The Eighteenth Green

by Webb Hubbell

  “What can I tell her brothers?” he asked.

  “Tell them she’s doing well and I am representing her, but nothing else. I know it will be hard, and at some point, either Micki or I will talk with them to set boundaries.”

  Neither of us was quite sure what I meant by boundaries, but Ben promised to do as told. I was struck by our changing dynamic. I used to go to Ben for advice; now the tables had turned.

  Next I called Micki to give her a quick report.

  “Don’t get sucked in by some blue-eyed prosecutor, Jack,” she cautioned. “Remember, she’s seeking the death penalty.”

  I was momentarily offended, but she had a point.

  “Do you need me up there?” she asked.

  “Not yet. She hasn’t been charged, I’ve seen none of the evidence against her, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to her in private. They’ll slow walk our clearances. That’s not all bad. I suspect that when we do get cleared, the case will move quickly. I’m off to meet with Maggie and talk about the press. Maggie says they don’t know about your involvement. How do you want to handle it?” I asked.

  “I’d prefer not to have the local press follow me around while I interview people and gather information. If it’s possible, keep me out of it for now. But at some point, the prosecutor will leak that you and I are working together. The news will break first in DC, so give me a heads-up.”

  “I’ll do my best. How’s Clovis?” I asked.

  “Driving Stella and everyone else crazy. The rocking chair helped for a while, but now he can’t sit still. I can’t wait for you to see the chair Larry’s building. It’s a work of art.”

  “I look forward to it. I’ll fly down next week for a day. You and I need some time together to figure out a communications strategy that doesn’t run afoul of the gag order. I’m sure Ben and Linda will want to be part of the discussion. I’m worried that whatever I tell them will go straight to the FBI through the boys or Tina.”

  “Well, life is always livelier when you’re here,” she said with a laugh, and rang off.

  Maggie and Brian hadn’t made it to the Boathouse yet, so I scanned the menu and quickly found exactly what I wanted: for my money, the best French Dip sandwich in DC.

  Maggie and Brian arrived, and I apologized again.

  Maggie pretended to be in a huff. “The office is locked, my cell phone is on mute, and yes, I will have a glass of wine.”

  Brian asked for a beer and a burger while Maggie ordered the fish and chips. It had been a tough morning, and we were all hungry. I was relating the day’s events when Maggie interrupted.

  “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we all meet tomorrow at the site of the new offices and retreat center? I’ll pack a lunch, and we can tour the grounds. The weather should be perfect! We can spend the afternoon planning, and Walter can grill steaks for dinner.”

  Brian said he was free, so we agreed to meet the next morning.

  “Good idea, Mags. I’m a little done in right now—that van ride took something out of me.”

  Maggie teased, “You sure it wasn’t last night at Carol’s?”

  I feigned shock and surprise. “Maggie, that’s unworthy of you. I’ll have you know we had a nice dinner and watched the ball game.” I hoped she wouldn’t ask who won.

  “Oh, I forgot. A courier left a package for you at the office.” She reached into her carryall and brought out a package marked “personal.”

  She put out a restraining hand as I started to open it. “You sure you want to open it right now?”

  I frowned and reached inside to find the Stafford State jersey Carol had worn last night. A note fell to the floor, and I picked it up.

  I thought we had an understanding! Bastard!

  I tried to hide my surprise and confusion, but Maggie reached for the note. She gave it a glance and stuffed it back into the package.

  Brian looked uncomfortable. “Maybe I should get a cab back to town.”

  “No need. I’ve been dating a consultant by the name of Carol Madison for, well, for a while. Last night over dinner she suggested that I was a damn fool to consider representing Rachel. She was adamant it would ruin my career and could damage hers. I didn’t tell her I was meeting with Rachel this morning.”

  Maggie frowned. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “I know it sounds bad, but she and I have an agreement that we don’t talk about each other’s business. And I didn’t agree to anything last night—I simply chose not to discuss the issue. Besides, we had a game to watch,” I said. Maggie gave me a dirty look, and Brian intervened.

  “You know, she wouldn’t remember, but I met Ms. Madison at one of Red’s parties. She sure can work a room. Sounds like you might have fences to mend.”

  “No shit,” I responded without thinking. “Sorry, Maggie.”

  “Unnecessary,” she laughed. “Shall I put your apology on the agenda for tomorrow?”

  “No, thanks. I think I can handle it by myself.”

  “And how are you going to do that?” Maggie continued, enjoying my misery.

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure some serious groveling will be in order.”

  40

  WE FINISHED OUR LATE LUNCH, and Maggie agreed to coordinate tomorrow’s logistics with Martin. Big Mike waited for instructions, and I hesitated—I wasn’t ready to go home to an empty house. I glanced at my watch, and was surprised to find it was almost cocktail hour. What did any red-blooded golfer do on a Friday afternoon when he was alone? He headed to the golf course, or at least to the nineteenth hole, otherwise known as the club grill. It used to be called the men’s grill, but time and the need for revenue have removed both the exclusivity and the gender-tagged name.

  We were on our way to Columbia when my phone rang. The number was familiar.

  “Hello, Red.”

  “Well, you did it, and Lucy’s headed to the Senate floor to damn you and the horse you rode in on. But she wanted me to tell you she still loves you—it’s strictly business.”

  I felt sure that Lucy didn’t give a rat’s ass about me, but if she kept Red on an even keel, and I was able to keep the Lobos as a client, I was fine with whatever she said.

  Red continued, “My office will send you a copy of the press release the company just issued. Hurry and get that girl off. I need you.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I replied with a smile.

  “You headed to Carol’s tonight?” he asked. Red was a frequent invitee to Carol’s place in Maryland for the weekend, but since his engagement to Lucy, he seldom went. Lucy kept him on a tight leash.

  “No, I’ve got work this weekend.”

  “You didn’t tell her, did you?” he asked. I assumed he was asking about representing Rachel.

  “I didn’t mention it.” This was getting old.

  He whistled. “Boy, I bet she’s pissed. Carol doesn’t like surprises.”

  “I’ve got some major sucking up to do, that’s for sure. If you’re going, you can run interference.”

  “Lucy has me going to some damn fundraiser. As to running interference, you’re on your own, my friend. My advice is stay out of the line of fire for a week and send lots of flowers.”

  “Good advice, and for once I’ll follow it,” I joked.

  “Yeah, right.” He paused and his voice lowered. “Jack, let me ask you something. Any chance your client isn’t guilty?”

  “All my clients are innocent, as you ought to know. Why do you ask?”

  “I was in a meeting with a group of defense contractors and military procurement officers this morning when word hit that you had agreed to represent Rachel. Most of them seemed surprised, but I got the impression a few weren’t. Nothing I could put my finger on, a few exchanged glances, a couple of knowing smiles and huddled conversations, that’s all. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.”

  He hung up before I could question him further. I was mulling over how I might make use of his information when we pulled into Columbia’s parking lot.
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  “Mike, I’d like you to come in. I know you can’t drink on duty, but I’d appreciate it if you would sit and let me bounce a few ideas off you, help me get organized for tomorrow.”

  Mike shrugged his acceptance and parked the car. We found a table, and I took a few moments to enjoy the familiar scene: golfers checking their scorecards to see who owed whom, older guys playing backgammon, and a few fellows watching football highlights at the bar. The room felt comfortable in the same way as did a corner bar in a blue-collar neighborhood after work—different games and drinks, but the same camaraderie.

  I broke the ice. “Well, Mike, any thoughts? You bored to death by now?”

  “I’m not bored, that’s for sure. We’ve been followed almost everywhere. Martin wasn’t surprised, but this is my first experience having a tail.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Even last night?”

  “Oh yeah. Two guys followed us to the Watergate, parked at the edge of the circle. I waited until one of our guys drove up to relieve me. They spotted us and drove off, but this morning the same car was back on our tail. Funny thing, though… as soon as you and Ms. Laing got in the van, they drove off. I thought for sure they’d follow the van.”

  “Seems odd. Have they come back?”

  “I’m not sure it’s the same guys, but it’s the same car. They’re sitting out in the parking lot right now.”

  “Do we have an idea who they are?”

  “The other unit took photographs and got their tags, but I haven’t heard if Martin has identified them yet. They haven’t tried to disguise their presence. It’s like they want you to know you’re being followed.”

  “Huh.” I was about to dig deeper when I saw the club pro and motioned for him to join us. He sat down and called the barkeep for a gin and tonic. Buying the pro a drink was the price of his company, and it was well worth it.

  “How you doing, Junior? Let me introduce you to Mike Fendler. I’ve been out of town since Saturday. Any idea yet what happened to Harold Spencer?”

  Junior took a sip of his drink and spoke in a whisper as if he were sharing the secret to lowering your handicap by three strokes.

  “I’m fine, thanks, and no, not a clue. The police interviewed everyone who played poker that night; nobody even remembers him getting up from the table. That’s no big surprise—a lot of those gentlemen don’t remember getting home, if you know what I mean. Couldn’t have been one of them—some of them have a hard time lifting their cards, much less a rake.”

  “Any clues? Did he have any enemies?” I asked.

  “Not that I’ve heard. He wasn’t a big golfer. I gave him a few lessons, but he hit the golf ball like he had a tennis racket in his hands. I couldn’t get him to quit rolling his wrists. His wife is pretty shaken up. A delegation from the club paid her a visit, but it didn’t go too well.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You’d have to ask one of them. What I heard was that she slammed the door in their faces.” He downed the rest of his gin and left the table to find another.

  I explained to Mike what had happened a week ago—I couldn’t believe it had only been a week. Mike wouldn’t join me in a beer, but ordered a burger and fries at my insistence. I ordered a second beer and munched on popcorn. I was still full from lunch at the Boathouse. I liked Mike and wanted to know more about my new driver/bodyguard.

  By the time Mike had finished his burger and I finished my beer, I was spent. I told Mike it was time to go home. He drove in silence, and I mulled over the events of the past week. Carol and I had our first real tiff, Harold Spencer was murdered, and Clovis had been attacked. I’d met with Ben’s daughter and agreed to represent her against charges of espionage. Espionage! Now Carol had dumped me, maybe for good. Yes, quite a week.

  “No telling what next week might bring,” I thought as we pulled into the driveway of my dark house. Remembering my promise to Clovis to be careful and the fact two guys had been tailing us, I looked around, but I didn’t see anything unusual. Mike was also cautious. He said he was going to walk around the house, and would stay with the car until his relief showed. We both got out, and I walked up the sidewalk to the front door. I had just pulled my keys out when I noticed the door was slightly ajar. I backed off a bit and motioned to Mike.

  He walked quickly up the walk, drawing his gun from under his jacket. He motioned me to stand aside and kicked the door open, arm raised. The umbrella stand fell over with a crash, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. But the old house remained silent. Mike motioned me to turn on the hall lights, and he slowly advanced into the house, turning on lights room by room. It was totally empty, and we both sighed with relief. My bedroom had been rifled, and my office was a mess, drawers emptied, files scattered everywhere, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage. According to Mike, someone had tampered with the security system and the back door was jimmied open. Great, now what?

  “Jack, Martin would have my hide if I let you stay here tonight even if we post guards inside and out. The house will have to be swept before you can stay here. Why don’t you spend the night at Barker’s? Martin told me you’ve stayed there before. I’ll make the arrangements while you get a bag together. Tomorrow we’ll have the security system stabilized, and we will upgrade our surveillance.”

  Barker’s is an oddly exclusive Washington institution, a very secure private club whose members are carefully screened by Barker himself. It’s modeled after the gentlemen’s clubs in London—very private and very secure. I’d spent a good deal of time there when I was working on the Hopper case.

  I knew he was right, so I packed a bag and before long found myself nursing a third Scotch at the bar in Barker’s basement. I felt totally unsettled—surely this hadn’t been a normal robbery attempt; nothing of value had been taken as far as I could tell. What had the intruder been looking for? Had he found it? Or were there more than one? Exhausted, I ordered another Scotch and took it upstairs.

  SATURDAY

  41

  I HAD TO DRAG MYSELF out of bed the next morning. An empty glass that had contained good Scotch betrayed the source of my misery. Now I was in the car with Mike and Brian, trying not to reveal the extent of my hangover. I needed a real Coke. And maybe a greasy cheeseburger.

  Mike answered his cell phone, listened for a second, and handed it to me without a word.

  Clovis was on a tear. “Jack, didn’t I tell you to be careful? What were you thinking, walking into an empty house by yourself? You could have been killed. Of all the boneheaded…”

  “Wait a minute. I didn’t walk into an empty house. I called Mike and he did. What would you have had us do?” I was in no mood for a lecture.

  “All right, all right. Mike says they didn’t take anything. What were they after?”

  “Darned if I know….”

  “Well, someone is clearly trying to spook you. Martin will have your security system upgraded today. Don’t take any chances, Jack. These guys might try to do more than scare you next time.” With that, he hung up.

  Now my head really hurt. I tried to shake it off—it was time to figure out how we might defend Rachel Goodman, alleged traitor and spy. The first thing might be to come up with a different descriptor for our client.

  Mike’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “You gonna answer that?”

  I saw the caller unknown tag, but picked it up without thinking.

  “Jack, this is Peggy. Are you somewhere where we can talk?”

  “Why do I think this is not about brunch?” I repeated her oft-used response to my calls.

  “No, it’s not. Can you talk? If not, get where you can and call me back.”

  From the tone of her voice I knew something was wrong. I told Mike to pull over and in less than a minute I was outside the car standing on the road’s shoulder.

  “What’s wrong, Peggy?”

  “Are you sitting down?” she asked.

  “No, I’m standing on the shoulder of a highway in Maryland
. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Nothing for a few seconds, then a deep intake of breath.

  “Rachel Goodman committed suicide last night.”

  I sank to my knees, hardly able to breathe.

  “Jack, are you okay?” Her voice sounded far away, and I tried to get myself under control.

  “No, I’m not okay. Are you sure? What happened?” I got to my feet, but my shaking hand could barely hold the phone. Mike had gotten out of the car, motioning Brian to stay put.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Rachel Goodman committed suicide sometime last night. She was found in her cell at count time this morning, hanging from a bed sheet.”

  How could that be? She’d seemed so unconcerned yesterday, almost dismissive of the circumstances. My thoughts went quickly to Ben and Linda.

  “Have her parents been notified?”

  “The FBI is knocking on their door as we speak. I’m meeting with the AG and all affected agencies in about thirty minutes. Burt decided you should be notified, over several agencies’ objections, I might add.”

  I bet they’d objected. The accustomed procedure is to get your story straight and cover your ass before the press begins to dig.

  “Can I attend that meeting?” I asked.

  “Sorry, Jack, but you know the answer to that one,”

  “Well, will you let me see her body and the cell?” I asked.

  “Rachel’s body has been sent to the medical examiner for an autopsy, but I would think a family representative will be needed for the formal identification. I assume that will be you. As to seeing the cell, an internal investigation will take place before anyone on the outside is allowed in.” She sounded apologetic.

  “Any way I can be the one to break it to Ben and Linda?”

  “I’m sorry, but the answer is no. Law enforcement is trained for the job. I know the family will have a thousand questions. The AG will appoint someone this morning to be your point person—the person you can contact with questions and information. He’ll make sure you aren’t shut out of the process, I promise.”