The Eighteenth Green

by Webb Hubbell

  I enjoyed working with Gina. She was truthful and direct with everyone she dealt with—she called a spade a spade. Red had told me that one day she’d be the president of his NFL club, and I didn’t doubt him.

  She cared about both the players and the coaches. She did her best to be sure players weren’t getting ripped off by agents, family, or their so-called friends. She implemented a creative program that enabled the players to complete their college degrees during the off-season and made use of the talent that worked with movie stars in L.A. to offer players and coaches media and public relations advice. More than a few players and assistant coaches had landed endorsement deals and opportunities for speaking engagements during the off-season thanks to her program. Word was getting out that the Lobos organization was a player’s team.

  Gina maintained a tough, professional image in public, but outside the office she was a lot of fun. She loved good food and a nice bottle of wine. Whenever I was in L.A., she and her husband took me to their favorite new restaurant. I trusted her judgment, so her ringing endorsement of Brian sealed the deal even before I met him.

  “All right, Brian, if you don’t mind manning the phones for the next few hours, Maggie and I have a couple of things to discuss, including your salary. Please call me Jack.”

  He left the room, and Maggie gave me a sheepish grin.

  “Okay, Ms. Matthews, what other surprises do you have for me today?”

  31

  “I AM GLAD YOU THINK Brian is a good idea,” she said avoiding my question.

  “I hope Brian will be just what the doctor ordered. We’ve both been working too much, and I worry every day you’ll decide that your life as Mrs. Walter Matthews should take priority.”

  I kept my tone light, but this was a constant and real fear. Maggie and I had worked together hand and glove for many years. I worried I might lose her when she married Walter, but it didn’t turn out that way.

  Maggie responded, “Well, my marriage does take priority, but it hasn’t conflicted up until now.”

  “What do you mean until now?” An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

  “Well, if you’d attended the Foundation Board meeting last month instead of spending the weekend with Carol, or if you’d bothered to read the minutes, you’d know that Susan Sandler at Evers found the perfect location in eastern Maryland for Walter’s new corporate headquarters, an office and conference center for the foundation, a retreat center, and my dream home.

  “We plan to create paths for walking, biking, and horseback riding, and facilities for recreation on the river. If the federal government removes its restrictions on marijuana medical research, we can move Dr. Stewart’s research lab and farm onto the property. We still have plenty of land for the home and stables that Walter and I have always wanted.”

  “That’s great.” I knew how much Maggie and Walter loved to ride. Maggie still limped from a jumping accident incurred when she was a young girl in England. “But what does it have to do with our work together?” My voice sounded hollow, couldn’t help it.

  “The existing home on the property is quite large and with a few modifications can serve as a welcome center and staff headquarters. In the meantime, Walter and I have decided to live there so I can oversee the construction of our new home and the stables. Susan is putting our home in Virginia on the market next month.”

  The bottom had just dropped out of my life, and she wasn’t even finished.

  “I’ll still come in to the office, but, Jack, the practice of law is changing. We can handle at least seventy-five percent of our work on the computer and through the Internet. These days we can work from most anywhere. Besides, our plans for Maryland include a satellite office for the law firm. I’m trying to keep us ahead of the game.”

  “Fine, I can’t argue with that. But I’ve finally decided to ask Susan to sell my house. Now she’ll be too busy to handle mine.” I heard the whine—change didn’t come easy for me.

  “Don’t you even go there, Jack Patterson. Susan can juggle more than one ball at a time. Women multitask, have you not noticed? Shoot, she’ll be tickled pink. Beth and I already have some idea about where you should move.”

  “I should take a vacation to the south of France. You and Beth can handle the sale of the old place, close on a new place, and have the dishes unpacked by the time I return.”

  Maggie refused to rise to the bait. “You’re a might touchy today, don’t you think? You’ve been talking about selling the house for years. Have you forgotten last night’s conversation?

  “Let’s get back to business—what do you want to pay Brian and how much do you want to add to Red’s retainer?”

  “You mean I have a say?” Maggie’s face showed her opinion of my sarcasm. “What’s the going rate for paralegals these days?”

  She told me, and I whistled. Beth should switch to paralegal school.

  “Okay,” I said, gulping. “Pay him that and tell him he’ll get a raise in six months if he proves his worth. As for Red, don’t increase the retainer, but tell Gina we’ll bill Brian’s time outside the retainer when he works on Lobos’ business. She’ll be okay, and I don’t want Red to think he can dictate how we do business. If Brian proves worth his salt, we’ll all get a bargain. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re being generous, but I don’t disagree. Our old law firm made obscene money billing me out hourly. It’s none of my business, but I wonder why he hasn’t applied to law school.”

  “I’m sure you’ll know in a matter of days,” I teased.

  I’d had enough change and rethinking for one day, so I suggested we call it quits, go home, and unpack.

  32

  BIG MIKE, a new addition to Martin’s team, drove me home and then back to the office in the afternoon. I invited him inside the office to get familiar with where and how Maggie and I worked. I gave him a brief explanation of our security, phone, and computer systems, then asked Brian to join us in my office. I got right to the point.

  “You’re both former military. Any reservations about our potential engagement on behalf of Rachel Goodman?”

  Brian spoke up quickly. “No, sir, none. Everyone’s entitled to a defense. When I was in the JAG, we defended deserters, guys accused of terrible atrocities, and guys who just lost it. That’s not to say I’m a fan. If she spied for Israel or any another country and put American soldiers at risk, I’d have no qualms seeing her hang. But until she’s found guilty, she’s innocent in my book.”

  Big Mike nodded his head in agreement.

  I didn’t respond immediately. I was dead set against the death penalty in any circumstance, but I understood how Brian and Mike felt given their background.

  After a moment, though, I said, “Mike, how long have you been with Martin?”

  “Only three months, Mr. Patterson. Before that I served in Iraq, like Sergeant Hattoy.”

  Brian looked startled. “You know who I am?”

  “You bet I do. It’s an honor to be working with you, Master Sergeant. I mean that. You are and always will be a hero in my book.”

  Brian stared at his shoes, and neither man said another word about their service—a common trait of many vets who served in combat. Mike cleared his throat, said he had another appointment, but would be back at six o’clock unless I needed him earlier.

  I asked Brian to update Maggie’s research on Rachel while I concentrated on other clients’ needs—it might be a while before I could give them attention. I was knee-deep in a Lobos issue when Mike texted that he was on his way back.

  Stretching my stiff back, I called out, “Hey, Brian, I’m famished. How about joining me for crab cakes? Black Salt isn’t Cantler’s, but it’s on the way home.”

  “I’m new in town. Never heard of Cantler’s or Black Salt—I’m at your mercy.” He shut down his computer, and we walked out into the late afternoon sunshine. September had turned into October, and I could feel just a whisper of chill in the air. Traffic was li
ght, so it only took Big Mike ten minutes to pull up to the restaurant on MacArthur Boulevard just outside of Georgetown.

  I ordered a dozen Wellfleet oysters. For a Texan, Brian was surprisingly comfortable with an oyster fork. I brought him up to date on what little we knew about the charges against Rachel and my scheduled meeting with Joan Laing.

  “I’ve met Ms. Laing. Our JAG office had frequent interaction with the Northern District. She’s a no-nonsense prosecutor who takes the lead on any sensitive cases out of the Pentagon. So far, the U.S. Attorney, Donald Cotton, has been smart enough to leave her alone. Cotton’s ambitious—he’s preparing a run for Virginia’s Attorney General. You won’t see him unless the press is near.”

  “That’s very helpful.” I smiled. “Does Ms. Laing have any glaring weaknesses?”

  “None that I know. She seems to have good relationships with the judges in the Northern District and, generally speaking, the respect of the defense lawyers she faces. If she makes a deal, she keeps her part of the bargain. At least, that’s her reputation.”

  We finished our oysters in silence, and I thought about Joan Laing. I knew I couldn’t call Peggy Fortson, but my friend Phil had practiced both criminal and civil rights law for many years in Northern Virginia. I felt sure he could add to Brian’s assessment.

  “So, Brian, I’d like you to come with me to meet with Joan tomorrow. You ready to get your feet wet?” I asked.

  “Really?” he asked. “I thought I’d be answering the phones while you and Mrs. Matthews met with Ms. Laing.”

  “Maggie’s always with me in court, but to meet a prosecutor, no. Ms. Laing referred to my first interview with Rachel as a ‘representation meeting.’ That’s a new one on me—any ideas?”

  “Yes, sir. Defense lawyers complain about the process, but it’s standard in national security cases. The government wants to be sure the attorney is on the up and up, not the tool of another country or a terrorist group. An FBI field agent will be present during your first meeting with Ms. Goodman. You must go through a background check before they’ll let you meet with her alone.”

  “But I already have a top-level security clearance,” I protested.

  “Doesn’t matter—it’s the price of playing ball. The FBI has to bring a clearance up to date no matter how current. I hope they’ve already started the process.”

  “Oh, shit, what if the FBI knocked on Carol’s door?” I thought to myself.

  “What would they be looking for?” I asked. “I mean, most of the time I’m just a mild-mannered corporate attorney.”

  “Affiliations with the country or organization with which Rachel was working.”

  “Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. Anything else I should know?”

  “Rachel won’t be in an ordinary jail—the FBI will drive you to a secret location, probably out in the Virginia countryside. You can’t bring a phone or any recording device. Be prepared for a thorough search.”

  Oh, joy. I knew what that meant.

  “What have I gotten myself into?” I lamented.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve been through this routine before, and you did ask.”

  He looked a little anxious, and I smiled my encouragement. “No, no—go on. And please drop the ‘sir.’”

  “Okay. I won’t kid you—it will be tough at first. But if you play by the rules, things will get easier.”

  “I’ve dealt with searches before—I can handle it. But I am worried about Micki.”

  “Maggie told me about Ms. Lawrence. She represents criminals regularly. She knows what’s coming.”

  I’d never thought about that aspect of Micki’s work.

  “Micki’s tough—you’re right, she’ll be okay. I think you’ll like working with her. I do.”

  “That’s what Maggie told me.” His smile caused me to wonder what else she’d told him.

  The waiter arrived with our entrees, and we tucked into excellent crab cakes and fries. It wasn’t long before Brian broke our companionable silence.

  “Mr. Pat… sorry, Jack—you’ve been thoughtful enough to ask if I have a problem working on the Goodman case, and I appreciate that. So I feel obligated to ask if you have any problem working with me.”

  “No, why should I?”

  “Well, some people do. My superiors in the military decided I didn’t fit in. My family back home in Texas knows I’m gay, but they still refer to gay as ‘a condition’ or ‘that thing you have.’ Uncle Red has been very generous with my mother and me, but he’s uncomfortable with my sexual orientation. He says you and he are a lot alike. So I can’t help but wonder how you feel about working with me.”

  Red thought he and I were alike? No way—but the thought gave me pause. I took a deep breath.

  “Brian, your personal life is none of my business. We’re a small office—we know each other pretty well, maybe too well sometimes. Maggie knows me better than I know myself, and it won’t be long before she knows you that well, too. I could care less about your sexual orientation, and I’m confident Maggie doesn’t either. Listen, work hard and pitch in no matter what the task, that’s all I ask. We’re taking on a tough case—jump in the deep end.”

  “That’s fine, but…” he began, but I interrupted, looking at my watch.

  “Look, we should make it an early night. Ms. Laing promised to send me some documents to sign. If they come in tonight, I’ll email them to you for review.”

  “Sure, but I’m only a paralegal. I have no formal training in the law or reviewing documents.”

  “Right. So now you begin your training.”

  33

  I TURNED ON THE BALL GAME and sank into my favorite chair with my laptop. The only new message was from Red. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at ten—we need to talk.” I wasn’t surprised—Red was a defense contractor, and Rachel could well be a spy.

  Phil was a night owl, so I had no hesitancy calling him. After a few minutes of catching up, I got to the point.

  “What do you know about Joan Laing?”

  “Saint Joan? What you need to know is she always wins. If you cross swords with her, I can promise you’ll lose,” he warned.

  “That good, huh?”

  “She’s better than good. Looks as innocent as St. Joan, hence the nickname—but her razor wit and intelligence have cut many a witness to shreds. She’ll kill you with kindness, but don’t be fooled. The woman’s a hard ass prosecutor to the core.”

  “Sounds as if you’ve run into her more than once.”

  “I have, and so far none of my tricks have worked. My advice is to ignore her blue eyes and innocent looks.”

  “Does she have a flaw I can exploit? Quick temper? Oversized ego? What about her personal life?”

  “Forget it, Jack. Your charm will not work with Laing. Her husband writes science fiction novels, works out of their old townhouse in Alexandria. I’ve invited them over for a few parties—they always come as a couple, not a hint of trouble at home. You may have met her at Keith’s wedding.”

  Phil knew better than to ask about a pending case, so we chatted for a few moments and agreed to get together for lunch. I made a mental note not to forget this time. It occurred to me that maybe my mental notes rather than written ones were part of the problem.

  With the difference in time zones I didn’t feel bad about calling Clovis. He picked up on the second ring.

  “Micki has an appointment with the rabbi tomorrow morning, and Ben met with the insurance representative today. He’s taken your direction to heart. If his suppliers cooperate, the restaurant will be open in a couple of weeks. Paul’s put together a good plan for protecting the place. He had ideas I hadn’t thought about.”

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Ribs hurt like hell. I can’t sleep because I have to sit up, but this rocking chair has made the world of difference. Don’t worry, I’m on the mend.”

  “Has Stella found anything on our computers?”

  “Well, yes and no. The com
puters are clean, but she found something strange on Maggie’s phone, something she’s never seen. Someone may be using a signal from her phone to trace your location. Just to be safe, you’ll both have new phones tomorrow. Don’t worry—she’ll figure it out—that woman loves a challenge.”

  “You’re Exhibit One,” I kidded. “By the way, I guess you’ve heard we’ve taken on a paralegal—can Stella get him a phone, too?”

  “Sure, not a problem, but…” I heard him take a deep breath. “Look Jack, I’ve got a bad feeling about this case. I can’t put my finger on it, but something’s got me worried. Promise me, as a friend, you’ll be careful.”

  “I’ll be careful. And you need to get well—I might need you soon.”

  I put the phone down wondering why Clovis was so worried. The truth was I was uneasy, too. Who had been behind the brutal attack on him? Who was this guy who kept appearing out of the blue? Had Rachel Goodman really become a spy, and if so, why? As I walked upstairs, my thoughts wandered from Rochelle to Harold Spencer, the man who been found dead on the eighteenth green. I wondered idly if the police had made any progress in solving his murder.

  THURSDAY

  34

  I’D ASKED MIKE to pick me up at eight o’clock the next morning, and he was right on time. Rush hour was in full swing, so we decided to stop at Bourbon Coffee until the traffic died down. In DC, traffic dying down means you can get somewhere faster in a car than on foot. We enjoyed a cup of coffee and spent the time talking football.

  We arrived at the office before Maggie, an unusual occurrence. Brian had already picked up on office protocol: first one in made the coffee and put Maggie’s kettle on to boil—she would have nothing to do with the microwave. A package of documents arrived from the U.S. Attorney’s office, and I tossed them onto Brian’s desk.