A Game of Inches

by Webb Hubbell

  He should have given the order to kill Patterson when the sniper had the shot, but the client was worried that an investigation would blow the whole deal. Now the client wouldn’t be given the option.

  *****

  The night seemed to last forever. I dreamed that I was scheduled to pitch in Yankee stadium, but my uniform had disappeared, nowhere to be found. Not such a terrible dream initially, but it returned no matter how many times I tried to shake it off. Maybe I should have opened the door to Barb after all.

  Sunday breakfast at Barker’s was always a feast, anything you could possibly imagine at an American breakfast. I ordered blueberry pancakes with two fried eggs, and corned beef hash on the side. Possibly a little indulgent, but it made me a happy man. I lingered over coffee, contemplating the day before me. Maggie and I were to meet at nine thirty; Clovis and Stella would join us at eleven. We’d have sandwiches delivered to the conference room and work until about five. Dinner with Maggie and Walter would be a welcome relief.

  I arrived at the office to find the conference room in a total state of disorder, Diet Coke cans and crumpled packages from Cheetos and Snickers tossed about carelessly. Stella sat in front of two computers, looking more than a little bleary-eyed. She didn’t look up when I came in. After a few minutes of silence, I ventured to ask how she was doing.

  “Hey, we’re good. The government quit trying to shut down the website around five o’clock yesterday. The other hacker doesn’t ever seem to stop, and I’ve given him a gleam of hope. He made his way to what looks like a crack in our security, right on schedule, but he’ll find absolutely nothing. I’ll try to infiltrate their system when I think they’re the most vulnerable. I’m still trying to track down who paid for the rooms at the Mayflower.”

  “Sounds good. Can Maggie prepare a memo on her computer?”

  “Sure, no problem. Stay off email, but writing a document is perfectly okay.

  “By the way, I managed to get a copy of the call log for Nadia’s cell phone. I put a list of the numbers for the last three weeks on your desk along with a log from the other number you gave me. Several of Nadia’s numbers appear more than once, both incoming and outgoing. Maybe Beth could trace those numbers.”

  “Any serious response to the website’s offer of a reward?” I asked.

  “The traffic went through the moon the night of Cheryl’s show. Still mostly a lot of sports related junk, but it takes only one. I just hope I recognize it.”

  I thought to myself how important it was for one of the girls to try and reach out for protection. So I asked Stella if she could post an encrypted email address or phone number someone could use to reach her. I also asked her to include language promising absolute confidentiality for anyone who responded.

  Clovis came in with some kind of specialty coffee drink for Stella and black coffee for the two of us. Maggie would put on a kettle for her tea when she arrived. While we waited on Maggie, I went over Nadia’s medical file or what little there was of it. Before and after photographs of the brand were helpful, but that was about it. At least we had additional documentation that Nadia and Carla were the same woman, that she had once been branded with a crescent moon and two initials—td. After the surgery the brand looked exactly like the picture in the medical examiner’s report; he had referred to it as a birthmark.

  Maggie breezed in and as soon as she had her tea in hand we went to work preparing the first draft of an outline report of what I believed had happened. Maggie still took shorthand, a talent, which has almost entirely disappeared. Clovis acted as devil’s advocate, questioning my assumptions. We spent about two hours going back and forth before I ran out of steam or fresh arguments.

  “So, what do you think?”

  No answers. Maggie was expanding her notes, and Clovis sat drumming his fingers on the desk.

  “Jack, there’s more holes in your premise than a doughnut shop. How on earth are you going to sell it to a prosecutor?” Clovis spoke up first.

  “Well, you’re right and I’m not sure. But I think it has promise, and besides, it’s all we’ve got. So let’s make a list of those holes and how we can plug ‘em. You first, Clovis.”

  “The most obvious thing you’re missing is motive. We’ll never get to the complete story without a motive, one we can prove. To me, that’s where your theory story lacks substance. Sure, someone else could have killed Nadia, but why?”

  Why did he always have to be right? Such a downer–

  Maggie said, “I agree with Clovis, of course, and I can’t get past the same question—How are you going to convince the prosecutor to give up what appears to be an ironclad case against Billy to follow your suspicions?”

  “Well, since we meet with that lady soon, we need to come up with a plan for her and try to fill as many holes as we can. Maybe our team in Tennessee will provide the motive. We’ll have to wait and see. And who knows what else may turn up?”

  Maggie reminded me. “You’ve already said you believe they won’t find anything.”

  “I did, but discovering nothing is also a discovery. Hey, how about a little optimism and enthusiasm around here. We’re out to exonerate Billy, not to talk ourselves out of the game.” Their negativity had finally gotten to me.

  The awkward silence was relieved when Maggie opened the door to the Loeb’s delivery man. She handed us each a still-warm corned beef sandwich with a side of pasta salad, and we soon relaxed, remembering why we were here.

  We were clearing up when Stella burst in with her news.

  “I found out who rented room 703 at the Mayflower. It’s a company called L&A Marketing Advisors. Their mailing address is a P.O. Box in Alexandria, Va. I’m trying to pin down the ownership, officers, etc. The table at the banquet was purchased with a check from Logan Aerospace, and the purchase of the autographed football was paid for with by an American Express owned by Logan Aerospace.”

  Clovis commented. “It was too much of a stretch to think Logan paid for the room as well as the banquet expenses.”

  We were all disappointed until I saw that Stella was grinning.

  “Okay, Stella out with it. What else did you discover?” All heads turned to the smiling Stella.

  “The four corporate executives bought their drinks, meals, and rooms at the Mandarin with an American Express card belonging to Logan Aerospace.”

  “Anything else.”

  “Billy’s agent’s room was not paid for by Logan.” Stella said.

  I said. “Of course not. He probably used Billy’s card.”

  Stella shook her head. “Nope. Logan didn’t pay for his room because he never checked in. He stayed the weekend with Claudia, the Senator’s aide. Her room, room service, and a large bar bill were all paid for by L&A Marketing Advisors.”

  “Wow. Good work Stella. One hole filled, but of course we have another mystery—who is L&A? Is it possible that the L and A stand for Logan Aerospace?”

  “I don’t know yet, but I’m working on it,” answered Stella. “But since Micki isn’t here, I want to remind you that my methods haven’t been exactly kosher. I’m not sure how useful the information will be in a court of law.”

  I nodded in agreement, knowing that if we didn’t avoid a court of law, Billy was going to need a different lawyer.

  “That’s okay, keep digging. How we use it is my problem.”

  She cleared her throat, looking uneasy.

  “I hate to do this, but I need a break. The hacker is roaming through a bunch of meaningless files, and I won’t be ready to launch my counter attack until tomorrow. I need a little rest before we go to Maggie’s tonight.”

  Clovis looked concerned. She’d lasted longer than I could have—she must be exhausted. I nodded to Maggie, who made clucking noises and told her to enjoy a nice, long nap. We agreed to swing by the Mayflower around five P.M. to pick her up. As she left, Maggie turned to Clovis.

  “She’ll be okay. She’s been going non-stop since you got here. You’ll notice a world of
difference in her this evening.”

  Clovis was clearly bothered, but the three of us went back to work. At some point I heard a rap on the glass and looked up to see Martin signaling Clovis. They retreated to an empty office, probably to talk security. My cell phone rang about the same time, and I looked down to see Novak’s number. I shoved my chair back and excused myself.

  “A package will be delivered to your office Tuesday morning. You were right—she did have a bank account, a substantial one. Tell me this: is one of the depositors our murderer?’

  “Again, I don’t know. Please don’t act on an assumption. Let me do my job.”

  “I will, but only because I know you to be a man of your word. I sense you are getting closer.”

  “Alex, I truly believe I am. Can you give me the names of the depositors?”

  “I cannot. I have not seen these records myself. My source has agreed to deliver the records, but will only concede that the amount in the account is substantial and that there has been more than one depositor.”

  “More than one?” I asked.

  “More than one.”

  61

  MAGGIE AND I spent the better part of the afternoon adding to and preparing my list of subpoenas. Clovis had hired a process server to serve them Tuesday afternoon, and I spent some time thinking how to serve the one that would prove tricky. I’d hoped to hear from Micki by now, but Maggie reminded me that we’d agreed to keep communication to a minimum.

  She asked the right question.

  “Why Tuesday? The preliminary hearing won’t be for weeks.”

  “I’m worried that Micki’s trip to Bibb won’t remain a secret for long. When word gets out, I suspect a lot of documents will find their way to the shredder, and a few key witnesses will decide the time is right for an overseas vacation. As soon as I’ve heard from Micki, I’ll call Peggy Fortson. After that we’re gonna have to move fast.”

  “Didn’t Constance Montgomery already warn Micki not to try to go over her head?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes, she did. And I’d bet a dollar to a doughnut hole that Peggy turns me down flat.”

  “You know, Jack Patterson, you can be very frustrating at times. Why would you ask for a meeting you know you’re not going to get?”

  “Because I want my request to be on record when the attorney general calls her into his office and demands answers.”

  “You sound pretty cocksure, Counselor.”

  “I may be wrong. I certainly have been before, but I think I know how this town works. Peggy will get the call from the attorney general. Our job is to be ready with proof, not holes.”

  She raised her brows in doubt, and we went back to work. The holes in our thesis were only too obvious: no clear motive, no proof.

  We finally gave up around five o’clock and joined Clovis in the waiting Suburban. He stepped out at the entrance to the Mayflower, looking around for Stella. “I don’t see her anywhere. Give me a minute to find her—maybe she’s still in the room.”

  Maggie plucked at his sleeve, looking a little sheepish.

  “Clovis, I think she’s standing next to the bellman.”

  I looked up, and finally recognized a very different Stella. Her hair was pulled back, held in place by a large tortoise clip. It was now an attractive dark brown, not a trace of purple. Her make-up was subdued, and her nails shone with stylish slate-gray polish. She wore a deep green dress, a pashmina draping her shoulders. I was oddly happy to see she hadn’t abandoned her heels—they were at least four inches high.

  A speechless Clovis held the door as she coolly seated herself in the back seat with Maggie and me.

  He slipped in behind the wheel, but could only stare at the image in the rear view mirror.

  “I told you she’d be a different person,” Maggie giggled.

  Clovis tried to respond. “What, how, … you look fantastic.”

  I rescued my friend. “Clovis is right. You look stunning, but I have to ask—what’s the occasion.”

  “Y’all forget—before I started an extreme sports gym and my own computer company I worked for IBM—‘Dress for Success’ and all that. Walter Matthews is your close friend, and you’ve been to his home for drinks and dinner many times. But to me he’s the owner of Bridgeport Life and my best client. I’m not the type of girl who gets invited to people’s homes very often. I was pretty intimidated, and Maggie understood how I felt. She found a hairdresser who came to the hotel, and a friend of hers brought by some clothes she thought might work.”

  I’d never dreamed she might be nervous. She was so full of self-confidence on the job, it never occurred to me… Now I felt a bit underdressed.

  Maggie quickly covered the awkward silence. “I’ll change when we get home. It won’t take more than a minute. You’re going to love Walter. He’s going to be a little surprised himself. The last time he saw you was at the Foundation retreat. I think you were into pink that week.”

  We pulled into Maggie’s driveway and she excused herself, dragging me with her. Clovis walked around the car and offered Stella his arm as they walked to the door. He looked like the football captain escorting the homecoming queen to the fifty-yard line.

  Walter was waiting outside on his deck. The weather was ideal, and a table for five was already set. He had a knack for mixing martinis and was busy with the shaker. He poured one and approached Stella who had hung back just a bit.

  “Stella, I’m so glad you and Clovis could come tonight. Some folks say I mix a pretty fair martini—I hope you’ll join me.” She accepted graciously, and he reached back for his own glass.

  “Clovis, you and Jack can fend for yourselves for a few minutes. I want to show Stella around the house. Stella, I still can’t understand why you haven’t come to work for me full-time. How can I make that happen?” He took her arm and they walked back into the house.

  I handed Clovis a martini, and we leaned on the rail of the deck, enjoying both the view of the pool and a moment of silence.

  “Clovis, you’re in for a treat. Walter is truly talented at the art of grilling. He won’t tell me the secret of his marinade, but his steaks are pure perfection.”

  “I’ve already been treated enough for one evening. Can you believe I actually didn’t recognize her? Just when I think I have things figured out, Stella surprises me.”

  I laughed. “Better get used to it.”

  “Better get used to what?” Maggie asked as she brought in a tray of hors d’oeuvres.

  “I was just reminding Clovis that women are full of surprises.”

  “If anybody should have learned that lesson by now, Jack Patterson, it should be you.”

  The rest of the evening was a perfect respite from the days of work that had preceded Walter’s invitation. The suburban dropped me off at Barker’s front entrance, and I avoided the bar area. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow, although I dreamed that Barb knocked at the door bringing “room service.”

  * * *

  MONDAY

  * * *

  May 2, 2016

  62

  THE STEEL OF the barrel felt good to Tina as she carefully assembled the weapon on the rooftop of a DC apartment building across from Barker’s. The rifle was the one thing that never failed her, the one thing she could trust. DC was a sniper’s paradise—no skyscrapers to impede lines of sight. Here on the Hill, few buildings exceeded five stories. She had chosen an almost perfect place to wait, between the edge of building and an old brick smokestack. She expected her target to exit the building within the next half hour. She made the necessary adjustments to her scope and settled in to wait. Not a breath of wind this second day in May—piece of cake.

  Did she have any regrets about her current contract? If she did, she put them out of her mind, replacing them with thoughts of the beach in Rio where she’d be relaxing this time tomorrow. She would take the shot as soon as the target was in the doorway. She tensed as the front door opened, but it was only the doorman, so her muscles rela
xed. The door began to swing open again, and she could see him just inside. He was a step away from death.

  “Better ease off the trigger, young lady. Right now. Put the gun down.” A deep voice spoke as she felt the business end of a gun press against her neck. The target was nowhere to be seen, so she obeyed, dropping the weapon to the rooftop. She heard a boot kick it away.

  “Thank you. Now hands behind your back, very slowly.”

  The cuffs were locked around her wrists, and he spoke again. “Don’t move an inch, don’t even think about it.” She felt his hands slide over her body and couldn’t help a little shiver.

  “Okay, you can sit down now, but be real careful.” She slowly turned and dropped to her knees.

  Her eyes swept the roof quickly—three men, two with guns extended and one speaking to her. She’d not heard a footstep. How could the setup have gone so wrong?

  She heard him speak quietly into his Motorola. “It’s okay, we’ve got the sniper. We’ll stay up here until the police arrive. Yeah, me, too.”

  He gestured at her with his gun. “Get off your knees. Sit down with your legs crossed.” Again she did as she was told. The man remained on his feet, but to her relief holstered his weapon. Maybe she could still get out of this mess.

  “So who ordered the hit?” He could have been asking about the weather.

  She knew if she kept quiet she might live to tell the story. Her contractor would make her bail, and she’d be out of the country in a matter of days. But how had it gone wrong? How had they known where or when? She hadn’t even told her contractor where the target was staying.

  “Who are you? How’d you get the drop on me? How’d you know today was the day?”

  Clovis responded with an easy smile. “The name is Jones. I work for Jack Patterson. We met the other day at Barker’s, remember? When you give me your contractor, I’ll tell you how you got careless.”

  Of course. They hadn’t actually met, but she remembered him now. Her contractor had mentioned a Clovis Jones—she should have listened more carefully. Now she could do nothing about his smug grin.