The Eighteenth Green

by Webb Hubbell

  “They’ll find something wrong with your clearance or make the confidentiality agreement so onerous you can’t sign it. Don’t get your hopes up,” Micki warned, ever the skeptic. We both knew prosecutors love to take you down a crooked path leading to a dead end.

  I ignored Micki’s pessimism.

  “We need to interview Rochelle’s teachers and friends. Ben and Linda, you are our best resource in identifying the right folks to interview and help make introductions. I have to get back to DC tomorrow, so Micki and Paul will take the lead with the interviews. The more we can get done on this end, the better prepared we’ll be.

  “The Northern District of Virginia is notorious for moving their criminal cases at lightning speed, catching many a defense lawyer with their pants down, so to speak. The government takes full advantage of what is called the court’s ‘rocket docket.’ We want to stay ahead of the game.”

  Ben straightened his shoulders and nodded.

  I asked a few more questions about Rachel’s friends, both in Little Rock and DC, but neither parent had any real knowledge. We danced around the subject of Rachel’s brothers. The mere mention of them brought a new tension to the room, and I sensed we couldn’t count on their cooperation. The stress of the family situation was clearly taking its toll on her parents, so I suggested we call it a day.

  Maggie and I walked them to the front door and returned to Micki’s office to find her reaching into a bottom drawer for a bottle of Johnnie Walker and three glasses. She poured us all a healthy shot and raised her glass in a toast.

  “Here’s to another lost cause. What’s this make—four major cases we’ve worked on together? One of these days you’ll learn that a criminal lawyer always talks about getting paid on the front end, not after it’s all over.”

  This was the second time she had pointed out my lack of concern about a fee; I tried to allay her concerns.

  “We don’t know whether the government has seized Rachel’s assets or not. My bet is they have; it’s their standard operating procedure. But she may have money in her pension plan or life insurance on her husband that’s still available. I don’t think it’s fair to have a money conversation with Ben and Linda until we know Rachel’s circumstances.”

  “I’m just giving you a hard time, and you know it,” Micki said. “I’m in whether we get paid or not, and I know you are. But it pisses me off that the government gets to take all her money before she’s even officially charged, just to keep her from hiring a decent lawyer. It’s not as if the system isn’t weighted against the defendant already. The constitutional right to counsel is a joke unless you’re richer than shit. Fuck the bastards!”

  “Micki!” Maggie exclaimed, surprised by her vehemence, if not the words.

  “Sorry, Maggie. It gets to me now and then. I can’t tell you how many people walk through my doors, hat in hand, looking for help. I have to turn them away and send them to an overworked and underfunded public defender’s office.” Micki took a healthy swallow of scotch.

  I tried to lighten her mood. “Speaking of richer than shit, you should have seen Clovis’s face when I mentioned Kristine. I’m surprised he hasn’t already called you.”

  “Oh, he did, the moment you left the house. Clovis was my investigator when I represented her third husband. He’s the one who discovered she was having an affair with their marriage counselor in Miami. Don’t worry. Maggie and I have a plan.”

  “It’s better you don’t know,” Maggie interrupted before I could ask.

  “Okay, have it your way, but I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  29

  THE FLIGHT TO ST. LOUIS WAS PERFECT: smooth and uneventful. Despite my repeated attempts, Maggie refused to elaborate on the plans for Kristine. I let it go. We had touched down and were taxiing to the private hanger that Walter’s pilots used when I received a text from my client, Red Shaw, owner of the NFL franchise the Los Angeles Lobos. I had a retainer agreement with the Lobos to give antitrust advice, and Red sought my counsel in other aspects of his corporate empire.

  Red and I had an unusual friendship and attorney-client relationship. He was engaged to Senator Lucy Robinson, the widow of the former Senator from Arkansas who was shot by my client, Woody Cole. Lucy wasn’t a fan of mine, and not just because I represented her husband’s assassin. Our tenuous relationship began in college when she was a friend of my then-future wife, Angie. To complicate things further, I first met Carol Madison at Red and Lucy’s engagement party. Did I say our relationship was unusual?

  Red’s text read:

  Looks like you’re in deep shit again. Rachel Goodman? And I ran into Carol at the Nats’ game with former Congressman Eric Hartman. He’s an asshole! Call me when you get back. We need to do damage control.

  How did Red know I’d agreed to represent Rachel? Carol’s “date” was equally disturbing. Yes, Carol was in the business of gathering information, and Eric Hartman was one of the most powerful lobbyists in DC, but only two days ago she had planned to meet me at that ball game.

  All thoughts about Red and Carol disappeared when we walked down the plane’s steps to find my daughter Beth waiting on the tarmac. She was the spitting image of her mother, with short, black hair, dark brown eyes, and honey colored skin. She wasn’t as tall as Angie, but she had the same quick wit and temperament. We embraced for a long moment before she turned to hug Maggie.

  “Jeff will meet us at the restaurant, but he may be a few minutes late. His shift just ended, and he wants to clean up before dinner. Let’s drop your bags off at the hotel first.”

  We had barely settled into her car before she began to pepper us with questions.

  “How’s Clovis? Are Micki and Larry engaged? Did you have time to see Helen? What color is Stella’s hair this week?”

  Beth knew all the Little Rock characters; she and Jeff had been involved in two of my more interesting cases. I let Maggie answer her rapid-fire questions. I was content to listen from the back seat. Beth seemed a little older, a little more mature, as well she should. Still, I couldn’t help but miss the little girl who was long gone.

  I interrupted, “Where are we having dinner?”

  “I Fratellini in Clayton, Jeff’s favorite. We were lucky to get a table. I promise you’ll love it.”

  Both the décor and the aroma at the restaurant brought back memories of Italy, and the menu certainly didn’t disappoint. Maggie and Beth opted for grilled trout, Jeff ordered the filet of beef with porcini mushrooms, and I went with one of my favorites, linguine with clams. Beth knew how to make her father happy.

  Beth and Jeff talked non-stop about their lives, their schools, and their plans for the future. The only response expected from either Maggie or me was the occasional nod of approval. As I expected, their goal was to settle in Charleston, but were also giving thought to spending a year or two in Charlotte before making a final decision. I shouldn’t have been surprised—they were both Davidson grads and knew Charlotte well.

  I tried to remain neutral, knowing any real enthusiasm on my part about Charlotte would ring the death knell for that idea. I parried a few questions about Rachel, thankful when Maggie changed the subject to her recent trip to Scandinavia with Walter.

  Beth said “Dad, you said you wanted to talk. We can order after-dinner drinks here, although I’m sure the restaurant would love to turn the table, or we can go back to your hotel. The bar at the Cheshire Inn is nice. Let’s get a Lyft—I can pick up my car tomorrow.”

  We agreed and were soon back at the hotel and settled into the comfortable pub.

  “Okay, Dad, out with it. Is it about Carol? Are you two getting married?” Beth demanded.

  I choked, almost spilling my glass of port. “That’s a question a father’s supposed to ask his daughter, not the other way around.”

  Beth smiled. “Don’t worry, Dad—Jeff and I won’t keep you in suspense much longer.” She looked at Jeff and squeezed his hand. “Come on, Dad, this is about you. What’s up?”
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  “No, it is not about Carol and frankly, Beth, I’d rather not talk about her. As you know, we’ve become close and I like her a lot, but there are issues we need to overcome before we could ever get serious.” I couldn’t believe the stiff, formal voice I heard was my own.

  Beth looked at Maggie, who raised her eyebrows. Her eyebrows could be very expressive.

  “Okay, Dad, I’m sorry. What is it then?”

  I paused, taking a healthy sip. “I had lunch with Helen the other day in Little Rock. Without going into all the details, she ended by giving me a lecture about seeking positive change, change that’s good for me. Her advice got me thinking. Remember how I let people think I was selling our house during Billy’s case? I came close to actually selling, but couldn’t go through with it. I told myself I didn’t want a case strategy to dictate such a decision, that I wasn’t ready to let go of the memories yet.”

  “Dad, the memories never go away.”

  “You’re right, but somehow I couldn’t do it. I’ve given it a lot of thought the last few days, and I’ve decided that selling the house might be the nudge I need to step out of the past. But I want to talk to you first. Your memories are in that house, too.”

  Beth glanced toward Maggie. “Dad, the memories have never been in the house, but in our hearts. The house is great, but it’s way too big for one person. Maggie and I have been telling you that for some time; you weren’t ready to listen. New digs will be good for you—just be sure whatever you buy has at least two bedrooms. Jeff and I can’t afford DC hotels.”

  Well, that wasn’t so hard, I thought.

  “I wasn’t asking your permission, you know. I was putting you on notice that all your clothes and stuff in the basement will have to go, including that trunk you took to camp every summer. You haven’t been to camp in seven years, and you still won’t let me throw it away.” Her camp trunk had been a bone of contention for a long time.

  She laughed. “My trunk won’t be a problem—you can just put it in the extra bedroom in the new place,” she laughed.

  I shook my head. Beth will bury me in that trunk.

  “You’re okay with my decision?” I asked.

  “Dad, I’m ready to agree to most anything you want to do, as long as it’s not marrying Carol!”

  “I thought you liked Carol.” The vehemence and obvious relief of her reaction caught me off-guard.

  Maggie’s eyebrows shot up again, and Beth responded carefully. “She’s very nice, Dad. But let’s get you moved first.”

  The two of then talked about neighborhoods and the relative merits of condominium life or town homes, ignoring me. So while the women in my life were deciding my future, Jeff and I discussed the possibility that the Razorbacks could upset Alabama. Jeff gave the Razorbacks a slim chance, a little higher than any chance I had in deciding where I would live. The eternal optimist, I predicted that this would be the year.

  We stayed up too late enjoying each other’s company. The bar was dark, but as we got up to leave, I thought I saw a familiar man sitting in the corner. Then again, it could have been my imagination.

  WEDNESDAY

  30

  MAGGIE AND I WORKED on our schedules during the flight home to DC.

  “I’m not sure I need protection,” I groused while still in the air. “But Martin should know that things are likely to get a little crazy once the press discovers we’re defending Rachel.”

  Maggie shook her head. “A man with a disfigured face follows us all the way to St. Louis, and you don’t think we need protection? How in the world did he know where we were, and how did he get to St. Louis so quickly?”

  “He was in the bar, wasn’t he? I thought it was my imagination. Remind me to call Clovis when we land.”

  Thinking to change the subject, I asked, “You want to tell me about these ‘changes’ you have in mind? Don’t you think I should have some say in any changes?”

  “Okay. Why don’t we go straight to the office, order in sandwiches, and talk about the changes I have in mind? Rose is taking a few days off to help her sister move into assisted living, so it will be just us and the temp manning the phones.”

  “Perfect. While you’re thinking about changes, what do you think about bringing in a young associate or a paralegal? We have plenty of business to justify the hire.”

  No response. Okay, we’d wait for the office.

  The Falcon glided into the airport without a hitch, and Martin loaded our bags into his big Tahoe. We briefed him on what we had been up to, what had happened to Clovis, and the recurring presence of the man with the pockmarked face.

  Martin was a man of few words. “I’ll call Paul as soon as I drop you off. One of my men will stay with you at the office. We’ll have a short-term plan in place by tonight. We should meet soon to discuss long-term staffing. I’ll try not to bug Clovis, but if I know him, he’ll be calling me.”

  “Speaking of that, I need to call him and tell him about St. Louis,” I said as I pulled my phone out.

  “How is Beth?’ Clovis asked without preliminaries.

  “She and Jeff are great. We had a wonderful time, but we had company. The same man who was at the bar in Little Rock showed up at the hotel bar after we got back from dinner last night.”

  “Are you alone now?” he asked.

  “Maggie and I are with Martin, on our way into DC.” I knew why he was asking. Maggie didn’t know about the protection arrangement I had arranged for Beth.

  “I’ll be brief. I know you had company. My contact called me last night. His people spotted the man and tailed him to your hotel, but you were in no danger. He offered to have the man questioned, but I declined. Whoever he is, the guy took a hell of a chance following you to St. Louis. Tell Martin to call me after he drops you off. You and I can talk later.”

  “Sure thing, but I have an idea. Micki plans to meet with Rabbi Strauss. Maybe he can help with identification.”

  “Do you want the Israelis to know you’re being followed?” he asked.

  “He might be one of theirs, and if not, I bet they already know,” I shot back.

  “I don’t like this. You be careful and listen to Martin. Thanks for the chair, by the way. It has really made a difference.”

  I smiled. My having once had broken ribs had proven to be of some use.

  *****

  The office door was open, and I found a young man who I presumed to be the temp, sitting at Rose’s desk. He rose and introduced himself as Brian Hattoy. He appeared to be in his early thirties, lean, and well dressed in a sport coat and tie.

  I was about to respond when Maggie interrupted, asking him to pick up the sandwiches she had ordered from Bub and Pop’s.

  “I’ve asked Brian to fill in for Rose,” she explained after he closed the door.

  “Well, please tell him he doesn’t need to wear a coat and tie. Where did you find him?” I asked.

  “We might as well get this out of the way,” she sighed. “Brian comes courtesy of Red Shaw, who asked if we could use some help. He’s Red’s nephew. He served one term of duty in Iraq, and a second term with the JAG Corps as a paralegal. As a favor to his sister, Red offered to help his nephew find a job.” She looked nervous, a rare occurrence.

  I pretended to be annoyed. “Tell Red absolutely not, his nephew is his problem not ours. If he needs a job, let him work for the Lobos. When were you going to tell me about this?”

  “He was awarded both the Purple Heart and the Silver Star, and he has wonderful references from the JAG Corps, just the sort of help we need. Moreover, Red offered to increase his retainer to cover part of his salary. Why would you object when less than an hour ago you suggested adding someone?”

  “What’s the catch? Why is he having such a hard time finding work?” I already knew, but it was fun to mess with her a little—I seldom got the opportunity.

  “Despite having fought the enemy and served with distinction, Brian was encouraged to seek a career outside the military. He w
as told that he didn’t fit in.” Maggie blushed, and I relented.

  “You mean he’s gay,” I stated as Brian walked in carrying a sack of sandwiches.

  There was an awkward silence, which only I could fill.

  “Brian, I’m not sorry you walked in and heard me. Maggie was telling me what damn fools the military were to let you go, and I was trying to understand. I thought those days were long gone. I still don’t understand, but the military’s loss is our gain. If you’re willing to work your butt off and put up with my tendency to stick my foot in my mouth, you’re hired—and not as a temp either. You keep Maggie happy, and I’ll be happy.”

  I extended my hand, and he took it. “Thank you, Mr. Patterson.” He looked a little dazed, but his grip put mine to shame.

  “Let’s eat in my office.”

  After we had settled in I asked, “So, you’re from Texas? Longhorn fan or do you root for the Aggies?”

  “Yes, sir, not far from Longview. And, actually, neither; I’m not much into American football. I enjoy watching soccer, but my game is tennis.”

  “That’s heresy in Texas. Good thing you moved east. Let’s get a couple of things straight. First, we trade off getting coffee or anything else we want—not much hierarchy here. Next, unless we’re going to court or meeting a new client, there’s no need to wear a coat and tie. We’re business casual every day. We’re about to take on the defense of Rachel Goodman—I expect you’ve read about her. With your background, I’ll understand if you don’t want to be involved. We have plenty of other work.”

  Both Brian and Maggie were still in shock. I didn’t want either of them to know that Gina Halep, the Executive VP for the Lobos, had already given me a heads-up about Brian. She had met him through Red and thought the world of him.

  “Sure he’s gay, but so what?” she’d said. “Why on earth would anyone care? He’s smart, witty, and his military record is exemplary. I’d hire him in a minute, but he wants to live on the East Coast. Red’s old military, but it bugs the heck out of him that the military drummed a war hero out of the service.”