by Webb Hubbell
I jumped in. “I know it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack when we don’t even know that it’s a needle we’re looking for.” I could tell Micki was at sea. “Why don’t you tell Micki what you’ve been doing?”
“Well, Dad asked me to identify the major contributors to Russell’s campaign. He wanted me to go through the major issues that Russell dealt with during his time as governor and look for any link between contributions and issues. He asked me to be on the lookout for any issue that seemed to be opposed to Woody’s philosophy.
“I concentrated on the asset and income filings the senator and his wife made when he ran for office. There’s a form you have to file, once you take federal office, that lists your assets and liabilities in broad categories. It’s almost impossible to read or understand, but I was looking for any inconsistencies or major changes that may have occurred in the last year. That’s a dead end. He also wanted me to do some research on Lucy, including her issues, boards she may have served on, or causes she supported, that kind of thing. Again, not much.
“I took the initiative in one specific area.” She handed me a list she had printed out. “Dad, take a look at these names. After Helen told us that the press conference was about the Arts Center, I decided to research whether any major political contributors had connections to the Arts Center. This would have been nearly impossible if I didn’t limit my search, so I excluded in-state contributors, figuring the local press and Russell’s opponents had looked at any link between legislation and contributors at the local level.
“It turns out that in his last race for governor, several of Russell’s out-of-state contributors were also big givers to the Arts Center. As you can see from the list in your hand, a lot of these people are executives with large oil companies.
“I thought maybe I’d found a pattern showing that Russell somehow supported oil interests, but that theory died a quick death. Russell was as progressive as they come on the environment—opposing drilling in this state, establishing strict clean-air standards, and supporting site cleanup and reparations to land owners. His limited record in the Senate is consistently pro-environment as well. I thought I might be on to something, but it’s a dead end.”
Reluctantly, I folded the list in half and stuck it in my briefcase. “Too bad, honey—it was a good effort.”
Micki raised her eyebrows and asked, “What exactly are you looking for with all this, Jack?”
“I’m trying to find out what upset Woody so much. It’s not something that came up in a campaign. Contrary to what Lucy and Cheryl said, Woody was intimately familiar with all of the opposition research done on Russell and Lucy. If something had turned up, Woody wouldn’t have called me a few weeks ago to ask my law firm to hold a fundraiser for Russell. He discovered something after that call—I’m sure of it. It has to be something that came up in the last few weeks.
“Helen told me that, for days, Woody was holed up in his room working on his computer, and she could hear the printer well into the night. I think that something or someone triggered Woody to look at something new. Woody was researching, just as Beth did. I think he was accessing the public filings of Russell’s donor list on his home computer. If he had tried to access the list at his office or asked for a hard copy, someone might have gotten curious. I can’t think of any other reason why he would have spent those hours at home rather than in his office.”
“You know,” Beth said, sounding put out, “it would have saved hours if you had clued me in on this. Why’d you have me research Lucy, the unintelligible federal filing, and the governor’s issues if you thought it would be in the donor list?”
“I could easily be wrong, and what you’ve found about Lucy or old issues could still provide the missing link. I need to read what you’ve found before I say anything is a dead end. We’re not going to find election-law violations. That would have come out in the campaign or would be under investigation by the FEC. I know he was printing out something, and I think it was the donor list. I think Woody was making a case to present to Russell, or to Lucy and Russell combined. Whether he had that meeting or not is an unknown, but I think that he did and afterward started to plan his own death.”
The room was quiet until Beth asked, “What do you think he found?”
“My showers don’t last that long,” I joked. “I hope your research—which, I’ll be up a good part of the night reading—will help. This would be a hell of a lot easier if Woody would talk, but instead, he’s got me playing Clue. There’s always the possibility that I’ve wasted your time, and I’m sorry. But hey, you do have a new computer.”
I looked at Micki, “What do you think?”
“Those are some ‘shower thoughts’ you came up with! Hell, I’d offer to get in the shower with you if it worked that kind of magic for me. I’ve racked my brain to figure out why in the world Woody Cole killed Senator Robinson. I’ve got the same facts as you—that Woody says it was an accident, that he was depressed over something, and that he worked late at night on his computer, but it still meant nothing. Somehow, you knew the same things but have already been researching donor lists, legislative history, Lucy’s charities, and have come up with a plausible sequence of events. Pretty damn impressive, Professor Patterson.” She polished off her beer with a toast and headed to the little fridge for another.
“Credit goes to the shower. Seriously, though, it’s just a theory, and I’ll probably have a different one in the morning. Why don’t we talk about the stuff Woody left in the locker? First, the movie Jerry Maguire—what do you think he’s trying to tell me?”
“Well,” Beth said, “it’s about a sports agent who gets a conscience, but Arkansas doesn’t have any pro sports except triple-A baseball. Russell has no record in sports, at least not off the field, and only one major contributor lists his occupation as a sports agent. The movie’s famous for a couple of lines—’You had me at hello’ and ‘Show me the money.’ The money line could apply to campaign contributors, I guess. Like the Watergate motto: ‘Follow the money.’”
Micki nodded. “Remember, too, how Tom Cruise describes the events that led to his ‘breakdown.’ He emphasizes the role played by his conscience—a hockey player’s kid made him feel like a superficial jerk, if I remember right. Woody had principles, strong ones. Maybe he’s leaving you a clue about how he felt last Wednesday. Maybe he was thinking about being the Woody he always wanted to be. There’s another line in the movie by Renée I-Can’t-Pronounce-Her-Last-Name.”
“I love him for the man he wants to be, and I love him for the man he almost is!” Beth interrupted dramatically.
Micki grinned. “Okay, so it’s a little schmaltzy. But I have to admit, I’ve watched that movie more than once.”
“Any thoughts on the Egyptian statuette?” I asked.
Micki shrugged and shook her head.
Beth said, “I don’t have any great ideas either. The Arts Center has a whole new wing dedicated to antiquities, and Russell certainly supported the Arts Center. Maybe it’s a reference to the Arts Center, but that’s something everyone supported. It’s hardly controversial. I gave you a list of people who both donated money and contributed art, but I don’t see any link or pattern. It’s like Russell’s environmental record, actually—something admirable that he worked on. And Clovis was right—an ushabti is a relic that accompanies the dead. If there’s some deeper meaning for Woody, it escapes me. For what it’s worth, the hotel concierge gave me several brochures on the Art Cent and its new antiquities wing, plus a guide to its collection. What do you think, Dad?” She handed me the brochures.
“I don’t know, but it gives me a lot to mull over,” I sighed. “Thanks … both of you.”
Beth said, “One last thing. I haven’t found anyone who knows what Russell’s press conference was supposed to be about.”
“Good point.” I yawned. I still had lots of reading to do, so I suggested we head to bed.
Micki seemed surprised. “Aren’t you forg
etting something? Woody’s note to you and the poem—don’t you think it’s a clue?”
I’d forgotten all about the note. Was it a clue? I didn’t know, but I pulled it out of my briefcase, read it again, and passed it around.
Forgive me Jack for butchering-Goldsmith. Take care of Mom.
When a lone man stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe his melancholy?
What art can wash his guilt away?
NO MORE BETRAYALS!
Woody
“It certainly could be a parting verse. Beth, how about Googling Goldsmith? Perhaps whatever Woody discovered was some form of betrayal. What do you think, Micki?”
“I’m with you regarding betrayal, but as we’ve been talking, I’ve realized that the only clue that’s been solved is the key to the locker, and it was solved by you and you alone. Maybe Sam could figure it out, but he isn’t even trying. Woody meant for you to get the note and follow the trail. Maybe Woody’s clues are unique to you, like the locker number. We know Woody planned this out meticulously, so maybe he made sure that no one except you would figure out what he was doing. So before you take that next shower,” she said, smiling. “ask yourself what the note, the movie, and the figurine mean to you and you alone.”
She rose and stretched. “With that, folks, I’m going to bed.” She winked at me. “I need my beauty rest if I’m gonna have any chance of keeping up with Beth in the morning.”
29
LIKE MOST PEOPLE I know, I make lists. I know traditional wisdom is that you list the most important item first—the A-list concept. However, I tend to work the order in reverse, dealing with the easy items first. The little items tend to fog my brain, as irritating as mosquitoes at a picnic. If I can eliminate the little things, I have a clearer head to tackle priorities.
So instead of beginning with the donor lists, I went to the file on Lucy Robinson. She’d supported Russell’s love of the Arts Center, but she didn’t serve on any of its boards or committees. She always appeared with him, playing her role perfectly, but that was it. I went to their federal financial-disclosure report. It was fairly detailed, but the dollar-amount range was so broad, all one could really tell was that Russell and Lucy had more than $25 million in assets, mostly in trusts, and no debt. Lucy’s trust included income from her father’s farm and a wide range of stocks and other holdings. They were certainly rich, but there was nothing controversial about their holdings.
None of this surprised me. Since the advent of opposition research as a muckraking tool, those with serious political aspirations make sure their financial households are in good order before they begin testing the waters. Accountants and consultants become specialists in scrubbing an aspiring politician’s financial affairs—amending tax returns, making sure all social security taxes for nannies have been paid, verifying the immigration status of employees, and ensuring that the candidate’s investments will hold up to scrutiny. Woody would have made certain that Russell and Lucy were squeaky clean. I could find nothing that even came close to raising an eyebrow.
I searched the issues that Russell had championed during his campaigns, starting with proposals that Russell made to the legislature as governor. I didn’t see anything that stood out; Russell toed Woody’s philosophical line when it came to politics, except on guns. The duck-hunting Russell was a poster child for the NRA. Even Lucy appeared in PR pictures hunting deer, ducks, and quail in full regalia. I know Russell’s affinity for guns bothered Woody, but it didn’t offend his concept of political correctness. In the South, most folks embrace guns and a citizen’s right to own or carry them. Russell was also conservative on issues of criminal justice. He was at the forefront of endorsing tougher sentences and the imposition of stringent post release terms. He recognized that politicians garner votes by following the old adage: “Prove you’re tough on crime by being tough on the people who are already locked up.” It’s much easier than to actually try to deal with the tough issues underlying crime. Any law restricting prior felons from working, voting, living in certain neighborhoods, or getting any kind of assistance had the Russell Robinson seal of approval.
If the disagreement between Russell and Woody had been political, it must have involved something new. Thanks to Beth’s thoroughness, I now had a very good understanding of Russell’s politics. He’d ridden his former football glory to public office, and once elected, hadn’t taken any risks. Only twice had he taken a controversial or risky position—his pardon of Roger Kent and his progressive stance on the environment. I caught myself. I was letting my personal bias interfere with my analysis. Most people could easily call Russell a “southern progressive.” He supported programs for the elderly, tried to improve public education, and fought for better funding for Head Start programs and higher education. He worked hard to get additional funding for the Arts Center, and always tried to attract industry and commerce for the state, spending a lot of effort on green industries.
His fight for pro-environmental policies was impressive. To advocate for something requires some measure of understanding and effort. To be against something doesn’t require much of anything. I felt better about Russell after reading his environmental record. If I hadn’t known the guy and his wife personally, I probably would have supported him, even without Woody’s recommendation.
Woody knew how to keep Russell right down the center. I told him once that this was what galled me about politics. Woody always said that, to do any good, “You have to get elected, and to get elected, you avoid making waves.” I knew he was right, but I didn’t have to like it. I asked him once, “When do you stop trying to get there or stay there and start actually doing something good for a change?”
I glanced at the clock by the bed, the same one in every hotel room in America. The bright red time display is enough to keep you awake all night. And try setting the alarm—huge mistake. You end up turning on rap music you can’t turn off, and the red display starts flashing mercilessly. It was already past midnight. It would be six thirty before I knew it, and I hadn’t even started combing through Robinson’s donors. For now, I decided to focus only on the Senate race, hoping that if the bone of contention were a new one, it might show up in the Senate donor list. The list was long. I tried to pay attention, but it meant nothing to me, just name after name swimming before my tired eyes. Draining the last of my wine, I closed the computer and was about to turn in when I remembered something Woody had said when we talked several weeks ago. Russell wants to prove to his financial backers, especially those from out of state, that he can be a force in the Senate.
I opened the Excel spreadsheet of donors again and went directly to Texas—the most likely of the adjoining states to provide a number of wealthy donors. I immediately saw a name that I recognized—one that puzzled me. I knew the donor well, and I didn’t think he had any interest in progressive politics, much less in Russell. Quickly scrolling down the names of Texas contributors, I found I recognized most of them. Then I remembered Beth’s list of major contributors who had also donated big bucks to the Arts Center. I fished it out of my briefcase and ran through the names. Not a long list, but an impressive one, and I knew almost every one of them personally.
Of the thirty names on Beth’s list, at least twenty-five had given the maximum contribution to Russell’s last campaign for governor as well as to his Senate race. I had no idea why they’d supported Russell. His environmental record should have turned them off. I was confident Woody wouldn’t have known them from Adam. The only person who would see this list and be disturbed by it was me. I now had another huge problem to deal with in the morning.
When I finished making my own list, I closed the computer again, but remained in the chair. There was no way Woody could have understood the significance of what I had just discovered. Yet Woody had learned something that bothered him, and he had started researching donor lists. I still didn’t understand the clues he’d left me, much less th
is new puzzle, and I was running out of time.
MONDAY
30
I’D HARDLY GOTTEN to sleep when the phone started ringing. It took me a few rings to realize it was the wake-up call. After a few groggy minutes, I pulled on some sweats, splashed some water on my face, and brushed my teeth. Still half asleep, I headed downstairs in search of coffee. The lobby was already busy, presumably with funeral-goers who wanted to be sure of a seat at Russell’s funeral. Clovis was waiting for me on a lobby bench, and I joined him, trying to avoid recognition. I told him I had one more bit of research for him. I wanted to know who owned the Armitage.
He raised his eyebrows. “Is this for the case or you?”
“A little bit of both, I guess. I’d normally put it aside as my own insecurity, but I need to know, one way or the other. I honestly hope there’s nothing there.”
Clovis nodded. “Let’s hope it comes up a dry hole.”
The rest of our crew came through the lobby in pairs. Beth and Micki turned more than a few heads in their running shorts and racerback tanks. Maggie and Walter followed with Paul, and Walter’s security man, Martin, and we all headed outside to the park. Discreet signs led us to an asphalt path that followed the river in both directions. Micki recommended we head west, saying the views were nicer and we’d run into fewer people. She jogged away with Beth and Paul in tow. Clovis and I followed, walking slowly, with coffee in hand, enjoying the fresh spring air, the morning chill, and the river. Walter, Maggie, and Martin headed east at a brisk pace.
