When Men Betray (8 page)

Sometime, through all my tossing and turning last night, I had come up with a solution, to one problem at least. I was concerned about what to do with the note and key Woody had left for me. Right then, I had them both in my briefcase. I couldn't ask an associate in my firm to do any research, but I could hire my own counsel.

When I had been at the Justice Department, I worked on occasion with Mitch Purdue, who ultimately became deputy assistant attorney general of the Civil Division. I had run across him recently at a Georgetown Law alum reception. He'd told me he'd retired from the Justice Department and was now a professor of ethics at Georgetown. I still had his card in my briefcase. I looked at my watch. It was still fairly early, but I figured him for an early riser. He answered after the first ring. I explained that I needed to hire him and wanted our conversation to be privileged.

“Jack, I know where you are. I'm glad you had the good sense to call someone before you get yourself in real trouble. I'm happy to give you advice, but let's be clear; I want no part of the sideshow that's going to be the murder trial of Philip Cole.”

“I have no intention of being part of any sideshow either.”

I quickly told him about the note and key from Woody, my conversation with Helen about Woody's state of mind, and Woody reserving a room for me at the hotel. He asked whether I'd ever represented Woody or Helen before and a few other basic questions about my relationship with Woody.

Then he asked directly, “Are you going to represent him?”

I assured him I wasn't … that I would make that clear when I saw Woody later that day and would tell Helen the same thing when the
time was right. He wanted to think the problem over and cautioned me about what I should or shouldn't say if I were questioned before he got back to me.

Before I could thank him, he said, “Jack, as a friend, I'm telling you to get out of there. From all I see on TV and read in the papers, there's about to be a modern-day lynching of your friend, and the press would love to find someone else to hang with him. I know you're acting out of friendship and loyalty, but those values have no meaning to the sharks. You're fair game as long as you're the one out front helping the Cole family. Don't let them bring you down.” On that ominous note, we hung up.

I was thinking about Mitch's depressing advice when Beth emerged from her room, still drowsy and still in her pajamas. She wanted to order room service. I agreed, but couldn't help adding, “It would help if you got dressed. And don't forget to order hot water for Maggie's tea. She should be here pretty soon.”

Keeping Arcade Oil happy was next on my list, so while I waited for Maggie, I called Jerry Prince again. I figured he'd be on the golf course, but to my surprise, he answered the number Ron had given me almost immediately.

“Jack, I'm sure relieved to hear your voice.”

“Sorry—hope I didn't call in the middle of your backswing.” Every Saturday morning from March to October, Jerry could be found playing golf at Burning Tree in Bethesda.

“It's raining cats and dogs, and gin rummy doesn't start until after lunch, so you're in luck. When are you coming back? Do you need the jet? We can have you back before dark. “

“Maggie will be here in a while. I'll have her check plane schedules, or I may be able to hitch a ride with another client. If travel becomes a problem, I'll get back to you—I promise. It's a very generous offer”

“Great. I want you back here as soon as possible. Several members of the executive committee, including Don, saw you on TV and they're pretty upset. You're good at your job, but an assassin's lawyer doesn't fit the image they want for their outside counsel. I told them you were only acting out of loyalty to the mother and would never represent Woody Cole. That better be the case, Jack.”

I felt the frustration building. “I don't know how many times I have to say it. I'm not Woody's lawyer.”

Jerry had no real response to that, so we signed off, agreeing to stay in touch.

I wondered what could be so important to Arcade, but I had learned from experience not to ask a client to confide in me over the phone.

There was a quick rap on the door. “I'll get it!” Beth, now dressed, came sailing out of her room, made a beeline to the door and let Maggie in.

Maggie gave Beth a huge hug, looked at me, and said, “It's good to see you both, but we have a lot to do. Let's get started.”

Immediately, there was another rap, and Beth opened the door again, happy to see the room service guy with her breakfast and Maggie's hot water. Maggie carefully made herself a cup of tea, powered up her laptop, and looked up at me expectantly. I was relieved to see her, even if I had tried to talk her out of coming. We got down to business right away.

First came the schedule. I told her I was set to see Sam Pagano at twelve thirty p.m. and Woody at one, followed by another visit with Helen.

She added these to the Outlook calendar. “Okay, Jack. I've put two folders on the desktop. The first contains all the messages you received at the office. I'll go over the ones you have here and update the folder by the time you return from seeing Woody. Now that I know your schedule, I'll confirm our meeting with the hotel security people. Walter recommended an independent security person, so I've asked him to come as well.”

My irritation was obvious, but before I could complain, she cut me off. “You can complain after you've met him, but not before.” She didn't even pause. “The second folder is a report on all outstanding client matters. I thought you and I could go over these first, and I can e-mail instructions to the appropriate associates. Unless you need us, Beth and I can meet with your friend Tucker about temporary office space while you're with Woody. Let me know if you want us to meet you at Mrs. Cole's house. So far, that's all I have scheduled for today.”

Maggie knew I wanted to go back to the security issue, so she continued to talk.

“I contacted Gloria at the NACDL, and I've set up meetings for tomorrow afternoon with two attorneys she recommended. Both lawyers were more than accommodating and agreed to meet with you on a Sunday.”

I bet they were—they just might be given the biggest case of their careers. But Maggie was on a roll, so I merely nodded and kept my comments to myself.

“I brought you a sampling of the media from DC and around the country. I've engaged a clipping service for a week so you can keep up with how others are reacting.”

Suites, security, and now a clipping service. I frowned, but Maggie was way ahead of me.

“I ran the expense by Ron. He agreed that we need to be proactive with the press.”

I gave up. If tightwad Ron had approved the clipping service, who was I to complain? Now, if only I could get a word in edgewise to talk about the other expenses.

“We can talk about finances once we know how long we are going to be here. But for now, let's get to work. We have a lot to catch up on.” I swear, the woman can read my mind.

Beth announced that she was on her way to the exercise room, and I remembered something I'd thought of earlier. I folded one hundred dollars into a hotel envelope along with a short note and asked Beth to give it to Brenda.

“What's this?”

“Some of the messages I've received the last few days were pretty ugly. No one should have to put up with that kind of trash. Ask Brenda to make sure it gets in the right hands, okay?”

“So it's ‘Brenda' already,” Beth teased, but she was out the door before I could respond. She was quickly learning from Maggie.

I ignored Maggie's raised eyebrows and went to work. It felt good to reenter the world of antitrust law, if only for a short while.

It seemed as if no time had passed when Beth returned. I remembered another phone call I had to make, and at the same time, Maggie
handed me an envelope from Ron marked “personal.” Inside was a handwritten note.

Jack, what in the hell are you doing? You're making a fool of yourself! The majority leader called Paul Anthony to complain. The
Legal Times
is calling about our radical step in taking on the defense of an assassin. Every day you're in that godforsaken place we are losing business and respectability. Leave now and keep your mouth shut! Ron
.

I looked up from the note and commented to Maggie, “I see things are a little tense.”

Maggie gave me a knowing smile. “The lawyers most upset are the government-relations types.”

Their fancy label always amused me. Why don't they call themselves what they are—lobbyists.

“They were delighted when you enlisted them to organize a function for Senator Robinson. Now they're avoiding calls from Hill staff, trying to pretend they don't know you.”

I made a mental note to call Paul Anthony, former congressman from Alabama and head of our government-relations section. I also thought about calling Ron, but thought better of it. Until I talked to Woody, I wouldn't have much to say.

I picked up the phone and made the call I'd been putting off.

“This is Jack Patterson. Mrs. Robinson's assistant asked that I call to make an appointment.”

There was a long silence, followed by an ice-cold voice. “We've been expecting your call. Be at the family home at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Please don't be late.”

Between last night's threat, Ron's note, and the chill from Lucy's assistant, the welcome mat had certainly been rolled out for me in Little Rock.

T
HERE WAS A
knock at the door, and I was pleasantly surprised to see Brenda followed closely by two very large guys.

“Jack, this is Bruce Morgan, our head of security, and Clovis Jones, who I understand has been retained by Ms. Baxter. I thought I should sit in, if you don't mind.”

Maggie gave me an apologetic look—she'd obviously hired Jones without consulting me. I kept quiet, and Bruce Morgan took the lead.

“Mr. Patterson, the hotel needs to take some unusual precautions for your safety, and I'd like your cooperation.”

“Unusual precautions?” I asked, with possibly more skepticism than I intended.

“I'm afraid your presence is creating a number of security problems. If it were up to me, I'd suggest you change hotels, but Ms. Warner has made it very clear that's not an option.”

I noticed his glance toward Brenda, who was nodding firmly.

“The press is a nuisance. We can limit their access, but we can't keep them from camping outside. Frankly, it's not the press I'm worried about. They'll turn their attention to the Westin as soon as the vice president and other dignitaries arrive. I'm worried because the hotel is receiving threats.”

“What kind of threats?” Beth asked.

Morgan looked at Beth and then at me.

“It's okay,” I said. “This affects Beth too.”

“The hotel has received two bomb threats. We're working with Little Rock Police and the ATF, and, thank heaven, we haven't had any bombs yet. But we have received a number of worrisome threats against both you and your daughter. We need to take precautions to be sure both you and our other guests are safe.”

I knew about the one threat, but multiple threats? Flushing with anger, I sputtered, “Threats to Beth? If anything … Who…?”

Clovis Jones, who looked closer to seven feet tall than six and packed at least 260 pounds of muscle, interrupted in a surprisingly soft voice, “Calm down, Mr. Patterson. That's why I'm here. Nothing will happen to either of you. But we need to make a plan, and that involves me setting the rules and you two following them.”

“What do you have in mind? Do I need a babysitter?” Beth's voice was cool and a little cocky. I sighed. G
reat time for an attitude
.

Jones chose to ignore her, asking about our schedule for the next few days and quizzing Bruce about the hotel's plans to beef up security. He insisted that either he or one of his people drive at all times, and that neither Beth nor I leave our room without alerting his people.

Thinking of the disturbing note I'd hidden in the desk drawer, I asked if it might be better for Beth to return to Davidson. I got a glare from Beth, and Jones shook his head with certainty.

“For now, she's better off here.” He turned to Beth. “So far, only your dad has been in the papers, but there are pictures of you online. Until things die down, someone might try to track you down at school. You don't need that.”

I looked at Beth. She didn't look quite so sure of herself now.

Offering my hand to our new bodyguard, I said, “Thank you, Mr. Jones. And please, call me Jack.”

“You're welcome. The name's Clovis.”

Clovis and Bruce Morgan gave us all kinds of cell phone and pager numbers before they left to work out the details of our security. Brenda stood to leave, and as we shook hands, she put her other hand on my arm and said softly, “Things will get better, Jack.” I looked across the room and saw Beth and Maggie watching us.