A Game of Inches

by Webb Hubbell

  “He also had the occasional teacher, coach, or pastor who saw a special light in the young man. It was a junior high coach who convinced Jerry Stone to take a chance on him at Camp Carolina, although truth to tell Jerry doesn’t take much convincing when it comes to hard luck stories. It was a teacher who concocted reasons for William to stay after school and recommended books for him to read. It was an Episcopal priest who made sure he had decent clothes, didn’t go hungry, and steered him to Sewanee. William touched a lot of lives in the Tennessee mountains. Something about him made people care.

  “William was valedictorian of his high school, and he came to be more than just okay on the football field. He has the ability to get open for a pass and an uncanny talent for hanging on to the ball, but that’s not worth much if your quarterback can’t throw the ball. His high school football coach was still running a version of the wishbone, so William went unnoticed by the college scouts. Sewanee was a perfect fit—great academic school where football is played for the fun of it.”

  I responded. “Okay, you’ve convinced me that whatever happened at the Mayflower was out of character and that he deserves your loyalty, but what can you do? You’re a judge in Arkansas, not licensed to practice law in DC, and even if I could get you admitted for the limited purpose of representing him, you are even more unqualified to defend a capital case than I am.”

  “I know that, but I can help him decide who should represent him. I’m not a rich man, but I have a little money put aside that can help pay the lawyer. And I can be present in the courtroom so William knows he isn’t alone. He needs someone he trusts. He’s bound to be scared to death and probably thinks he doesn’t have a friend in the world.” Marshall emptied his mug, waving off my offer of a refill. I filled it anyway.

  “Well, be careful. Don’t let him tell you too much. Unless you’re his actual lawyer, whatever you talk about is fair game. I’m sure Ms. Montgomery hopes he confessed when he called you the morning he discovered the body. He didn’t, did he?” I had to ask.

  “No, he did not. He was scared to death. He told me blood was everywhere. He had no idea what to do—who would? Could he take a shower and put on some clothes before anyone got there? Apparently he was in his birthday suit when he woke up.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him to call the police immediately, not to touch anything, especially the woman. He told me he’d already thrown the knife across the room. It was on his chest when he woke up. I told him it was okay to put on some clothes. He should just tell the police. Did I do the right thing?”

  “Hell if I know. I mean what else could you tell him. Did you tell him not to answer any questions without a lawyer present?”

  “I did, but I don’t know if he was listening. I could almost hear him shaking. I have no idea what he said to the police or anyone else. I haven’t talked to him since that morning. As I said, Ms. Montgomery offered to take my statement in Little Rock, but I told her I would come to DC and asked to see William. She gave me a firm ‘no,’ but I insisted and she finally gave in, as long as I agreed to be interviewed first. William needs someone, so I agreed.”

  I’d never seen Marshall this upset—I spoke without thinking.

  “Look, they probably won’t let me sit in on the interview unless I’m your lawyer, but I can wait right outside the door and provide moral support. I can also help you find him a good lawyer. I know several excellent white-collar defense lawyers in DC—they’ll know who can handle this kind of case and who won’t take advantage of either you or Billy, at least I hope not. What time is the interview?”

  “Nine o’clock Monday morning at the Federal Courthouse. I’ve got the room number back at the hotel, I believe it’s on the third floor.”

  “What about Billy’s arraignment? The papers said it was Monday, but I don’t remember the time.” I asked.

  “It’s scheduled for three o’clock in the afternoon. Constance Montgomery said she’d let me see William sometime before the arraignment. I suppose they’ll hold him somewhere inside the courthouse.”

  “Did Billy say anything to you that might be interpreted as a confession?”

  “Absolutely not. What he said was that he woke up to find her lying next to him. They were both naked. He said she was dead, and there was blood everywhere. He said he had no idea who she was or not even how he’d gotten back to his room the night before.”

  “Right… sure he doesn’t.” I said, earning a really dirty look from my friend.

  “Look, Jack—I’m not a fool. I know William is in a world of hurt and that it will take a miracle to get him out of this mess. I’m here because he’s a wonderful young man—my wife and children love him like a brother and a son, and he needs someone to believe in him.”

  “You understand that by going public with your support of Billy you may blow any chance you have of being appointed to the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals, don’t you? Your friend the Attorney General thinks that’s where you belong, and so do I. It’s a real possibility, and you may be throwing it all away if you do anything more than give your statement and go home.” I had to say it.

  Marshall finished his beer before he spoke.

  “What kind of person would I be if I deserted William now? What would you think of me? What would my family think? William is special. I know it looks bad, but I don’t believe he could have done such a thing. The least I can do is do everything possible to help him—the Court of Appeals be damned. I’m well aware that if you get in trouble in DC, your friends disappear like lightning, but I’m not from here. In my book, loyalty and basic kindness trump ambition every time.”

  6

  THERE WASN’T MUCH left to say. We agreed to meet at the Hay-Adams for breakfast on Monday. Apparently Marshall had other plans for the evening. He didn’t say what they were, and I didn’t ask. We took a cab back to the hotel. He said he needed a nap after “some damned fine barbeque and more beer than was good for me.” I retrieved my car and headed home—we both needed a break.

  *****

  Mr. Kim listened to the report that Patterson and Judge Fitzgerald had met for lunch. He wasn’t pleased to hear that Patterson had taken the Judge to Barker’s, a place he hadn’t yet found a way to infiltrate. The meeting wasn’t unexpected. He knew Hopper had called the Judge, and he knew Patterson and Fitzgerald were good friends. Nothing unusual about their having lunch, no reason the Judge shouldn’t consult Patterson. He was still anxious about what was discussed. If they had remained at the Hay-Adams he would be listening to a recording of the conversation at this very moment. Nevertheless, he called the client to report.

  *****

  Even on Saturday, the DC traffic was tough, and I figured I might need a nap, too. When my cell phone vibrated, I almost tapped ignore, but decided to pick it up.

  “You up for playing escort again? I think we make a handsome couple, don’t you?” Carol’s voice was cool and inviting.

  “I’d love to play your escort—tell me when and where.” I knew I sounded too eager, but who cared?

  “How about right now? Pat will pick you up in an hour. Pack casual for a couple of days at my place on the Eastern Shore. I have plenty of tennis rackets, but you’ll need to bring swimming trunks. That’s about it. I’m having a few clients and their guests up for a weekend at my place and thought I’d see if you were up for a repeat performance.”

  “Couple of days” was a problem. I’d just committed Monday morning to Marshall. He’d probably tell me to forget it, but I couldn’t break the date for a better offer.

  “Why don’t you give me directions, and I’ll drive up. I’ve got to be at the courthouse Monday morning, but I’d love to spend the rest of the weekend with you.”

  After an uncomfortably long pause, she finally responded.

  “No—Pat is already on his way back to DC to pick you up, should be there in about an hour. If he has to, he’ll drive you back tomorrow night, but I hoped we could have some time toge
ther after my guests left. Oh well, if you have to leave, you do. I’ll take as much of you as I can get. Get your cute butt up here—time’s a wastin’!”

  My ego was blown way out of proportion, but the flirting was probably just part of her shtick. I thought about the weekend ahead: lots of small talk with a bunch of strangers and probably not much time with Carol, a woman I’d barely met. I knew I should probably put the brakes on, at least make a few calls, but it could wait until next week. Maybe she was exactly what she seemed: attractive, ambitious, successful, and slightly lonely. What could a weekend on the shore hurt?

  Once home, I quickly arranged for my neighbor’s daughter, Amy, to take care of Sophie. I called on her so often to dog sit, Sophie probably wondered where she really lived. I’d thought about offering to give Sophie to Amy, but knew she’d be crazy to take her. Right now, I was providing Amy enough money in dog sitting income to pay for a college education.

  Pat was right on time. I tried to join him in the front seat of the town car, but he insisted I sit in the back, pour myself a gin and tonic, and relax. He said someone sitting beside him was a distraction especially when he needed to push the speed limits. Carol had called and instructed, “Haul ass.”

  I did as he suggested and enjoyed the scenery as we crossed the Bay Bridge on the way to the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Over the years, I’d occasionally enjoyed a weekend at the home of a friend on the Choptank River, near Easton, Maryland. The hectic and stress-filled life of DC calls out for retreats where exhausted people can escape on the weekend to a beach, the hill country of Virginia, or the peaceful plains of Maryland. The Eastern Shore is filled with the weekend and summer homes of those who can afford it.

  It didn’t surprise me that Carol had a weekend home she used to entertain DC’s influential and powerful—what a perfect atmosphere for gleaning information. I looked forward to seeing her place, but not nearly as much as seeing her again. I felt as giddy as a school boy who had a great first date, but was nervous about whether the girl would ever go out with him again. Carol had not just said yes, but she’d made the call.

  I asked Pat if he’d been shuttling guests all day.

  “No, most come in by copter or have their own driver,” he responded.

  Copter? Now I was curious about the other guests, but decided not to distract Pat any more. As fast as he was driving he needed to concentrate.

  I thought about Carol’s explanation that having someone on her arm helped her accomplish her purposes. The male guests wouldn’t try to hit on her, and the female guests weren’t as touchy about her spending so much time with their male companions. Her reasoning seemed fairly shallow and not particularly PC, but it did reflect reality. Sexual dynamics seldom turn out to be politically correct.

  Another motive occurred to me—I was being asked to play the role of a “beard.” Maybe she was involved with one of the guests and my presence would serve to prevent suspicion.

  My inferiority complex was clearly alive and well. But Carol had sought me out at Lucy’s party, and we had a wonderful dinner afterwards. She had suggested we spend time alone after the guests left. I know I can be pretty naïve, but it all sounded pretty good to me.

  How about it Jack? Why don’t you just enjoy yourself this weekend, get to know Carol a little bit better, and maybe meet some other people. I have a tendency to get ahead of myself rather than living in the present. At least, that’s what Maggie would say.

  We made it to Carol’s in what had to be record time. As we drove slowly down a long driveway lined with pecan trees, I expected to see something like Tara of Gone with the Wind fame. Instead, a contemporary home right out of Frank Lloyd Wright’s playbook surprised me. The landscaping reminded me of the Japanese Embassy in DC. The information business must be doing quite well.

  I caught sight of Carol on the tennis court, hitting balls with a guy I assumed was a guest. Made me want to take up tennis again. Carol waved, and they both walked off the court. The guy took her racket and walked toward the rear of the house. She greeted me with a kiss flush on the mouth and a lingering hug. I might have thought the greeting was staged, but there were no witnesses except Pat.

  “I’m so glad you could come. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

  “Don’t stop your game for me,” I began to pull away, but she interrupted.

  “Really Jack. Ray and I were just hitting balls, waiting on you to get here. He’s a great guy, you’ll like him a lot.

  “Pat, we’re going to the back porch; everyone’s gathering for cocktails. Put Jack’s bag in our room, and please join us. Senator Boudreaux’s companion, Claudia, is all about specialty cocktails, and Deputy Secretary Cantwell says you’re the only one who knows how she likes her martini. I’m afraid it’s going to be a long weekend.”

  “I can carry my own bag.” I said.

  “Nonsense,” she said as she wrapped her arm around mine and led me toward the house. “You’d get lost. Do you need to freshen up?”

  She showed me to a bathroom next to the living room, a massive high-ceilinged room filled with comfortable looking chairs and couches, all facing a fireplace and a huge big screen TV.

  “Take all the time you need. I’ll change for dinner in a bit, but what you have on is perfect—everyone’s casual. I can’t tell you how excited I am that you’re here.”

  I splashed some water on my face and checked myself in the mirror, deciding not to ask what she meant by “our bedroom.” When I opened the door, I found her waiting. She took my hand and asked, “What will you say if some one asks how long we’ve known each other?

  I’d thought about that possibility on the drive up.

  “I’ll just smile, because no one would believe me if I told the truth.”

  She reached up and kissed me gently, whispering, “Perfect.”

  Without another word we walked into a large, screened-in porch overlooking the river. The room was unexpectedly filled with vintage 60’s metal furniture and old rocking chairs, all covered with contemporary fabric and cushions. Behind the rattan bar in the corner stood Pat, martini shaker in full shake. The casual chatter ceased almost immediately.

  “Friends, I want to introduce you to Jack Patterson, the famous lawyer and my special friend.” Carol smiled.

  With that announcement, she reached up and kissed my cheek. Not a soul in the room would doubt we were lovers except Carol, myself, and maybe Pat who maintained his bland expression. I noticed he wore the same look when Carol asked him to put my bag in “our room.”

  7

  AFTER A ROUND of introductions, Carol excused herself to change, and I asked for a glass of wine. No telling what my head was going to feel like in the morning—beer, gin, and now wine, still better than a martini. She returned wearing white pants and a loose fitting pale pink silk blouse. Her dark hair was well cut, stopping just below her shoulders, and large gold loop earrings highlighted her face. She needed no other ornaments.

  Carol wasn’t a super model or gorgeous in the movie star sense. Instead the force of her personality dominated her appearance. Her smile was broad and engaging, and like last night, her clothes were understated, classy, and perfect. I was drawn to her deep hazel eyes, but others might admire her figure and the way she carried herself. A young female staffer probably wouldn’t feel threatened by Carol, but she should.

  I handed her a glass of wine and eased back into a corner to watch her work the room. As I said, I’m not particularly good at parties. In fact, I’m usually fairly uncomfortable, but I do enjoy watching the social mechanics. Carol had an easy way about her. Each man was convinced she was hanging on his every word, and if he made a joke, she laughed sincerely, touching his arm ever so gently. I noticed she was careful to give her full attention to women, especially wives. She never looked away and usually nodded in agreement.

  DC folks, especially at this level, know how to mix, how to take care of themselves and their agenda. But Carol took the extra step, occasionally pulli
ng one person into a different group or towards a single person, thus furthering her own agenda. No one went more than ten seconds without a full drink. I was tickled to hear her ask Pat to give Secretary Cantwell “a little cover”—meaning a full glass.”

  Her glance turned toward the newly opened kitchen door, and I saw the cook nod her head, then close the door silently.

  “All right, everyone, dinner is served.” She had raised her voice just enough to carry through the room. Her guests began to sort themselves out and drift toward the dining room, but she edged her way to my corner.

  “Why are you stuck in this corner? Not enjoying my party?”

  “Just enjoy watching a professional work. You’re good.” I meant it as a compliment.

  “Years of practice. But I also want you to have a good time. I hoped you might like a few of my guests. Just stay away from Jackie Erskine. She’s checking you out.”

  “Really, which one is Jackie?” I smiled.

  “She’s the sort of boozy blonde in the navy linen blazer. She’s on the Board of the Federal Reserve, one of its newer members, but don’t even think about it.” She kidded back.

  “Didn’t she bring her companion, Michael Brooks?”

  Carol looked at me in surprise and laughed. “Well, well—full marks to you. But he’s not really her companion, and I’m very possessive, so watch out.”

  Both of us enjoyed the banter, and I enjoyed the fact that she was possessive.

  Dinner was casual, too—rich crab cakes served with an avocado and lime sauce, a fluffy corn pudding, sliced heirloom tomatoes marinated with onions and cucumber, followed by peach cobbler topped with homemade ice cream. Throw me in that briar patch any time. We were seated at two square tables, close enough to enjoy either our dinner companion or the whole group, as we preferred. Even I chimed in every now and then.