by Webb Hubbell
Marshall was irritated by the continual delays, but I was glad to have the extra time. I suggested lunch at one of my favorite restaurants, 701 on Pennsylvania Avenue. While we waited for lobster bisque and salad, Marshall filled me in on the interview and his inquisitors’ obvious confusion. I laughed.
“They clearly haven’t been able to figure out why Billy called you that morning and why you would care one way or the other. Hopper was born in Tennessee, grew up in Tennessee, and went to college in Tennessee. They’re probably going nuts trying to figure out your connection. I’d bet the special agents in Chattanooga and Little Rock have been running ragged. There can never be an innocent explanation—it’s just not in their genes.”
I tried to avoid quizzing Marshall, letting him unwind and tell me whatever he wanted. Constance had told us before we left that they might or might not finish before the arraignment, but either way Marshall wouldn’t have any real time with Billy today.
Regardless of Billy’s silence, the public defender needed time to explain the arraignment procedure to Billy. Constance had given him Marshall’s cell number, and he had texted that we were to sit in the first row of benches behind the rail, an area usually reserved for family. He had also warned him that the press would probably swarm after the arraignment.
“I hope you’re ready, Judge,” he texted.
I half expected Marshall to say, “Prepared for what?” But even literal Marshall understood the warning. As soon as the arraignment was concluded, the press would descend on Marshall with shouts and cameras, all trying to land an interview with the only person in the room obviously sitting in support of Billy Hopper.
Before we left 701, I placed a call to Martin Wells, head of security for Walter Matthews’ companies and foundation, and occasionally for me. He agreed to meet me at the courthouse before the arraignment. I explained to Marshall what I was up to on the way back from lunch.
“I’ve asked Martin to help us leave the courtroom without being mobbed. I’ve also employed him to help you get in and out of the courthouse for your visits with Hopper. Don’t fight me on this Marshall. You have bailiffs protecting you in Little Rock.”
I expected Marshall to pitch a fit, but he was unusually cooperative.
“You really think that’s necessary? he asked.
“I do. Listen, they mean no harm, but the press is starving for news in this case. An Arkansas judge shows up out of the blue to hug the accused in the highest profile murder case in the country. They learn from a confidential source that Hopper called you the morning he discovered the body and that Billy won’t talk to anybody but you. You are about to become the center of their attention. So let me help you in the few ways I can. Martin can give you some semblance of privacy. I’ll also call Clovis, my friend in Little Rock. He can keep your wife and kids from being harassed.”
“Of course I know Clovis. Would they really bother Grace and the boys?” They’re in high school now. Surely…”
“You’d better believe it,” I interrupted. “Right now Billy Hopper is the biggest fish in the ocean. I think we have a few hours to set things in motion. While you’re finishing up the interview, I’ll call Grace and tell her to expect a call from Clovis. Martin will take care of everything at this end. He’ll also coordinate with your hotel’s security, that is unless you want to bunk in with me.”
Marshall smiled. “It bothers you that I am staying at such an expensive hotel doesn’t it?”
I nodded.
“I’ll tell you a story over dinner one night. Like you said, ‘one never thinks there is a simple explanation.’”
Constance was waiting for us outside the interview room when we returned. She told us Marshall could have as long as three hours with Billy, beginning at nine a.m. tomorrow. From then on he would need to set up a schedule for visits with the jail.
“I know the two of you have a lot to discuss, but I hope you can persuade Mr. Hopper to hire a lawyer quickly so we all can put this case behind us. The case against him is cut and dried, and the quicker he pleads guilty and we get his cooperation in discovering the identity of the victim, the better for all of us.” This time her voice was hard as nails.
Marshall glowered at “cut and dried” but didn’t argue the point.
“Let’s get the questioning over. I don’t want to miss the arraignment.” With that, Marshall walked into the room.
I found a small, unoccupied office across the hall where I could make calls in private. Grace wasn’t happy when I told her that Clovis would be coming by within the hour.
“Lord Jack, what would those people want with me?”
I explained as quickly as I could, cutting her questions short so I could get Clovis on board before the press descended. I hoped Clovis could calm her down.
I was able to reach him on the first try and gave him a quick run down on the events so far. Oddly, he didn’t seem surprised.
“Judge Fitzgerald and Billy Hopper,” he mused. “Small world.”
“It is. Listen, I’ll call you again tonight and we can catch up, but for the moment watch out for Grace and the boys—no telling who might show up on her doorstep.”
It had been more than a few months since I’d spoken with Clovis. In the last three years I’d returned to Little Rock twice to represent, well, let’s just say unlikely clients. Unlikely translates to dangerous, and Clovis had provided me security, saving my life more than once. We’ve become good friends, and I enjoy his occasional trips to DC. We usually try to catch a Nat’s game and I had introduced him to Cantler’s, a crab house on Mill Creek just off the Chesapeake Bay—best restaurant crabs in Maryland. He’s hooked.
I called Martin again, giving a more detailed explanation and a few instructions. Next, I called my assistant Rose to let her know I wouldn’t be in the office today. She said a package had arrived from the law firm of Richards and Sullivan, and a Mr. Shaw had called several times. She gave me his number. I toyed with calling Red, but heard a nearby door close firmly. Red would have to wait.
I walked into the hall to find Constance shaking Marshall’s hand and thanking him for his cooperation. The others were already long gone.
She said, “I guess it won’t do any good to say I’d prefer that you not speak with Mr. Hopper about this interview.”
Marshall was direct. “No. It won’t do any good.”
“Well… Anyway, Judge, get your friend a lawyer so we can put this case to rest.”
Marshall had heard enough about Billy’s obvious guilt.
“Has it occurred to you, Ms. Montgomery, that perhaps William is not guilty?”
She looked him straight in the eye and said firmly, “No. It hasn’t even crossed my mind. He’s guilty as sin.”
13
THE COURTROOM WAS already packed. Fortunately, no cameras were allowed. I told the marshal who we were, and he escorted us to the reserved seats up front. The crowd fell silent as all eyes turned to watch our entrance. The press was crowded into a couple of middle rows, but one look at Marshall’s countenance silenced even the most jaded reporter.
A harried young man strode in and plopped a group of folders on the appropriate table. His eyes scanned the crowd, and he walked straight up to Marshall.
“Judge Fitzgerald, I’m Rich Slaughter, deputy public defender.” He handed Marshall his card. “Mr. Hopper was relieved to hear you’re here. He still won’t talk to me other than to answer the most basic questions, and he was extremely disappointed you couldn’t talk before this arraignment. He knows you’ll see him tomorrow morning, and he understands that today is just a formality. I’ll waive the reading of the indictment and enter a not guilty plea. Hopefully that will be the extent of my representation. Any questions?”
Marshall shook his head and thanked Rich for his help.
Constance Montgomery, accompanied by at least six or seven other lawyers, took over the prosecution table, opening briefcases and spreading out papers. Constance greeted the public defender, but igno
red the two of us. She wouldn’t show any part of her hand until she was good and ready.
Billy Hopper was led into the courtroom by two marshals. He wore the expected jumpsuit, hands and ankles chained to a belt around his waist. They made sure he was seated before unfastening the chains. Marshall had risen and was trying to reach out to Billy when we heard:
“All rise!” Judge Morris Langston strode into the room in flowing robes. He was modest in size, wore horn-rimmed glasses, and seemed very much at ease.
“Welcome, everyone. We are here for the initial arraignment in the case of the District of Columbia versus Billy Hopper. Who’s representing the government?”
“Constance Montgomery, your honor, Deputy U.S. Attorney.” Her colleagues seemed disappointed that she didn’t introduce them as well, but she didn’t even look in their direction. Interesting.
“And for the defense?” the judge asked.
“Rich Slaughter, assistant public defender, your honor.”
“I take it Mr. Hopper hasn’t engaged counsel yet. Should I be thinking about appointing counsel?
“I don’t think so, your honor. I believe his lack of counsel is a temporary situation.” Rich obviously wanted to distance himself from Billy every way he could.
“Okay, but I want you let me know if he doesn’t obtain counsel in the immediate future. I want to move this case off the docket as soon as possible.”
Even the judge—why the rush? This was a first-degree murder case, not some routine assault and battery case after a bar fight.
“Okay, Mr. Slaughter. Is the defendant willing to waive the reading of the indictment and enter a plea?”
“Yes, your honor. The defendant enters a plea of not guilty.”
A loud murmur from the gallery was met with a loud rap of the gavel.
“All right, that’s enough. I’ve received requests from the press to allow cameras in the courtroom. I will rule on those requests after defense counsel is on board. If there is nothing further, court is adjourned.”
We all rose, but before the marshals could get to Billy he was enveloped in Marshall’s arms. Neither said a word.
The press exploded with questions: “Why’d you do it, Billy? Anything you want to tell your fans? Who is this man, Billy? How are you being treated? Who was the woman, Billy?”
To some extent, my presence and Martin’s blocked them from getting too close to Marshall. The rail kept them away from Billy. Finally the embrace ended. Both men were fighting back tears. The uninformed would have assumed Marshall was the pro-football player—he towered over Billy.
The marshals pulled Billy away, and Marshall said, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Everything will be okay.”
Billy nodded and gave a weak smile as they hurried him out of the courtroom. Now it was just Marshall and the press. Fortunately, Martin was prepared. He grabbed Marshall by the arm and pressed him close behind two large guys who were running interference toward the door. I followed behind.
Martin quickly led us to a bank of elevators where another one of his men had been holding the door. The doors closed, and we had a break from the shouting for at least for a minute or so. I dreaded the mob we would face when we reached the front door to the courthouse, but Martin had a better plan.
The elevator took us to the basement, where Martin led us through a twisting route to a garage where Martin had left a large black Suburban. As we got in he explained.
“I called in a couple of favors and got permission to use the marshal’s garage. We’ll be out of the building in no time and headed back to the hotel. It won’t be so easy tomorrow, but leave it up to me, Judge. This is the way the marshals get protected witnesses in and out of the building.”
Marshall was in shock. He had been forced to deal with the press during the Cole case, but they had shown him respect. In DC, he was a person of interest and fair game.
“Judge, your hotel’s security team will ensure your privacy whenever you’re inside their doors. I’ll have my people there as well. We’ll do our best to get you in and out with as little hassle as possible.” He looked at me. “If you need working space, I recommend you use Jack’s offices.”
“We have plenty of room,” I said. “You are welcome to use one of our offices to interview lawyers, make phone calls, or anything else. Our building has tight security, and either Maggie or Rose can help you with anything you need.”
He looked overwhelmed, even a little bewildered.
“Seeing Billy had to be tough, and I know how you hate crowds. Let’s go back to your hotel, have a glass of wine and a bite to eat before I go home, and then I’ll leave you alone. Just follow Martin’s lead tomorrow, okay.”
He nodded.
Soon back at the Hay-Adams, we washed up and Marshall checked in with Grace. We were the only ones in the dining room since it wasn’t even six o’clock. We ordered drinks, and I tried to keep the conversation away from today by asking about our mutual friends in Little Rock—Sam Pagano, Helen Cole, and Ben, the owner of my favorite barbeque place. But Billy Hopper’s ghost was sitting at the table. Marshall was the first to bring today up.
“I don’t know what I would have done without you today. I thought I could deal with all this all by myself. Thank you.”
“What are friends for? The most difficult thing for you will be the press. They’ll keep hounding you until they ferret out your relationship with Billy. We might want to consider giving an interview to a friendly reporter. You can set the ground rules, but once one reporter breaks the story the rest are more likely to leave you alone.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea—Ms. Montgomery might retaliate. We haven’t talked about my last session. She repeated her request that I not talk to William or anyone else about the interview.”
“That was to be expected.” I said.
“I know, but she also said they there was a chance they might want to interview Grace and the boys.”
“A nice implied threat to guarantee your continued cooperation,” I noted. And one frequently used by the FBI, I thought to myself, wondering again why they were involved at all.
“Absolutely, subtle but unmistakable. You know, Jack, being a Judge can insulate one from the real world sometimes. This experience has already been an eye-opener. Maybe I should have seen the other side of law enforcement a long time ago.”
The server brought cheeseburgers and extra crispy fries that we both devoured with quiet relish. It’s amazing how much tension can be diffused by solid comfort food.
“Marshall, I wouldn’t wish what you are going through on anyone. A second-child charged with murder, an FBI investigation, threats on your family, and who else knows what’s next. People counsel ‘one-day-at-a-time.’ I think you’d be well advised to do just that.”
Marshall had begun to relax, at least a little. A second scotch didn’t hurt.
“Grace told me that Clovis was at the house fifteen minutes after your call. He’s talked to the kids. There’s a satellite truck planted outside the house, but it sounds like he’s got everything under control.”
“Another reason to give an interview. Think about it overnight. For now, we’ve insulated you as much as we can. Do you want to talk about getting him defense counsel? Do you want me to make some calls?”
Marshall picked up his drink, took a small sip, and appeared to be considering his answer. His mouth took a funny shape like a light bulb had gone off.
Finally he answered. “Hold off on any calls for now. Like you said, one-day-at-a-time. I want to meet with William and talk all this over with him first.”
“Be careful. Anything you discuss is not privileged. Make sure you tell him to say nothing about what happened or the FBI will be interviewing you again.”
“I’m aware of that, Jack,” he said sharply.
Of course he was. He was smart, a lawyer, and a judge. I was stating the obvious, but it never hurt to be reminded.
“Sorry—just being a mother hen. What will you t
alk about?”
“His agent told me he has very little money left. Apparently the Lobos still owe him money under the old contract and for several incentive bonuses. They never dreamed he would be selected offensive rookie-of-the-year, which carries a quarter of million-dollar bonus. Then again his agent never thought his client would be charged with murder or that the Lobos would invoke the morals clause of the contract to fire him.”
“He has to have some money left, even under an NFL minimum contract,” I stated.
“He did. But according to his agent he used most of it to pay off his student loans and to pay back every single person who lent him money over the years, including yours truly. I still have every penny he gave me and will use it to hire a lawyer, but I am afraid it won’t be nearly enough.”
“Will his agent help?”
“To put it in his words, ‘Not no, but hell no.’ Talk about a rat leaving a sinking ship. He got a large percentage of everything William earned in salary, bonuses, and endorsements, but as soon as the ship took on water, he jumped over the side.” His face was the picture of disgust.
“Too bad. He might know the perfect lawyer.”
“More to the point, he might know something about that evening. He was at the banquet with William to bask in the glory. I’d bet he even charged the whole weekend at the Mandarin hotel to William’s American Express card.”
“Can he do that?” I asked.
“Apparently lots of agents put their clients on an allowance and give them an American Express card to pay for all their expenses. Makes for good recordkeeping as long as your agent is honest. Like I said, I want to talk to William.”
“Did the agent tell you what he remembered about the evening?”
“No surprise—the FBI asked him not to discuss anything about that evening with anyone, and he wasn’t about to argue.” Marshall shrugged his shoulders.
“Constance got to him early. The FBI has more than likely talked to everyone sitting at Billy’s table that night, waiters, the bellman at the Mayflower and anyone else who had contact with him. They saved you for last.”