“Oui.”
“What’s his issue? Bad hygiene?”
“No. The environment, natch. Brian Erickson. Deep south district. The wetlands that are being paved over for the turnpike extension.”
“Let me guess. He’s against it.”
“Very insightful.”
Ben’s eyes shifted over a seat to a medium-size, middle-aged black woman. She was dressed in professional garb and carried herself with a serious, distinguished air. “Who’s she?”
“Loretta Walker,” Christina explained. “Activist lawyer. North Side district. Grew up in a poor family of eleven. First member of her family to go to college. Graduated Order of the Coif from OU law school.”
“And her cause?”
“What do you expect? She wants the North Side to look more like the South Side.”
Ben nodded. The chairman rapped his gavel on a podium and called the meeting to order. He was a short, thick man, mostly bald. He wore bifocals at the tip of his nose and spoke in a pronounced monotone. “Could we have a reading of the minutes?”
Loretta Walker, who apparently served as secretary, read the minutes, which were approved with marked disinterest. “Very good,” the chairman said. “Let’s move ahead to item number one. That’s why we’re all here today.” The first item on the agenda was what to do about the fact that the city’s mayor was currently operating out of a cell in the county jail. “The floor is now open for discussion.”
Brian Erickson led the debate. “I think this is a major embarrassment. How can we hope to accomplish anything of importance when our mayor is behind bars? He’s supposed to be the city’s moral leader, and here he is murdering his own family! No wonder the wetlands are going to hell.”
“I will remind everyone,” the chairman said lifelessly, “especially since the television cameras are upon us, that the defendant is accused but not yet convicted. Therefore it would behoove us to speak of him as the accused or the suspect rather than the murderer, regardless of how obvious the truth of the matter may seem to be.”
“We can’t jump to any conclusions,” Loretta Walker insisted. “Every time any black person comes to any prominence in this country, the powers that be try to knock him down. Clarence Thomas, Michael Jackson, O. J. Simpson, Wallace Barrett—whoever. It’s racism, pure and simple.”
“Wait a minute. We’re not here to decide whether he’s guilty.” This came from a man sitting on the right side of the podium. Medium size, dark blue suit, red tie. “We’re here to determine how best to lead this city. We’re here to do the people’s will, and God’s will. We’re here to lead the way, to be a shining star in the darkness.”
“What’s he?” Ben whispered. “Some sort of preacher?”
“No,” Christina replied, “but he might as well be. Carl Canton. Heads the local chapter of the Christian Coalition. A political action committee. Lots of ORU grads and Pat Buchanan Republicans.”
“What’s his agenda?”
“God.”
“Yeah, but in terms of policy.”
“Less welfare, less government, lower taxes. All that religious stuff.”
“When I think of all the little schoolchildren out there,” Carl Canton continued, “who may have worshiped their mayor, only to see him exposed for the man he truly is, I despair. I truly despair!” His face became flushed; his eyes wide and watery. Ben could see the camera moving in for a close-up. “Our children deserve a leader they can respect. Someone they can trust. To think of what this may do to them”—his voice broke—“it breaks my heart. Just breaks my heart!”
“Good grief,” Ben said, “he’s not going to cry, is he?”
“No telling, mon capitaine,” Christina answered. “A few tears would probably get him on the evening news. And sensitive men are in with voters right now.”
“We have no choice!” Canton bellowed. “We must impeach this man. Immediately and without hesitation.”
The councilpersons continued to debate. Another woman, Andrea Potter (“I’m a housewife and proud of it!”), sided with Canton. Christina explained that they were the family issues coalition. Walker, Erickson, and most of the others expressed their disgust over the mayor’s situation, but feared that impeachment proceedings would only bring the city more bad publicity than it already had. The chairman managed to shuffle the debate along without committing to any particular viewpoint.
“Who is this chairman, anyway?” Ben asked.
“Bailey Whitman. He’s generally considered the most powerful member of the council. He was a college football player at OU.”
“I never heard of him.”
“That’s because he played at the same time as Wallace Barrett.”
“That’s interesting.” Ben cocked his head to one side. “They went to school together?”
“You got it. They’re both the same age—thirty-eight.”
“Are you sure? Whitman looks much older.”
“Yeah. But he isn’t.”
“Hmmm.”
“Yes. Rumor mill says he was planning to run for mayor against Barrett this fall. Two old football teammates going head to head. Pretty dramatic, huh?”
“Yeah. Except that Barrett’s going to have a hard time running a campaign from behind bars.”
“Which is a nice break for Whitman, because no one thought he had the slightest chance of winning.”
“It seems the council is divided,” Chairman Whitman said, breaking his silence. “Many of you cannot bear to do nothing, but the rest of you do not want to put the city through the embarrassment of impeachment proceedings. May I suggest a third alternative? The council does have the power to declare the mayor to be incapacitated, and if it does so, it may appoint an interim mayor to serve until such time as the incapacitation is no longer present.”
Loretta Walker leaned forward. “Doesn’t incapacitation mean being sick? Physically or mentally ailing?”
“I believe,” Whitman said, pushing his bifocals up his nose, “that it means whatever a majority of us says it means.”
“But I don’t think it was intended to apply to a mayor in jail,” Walker insisted.
“That’s because no one could have possibly anticipated this humiliating turn of events. Still, it has happened, and we have to deal with it.”
“If we go your way,” Erickson inquired, “who will the interim mayor be?”
“Whomever we appoint,” Whitman replied.
“Meaning you?”
Whitman pursed his lips and knitted his brows slightly. “I’m not the only option, although, as chairman of the council, I believe I am the logical choice.”
Andrea Perkins spoke. “If we appoint you, would you serve?”
Whitman hesitated. “Although this will of course entail some personal difficulties—yes, I would serve. As many of you know, I was contemplating a run for the mayor’s office. I believe there is a strong need for change, for new blood, to sweep out the old guard and the corrupt politics of influence and to set to work making this city a better place. This is perhaps more important now than ever. So I will accept the position. And if I am successful in the coming election, then there will be no need to put the city through another wrenching change of leadership.”
After that speech, the meeting moved quickly to its conclusion. By consensus, the council declared Mayor Barrett to be incapacitated, then appointed Whitman to act as interim mayor until such time as Barrett was cleared of the charges against him, if indeed he ever was. Whitman swore to do his best to see that the transition of power was smooth and said a few words about how this was the beginning of a new “time of healing” for the city. The remaining items on the agenda were relatively trivial and the meeting was adjourned.
After the councilpersons and cameras had departed, Christina asked Ben, “So what do you think? Conspiracy to get the mayor?”
“There’s not much love lost between them, that’s for sure. Almost every one of them managed to malign him. And they didn’t hesitate to u
se this prosecution as an excuse to effectively put him out of office.”
“Yeah, but killing his family as part of a conspiracy to get him out of the way?
“I know. It’s hard to imagine. Especially with this bunch. They’re so disparate. Different backgrounds, differing interests. It’s hard to imagine they could get together to plot anything so involved. Not to mention evil.”
“Why d’ya think it had to be all of them?” Loving asked.
“Well, that was Barrett’s theory—”
“I don’t think so, Skipper. I read your notes on your meetin’. He thought the council was behind it, but that didn’t necessarily mean all of them was in on it. Mighta just been a few of ’em. Or even just one.”
Ben batted the side of his face with the finger. “Christina, what did you think about Bailey Whitman?”
She shrugged. “You mean regarding Barrett? It’s funny.” She thought for a moment. “Of all the councilpersons, he probably said the least nasty stuff about Barrett. But I had the impression he probably hates him the worst.”
“I had the same impression.”
“Ditto,” Loving echoed.
“He could actually have the strongest motive. Living under Barrett’s shadow at college, and now again in city government. Facing a mayoralty race he couldn’t win. Until this happened. It almost makes a certain twisted sense.” Ben pondered. “But murder?”
“Hey,” Loving said, “you know what my mama always said.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“She said, ‘Son, politics is a dirty game.’ ”
“Your mother was quite the philosopher.”
Loving chuckled. “Well, she may not have gone to college or nothin’, Skipper, but she was one smart lady just the same. She knew what she was talkin’ about.”
Ben rose to his feet, slapped Loving on the shoulder. “Loving, I think you may just be right. Thanks.”
“Hey,” he said, arms spread wide, “don’t thank me. Thank my mother.”
Chapter 26
WHITMAN KEPT THEM WAITING FOR more than an hour. Loving couldn’t stand the inactivity and stomped out, promising to meet Ben and Christina back at the office before the end of the day. Another half hour passed before the secretary escorted the two of them in to see Chairman, now Interim Mayor, Whitman.
The moment they stepped into his office, Ben felt as if he should shield his eyes. The office was decorated in a single color—red. A yellowish red, and it was everywhere. Red carpet, red curtains, red pictures on the wall. Even a red blotter on his desk.
Whitman flashed an instant smile, something he apparently could generate at the drop of the hat, or perhaps more accurately, at the flicker of a minicam. Ben introduced himself and Christina. “I gather you’re fond of red?”
Whitman nodded. “You could say that. It’s the only color I can see.”
“Really?”
“ ’Fraid so. I was born color-blind, an extreme case. Alizarin crimson is the only color my eyes perceive. Everything else is just gray. So you can see why I would try to surround myself with it. It’s the only color, the only visual variation in my life.” He leaned sideways against his desk. “I saw you in the gallery during the city council meeting today. What can I do for you?”
“I’m representing Wallace Barrett,” Ben explained.
The smile drained away just as instantly as it had appeared. “I don’t know what you want with me.”
“Just a chance to talk.”
“About what? Look, the vote has already been taken. He’s out of power. I’m the acting mayor now. He’s not my boss.”
“I don’t care about that,” Ben said. “I’m not interested in your political differences. I’m here about the murder.”
Whitman gave Ben a long, strained look. He slid behind his desk and dropped to the relative security of his chair. “What can I tell you about that?”
“I don’t know. What do you know about it?”
Whitman shrugged. “Just what I see on television.”
Ben took one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk and motioned Christina into the other one. “During the council meeting this afternoon, you seemed pretty positive about Barrett’s guilt.”
Whitman’s face remained bland. “Isn’t everyone?”
“But you know him personally.”
“If you’ll recall, I was the one who cautioned the council not to make any unfounded assumptions of guilt in advance of trial.”
“Yes,” Ben said. “That was very cautious of you.” There was a brief silence as Ben and Whitman scrutinized each other.
Christina took advantage of the silence to jump in with her two bits. “I gather you’re not too upset about Mayor Barrett—”
“Former Mayor Barrett,” Whitman corrected.
Christina smiled. “More like the deposed Mayor Barrett, from what I saw. Anyway, you didn’t seem too upset about his being replaced. By you.”
Whitman shrugged. “What do you want, false modesty? Pious regret? Crocodile tears? You won’t get them. I won’t pretend to feel something I don’t. I’ve made my position on Mayor Barrett public on many occasions. I think the man is a moral quagmire. Always has been. No sense of ethics or propriety. No sense of right and wrong, only win-win-win and how much can I get? An opportunist, willing to do anything to gain immediate advantage. And from what I hear, a wife beater as well.”
Ben grimaced. So the rumor mill was starting up already. He supposed it was inevitable.
“I think the absence of moral leadership is responsible for much of the spiritual emptiness that has pervaded this once great city in recent years.”
“I gather you intend to make some changes,” Ben said.
“Damn straight,” Whitman replied. “And you can quote me on that. See, I don’t believe in coincidence. I believe everything happens for a reason, even hideous tragedies like the murder of that innocent woman and her children. I believe, to the very bottom of my heart, that God wanted that man out of the mayor’s office. And me in it.”
Christina pushed forward. “So you’re saying God killed those two little girls so you could be mayor?”
“I said nothing of the kind,” Whitman replied. “What I said was more in the nature of, well, every cloud has a silver lining.”
“That’s the most pompous—”
Ben shoved her back into her chair. “So now that you’re the acting mayor, what are your plans?”
“I’ve already developed a detailed ten-point plan to restore Tulsa to the true path, to spiritual and fiscal health. The details will soon be made public. I’ll be holding a press conference in about an hour.”
“You’ve known Wallace for quite a long time, haven’t you?”
Whitman nodded. “Unhappily, that’s true. Since our college days. We played football together.”
“And I gather you didn’t like him back then any better than you do now.”
“What’s to like?”
“He was a star, wasn’t he? An ace quarterback?”
“He was,” Whitman said evenly. “Because that was what they made him.”
“They?”
Whitman shrugged. “The university. The coaches. The alumni association.”
“It was a conspiracy?”
“Don’t be stupid. It was business as usual. Why do you think Barrett came to OU in the first place?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”
“Because they bought him, that’s why. He put himself up for auction, and OU was the highest bidder. After all, those were the Switzer years. Anything goes, that was the motto. Even when they got caught on recruiting violations, all they ever got was a slap on the wrists. Even after Switzer lost his job, he was reemployed. No one cares about right and wrong. Not in the world of football.”
“When you say they bought him—”
“A new car. A nice apartment off campus. Clothes. Tuition. Grades.”
“Grades?”
Whitman snorted. “Of cour
se. Don’t you know? Barrett graduated with close to a three-point average, even though the man’s as dumb as a post and half illiterate. Now how do you suppose that happened?”
Ben shrugged. “The same way football players always get through college. They take easy courses. They major in phys ed.”
“And they cheat.” Whitman folded his hands across his chest. “Take my word for it. Barrett couldn’t have gotten a degree in basketweaving without help.”
“I find that very hard to believe—”
“Why?” Whitman looked at Ben with incredulity. “You believe they’ll pay him gobs of money to come, but won’t make sure he stays in school. C’mon! They had to protect their investment. Failing students can’t play ball, much less win two national championships. So he cheated.”
“And never got caught?”
“Who wanted to catch him? The ones who should have been doing the catching were the ones who were helping him cheat!” Whitman swore bitterly. “They gave him everything.”
“And,” Christina said softly, “they didn’t give you anything, right?”
“I thought you wanted to talk about Barrett.”
“We do,” Ben said. He pulled his chair closer to the desk. “You must’ve been surprised when Barrett graduated, moved back to Tulsa, became a business success, then the mayor.”
Whitman’s smile thinned and narrowed. “Disgusted, yes. Surprised, no.”
“Being a bit cynical, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m simply being realistic. I’m a pragmatist. If a man rises to fame by cheating, he’s likely to go on cheating till he gets caught. Or, in this case, arrested for murder.”
“Are you suggesting—”
“It’s well known that Barrett bought his way into that corporation by agreeing to be their high-profile spokesman. They told him what to believe, and he believed it, at Rotary Clubs and after-dinner gigs and anyplace else that would have him. He made a lot of friends. And you don’t want to hear the list of charges brought against him when he ran for mayor. He violated every campaign spending regulation in the book.”
Naked Justice Page 17
