by Webb Hubbell
I thought about how little evidence I’d been able to pin down. The rest of the week had been wasted on “sorry, I can’t help you” and what seemed to be an avalanche of regulators descending on the foundation. So, I had to gamble on flushing my quarry rather than having the goods beforehand. I dressed for a day of travel, walked downstairs quietly, and made coffee.
I wasn’t much of a cook, but I knew how to make a good breakfast. I pulled my grandmother’s cast-iron skillet out from a bottom drawer and put the sausage on to fry. I found some frozen biscuits made by a little country store outside of Middleburg, Virginia and popped them in the oven. As soon as the sausage was cooked, I added milk, flour, and seasonings to the drippings, stirring constantly until my gravy was the perfect consistency. My grandmother used to tell me you had to listen to the scraping sound of the wooden spoon against the pan—that’s how you knew the gravy was done. Wasn’t long before Clovis came down. He drank his coffee in companionable silence, watching as I turned my attention to the eggs and to setting the table for our feast.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“You know, I left Little Rock a long time ago, didn’t think I’d ever come back. Now I’ve been there twice in as many years. And twice someone has tried to kill me. But thanks to you, I’m still alive. If history repeats itself, I figure this breakfast may be my last. So since I couldn’t sleep, I decided to make us a good one.”
We didn’t talk much over breakfast. Clovis offered to clear and clean while I packed. I’d be gone for at least a week and would need court clothes. Angie had always checked my bag when we traveled. The right tie, the right shoes—now I felt good if I my socks matched.
We reached National without a hitch, found Maggie, and were in the air quickly. Liz was meeting us for lunch at the Peabody.
“Sleep well last night, Maggie?” I asked.
“Not really. When Walter’s worried he tosses and turns. When Walter worries, we all should.”
“Anything I don’t already know?”
“I think more than anything, he’s worried about Moira. He thinks the money is a good investment, but he doesn’t think Moira will walk away from unfinished business. He said, ‘Jack’s got a big sign on his back telling the world Moira failed. If she wants to stay in her game, she’s coming back.’”
Clovis had been listening. “For sure.”
“Well, as you know I’ve had similar thoughts, but either she’s coming or she isn’t. I can’t cancel her contract, and, well, it doesn’t do any good to think about it.”
One of Liz’s bodyguards met us at the airport and drove us to the Peabody. She was waiting for us in the Lobby Bar and insisted breezily that we all have a drink. This time I held my ground and led her to our table where a waiter handed her a tall iced tea. I’d had about enough of her split personality. I told her what we’d found out regarding the letter and what little we knew about the government’s reaction.
“Doug wondered why he never got a response from anyone, but decided not to push the issue. He figured the longer the government was willing to let him work in peace, the more he could accomplish.
“I thought as much. Actually, the summary he prepared caused some real excitement, but not in the way Doug hoped.
“So what happens on Wednesday?” she asked, looking glumly at her iced tea.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “We’re so close—I can almost feel it. But I don’t have any hard evidence yet. I hope the auction process will smoke out the bad guys, providing us with exactly that evidence we need.”
“I hope it works, but it would be a lot more fun if Doug were here,” she plunked her glass down irritably. “Maggie, how can you drink this stuff? Somebody get me a margarita!” The entire room turned to stare.
I tried to contain my rising irritation—with Liz, with Doug, with the whole mess. Antitrust lawyers seldom have to deal with overwrought and devious wives. I took a deep breath.
“Look, Liz, if Doug were here, everything would be different. But he’s not here, and I can’t change that fact. Right now I have no idea when or if any of us will see him again. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but the fact is that we, and that means you, have got to move forward with that realization.”
Now she had tears in her eyes. I felt like a lousy bastard, but kept going.
“I’m sure Dub and Bullock have taken the position that Doug’s patent applications are part of the property to be auctioned. If someone can obtain his patents legally, he’ll never be able to open source his research—even when he does get out of prison. And they intend for him to be there a very long time.”
“Bastards,” Liz murmured into her drink.
“Liz, wake up, it’s time to get serious. I want you to come to Little Rock on Tuesday afternoon. You can stay with us at Micki’s ranch. I’ll feel better when we’re all together.”
“I am quite awake and quite serious. I get the picture. You don’t need to shove it down my throat.” She took a healthy swallow of the margarita that had quickly arrived, chasing it with a deep sigh.
“Okay, Liz. Are you ready to hear the plan? In a way it’s a crapshoot, but I want you to know everything.”
“No! I don’t want to know a thing!”
Maggie was incredulous. “Why on earth not?”
“Because I can honestly say I don’t know—that it’s all in your hands. It’s safer that way. If the bastards think I know your plans, they could go after my father. People have been coming out of the woodwork to see Dad and renew my acquaintance. I can’t tell you how many old boyfriends have shown up in the last week. It was flattering at first, but I figured out pretty quickly that most of them were trying to pump me for information. You should see their faces when I say in my best Scarlett O’Hara, ‘I don’t know a thing. Doug’s lawyers are keeping me completely in the dark.’
“I want to see it unfold on Wednesday; knowing the plan in advance would be a mistake. Doug and I trust you. You say it’s a crapshoot—well, so did Doug when he decided to take this course a long time ago. Everybody says they want a cure for cancer, but they want it on their terms. Jack, do your best, be safe, and I don’t give a shit if we lose everything. Just get Doug back.”
Liz dressed like a floozy, acted and talked like she didn’t have a clue, and was completely irritating most of the time. Whenever I was ready to wash my hands of her for good, out came the real Liz.
We were ready to leave, but Liz said she wanted to stay for a while and watch the famous ducks. Why people get such a kick out of watching trained waterfowl march in and out of a pond is beyond me. Clovis grumbled. Without missing a beat, she morphed back into the old Liz.
“Clovis, you sure you don’t want to stay in Memphis for a couple of days?”
Clovis rushed through the revolving doors, ignoring Liz completely. She was still laughing when Maggie and I left.
As we drove to the airport, Maggie mused. “Liz baffles me, and she certainly has Clovis’s number. One minute she’s a total tramp and the next minute, she’s a lovely, loyal woman. I wonder what makes her tick.”
“You know, I’m pretty sure it’s Doug. The rest is for show and to shock, a form of self-protection, I think. Her love for him is the constant. He’s a lucky man. But if I ever do get to speak with him again, I’d like to know why he puts up with her shenanigans.”
Clovis gave himself a little shake. “Just keep her away from me.”
I tried to keep a straight face.
50
I USED THE short flight to Little Rock to go over the notes I’d made earlier. After an uneventful and smooth landing, we drove directly to Micki’s ranch. Nestled on more than two hundred acres of pasture bisected by a slow, lazy creek, it’s hard to believe her home is only fifteen minutes outside of Little Rock proper. It had been extensively remodeled by the previous owner, and now the 70’s style ranch consisted of open spaces, a big stone fireplace, and a large country kitchen, surrounded by enough be
drooms for all of us. Micki had just bought it when we were here last year. Now she’d given it her own character, using pottery and art by local artists to enhance her casual, comfortable furniture. Debbie, Paul, and Micki were there to greet us.
I kissed Micki gently on the cheek.
She whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you.” My jaw dropped and she laughed. “Just kidding, Eric will be here tonight. He insists. I can’t imagine why.”
She was clearly on the road to recovery.
After we unloaded the car and settled our luggage, we gathered in her welcoming living room. She was curled up in an oversized chair, wrapped in an enormous quilt, looking uncomfortable. I said exactly the wrong thing.
“Micki, maybe you should get some rest. Let Debbie help you to your room.”
The words were barely spoken before Maggie spoke sharply, “Be quiet, Jack. Micki is an adult who can take care of herself. Remember, she’s lead counsel. So treat her as such.”
I didn’t pretend to be bothered by Maggie’s scolding.
“I’m sorry, Micki. But if you get tired, let somebody know.”
She didn’t give an inch. “You do the same. If you need to go to bed, you know where it is.”
Touché.
Debbie looked confused. She hadn’t seen us banter like this before.
“Does anybody need coffee, tea, or something stronger? I made blueberry muffins,” she chirped, trying to find the right note. The mood lightened, and Maggie went with her to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea.
“I’m sorry. You know it’s in my nature to protect.” I gave Micki a rueful smile.
“Yes, I’ve heard you say that before. Don’t worry—I know my limits. While they’re in the kitchen, tell me about your meeting with Novak. Clovis called to let me know you all were safe, but that’s all I know.”
I gave her a quick rundown including my impression of Novak. Maggie and Debbie returned as she gave a low laugh and said, “Dub’s dirty? I’d love to believe that, but it seems pretty far-fetched.”
Debbie handed Micki a glass of ice water.
“By the way, Debbie, were you spotted at Dub’s press conferences?” I asked, accepting a cup of tea from Maggie.
“The first time we sat in the second row. Dub clearly recognized me because afterwards, a deputy asked me why I was there. I grinned and said ‘I’m a huge fan of Mr. Blanchard.’ I saw Dub watching me, but when I caught his eye he rushed out the door.”
I laughed, relishing Dub’s reaction.
“He’s held two other press conferences this week. You should’ve seen his face when he recognized me the next time: he actually stopped in mid-sentence and had a hard time finding his place. Today, Paul thought he might try to keep me out. So while we were waiting to go in, I flirted with the Democrat’s reporter, and when the doors opened we slipped past the deputy at the door. The look on Dub’s face was pretty funny—he knew if he made a stink, the reporter would wonder why. I sat right in the front row with my Democrat friend. Dub was all nervous and sweaty. He ended up reading the press release the press already had and wouldn’t take any questions. The deputy cornered Paul and me on our way out and asked for my press credentials. I told him I didn’t have any, but I was a big fan of Mr. Blanchard. He told me not to come back.”
I laughed. “Micki, do you have a friend who can get Debbie some press credentials?”
Debbie piped up eagerly. “My new reporter friend already gave me two and promised to save me a seat. He’s hot.”
“Be careful,” I reminded her.
She pouted a bit. “Paul won’t let me out of his sight.”
“Good,” I emphasized. “This isn’t a game.”
She rounded up empty glasses and returned to the kitchen. We turned our attention to the to-do list I had given everyone.
I remained silent, waiting for direction from Micki.
“Why don’t you let me call Bill Maroney and work on the auction’s logistics and details? Dub’s people will think it’s beneath them to actually handle the logistics. They may let Bill’s people handle all the administrative arrangements and details.”
“I’ll leave it in your hands, but make sure we know if the letter of credit has to be posted before we bid, or if we just need to have it on hand in case someone questions our financial responsibility. And let me know whether it’s public information,” I responded.
“We’ll know all that in plenty of time.”
“Try to make sure they auction the Healy before the research,” I added.
“What does it matter?” Maggie asked.
“I’ve made a big deal about the Healy with Dub and Bullock. I want to ride that pony as far as I can.”
“When will you meet with Sam?” Maggie asked.
“That’s a tough call. I want to give him plenty of time to get on board. At the same time I want to have as much evidence as I can. He wasn’t buying the first time I pitched.”
“Do you want me to call him, suggest he come out for a social visit?” Micki asked.
“No, besides, you and I have a tougher call to make.”
“We do?”
“You told me last year that Rodney Fitzhugh’s as honest as the day is long.”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, I need somebody from Justice, and Peggy Fortson told me to back off in no uncertain terms. I’m not sure how receptive she’d be to my call.”
“That depends on why you’re calling her,” Maggie put in archly.
Micki raised an eyebrow. “I’d trust Rodney with my life, but let’s wait. He’ll be there if I ask. No sense getting him curious and asking questions before we are ready.”
Maggie asked, “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? We have a lot of work to do before you start calling Sam or Peggy.”
“You’re right. What do you think, Jack?” Micki asked.
“I think you’re both right. You should work on the logistical details of the auction. Maggie will make sure we have all our ducks in a row financially. Me, I’d like to meet with your computer whiz. It would help if she could tell us who’s been hacking our computers.”
“Stella’s really good,” Clovis said, walking in on our conversation. “I’ll ask her to come out tomorrow morning. Debbie and I are headed to the grocery store. Anybody need anything? I suggest the three of you give it a rest and relax for a while.”
Debbie emerged from the kitchen with warm cheese puffs and a chilled bottle of wine. The cheese puffs were just that, golden puffs of cheese and pastry. Micki had gotten the recipe from her friend Marty, but cooking wasn’t one of Micki’s talents. We had many reasons to be thankful for Debbie.
“I’m cooking tonight, but these ought to tide you over until we get back.”
I saw her glance at Micki and then back to me. “Jack, can you help me reach something in the kitchen?”
“Sure thing,” I said, following her. We were alone, but she still spoke quietly.
“Jack, Novak called a few minutes ago. He wants you to call him as soon as possible.”
Her reticence in front of Micki was understandable. “Use my phone. He’ll answer. Just punch ‘call.’”
I punched, put the phone to my ear, and heard a heavy accent.
“Novak here.”
“Jack Patterson.”
“Jack, you’re a very sneaky man. Remember your promise to protect Debbie? I’m holding you to it. Let me tell you what happened.”
I listened for the next ten minutes, never said a word. Debbie waited anxiously for my reaction, practically hopping from one foot to the other. I tried not to give her one, returning her phone with a mere “thank you.”
51
ALMOST IN TEARS, Debbie blurted out, “Please don’t tell Micki!”
“All right, Debbie, all right, but just this one time. It’s time for you to trust Micki and explain your relationship with Novak. We are dealing with complicated issues here, and I need Micki’s help. That means no secrets. But I owe you and Novak a l
ot, so I’m going to let you tell her in your own way. But be quick about it. Remember, everyone still believes it was Novak behind her kidnapping. We have no real proof to the contrary.”
“I promise,” she said.
“By the way, I know I told Novak I wouldn’t tell a soul about my source, but Micki has to know.”
“Oh, he knew you’d tell Micki, Maggie, and Clovis. Besides, I’m the one who told you most of the story. He just doesn’t want any of his customers to think he might rat them out. Bad for business.”
Eric came straight from the hospital. He clearly wasn’t too keen about my staying at the ranch, but Micki had set him straight. I’d overheard her on the phone earlier. “Eric, Jack and I are law partners. You won’t let me go to the office, so he’s come to me. It’s ridiculous for Maggie and Jack to drive back to the Armitage when I have plenty of room. So get over it.”
He pouted for a while, but Debbie’s stroganoff soon revived his good humor. Tomorrow we’d hit the ground running, but tonight we relaxed around the fire and told stories. Eric was soon bored and insisted that Micki needed her rest. Debbie excused herself as well, and Clovis and Paul left to make a tour of the grounds. Maggie and I lingered by the fire to enjoy a glass of wine and reminisce about Angie.
It sounds corny, but I fell in love with Angie the moment I saw her after a class at Stafford State. She graduated at the top of her Georgetown Medical class, but immediately gravitated toward research. Medicine wasn’t about money for her, and her passion for cancer research found a home at NIH. She used to come home exhausted from a long week of work, collapse, and say, “I know it’s there, it’s right in front of our faces. And when we discover it we’re going to say, ‘How could we have missed it all this time?’”
We both worked hard and preferred to spend our free time with each other. We enjoyed the company of close friends, but avoided the DC social circuit like the plague. She loved the real DC, the city itself: the pollution, traffic, even the sultry weather were only minor irritations for her. She scoured The Post for new ethnic restaurants, openings at the Smithsonian, or a reading at the Folger. Redskin games were a concession to me, although we could rarely get tickets. After Beth was born, a weekend trip with friends to the Virginia countryside or a week on one of the Carolina beaches was our favorite retreat.
