by Webb Hubbell
“Despite the government banning this kind of research, Doug decided to forge ahead on his own, or maybe with Angie, at NIH, and his work here in Arkansas is just a continuation. But something got to him recently, really scared him. He couldn’t stop because he felt sure he was close to a breakthrough. I think the Feds finally realized what he was up to and put the quash on it.
“He was ready to tell me, but the government wouldn’t and won’t let me communicate with him, and is determined to get his research and whatever else he has discovered.”
The thoughts that had been swirling in my head had finally crystallized into sense. Now I really was scared.
Liz smiled like a Memphis Belle. “I told Micki it was all about the ginger snaps.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Jack, it’s time to relax. Where on earth is the maid? She’s supposed to be bringing us wine. My folks are entertaining Maggie, and now that you’ve figured it all out, I can tell you a lot more about what he actually discovered and what his research has uncovered. It’s a lot more complicated than marijuana, kale, and cross-breeding. Doug truly is a genius, but because it involves growing, testing, and more testing, the work is slow and tedious, and he needed lots of the actual plant.
“I’m sorry I played the dumb blonde with you. I promised Doug, but I was wrong to hold out on you and Micki. Doug wanted to protect me from the authorities as much as he could. We had no idea they’d go to such lengths to isolate him, not even let him talk to his lawyer. I resorted to the only thing I could think of: the clueless wife. Sorry.”
I was ready for a little quiet, a little time to think about what she’d said. But she was quickly back in gear, chatting about the difficulties of furnishing a rental house on short notice. How she could turn it on and off on a dime was amazing. The maid finally arrived with a chilled and uncorked bottle of wine, two glasses, and a bowl of cheese straws. She set the tray on a table and left without a backward glance. Liz morphed back into Dr. Elizabeth Stewart and for the next hour she educated me with a lecture on cancer, biochemical research, and “ginger snaps.”
I left her father’s house feeling overwhelmed with knowledge. My head was spinning either with information or wine, maybe a little bit of both.
38
WE BUCKLED UP for the short flight from Memphis to Little Rock. I begged off giving Maggie, Clovis, and the now wide-awake Debbie a report. I needed time and rest to process what I’d learned, time to let my brain—my whole body—catch its breath, so to speak. So I insisted Debbie take the seat across from Maggie, and dozed for the short flight in the back of the plane.
We touched down safely and were back at the hotel within a few minutes. We were a silent, weary lot, each ready for a little solitude. I indulged in a hot bath before easing into my very comfy bed, but I couldn’t get to sleep, couldn’t help thinking about what Liz had told me.
I thought of Angie and those last few months–the pain, the weight loss, Beth and I trying to put a good face on the inevitable. Liz had told me that Angie’s suffering, even more than her own, had a profound effect on Doug. As a chemist, his research and experiments had all been more or less theoretical, until he saw firsthand what Angie was going through. Then his research became a mission. Apparently he and Angie collaborated in experiments crossing marijuana with other plants, but, as Liz had said, his research soon became much more complicated.
To my surprise, Doug had offered ginger snaps to Angie, as well as a few joints for her pain and weak stomach, but she’d declined. She told him it would upset me and set a bad example for Beth. I wish she’d asked me. She would have been surprised.
So now I had a good idea what Doug had been up to since Angie’s death, but proving it would be another matter, and growing marijuana was still illegal. As for Dub, he was a sleezeball as well as inept, but I could hardly walk into court and accuse him of being dirty on the word of a former prostitute and her pimp. Novak would have about as much credibility as a snake oil salesman.
Moreover, I had no evidence of any connection between Dub’s obsession with this case and his personal habits. How could I get around all the plants in Doug’s backyard? The plants may have been for medical research, but I faced proving a negative. The law presumes that if you cultivate that many plants, you are growing for the purpose of distribution. Medical necessity and medical research are not valid defenses, no matter how well intentioned. How could I rebut Dub’s assertion that Doug sold to kids—call Novak to the stand to testify? I had to assume Dub had someone ready, willing, and available to testify against Doug.
Finally, who was behind all of this and why? Who had moved Moira from Detroit weeks ago just in case her special skills were needed? Who’d decided to raise the ante by trying to kill Micki and me? Who had that kind of money and what had they to gain?
SATURDAY
April 26, 2014
39
THE ALARM ON my iPhone woke me up at six-thirty. It took me a minute to focus, but I was glad to be up. Better to be awake to face a new day than to be plagued by memories and bizarre dreams. After a long shower, I left the room with my day organized and my thoughts all in their appropriate boxes.
Maggie had convinced the manager to open a private space off the main dining room. We indulged in excellent eggs benedict, hash browns, and fresh berries I doled out assignments ending with a concern that had been nagging at me.
“Clovis, someone needs to check our hardware. I wouldn’t put it past Dub to hack our computers in the name of ‘national security.’ I know you’ve already checked our rooms and phones for bugs, but the government uses more sophisticated tools than simple bugs. Debbie, does Micki have a guy who can deal with this? Maggie, what about our offices in DC?”
Maggie nodded, taking notes in shorthand. A lost art.
Debbie spoke up, a bit tartly. “As a matter of fact, we do, and she is not a guy. Her name is Stella Rice. She’s a whiz, and it will really piss her off if the FBI got through her system.”
“If she finds anything, tell her not to disconnect it, at least not until you’ve checked with me.”
Debbie smiled. “You’re going to like Stella. She’s your type, Jack.”
“I don’t know what that means, but don’t introduce me. No more Little Rock women.”
“What about Micki?” Debbie produced a little pout.
“Micki is different. She was never a distraction,” I lied.
Clearly irritated, Maggie interrupted, “When are you going to let us in on what you learned from Liz?”
“Plenty of time for that later. If the judge gives me access to Doug, we’ll be on our way to Oklahoma City in short order. If he doesn’t, you, Clovis, and I are going to DC to meet with Walter.”
Debbie looked like an eager puppy.
“Okay, what’s up?” I asked, smiling.
“No offense, everyone, but all this security is putting a huge cramp in my lifestyle. Clovis, can’t you at least assign a cute, male guard to me? You know—someone to keep me from getting lonesome.”
Remembering what we owed her, I tried not to frown—or laugh. Clovis’s jaw dropped—first Liz, now Debbie—they just didn’t fit into any niche he was prepared for.
“Clovis, I’ll leave her request in your capable hands.”
He wasn’t amused.
40
JANIS HAROLD WAS waiting on a bench outside the courtroom. The look on her face told me she had bad news.
“Jack, Maggie, you know I don’t mince words. My husband received a call last night from one of our best clients. The client feels that my involvement with you is a conflict of interest. If I persist, he intends to file a complaint with the Supreme Court Committee on Professional Responsibility.”
I asked, “Is he right?”
“No, but he’s not someone who issues idle threats. Archie and I talked about it. We don’t think he’s bluffing, and we’re going to drop the bastard as a client.”
“Why drop the bastard as a client? T
here’s no reason for that,” I responded.
“Oh, yes, there is. Archie and I don’t need any client, no matter how rich, who’d make such a threat. We’re better off without him. Still, dropping him doesn’t cure his perceived conflict, so I can’t help you today or in the future. Totally pisses me off, but there it is.”
“I understand and won’t lean on our friendship to ask who he is.”
Janis grinned. “I wish I could tell you. Believe me, I do. Be careful. I have no idea what hornet’s nest you’ve stirred up, but it’s a doozy, and it’s clearly not about a few marijuana plants.”
“No, Janis. It’s about ginger snaps.” I enjoyed the look on her face.
Lack of local counsel could be a real problem. I’m very familiar with the ins and outs of federal court, but every state has more than a few idiosyncrasies. A good lawyer should never venture into another state’s courtroom without a local lawyer who knows both the eccentricities and the judge.
Maggie’s lips tightened as Dub walked through the courtroom doors. This time he didn’t bother to shake any hands. We had just taken our seats when a frowning Judge Houston strode in, robes flapping, brusquely motioning us to remain seated. He didn’t waste any time.
“I’ll post my orders online in a timely fashion. However, I thought it appropriate to advise counsel of the substance of my findings. First, Mr. Patterson, I hope you will convey our deepest concern to Ms. Lawrence for her well-being. However, I see no reason for her absence to delay our proceedings. My clerks have confirmed that you are what you represent—licensed in this state and admitted to the bar of this court. Despite these facts and without providing you a copy, the prosecution has filed a motion under seal to have you removed from this case.”
I couldn’t believe my ears, but before I could say a word the judge continued, “That motion is denied.”
Dub fumed, and I relaxed.
“Mr. Blanchard, I have carefully reviewed your claim that by designating the defendant as a terrorist you have the right to hold Dr. Stewart indefinitely without charges. The problem with your argument is that the Defense Authorization Act of 2012 may give the military the right to do just that, but you’re not the military. So you will either charge Dr. Stewart or release him.
“I also find that Mr. Patterson’s security clearance is valid. You’ve not contested the documents he gave the court earlier, so I’m ordering that all the documents filed under seal be given to him under appropriate procedures, and that he be granted immediate access to Dr. Stewart.”
So far so good, I was winning on every issue, but the judge wasn’t finished.
“I understand you plan to appeal these decisions and seek a stay of my orders from the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals. Is that correct?”
Dub jumped up quickly. “That’s right, your Honor.”
“That request will not be necessary. I will stay my orders pending a timely appeal by your office.”
I rose as well, trying to keep a poker face. Staying his orders pending appeal meant nothing would happen for months.
“Your Honor, does the stay apply to access to my client?”
The judge’s face was sympathetic, but his answer was not.
“Mr. Patterson, I understand your frustration, but the government’s filings carry enough credibility that I’m confident the Circuit Court will grant a stay, so I’m going to save everyone the time and effort. You won your argument, Mr. Patterson. You will just have to wait until the government exhausts its appeal.”
Meanwhile my client rots in jail.
Dub and his associates were having a hard time holding back their glee. I’d won the first battle, but was losing the war.
The judge continued, “As I understand it, technically no charges have been filed against Dr. Stewart, so the only thing before the court is the civil forfeiture case. Mr. Patterson, you have a few weeks to file a response to the government’s complaint and seizure. As soon as you do, I’ll set a civil hearing. I like to move my docket, so be prepared for a quick setting.”
I had only a moment to make a decision. I’d hoped to get all my ducks in a row, consult further with Liz and Doug before I gambled their lives on a long shot. I looked at Maggie. She had no idea what I was thinking, but we’d worked together long enough that she had a sixth sense about my instincts.
She shrugged her shoulders with a discreet smile, and I took the plunge.
“Your Honor that may not be necessary.”
I could almost hear ears perking up.
“With the prosecution’s permission, I’d like to inform the Court of the offer the government has made concerning civil forfeiture and suggest a resolution.”
The judge transferred his gaze to Dub, who was already conferring with Bullock. He asked the Court for a brief recess. The judge gave us five minutes, and I watched Dub make a beeline to a well-dressed man in the gallery who was surely not a lawyer. Bullock, who suddenly appeared directly in front of me, interrupted my line of sight.
“Okay, Jack, what’s on your mind?”
“I’m suggesting we take your deal. You decline to prosecute Liz, you let her keep her house, furniture, artwork, etc., and you get to auction off Doug’s cars, his lab equipment, his research, etc. I have only one condition: I want you to hold the auction in two weeks, with the judge present, and the right to bid on everything. Doug’s wife wants the Healy for sentimental reasons.”
Bullock rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced like he had a crick—maybe he was just worn out. “Okay, Jack. Here’s the deal: no deal on Doug criminally, period. We won’t let you talk to him before the appellate court rules, and we’re going to fight you tooth and nail on the criminal side. We’ll bring charges if we don’t get to keep him under wraps as a terrorist. You have to understand, there’s no deal concerning Dr. Stewart.”
“You’ve made that point very clear.”
“Why so fast? And why do you want Houston present?” He asked, showing a spark of renewed interest.
“Liz is disgusted by this whole mess, just wants it to be over. Right now we can prove Liz made the down payment on the house and the monthly payments out of her trust fund. It’s the same for almost all of the furniture and artwork. I’m sure you knew that or you wouldn’t have offered us the deal.”
Bullock nodded.
“She has no idea what her husband was up to, but she doesn’t trust Dub to keep his word, and neither do I. I know it sounds like she’s living in lala land, but she still wants to host her neighborhood’s cocktail party, and she wants her house back sooner rather than later. Look, she’s more than a little weird, okay?” I hoped my nose wasn’t growing.
“Why don’t I just give her the Healy? Then there’s no rush, and we don’t need Judge Houston,” he responded.
I couldn’t let that happen. I needed them to hold the auction quickly before anyone could think through what I was up to. “I’d be inclined to do that, except you’d get back to the office and realize the deal isn’t consistent with all Doug’s assets going to auction, and you’d want to renegotiate. The Healy belongs to Doug. It’s titled in his name. The cars, the lab equipment, and the research are all Doug’s. If some other lawyer later on down the line wants to attack the sale or the prosecution, he’ll point to the Healy and argue that you let Doug keep it, so he should be allowed to keep the rest.”
I was on shaky ground regarding forfeiture law, but I hoped to plant the seed that if they didn’t go along with my plan, there could be legal title questions to everything sold at the auction. I felt sure they wouldn’t want any issues concerning the legality of the auction to bite them further down the road.
“Your reasoning doesn’t hold water, but she’s your client. I can go along with the early auction and your right to bid, but the judge’s presence? What if he won’t do it?”
“If Judge Houston refuses to engage, Liz won’t agree. I tried to reason with her, but she’s adamant. Honestly, I don’t get it, but Liz is a woman who knows her own mi
nd. For her, the judge validates the whole proceeding.”
I relied on an old stand-by. When you don’t have a good explanation for something—blame your client.
“I’ll try to get Dub to see reason.” A man with a loco boss—I felt a twinge of pity for him.
It didn’t take him long to find Dub, who was still whispering with the suited man. I sat down at our table and took Maggie’s hand, trying to absorb some sense of calm. I was taking the gamble of my professional life.
Maggie whispered. “Whatever you’re up to, I hope it works.”
“Me too or we’re in for a really hard landing.”
She squeezed my hand in return, and I whispered, “Slip out for just a minute—see if you can get Clovis to photograph the man Dub’s been talking to. He can’t take photographs in the courtroom, but maybe he can get him as he’s leaving.”
“If he’s not around, I’ll use my iPhone.” She murmured something about the ladies room and quietly excused herself.
Judge Houston returned, sat down, and said firmly, “Mr. Blanchard.”
At a signal from Dub, Bullock rose slowly to address the court.
“Your Honor, we’ve consulted with defense counsel and would ask the court’s indulgence. With regard to the forfeiture proceedings, the parties have reached an oral agreement that certain assets seized by the government will be returned to Mrs. Stewart. Certain assets seized by the government belonging to the defendant will be sold at auction with the consent of his counsel. This action will completely settle the civil complaint against the property seized. In no respect will this agreement alter our appeal of the Court’s order or any further proceedings concerning the defendant.”
