Ginger Snaps

by Webb Hubbell

  Micki replied, “Of course, Your Honor. But this case began as a simple drug case, and now Mr. Blanchard tells us it’s a matter of national security. We’ve had no access to our client or to whatever has been filed under seal. Can we at least see what is so secret? I’ll agree to any type of protective order the government wants, but I can’t defend my client if I don’t even know the charges. Surely I should be allowed to meet him.”

  The judge looked at Dub, “Well, Counsel?”

  “I realize that Ms. Lawrence is frustrated, but this matter calls for specific procedures. Other federal courts have approved these procedures to protect the nation’s interest. Among other things, the defendant’s counsel will need to undergo a background check to receive a security clearance before she can have access to her client or what we have filed. She will have every opportunity to seek a security clearance, but until she does she can’t see either her client or what we have filed.”

  “You’re denying a U.S. citizen the right to counsel and the knowledge of the charges brought against him? Has the Constitution been torn to shreds?” Micki blew a gasket.

  “Enough, Ms. Lawrence. This court is familiar with the procedures that have been approved in other jurisdictions. I’ve attended a training session at the administrative office of the U.S. Courts on this very issue. I’ll read what’s been filed and rule expeditiously. Mr. Blanchard is not out of line so far. I assure you that this matter will not sit on the corner of my desk. Is there anything else?”

  I waited while Micki sat down, shuffling papers to cover her frustration.

  “Your Honor, may I offer a suggestion?” I stood up.

  “Mr. Patterson.”

  “I’m not privy to what Mr. Blanchard has filed, but he has just made it clear that defense counsel will be subjected to a thorough background check in order to receive a security clearance before we can proceed.”

  The judge said. “That’s my understanding as well, Counsel.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. In that case, I ask you to grant us immediate access to both our client and what has been filed. Ms. Lawrence and I already have the highest code word clearance given by the U.S. Department of Justice. We have a jet standing by to go wherever they’re holding our client.” A rising hum of surprise rose through the room.

  “You’re lying,” Dub barked, his face dark red. “Your Honor, Mr. Patterson has not worked for the government in the last fifteen years, and Ms. Lawrence works strictly in Pulaski County. How could they have a current code word clearance? I suggest Mr. Patterson is in contempt of this court and should be permanently barred from representing Dr. Stewart.”

  Houston replied, “Mr. Blanchard, I’ll decide who’s in contempt in my court. Mr. Patterson, Counsel makes a serious charge.”

  I did my best to stifle a grin. Micki kept a poker face. This would be fun.

  “Your Honor, with all due respect, once again Mr. Blanchard is mistaken.” I handed the documents Micki had been shuffling to both Judge Houston and Dub. “I give you copies of a letter from the Department of Justice dated yesterday that affirms the current status and level of our code word security clearance. These documents should satisfy any concerns this court or the United States may have. I renew my request to see my client. His wife is concerned for his well-being.”

  For the first time, I saw Judge Houston smile.

  “You came prepared, Counsel.”

  “Always best to be ready, Your Honor.” I returned his smile.

  Staring at the letters, Dub interjected. “This document is dated yesterday—a Sunday. I’m not prepared to stipulate to its authenticity.”

  The judge looked perplexed. I’d had enough.

  “Your Honor, I have been a lawyer in the courts of the United States for over twenty years. I’ve never submitted a false document or a forgery to a court in my life, and I’m not about to now. I was promised access to Dr. Stewart yesterday by U.S. Marshal Bill Maroney. He told me yesterday that Mr. Blanchard had moved my client out of state. When I tried to contact Mr. Blanchard, his deputy told me he was unavailable, even though I could see him watching me through his office window.

  “I suspected then that Mr. Blanchard was up to no good. At his press conference about this case and during his many television appearances Mr. Blanchard has used the words ‘national security’ every chance he could, so I called the attorney in charge of security clearances at Main Justice. Ms. Lawrence and I are both counsel in a matter that required us to obtain code word security clearances almost a year ago. The official at Main Justice agreed to send me verification of our status overnight, and as you can see, it came in to my hotel at eight o’clock this morning, central time. I don’t lie, and I don’t manufacture false documents.”

  Turning to Dub I said, “If Mr. Blanchard has evidence to the contrary, let him produce it here and now. These are games for children, Mr. Prosecutor.” I felt Micki’s hand on my arm this time. I was grandstanding, but it felt good.

  Dub sputtered wordlessly. His face was very red, and I wondered idly if he should be taking blood pressure meds. The judge rescued him. “Cool down, Mr. Blanchard. I’ll give you three days to determine the authenticity of this letter. If it is what it purports to be, I expect an apology to Counsel.”

  Fat chance of that.

  “This turn of events is certainly unexpected. I’ll review what has been filed under seal and rule on everything by the end of the week.”

  Micki began to rise, but he glowered her down.

  “That includes any habeas you file, Ms. Lawrence. Mr. Patterson, I’m certainly aware of your need to speak with your client. Am I right in assuming that you’re willing to go to him wherever he may be?”

  “You are, Your Honor.”

  “This is not pertinent to my ruling, but do you intend to remain in Little Rock, Mr. Patterson, or should I contact Ms. Lawrence with anything that comes up? Does she have full authority on this case?”

  “Your Honor, Ms. Lawrence is lead counsel. My role is only temporary.” Houston raised his eyebrows, but let it go.

  “Thank you, I appreciate that clarification. If there’s nothing further, this court is adjourned.”

  17

  WE REGROUPED IN Micki’s office. Frustrated, angry, and totally disorganized, we tried to make sense out of what had just happened. Liz sat quietly at a small table by the window, idly twirling a strand of hair.

  The office phones rang constantly with reporters asking Micki or me to comment. Clovis and Paul tried to keep the media off the front lawn and from coming around back. Micki’s orders changed every five seconds.

  Pulling a beer from the fridge in the kitchen, I returned to her office and sat down quietly across from Liz. It wasn’t long before the mayhem played itself out. Micki looked at me expectantly.

  I started. “Okay, we’ve got lots to talk about. Nothing will happen for the next few days, so we have time to get organized. So let’s take a deep breath and regroup.

  “First, Liz, I promise you we’ll find out where they’re holding Doug. His safety is our first priority. Neither Micki nor I will rest until we know he’s okay. You need to focus on getting back into a daily routine. I know it’s hard, but you can’t panic.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she looked up. “Don’t worry—I won’t collapse. I think I’ll go to Memphis for a few days, spend some time with my dad. I can be back in a couple of hours. Does Moira have to go with me?” She put up a good front, but looked exhausted.

  “I think a visit with your dad is a good idea. Leave security up to Clovis,” I answered, no longer surprised by her composure.

  “Micki, you and I need to figure out how to divide the work, and I need to go to D.C. for a day or two while we wait on the judge. I want to talk to Peggy Fortson, in person. I also want to meet with a couple of lawyers I know who represent prisoners in Guantanamo. They’ll know how the Justice Department uses the Patriot Act and the words ‘national security’ to avoid client access and, more to the point, how
to get around such tactics. Clovis, I still need you to find out what you can about Little Rock’s drug suppliers. Focus on that. Dub is threatening ‘national security,’ but right now we still have a drug case to defend.”

  Debbie walked in, handed Liz what looked like straight bourbon, and said casually, “Micki, Jim Bullock’s on line one. He’d like to come by here in, say, ten minutes.”

  “Tell him to come on,” Micki responded with a shrug.

  Moira caught my glance toward Liz. Quick to catch on, she roused Liz, and they left quietly, Liz clutching her bourbon. I didn’t want Liz anywhere near a prosecutor. They’d hardly gotten through the door when Deputy Assistant Bullock emerged from a black Buick that had quietly pulled up to the curb. His driver looked around lazily then lit a cigarette, and leaned against the car door.

  Bullock shrugged off Micki’s offer of coffee or iced tea, and we all sat down stiffly. After a few pleasantries, he got down to business, handing Micki a large manila envelope.

  “This is a copy of a pleading we’ve filed under seal. Since it doesn’t involve national security, I can let you have it. I’m sure it will come as no surprise. We’re instituting civil forfeiture proceedings against all of Dr. and Mrs. Stewart’s assets, or at least most of them—their cars, home, furniture, bank accounts, and his research at the University.”

  I blurted out, “You’re going to take their home before Doug’s even been charged?”

  He seemed to find my naiveté amusing. “Micki will tell you we have a right to seize any asset that has any connection with illegal activities even if we never formally charge Dr. Stewart or anyone else. But he’ll be charged all right. You needn’t worry.”

  Micki managed a grim nod.

  “I don’t have to provide you with even this, since the proceeding is technically against the property itself, not the Stewarts. But I thought I might use this delivery to suggest that we are open to resolving the forfeiture proceeding without protracted litigation. I don’t need an answer today, but I thought you and Micki might want to discuss it.”

  Micki’s knee began to bounce, and I decided to intervene before she threw him out on his ear.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “An argument might be made that the home belongs to Ms. Stewart if her money was used to acquire the real estate. The same goes for the art and furnishings. Of course, the land itself was used to grow a great deal of marijuana, and both the house and the out building contained plants and seedlings, so who owns the home and whose money was used to acquire it may not make any difference. As you know, even an unwitting owner can lose his property if it was used in an illegal enterprise.”

  Lesson learned—you’d better know your gardener.

  “Anyway, I can’t extend a formal offer, but I think the U. S. Government might be willing to see its way clear to letting Mrs. Stewart keep her house and furnishings if we can avoid any protracted litigation over the remaining assets.”

  The non-offer seemed to be too good to be true—there had to be a catch. Micki managed to control her face, didn’t say a word. She knew this offer made little sense from the prosecution’s standpoint.

  “Is your proposal conditioned on some guilty plea by Dr. Stewart? How can we consider such a proposal without our client’s willing participation and involvement?” I asked.

  “No, this would be a settlement of the asset forfeiture case only. I know we’re going to be at war for a long time over Dr. Stewart and his criminal liability. But I’m suggesting we might be able to settle the matters on the periphery. In fact, I think we can commit to no criminal charges against Mrs. Stewart, if that helps in your deliberation. You have to agree, she has some exposure.” Bullock smiled.

  He had just offered to let Liz keep her home and her belongings without requiring a plea from Doug. And he wouldn’t charge Liz. Very generous.

  “What’s the catch? Dub won’t give me the time of day. You have Doug hidden away under the blanket of national security. Yet you’ve made what appears to be a reasonable offer, one I will definitely present to our client if I ever get to see him. Why?” I asked.

  “Our task force is focused on drug trade. Local law enforcement uses asset forfeiture to fund their office. We don’t need to. Our funding comes from the Drug Czar’s budget. We only use asset forfeiture to seize money and assets that either fund or provide logistical support for illegal activities. We don’t use forfeiture to be punitive or to buy new radios or squad cars. Ms. Stewart’s home wasn’t a meth house or used to sell medical marijuana. You and Dub may have your personal differences, but our operation adheres to our mission. Like I said, I don’t need your answer today, so talk to Mrs. Stewart and get back to me.” He handed me a card with his cell number handwritten on the back.

  Micki wasn’t going to let him leave without trying to see Doug. Especially since we thought we might be dealing with a reasonable man.

  “How can we make a deal on the civil forfeiture if we can’t speak with our client? When can we see Dr. Stewart?”

  He smiled, almost ignoring her. “My compliments, by the way, for predicting the need for security clearances. You impressed Judge Houston as well as most of the rest of us. Dub, well, not so much.”

  Turning back to Micki he continued, “My guess: the doctor will be made available as soon as Friday by the judge–but where, I can’t tell you. Don’t hold me to this, but if you really do have a jet, be prepared to use it. That’s part of the reason I brought the pleadings over personally. When you see him, be ready to talk along the lines I’ve proposed.”

  Micki smiled and pushed a little harder. “While we’re not at each other’s throats, any chance we might be able to work out something on the criminal side? It is a first offense and contrary to what you may think, he wasn’t selling. Maybe along the lines of a supervised release? He’s going to lose both his job and his national reputation. Shouldn’t that be punishment enough?”

  Bullock didn’t budge an inch.

  “Don’t start, Micki. You don’t have all the facts. I’ll be reasonable when it comes to his wife and her home, but when you get our discovery you’ll understand why there’ll be no bargains regarding Dr. Stewart. We have good reason to believe he’s a threat to national security. I’ll be straight with you, and from your reputation, I know you’ll do the same. Dr. Stewart is going to prison for a very long time. Don’t try to imagine any other outcome.” The easy smile was replaced by a cold stare.

  Micki appeared to be at a loss, so I stepped in. “I appreciate your candor.”

  I gave him my contact information, and we spent a few more minutes trying to be pleasant. Closing the door behind him, Micki sat down behind her desk, and I sunk deeply into a well-used armchair.

  “Well, that was fun. What do you think?” I asked.

  “Liz gets her home, furniture, and a deal not to prosecute. It’s too good to be true, especially if they really have the goods on Doug. He gives up a Healy, a truck and personal possessions. Unless he has a lot of cash in the bank, I must be missing something. Let’s get Liz to sign a power of attorney so we can access their bank and brokerage account records. I want to be familiar with their finances before we talk to Doug.”

  “Bullock seemed pretty reasonable. Why is Dub being such an ass? Surely it can’t just be his well-known love of me. I’ll see what I can dig up in Washington.”

  “So, you really are going to DC tomorrow?” Micki asked. I was surprised to detect disappointment in her voice.

  “Not for long. Like I said, I want to run some traps at Main Justice. Dub is sure to try to get our clearances pulled. I have a feeling that once we’ve heard what Doug has to say, we’ll have plenty of irons in the fire. Guess I’m going to need that desk after all.”

  She gave me a slow grin. “Sounds good to me, partner.”

  “Well, at least until we figure out what they’ve got on Doug. Since when do a few marijuana plants rise to the level of national security? Even a few hundred—either Doug ha
s snookered a lot of people or we have a lot to learn.”

  “Jack, I don’t trust any of them, but we can’t ignore the offer. That home is worth a lot. With all that marijuana in the back yard, we don’t have a prayer keeping it off the auction block without their offer. Besides, Liz told me it means a lot to her and Doug.”

  “Maybe so, but she may not feel the same way if Doug is never free to live in it again.”

  18

  MICKI AND I spent the next couple of hours mapping out who would do what over the next few days. Her focus would be to get the appropriate petitions and motions before the court, and mine would be to learn as much as I could about Dub’s task force and how to get around the “national security” roadblock so we could access our client and the case against him. In a normal criminal trial the prosecution is required to give the defense all the evidence against their client, including any evidence that might help prove the client’s innocence. But this was hardly a normal case, and Dub was using every means in his power to keep us in the dark. All the normal rules of law seemed to have been suspended. We spent the last half hour talking about how to deal with Bullock’s offer. I needed to plant the seed with Liz before she went to Memphis.

  Moira had taken Liz to work out, and was making arrangements for her protection while she was in Memphis. Liz’s plane didn’t leave until eight, so I was going to meet both women at the hotel around five. I’d leave for DC in the morning, returning Friday, unless we got access to Doug earlier.

  Micki asked if I could handle the meeting with Liz without her. She wanted to spend some time with Eric, who apparently was feeling a bit deserted.

  “Sounds like Eric is a permanent fixture,” I commented.

  “It’s getting pretty serious. We have the same interests, the sex is beyond great, and when I’m not with him I find myself wishing I were. He’s too possessive though—you know I’m overly sensitive about feeling owned. Then again, I get jealous when some nurse flirts with him at the hospital, so, yes, it’s getting serious.” She gave me a wry smile.