by Webb Hubbell
Another collective gasp rose from the gallery. I felt sure it matched the judge’s look of incredulity. Dub and Monday were visibly seething.
I continued, “Even more disturbing is that this unholy alliance is willing to stop at nothing, including illegal wiretapping, kidnapping, and even attempted murder to accomplish their purposes.”
“Whoa.” The judge sat up. “Mr. Patterson, I can’t let you use this court to make scandalous charges without proof.”
“Your Honor, I’m prepared to defend my statements.”
“Including attempted murder?” he questioned.
“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate.
Monday and Dub had both risen angrily to their feet, but the judge thundered. “Sit down, gentlemen.” He then turned to me. “What’s the nature of this proof?”
“Your Honor, if you will allow me to summarize, I will then call witnesses.”
“Go ahead.”
“It all began several years ago when a world-renowned chemist sent a letter to our government informing numerous officials that he was working on a major breakthrough in cancer research.” I handed a copy of Doug’s letter to the judge.
Bullock tried once more. “Your Honor, again, I must ask you to remove the cameras. Mr. Patterson is getting into an area of national security.”
Judge Houston raised an irritated hand as if to brush him away while he read the letter, then looked down from the bench. “I take it from your objection you already know of the existence of this letter and its authenticity.”
Bullock realized he’d screwed up. “I am aware of its existence, but I’m curious how Mr. Patterson could have obtained a copy. That letter and the attached research outline are classified and should only be in the possession of the government.”
“Are you suggesting Mr. Patterson stole the letter?” the judge asked.
“Uh. . . .” Bullock didn’t know what to say, so he dug the hole deeper. “I hate to use that word, but I can’t draw any other conclusion.”
“Mr. Patterson?”
“Your Honor, when I attempted to obtain this letter through the Freedom of Information Act, I was stonewalled time and again by the government. Dr. Stewart’s wife told me of its existence, and I believed her. Fortunately, Dr. Stewart sent a copy of the letter to my late wife, who was his colleague at NIH. I can give Mr. Bullock a copy of the envelope in which it was sent and which reflects the addressee, the sender, and the date it was mailed. Perhaps he’ll also allow me to put my client, Dr. Stewart, on the stand. His testimony could possibly be pertinent.”
Dub couldn’t control himself. He jumped up. “Judge, don’t you see this is just a ruse to get access to his client?”
“Mr. Blanchard, sit down or I will hold you in contempt. I’m warning you for the last time.” Dub sat down abruptly, still seething. “Mr. Bullock, are you satisfied with Mr. Patterson’s explanation? Do you wish to refute it?”
Bullock was smart enough to say. “No, your Honor, I trust he’s telling the Court the truth.”
Judge Houston smiled. “Good. Please proceed, Mr. Patterson.”
“As Mr. Bullock implied, the letter must have caused quite a stir. The government doesn’t put a letter under lock and key, classified under the blanket of ‘national security,’ as Mr. Bullock just admitted, if it’s a hoax or the work of a crackpot. Our government moved quickly to monitor Dr. Stewart’s progress and devised a scheme to suppress his work if necessary. I’m also prepared to prove he and his wife’s phone calls, e-mails, and computers have been under government surveillance for the last three years.”
“Why would our government want to suppress a breakthrough in the cure for cancer?” Judge Houston asked.
“Because in this letter Dr. Stewart signaled his intent to offer the results of his research to the public at no cost, free to anyone. This action would create economic havoc, especially for Mr. Monday’s clients, who make billions annually off anti-cancer drugs. These same drug companies work hand-in-glove with our government in hundreds of ways. They have opposed marijuana research for decades, notably with regard to its hypothesized medical benefits. Every year our government spends billions fighting not only the illegal recreational use of the drug, but also any effort to legitimize it for medicinal purposes.”
“Counsel,” the judge said, “I don’t have time to get into a philosophical argument on the pros and cons of medical marijuana. I find it hard to believe that our government would be involved in some conspiracy to prevent a cure for cancer, but that’s not the point. You have accused Mr. Blanchard of fraud. Please explain the basis for that charge.”
He didn’t get it.
“Judge, our government has conspired with a major drug company to prevent Dr. Stewart’s research from reaching the light of day. This company intends to use that research for private gain. That is why I intend to put Mr. Monday’s clients on the stand. Sadly, Mr. Blanchard’s purpose and role in all of this goes way beyond our government playing footsie with a drug company. From my point of view, Mr. Blanchard is small potatoes, but I’m prepared to go forward with that proof first, if you prefer.”
Dub sat in stony silence. Bullock had actually scooted his chair away from Dub, and Monday clearly wished he were almost anywhere else.
“Proceed, counsel. But I’ve got to say I’m skeptical of your whole story about Dr. Stewart’s research.”
“I understand, Your Honor, but ask yourself one thing: why is a major drug company here today bidding millions of dollars on Dr. Stewart’s research if it’s worthless? Mr. Magnum’s last bid was twenty-five million dollars. While I’m happy to know I won the bidding for the research at ten million, I was prepared to go to half a billion dollars. I’m sure given the chance Mr. Mangum would have matched my bid dollar for dollar.”
The gallery erupted. Dub shouted, “Your Honor, he’s lying. Where on earth would he get half a billion dollars?”
Judge Houston had raised his gavel, but I wanted to make my point.
“Marshal, what is the dollar amount authorized in my letter of credit?”
Maroney almost purred. “Fifty million dollars.” Now the gallery went ballistic.
“Your Honor, the president of the company backing my bid is in the courtroom today. He is prepared to testify of his willingness to pay half a billion dollars for Dr. Stewart’s research. I suspect that when I’m allowed to cross-examine Mr. Monday’s clients, they’ll admit that they too would be willing to pay that amount or more. If they tell the truth, that is. ”
Monday didn’t object. Judge Houston couldn’t ignore either what I’d said or Monday’s silence. The gallery now sat in stunned silence.
Houston spent a minute in thought, and then said firmly, “I don’t think you want to go further with your objections, Mr. Blanchard, or I will have to question your actions at this morning’s auction. Mr. Patterson, enough about your client and his research. What about your allegations against the U. S. attorney?”
“Your honor, I’m prepared to present expert testimony that after Dr. Stewart was arrested and Ms. Lawrence first appeared as counsel, the computers and other electronic equipment in her office and in the offices of the foundation I work for, as well as our personal hardware, were all breached and compromised by Mr. Blanchard’s office.”
Both Dub and Bullock looked uncomfortable, but remained silent.
“In violation of the Fourth amendment, Dub’s office also wiretapped our phones and planted listening devices in Ms. Lawrence’s office without a search warrant. We all know that hacking an accused individual’s equipment with a warrant occurs, but hacking the lawyers of the accused without a warrant? Akron Drug, represented today by Mr. Monday, also engaged in the same scope of illegal surveillance.”
Monday rose half-heartedly to object, but Judge Houston motioned him down with a glare, saying, “Mr. Monday, I’m going to let Mr. Patterson continue. Don’t worry. Your clients will have their chance for rebuttal.” He nodded at me. “Continue.”
; “As the court is aware, the government has not charged Dr. Stewart with any crime, but under the rubric of national security, he is being held without access to counsel. Mr. Blanchard has used this opportunity to seize Stewart’s computers, his research, and his patents, attempting to auction them off before Dr. Stewart has the chance to appear in public to defend himself. If I hadn’t shown up with a letter of credit, those assets would have been sold to Akron Drug for as little as two million dollars when they are worth at least a hundred times that amount. Furthermore, when it was clear that I was the successful bidder because Akron didn’t come prepared for competition, Mr. Blanchard attempted to shut down the auction. That’s because Mr. Blanchard has a private arrangement with Akron Drug.”
Now both Monday and Dub were on their feet, but Bullock remained seated, glancing toward Peggy and Rodney Fitzhugh.
Monday made a feeble attempt. “Your Honor, I warned the court that Mr. Patterson would make desperate allegations, dreamed up entirely out of wishful thinking.”
Dub was also emboldened. “Your Honor, first it’s kidnapping and murder, now it’s some conspiracy to defraud the government. Where’s his proof? ” He looked to Bullock expecting support, but Bullock avoided his gaze.
“Your Honor, just because I said the words in an opening statement, doesn’t mean I don’t have proof.”
“Well, let’s hear it,” the judge said. It was time to fish or cut bait.
I shuffled some papers, and Dub watched as Maggie removed the digital recorder from my briefcase and placed it on the table. His face went pale. I was about to make it much paler.
“Your Honor, sitting before you in the front row is Ms. Debbie Kotrova. I came to know Ms. Kotrova because she is employed as Ms. Lawrence’s office manager. In a previous life, she was under the control of a man named Alex Novak, a member of the Russian mafia deeply involved in gambling and prostitution. Mr. Pagano, the local prosecutor, is also present in this courtroom, and I believe he will confirm Novak’s reputation as a rogue and racketeer.” Debbie smiled sweetly at the judge. God bless her, she just couldn’t help herself. “After Ms. Lawrence and I were both kidnapped and almost murdered, I asked Ms. Kotrova to attend certain public appearances where Mr. Blanchard was a participant to monitor what he was saying. Her appearance must have upset our U.S. attorney because he repeatedly asked his marshals to remove her. Isn’t that correct, Mr. Blanchard?”
Dub’s expression was rewarding.
“I also chose her for this task because she had told me that for a period of time Mr. Blanchard frequented Novak’s establishments—she was sure he’d recognize her from her previous employment. I have to admit I thought her presence might upset him.”
Dub couldn’t help himself. “I went to Novak’s establishment as part of an undercover operation. I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” he said, whining to the judge.
I wasn’t about to let him off.
“What I didn’t expect was that Mr. Blanchard himself would give me the proof I needed to establish his involvement in the attempted murder and kidnapping of Ms. Lawrence and myself, as well as a conspiracy to defraud the government.”
Dub turned toward me, clenching his fists, but visibly sagged as Maggie pushed the recorder across the table and I picked it up.
“Your Honor, I would like to play for the court excerpts from conversations Mr. Blanchard had with Novak over the last couple of weeks. I am fully prepared to produce evidence of their authenticity.”
Dub lunged suddenly toward the recorder, but I held it securely.
“Sit down, Mr. Blanchard. Proceed, counsel.” The judge smacked his gavel down and Dub slunk down into his chair.
“Your Honor, one of the voices in this conversation is that of Novak. I feel sure you’ll recognize the other.” The voice of Dub Blanchard blared across the courtroom.
“Why in the hell are you sending that whore to harass me? I paid you all I owed and something extra for roughing up the girl. You said we were good.”
Novak’s heavily accented voice responded. “It isn’t me. I have nothing to do with it.”
Dub spit back. “Yeah, right. Listen, I’ve got a sweet deal working. Don’t mess with me, Novak, or I’ll have you locked up for life.”
Novak remained calm. “I’m telling you I have no control over Ms. Kotrova. She’s doing this on her own.”
Dub ended. “Well, you figure out how to stop her. I’m holding you responsible.”
Dub sat still. His goose was cooked and he knew it. I waited for the judge to react.
“Mr. Patterson, the conversation we have just heard is certainly disturbing and will most certainly provoke further investigation, but I don’t see that it implicates Mr. Blanchard in murder.”
“I agree, your Honor. Let me fast forward to the last taped conversation Mr. Blanchard had with Novak, one which occurred only last night.”
Dub’s face mirrored his panic; he knew he had no escape.
I forwarded the tape to the last conversation.
We heard Dub speak first: “I told you to keep that whore away. She showed up at the TV studio tonight.”
Novak replied, “And I tell you again: I had nothing to do with it.”
Dub again, “Listen, the people I work for have hired a professional to take care of anyone who gets in our way. I’m going to turn her loose on your little tart if she shows up again.”
Novak responded, “It must be that lawyer Patterson. He must have put her up to it.”
“Patterson is a dead man. I’ve made sure of that, and if you want your whore alive, you’ll convince her to stay away. If not, she’ll end up as dead as Patterson and Lawrence are about to be. All I have to do is say the word. My partners and I can’t afford any loose ends. Do I make myself clear?”
Novak finished the conversation: “Yes, certainly.”
Complete silence.
Dub shoved his chair back violently, causing papers to scatter and Jim Bullock to back away in alarm. Judge Houston barked, “Marshals, guard Mr. Blanchard.” Maroney and one of his deputies stepped forward quickly, and Dub fell back into his chair, head slumping into his hands.
I waited, as did the rest of the shocked spectators.
The voice that finally broke the silence was that of Peggy Fortson. “Your Honor, may I approach?” Judge Houston nodded, looking relieved.
“Your Honor, my name is Peggy Fortson, Deputy Assistant Attorney General for the criminal division of the U.S. Department of Justice. I’m compelled to intervene in these proceedings and request that they be postponed immediately. I’ve been here all day and, like you, I’m greatly disturbed by what I’ve heard. The Justice Department was asked not to interfere with Mr. Blanchard’s task force, but I’m convinced we must do exactly that.”
“What exactly is it that you want me to do, Ms. Fortson?” The judge asked.
“Well, for the moment, simply adjourn. The local prosecuting attorney, Mr. Pagano, and Deputy U.S. Attorney Fitzhugh have been observing these proceedings as well. I’m sure they join me in requesting you to detain Mr. Blanchard and turn over Mr. Patterson’s recordings to us. We’ll also want to confer with Mr. Monday about the continuing availability of his clients. Otherwise, we will have to take them into custody as well. But I’m hesitant to proceed while this hearing is in session.” I’d never known Peggy to hesitate before.
Several of the Akron Drug people had sidled quietly toward the door, but they found it blocked by two very serious deputy marshals.
“Ms. Fortson, I understand your concerns. I’ve never been in a situation like this either. I also find myself more than a little concerned about our government’s alleged involvement in the conduct Mr. Patterson has described.” I took his concern as a request for my help, which I was glad to offer.
“Your Honor, this may be a first for all of us. I won’t argue with the detention of Mr. Blanchard, and I will certainly turn over the recordings. They contain other interesting conversations that will shed further light and
confirmation of the conduct I’ve alleged. I also wish to reiterate my claim that we were the successful bidder for Dr. Stewart’s research this morning. Regardless of the outcome of that part of the auction, I still have a lot of faith in our system of justice and specifically in Ms. Fortson and Mr. Pagano. Perhaps, as part of that process, the court might consider ordering the release of Dr. Stewart to Mr. Pagano? Furthermore, the court might advise the representatives of Akron Drug that they are still subject to my subpoena. Other than that, I guess I’ll have to wait for your ruling on the contempt charge.” I couldn’t help but grin.
Monday seemed about to respond, but chose instead to wave his clients back to their seats. They didn’t need a contempt charge on top of everything else.
Judge Houston looked relieved.
“Okay. I’m going to hold everything in abeyance. We’ll reconvene in one week. Ms. Fortson, I expect a full report as well as your presence in this court next week. All potential witnesses, and you know who you are, should consider themselves under Court order to appear in this courtroom one week from today. Failure to appear will be met with at least a contempt of court citation, and very probably arrest and time in jail. I promise you won’t like it. Marshal, take Mr. Blanchard into custody.”
Maroney clearly didn’t mind slapping the cuffs on the wretched Dub, who was shaking like a leaf. I could almost feel sorry for him. Judge Houston hadn’t responded to my request for Doug’s release, but I felt pretty good about his chances.
“Mr. Patterson, under the circumstances, you will not be held in contempt, but next time you appear in my courtroom, please try to be a little less dramatic.”
59
THE GAVEL CAME down sharply, and now the courtroom broke into pandemonium. I watched as my team broke into rampant hugging. The Akron Drug people looked lost. Monday was silently packing his briefcase. The cameras were still rolling, and Cheryl was talking a mile a minute into a microphone. Time to leave.
I signaled for Clovis. We still had lots to do, including getting Doug out of jail, but from now on we’d be dealing with reasonable people. Peggy walked over, hand extended.