by Allan Topol
Ann nodded. "The President has guards watching my house. That's why I asked you to bring your gun to New York."
Jennifer tightly clutched her purse holding the loaded .22 and looked around nervously.
"So what should I do about the video?" Ann asked.
Jennifer smoothed down her hair, pondering the question. The pianist was loading his music into a leather folder. Jennifer had an idea. "Let me talk to a PI here. Mark Bonner's a former New York City cop. He'll know what we should do."
"This is all so personally sensitive to me," Ann said.
"That's why it's important to have you represent Clyde and not anyone else. Even one of your partners. You're my friend. You'll minimize any embarrassment to me."
"I understand that, but I'm not persuaded from what you've told me that the Chinese government arranged for Robert's death. Maybe they did, and maybe they didn't. Clyde Gillis could have killed him too. That's another possibility."
"Does that mean you won't represent Clyde?"
"I'm still afraid that Clyde Gillis won't get the best possible defense if I'm doing it."
Ann took a deep breath. "Then let me give you one more reason."
Jennifer looked at Ann expectantly.
"On the television news, they said that Ben Hartwell's the prosecutor on the case. Wouldn't you like a chance to beat him?"
Jennifer blinked in shock, then nodded. It was logical they'd bring him in.
Ann was right, of course. She'd do anything to get even with that cheating bastard.
"Okay, you've hooked your fish," Jennifer said. "But don't get your hopes up about the chances of getting Clyde Gillis off. Your Chinese ambassador story doesn't give me much to go on."
* * *
As soon as she left Ann in the elevator and returned to her own suite in the hotel, Jennifer picked up the phone. She stared at it for a few moments, wondering why she was making this call in the middle of the night. Why was she so anxious to talk to Ben? Was it just because of Clyde Gillis, or were some bitter embers from their relationship still glowing?
Hoping that the telephone number was the same as the one he had had five years ago, her own home phone number for the ten months she had lived with him, she punched out the buttons rapidly. If the number wasn't still the same, she'd be in trouble. Ben always had an unlisted number to minimize the number of threatening calls that went with his job.
"Ben Hartwell here," a sleepy voice said.
"It's a voice from your past."
She heard him shuffling as he sat up in bed and turned on a light. She wondered if it was the same Tiffany lamp that he had bought on one of their weekend trips to the Eastern Shore. "Jenny, how good to hear from you," he said sourly.
Listening to him, she'd have thought that she was the one who had run off to California for a lover, rather than the other way around. "Right out of a bad nightmare, huh?"
"You had no right to just pack up and go, leaving me that stupid note."
She smiled, thinking about the stinging missive she had left under the box containing the engagement ring: I always knew you were a workaholic. That was strike one. And you had no soul. Strike two. Now I know you cheat on me. You've struck out.
Ben was fully awake. "That note was total bullshit. I worked hard. I wasn't a workaholic. I don't know what the hell you meant by no soul, but it pissed me off."
"I meant that you didn't care about the guilt or innocence of any defendant. Each conviction was just another notch in your belt. Actually, I thought the note was very accurate."
"And I never cheated on you," he protested. "I could have explained everything about Los Angeles. You never gave me a chance."
Oh, please, what did he take her for? "I didn't want to listen to more lies."
"I heard you had a great marriage to a Washington Post reporter. Short and not so sweet."
"That was nasty."
"Unlike me, I heard that he really was cheating on you. So maybe you didn't do yourself a favor by walking out on me, Jenny."
"I'm glad to hear you're as arrogant and conceited as ever. And don't call me Jenny. My name's Jennifer." Except for Ben, when they were dating, Ann was the only one whom she permitted to call her Jenny.
Ben let out a long sigh. "Is this a bad dream, or are we really having this conversation? I never wanted it to end, you know that."
She softened for a moment. "Okay, I don't want to rehash our past either. I'm actually calling about a professional matter."
He was happy to hear that she sounded like the old Jenny. God, he hoped that she hadn't been brought in as part of Senator Young's legal defense team. "Which case?"
"I'm representing Clyde Gillis."
Ben sounded flabbergasted. "You've got to be kidding. How could you defend Gillis? You're a close friend of Winthrop's wife."
"Yeah, I know it's odd. But Ann is positive that Clyde Gillis didn't kill her husband." She imagined his forehead wrinkling, as it did when Ben, who liked to be in control, had to deal with something that flew in from left field.
The prosecutor's voice took over. "You want to tell me how you know that? Maybe I'll turn him loose."
She laughed. "Good try, but I think I'll wait for trial to present my case."
Ben rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense out of what he was hearing. "You can't be his lawyer. You brought her home. You could be a witness."
She wondered what was running through his mind. Was he sorry that she was representing Gillis, rather than a pubic defender, because his case would be more difficult? Or was he hoping that by calling in the middle of the night she was opening the door for him to revive their relationship?
"I don't think so," Jennifer said. "What would I testify to?"
She waited for him to respond. When he remained silent, she couldn't help picturing him in that bed.
They had always slept naked together. She quickly shook that thought out of her mind.
He yawned. "Listen, Jenny, I love being able to talk to you after five years, but couldn't we have done this in the morning?"
He was right. She could have waited, but she didn't want to admit that. "Actually, I called tonight for a reason."
"What's that?"
"I don't want you interviewing my client without my being present."
"Sorry, you're too late. I already talked to him. I'll be happy to give you a tape of the interview," he offered.
"You recorded the whole thing?"
He chuckled. "Funny thing happened. The machine stopped recording in the middle."
All of her old anger flared up inside her. "You bastard. You haven't changed at all."
"You don't sound much different either. Where are you now? At home?"
"I'm in New York."
"For the funeral of the man your client murdered. How touching."
Jennifer didn't respond, but she was fuming.
"When you get back to town, call me," Ben said acidly. "I think we should talk. I know that you'd like to whip my ass in court, but don't let that conflict with what's in your client's best interest. When I tell you about the evidence, I think you'll want to plead this one."
"I doubt that."
"I'm going for the death penalty."
"Yeah? Well, you'll have to get a conviction first."
Chapter 8
"I was expecting you to call again," Ben said as he woke out of a sound sleep. The red digital alarm next to his bed read 6:02. He wasn't surprised that it was so early. Jenny was a morning person. It was one of the ways in which their lifestyles hadn't meshed.
"You're becoming psychic," Al Hennessey said. "I'm impressed."
"Oh, it's you."
"Thanks a lot. I expected some gratitude. I'm calling with the opportunity of a lifetime."
"C'mon, it's too early for this horseshit."
"You and I have been invited to watch the sunrise through the windows of the White House."
"You're kidding."
"I wish I were. Slater wants us in his office at s
even for a briefing about the Winthrop case. Sarah Van Buren from Justice will be there."
"Seven? Did I hear you right?"
"Slater wants to do it before he leaves for New York and Winthrop's funeral."
Ben threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "You want to tell me what prompted this meeting?"
"I think you should tell me," Hennessey said in a tone now rough and angry, devoid of any jocularity. "Start by telling me what you did to Ed Fulton."
Ben had known this was coming. "You mean he went crying to the teacher?"
"Something like that."
"I've been trying to get him to make noises like a lawyer."
"Well, he told Slater you're incompetent, and I should take you off the Winthrop case."
Furious, Ben jumped out of bed with the phone in his hand. "That bastard."
"Was that your game plan?" Hennessey asked sharply. "To fuck Fulton over so badly that I'd have to yank you, and you'd be able to go back to the Young case full-time? Because if it was, I'm going to ream your ass. It makes me look like a fool. I don't like anybody questioning the competence of one of my people, or how I run this office."
Ben was surprised that Hennessey was coming on so strong. Slater must have turned up the heat on him full blast. "That wasn't my plan, I swear it. Fulton doesn't like me because he's a control freak, and I won't let him run things. Besides, he wants to file charges quickly so he can show his boss how great he is. He doesn't know what type of evidence you need to file a case like this."
"Be ready at six-thirty. I'll swing by and pick you up."
"Why don't we meet there? I don't jump through hoops without a cup of coffee."
"I'll have it for you in the car. Hot and strong. What you really need is a little rehearsal with me so you don't get us both fired."
As Ben put the phone down, he wasn't surprised that they'd been summoned. In America's great legal system, the White House was supposed to keep out of criminal prosecution in individual cases, but every time he'd been involved in a case with highly charged political fallout, sooner or later he ended up at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue for what was typically billed as an informational briefing.
Ben scribbled a note for Elana, telling her that he wouldn't be able to have breakfast with Amy, which he rarely missed. Before leaving, he looked into Amy's room. She was sleeping peacefully in her little bed with her right thumb in her mouth—a habit she had once abandoned but resumed after Nan's death, along with occasional bed-wetting. Ben wanted to walk over to kiss her, and remove that thumb, but he was afraid of waking her. Lately, she'd had trouble sleeping and woke up with nightmares. So he settled for watching her. She was so cute with her curly brown hair falling over her face.
It was a strange sensation for Ben—the love he felt for Amy. Before Nan died, he hated to admit, he had felt little, if any, emotional attachment to Amy. Since then he was finding that he loved her in a way that he hadn't thought he was capable of. Maybe he could have had that type of relationship with his own father, if only...
He heard a horn honking on the street. That must be Hennessey. He headed quickly downstairs and out the front door.
* * *
"Do me a personal favor," Hennessey said to Ben as they walked from the car to the White House. "Even if you think Fulton's an idiot, try to keep your views to yourself. Slater's high on that kid."
"C'mon, Al. You know Fulton's a total ass."
Hennessey sighed with resignation. Ben's independent streak drove him crazy from time to time. Living with it was the price he had to pay for Ben's terrific ability as a trial lawyer. Yet there were times that he wasn't certain he wanted to pay it any longer. "Please, just treat him with some respect."
"That genius will get the respect he deserves."
"Great," he said wearily. "At least I keep my resume current for days like this."
When they arrived at Slater's office, Fulton and Sarah Van Buren were seated at a conference table that occupied one corner of the spacious room. Slater was on his phone, pacing while he talked, barking orders to White House staff members about the President's schedule for the day and where he should be at every minute during the morning trip to New York. "Make sure Air Force One is ready for a nine a.m. takeoff. I'll have the President and Mrs. Brewster there. Marshall Cunningham and his wife will be the two other passengers." Ben nodded curtly to Fulton, whose smug expression warned him it was going to be a rough ride this morning.
The minute Slater hung up the phone, Hennessey introduced Ben to the White House chief of staff, who looked dapper in a blue-and-white-striped shirt and navy suspenders. His suit was double-breasted dark blue, Ben could tell from the jacket hanging behind the door. Ben wasn't an expert on men's clothes, but it looked expensive to him, the sort of thing Slater might have worn as a partner in a big New York investment-banking house. It made Ben feel self-conscious about his own crumpled charcoal-gray suit. He should get it cleaned and pressed on the weekend, he told himself, especially if he was going to be seeing Jennifer.
Still pacing around the office while the others sat at the table, Slater said to Ben, "I hear you're the best man in the U.S. Attorney's office in Washington." His tone was smooth. "I'm looking forward to seeing your package of evidence against Senator Young tomorrow."
Ben was immediately on guard. When people in Slater's position gave out compliments, they wanted something in return. "Yeah, well," Ben said, "I've won a few cases over the years."
"No need for false modesty. I know all about your record. That's why I wanted you on the Winthrop case. President Brewster cares a lot about this one. As you may know, the secretary of state was his close friend. And you know what else?"
"No, what?"
"We need a quick conviction of Winthrop's killer to show the country that we can control crime. It's a question of public confidence. We don't want people thinking they're not safe in their own homes."
"All of that's fine with me," Ben replied calmly, "but we also have to be sure we have a case that we can win before a jury."
Slater nodded his head. "Amen. I couldn't agree more. But, with the evidence against that gardener, you don't have a question, do you?"
"Actually, I've got a big question."
Slater looked mystified, as if Ben had said pigs could fly. "Well, that's real funny, because when I heard from Ed about the evidence you've got in this case, I thought it's a slam dunk. You should file charges today for murder one against that gardener—" He looked at Fulton. "What's his name?"
"Clyde Gillis," Fulton responded meekly, keeping a low profile in the presence of his boss.
"Yeah, Clyde Gillis."
Hennessey glowered at Ben, who was avoiding eye contact.
Ben said, "My gut tells me that if we did that with what we have now, we'd run a serious risk of losing before a D.C. jury."
Slater moved up close to Ben and said in total disbelief, "You're telling me that the gardener didn't do it?"
Is he serious, or is this an act? Ben wondered. Standing his ground, Ben didn't care. "As a matter of fact, I think he probably did do it, but that's not the point. I'm not interested in determining guilt or innocence. That's up to a jury and God. My job's to build a case. If I can't march George Nesbitt into that courtroom and put him on the stand to testify credibly that when he left, Winthrop was alive and well, then I've got a huge hole in my case that any good counsel will drive a truck through to establish reasonable doubt."
Slater scoffed. "What are the chances of the gardener hiring a good lawyer? Won't he get one of those public-defender kids right out of law school? You ought to be able to handle him easily."
"Unfortunately for us, Gillis already has a damn good lawyer." He glanced over at Van Buren. "She used to work at the criminal division of DOJ."
Van Buren looked up. "Who?"
"Jennifer Moore."
Sarah knew all about Ben and Jennifer, but she didn't say a word. Nor did her face betray any emotion.
"Who's payin
g for this good lawyer?" Slater asked.
"Jennifer's a friend of Ann Winthrop. My guess is that Ann thinks Gillis is innocent, and she's bankrolling his defense."
Taken by surprise, Slater looked at Van Buren. "Is that ethical?"
"I'm afraid so."
Slater paused to regroup mentally. This wasn't how he had expected this to play out. "Let's assume this Jennifer Moore's the world's greatest lawyer. How's she going to explain the evidence? The money and gun in the gardener's trunk?"
"She'll say that somebody planted them."
"Will she have any basis for that conclusion?"
Ben shrugged his shoulders. "Beats the shit out of me at this point. But I sure hope to know the answer to that question before I go to trial."
Slater sneered. "So is it fair to say that we're talking about a defense lawyer blowing smoke against the city's best prosecutor and some pretty strong evidence?"
"You could put it that way," Ben said guardedly.
"Well, I'm not a lawyer. Thank God for that. But when I was an investment banker in New York, I employed lots of lawyers. Some pretty good ones. Some not so good. The good ones always relied on facts, lots of facts, to justify their conclusions, and that's how we acted."
It must have been a real treat being his lawyer, Ben thought. Even at a thousand dollars an hour or whatever those guys got, definitely hard work. "Sometimes you don't have facts. You've got to rely on what your instinct tells you, aided by experience. That's where I am right now. My gut tells me that we'd better find George Nesbitt before we file charges against Gillis."
"Then we've got a problem, Ben," Slater said, dripping condescension. "You and I have a problem because your gut conclusion won't be good enough for Philip Brewster, and he happens to be the President of the United States. Brewster needs a conviction right now. He wants to move ahead with this case against that gardener ASAP. He's the man we all work for. So that pretty well settles it."
It took all of Ben's self-control to avoid laughing out loud. He'd learned long ago how staff people invoked their great leader's name when the great leader might not even be aware of the issue being discussed. It was a wonderful Washington ploy. But Ben was prepared to play the game on terms like these. Slow and easy, he cautioned himself before he began talking. Don't explode. He wants you to do that. Do it the way he does, no emotion, calm and reasonable.