by Webb Hubbell
Maggie reached over to grip his shaking shoulder.
We hadn’t gotten anywhere, from my point of view.
“Doug, I know how tough this is for you, but we don’t have much time here. We need to decide how to deal with what’s happened—right now. Listen to me. We don’t have to agree to their deal today. I’ll keep your agreement in my pocket. In fact, I’ve made it clear to them I can’t agree to anything until I spoken with you. Since this is an unofficial visit we still have some time. You need to answer my questions now.”
Doug removed his hands from his eyes, gave a sigh and nodded, but the door swung open and in walked the warden. He wasn’t smiling.
“A word, Mr. Patterson.”
I stepped outside and waited.
He began. “I just received a call from the Director of the Bureau of Prisons ordering me to terminate this interview immediately. Seems to me nothing much is a secret in Little Rock. Whoever’s in charge down there pulled enough strings to get the director of prisons out of a meeting with the attorney general. I don’t know who jerked her chain, but my instructions are clear.”
I didn’t know what to think. Dub wouldn’t have that kind of pull, would he? And even if he did, how did he know we were here? Who else knew we were in Oklahoma? Whatever, it was clear I’d lost my chance to get any answers from Doug. I thanked the Warden, but he wasn’t through.
“I’m going to catch hell for letting you in here, but I can handle it. I was also told to hold you here until the DEA agents arrived. I told the director I didn’t have that authority, and she told me to do it anyway. Too bad—as it turns out, you were already gone before I could detain you.” His smile brightened the room.
“So, don’t let any grass grow under your feet. A bunch of DEA agents are on their way here right now to arrest you.”
I went back into the room and said. “Doug, it’s time for us to leave. In fact, we’ve got to hightail it out of here. You were right, the Feds are on their way. Much as I’d like to tell everyone to go jump in the lake, I don’t imagine I can do you any good from a jail cell. I’ll be back. Be careful, and don’t give up. I’ve got a plan.”
His look told me he thought I was nuts, but he was ready to clutch at straws.
“A plan?” He smiled. “Angie told me you were a little crazy.”
I returned the smile and heard Maggie say, “Crazy like a fox.”
“Be careful. And the answer to all your questions is the research. They don’t care about the pot or my house. It’s my research they want, and, yes, they’ll kill for it.”
“Maggie, call the pilot and tell him we’ll be there in ten minutes and to get us in the air as soon as possible.” Maggie was already punching his number.
Clovis was waiting for us at the car. “What’s up? Why the rush?”
“We’ve got a problem. We’ve got lots of problems, but one is more pressing than the others.” I told him what the warden had said, and I watched his face turn stone cold. I’d seen Clovis angry before, but I’d never seen this look—scared the shit out of me.
27
AS WE TAXIED down the runway, I saw several black sedans pull into the parking lot. Men in dark suits and sunglasses streamed out of the cars. Breathing a sigh of relief as we took off, I told the pilot to notify the guys at Hodges Air that various officers of the law were likely to be waiting when we arrived, and asked him to call a friend.
I explained to Maggie and Clovis that I was sure to be arrested. Maggie took a deep breath, but kept her usual composure. Clenching and unclenching his fists, Clovis was a silent image of fury. This I didn’t need.
“Clovis, I can see how angry you are. I know you’re second-guessing yourself, but I need you to let it go. Remember how on the football field the other team tried to get in your head? Don’t let these guys get to you. The fact is they’ve tipped their hand. Now we know we’ve got a traitor in our midst. We have to figure out how to use what we know, how to use the traitor. Okay? Are you with me?”
“Why aren’t you madder than hell?” Clovis barked. “Your meeting with Doug got cut short. Every move you’ve made has been thwarted. Dub’s trumped up some charge against you, and this mole surely had something to do with Micki. I’ll wring his neck when I find him.”
“No, you won’t. Come on, Clovis, get a grip. We’ve been handed a gift. Let’s figure out who it is and use that knowledge to our advantage.”
“Any thoughts on who it might be?” Maggie asked.
“Yeah, I think I know who, but if I told either of you, you’d be awkward around that person and tip him off. I’d rather you come to your own conclusions. Let’s not focus on the traitor. Let’s talk about what you need to do while I’m cooling my heels in jail. Maggie, I need you to call Beth right away, make sure she knows I’m all right.”
“Of course, but don’t you need a lawyer?”
“Already have one. If the pilot was able to reach her, I bet she’ll be there when we land. Micki’s not available, so I’ve got the next best thing.”
As yet unrelenting, Clovis demanded, “Who?”
Maggie answered for me with a smile, “Janis Harold.”
Clovis whistled and finally relaxed. “Dub’s gonna wish he’d left your ass alone.”
“That’s the plan.” I grinned.
I’d met Janis Harold during the Cole case. She had acted as both the senator and Woody’s personal attorney, and had represented all of the senator’s political campaigns. Janis was what my stepfather would have called a “little bit of a thing,” not quite five feet tall. Her lack of height dominated any initial impression but, as they say, dynamite comes in small packages.
Sure enough, as we taxied toward Hodges Air, I saw her standing in front of the deputy marshals waiting for the plane.
As soon as we reached the bottom of the passenger stairs, a man wearing dark glasses identified himself as a Deputy U.S. Marshal and said politely, “Mr. Patterson, please come with me.” He was fingering the pair of handcuffs attached to his belt, which wasn’t so polite.
“On what charges?” Janis was in his face except for the two feet that separated them in height.
“Ma’am, I’m under orders to take Mr. Patterson into custody. Please don’t interfere.”
“I’m Mr. Patterson’s attorney. I want to know on what charges my client is being detained and by whose authority.”
“Ma’am, you’ll have to take that up with Mr. Blanchard. I’m here to detain Mr. Patterson until he appears before a magistrate.” Janis sputtered angrily. Since I’d known this was going to happen, I interrupted.
“Deputy, I’ll come with you, but can you give me a minute with my counsel? If not, she’s likely to have you in front of a judge in a matter of minutes. I promise I’ll cooperate. Simply let me talk to her in plain view for a minute.”
He knew he shouldn’t agree, but he was already more afraid of Janis than Dub, so he nodded. “Well, just for a minute.”
I pulled Janis aside. “Thanks for being here, Janis. Maggie will tell you what’s going on. If I know Dub, he’ll try to get me before Judge Houston, railing that I’ve conspired to get around the Judge’s orders. Maggie has the transcript of the earlier hearing. Don’t try to get me out of jail until right before tomorrow’s hearing.”
“I can have you in front of a magistrate before tomorrow.”
“I know, but I think we can use Dub’s arrogance to our advantage. I’ll be okay overnight. Shoot, I’ll actually have some time to think. You and Maggie have a lot to do. We’ll talk again before the hearing.” Janis looked a little flustered, but adjusted quickly.
We walked back to the deputy, and I extended my arms. He seemed a little embarrassed, but quickly took the cuffs from his belt and applied them to my wrists. My clients were right. They did pinch. Just then a cameraman hopped out from behind the marshal’s Suburban and started shooting. Janis was furious.
“You bastards! Who notified the press? Tell that asshole of a U.S. Attorney, he bette
r wear a cup. He’s going to need one tomorrow.”
I had a hard time not laughing, as did the deputy. The reporter with the cameraman was taking notes, but I knew the press wouldn’t print Janis’ tirade. I saw Clovis put his arm around Maggie, who looked a little lost. Going to jail was a new experience for both of us.
The reality of my circumstances began to sink in. Where were they going to keep me over night? Who else would be in my cell? A sobering thought.
The deputy spoke. “As I believe you already know, we don’t have any overnight accommodations except at a safe house, and Mr. Blanchard specifically ordered us not to take you there. You’re to be treated like any other prisoner. You’ll spend the night at the county jail. We’ll pick you up in the morning and deliver you to a magistrate.”
I tried to keep my demeanor relaxed and unconcerned as the deputy put his hand on top of my head and shoved me down into his patrol car, but it wasn’t easy. I sure couldn’t smile.
I’d been to the county jail before when I was defending Woody, but had never made it inside a cell. The cuffs were removed, and for the second time that day I was strip-searched. The guards took my clothes and gave me an orange jumpsuit and cloth shoes, both too small, all the while talking about plans for their day off. I was just part of a day’s work. When I was dressed, they led me to a holding cell where I was supposed to fill out various forms, including a questionnaire about my mental state. I wondered what happened to the guys who couldn’t read.
The stubby little pencil needed sharpening—it didn’t help that my hand shook. I felt the presence of someone outside the cell and looked up to the smiling face of Sam Pagano.
“You shouldn’t wear orange—smacks of the Texas Longhorns.”
“I’m not too enamored with it myself. Got an alternative?”
He laughed. “Maggie called to tell me what happened. You know there’s not much I can do—Dub’s running this show. But I’ve talked to Sheriff Barnes. They’re going to segregate you from the other inmates. You’ll be in the suicide watch cell. It’s not comfortable, but you’ll be safe. That’s all I can do.”
“Thanks. I figured Dub would put me in with a serial killer.” Not funny. My words sounded hollow, even to me.
“How’s Micki?” I asked, ready to talk about anything else.
“She’s pretty weak, been through hell and back, but at least she’s conscious. We decided not to tell her you’re in jail. She’d want to deal with Dub personally. Better let Janis have that honor.” His tone was light enough, but his face wasn’t.
“Whatever she needs, make sure she gets it, okay?” Things kept getting worse.
“Don’t worry about that. I think you need to worry a little bit about yourself.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I’m not so sure. Dub’s had a hard-on for you from day one, and now you’re interfering with his baby. Word has it he wants you arrested for aiding and abetting a terrorist. He’s a jerk, but he’s still the U.S. attorney. Fortunately, so far no one has taken him seriously. A night in here is hardly a walk in the park, but it looks to me like he wants you out of his way for good.”
I thought about my response. “Sam, when I get out of here, it’s time for a private chat. Okay?”
“Let’s see you through the night first. The suicide cell is hardly the Armitage.”
He was right. First, I was ordered to shower and wash my hair with lice shampoo. Then I was strip-searched again and led to a single cell, eight feet by eight feet. The bed was a solid concrete block with a paper-thin plastic mattress. No pillow, nothing to read, not even any toilet paper unless I asked. Dinner consisted of water, a slice of Wonder Bread, and something that resembled noodles with brown gravy. I had to return my plastic spoon after the meal. My friend Woody had been in solitary, but he’d spared me any details. This exposure to his reality made me wish I’d been more sympathetic.
I tried to sleep, and occasionally exhaustion allowed me to nod off for a few minutes. No dreams, no visions of beautiful women—mostly I just lay there. My attempts at rational thought and strategy were constantly interrupted by sounds of screaming and yelling coming from nearby overcrowded cells. How anyone slept in here was beyond me.
The loudspeaker blared a wake-up call at five-thirty, and pretty soon a guard came to lead me to a tepid shower, followed by another strip search more intrusive than I thought possible or legal, and a fresh orange jumpsuit still smaller than the first. Breakfast arrived, and the guard watched through the bars as I forced down oatmeal and soggy toast. Before long his cell phone rang, and he hooked me up to handcuffs, leg chains, and a chain belt that connected both. I was shoved into the back seat of a waiting Suburban, where I could see the deputy marshal in charge staring at me in the rear view mirror.
“I’m sorry about all the hardware, Mr. Patterson, but orders are orders. We’ll have you at the courthouse soon enough. I got to warn you though; the press is there in droves. They’re all dyin’ to get a picture of you in irons.”
“That’s okay. You’re doing your job.” I said.
And it was time I started doing mine.
THURSDAY
April 24, 2014
28
NEXT CAME THE “perp walk,” another new experience for me. The press surrounded the car—Dub’s work, no doubt. The Deputy Marshals helped me out of the car and with each of them holding an arm. I slowly waddled toward the courthouse door, each step restricted by the length of the leg chain and the discomfort of metal digging into my ankles. I tried to look directly into the cameras, but it was tough—not because of any sense of shame, but because they were shoved right into my face. I was constantly bopped on the head by somebody’s microphone as the reporters shouted inane questions.
Finally we were inside the building, and I shuffled my way into the elevator. We ended up in a third-floor conference room near the courtroom. The deputy unlocked the irons and cuffs and offered me a paper cup of water. Janis and Maggie appeared at the door almost immediately, relief at my safety obvious on their faces. Maggie gave me a quick hug and said, “Don’t worry, I’ve spoken with Beth. She . . .”
Janis interrupted, “The deputy refused to let us give you fresh clothes. I’ve stashed them in a closet down the hall and, as soon as the judge’s clerk gets here, I’ll see if I can’t get you out of those orange rags.”
Straight from the prosecutor’s playbook. Dub would be tickled pink if the lice shampoo turned my hair orange—happens as often as not.
“That’s okay. Any idea what the charges are?”
“Not a clue. The only thing I know for sure is Dub insisted on Judge Houston’s presence. He claimed a magistrate couldn’t hear the charges.”
I told her again to be ready for some kind of obstruction charge. We talked strategy for about thirty minutes, well aware that we were flying blind. A deputy whispered to Janis that the judge’s clerk had arrived, and she left, soon returning with a clean suit and a tie. She also handed me a little comb. I quickly changed clothes and tried to smooth my rumpled hair. The day’s stubble made me look like a middle-aged actor trying to look cool.
Maggie and Janis were already seated at our table when the deputy and I reached the courtroom. I smiled to see Debbie, Clovis, and Mongo in the front row of the gallery–the only family I had right now. The press and various rubberneckers filled the other rows. Dub hadn’t made his entrance yet. The small army of lawyers crowded around the prosecution’s table grew quiet as I walked in. Bullock nodded to me slightly, managing to look embarrassed. Sam and Micki’s friend, Rodney Fitzhugh were sitting together in the back of the room. Sam caught my eye and returned my weak smile. If the night’s screams were any indication of what could have happened without his influence, I owed him serious thanks. An ambulance had transferred two inmates to the hospital this morning. Their injuries hadn’t been noticed until breakfast.
Dub came bursting through the doors, stopping along the way to shake several reporters’ hands. Pausing at our
table, he extended his hand to Janis, but she failed to return the gesture. Caught off-guard, hand hovering in mid-air, he turned to me. I wasn’t as nice as Janis.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Just a gentlemanly gesture.” He actually looked surprised.
“When you act like one, we’ll think about it,” Janis sneered.
Flushing a bit, he dropped his hand quickly and walked over to his table.
“Did you hear that?” he asked to no one in particular.
Maggie whispered in my ear, “I’d like to cut it off.”
“Maggie, Maggie,” I said. “Little Rock is making you irritable.” That didn’t even raise a smile.
“All rise,” said the bailiff, and Judge Houston stormed in followed by two clerks.
He’d barely gotten settled before he fumed. “Mr. Blanchard, what is all this about?”
Dub rose from his chair, turned to the gallery for effect, and then responded to the judge.
“Your Honor, yesterday we apprehended Mr. Patterson at Hodges Aircraft after he violated both this court’s order and my instructions not to contact Dr. Stewart. He flew to Oklahoma City specifically to meet with Dr. Stewart. Fortunately, I put a stop to the meeting. Mr. Patterson fled the scene, eluding apprehension at the airport. If we hadn’t captured him here in Little Rock when he stopped to refuel, he might have fled the country. We ask the court to hold Mr. Patterson without bond until formal charges can be brought, issue a contempt order for his conduct, and remove him as counsel for Dr. Stewart.” He fairly glowed with confidence.
I looked at Janis. We had expected the contempt request, but Dub had played his hole card early–what he really wanted was for me to be removed from the Stewart case. Janis stood up, although it didn’t make much difference. She was as tall sitting down as she was standing up. Her tone was all business.
