Katharine sneered. “Bullshit, Jack. You never were a very good bluffer. Face it. Whatever you think you saw no longer exists. Besides, even if you had the notes, they are protected under attorney-client privilege. You can’t release them.”
Putting my phone away, I said, “Maybe the written notes no longer exist, but that doesn’t mean the events didn’t happen. No, they happened, Katharine. Your father intervened on at least four occasions in situations where Robert Armstrong was willing to pay women money to keep them from reporting his sexual assaults of them. My God, Katharine, we’re talking about a serial sexual predator here. You’re going to sit here and tell me that this man deserves to hold public office? To hold the public trust? It may well be his public office that has enabled him to find his victims in the first place. You, of all people, know how vulnerable a woman can be to the advances of a man in a position of authority.”
My slam drew an exaggerated scoff from Katharine. “Oh, no. You don’t get off that easy, Jack Nolan. I wasn’t with Bill Callaghan because I was some poor little girl enthralled with his lofty position. I was with him because the man I was married to didn’t satisfy my needs to be with a successful man. No, a woman is not necessarily a victim in every instance she goes to bed with a powerful man. Some women are just attracted to powerful, successful men. Because women are attracted to Robert Armstrong doesn’t make him some type of devil.”
I shot back, “If these instances were so damn consensual, why did he dispatch your dad to buy silence? Not once, not twice, but four times. Four times that I know of. There could be many others. In fact, I would bet there have been other victims. Your dad made it very clear in the notes that he’d told Armstrong that he would never again handle those matters for him. I’d bet that he found someone else to be his bag man when he assaulted other women.”
“So what if he did?” She was nearly shouting.
I interrupted, “Are you listening to yourself, Katharine? You’re condoning sexual assault. Who are you? I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“I’m a realist, that’s who I am. Not some boy scout like you. You see the world the way you think it should be. I see the world the way it is. No one is perfect. What Robert Armstrong has done for this state, and can do for this country, is far more important than the hurt feelings of a few bimbos who chose to fawn over him and then decided they didn’t like the way the evening turned out.”
“Because you agree with the political positions Robert Armstrong espouses you’re willing to look the other way — more than look the other way, you’re willing to help cover-up for him.”
Katharine laughed. “Cover-up. I don’t see any cover-up. All I see is some has-been lawyer babbling about things for which he has no proof. Trying to get your fifteen minutes of fame, are you, Jack?”
“No, I guess it’s just the boy scout in me. I don’t think a sexual predator should hold public office.”
Another laugh. “It wouldn’t be the first time, now would it, Jack?”
I fell silent. Benjamin had been so troubled by his role in the cover-up that he had summoned me all the way from Florida to make amends for him. Benjamin found Armstrong’s actions disgusting. He was clear about that in his notes. Yet here was his own daughter rationalizing the entire situation.
Katharine must have thought she read uncertainty on my face because she forged ahead. “Jack, just think about how it’s going to look if you attempt to make any of this public. It’ll look like you're just trying to ride the latest social wave of bringing sexual misconduct allegations against successful men. You’ll look foolish and small. And think about what you’ll do to Dad’s memory. Some people will believe what you say and that will mean Dad orchestrated the cover-up for whatever happened. How will that make Dad look? What did you call it, bag man? Is that what you want Dad’s legacy to be?”
“Evidently, he wasn’t concerned about his legacy. He’s the one who requested that I do something. Remember?”
“No, Jack, I don’t remember. He never said a word about it to me. All I know is that he wanted to see you before he died and that you said he wanted you to right some wrong. I have no idea exactly what he asked of you. In fact, I can’t believe he would make any request of you that would harm Robert Armstrong. Robert was a client and a friend. No, Jack, I think you are on some wild tangent that you have created in your own twisted mind.”
She was on offense again. I responded, “What the hell did he send all of those notes up to the lodge for? Why did he send me up there to review them?”
She interrupted me. “Maybe it was exactly what you were telling people. Maybe it was to assemble materials so his biography could be written. We’ll never know, will we? Dad is gone, and so are his notes.”
“Robert Armstrong may have had the notes stolen and destroyed but that doesn’t erase the events.”
She smirked. “Oh, really. So you’re going public with these wild allegations based on what? The recollections of something you read in the notes of a man who is now deceased? Notes that you can not produce?” Now she turned up her lip and scoffed. Waving her hand, she said, “And ladies and gentlemen, who is the source of these wild accusations? The former son-in-law. Former unsuccessful attorney. Owner of a failing bar that was recently destroyed in a hurricane. Not exactly a reliable unbiased source.”
I was struck speechless. It was obvious that I had never really known this woman. I had no idea the depths to which she would stoop. When I found my tongue, all I could manage to say was, “If you can’t deny the facts, attack the witness.”
“You’re damn right, Jack. And don’t think for a minute that I won’t destroy you if you utter a word of these allegations to anyone. Anyone. You hear me?”
I stood, turned, and started toward the front of the house. Katharine followed me to the door, and as I was stepping outside she said, “I don’t expect to ever see you again, Jack Nolan.”
I didn’t look back. I didn’t reply. I walked to my car. As I got behind the wheel, I withdrew my phone from my pocket and turned off the voice recording function.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
As I drove away from Katharine’s house, the anger I had been holding in check roiled out of me. I was pounding the steering wheel while cursing at the top of my lungs. Without any recollection of how I had gotten there, I found myself in the parking area of a small neighborhood park. I was ranting and pounding the wheel like a mad man. At that moment, I was a mad man. I noticed a young woman rapidly herding two small children from the playground toward the only other car in the lot. I came to my senses and realized that my outrage had carried beyond the confines of my car and no doubt frightened the woman. Her protective motherly instincts had kicked in, and she was rushing her children to safety, away from the crazy man who had suddenly invaded their calm afternoon. I started to get out of the car to tell her it was okay, that I wasn’t really crazy, but decided that attempting to approach them would just exacerbate their fears. I watched in shame as she literally tossed the two kids into the backseat of her car, and without taking the time to buckle them into their child restraint seats, sped from the parking area.
Slumped in the seat, I felt like a limp dishrag. The anger, coupled with my remorse for frightening the young mother and her kids, had sapped every ounce of energy from me. Eventually, I began to reflect on my conversation with Katharine and realized I had experienced a robust cocktail of emotions. Disappointment was certainly the main ingredient. Initially, I thought I was disappointed in her. Disappointed in the person she was. Then I realized that my disappointment was not in her but in myself. How could I have misjudged the person she was so dramatically and for so long? The years we were together I had almost idolized her. She was smart. She was personable. She was successful at everything she attempted. She was what I aspired to be. That was why I had been so devastated when her dalliance with the judge had knocked her from the pedestal I’d placed her on. The sting of that period had dissipated by the time she reentered my life, and in t
he short time we were together at the lodge, I had begun to again erect the pedestal. What kind of fool am I?
I was well into the process of burying myself in mental self-loathing when a Bloomfield Hills police car pulled into the parking lot. Seconds later, a second one arrived. The young mother must have been frightened enough to call the police. Shit, Jack, sometimes you’re such an ass. The first car came to a stop a few feet from the rear of my car, effectively preventing me from driving away. Not that I would attempt to drive away in this situation. The second car stopped farther back, and both officers exited their vehicles. I placed my hands in plain sight on the top of the steering wheel as I watched one officer approach my driver’s side from behind. The second officer remained at a distance, obviously covering the first. Both officers displayed an alert posture with their hands resting on their holstered weapons.
As the officer reached my door, I slowly moved my left hand to the window button and lowered my window. “Hello, Officer.”
“Good afternoon, sir. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yeah. Fine. I’m fine.” I paused and then said, “Bet you got a call about a crazy man from a young mother. I’m sorry about that. I just had a meeting with my ex-wife, and I stopped to blow off a little steam. Didn’t mean to upset anyone. Just yelling at myself. Sorry about frightening her and her kids.”
“Please turn the car off, sir.” After I had complied he asked for my driver’s license and the registration and proof of insurance on the car. I handed him my driver’s license and the paperwork on the rental car. He said, “Thank you, sir. You’re a Florida resident?”
“Yes. Born and raised here but moved to Florida a few years ago.”
“Your ex lives around here? What brings you back to see her?”
I could see where his mind was going and wanted to defuse the situation before he asked for Katharine's name. Who knows what she might say if they contacted her? “Her father was gravely ill, and he asked me to come back and visit before he died. He passed away, and I stayed for the funeral. On my way back to Florida tomorrow.”
“I see. But you and your ex had words? Words that upset you?”
I nodded. “Yes and no. There were words, but they were all hers. I just sat there and took it. That’s why I exploded after I left. Couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer. I’m really sorry for frightening that young woman. I thought I was doing the right thing to stop and vent my anger, rather than driving. I didn’t see her and her kids until it was too late.” I attempted to sound as sane as possible.
“So, your ex lives around here?”
I tried to answer with simply the street name, but he pressed for the address and her name. He was going to call in and have a welfare check made at Katharine’s house. I couldn’t really blame him. I’m sure the young mother had portrayed me as a wild-eyed crazy man. The kind of guy who may have just killed his ex-wife. He said, “Just sit tight a minute, sir. I’ll be right back.”
I watched in the mirror as he walked back to his car. He was no doubt calling in the welfare check and running my name in the databases. Looking around, I noticed that the second officer remained standing in the same location. The only change was that she had moved her hand from the holstered weapon, and her posture seemed a little more relaxed. Maybe they had decided I’m not stark-raving mad after all. As long as Katharine doesn’t say anything too outrageous, this little debacle of mine may still end well.
A few minutes later, the officer returned and handed me my paperwork. “So, you feel calmed down enough to drive, Mr. Nolan?” Evidently, Katharine hadn’t dissed me too badly.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Mostly I’m just embarrassed. I let my ex get under my skin. I shouldn’t have done that, but even worse than that was frightening that young woman.”
For the first time, he stepped far enough forward that I could look him in the face without craning my neck. “Don’t be too tough on yourself. Exes have a way of doing that to a guy.” Something about the tone of his voice made me think he was speaking from experience. He continued, “Have a safe trip back to Florida, Mr. Nolan.”
I asked, “Officer, could you do me a favor? Could you have someone call that young woman back and tell her everything was okay? I don’t want her to be afraid to bring her kids to the park.”
He nodded subtly. “Will do.” He turned and walked back to his car. Seconds later, both cars were exiting the park.
I muttered aloud, “Damn, Jack Nolan, you just go from one mess to the next.” I started the car and backed out of the parking spot.
I had driven in the general direction of Detroit when it dawned on me that while I kept saying I was going back to Florida the next day, I didn’t have a flight reservation. Nor did I have anywhere to stay that night. I decided to drive to the area of Detroit Metropolitan Airport and find a hotel. From there, I could book a flight home. I knew that many people could book both the hotel and the flight from the apps on their phone, it’s just that I didn’t count myself amongst them.
An hour later, I was in the elevator going up to my room at an Embassy Suites near the airport. I settled into my room and then returned to the lobby. I found the business center and used one of the computers to book a flight to Florida. Given my late planning, my choices were slim, but I found a direct flight to Fort Lauderdale the following evening. As I printed my reservation, I found myself relaxing for maybe the first time in days. Something about having the arrangements for my return to Florida in hand was calming. My calm reflection was interrupted by the vibration of my cell phone. Unknown number. I answered.
“Jack Nolan, Turner Kennedy here.” Oh, great. This day just gets better and better. “I’m calling to advise you that I represent Governor Robert Armstrong and that the disparaging remarks you have recently been making about the governor are false. If you continue to repeat these false statements in any form, we will bring the full force of the law against you. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Nolan?”
Wow. Didn’t take Katharine long to reach out to her co-conspirators. At least now I have a crystal clear picture. Katharine, Kennedy, Armstrong, they’re all involved in the whole kidnapping scam and the theft of Benjamin’s notes. I wondered why they would utilize such a convoluted approach to obtaining the notes? Why the whole fake kidnapping? Why not just have Katharine take me out to dinner and steal the notes while we were gone? It may boil down to something as simple as the fact that they’re all three white-collar criminals and something as basic as breaking in to steal the notes befuddled them. Who knows? Who cares?
Obviously, my analysis of the situation delayed my response beyond Kennedy’s tolerance because he repeated, “Do I make myself clear, Mr. Nolan?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Kennedy, you have cleared up all of my remaining questions. Thank you for your call, and have a nice day.” My voice was strong and calm, surprising even me. I ended the call and immediately blocked the number. I smiled as I pictured Turner Kennedy staring at his phone in disbelief and then cursing when his return call did not connect. I knew that he would call back because he’s a bully, and bullies are frustrated when their victims deny them the opportunity to fully throw their weight around.
Katharine and Kennedy had both attempted to intimidate me, but Armstrong had only called to “check up on me.” That made sense. Guys like Armstrong never do their own dirty work. They have others to do that. Thinking about Armstrong, I realized that while I knew much about him, there was much I didn’t know. I had stumbled onto the fact that his nickname had been Shifty and hadn’t really made a concerted effort to learn much more about him or about the story of his life. Certainly not his personal life.
I spent the next hour doing internet research. It was amazing how much information was available about a public figure like Governor Robert Armstrong. Interspersed in the multitude of accounts of his political career were nuggets detailing his personal life. It was his personal life that most interested me. He was in his twenties and single when he first entered political offic
e as a city councilman at the local government level. He wasn’t married until after his reelection to a second term in the Michigan House of Representatives. By most accounts, he had been considered a very eligible bachelor and “man about town.” When he did marry, it was to an attractive woman who worked as a TV news anchor. That marriage lasted ten years and ended in a quiet divorce during his first term in the Michigan Senate. Again, he was billed as an eligible bachelor. Again, he seemed to be quite active socially. By the time he was preparing for his run for governor, his political ambitions had outstripped his personal resources and his fundraising abilities. Fortunately for him, he again found the love of his life. Even more fortuitous, Christine Wyatt was the heiress of a fortune built in the heyday of timbering and iron ore mining in Michigan and burnished by the auto industry. Her monetary fortune reinvigorated his political fortunes. Now, as he completed his second term as governor and contemplated a senatorial or presidential campaign, her formidable wealth was viewed by many as giving an otherwise uninspiring politician a decided advantage.
Christine Wyatt, who had retained her maiden name, spent the majority of her time sitting on the boards of charities and foundations and pursuing her philanthropical interests. Not totally absent from her husband’s political scene, she was certainly not front and center either. From the pictures I could locate, Wyatt was not unattractive but certainly not as photogenic as her predecessor or many of the other women photographed on Armstrong’s arm during the years between marriages. It may have been my negative predisposition toward him, but I couldn’t help but believe it had been a marriage of opportunity for Armstrong. What was in the marriage for Wyatt, I couldn’t guess.
Having exhausted my interest in the personal life of Robert Armstrong and having found nothing to dissuade my beliefs that the accusations in Benjamin’s notes were true, I decided it was time for dinner and a couple of drinks. The lounge in the hotel proved to have a full dinner menu. I chose a New York Strip steak accompanied by a couple glasses of a red blend that the attractive young waitress convinced me I couldn’t live without. Maybe this trip had weaned me off of beer? Possibly, but not likely.
Loyal Be Jack Page 21