Ginger Snaps

by Webb Hubbell

  “Dub and his gang seem the most unlikely. But don’t rule them out, okay? I haven’t swum in your pool often, but it seems the least likely suspects sometime float to the top. It’s the opposite of Occam’s razor. Call it Patterson’s shower if you like.”

  “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” Sam responded, downing his glass of wine. Maggie refilled it immediately.

  “Bear with me while I tell you what little I know about Dub’s case against Dr. Stewart.” Sam leaned back in his chair, willing to indulge me for the time being.

  He asked a few questions, but basically listened without comment. I hoped I hadn’t given him too much wine.

  Swirling his glass thoughtfully, he finally asked, “Okay—so now what?”

  “You’re not going to call me an idiot or a nut job?”

  “Well my friend, I’ve learned not to discount your off-the-wall theories out of hand. I’m willing to do what I can, but so far I don’t see how I can help.” He gave me a forlorn grin.

  “That’s okay. It’s enough that you listened, didn’t pull me off the mound before the game even started. Next time I need something concrete like a search warrant or a subpoena, you’ll know why.”

  “If you want a search warrant, you better have more than a theory, you better bring facts. No judge is going to touch a pending Federal matter without an ironclad reason and plenty of facts to back it up. But, I’ll say something I wouldn’t have a year ago. If you’ve got something–bring it to me. I’ll listen.”

  “That’s all I can ask for. Thanks.” I meant it.

  Sam put his fork down, deliberately this time, and gave me a hard look. “Jack, let me give you a bit of advice I know you won’t take. Let me find Micki’s kidnapper, and you concentrate on defending your doctor.”

  “Can’t do that, Sam— I know in my gut they’re related. If we find the kidnapper, we’ll know how to defend Dr. Stewart. And if I figure out what’s really behind Doug’s prosecution, we’ll know who kidnapped Micki.”

  I had planted a seed. That’s all I could hope for out of one night’s dinner. Sam was more than happy to accept Clovis’s offer to drive him home. As he rose, he turned to Maggie.

  “You’ll be glad to know that no charges will be filed against Jack and Clovis for breaking and entering this afternoon. The deputies and I all agree that the front door was wide open when we arrived. We all thought we heard a scream, and Jack ran in.” He winked, gave her a quick kiss, and turned toward the door, Clovis close behind.

  Maggie and I lingered in silence over the last of the Cabernet. I watched the waiter serve bread pudding to the table next to us and wondered idly if Maggie had ever enjoyed real Southern bread pudding.

  “Jack, you can’t actually believe Dub is responsible for Micki’s kidnapping.” Her abrupt comment broke the reverie.

  “Believe me, I hope not. However incompetent I think he is, he’s still the U. S. attorney, and I’m not a conspiracy nut. Contrary to movies and blogs, our government doesn’t kidnap defense lawyers, brand them, and leave them to die. But someone who stands to benefit from Dub’s prosecution could be responsible. Or Micki could easily be collateral damage in a drug or mafia turf war between Novak and some other thug. What’s important is that Sam knows what we’re doing. He’s not fighting us.”

  “Maybe he learned his lesson.”

  “No, the real reason is Micki. She rescued him once. He’s on our team because we both want justice for Micki.”

  Our server offered the dessert menu, but Maggie declined, and I reluctantly decided to save bread pudding for another night.

  “You’re right, we should go—tomorrow’s going to be a big day. I have to figure out how to see Doug. Let’s not forget he’s what brought us here.”

  WEDNESDAY MORNING

  April 23, 2014

  25

  WHEN WE MET for breakfast, Clovis reported that Micki was still in ICU, but her condition had been upgraded to stable. Paul had stayed with Eric at the hospital all night, along with the two uniforms who sat outside her door and several others who weren’t so obvious. Sam and Clovis were taking no chances.

  I had to change shirts before we could leave for Micki’s office–egg yolk on my cuff and the front of my shirt again. Two burly guards met us—Clovis still wasn’t sure what to make of Mongo. Debbie showed no ill effects from the trauma of yesterday, and from the corner of my eye I caught Clovis admiring her tight jeans and tighter sweater. The entire time I’d known Clovis, I’d never asked whether he had a girlfriend; I was pretty sure he wasn’t married. Angie would have known that and much more within the first hour of meeting him.

  Moira had called to report that Liz’s security was tighter than a drum. At my request, she had encouraged Liz to remain in Memphis until I either talked to Doug or had news from the judge. Maggie quickly took charge at Micki’s office, reminding us that Marshal Maroney had agreed to meet with us this morning—we were due in ten minutes.

  Security at the courthouse was tight, and we were a few minutes late reaching the marshal’s offices on the fifth floor. I was surprised to see both Dub and Jim Bullock waiting in the reception area. We shook hands awkwardly, Dub’s palm damp in my grasp. I fought off the instinctive urge to wipe my hand on my khakis.

  He opened with, “I heard about Lawrence. How awful.” His voice didn’t convey an ounce of sincerity.

  Jim was more sympathetic. “How’s she doing? If there’s any way we can help, please let us know. Any idea who’s behind it?”

  “The police believe a man named Novak is responsible. He’s Russian mafia—you know what those guys are like,” I lied. I was happy for everyone to think Novak was the guilty party.

  Dub jumped in. “That guy’s a piece of shit. I hope the police nail his ass. If it were my case, I’d be all over him. He wouldn’t know what hit him.”

  Dub was showing off—he had no intention of crossing Novak.

  “Technically, you do have the case. It’s a kidnapping in this district. Maybe your office is already working it?” Butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.

  I watched him squirm. I bet Dub hadn’t talked to anyone in the U.S. Attorney’s office in weeks. His pompous and self-centered little brain was focused entirely on “his” task force, not the kidnapping of an adversary.

  “You might want to find out. The press might ask about your investigation,” I suggested.

  Dub glowered and looked relieved when Marshal Maroney opened the door to his office, waving us into wooden chairs as he leaned against the front of his desk. He asked about Micki, and I told him what I knew.

  “Micki is good people. You tell Sam if he needs help keeping her safe, my people are available. I mean it.”

  After a pause, he reverted to his professional tone. “Mr. Patterson, I understand you have concerns regarding Dr. Stewart. That’s why I invited Mr. Blanchard and Mr. Bullock to join us. I’ve been ordered by Washington to do nothing in this matter without their knowledge. I hope you understand.”

  Before I could answer Dub broke in. “The accused is no concern of yours at all, Marshal. Stewart is our responsibility. You got that?” He tilted his chair back with an insolent grin.

  Maroney was pissed and let it show. “Well, he’s my concern when he’s in this courthouse, Mr. U. S. Attorney. You got that?”

  “Of course, Marshal.” Dub’s tone made fingernails on a chalkboard sound pleasant.

  My turn. “Since you called my client ‘the accused,’ do you mind telling me what he’s accused of? To my knowledge he’s being held in an undisclosed facility but has yet to be charged with a crime.”

  “Under the Defense Authorization Act of 2012, I can hold him indefinitely without charging him.” Dub’s chest puffed out, endangering his shirt buttons.

  “Are you classifying him as a terrorist? Seriously? If so, you have to turn him over to the military. They’ll probably be easier to work with.” Now I was pissed.

  Bullock stepped in before it got worse.


  “Let’s all calm down. Judge Houston will make his rulings soon enough. You must have some reason to be here other than to trade insults with us. You know we’re not going to give you access to Dr. Stewart until the judge rules. . . .”

  Dub interrupted again. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before you see Stewart. If he rules against us, we’ll appeal, so don’t get your hopes of seeing Dr. Stewart any time soon.” Bullock couldn’t help but grimace. Dub had stupidly told me part of their strategy. Bullock had implied that we would have access in a matter of days. Now I knew better.

  Since part of the cat was out of the bag, I toned it down.

  “I asked to see Marshal Maroney both to update him on what happened to Micki and to reiterate my concern for Dr. Stewart’s welfare. Marshal, since we’ve been denied access to our client, I need to know that whoever has him in custody is doing everything in their power to assure his safety, even if that means putting him in segregated housing. Micki is alive because of a lucky guess. I don’t want someone to be more successful when it comes to Dr. Stewart.”

  His glasses slipped down on his nose a bit as his eyebrows shot up. “You think the kidnapping and attack on Micki are related to the Stewart case?”

  Dub sputtered with impatience. “That’s horseshit. Outrageous. Dr. Stewart’s case has nothing to do with Novak. You’re grasping at straws, Counselor.”

  Pointedly ignoring Dub, I spoke directly to Maroney. “Marshal, I’d feel a lot better if I knew where Doug is and could at least talk to him on the phone. It’s not like he’s going to escape or tell me where the crown jewels are hidden. His wife is worried sick about him.”

  Dub gloated. “Ain’t going to happen. You’re not playing ball with your old high school friends anymore, Mr. Big-time Antitrust Lawyer. You’re dealing with me now.” Dub looked at Bullock like he had set me straight. Clovis allowed himself a snort.

  Maroney looked unhappy, but shrugged his shoulders and said, “My hands are tied. I honestly wish it were otherwise.”

  Dub shoved his chair back noisily, “Let’s get out of here, Bullock.” As he headed out of the room I heard him gloat, “Guess I showed him.”

  Clovis stepped between Dub and any reaction on my part. When the door closed, Maroney smiled.

  “Pity they left so soon. If they’d stayed, I could have told you both that technically neither Dub nor I have jurisdiction over the prisoner at the moment. Once he was delivered to Oklahoma City, his care and welfare was transferred to the Bureau of Prisons. That means Warden Mitchell in OKC has the last word on whether or not you can speak with your client. It’s his call whether Stewart can make or receive phone calls or confer with his lawyer. It’s not up to the judge, the marshal, or Dub’s task force. But since Dub’s not here, I can’t tell him that. Too bad—think I’ll just keep it to myself.”

  I smiled in return, and we shook hands.

  “You watch over Micki, you hear. She’s special. Tell her as soon as she’s ready for visitors, I’ll be there.”

  As we walked to the Tahoe I mused, “Clovis, you may have to hold me back if I have to be in the same room with that asshole again. He’s such an easy mark. I admit I enjoy baiting him, but it’s distracting, gets me off my game.”

  “I think Dub protests too much and too loudly. Did you see how defensive he got when you suggested that what happened to Micki could be related to Dr. Stewart? You could tell Bullock was troubled.”

  “So you think there’s a link?” I asked.

  “Didn’t say that. But I’m sure our U.S. Attorney knows a whole hell of a lot more about Micki’s kidnapping than he let on. His face is an open book.”

  I opened the door to the Tahoe. “Hmm—I’ll file that little tidbit away. It’s time for us to go to Oklahoma City.”

  26

  CLOVIS CALLED WALTER’S pilot, while I punched in the number Maroney had given me. The warden picked up immediately.

  “Warden Mitchell, my name is Jack Patterson, and—”

  He interrupted. “Bill Maroney told me you’d be calling and why. Don’t waste your time talking.”

  My heart sank.

  “Get your ass up here before somebody tells me not to let you see your client. Shit, man, I deal with the worst of the worst, but they still get to see their lawyers. We don’t get many lawyers out here because we’re basically a warehouse, in and out in a few days. But if you can get here, I’ll let you in. Just bring ID, proof you’re a lawyer—a business card will do—and be prepared for a search of your briefcase and your person.”

  “Thank you, Warden. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

  “Look forward to meeting you. I checked with some friends at Main Justice. You get nothing but respect. Maroney warned me to expect a call from some jerk U.S. attorney named Blanchard. If he reaches me and orders me not to let you in, I’ll have to comply; so if I were you, I’d get here quickly and quietly.”

  I thanked him, got the pilot back on the phone, and told him not to file a flight plan. Maggie was waiting for us on the curb, and Clovis sped to the airport. As soon as she was buckled in her seat, I told Maggie what had happened.

  In the air, the pilot radioed ahead for a taxi, and we found it waiting for us on the tarmac when we landed. I could see the prison facility across the airfield, and within a matter of ten minutes we were being searched by the prison’s security guards. I’ll spare you the details. It’s enough to know that prison searches are very thorough. Warden Mitchell was waiting for us in a small conference room.

  “I apologize for the search, but sooner or later I’m going to have to answer to someone about your visit. It’s going to be a lot easier on all of us if I can say the two of you were treated like any other visitors, regulations followed to the letter. Mrs. Matthews, I especially apologize to you, but you’d be surprised what people try to smuggle in and how. The rules exist to make sure nothing gets in, but one’s privacy does suffer.”

  Maggie was still a bit red in the face and said tartly, “I don’t suppose you have many women visitors.” Warden Mitchell smiled and then got down to business.

  “Dr. Stewart is undergoing a similar procedure as we speak. I seldom have inmates searched before they meet with their lawyers, but I’m following the book. Pick up your cell phones when you leave. Sorry, you’re allowed only pen and paper.”

  “That’s okay. Thanks for letting us see him on such short notice.”

  “Think nothing of it. Hell, I’ve never heard about not getting to see your own lawyer. What’s this world coming to? In case you’re interested, right now Dr. Stewart is in a cell by himself. The facility is fairly empty. He reads, eats his meals, and sticks to himself.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  The Warden left the room, and in a few minutes a guard walked Doug through the door. I was relieved to see he wasn’t in handcuffs or leg irons. Maggie and I teased him a little about his emergent beard, and he parried that it was a sign of his good health. The smiles didn’t last long.

  “Before you ask me what this is all about, tell me about Liz. Is she okay? And what else has happened? They won’t let me make a phone call, and I don’t understand why I’m here and not in Little Rock.”

  I assured him that Liz was safe in Memphis, updated him on the arraignment, the prosecution’s offer not to charge Liz or seize the house, and a few other details. He was clearly relieved to learn that Liz had been given a security detail and assured me that no one had threatened him either in the county jail or here. Next came the question I was afraid he’d ask.

  “Where’s Ms. Lawrence?” I looked at Maggie, and Doug quickly picked up on my hesitation.

  “What happened? What aren’t you telling me?” Not a question, but a demand.

  I lowered my voice and explained that Micki had been kidnapped, how we had found her and her current medical condition. Doug stared at me in silence, folded arms leaning on his knees, absorbing the facts. After a few seconds, he seemed to give himself a little shake and said firml
y, “Okay, I don’t know how much time we have. Someone is likely to bust in here any minute, so let me give you your marching orders, and then I’ll answer all your questions. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I was reassured to find that his strength of character was seemingly unaffected by his circumstances, his will and thinking processes still strong. The treatment he’d received could break a man pretty quickly.

  “First, thank you for arranging security for Liz. I’m surprised she agreed to it, but whatever happens, keep it up. She’s in more danger than you know.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I told you, answers later, instructions first. Micki’s kidnapping is connected to all this.” He gestured broadly at the small room. “Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Second, you be careful. I’d bet my bottom dollar you’re next.” He looked at Maggie. “You should all have guards—every hour of the day. When they hear I’ve been talking, they aren’t going to hang around and wait to find out what you know. They won’t hesitate to take you both out. I’m sorry. I should have realized this earlier. I wanted to think I was the only one at risk.”

  Maggie asked, “What exactly do you know?”

  Doug smiled. “Instructions first.”

  “Jack, take their deal. Make sure you lock in the ‘no prosecution of Liz.’ It kills my soul. A life’s work gone, but I couldn’t stand the thought of Liz in prison. You say the deal is too good to be true. That’s because you don’t know what they’re getting in exchange. Take the deal. They can have my research—it’s what they’ve wanted all along. Once they get it, Liz will be safe, you and Maggie too. God, I hope Ms. Lawrence makes it.”

  You could feel the force of his pent-up energy lessen, and he began to ramble a bit. My brain swirled with too many questions to interrupt.

  “Can you imagine, a nerd like me having Liz for a wife? She was so damn good-looking, and yet she chose to marry me. No one could believe it. She flirted with every boy on campus, occasionally went too far with a few, but always begged me to take her back. Can you imagine—me? They found my pressure point all right. They know I’d never let them harm Liz. If it weren’t for her, I’d die before I’d give them my research.” He put his hands over his eyes, almost overcome.