by Webb Hubbell
Reaching a hand out to her, I said, “Lucy, please calm down. I’m sure the files will be found, and Malcolm will make sure they never see the light of day. Right, Malcolm?”
He didn’t seem to appreciate my humor.
“He damn well better.” She fumbled for a Kleenex and dabbed at her eyes. “Jack, I apologize again. … It was just three days ago.” She looked miserable, but her genteel accent was back in full force. “My staff has raised something else with me, and Malcolm says that I should discuss it with you—off the record. I’d rather not bring it up, but they insist.”
Uh oh, here it comes.
“You know Russell was very good to Woody. Generous to a fault. He gave Woody his first real job out of college and kept him on the payroll long past his time. After Cheryl left him, Woody was lost. He lived in the past. Everyone suggested that Russell let him go, but you know Russell. He gave Woody odd jobs to keep him busy. Unfortunately, the move to Washington meant leaving Woody behind. I can only guess that Woody got wind of the inevitable and snapped.”
It was a fine performance. The other members of the cast nodded somberly.
“Jack, I have moments of anger and rage. I can’t help it. But most of the time, I just feel sad and alone, so alone.”
Not for long, if the cut of that dress is any indication.
The tone of her voice changed. Not angry, certainly not sad and alone, but pure business. “I’ve been asked about what should happen to Woody. You know—whether he deserves the death penalty. Well, like the rest of the country, I’m still in shock that a great man like Russell was assassinated. Our country can’t be seen coddling assassins. But then, I think, what would Russell say? And I don’t know. He might call for justice—that the murderer of a US senator must receive swift and certain justice. But Russell was such a compassionate man. He might have asked for mercy, even for his own killer. I don’t know. I just don’t know, but I have been asked, and I’m sure I’ll be asked again.
“Malcolm told me that if Woody were in prison, he might write a book about Russell, and it might get published. You know, if he was so mad at us that he killed Russell, there’s no telling what he might say. That would be horrible for everyone, especially the children. But Jack, somebody he trusted might be able to convince Woody to serve his sentence quietly. If I could be certain, it might help me understand what Russell would say if he were alive. I might come to believe that Russell would have been forgiving … I’m sorry. I know I’m rambling. But you understand, don’t you?” She smiled like an ingénue.
I understood her perfectly.
The meeting was over, or should I say, the play had ended. Malcolm gave me his card and said, with a controlled smile, “We look forward to your response.” Phyllis, at least, said good-bye. Lindsay was still holding up the wall. Lucy came around the desk, held out her hand, and presented her cheek.
She got an air kiss—that was the best I could manage.
20
I WALKED AWAY from the mansion fuming, trying to keep my thoughts under control.
“You okay?” Clovis asked.
“Let’s get out of here.” I got in the car and slammed the door.
Angie’s good friend—does she think I’m stupid? The play was over, and I really wanted to write the review. Instead, I took a deep breath and managed a smile. Actually, I’d gotten a lot more out of the meeting than I’d expected. For one thing, Lucy’s funeral request had freed up tomorrow morning. Helen would be disappointed, but I was relieved. I’d have felt like a hypocrite.
Plus, I now knew that if Woody wanted to sit quietly in prison, I might be able to give his attorney something to keep him off death row. We’d be dancing with the devil, but Woody might have enough dirt on Russell or Lucy to allow some room for negotiating. The compromise Lucy proposed stunk, probably wasn’t legal, and had little chance of success, but it was the first glimmer of hope.
Lucy was right to worry about opposition-research files falling into the wrong hands. They could do tremendous damage to Russell’s reputation, and Lucy’s too. This type of research could be a treasure trove for the tabloid press—or worse, people intent on blackmail.
Russell had been wise to ask Woody to be in charge of the opposition research. Woody disliked negative and slimy campaigning. He never discussed secrets—Russell’s or Lucy’s—and he was always on the pulpit about how political campaigns had turned ugly, dirty, and issueless. I caught myself. That was the Woody I thought I knew, not the one who had put a gun to Russell’s head. Either way, Lucy had good reason to be worried.
I realized that Clovis wasn’t taking the direct route back to the hotel. “Has there been a change in schedule?”
“Nope, we’ve got company.”
I turned around and saw a black Suburban with tinted windows. “You sure? In DC, maybe—it would be easy to hide in traffic. But here? Who would be stupid enough to tail us when they can be seen so easily?”
“I don’t know, but we’re about to lose him. Hold on.” The big Tahoe barely managed the sudden U-turn, almost turning over before Clovis regained control. We quickly turned into an alley, and from there, wove in and out of backstreets I’d long forgotten. When I checked the side mirror, we were alone.
“Wow, James Bond, I’m impressed!”
“Don’t be. I’m pretty sure they wanted to be seen. Intimidation is the name of the game. But they’ve made their point. We need to be careful.”
My adrenalin was pumping, and an idea suddenly struck me. “You have Woody’s key, right?”
“I do. I’d planned to get a copy made on the way back to the hotel. Why?”
“Drive to the train station.” Clovis nodded. A few minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot.
“We used to hide liquor from our parents in the lockers here. None of us had a car of our own, and our parents didn’t miss much, so for a quarter we could rent a locker and store booze in it. There was a liquor store across the street.”
“The Cork?” Clovis asked. “Long gone.”
The Cork—I’d forgotten the name, but I hadn’t forgotten the toothless old man who leered at us and talked about pouring pure grain alcohol on his Rice Krispies.
We headed inside to a bank of lockers that looked the same as they had almost thirty years ago, except that half of them hung open, with the hinges or locks broken.
Clovis pulled the key out of his pocket and asked, “Any idea which one?”
“Try number nineteen. It was my baseball number in high school and college.”
Clovis put the key in the lock, and the door swung open easily. Inside were two objects—a little figurine that looked like some kind of Egyptian relic and a DVD copy of the movie Jerry Maguire.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Clovis said. “I guess you know what this stuff means?”
“Not a clue. But I’ll ask Woody this afternoon.”
The DVD was still wrapped in plastic, like it had been recently purchased from Target. The figurine was a total puzzle, but I was as tickled as a kid who’d just found the prize in his box of Cracker Jacks.
“You’re not what I expected, Jack.”
“What did you expect?”
“Some silk-stocking lawyer, looking down his nose at Little Rock.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Tell you the truth, I haven’t figured you out yet.”
We made a quick stop at a place where Clovis could get a copy of the key and Woody’s note—even on a Sunday—with no questions asked, and then on to the hotel.
We were back in plenty of time to meet with Woody’s prospective defense attorneys. We went up to the suite to see how things were going. Paul gave us a little salute from his post outside the door. Beth was frustrated not to have the new computer yet. “Maggie’s gone over to Tucker’s. She wants to talk to you about Cheryl.”
I took a few minutes to call Mitch Purdue and ask what I should do with the key, note, and the contents of the locker. He told me what I already suspected—I needed to turn over the origi
nals to Sam. Mitch promised to follow up his advice with a letter and asked if I had another minute.
“The rumor mill’s going ninety to nothing here. You’re doing your reputation some real damage. I hear Ron’s pulling out his hair, or what’s left of it, and your firm’s executive committee is coming in for a meeting this afternoon. You need to get back here before you lose your job.”
Mitch was my friend, and he was honestly trying to help. I probably should have been concerned about the executive committee meeting, but I knew that nothing much gets resolved in those meetings, at least not the first one. Ron would be in an awful mood, but he’d get over it—especially when Jerry Prince handed me another big piece of business next week. If all went well, Woody would have a lawyer in a few hours, and I could head home tomorrow. I thanked Mitch, we agreed to get together sometime, and that was that.
Clovis and I walked out of the hotel’s side entrance and through an alley to the side door of Tucker’s building in a matter of minutes. His offices were housed in an old brick building that had been beautifully renovated and restored, much like the Armitage. I was glad to see that Little Rock had embraced the preservation of the buildings that had given it character for so many years. Maggie opened the door to greet me, and Clovis went back to the hotel.
“Welcome to Banks and Tuohey West.”
“Careful, Ron may hear you and have a coronary,” I joked.
“You mean in addition to the several he’s had since you’ve been here? Follow me. The office we’re using is upstairs.”
I looked around as Maggie led the way. “Wow—Tucker must be doing well.” The “spare” office he was letting us use was as nice as any of the partners’ offices at Banks and Tuohey. The large desk and credenza were mahogany, and the matching conference table, surrounded by six upholstered straight-back armchairs, had been placed along the opposite wall. This arrangement would be perfect for interviewing prospective lawyers. “Where is Tucker, by the way?”
“He’s on the golf course. He gave me a key yesterday and told me to come and go as we needed. He called from the course just a few minutes ago, offering to bring you a Bloody Mary. When I told him you were with Lucy, he said, ‘Forget the Bloody Mary, I’ll bring him the whole bottle of vodka.’”
We both laughed. I was in a great mood, considering I’d met with Lucy only an hour earlier. I asked, “So how was Cheryl’s interview? What was she up to on this beautiful Sunday morning?”
“Up to no good, as you can probably imagine. How did it go with Lucy?”
“Lucy was bad, but it wasn’t a disaster. What happened with Cheryl?”
“She was outrageous. I downloaded it for you to watch on the laptop. Want some coffee?”
“Sounds good.” I saw an elaborate coffee/espresso setup along the wall opposite the conference table. I walked over to the large window that faced the front of the building and looked down at the street. Maggie handed me the cup of coffee and I sat behind the large desk, where she had cued up the interview for me on her laptop. I clicked on the arrow, and there was Cheryl in all her glory. Her hair was now blond, cut in a blunt bob, with not a dark root in sight. She wore an obviously expensive blue-silk suit. Her white blouse was unbuttoned one too many, so when she leaned over to talk into the microphone, she flashed the TV host—who was trying hard not to look. She had obviously spent a lot of time preparing for this role, hoping it would lead to a bigger part. I had to hand it to her. … She looked terrific.
The host asked about her background, and she replied that she had gone to college on a scholarship and graduated with high honors in political science. She’d met Woody at several political rallies. They’d become good friends and eventually married.
When asked to elaborate, she said, “After college, I worked as a campaign advisor for several of our local politicians while Woody did odd jobs for Russell and sort of just hung around him. At some point, he gave up on having a career.” Cheryl batted her eyes, and the host stared at her like a lovesick puppy. “It was demoralizing.” She sighed theatrically. “It wasn’t a passionate marriage, but I loved him. I stayed with him way too long.”
I shook my head. Nothing could be proved or disproved about what she was saying. What did it matter?
It got worse. The host asked why she had decided to leave him. “Woody started coming home stoned all the time, and I worried about the friends he brought around. Slowly, he turned into a total stranger. I think all the insecurities sort of hardened him over time. You know, he could turn very violent over the smallest of things. It was this awful pattern where we’d fight, I’d move out, he’d beg me to come back, and eventually I would. If I stayed away too long, he’d stalk me at work. It was scary.”
“Pure nonsense,” I muttered, slamming my coffee cup on the desk. Maggie grabbed some paper towels and mopped up the mess.
Cheryl hadn’t finished. “I left him, moved to DC, and started working as a staffer on the hill. Woody couldn’t accept that it was over. He called me constantly, wanting to know what I was doing and who I was with. When Russell was elected senator, I was afraid Woody would come to DC and start harassing me again. I just couldn’t bear the thought. I met with Russell and explained the situation. I didn’t want to pursue legal action. I just … didn’t want him near me. Russell didn’t seem surprised to hear any of it. He’d been keeping Woody afloat for years. After we met, he called me and said I had nothing to worry about, that Woody would no longer be a part of his staff.”
So Lucy had convinced Cheryl to throw Woody under the bus. I was sure of it. I wondered how much it had cost. Cheryl wouldn’t come cheap.
“Why do you believe Mr. Cole shot the senator?” the host asked her.
“I think either Russell fired Woody, or Woody found out before-hand that Russell was going to cut him loose and decided to … well, either way, he finally snapped.”
Maggie could tell I’d had enough.
“You need to keep watching, Jack. She’s agreed to work for Fox News, providing commentary during the trial.”
“Perfect. I’m sure she’ll offer a fair and balanced treatment of events.”
I watched as Cheryl continued.
“Jack Patterson is Woody’s best friend. Woody idolized Jack, but Jack got run out of town his senior year in college. Woody was involved somehow, but whenever I asked what happened, he clammed up. There was no love lost between Russell Robinson and Jack. They just never much liked each other—I don’t know why. Woody tried to mend the fences many times, but Jack kept his distance. I know one thing: if Jack Patterson is calling the shots at this trial, it will get dirty quickly. He’s a bulldog. He gets his opponent by the neck and won’t let go.” I had now joined Woody under the bus.
“Anything else?” I asked. Surely the interview was over.
“No, that’s the end,” Maggie replied. “Do you want my opinion?” I nodded. “She’s not the type of woman I could empathize with, but she comes off as credible and as an attractive woman who’s had a tough life. She’s articulate, she cries at the right moment, she didn’t overplay her emotions, and if I didn’t know better, I’d believe her.”
“Great. Just great. And we can’t prove she was lying.”
“Of course she was lying!”
“She did meet Woody in college. Woody had actually had and lost several jobs in Little Rock, mainly because whenever Russell said ‘jump!’ Woody asked ‘how high?’ She was impossible! On the one hand, she wanted him wrapped around her finger, but on the other, she resented him for not being this hard-ass alpha male. I don’t think they were a year into their marriage before she started cheating on him. Everyone in town knew it.”
“And the abuse?”
“Woody wouldn’t lay a hand on a fruit fly—he chose to ignore her infidelity. He used to say they’d married too young, that she’d outgrow it. Yeah, Woody smoked marijuana. So did Cheryl. She was probably screwing somebody in the bedroom while Woody was smoking dope and arguing immigration reform in the li
ving room. Their marriage was unique, to say the least. Everything she said has enough truth to it to make any inferences a matter of opinion—except for the violence part. The whole appearance obviously was carefully choreographed, and I suspect Lucy Robinson was the director. Cheryl is out for Cheryl; she always has been, and she always will be.”
“What was that about you and Russell? Did you get run out of town? She’s so full of shit!”
More than anything else, Maggie’s use of profanity told me how upset she was. “Russell and I weren’t rivals, but we weren’t friends either. The truth is, I did leave Little Rock—for a good reason. I just hope the press leaves it alone.”
Maggie put her hand on my shoulder. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No. Maybe later, but not now. Oh hell, I guess—”
My phone buzzed. Beth. For now, Maggie would have to wait.
21
BETH WANTED ME to know that her computer had been delivered. She sounded almost as tickled as if I’d given her a new car.
Maggie went downstairs to meet the first of the prospective lawyers. I poured myself another cup of coffee and allowed my thoughts to return to Cheryl’s interview. She may have used Woody and been unfaithful, but I knew she still loved him. I’d been around them enough to know there used to be plenty of passion in their relationship. Cheryl had a large appetite for men of all shapes and sizes, but when she and Woody hooked up, they seemed to satisfy each other—at least as much as Cheryl could be satisfied with one man. Cheryl was an opportunist and was drawn to power, but apparently, Woody saw another part of her that he cared about a great deal.
Woody, who no one would consider handsome, always dated the prettiest girls in school. He had absolutely no fear of rejection. He simply picked up the phone, and the next thing we knew, he was taking a beauty to the movies or a dance. He used to be downright cocky about his ability to “seduce women” with his intellect and wit, while we “jocks” didn’t know how to get to first base.
