When Men Betray

by Webb Hubbell

  Micki curled her lip. “You can’t be serious. This is totally disgusting.”

  I shrugged. “Times were different then. Laws were different. The attorney made it clear to Angie’s dad that the lawyers for the ‘alleged participants’ were prepared to examine her attraction to ‘jocks’ and her ‘flirtatious nature.’ Apparently, the university lawyer was blunter than I’ve been about what would happen to Angie if she decided to pursue a case against, in his words, the ‘fine young men who were seduced into alleged misbehavior.’ The lawyer also suggested that Angie had to graduate to get into Georgetown Medical but had missed a lot of classes lately. She could graduate on time with the honors she had earned, if only she could see her way clear to overlook this ‘alleged incident.’

  “It took Angie a long time to forgive her father for giving in to this legal blackmail. But if I’d been her dad, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same thing, especially back then. He was only trying to do what he thought was best for her.”

  “You can’t second-guess your decision either, Jack,” Helen spoke out strongly. “I was there when those bastards showed up. I heard every word. Look at you—you got Angie and you’re a fine lawyer. All you left behind was a bunch of trash.”

  “And some good friends.”

  “You never really left us,” she said. “We all moved on, but the moment you heard one of us was in trouble, you came running. You only left the bad part. The good part’s with you to this day.”

  Marshall looked at me, “I had no idea they came to you as well. What happened?”

  “Well, it was pretty much the same routine. The university counsel started in with that same nonsense they gave Angie’s father—missing class, about to graduate, such a shame … the whole bit. They added, almost as an aside, that I could be charged with assault for attacking the guy who had ended up at Baylor hospital. It was a well-rehearsed performance, and he ended by saying he could see only one solution—I had to leave Little Rock immediately and keep quiet. I knew they’d destroy Angie if I didn’t take their deal. I knew I’d never play pro ball anyway, so it was time to start over.”

  I looked at my daughter. “Beth, I talked to everyone, but I knew what I should do the moment I woke up in the hospital. I had to find your mother and hold on to her for dear life. She’s told you about me sleeping outside her parent’s house for three days before they let me in. Now you know why your grandfather still doesn’t like me very much, and why we never told you about Little Rock or brought you here. I realize now, that was a mistake.”

  Beth came to me and we held each other for a long time. The pain in my chest seemed trivial as I hugged my daughter.

  We grew silent, our mood somber. The evening had come to a natural end. Clovis shook my hand, his eyes moist. Marshall and I hugged, and I promised I’d see him before I left. I did the same with Helen and Sam. Everyone spent a few minutes with Beth. I found myself alone by the fire. So much had happened in such a short time, and it had all begun so long ago. I thought about what I was afraid must be true: Russell had planned the whole thing. Woody had to have known all these years. Had that knowledge triggered his showdown with Russell? Regardless, the nightmare had run its course; no sense in bringing it back.

  I made sure the fire would burn out safely, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed. A few minutes later Micki joined me. She kissed me sweetly and said, “Good night, Jack. Nobody should sleep alone tonight.”

  MONDAY

  53

  WHEN I WOKE up, Micki was sound asleep. I wandered into the kitchen to find Clovis making coffee. Micki’s office manager, Debbie Kotrova, had delivered a box of tempting pastries, and Clovis’s coffee was pretty good, but we both missed Bea. He told me the therapist was coming to help me with exercises and the basics of living with a bandaged left side. Soon, everyone congregated in the kitchen, making plans to head out. Walter had gotten word that his plane had been gassed up and was ready to go. He and Maggie left with Beth and Jeff, and a couple of hours later, everyone except Clovis was gone. I found him reading the papers on the porch. I sat down by the morning fire with a fresh cup of coffee, thinking about all that had happened.

  Once again, Little Rock had left me with a lot of memories, both good and bad. Memories are more than looking back to a time that is no longer. Memories grow and change with the life that is in us still. I thought about my wonderful friends, old and new, good and bad, dead and alive, and how I’d come to understand them all in new ways.

  The lead article in the morning’s paper was not about the attorney general’s press conference, but about the current governor’s decision to appoint Lucy to serve out Russell’s Senate term. I wondered how much Lucy knew. Had she known the whole truth about Russell’s role in our tragedy? Did she know about the duck club trysts? Did she know about the oilmen, the price-fixing, and the antiquity thefts? Had Russell told her about either journal? Why had she been so anxious to get her hands on the opposition research? How well had she known McAlvin? Why had she been so eager to have Russell’s body removed from the morgue? What would happen when Sam and Peggy’s investigation required an exhumation? Would she fight them, or would she use it to her political advantage? One thing I knew for certain—she’d take care of Lucy.

  I thought a lot about Woody’s note, his obsession with betrayal, and how betrayal had played such a huge role in Russell’s death. I wondered how somebody as smart and savvy as Woody could have been so blinded. When did he get sucked in? And, once the truth dawned, why had he reacted in such a cockeyed fashion? How could he have imagined that such a twisted plan would ever work?

  I was sure Russell had lied about his part in Angie’s rape. Had Woody simply forgiven Russell, or was he so drawn to the intoxicating aura of a successful politician that he couldn’t see Russell’s faults until the end? How could a guy like Russell have held such sway over such a deeply principled man? Woody’s friends had forgiven him and loved him, but he hadn’t been able to forgive himself.

  I had no real answers, but I suspect what ultimately got to Woody was realizing how money had seeped into and around everything in his politics. Just as water always finds its course, in politics, money always finds a way. Woody knew it took money to run campaigns, but he thought its influence could be limited to that. He believed Russell could withstand the pressure, as long as he acted as watchdog. It turned out that even Russell’s pro-environmental policies had been manipulated. As the journals proved, money purchases access, and with that access, money never fails to corrupt. Over time, it develops the agenda, and that agenda slowly took over Russell and, indirectly, Woody. Woody and Russell were the frogs in the pot. Money slowly turned up the heat to a boil, but they were unaware they were being cooked.

  I also thought about how the long-feared telling of the tragedy had turned out to be sort of anticlimactic. It had been horrible for Beth to hear, but now that the story had been told, I wondered why I had held it in so long. The same went for Little Rock. I’d dreaded returning, and yet Little Rock had become my agent of change.

  I ended up staying at Micki’s place another week. I was no longer concerned for my safety. Woody and Bea were safely tucked away, my death wouldn’t stop any investigation, and my knowledge about any conspiracies was limited. Micki handled most of the legal work for Woody, but she needed my input from time to time.

  It was great to see my old friends without the cloud of a murder in the rotunda over my head. “Murder in the rotunda”—it sounded like an Agatha Christie I didn’t need to read. I called Tucker Bowie, and we spent an afternoon on his golf course. I couldn’t swing a club, so I rode along in the cart. We drank way too much beer as he caught me up on some of the ballplayers we both knew and more importantly, on Little Rock. He told me that, despite the signs and placards, politics had changed. People were more progressive and inclusive. The meanness had been tempered by the influx of young people who weren’t raised with preconceived notions of class and color. We also talked about Walter
’s ideas for changing corporate culture. Tucker was in the insurance business too, and he talked about some of the heartaches he’d seen when insurance companies canceled coverage or denied claims. We agreed to continue our conversation if I decided to work with Walter’s foundation. All in all, it was a pleasant afternoon—no ghosts.

  I tried but failed to find a girl I’d had a crush on once in high school. Marian South was tall, about five feet ten with a swimmer’s build, and seemed to be more mature than the more popular girls—not all cute and preppy. I had a couple of classes with her and was attracted to her unassuming intelligence, which gave other classmates the impression that she was aloof. We never did date. Late my senior year, I got up the courage to ask her out several times, but she always politely declined with some excuse or the other.

  We all have a few mysteries in our lives—a few what-ifs. Marian was one of mine. Although she had supposedly been dating a college guy, she was always in the bleachers at my basketball and baseball games. I’d never known much about her, including why she’d suddenly popped into my memory. That’s how it goes with “pass-throughs”—people who pass quickly or quietly through our lives but leave enduring memories. Memories of them seem to pop up from nowhere, and we wonder what made them so unforgettable, what quality they possessed that we needed, what attracted us to them back then, and what they might be like now. I made a half-hearted attempt to find her through Google, but decided it was better to enjoy the memory.

  I spent one morning with Janis Harold and her husband. I’d had him pegged as a wallflower, but he turned out to be fascinating, in an introverted sort of way. They were pleased that I’d asked them to continue the legal work for the trust and the foundation. I hadn’t told Beth or Cheryl about Woody’s generosity, but I would soon. Janis agreed to take some time to get to know Micki—to be her friend and a mentor.

  Sam and I met at Ben’s one day. It was supposed to be just lunch, but it lasted most of the afternoon. Ben pulled up a chair, and after a while, Clovis joined us. I finally had that beer with Clovis. He told us about his boyhood, how Ben had literally taken him in and turned his life around. The afternoon was filled with laughter and war stories.

  Once again, Sam and I were the friends we’d been before. At one point, I thought, here we are, the prosecutor and defense counsel in the highest-profile criminal case in the country, having lunch together, laughing and drinking beer. Not one word about our lunch would be in tomorrow’s paper. Can you imagine Kenneth Starr and David Kendall, Bill Clinton’s nemesis and lawyer, having steaks and martinis at Morton’s? The Washington Post would be all over it.

  Helen and I got together several times. She was sad it would be so long before she could see or talk to Woody but grateful that things had turned out. She had made Beth a folder of all those old sports clippings, and I promised her that Beth and I would come back on a regular basis.

  Micki had quite a lot to do, but the night before I left, I took her out to dinner. We went to a quiet Italian restaurant, the kind where you bring your own wine and the menu is on a blackboard. Over more than one glass of good Chianti, I pitched my idea for a loose law partnership. I would work for Walter’s foundation, but maintain a legal practice on the side. She’d remain in Little Rock, but on occasion, if the case were right, we’d work together. It was a wonderful evening, and we left the restaurant on a high.

  As we walked through her front door, I suggested a nightcap, but she shook her head no. Instead, she pulled me close, and we kissed. She took my hand, and we walked quickly back to her bedroom. She removed my clothes carefully, slid out of her dress, and we made love. More than sex, we made love.

  The next morning she woke me gently and said, “You know this won’t work.”

  I knew she was right.

  We were drifting into a deepening hungry kiss when she stopped. “How about one last shower—to seal the partnership?”

  It was a pretty spectacular shower. My therapist had to change all my bandages that afternoon. Apparently I hadn’t followed her instructions as to the proper bathing procedures. She scolded; I grinned.

  Walter’s plane would be at the airport by noon. We were to pick up Beth and Jeff at Davidson and arrive in DC in time to have dinner with Maggie and Walter at DeCarlo’s, my favorite neighborhood restaurant. Beth and I had talked every day, but not about that night. She told me she had lots of questions, but they could wait. I was right to get her back to school and friends—the best therapy.

  Clovis insisted on delivering me to the airport personally. I asked him to take me to City Park first—it was on the way. I wanted to relive, just for a little while, the moment Angie and I started dreaming about our future. I was going to pitch in the major leagues, and she was going to unlock the cure for cancer. It didn’t turn out quite the way we planned. In the end, you can’t plan life; you run into it. Instead of pitching in the major leagues, I watch from my seat at Nationals Park; and as for curing cancer, it took Angie before she could defeat it.

  I had let one tragic night hover over me like a dark cloud for decades. It had caused me to abandon my friends and my home … I wouldn’t ever forget it, but it had finally loosed its hold.

  I told Clovis I was ready. I got in his Tahoe one last time, and we headed to the airport.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I have so many friends to thank for their help with When Men Betray.

  Peggy, Tom, Casey, Terry, and Carlye read and helped with the earliest draft. I can’t thank them enough for their help, encouragement, and patience. My wife Suzy spent endless hours reading and editing every draft—it’s amazing we’re still married. My children and their spouses all gave me invaluable input, advice, and encouragement. My new and wonderful Charlotte friends cheered me on at every stage. I thank my home state of Arkansas for providing such a vivid background for the story and a thousand wonderful memories.

  I thank my friend Michael Carlisle of Inkwell Management for his steadfast belief, both in me and in this book. Lauren Smythe, also of Inkwell, deserves thanks, not only for her editorial work but also for her contributions toward my ongoing sanity. I thank editors Ed Stackler and Anna deVries for their early contributions. My daughter Caroline Yingling and her friend and colleague, Sarah Byrne, offered excellent legal advice, and my sister Terry gave me valuable guidance in the medical department.

  Beaufort Books has my thanks and deep appreciation. Publisher Eric Kampmann believed in the book from the first reading. My editors, Shari Johnson, Megan Trank, and Michael Short worked with me diligently and patiently every step of the way.

  This book couldn’t have been written without George and the generosity of his family. I am eternally grateful.

  Why would Woody Cole, a peaceful, caring man, shoot a US Senator in cold blood on live television?

  That’s the mystery facing attorney Jack Patterson as he returns to Little Rock, Arkansas, a town he swore he would never step foot in again.

  When Men Betray is the first book of fiction from author, lecturer, and political insider Webb Hubbell. Set in a fictionalized version of his home town of Little Rock, Arkansas, readers will be immersed into the steamy world behind the southern BBQ and antebellum facade—a seedy underbelly of secrets and betrayals. Clever readers may recognize the colorful personalities and locales of the Arkansas political scene.

  Jack is supported by a motley but able crew; loyal assistant Maggie, college-aged daughter Beth, feisty lawyer Micki, and his bodyguard Clovis. Together, Jack and his rag-tag team are in a race against time to discover Woody’s hidden motive. All he has is a series of strange clues, hired thugs gunning for him, and the one man who knows everything isn’t talking. Alliances are tested, buried tensions surface, and painful memories are relived as he tries to clear the name of his old college friend. Jack Patterson will find that even the oldest friendships can be quickly destroyed when men betray.

  Webb Hubbell is a nationally recognized author, lecturer, and speaker on government, business, and lead
ership. He has held executive level positions in government and industry including: U.S. Associate Attorney General, Chief Justice of the Arkansas Supreme Court, Mayor of Little Rock Arkansas, Managing Partner of the second largest law firm in Arkansas, and Executive and Chief Counsel for a large Washington based Commercial Insurance Company.

  www.beaufortbooks.com

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  Author photo by Andy Chen, Indigo Photography