When Men Betray

by Webb Hubbell

  I slipped out of the room without waking Beth and joined Clovis at breakfast. I brought up my concerns about Beth’s safety right off the bat. Would she be safer back at Davidson?

  “For the next couple of days, until we get the real threats sorted out, I think she needs to stay here with the rest of you. Hopefully, the situation will calm down, but for now, Beth would be an easy target at college.”

  “Have I got this straight? As long as I’m here in Little Rock, Beth is at risk. But if I send her back to school, she’s even more at risk, as long as I’m here? That’s one hell of an argument for packing my bags right now.”

  “It’s not that simple. Right now, it’s only my educated guess that the threats are the result of someone trying to get you to leave. I could be wrong. The police and Bruce Morgan think I am. They think the threats are crackpots and the car was pure happenstance.”

  “It still boils down to the same thing, Clovis—we’re making decisions without information. I can’t help Woody, and you can’t protect Beth or me, until we know what and who we’re up against. So let’s change that.”

  “Okay by me. What’ve you got in mind?”

  “Let’s start with me hiring you for more than just security.”

  Clovis nodded. “You got it.”

  I told Clovis what I needed him to do, my “shower thoughts” having worked their way into a checklist. I first told him about the possibility that men disguised as state troopers had stolen Woody’s computer and files right after the shooting. He agreed with me that, if this were true, somebody had to have known some part of what Woody had planned to do before he had done it. This possibility opened a huge can of worms.

  Next, I asked him to make copies of the key and note and to see if the key opened a safe-deposit box where Woody banked. Subject to Mitch Purdue advising me otherwise, I was going to give the originals to Sam this afternoon. I asked Clovis to see if he could find out where Woody might have bought the gun he used and to interview the clerk who’d sold it to him. Helen was sure Woody had never owned a gun or brought one into the house. I guessed that it had been purchased recently, and the police could tell Clovis where. I asked him to find Woody’s car if the police didn’t already have it. And last, I gave him a list of questions to ask Russell’s staff. Clovis took notes, sometimes smiling, sometimes questioning why I wanted something, and occasionally shaking his head in amazement. When I finished, he closed his notebook sharply and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “Maggie warned me about you. She said you go along acting like you aren’t paying a lick of attention. Then, all of a sudden, you’re miles ahead of anyone else, handing out assignments and spouting off theories.”

  “Maggie exaggerates.”

  “Not if this list is any indication.”

  As we finished, Beth came into the restaurant, for once up early and ready for the day. She sat down and asked, “So, did you guys talk about Jeff?”

  “Jeff?” Clovis looked at me. “Your Dad asked me whether you should stay here or go back to school, but he didn’t tell me about any Jeff. Do you mean the young fella who called me last night to find out if you really were safe here in Little Rock?”

  Beth smiled sheepishly. “Yes, that Jeff. Jeff Fields. He thinks I need to come back to Davidson.”

  “I don’t think getting you back to Davidson is about safety. That young man misses you. If the traffic between your phones is any indication, I know you miss him as well.”

  I was impressed that Clovis had the technology to monitor the traffic on our phones, but Beth scowled. “You’d better not be listening in on my calls.”

  Clovis just grinned. “For the next few days, I think it’s better for you to stay here. But you’re pretty much an adult. It’s ultimately your decision whether to stay or go. If you decide to stay, I’ll explain the circumstances to Jeff the next time he calls.”

  “Thanks, but I can handle Jeff.” She tossed her head a little.

  “Your Dad tells me he wants you and me to work together for the next few days. He says you’re good with computers.”

  “I am, but what—”

  I interrupted, “I gave Clovis a long list of items to investigate. We both need someone who’s smart, experienced in computer research, and can interpret and report accurately. Other than Maggie, you’re the only one I trust to do this right. Talk to Clovis about it while I get ready to see Lucy Robinson.”

  Beth ordered a Diet Coke, and they got right to it. I knew that once she’d learned what I needed, she’d have ten more ideas, and she would be giving the orders.

  When I walked out of the restaurant, I found Brenda waiting for me in the lobby.

  “Mr. Patterson, can you come into my office for a moment? It will just take a minute.”

  I followed her, and she closed the door behind us. As I turned to face her, her arms went around my neck and her mouth met mine. Totally shocked, I wasn’t sure how to react. I tried to kiss her back, fumbling a bit. But she stepped back awkwardly, refusing to look at me, and nudged me out the door. “Have a nice day, Mr. Patterson.”

  I had no idea what to think, so I didn’t. I had been in her office less than a minute, and if anyone was watching, the only thing that had changed was that I now had a smile on my face.

  I hurried to my room to put on a tie and was pleased to see I hadn’t spilled anything on my clean shirt at breakfast. I grabbed my coat and went back to join Clovis and Beth, carefully avoiding Brenda’s office. She was more than I could think about right now.

  They were right where I had left them, still huddled together.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  “Good,” said Beth, “but I’m going to need a new and faster computer.”

  “Really?” I frowned.

  “My laptop is too slow for what we need, and the laptop Maggie brought belongs to your firm. Clovis knows a guy who has exactly what we need. He’s already downloading the software and will bring it to the hotel this morning. We can’t protect the information we discover using someone else’s computer.”

  “Okay …”

  “I need one with a quad-core chip, at least.”

  I sighed. Sure enough, Beth was already giving orders, and I was falling in line.

  19

  AS I WAITED for Clovis to bring the car around, I felt a sudden peace and familiarity with my old hometown. It was a beautiful spring day, and I was reminded of how peaceful Sunday mornings usually were in Little Rock. When I was in college, I would sleep in, maybe meet friends for a late breakfast, read the sports section and comics in the Sunday paper, and then go to the lake or park with Angie for a lazy afternoon of soaking up some sun. Sometimes, I’d walk alone from campus to the city park. No iPods in those days, just listening to the wind blow through the pines.

  Clovis pushed the door to the car open, and my reverie ended. No peace for me this Sunday—I was on my way to meet with the senator’s widow.

  LUCILLE MACK ROBINSON had been known as a piece of work in college and, from Woody’s accounts, hadn’t changed much as first lady. She was good-looking, self-assured, and always dressed to the nines. She’d been president of her sorority at Stafford State and a member of every organization on campus—and that’s only a slight exaggeration. She was a straight-A student, although, if you believed campus gossip, there wasn’t a professor in the entire university who had the balls to give her a lesser grade.

  She’d set her sights on Russell the minute he’d thrown the winning touchdown pass against Tennessee his sophomore year. He never had a chance. By their junior year, she had his fraternity pin and letter sweater. By their senior year, she had an engagement ring, and he had a ring in his nose. They were married in June, right after graduation. As one would expect, they had the requisite two children, both of whom attended the best schools and excelled in sports.

  For Russell, Lucy was the perfect partner. Her daddy owned fifteen thousand acres of rice, soybeans, and cotton along t
he river delta and controlled every vote in the county. When they were married, Daddy gave Russell and Lucy a five-bedroom home in Butler Park. Russell received his own duck club on the family farm, and Lucy got a trust fund.

  To my surprise, Angie and Lucy had become friends in college. Once Angie and I had started dating, their friendship cooled. Because there was no love lost between Russell and me, I took the blame (or credit, depending on your point-of-view). Angie was always telling me to give Lucy a break or to “try to understand her better.” I wasn’t interested, at least not as long as Russell was in the picture. After school, Angie heard from Lucy occasionally, but I only kept up with the Robinsons through Woody’s many calls and visits.

  Bored with volunteer work and raising children, Lucy soon became a force in Russell’s campaigns. She was a shrewd campaigner, furious at the least little hiccup, and micromanaged a different aspect of the campaign every week. She was the leading advocate for negative campaigning. If anyone dared say anything negative about Russell, she wanted a rebuttal ad on the air within twenty-four hours. For Lucy, the gloves were always off.

  All this was behind the scenes. On the campaign trail, she was Russell’s best asset. She worked the crowds even better than Russell. She flirted with the men and tiptoed easily between the demands of working women and the values of stay-at-home moms. She was especially effective in the rural areas where Russell was weakest. She reminded folks that she was a farmer, just like them—though, for the life of me, I couldn’t picture Lucy plowing a field or milking a cow.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect from my meeting with Lucy. I’d heard enough stories from Woody not to underestimate the woman she’d become. Her security people told Clovis to stay with the car. I was on my own in hostile territory.

  When Russell was elected governor, Lucy found the Governor’s Mansion to be smaller and stuffier than their family home. So instead of moving in, she decided that the mansion was badly in need of repairs. She spent the next eight years half-heartedly raising money for the repairs, while they “sacrificed” and lived in their humble home, staffed with the servants from the mansion.

  I was escorted into the library, an impressive room indeed. I wandered around the room admiring the first editions and photographs of Russell and Lucy with about everybody of note in the country. I also noticed they had some very fine pieces of ancient art—vases, statues, coins, platters, that sort of thing. I was no expert in antiquities, but with Russell’s ties to the Townsend Arts Center, I guessed that someone had helped with their acquisitions. I was gazing at life-size portraits of Lucy and Russell when the butler intoned gravely, “The first lady will be with you shortly.”

  I knew that after someone had been president, governor, senator, or judge, he or she retained the title … but first lady?

  The double doors opened, and Lucy sailed through with three people traipsing behind, two women and a man. She walked directly to the chair behind the desk and sat down. She wore a short black dress with a plunging neckline. Interesting choice of mourning attire.

  One of the women said, “Please have a seat, Mr. Patterson.” I sat in one of the wingback chairs facing the desk, and she sat in the other. The other two moved to the wall behind the desk, a bit to the right of Lucy, and remained standing. Lucy stared at me in silence. I was caught a little off guard by this cheery welcome. Oh well.

  “Lucy, I’m sorry for your loss and our country’s. How are your children?”

  “Thank you. My kids are coping, but I’m having a hard time squaring your condolences with why you’re here in Little Rock.”

  The woman sitting next to me said smoothly, “Mr. Patterson, there are a few matters the first lady would like to discuss.”

  “My name is Jack. I didn’t get yours,” I turned slightly to the other two, “or yours.”

  The answer came from across the desk.

  Gesturing, Lucy said, “Her name is Phyllis, and she’s my assistant. He’s Malcolm Wilkins, one of my attorneys, and Lindsay is a close friend of mine.”

  “Why do you need an attorney here, Lucy?”

  Malcolm piped up. “You’re counsel to Mr. Cole. I thought she should have counsel present.” I didn’t even bother to explain that I wasn’t Woody’s lawyer.

  “I’m here at your invitation,” I said to Lucy. “I can only imagine how tough this must be for you. I’ve been in your shoes, and yet I don’t know what to say. Words bring no comfort.”

  Lucy’s mouth quivered, but she didn’t say a word.

  “You’re correct,” Phyllis said for her. “You are here at the first lady’s invitation. She thought it better to raise certain issues with you in person rather than over the phone.”

  “Well, I’m here,” I said, speaking directly to Lucy.

  “First, she requests that neither Mrs. Cole nor you attend the funeral.”

  “I’ll certainly respect your request. I’m sure Helen had planned to attend, although she and I haven’t discussed it. She cared a great deal for your husband, and always worked the polls on his behalf. She’ll be disappointed, but if that’s what you want, I’m sure she’ll honor your wishes.”

  Maybe this response would ease the tension, although I knew Helen would have a hard time understanding.

  Lucy’s tone betrayed her rural origins as she went for the jugular. “How do you do it? How can you sit here and greet me like you’re a long lost friend paying respects? Did you ever stop and think how I might feel about my good friend’s husband trying to get Russell’s assassin off? Every time your name appears on TV or in the papers, I feel your knife of betrayal. Is a murderer more important than my family? Did you think about it at all, Jack? Does your loyalty to Woody run so deep that you’re willing to sacrifice every good memory I have of Angie, Beth, and you? Right now, you represent the worst of your profession—a man who will stop at nothing to defend a cold-blooded killer. Tell me, Jack. Explain it to me.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand—”

  “Why are you in Little Rock?” she cut in. “Angie told me you were never coming back, but here you are. Did you hate Russell so much that you need to dance on his grave?”

  I took a deep breath, let it out, and turned to Phyllis. “Is there anything else the first lady requests?”

  Flustered, Phyllis started shuffling through the papers in her lap. I could feel Lucy’s anger rising across the desk. She wanted something, and I wanted to find out what it was. I spoke directly to her, trying to defuse the moment.

  “It’s okay, Lucy. I understand where you’re coming from. You’re angry and need to take out that anger on someone. You’re totally justified in being madder than hell at me. But I know you didn’t have me come here just to take me to the woodshed. At some point, you’re going to get it all out so you can turn on your Lucy Robinson charm and ask me for something. I’m waiting for that, because otherwise, I really don’t know how I can help.”

  Lucy didn’t say a word. The lawyer didn’t smile, but the expression on his face told me I had it figured right. It didn’t take long for Lucy to compose herself.

  Her practiced, elegant drawl returned as she said, in a quiet voice, “Jack, forgive me. I’m sorry I exploded. I’ve been so upset. … Everything is happening so fast, and there’s so much to do … I took it all out on you. Angie’s husband, no less. I really am sorry.”

  She paused, expecting me to say something. I waited for her to continue.

  “I assume Woody is going to plead insanity on Tuesday?”

  I had no answer, so I said nothing. Lucy’s lawyer shook his head as if to say, I told you he wouldn’t tell you.

  “All right,” she said, her tone now matter-of-fact, “you probably know that during campaigns, you try to anticipate anything negative your opponent may try to dredge up. You hire a research team to do negative research on your own candidacy and even ask the candidate and his spouse to tell the researchers anything that might be viewed in a bad light. For example, I told them I’d experimented
once with marijuana in college, even though it made me deathly ill and I never tried it again.”

  “I’m familiar with the concept of opposition research,” I said dryly, remembering the many times I’d seen her stoned at Woody’s apartment during college.

  “Good. Then you know the campaign not only digs up rumors and dirt but also prepares a response. Some woman always turns up who claims she had an affair with the candidate. You figure out how to paint her as a liar; you dig up stuff she’s done before. The background of big contributors is checked. Of course, these files are very confidential, and everyone who works on them signs a confidentiality agreement. Well, for some reason, Russell trusted Woody to make sure all that information was protected.”

  Lucy’s face rearranged itself into a smile. She looked as if she might ask me to take her to the prom. “You’re Woody’s attorney. I was wondering if you might have those files.”

  I didn’t, of course, but I wondered about the key Woody had left me, as well as about whatever files had been seized by the state troopers. I noticed that lawyer Malcolm had moved closer to Lucy’s chair. I was glad he was there. He might better appreciate what I had to say.

  “Lucy, I understand your concern. If I’d been Russell’s attorney, I’d have insisted there be a clear understanding of who owns the files—Russell, you, Woody, the campaign, or someone else.”

  “They’re mine.” Her color was rising again.

  “You’re probably right. But I wasn’t Russell’s lawyer, and I don’t know what happened. I’ll try to find out and inform Malcolm. He may have to go through Sam Pagano, but—”

  “Sam Pagano? What’s Sam got to do with those damn files? They’re my files. I want them back. I want them destroyed! Fix it, Malcolm!”

  Malcolm had shrunk back against the wall.