon on the rocks for me, a double please,” Walt said.
“Cabernet for me,” Colby said.
“Miller Lite, here. Getting close to me going on the wagon for the combine.”
Jack served drinks from the bar and fixed himself a vodka martini.
“Walt, as you’ve seen, I’ve answered the petition and sent some discovery to the plaintiffs. I expect to hear from Christiansen any day now. I’ll deal with that. The purpose of this gathering is to put our collective heads together and try to identify anyone who might have bankrolled Miriam Van Zandt. Who the hell would have had a motive?”
“Can I ask a question?” Walt said.
“Sure.”
“What does this have to do with the new lawsuit?”
Jack smiled. “As you should know, I have a rather devious mind when it comes to lawsuit strategy. Short answer. If we can pin the attack on someone else, no jury is going to find you and your team negligent for causing the murder of Edward Hale and the wounding of O’Connell. Trust me on that for now.”
Colby placed her wine glass on the side table beside her chair. “Back to your question, I’ll start. How about Oscar Hale?”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “Why him?”
“Why not? Wouldn’t be the first time that one family member killed another over money and, maybe even power. Oscar was the older brother. Maybe he thought that Edward had been riding his coattails, and he wanted it all for himself. Who knows what kind of agreements there were between Oscar and Edward? Maybe when one of them died, his interests in Hale and Hale went to the other brother.”
“If that’s the case, why was the governor shot and nearly died and O’Connell wounded?”
“Maybe Miriam was a bad shot.”
“Nope,” Walt said. “The DPS interviewed the others in the compound. Without exception, every one of them said she was the best pistol shot in a hundred miles.” Walt rose and went to the bar. “Jack keep your seat. I’m going to fix another drink.”
Jack glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes to down a double bourbon.
“Maybe a diversion. Did she intend to kill the governor and was off by a few inches and maybe shot Edward to distract attention from her real target?” J.D. added. “Or, maybe her bullets went just where she aimed them. She was only fifteen or twenty feet away. Give me a little time on the pistol range and I could do it. Then the question is why would anyone want to kill Edward, wound the governor and nick O’Connell? Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”
“How about Maria?” Walt asked as he returned from the bar. “Trophy wife, third marriage.”
“And I heard she had a roving eye?”
“And, where, Miss Stripling, did you learn that?” Jack asked.
“I’m a realtor. I show houses to rich people. They talk. Other realtors like to gossip about their clients.”
“I wasn’t going to throw this on the table until I got your ideas, but since you bring up Maria, I just checked the probate records today. She and Edward signed a pre-nuptial agreement. Short hand version is that if she divorces him, she gets a hundred million.”
“Not bad,” Colby said. “I could somehow manage to get by on that.”
Jack nodded and continued. “However, if they are still married when Edward dies, she inherits half of his estate, estimated to be around forty billion. Edward’s sudden death puts her in line for twenty billion.”
“Wow,” Walt exclaimed. “One of our rules is always suspect the spouse. That damn sure puts her near the top of the list.”
“But if she did it, why would she be suing Walt and the others?” Colby asked.
“Maybe, like J.D. said, to divert attention. Maybe she talked O’Connell into joining her.”
“How about the kids?” J. D. asked. “Dad, didn’t you say that there are six, all from prior marriages and all adults. Maybe one of them didn’t want to wait for their old man to kick the bucket.”
“But, if it’s one of the kids, why wouldn’t they kill their stepmother, too, not just their father?”
“Good point,” Jack agreed. “And I suppose we can eliminate the governor and his wife. What about O’Connell?”
“I don’t think so,” Walt said. “Why kill the goose? Oscar had just pledged ten million. O’Connell probably figured that Edward was good for something north of seven figures, too. By the way, while we were chasing Miriam, the DPS interviewed Oscar, his wife and Maria Hale. Took sworn statements. Turned up nothing. And, I should add that Maria appeared to be nothing more than the grieving widow. I suppose it could be an act.” He shrugged his shoulders, indicating that he really had no way to know.
“Last, we’ve got two hundred or more people out in the ballroom, all of whom are potential suspects,” Jack added. “Not an easy task we’ve set for ourselves. And remember that Miriam had an accomplice on the inside who turned off the outside cameras several hours before the party started.”
“Dad, are you saying that accomplice is the person who bankrolled the attack?”
“Don’t know. Maybe. Or it could be some waiter or cook who took a few hundred dollars. Not bad pay for flicking a switch that no one would notice.”
“I agree that we need to find this person,” Walt said. “Assuming we do, explain again how does that impact the case against me and the others?”
Jack stood to stretch his knee. As he rubbed it, he replied, “No guarantees, but chances are good if we find the killer, this case will disappear. Best thing we can do is stay on the trail while I handle the lawsuit. Now, who’s ready for steaks?”
“I can help with those,” Walt said. “Let me fix another drink first.”
The next day Jack was unlocking the door to the RV when he heard the phone. He climbed the steps and reached for it on the fifth ring. He glanced at the caller i.d. as he did.
“Bryant, you son of a bitch, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” a voice boomed from the phone.
“And a good morning to you, too, Cecil,” Jack interrupted. “Am I to presume that you have read my discovery?”
“You’re damn right I have. If you don’t withdraw it, I’m going to kick your ass all the way into Oklahoma.”
Jack smiled at the
tirade and responded. “Last time you tried to kick my ass was in that products liability case I filed in Dallas about fifteen years ago. As I recall, the jury awarded my client fifteen million. You took it to the Texas Supreme Court and lost every step of the way. Now that’s the kind of ass kicking I like.”
Christiansen lowered his voice half an octave. “Okay, you got lucky on that one. This time you’re messing in the big leagues. You’ll have PACs all over the country intervening in this case, Republican and Democrat both, when they find out that you’ve asked for the names of all of the donors to SOS and all of O’Connell’s other do-gooder organizations. You’re not going to win that fight. The big Supreme Court made that clear in the fifties in the Patterson v. Alabama case.”
“Facts were different. Back then the state of Alabama wanted the names of the members of the local NAACP chapter and the court protected them, saying that they would be subject to retribution if they were made public. The court was right then, but times have changed. IRS Regulation 501(c)(4) was intended to protect social welfare organizations, not fat cat billionaires and corporations. I’m happy to have Judge Jamison make the initial ruling. She’s prone to allowing wide-open discovery and come trial time, she’ll narrow down what gets into evidence.”
Christiansen’s voice dropped again, almost to a whisper. “Jack, take this how it’s intended. These boys don’t abide by the rules of discovery. The stakes are too damn high. No telling what they’ll do when they find out that you’re trying to expose their political efforts.”
Jack spoke through clenched teeth. “If you’re saying my life could be in danger, I can handle that. Won’t be the first time. I served in Desert Storm. I’ve been trying cases against big corporations my whole career. I’ve had them park a couple of goons in front of my house every night during a trial. I had a cartel following me for three months down in the valley. Tell your damn friends to bring it on.”
42
It was late February when Hartley Hampton shut down his computer at the Star Telegram for the day and bounded down the back stairs to an entrance close to the loading dock where several tons of newsprint were unloaded weekly. He inhaled deeply as the smell of printers’ ink drifted from the interior out onto the street, a smell to be enjoyed only by a reporter. He walked north beside the building in the direction of his car when he heard footsteps approaching rapidly. Suddenly, two men were on him. One of them seized his left hand and forced it behind his back as they shoved him up against the wall. He tried to fight them off, but it was two against one.
“Do not struggle, my friend,” one of the men said with an accent. “For now, we are not going to harm you. Consider this a warning. You are to drop your investigation into political funding. No stories about dark PACS. Understand?” He forced Hampton’s arm up as he talked.
“Dammit,” Hartley cried. “You’re about to break my arm.”
“If you persist in this investigation, we’ll do far worse. Now, I’m going to release your arm. Continue to your car. Do not look back. Clear?”
Hartley nodded. The arm was released. Hartley continued toward his car, rubbing his left arm with the right hand. He did not look back.
Jack spent the day working on other clients’ cases. For the most part, they weren’t big ticket items for him, but critical to his clients who lived from paycheck to paycheck or were on Social Security. When they were pushed around by the system or some big corporation, he was there to push back. It had been a quiet day and Jack was about ready to shut down the office and maybe play a couple of games of dominoes when the door opened. Ike climbed the stairs, led by Trousers who knew that this was the place he could expect a treat.
Jack came from the back with his hand extended. “Ike, welcome. Here, let me get Trousers a bone. That your SUV in the parking lot?”
“Yes, sir. Small Toyota, but big enough for Trousers and me and maybe an instrument or two.” Ike smiled. “Paid cash for it. That kind of surprised the salesman. I owe that to you.”
“It was my pleasure. You deserve to finally have a little good fortune. I hear from Colby that you bought that house on Hillcrest. We’re almost neighbors now.”
“Well, I’m on the poor side of Camp Bowie, but the neighborhood’s really nice. Only two bedrooms in the house, one too many for me. Trousers has made it his goal to catch one of the squirrels that live in those two big old pecan trees in the back yard. But the reason I’m here is to make good on that gumbo dinner I promised.”
“You’re on. J.D. is off to the combine today. How about next week, maybe Tuesday? Colby will bring the wine. I was about to head next door for some dominoes. Instead, let’s just you and me go have a couple of beers.”
Jack locked the RV and activated the armor. They walked to Moe’s with Trousers in the lead. They passed the empty tables outside and took one under a space heater that Moe had purchased at a garage sale for twenty bucks.
“I sound-proofed that second bedroom. It’s now my studio. I’m trying to renew my skills with the trumpet, the cornet and even a keyboard. Keyboards were just becoming popular back in my day, but I was a decent pianist.”
Jack finished his first beer and ordered a second. “You thinking about starting another band?”
Ike shook his head. “Not right now. That’s for sure. I couldn’t play in a high school marching band, but give me a few months and we’ll see.”
They were interrupted by Hampton, wearing jeans and a long sleeved blue shirt. The gray in his temples was the only clue that he was around forty. “Jack, I figured I’d find you in here when I saw your truck next door and the place was locked.”
Both men rose to shake his hand. “Hartley, this is Ike Irasmus. Ike, this is Hartley Hampton, the best investigative reporter on the Star Telegram. Grab a beer and join us.”
Hartley returned from the bar with a Lone Star in his hand. When he took a seat, Jack saw that he was worried about something. “Looks to me like you have a problem.”
Hartley took a long pull from his beer. “I was just assaulted as I left the Star Telegram building a few minutes ago.”
“You report it to the police?”
Hartley shook his head. “They roughed me up a little and then they were long gone.” He rubbed his left arm. “I think I’ll have a sore elbow for a few days.”
“Keep going.”
“Two men. Foreign accents. Came up from behind me and shoved me into the wall. Somehow they knew that I was researching a series on the big money flowing into politics. They told me to back off or I’d have something more than a sore arm next time.”
“You get a look at them?”
Hartley shook his head. “Naw. Happened too fast. After they delivered their message they told me to walk on to my car and not to look back. I did what they said.”
“Ike, you need to know that Hartley and I go back a few years. We had a judge in the Dead Peasants trial that started off leaning toward the other side. Hartley wrote some articles that helped me level the playing field.” Jack sipped his beer and sat it on the table. “I didn’t know you were working on the political money story.”
“I was just getting started.” Hartley took a deep breath and leaned over the table, lowering his voice. “Somehow I missed the lawsuit that O’Connell and the Hales filed. I ran across the lawsuit and went online to read all of the pleadings and discovery. Jack, you and I are on the same story. My editor approved a series on all of the money in politics and what it’s doing to our country. So far, I’m just doing research. I’m a long way from my first story in the series. If fact, I don’t even know how those guys knew I was on it.”
Jack absentmindedly picked up his cane and tapped it on the concrete floor while he pondered what he was hearing. “I suspect you made a few phone calls. Maybe one of them got back to whoever hired these guys. You worried about your safety or your family?”
Hartley looked around the room again. “Not yet, but we’re going to be poking around in the lives and finances of some big pl
ayers. Shit, Jack, someone almost killed the governor and did kill one of the most influential Republicans in the country. Obviously, the stakes are high, up to and including death. I don’t think whoever is behind this would think twice about putting another bullet in the head of a reporter…or a lawyer for that matter. You figure out who was behind that Halloween attack?”
Jack shook his head. “Dead end, so far. Still, like you, I’m trying to follow the money. I’ve done a little research on these social welfare organizations. Educate me on what you’ve learned so far.” He turned to Ike. “You and Trousers are welcome to stay, but we may be here a while.”
“No,” Ike said. “This is all new to me. I’d like to listen.”
Hartley reached into his backpack on the floor beside his chair and retrieved an iPad. “First, Super-PACs can raise all kinds of money for or against a candidate, but they have to disclose their donors and cannot coordinate with the candidate. That’s a meaningless restriction these days. Why bother to use something where you have to disclose your donors? Everything I’ve read says that they will be little used in 2016.
“The 501(c)(4)s are where the big money is going, so called social welfare organizations.”
“Social welfare, like the homeless shelter I used to live in?” Ike asked.
Hartley shook his head. “That was probably the intent a hundred years ago when Congress authorized them. Maybe back in the fifties when the Supreme Court said that the Alabama officials couldn’t get the names of the members of the Alabama NAACP. Over the years the line has become blurred to the point of disappearing.” He paused. “Over the past several years, the Democrats and Republicans have pushed the envelope. Their ads have become blatantly more political since the Federal Election Commission doesn’t regulate social welfare groups. The IRS is probably worried that if they were to do their job, it would piss off both sides of the aisle for them to slow the flow of money. And people like O’Connell are getting rich off their consulting fees. I’ll bet what happened out at Oscar’s house cost his Stepper group not just that hundred million that probably disappeared after the shootings but cost him millions in consulting fees. Bottom line is the flood gates are now open and no one is going to try to close them.”
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