When Men Betray (32 page)

I
EXPECTED, WELL
—hoped to see Brenda when I came down for breakfast, but she was nowhere to be seen. The lobby and dining room were almost empty. With the funeral over, everyone had gone home except the press. I was enjoying my omelet when I saw her walking toward me, smiling brightly. She wore gray sweats and running shoes; her damp hair was pulled back with a wide black band. Hot and sweaty, with no makeup, she was still a very attractive woman.

She sat down, breathing hard, and quickly downed the rest of her bottled water. She'd been to the hotel gym, and after she caught her breath, we talked for a few minutes about her routine. Then she asked how Woody was doing and what was likely to happen this morning.

I told her Woody was fine, all things considered, and that today was simply an arraignment where the court would take Woody's plea, probably decline our request for bail, and handle all the legal preliminaries.

“Well, good luck,” she said. “And please, give Woody my best wishes. I still can't make any sense of what he did, but I feel for him just the same.”

I nodded. “I will. He'll appreciate it.”

For a long moment, Brenda seemed pensive, playing with the silverware. At last she looked up and said, “Jack, I owe you an explanation.”

“It's okay, Brenda. You're an intelligent, attractive woman, and I'd like to get to know you better, but right now—you know I've got to concentrate on Woody. I don't—”

She quickly stood and said, “It's fine. I understand. Maybe …” She shook her head. “No, it just won't work.” She gave me a resigned smile, and with a little wave good-bye, walked away.

I sat there a minute, trying to understand, but feeling fairly exasperated. I decided to rely on my grandmother's good advice. Countless times she'd said, “Jack, it just doesn't do to think about.”

We had to leave for the arraignment soon, so I went to the lobby to wait for the others. Micki was already there, and I was relieved when Beth arrived a moment later—on time for once. I asked her to sit next to Helen in court. If I managed to convince Woody to let us defend him, I'd need their physical presence and reinforcement. If Woody insisted on pleading guilty … well, then Helen would need all our support.

Micki said she'd never been so psyched for an arraignment.

“That's because you've never had one like this before. Neither have I.”

“Doubts … do you have any?” She looked serious now.

“Can't afford to. I had my doubts last night, but today it's full steam ahead.”

“Amen to that,” she said, and we left for court.

The press was waiting for us, mikes out, begging for comment, which we refused to provide. As we neared the courthouse, we could see a huge throng of people milling around outside the partitioned square. Concession stands were selling coffee and Krispy Kremes. Various special-interest groups held their banners high, shouting uselessly at no one in particular. Satellite trucks seemed to be everywhere. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought the vice president was still in town, ready to announce his candidacy for president.

Once we were in the courthouse, Clovis pulled me aside and told me what he'd found out about hotel security. He assured me that he had a plan B, and I told him to go ahead.

A deputy sheriff took us to a small conference room, where we were to meet with Woody. When the door opened, there stood Woody, still in handcuffs and leg shackles, in yesterday's dirty orange jumpsuit. He
had bruises and cuts all over his face, was unshaven, and looked like he had been dragged behind a truck.

Micki blew up. “What happened? You bastards let them get at him, didn't you?”

The deputy edged backward, but Micki was in his face, shouting expletives, threatening to get the judge, and swearing to get the badge of every deputy involved. When she slowed down, she led Woody by the arm back to the holding area, where she would personally see to it that he got a shower, a shave, and proper medical attention. She grabbed the second suit of clothes and was still railing at the deputy as they left the room.

Micki reacted more strongly than I could have. Despite Marshall's orders, I had expected the sheriff and his deputies to produce Woody in the humiliating prison garb, looking half deranged. It happens all the time. Law enforcement loves for the defendant to look as guilty as possible on first impression, parading him handcuffed and shackled in front of the press. Their purpose is two-fold. They want the public and the potential jury pool to see the accused in the worst light possible, to overcome any sympathy. They also want to humiliate the accused and show him who's in control. It's the first step of many designed to break his spirit. Forget presumption of innocence—the technique is highly effective. In high-profile cases, there's an added element of pure malice.

Micki returned, still in a huff. She let everyone know that the judge's clerk had been informed of the sheriff's antics. A deputy had told her the jail claimed Woody's clothes had been “accidentally” sent to the cleaners. The cleaners didn't open until nine o'clock, but they had every intention of getting the clothes here by ten. He also said that Woody had been “roughed up” when he was allowed outside last night. He'd gotten in a fight with another inmate.
Pure bullshit
. It had been a set-up, and he was lucky to be alive.

“I don't believe a damn word of it,” she said, “and neither will the judge.” Both deputies left before Micki could lay into them again.

“Woody's cleaning up now and should be back shortly. I told them no restraints when he's with us. I said if they parade him in front of the cameras in cuffs and irons, I'll have the case dismissed for jury tampering.”

Micki paused, running out of steam. “Now comes the hard part, partner. He's all yours.”

Woody was returned to us shaved, washed, combed, and dressed in the suit we'd brought. He looked ready to lecture a classroom on political science, except his shoulders were slumped and his body language shouted “guilty.” I gave him a new pair of glasses I'd purchased the day before. The deputy removed the chains, and Micki sat down next to him. I wasn't above seating a pretty woman alongside him. In fact, when I suggested this sexist ploy to Micki, she said she'd sit on his lap if it would get him to cooperate.

Woody looked her over. “You must be Micki. Jack told me I'd like you. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances.”

Hot damn
. A glimmer of the Woody I knew, already moving on Micki. Things were looking up.

Micki played along. “You listen to Jack, and we might just get that chance.”

Woody's face fell. “I'm sorry, I can't do that. I shouldn't have wasted your time. I intend to plead guilty this morning and ask the court to expedite the execution. I know I promised to give you a little time, and I know you've planned a big long sermon to get me to change my mind, but don't waste your breath.”

Whatever I argued next had to be timed right, so I decided to buy myself a little time. “I don't give up that easily,” I told Woody, “but no matter what, I have to prepare you for what will happen today in court. Before the court will hear any plea, there are preliminaries to be dealt with. The court will ask us direct questions that we have to go over with you. If we don't, some lawyer down the road can use our failure and argue ineffective assistance of counsel. So pay attention to Micki, and then you're going to listen to me.”

Micki seemed a little surprised by my strategy, but she was quick on her feet and took Woody through every step of an arraignment: the questions the judge would ask about whether he had been taking any medication, whether he was speaking of his own free will, and whether he had been coerced in any fashion. She also went over the questions that the judge would ask us as counsel. Woody recoiled slightly when Micki told him that Helen and Beth would sit right behind our table in the front row of the gallery. Then she went over how important it
was not to react to anything Sam said. She told him we'd request bail, but the request would likely be denied.

As she methodically went through the procedure, Woody seemed to relax and become more at ease. Micki made a reference to Judge Fitzgerald—Woody looked at me and asked. “Marshall's the judge?”

I nodded.

He chuckled. “The band's getting back together, but it's gonna be one sorry tune.”

“Yep. Just like that night at the bar. You brought us together then, and now you've brought us together again.” Woody winced and hung his head. I paused for a few seconds, and then said, “I guess you didn't plan on being here, but things don't always work out as planned, do they?”

Woody looked up. “So you believe me on that?”

“I do, but I may be the only one who does except your mom, Beth, and maybe Micki. But I'm not here because I think the shooting was accidental. I'm here because my friend is in trouble, so I came running. Not because I thought you were innocent; I came to help, period. I ask only one thing in return—that you trust me. Trust me to help you, your mom, and the people who love you, including my daughter.”

He shook his head. “I can't let you try to get me off. I killed Russell, and I refuse to let you drag him through the mud—stomp on his grave. I know that's what you'll do, and I can't let you do it. I know how you felt about Russell.”

“So you don't trust me?”

“What do you mean? Of course I trust you.”

“No, you don't. If you did, you'd say, ‘Jack, I'll let you defend me if you don't trash Russell,' but that's not what you said. I'm asking you to trust me. Put any condition on the defense you want, but let me stop the betrayals. Isn't that what you wanted? No more betrayals?”

Woody shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “That's not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I know exactly what you meant. I also know why you wanted to scare Russell and why you wanted to commit suicide and why you want to die now. It's not about
Jerry Maguire
or some Egyptian figurine. It's about your false notion of betrayal. I'm asking you to believe
in me and trust me. Do you remember the last time you said those words to me?”

I knew from his look that he did.

“You called me and asked me to trust you. Remember? You think you betrayed me with that phone call. Well, you didn't. You were simply doing what Russell asked you to do, just like you did in college.”

Woody's face turned ashen.

“You didn't think I knew, did you? Lucy let it slip in a phone call years ago. You trusted Russell then, and you trusted him when he asked you to call me to host a fundraiser. You said,
If you don't trust Russell, trust me
. I won't betray you, Woody. If you could trust Russell, over and over, why can't you trust me this one time?”

Woody was thinking, but I didn't have him yet.

“You wrote ‘no more betrayals,' but if you plead guilty and ask to die, you'll commit a huge betrayal. You'll betray a lifetime of work against the death penalty; you'll betray your mother and Beth, who believe in you; you'll betray me by getting me involved to the point my life's at risk; but most of all, you'll betray yourself.”

“What can you do?” Woody shot back. “Accident or not, I killed Russell, and I can't let you destroy his legacy. He was a good man. He wasn't perfect, but I believe he would have done the right thing in the end.”

Woody had always been blinded by Russell's light. You love people in spite of their flaws—sometimes because of them. Woody's flaw was his blind loyalty to Russell. Good people like Woody are often drawn to serve a higher cause, and in that service, they sometimes let basic responsibilities and instincts slip away. Woody was about to carry his loyalty to Russell, literally, to the grave.

“If my plan works, I can't promise that Russell will come out smelling like a rose any more than I can promise that you'll get off scot-free for killing him—because I don't think you will. And I don't think you want to. What I
can
say is, I won't trash Russell in putting forward your defense, no matter how much I might like to. I don't believe in stomping on graves either. My intent is to expose the people who used Russell and you in a way that keeps you alive and leaves Russell as much dignity as possible.”

We fell quiet for a minute or so.

“Woody,” I said at last, “I'm not asking for your cooperation. All I ask is that you let me try. The whole thing could blow up in my face.”

I realized my gaffe the moment those words were out of my mouth, but instead of being offended, Woody said, “Your sense of humor sucks, Jack, but I guess I can trust you with my life for a few more days. Tell me what you want me to do.”

W
E EXPLAINED THAT
he didn't have to say a thing. Micki talked to him about how to look when he entered the courtroom, how he should greet his mother and Beth so that the press wouldn't write about his having an “evil smile” or “awkward greetings.” The media could blow up the simplest of gestures.

After Woody was taken back to the holding area, Micki patted me on the back and said, “Good job—I thought he'd never give in. I assume that the ‘betrayal' part was about the rape?”

“Partially. I think Woody came to realize that Russell had betrayed him more than just that one night. But make no mistake—Woody didn't change his mind because of betrayals. He knows that if he pleads guilty, I'll trash Russell for sure. He got me to promise to ease off on Russell, in exchange for a few days of a ‘not guilty' plea. He doesn't think I can pull this off, but he has bought my silence for now. I know Woody. He thinks he has the better end of the deal.”

“Does he?”

“Not if I can help it.”