Law and Addiction

by Mike Papantonio

  “I suspect this will be one of those rare instances where they won’t try and gum up the works,” said Deke. “They know that with more information coming out every day showing their culpability, their case will only get weaker with time. My guess is they’ll welcome an earlier date in court in the hope that they’ll be able to close the doors on us getting the ARCOS data.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Jake.

  “I guess they didn’t tell you in law school that ‘the wheels of justice turn slowly,’” said Paul.

  “If they did, I must not have been listening,” said Jake.

  “This week I’ll get the ball rolling,” said Deke, “and that means I’ll be generating a lot of paperwork. You can be sure in the next hearing our opponents will try and improve on their arguments that all cities and counties must abide by any agreements made by their state attorney general. To try and preempt that, I’ll have Alison and Ron help me build a wall with Judge Perry’s words, supported by documents right out of the defendants’ own file cabinets. My focus will be long, long hours of document review. It’s the not-very-glamorous part of law, but nothing typically pays off more.”

  Deke looked to the other two men. “Anything else we need to talk about?”

  When no one had anything to add, Deke said, “Today was a good day for our side. Let’s use that momentum. I know we all have our particular roles in this case, but as a team we need to know what everyone is doing individually so that we can prepare in unison. Let’s talk with each other on a daily basis. And how about we have another face-to-face a week from today at nine in the morning? That will be a good time to compare notes and strategize. I’m hoping we’ll have been put on the docket by then, and we can define our game plan right up to the day of the hearing.”

  “Works for me,” said Paul.

  “Sounds good,” said Jake.

  20

  MURDER FOR A JAR OF RED RUM

  Eva was working on her laptop and only half listening to Danny when he said, “Eva, can I stab bats in a cave?” She looked up to see her husband looking at her with that goofy smile of his. “What did you just say?”

  “I said, ‘Eva, can I stab bats in a cave?’”

  Danny began laughing at her confused expression. “It’s a palindrome. I saw your name in a sentence, and that’s what got me reading this article on palindromes. A palindrome is a word that’s spelled the same backward or forward.”

  “I know what a palindrome is,” she said. Pointedly, she added, “It’s a word like boob or kook.”

  Danny nodded, apparently unmindful of her disdain. He went back to the article and began reading aloud some of the palindrome phrases: “Do geese see God?” Then he added, “Was it a rat I saw?” And laughing, he concluded with, “Mr. Owl ate my metal worm.”

  “Murdrum,” Eva whispered under her breath.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I thought there was a problem you needed to discuss with me.”

  173 Danny made a little face. Eva wasn’t fond of bad news, but Danny knew not to keep anything from her. “That deputy contacted me again,” he said. “Even though that condemnation auction we had set up in Oakley never took place, that young lawyer is still nosing around.”

  “I see,” she said. “Mr. Rutledge has been poking a lot of hornets’ nests these days, including the DEA, the three biggest pharmaceutical distributors, and various other players in the black-market opioid trade. If you read between the lines, that means the Mountain Mafia. That means he has declared war against the government, three Fortune 25 companies, and the organized drug trade. It sounds to me like the man has a death wish.”

  Danny was nodding in agreement. “In fact,” Eva said, “it wouldn’t surprise me if Jake Rutledge’s propensity for upsetting apple carts resulted in his simply disappearing.”

  “That would solve our problem, wouldn’t it?” said Danny.

  Eva took his wishful thinking and ran with it. “Why, yes it would,” she said. “And when you have so many enemies, the police wouldn’t even know where to start their investigation.”

  A sudden realization came to Danny. “If this lawyer disappears, our interests might not even show up on the radar.”

  “I think you’re right about that,” Eva said.

  “But I couldn’t just . . .”

  Her husband balked at even saying the word murder. “Of course not,” Eva said.

  Danny looked relieved.

  “Still,” she said, “it’s a shame there’s no way to get him out of our hair. That might save you a big headache.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Danny.

  “I’m afraid if he finds out about some of those condemned properties you’ve managed to obtain, it wouldn’t look good for you. I’m

  175 / M i k e P a p a n t on io sure young and idealistic Jake Rutledge would develop a case that makes it sound like you were throwing widows and orphans out on the street. He’d probably make the argument that if you would throw your own sickly mother into a dirty broom closet, then you certainly would have no compassion for all those people you stole property from. Just imagine how that trial would play out.”

  Danny winced, and Eva started to reel him in. “I wonder if this Jake Rutledge is as virtuous in real life as they say he is.”

  “I’m sure he’s not,” Danny muttered.

  “You’re probably right,” said Eva. “Look at Congressman Roberts.”

  Rob Roberts was a three-term West Virginia congressman known mostly for his pro-life stance. During the past month he’d been facing the fallout from the public’s learning not only about his twenty-two-year-old girlfriend (something his fifty-eight-year-old wife didn’t know about), but also the fact that Roberts had paid for his girlfriend’s abortion.

  “I knew he was a hypocrite the first time we met him,” said Danny.

  “It wouldn’t even surprise me,” said Eva, “if our young lawyer abused opioids. After all, didn’t his own brother die of an overdose?”

  “I think I heard something about that,” Danny said.

  “For you,” Eva said, “it would be a godsend if everyone believed he used opioids. He’d lose all his credibility, and no one would believe anything he had to say.”

  “Wait a second,” Danny said. “I’m getting an idea.”

  It’s about time, Eva thought. But her face didn’t give away her impatience. She appeared attentive to her husband’s every word.

  “I could make arrangements for the lawyer to disappear,” said Danny. “He wouldn’t have to die. We could hold him somewhere while we get him strung out on opioids.”

  “Brilliant! There are so many people who want this lawyer out of their hair, the police will have to hand out numbers to all the suspects. Talk about muddying the waters. And, of course,” she said, “you’re going to use that deputy to help, aren’t you? If down the road Rutledge tries to point the finger at the deputy for that real estate misunderstanding in Oakley, no one will pay any attention to anything he claims.”

  “Yes,” Danny said, “that’s right.”

  “Your deputy could even arrest a street dealer and get the dealer to claim that Rutledge was one of his longtime clients.”

  “And when it’s shown that Rutledge is using,” said Danny, “no one will ever believe anything that junkie lawyer has to say.”

  “No, they wouldn’t,” said Eva. “How clever of you.” And under her breath, she whispered, “Murder for a jar of red rum.”

  It was a favorite palindrome of hers, but she didn’t share that piece of knowledge with Danny.

  21

  HOG-TIED

  Deke and Paul made small talk while waiting for Jake, who was already fifteen minutes late for their nine a.m. meeting. Neither man had said anything about his tardiness, as each expected him to walk in at any moment. Jake had never been late before. In fact, he was invariably the one who arrived early and stayed late. From the first, Jake had embraced the long hours. To all app
earances he was a happy sponge, glad for the opportunity to soak up knowledge.

  Finally, Deke addressed the elephant in the room. “When Master Jake does walk in,” he said, “I think I’ll take a long and hard look at his neck before I say word one.”

  “If he has another hickey,” Paul said, “I’m going to pretend to be jealous. Or maybe I won’t even have to pretend. It’s probably been twenty-five years since my last hickey.”

  “I might join you in faking umbrage. We can say his being late is simply his way of showing off to the old guys.”

  “Speak for yourself. These days I find myself quoting Francis Bacon more and more: ‘I will never be an old man. To me, old age is always fifteen years more than I am.’”

  “I’m stealing that quote,” said Deke.

  177 When another five minutes had passed, each of them became concerned. Paul took out his cell phone and called Jake. After four rings, it went to voice mail, and he left a message.

  Another five minutes passed. This time it was Deke who called Jake and left a message.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a flat,” said Paul, “or if that beater of his broke down. I know the route he typically takes from Oakley. Why don’t I drive along it? If I don’t see him along the way, I’ll just stop at his house. He’s been working such long hours it’s possible he slept through the alarm.”

  “I can’t think of a better plan,” said Deke. “While you’re gone, I’ll corral the paralegals just to see if they heard anything from him and forgot to pass the information our way. If they don’t know anything, the three of us will start calling law enforcement to see if Jake might have been involved in an accident.”

  vvv It was noon when Paul called Deke from the Rutledge house. “His car is here,” he said, “but there’s no sign of Jake. I knocked loudly, then looked in through the windows. Nothing appeared to be out of place.”

  Deke thrummed his fingers against the desktop. “I was afraid of that. That’s why I already called Carol Morris, the security director of my firm. She’s trying to track his location through his cell phone and is pulling his credit-card history. Depending on what she finds or doesn’t find, she’ll likely be flying to West Virginia today with a team. She’s also put in a missing person’s report to the state and city cops, but since Jake hasn’t been missing for long, it was hard for her to get much traction with that. In the meantime, she’s pulling what strings she can to make sure Jake gets on law enforcement’s radar.”

  “What can I do from this end?” asked Paul.

  “Carol has asked us to construct our best Jake timeline for the last forty-eight hours. That means I’ll need you to reengineer Jake’s movements. We need to know who he was seeing. Talking to Jake’s new lady friend is a priority of Carol’s.”

  “I have one or two numbers for contacts Jake has in Oakley,” said Paul. “I’ll start by calling them. If they can’t tell me anything, I’ll knock on the doors of his neighbors.”

  “Good luck with that,” said Deke, trying not to sound worried. In truth, he didn’t have a good feeling about this. Jake was too committed to their case, and too conscientious of a kid, to have not contacted them by now.

  Something was wrong.

  vvv Somewhere nearby in the darkness, someone was in a lot of pain. Their groans and moans and cries of pain were just short of screams. Jake wished they would stop, because his head was pounding, but the cries continued for several minutes. He tried to open his mouth to say something before realizing the source of the noises. He was the one who was groaning.

  Jake opened an eye. The light was like a stab to his optic nerve. He shut his eyes tight, and then to block out all light, he cupped a hand over them. He found that it didn’t hurt quite as much if he held himself steady. Still, his head continued to throb. What the hell had happened?

  He remembered leaving Anna’s house at about nine the night before. The two of them had been doing work on the case, but it hadn’t been all toil. They’d set aside time to play two games of cribbage; Anna had won both games. Jake had pretended to pout, and Anna’s “sympathizing” with him had included a kiss.

  Right after her kiss, Jake had said, “Now you see why I threw those games.”

  “Revisionist history,” she’d shot back. “You fought tooth and nail to win.”

  “I was playing for the consolation prize,” he said. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

  Jake might have smiled at the memory, except he was afraid any movement would bring on even more pain. One of the many things he liked about Anna was her competitiveness. Growing up, he and Blake had always vied with each other over gin rummy, chess, backgammon, Scrabble, and cribbage. Since Blake’s death, Jake had rarely played any of those games. But Anna was a gamester and had reinvigorated his latent interest in gaming. As he’d been leaving the Fowler house, she’d challenged him to a Scrabble contest the very next night, taunting him by adding, “If you dare.”

  Jake thought hard, following his memories through the rest of the night. He’d arrived home around nine fifteen. Instead of being vigilant, he’d been distracted, thinking about Anna. It was only when he was inserting his key into the door that he heard movement behind him. He’d turned, but had gotten only a glimpse of the two men. They were dressed in black and wearing ski masks. He’d tried to brandish his key as a weapon, but he’d been far too slow. One of the men was already swinging some kind of club. When it connected with Jake’s head, his world went black.

  I’m lucky to be alive, he thought.

  He opened an eye once more and had to fight off nausea, which meant he’d likely suffered a concussion. He knew it was important now that he stay awake long enough to take in his circumstances. Even though it hurt to move, he forced himself to gradually turn his head. He was in some kind of cage or pen, with fabric draped all around it, blocking most of the outside from view. The cage was rectangular, probably four feet high and eight feet long. There was something familiar about the heavy iron bars. It’s one of those boar traps, Jake thought suddenly, designed to take in a passel of pigs. But this trap had been modified. The spring door was secured with a chain lock so that it couldn’t be opened. T-posts had been driven deep into the dirt below to anchor the trap. The cage had few comforts or amenities other than some mats and blankets that lined the floor. Food had been left in an old metal galvanized feed bucket—jerky, pepperoni rolls, and hush puppies—and there were two one-gallon jugs of bug juice—water that looked to be flavored with red Kool-Aid.

  Jake knew West Virginia had more than its share of “hogzillas,” huge feral pigs, some weighing north of three hundred pounds. The cages that corralled such behemoths were designed to withstand lots of punishment.

  He continued his slow-motion surveillance. Even though he moved as gingerly as possible, it took all his willpower not to retch. As far as he could tell, he was sitting in the middle of a small forest clearing. He could see trees, but there were no houses nearby, nor were there any roads. His view, however, was limited because of the draping around the cage. It took him a few seconds to realize that the draping was camouflage, meant to disguise the cage in the event of an air search—almost like a hunting blind.

  He strained to hear anything but couldn’t pick up any sounds of cars, or any voices.

  No people, no houses, and no roads, Jake thought. It seemed as if he’d been left in the middle of nowhere. Normally he might have screamed for help, but just the thought of raising his voice caused his head to throb that much more.

  They hadn’t killed him outright. He supposed that was a good thing, even if it didn’t feel like it at the moment. But who was they? And what did they want?

  Suddenly conscious of how dehydrated he was, Jake steadied himself with his hands and moved forward on his knees, half walking, half crawling over to where the two jugs were. Flipping off one of the caps, Jake raised the jug up above his lips, and in so doing scraped the bottle against the top of the cage. Even though he used both han
ds to steady the jug, the strain made his arms tremble. He gulped the red liquid once, twice, and then a third time, and lowered the jug to the ground. Then he replaced the cap on the jug and sank into one of the mats lining the cage, exhausted by his efforts.

  As he lay there, Jake realized that although the bug juice had been cloyingly sweet, it had a bitter aftertaste. The thought crossed his mind that someone might have poisoned it, but that seemed unlikely. If his captors’ goal was to do him harm, there had been no shortage of opportunities. Still, the aftertaste made him suspect the water might have been drugged. What better way to keep him compliant than to make him sleep away his captivity instead of spending his time plotting an escape? Maybe that’s why he was suddenly feeling so tired.

  The buzzing around his head grew louder. Jake wasn’t sure if the noise was being caused by insects, or from the beating that had left him senseless. At the moment, though, he was too tired to care. Cradling his aching head in his arms, he stretched out on the mat and fell asleep.

  23

  PRAYERS CAN’T HURT ANY

  It had been four days since Jake had been a no-show for his nine a.m. meeting with Deke and Paul. For most of that time, Carol Morris had been coordinating the overall campaign to find out what had happened to him.

  There were seven main members of what Deke was referring to as “Team Jake.” Under the auspices of those seven, volunteers and temporary help had been brought in to help alert the public to Jake’s disappearance.

  Carol brought the meeting of Team Jake, all of whom had assembled at Deke’s apartment, to order. Those unfamiliar with her might have assumed from her appearance that she was some suburban grandmother. Her comforting smile and amiable demeanor often helped her obtain information that otherwise would have eluded others. But Carol had spent most of her career in law enforcement, and her many sources and resources had made her invaluable at heading up security at Bergman/Deketomis.

  “Let me say at the onset of this meeting that Jake’s whereabouts are still unknown,” she said. “However, I am now confident that we have an accurate timeline for the thirty-six hours prior to the time he