A Game of Inches

by Webb Hubbell

  “Don’t waste your breath. I said I would call the Attorney General, and the deputy said, ‘Even the AG wouldn’t buck this senator. Let it go, Judge.’”

  A U.S. Senator intervening to make sure Billy didn’t get special treatment. Sounded like Red was right. The congressional wolves were out for blood.

  “Okay, so what happened next?”

  “Well, I told him that anything he told me wasn’t privileged so we couldn’t talk about what happened. I had to explain to him what ‘privileged’ means.

  “He spent most of his money paying off student debt and paying back friends. Everyone thought the Lobos would want to negotiate a new contract to lock him in long-term, and he was counting on the incentive bonus to tide him over until next season. Paying off his loans made sense.”

  “Does he know the woman?”

  “I didn’t ask. I could tell he really wanted to talk about what happened, but every time he tried, I stopped him.”

  I said, “I know it must have been tough, but you had no choice. You did the right thing.”

  “God, Jack, I don’t know.”

  The waitress appeared with our lunch, good hot fried catfish. Nothing better, and it provided a nice distraction. We even indulged in lemon icebox pie, hardly saying a word.

  Full as a tick, I leaned back, thinking we should probably head back to my office. But Marshall had his own ideas.

  “Can we talk, old friend to old friend?”

  I kidded. “Do I need a stiff drink?”

  Literal Marshall answered. “A nice glass of wine might be in order, but only if I’m buying.”

  Never, never, had I known Marshall to have more than a beer at lunch. Now he had suggested wine and was offering to buy. Either the world was coming to an end, or we were about to have one damn serious conversation. I told him his money was no good here and ordered a bottle of Cabernet.

  We waited, again in silence, as the server delivered the bottle, dealt with the corkscrew and poured each of us a generous glass. I knew well enough that Marshall’s brain was working overtime.

  “Jack, where do I begin? Since high school you have been my best friend. You were best man at our wedding. Your wife was like a sister to me, and your daughter is not only my godchild, I think of her as my daughter. Whenever I need you, you show up, seemingly ready for anything.”

  “I could say the same for you.” I had no idea where this was going.

  “Yes, but you weren’t a skinny black kid in an all-white school. When the football coach tried to run me off, there you were, refusing to play unless I played. You took a stand that day. What you did made a difference. It took a while, but things got better because you were willing to do what was right. And that wasn’t the only time.”

  “Okay, but that was a long time ago, and I knew the team needed a really good left tackle. You were there for Angie and me—remember?”

  “Jack, have you ever been so sure of someone’s character, that no matter what others said about him, what others say he did, you just knew something wasn’t right? That there had to be more to the story?”

  “Woody Cole.” Didn’t need to think about that one.

  “Say no more, of course you have. You believed in Woody despite Sam telling you he had changed, and I was pretty much there myself.”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, so you will understand when I tell you I believe William didn’t kill that woman. I know this young man, probably better than my own sons. A father has a blind spot for his children, but I don’t for William. So he plays football—does that mean he has an uncontrollable mean streak? Surely most football players are regular, nice fellows who engage in a sport they’re good at. Yes, it’s rough and players get hurt, but Americans love it—every Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and now Thursday. William can run fast, and he has an uncanny ability to catch a football, but he’s as gentle a soul as anyone I’ve ever encountered. He is polite, respectful and considerate of everyone, especially women.”

  “Marshall, I hear you. I appreciate what you’re saying. I’m one of those guys who watch football on Thursday night. But look at the facts. Maybe his past caught up with him, or maybe all the new fame and glory, or maybe he just snapped. I mean, you know, guys just sometimes go off the wall when it comes to booze and women. Maybe they were—oh, I don’t know, but look at the evidence.”

  He took a minute, twirling his glass, thinking about how he would respond.

  “Jack, I see cases of domestic violence and violence against women almost every day. This particular virus is epidemic, and no matter how many men I lock up it keeps growing. But I tell you: William Hopper is not a man who would ever abuse a woman, much less murder one. I’ve seen how he treats women of all ages, from Grace, to the girls my boys have brought home to our house, to the girls at Sewanee he dated. Without exception he was kind and respectful. I’ve never even heard a cutting remark or a derogatory term come out of his mouth.”

  “Well, something must have changed him. Maybe his year in LA—maybe unfamiliar circumstances….”

  “Not a chance.” Marshall’s voice had grown chilly.

  “Marshall, you won’t like it, but I need to point out that the longer you stay here helping Billy, the more likely you are going to be the recipient of some of the anger directed towards him. It could hurt you politically, could even cost you your judgeship.”

  “Grace and I have discussed that very issue. We saw what the anti-gay marriage folks tried to do to Judge Piazza after he issued his ruling overturning the ban. You want to know what Grace told me?”

  “Of course.” I said, thinking I probably already knew.

  “She said, ‘Husband, Jack Patterson didn’t abandon Woody Cole no matter how bad it looked. Right now William doesn’t have a friend in this world except for our family. All those hangers-on, LA movie stars, and football groupies have run for cover. The whole world thinks he’s a lost cause. Well, lost causes are the one’s worth fighting for. So don’t come home until your job is done.”

  “I didn’t abandon Woody because his mother wouldn’t let me.”

  “Don’t give me that. I witnessed your passion for Woody in my courtroom. You may have been a little out of control, but you clearly believed in Woody.”

  “Okay, so let’s get him a lawyer so you can go home.”

  “Jack, I’m well aware that Billy needs a lawyer, and a damn good one. But I have one more favor to ask of you, and I guess it’s one you’ll have to think about. You’ve done a lot of favors for me, but you did them on your own, right?” He gave me a bit of a grin, and I was helpless.

  “I haven’t much thought about it,” I had no idea where this was going, but I was sure I wouldn’t like it.

  “I want you to see William in the jail.”

  “Ah, Jeez, why would I want to do that?” I knew the answer as soon as I spoke.

  “I don’t know why you shouldn’t.”

  17

  THIS THOUGHT CLEARLY hadn’t just popped into his head, so I waited for him to explain his logic.

  “I can’t ask Billy about what happened that night, as you have pointed out to me more than once.”

  I nodded. “The attorney-client privilege doesn’t apply to you. Whatever he tells you is just as if he was talking straight to the prosecutor. You can’t lie or refuse to relate what he says to you, or you’ll end up in an adjoining jail cell. Grace wouldn’t be happy.”

  Marshall chuckled at the image of Grace finding out he was in jail.

  “I do know that, Jack. But I also know that a lawyer who is interviewing him to become his attorney can speak with him in confidence. The privilege applies to that conversation, does it not?”

  “Yes, it does. But even if we pretended that my interview was in connection with potential employment, I couldn’t tell you what he tells me. I would be destroying the privilege by telling you anything. My interviewing him doesn’t accomplish anything. You still need to get him his own lawyer.”

  “You
’re wrong—it accomplishes a lot.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “You are the only lawyer in DC I can completely trust. If you interview him and say ‘Marshall, he did it,’ I will help him financially and be supportive, but Grace and I can get on with our lives. If you tell me he’s innocent, I’m all in until it’s all over.”

  “I probably can’t help you there either. A good lawyer never asks his client if he committed the crime. That knowledge limits his options at trial. Probably the most I could say is that I’m not sure he did it. I can’t believe I’ll get much out of him anyway.”

  “But you will at least have a better idea of what kind of lawyer I should be hiring—someone who’s a take-no-prisoners type or a negotiator.”

  “True. But remember: ultimately who Billy hires is up to Billy, not you or me.”

  “Not true. He’s authorized me to hire counsel on his behalf. He said he wouldn’t have any idea how to choose a lawyer. Three lawyers have already made appointments to meet with him tomorrow trying to get hired. Boy are they going to be disappointed.” He smiled.

  “It’s unethical to solicit business, although you wouldn’t know it from all the billboards across the country.” I was appalled.

  “I know that, but some folks always manage to find a way around the rules. As far as I’m concerned, all three are out of the running. What I don’t like is they have taken up all the visiting hours tomorrow. I can’t get you in to see him until Thursday morning.”

  “You’ve already made the appointment? I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet.”

  “Jack, I know this is wrong of me, but please say ‘yes,’ if not for me, for Grace and my boys.”

  I took a sip of wine, and my mind went to one night over twenty-five years ago when Marshall had carried Angie several miles to the hospital. No way could I tell this man no.

  I smiled. “I don’t know why I shouldn’t.”

  We both laughed.

  I would learn why I shouldn’t very quickly. I still would have given in, but I should have given it a little more thought.

  We still had wine to finish, so I asked Marshall to tell me more about Billy Hopper. In fact, I asked him to start at the beginning and not leave anything out. I had no desire to represent Billy, but if I was going to decide in a single interview whether Billy could have murdered this young woman, I needed to know as much as I could.

  For the next two hours, I heard a story that made out Billy sound to be too good to be true. I know from experience that we all have a dark side, but if Billy had a dark side it first made an appearance at the Mayflower Hotel.

  *****

  Mr. Kim had finished reading the transcript of Fitzgerald’s meeting with Hopper. He hadn’t learned much except the Judge was in charge of hiring a lawyer for the young man. Too bad, the lawyer they wanted Hopper to hire was meeting with him tomorrow, but now that would be a total waste of time. The Judge had more influence over Hopper than they had anticipated.

  Worse, Patterson was scheduled to meet with Hopper on Thursday morning. The Judge and Patterson had just walked into Barker’s, he assumed for lunch. Damn Barker and his obsession with privacy! In fact, he had no idea what they were doing or what they might be discussing, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t Donald Trump. After a moment’s thought, he decided to call a colleague in Brazil before he reported to the client.

  18

  MARSHALL AND I finished our wine and walked outside to find Martin waiting in the Suburban. He looked uneasy.

  “The press is camped outside your office. Building security has kept them out of the lobby so far, but Rose is in high panic. Apparently they are under the impression that you’re meeting with Billy Hopper on Thursday about legal representation. They’ve figured out who Marshall is and made the connection.”

  Marshall apologized. “I’m sorry, Jack. I was naïve. I had to give the jail your name. I should have known better.”

  “That’s okay—these are games you’re not used to playing. Martin, let’s get Marshall back to the Hay-Adams. I’ll tell Rose to close the office and go home for the day.”

  Marshall knew we’d set up an office for him at the foundation, but we both agreed that it might be better for him to remain at the hotel until the press lost interest. Martin walked him into the hotel and returned to drive me home. Not a single reporter in sight, thank goodness.

  I took Sophie out for a quick walk and then settled in behind my desk to check email and make a few calls. The first was to Maggie. I hated to ruin her last day in Italy, but I also didn’t want her to arrive home to a firestorm without warning.

  “Oh, Jack. I should have known you’d get into some kind of mischief while I was gone. I’m surprised there’s not a women involved. Just don’t get shot before I get home. Ciao.” She obviously had better things to do than shoot the breeze with me.

  My cell phone flashed a message from Beth, asking me to call. For the umpteenth time I wondered why she didn’t just call in the first place. Of course, I called.

  “Uncle Marshall is in DC, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “You were at a silent retreat, remember?”

  “It was over on Sunday night. Anyway, it’s all over the news that you’re going to represent Billy Hopper. They’re calling you a magician who takes on impossible cases. You know most of my girlfriends will think you’re scum.” Her throwaway comment got my attention.

  “That’s real nice, Beth. Don’t they understand the right to counsel?”

  “They understand, but the thought that you might get a ruthless murderer off with a slap on the wrist is pretty hard to stomach. If I hadn’t met him with Uncle Marshall, I’d be right there with them.”

  “He’s facing life in prison, not a slap on the wrist. And don’t worry: I’m not his lawyer. You’ve met him?”

  “Yeah. Billy arranged for Uncle Marshall to sit in the owner’s box when the Lobos played the Saints last fall, and Uncle Marshall arranged for us to meet him for dinner. He and Jeff really hit it off—at the time my friends were green with envy. He is very good-looking and so sweet. Hard to believe he’d do something so terrible. Jeff thinks he was set up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, it’s just speculation on the part of his fantasy football buddies. Apparently a lot of high stakes fantasy players lost big bucks because of Billy. His game against New England really burned up a lot of fantasy teams the last week of the regular season. He also upset a lot of high-stakes betting pools. Jeff and his pals think the mob set him up.”

  “Jeff watches too much TV.”

  “That’s what I told him. Want to know what I think? There’s too much violence on the football field, too much emphasis on hitting—it’s bound to pour over into the players’ lives. Billy should’ve played soccer.” Spoken by a Davidson soccer star.

  I knew we could debate this issue all afternoon, so I asked her about the retreat and reminded her that Marshall was expecting a call from her. She gave me a rather lengthy rundown of the retreat; apparently it wasn’t exactly silent after all.

  We agreed to find a good weekend for me to come to New Orleans soon. We didn’t get along nearly as well when she came back to DC for a visit. I thought she’d want to spend all of her time with me, and she thought trips home meant seeing all her old high school classmates and staying up way past my bedtime. Some nights she didn’t even go out until after my bedtime.

  Our conversation ended abruptly as she said, “Sorry, Dad. My kids are walking into class—gotta go!”

  I wasn’t really hungry, but I ordered pizza anyway. DC isn’t known for good pizza and for good reason: there isn’t any. At least nothing like Theo’s Pizza in New Orleans. You don’t think about New Orleans and pizza, but trust me: Theo’s is worth the trip. I’d put it up against Chicago’s best.

  Rose had emailed me a list of messages. I ignored the ones from reporters, tabled two from friends, but knew I had to return Red’s angry call.

  “Are you crazy?” h
e shouted.

  “Quite possibly,” I answered, stalling for time. If I publicly denied any desire to be Billy’s lawyer, the jail probably wouldn’t let me see Billy nor would the privilege attach to our conversation if they did. I had come up with a response I thought might work until a real criminal defense lawyer was hired. Might as well test it out on Red.

  My affirmative response to his question had taken him aback, so I jumped in before he could respond.

  “Crazy yes, stupid no. Your fiancée can tell you how close I am to Marshall Fitzgerald. He asked that I meet with Hopper, and I agreed because I owe him. She will tell you I owe him at least that. But, Red, I’m not foolish enough to sacrifice a quarter of a million dollar retainer. For my loyalty to Marshall, I’m going to catch hell with the press for a few days, but I expect Billy to have an experienced criminal lawyer in a few days, and you and I can practice howling at the moon by the weekend.”

  Nothing but silence. I could almost hear him thinking.

  “You know if you’d simply sign the contract my lawyers sent over, I’d feel a lot better.”

  “Sorry, it’s on my desk. The press descended on us before I had time to go over it. I should be able to give it my full attention tomorrow.”

  “You know, I’ve never had so much trouble trying to hire somebody.” His irritation was obvious.

  “I’m worth it.” I don’t know what gave me so much bravado, but the words came out naturally.

  “Damn, I’m beginning to like you, Patterson. I expect the same loyalty you are showing to Fitzgerald, I hope you know that.”

  “You’ll have it.” Boy was I walking a tightrope.

  The doorbell rang as I put the phone down with relief. I had dodged a bullet. I pulled a twenty out of my wallet and opened the door.

  “You ordered pizza, but it’s going to cost you.”

  19

  CAROL STOOD ON the steps holding a pizza box in one hand and a bottle of red wine in the other. She had caught the pizza guy pulling up and paid him. The wine had always been part of her plan.