“That’s some imagination you’ve got, Ms. Tully.”
“Objection.” Garfield barked.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Gentlemen,” Judge Hallowell intoned, “based on the evidence presented today, including the demonstration that Mrs. Tully’s hands are too small to have created such an injury, I am moved to vacate the consent order. In addition, I want both of you to contact Dr. Reece as soon as possible and ascertain how soon he can appear to address the spousal abuse part of the original ex parte order. Set a hearing before me or Judge Kenniston on that date or fifteen days from the original hearing, whichever shall occur first. I am not inclined to order support today when we will be here in a matter of days to decide whether she can return to the marital residence. The issue of shared residence or temporary support payments can be argued at that time, gentlemen, and a ruling made. However, I do order the marital estate frozen, requiring the signature of both parties before any assets can be moved or divested in any fashion. Get back to my clerk with a date. I’ll speak to Judge Kenniston as to which of us will hear this case. Good day.”
Lou Carlson gathered up his papers and escorted Serena Tully from the courtroom. In the hall outside he and Albert Garfield exchanged smiles that were a display of canines and nothing more.
“That’s the first thing I’ve won in this whole battle. Thank you so much. I had given up hope of stopping Tom from just running right over me. I don’t know how I’m going to pay you. I don’t even have a job yet. Once my face is normal, I should be able to get something.” She touched her cheek self-consciously.
“We’ll work something out. I took this on because it was an emergency. Children should not be hostages delivered to terrorists. This is not going to be an easy one to win. There’s a lot about you I found out on cross-examination. That’s not a good way to learn things. Your history works against you. I’ll need to know all about that stuff Garfield referred to. I presume you’ve discussed all this with Dr. Reece?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Do you have any idea how he took it?”
“No. He’s very close-mouthed. I don’t know what he thinks of me.”
“That’s Morgan. You’re the kind of target that Al Garfield loves. He’s a bully. Like I said, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
“What do we do now?”
“The first thing we do is take you to a police station so you can file a report on the assault. I want the police pursuing this. Make it clear you believe your husband was behind it. I want them asking him questions, too, not just a scene-of-crime investigation that ends up with a smudged print, an unidentified hair and a dead end. After that I want you to move. The police will go to your friend’s house. Pack up, and ask an officer to drive you to a new address. Do not go back to the place you rented. We’ll try to get your deposit back. I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Look for a security building. Get it week to week. Call my office, leave a message and a phone number. Do not leave your new address.”
“Do you think the police will put somebody there, you know, to keep an eye out?”
“No. I’ll ask them to send a patrol car by regularly when you’re in your new place. That’s all they’ll do now. This guy found you because your husband knew where you were staying. You told me that on the ride to the courthouse. You said your husband also knew that you were planning to move. That’s probably why he made his move that day. It was the last day that he knew where you were going to be. I think the stuff about knowing where you’d moved to was bullshit. Just something else to scare you with. After the police station, I’m going to get started preparing this case.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Get all the papers Gilbert Stuart has for starters. Read them over. He should have sent out interrogatories and requests for documents. If not, that’s the first thing I have to do. I want to know a lot more about your husband. Al Garfield has a lot of mud to sling. Right now his client has no reason to tell him not to. I want to see if we can give him a reason. See how he likes it coming back at him. Unless you married a saint, there’s something he won’t want being part of a public record. It’s just a matter of finding it. That’ll get you a flat playing field and bring them to the negotiating table. That’s what I want.
“After I’ve read the papers I’ll call you and we’ll have a meeting. Go over all of it and plan strategy. In the meantime keep working with Dr. Reece. The sooner he’s done, the sooner we can get back into court.”
“How much importance is the judge going to give Dr. Reece’s report?”
“In all likelihood, Dr. Reece’s report will be the biggest factor in the judge’s decision. That’s one of the reasons Al Garfield doesn’t like to see him in a case. It takes it out of the lawyers’ hands. Al can’t beat up on Morgan Reece. Morgan knows all the tricks. He won’t give him an opening to question his work.”
“Have you ever disagreed with his conclusions?”
“I’ve had clients who disagreed and we got second opinions of his work. No one ever faults his procedures. He’s scrupulously fair, comprehensive to the point of obsessive and he knows his research. They may disagree with his conclusions but they are always credible and defensible. This is not like math or chemistry. It is all human judgment and human error. Morgan’s work is important because it defines the reasonable starting point for negotiation and it’s not easily ignored by a judge.”
Serena Tully reviewed her interview with Morgan Reece. She tried to remember anything she wished she hadn’t said, any answer she wanted back. Nothing came to her. She would have to be very careful around him in the future.
Two hours later, Lou Carlson left Serena Tully at the McLean District Police station. She was going back with an investigator and forensics team. Lou had scheduled a meeting at 2941 in Falls Church with private investigator Donovan Blake.
Lou Carlson saw Don Blake at a table in the far corner. Blake waved him over. As he approached a woman came from another direction, looked at him once and sat down next to Blake.
Blake rose as Carlson reached the table and reached out to shake hands. Blake was built like a drum of lead. Five-foot-eight, he weighed two hundred and thirty pounds. His four major food groups were beer, beef, potatoes, and dessert. Exceptional genes and two-hour-a-day workouts were all that kept him out of the ground. A neck wider than his ears rose up to brace a square head topped by thick grey hair swept straight back. Unlike most short men, he cultivated the company of taller women. His current companion was no exception.
“Lou Carlson,” he said, pointing with his left hand, “meet Crystal Cassidy. She’s an operative in our Old Town Office.” Carlson pulled out a chair and sat down. “Crys, this is Lou Carlson. He used to be the best divorce lawyer in Virginia. Now he’s a professor. Isn’t that right, Lou?”
“Almost, Don. Sins from a past life have caught up with me. I’ve taken a case on an emergency basis. Albert Garfield’s on the other side.”
“I sure hope the facts aren’t also.”
“Too soon to tell. Which tells you how much catch-up I have to play. Which is why I’m here.” Carlson waited a minute, hoping Blake would offer to have Crystal leave them alone. When he didn’t he said, “I don’t mean to be rude, Ms. Cassidy, but what I have to say to Don is for his ears only. Could you give us just a moment alone, please?”
She turned and looked at Blake, who placed a broad, thick-fingered hand on her forearm.
“Anything you want to say to me, you can say to her. We don’t have any secrets. I’m grooming her to take over the business.”
“Don, I’m the only one who knows what I’m going to say. Let me get it out between us, then you decide. She can come right back.”
“It’s okay, Don, really. I’ll go powder my nose. I’ve always wanted to say that anyway. When I’m done, I’ll come back. If that’s too soon, I’ll sulk and try to pick up the maitre d’.” She patted Don’s hand, stood up, and excused herself.
Blake’s eye
s traveled up her long, slim body, then the slender throat to her smiling face. She was as fair as he was dark, with jet-black hair, tied in a French braid. Both Blake and Carlson watched her sashay across the room, each step causing her skirt to twirl around her legs.
“What do you think, Lou? Not bad, eh?”
“Don, she looks just like Margo. I sure hope you aren’t making the same mistake twice.”
“I’m not, Lou. She may look like Margo on the outside. But inside there’s a big difference.”
“And that is?”
“She’s got a heart. She doesn’t need to rip mine out.”
“I hope so, Don. Remember what you said when you came to me that night?”
Blake leaned forward, put both hands on the table, lowered his bull neck and said, “I remember, Lou. I meant it, too. Is this it? Payback time?”
“I think so, Don.”
“Don’t think so, Lou. I gave you my word. You ever needed anything from me, I was at your disposal. No charge. No questions. All I want to know is that this is it. Whatever I owed you is cancelled with this. We’re square. If not, then it’s business as usual.”
This case was going to cost plenty to prepare adequately. Carlson had no idea what Serena Tully could afford. Do it right or don’t do it at all, that’s what he always said. If she couldn’t pay, Blake would look to him to pay the bill. That’s all Lori would need. Her workaholic husband falls off the wagon and winds up five thousand in debt. His salary was only a fifth of what he used to make.
Those reasons didn’t cut it. It wasn’t fair to blame Lori for this. Clutching his chest in D.C. Superior Court, unable to breathe or cry out for help, he traded every victory he’d ever had for one more minute with her and the kids. They needed him. He needed them. Two years later it was easy to forget that it was his decision as much as her wish. Don Blake would make his job so much easier, would get him home at six, not eleven or one in the morning.
“This is it, Don. I won’t come back to you again. Not even for my own kids.”
“Done. I’m yours. Whatever you need. I’m at your disposal, without charge.”
“I need round-the-clock surveillance on a man, Tom Tully. He’s special teams coach for the Squires. I’ve got to get something on him to force him to negotiate. He thinks he’s holding all the cards. I need a joker, bad. Put your best person on it.”
“I’m my best person. This one is personal. Me for you. I’ll do all the work. What else?”
“An asset search. That’s all I know for now. You know how these things change.”
“No problem. Get the records over to us and we’ll get right on it.”
Blake looked up and saw Crystal across the room. She pointed at herself, then at the maitre d’. Blake rolled his eyes and waved her over. Lou Carlson read the menu.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Don Blake spent the next day reading the background on the Tully case. Lou Carlson sent him the file that Gilbert Stuart had, including the interrogatories, requests for documents and replies. The financial papers were being analyzed by Sid Bowman, a CPA with Trenchcoat Fever, who’d become a private investigator specializing in white-collar crime, corporate fraud, and embezzlement. Blake had finished reading the file by the time he picked up Tom Tully leaving training camp. From six until nine Tully chased skirts at the Fifth Down, a nearby bar. The only common feature Blake could discern was that they all had a pulse. The bartender shook his head every once in a while when Tully made a particularly crude pass. He approached women with all the subtlety of punt coverage.
Blake followed Tully home and called for Crys Cassidy to relieve him. When she arrived he returned to the bar, where he nursed a few beers until closing. The place was just about empty when he motioned to the bartender with his empty glass. He came down and prepared to draw him one for the road.
“No, that’s okay. I’ve had plenty. I want to ask you a question.”
The bartender took a step back and sized up the gray-haired man. Not a football player he knew although he was built for it. Too old though, maybe a coach or a scout for another team.
“Yeah, what about?” He kept wiping a glass.
“The guy here earlier, the one chasing all the women.…”
“Coach Tully.”
“That’s right. Tom Tully. I’ve got some questions need answering and I’m willing to pay for information.”
“How much?” He stepped closer.
“Depends on the quality of the information.”
“What do you want to know?”
“He pursues sideline to sideline. Does he ever catch anything?”
“And if he does?” He smiled at Blake, like a cat with a tiny tail dangling between its teeth.
“Fifty dollars for the name.”
“A hundred.”
“A hundred. That’s what I meant to say.”
“You want a complete list? You better check how deep your pockets are.”
“Tell me more.”
“Fifty for the game plan, a hundred a name for the players.”
Blake opened his wallet. If he spread some money around now, maybe he’d keep the overall cost of this excursion into honor to a minimum. A fifty slid across the bar and into the barkeeper’s own deep pockets.
“Tom Tully’s an old story. When he played, he was one of the founders of the Fifth Down Club. They’d drink, get rowdy, pick up the groupies, party until we close, then take the party on the road. Same thing every weekend, from the time they got home from training camp until the season ended.”
“How many guys are we talking about?”
“Right now? Six, maybe eight. There’s McNeil and Broadus, the tackles, a matched pair of idiots. Weems, the linebacker. Fenster, Loomis, the fullback, and Petrillo, the defensive end. Yep, that’s it. The Fifth Down Club. Tully was always welcome as a charter member even if he was a coach.
“These guys would come in during the week, too, by themselves. They didn’t ‘huddle-up,’ as they’d call it, until the weekends.”
“Tully come in during the week?”
“Sometimes. He’d say he’d been working on things over at the park and come over here late.”
“Alone?”
“When he came in? Yes. When he left, sometimes.”
“Are we getting ready to name names here?”
“Almost. Tully was different from the others. Plenty of girls here were star-fucking. But Tully wasn’t a name to brag about. He had to sweeten the pot. Word was he was a very generous man. He’d chase, some girl would run until he knocked her down with his wallet. Then they’d stay down until they got bored, or the money dried up.”
“How many young ladies fit that description?”
The barkeep laughed, “In this place, every one of them. It’s worse here than any other bar I’ve ever worked. In here, the guys really are studs, and the girls are stud-hunters. The competition is brutal. Younger, faster, hotter, that’s the motto. People change partners so fast your sweat doesn’t dry before someone else is dripping into your tracks. The players here know the score.”
Blake pulled his wallet out again, took a hundred out and set it on the bar.
“I’m interested in women who had a substantial history with Tully. Not missed tackles, not one-night stands. If there’s a current one, that’s the name I want most. If not, I’ll take the most recent ones you can recall.”
Blake slid the hundred over. The bartender released the names as his fingers walked across the bill.
“Nobody this season. Last year it was Tiffany Ames. Before her it was Brenda Sturgis, but she moved back to West Virginia, if you can believe that. Before that’s before my time. Sorry.”
“This Ames woman. She still around?”
“Oh, yeah. Tiff’s a regular. She’ll be here tomorrow night.”
“What’s she like?”
Paul shook his head. A hundred-dollar bill cured his palsy.
“Dolly Parton look-alike. She doesn’t have a chest, it’s a mo
untain range. Petite, everywhere else. Frosted blonde hair. All little ringlets and curls. A helium voice. I guess she can’t get a full breath with those things out front. You can’t miss her. She’s on the all-spandex team.”
“Thanks. You’ve been a lot of help.” Blake slid off his stool and headed for the door.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Dr. Reece? Lou Carlson and Albert Garfield here. We’d like to have a conference call with you. Can we do it now?”
Morgan Reece looked at his schedule. “How long?”
“I don’t know. Shouldn’t be very long. We want to schedule a hearing and need some information about your availability.”
“Okay. Let’s do it now.”
“Good. I am now the attorney for Serena Tully. I’ve put a motion before Judge Hallowell to have a review of the ex parte order excluding Ms. Tully from the marital residence. That order was granted on an allegation that Ms. Tully was a danger to herself and the children. If she’s not, then there’s no reason to bar her from the residence. Have you gotten far enough in your evaluation to testify about that question?”
Reece thought about what he had left to do and whether he had formed an opinion on that issue. “Yes, I think so.”
“When could you be in court? Either Judge Hallowell or Judge Kenniston will hear this.”
“Not today, obviously. Tomorrow I’m in deposition with Joe Anthony and Travis Pruitt. The day after is okay.”
“Fine. We’ll try to confirm that with one of the judges and leave a message if it’s on.”
“Doctor Reece, Albert Garfield here. Please bring your entire case file to the hearing.”
“Send me a subpoena, please. I’d like that in hand before court.”
“I don’t know if I can get service on such short notice. I’d rather not have my client pay for a private process server if it isn’t necessary. How about if I serve you at the court house?”
“That’s fine.”
“Dr. Reece, one more thing.” It was Lou Carlson, “I’m sending you a transcript of yesterday’s hearing. There’s information I think you should have before you testify. Mrs. Tully was assaulted by a man who threatened to kill her if she didn’t settle with her husband …”
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