by Webb Hubbell
I decided against asking Stella to inspect Doug’s computer—too much of a heads up. Clovis drove me out to look over the cars. It gave us an excuse to go to Ben’s for lunch. The Austin Healy 3000 was in mint condition. I was dying to drive it, but was told it couldn’t leave the lot. Bad luck. It was a beautiful car.
Maroney told Micki that as soon as Dub’s staff heard I’d been out to inspect the Healy, two of his marshals showed up with a mechanic who went over the car from stem to stern.
Part of Maroney’s responsibility was to insure the financial integrity of the auction. I spent some time becoming familiar with the rules. As evidence of ability to pay, he had decided to require cash, a certified check, or a letter of credit worth ten percent of the winning bid. Maroney was to be the final arbiter of financial ability. Of course, there were many more rules, but that was the one that mattered most to me.
All of Doug’s research files, his lab, equipment, the patent applications, etc, everything except the cars, would be sold in one lot. That too worked in our favor. Liz had asked her bank in Memphis for a separate letter of credit to bid on the truck and the Healy. In response to my skepticism, she’d said, “A pick-up’s a handy thing to have around. Besides, men love a girl with a pick-up.”
I spent a good deal of time shooting baskets in Micki’s driveway. We were all a little antsy, nervous about the auction, unsure what would happen next. Sam called two or three times—he was nervous, too. Moira had been spotted in Brazil, confirming Novak’s intelligence. Her assistant, Roger, had turned up in New Jersey—unfortunately for him, face down in the Passaic River. As yet, New Jersey authorities had no idea what had happened.
I debated whether to invite Peggy Fortson to attend the auction. I don’t know why I dithered—I’d known her my whole working life. If I couldn’t trust Peggy, who could I trust? But she’d been so negative. An innocent slip on her part might give away our strategy. I finally decided against it, afraid her appearance might spook Dub.
Maggie and Stella were hard at work trying to discover the identity of the computer prowler. Maggie had come full circle with Stella. When Stella was unsure who or what was important, either Maggie or Micki could walk her through it without consulting me.
The three women worked well together. I put Debbie in another category, not that she wasn’t constantly busy. She enjoyed cooking for us, was happy to do almost anything we asked, and kept us all in stitches, her bubbly personality infectious.
“Do you think Debbie and Paul are enjoying each other’s company?” I asked Clovis as we watched them saddling horses for a ride.
“Can’t blame him, can you?” he said with a grin.
“No. Can’t say that I do.”
Once again, my defense team had become quite the family. We all felt the tension, the awareness of danger, but, well, I guess we just shoved it away somewhere. Micki enjoyed walking the grounds with Stella and Maggie. She was becoming visibly stronger and feistier, enjoying her independence from Eric.
I felt a twinge of regret when I heard her comment, “Eric feels better about going to the hospital with us all here together. We were getting on each other’s nerves—now things are smoothing out.”
I tried to keep my mind on the task at hand, but I freely admit that I enjoyed watching Stella’s workouts. I sure wouldn’t want to arm-wrestle her. Imagine watching a woman almost my age lifting heavy weights, and then running at top speed around a two hundred acre pasture. After a cool down, she was back at work at her computer in boots and tight jeans, laughing with Maggie over some private joke.
When Debbie finally got up the courage to speak to Micki about Novak, she got a surprise. Micki had realized long ago there had to be more to their relationship than drugs. I think it helped that Debbie’s continuing contact with Novak had saved both our lives. Micki heard her out, but gave her a clear warning: not only was Novak still the prime suspect in our kidnappings, he was also the source of the brand on Debbie’s neck. Even if he were completely exonerated, they would need to establish boundaries. Novak was still scum in Micki’s eyes. I knew that victims of abuse sometimes become unnaturally dependent on their abusers, but neither Micki nor I could quite figure out the seductive pull Novak maintained over Debbie.
I had time on my hands while my team worked, but they cut me some slack—they all knew my part in this drama would become center stage soon enough.
I decided to pay a visit to Woody’s mother, Helen. She plied me with gossip, cookies, and questions and, as always, understood when I couldn’t answer. It felt like coming home again.
Clovis had remained in the Tahoe, and as we drove away he said, “We’ve got company.”
I turned and saw a black Lexus sedan a few cars back. What had my life become that I could spot a tail so easily?
“Should I be worried?”
“No, they’re keeping their distance. We think everyone who leaves the compound is followed. I’ve let Martin know. You’d think they’d be bored by now, but it proves they haven’t eased off one bit. Doesn’t bode well for us having the element of surprise,” he said with a shrug.
I rolled down my window and flipped them the bird. They were too far back to notice, but the car right behind us gave an angry honk.
“Jack . . .” Clovis frowned.
“I know, I’m sorry. That was childish, but someone or some corporation is working with my own government to stop the discovery of a cure to a horrible disease. Think how many people might be alive today, including Angie, if scientists had been able to research the medical benefits of marijuana.”
Clovis didn’t react at all, just drove.
“My own government—your government—is conspiring to prevent a lone chemist from telling the world what he’s discovered. Fuck the guys in the car behind us, and fuck the guys they work for. What are they so afraid of? Maybe they won’t make as much money or maybe they won’t get re-elected. How can they look their wives and children in the face when they ask, ‘How was your day, dear?’ And the honest answer is, “Oh, I kept the world from learning about a cure for cancer.”
I leaned back, totally spent. “Sorry, Clovis. Guess I needed to vent.”
“That’s okay. Save some for the judge.”
We lost our tail when we pulled through Micki’s gate, but I was still apprehensive. Walter was scheduled to arrive with a letter of credit that would enable me to bid on Doug’s research. I wondered who knew that, other than Maggie and me.
MR. KIM LEANED back in his office chair, idly drumming its back with a pencil. Why had Walter Mathews flown to Little Rock? Surely not just to meet his wife. Their recent attempts to penetrate his company’s computer security had been blocked. And he knew that Matthews had recently engaged the services of a well-regarded economist. Mr. Kim placed a single phone call—no sense getting caught off-guard.
WE KNEW THE rules of the auction, but to a certain extent I’d have to fly by the seat of my pants. Stella still hadn’t been able to pinpoint the bad guys. She thought she was close, but time was running out. Cheryl hadn’t been able to get Dub on her show, much less get her camera in the courtroom, and Sam had cold feet about showing up on Wednesday. I hoped something positive would turn up in the next twenty-four hours, but right now our prospects looked pretty dim.
Clovis pulled to a stop, and I had just reached to open the car door when my cell phone rang. Novak.
I listened for a minute, clicked the phone off and put it back in my pocket.
Clovis looked worried. “What?”
“Moira’s back in town—came in through Miami. Apparently she’s cut and colored her hair, but was recognized by one of Novak’s cohorts. Clovis, will you call Sam’s office?”
Clovis nodded silently. There wasn’t much he could say.
TUESDAY
May 6, 2014
54
I GAVE UP on sleep around six, showered, and went downstairs to make the coffee. Stella was already well into her run. The morning was chilly, but held the
promise of a glorious early May day. I put on a jacket and with coffee in hand walked out to the porch to watch. The horses had gathered at the fence and seemed to be watching, too. She waved, but never broke stride. She finally completed the circuit, wrapped her streaming face in a towel, and gulped thirstily from a large bottle of cool water.
“You make me tired, just watching.”
“When you played ball, I bet your workout was similar.”
“That was in high school and, you’re right: two-a-days in August were pure hell. But we didn’t do anything compared to what you just did.”
“It’s all in your point of view,” she shrugged. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?” she asked cautiously.
“No, ask away. But I don’t promise an answer.” I winked.
“Is this normal for you? I mean all this security, people trying to kill you, high stakes, and big drama. Is this your normal life?’
I choked on my coffee.
“Thankfully, no, it isn’t. For twenty-five years I practiced antitrust law, the most boring law you can imagine, except for maybe tax or patent law. IBM is excitement personified, compared to antitrust law. My practice involved poring over thousands of documents and deposing conflicting economists and corporate executives.”
“But you seem so . . . well, unfazed by all this, even used to it.”
“About a year ago, when one of my best friends shot Senator Russell Robinson, I came home to see how I could help his mother. I learned high drama the hard way. But one case certainly hasn’t made me ‘used to it.’ This mess started the same way. Dr. Stewart was a good friend of my wife. When he was charged with growing and distributing marijuana, I came down to see what I could do to help and landed in the middle of a firestorm.”
Her mouth curved up a bit. I waited for her to say something but she didn’t.
The silence was just beginning to linger a bit too long, when Debbie called me into the kitchen to take a call from Cheryl. She had finally managed to hook Dub for her show.
“Jack, we met in the bar, and after a few drinks, he’d have agreed to anything. He kept trying to slide his hand up my skirt. Gross. I mean, my producer was sitting right there.”
“Cheryl, don’t get caught alone with him. Promise me.”
“I’ll be careful, especially after last night. Now that I have the sleaze ball coming on the air, what do you want me to ask him?”
“I’ll email you some questions. Better yet, I’ll have them delivered to your hotel. Here’s the main thing: try to get invited to tomorrow’s auction. I can get you in if he doesn’t bite, but it’s better if he invites you.”
“He already has. He’s arranged the whole thing with my producer. I sure hope whatever you’ve got is worth all this shit.”
“I hope so, too, Cheryl, I really do. Listen, you’ll see a pretty young woman sitting on the first row tonight. Dub tends to get nervous when he sees her. Don’t ask him anything on air, but off the record feel free to ask all you want.”
“Is she someone I know?”
“Nope—but Dub does.”
“Promise me the story.”
“If things go as planned, you’ll know everything I know tomorrow.”
She agreed to stay in touch, and I repeated my warning. “Cheryl, don’t be foolish. I know you. Dub’s dangerous. Be careful.”
“I’m surprised you care, Jack. Maybe you and I can have drinks tonight after the show.”
“I do care, Cheryl, but no drinks tonight. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
“I’ll give you a rain check.”
The others were waiting quietly in the living room.
“Debbie, Paul, you’re on for Cheryl’s tonight. Maggie, please give Debbie some extra pointers on conservative dress—no short skirts or unbuttoned blouses. Tonight, you exude class.” Debbie looked irritated.
“I don’t think I own anything that boring,” she pouted.
Micki smiled easily. “Sure you do. You have a court suit, and I’ve got some pearls. We’ll have fun dressing you.”
“Debbie, I need you to be on your best behavior tonight, looking every bit the attractive, well-mannered and self-possessed young lady you can be. People will wonder who you are; I don’t want any sneers or snide remarks. You are not to play the hooker. Remember what I’ve told you.” I knew I had overstepped, but I also knew how important this might be.
Rounding her arm around Debbie and shooting me a dirty look, Maggie walked her toward the bedroom saying, “Debbie, Jack is only trying to protect you.”
“Paul. Be especially careful tonight. No telling what Dub is apt to do. And we can’t forget Moira.” Jeez, I wished we could forget Moira!
Paul gave me a thumbs-up. Suddenly it came to me how we might protect Debbie and upset Dub even more in the bargain. I picked up my phone and punched in a familiar number.
“I need a favor.”
55
AFTER DINNER, WE settled in to watch the show, aptly named Cheryl! Live! Cheryl had texted Paul that she’d reserved seats for them in the front row. I wondered whether she would use the questions I’d given her. Dub was her last guest, so first we were treated to some “fair and balanced” propaganda from Cheryl’s panel of experts on the subject of gun control.
After the commercial, the camera zoomed in on Cheryl and Dub. He licked his lips nervously. She had exposed more cleavage than usual for this episode. They sat side by side on a small couch. God bless her, she had no shame.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, our next guest tonight is United States Attorney Wilbur “Dub” Blanchard. Mr. Blanchard will tell us about his role in the Cole investigation as well as the other important investigations his office is handling. Welcome, Mr. U. S. Attorney—may I call you Dub?”
“Absolutely, all my friends do.”
“Well, I’m certainly an admirer.” Cheryl reached over and stroked the top of his hand. The poor sod didn’t have a chance.
“Tell me, Dub, a lot of people thought the murder of Senator Robinson should have been your case. I understand you did try to intervene. What happened?”
“Well, let me just say it was a travesty of justice. Cole’s lawyer was an old friend of the prosecutor. Then there was the judge . . .”
Cheryl interrupted. “Well, maybe we can ask the prosecutor about that? I understand he’s in our audience.” The camera cut immediately to the audience to focus in on Sam Pagano who happened to be sitting next to Debbie, looking very chic in pearls, hair pulled back demurely at the nape of her neck. The camera lingered on the two briefly before flashing back to Cheryl and Dub. Cheryl was all smiles, but Dub’s face portrayed a mixture of anger and panic.
“Wha. . . What are they doing here?” Dub let slip. He pulled out a handkerchief, passing it nervously over his brow.
Cheryl didn’t miss a beat. “Prosecutor Pagano is a friend of mine from college. I’d hoped he might join us on air, but he declined, noting that the assassination investigation is still pending. Am I right, Sam?”
Sam nodded, smiling serenely.
“I don’t know the young woman sitting next to him. Do you? Should we ask her to come forward?”
Dub almost shouted. “No . . . I mean I have no idea who she is. I’m sorry. I just . . . just wasn’t expecting Mr. Pagano to be here. I thought we were going to talk about my ongoing drug investigation.”
Cheryl said smoothly. “Of course . . . of course. Tell me about this exciting new case you’re working on.”
Dub couldn’t have been more relieved and swung into his full spiel about how terrible drugs were and how after a long investigation, he’d arrested a major dealer, a college professor. He appeared to get more comfortable as Cheryl continued to play with his hand, occasionally placing her hand on his arm.
“I understand there’s a hearing tomorrow.”
“Well, not exactly a hearing. Part of our goal in going after these drug terrorists is to take away their financial network, so they can’t continue to endanger our children. Tomor
row we intend to auction off everything that was funded by Dr. Stewart’s sale of drugs to Little Rock’s kids. It’s not a real hearing.”
“Well, maybe so—but isn’t it strange that the same Jack Patterson who represented Woody Cole now represents Dr. Stewart? I hear you forced him to spend a night in jail.”
Now Dub was able to smile easily, turning his eyes on the audience.
“We don’t think in terms of pay-back, but . . .”
“Oh, come on now. It’s got to feel good to know you bested Jack Patterson—made him wear prison stripes. I tried to get him to come on tonight’s show, but he flat-out refused. I think he’s running scared. Tomorrow’s gotta be sweet for you. It has to be hard for him to watch all his client’s assets auctioned off, knowing there’s not a thing he can do.” Cheryl had him going.
“Well . . . I admit tomorrow will be the end of a very successful investigation by a lot of hard-working people. It will be a great day for our country. Jack Patterson thought he’d come back to Little Rock and pull off some home cookin’. Turned out, we’re about to eat him and his client for lunch.” Clovis gave a big whoop at that one.
Cheryl took his hand in hers. “I’d love to be there—live, with cameras.”
Dub seemed more focused on where his hand was. “I don’t see why not. Like i said, it’s not a hearing. In fact, I’ve already cleared it with the marshal.”
Cheryl dropped his hand abruptly and turned to face the camera. “Ladies and Gentlemen, tune in tomorrow for a Fox News exclusive: the dramatic end to a major drug bust as U.S. Attorney Dub Blanchard reaps his revenge on Jack Patterson. We’ll be with you live inside the courthouse at ten. You won’t want to miss the climax of this investigation.”
The cameras cut away for a commercial. I later watched the video Paul obtained of what had happened next. Cheryl had leaned over and whispered to Dub. “Are you sure you don’t know the woman who’s sitting next to Sam? She sure seems to know you.”