A Game of Inches

by Webb Hubbell

  “Is the source of the money the murderer?” he asked.

  I didn’t want Novak to go off half-cocked and kill the only person who might be able to exonerate Billy, so I told a half-truth.

  “I don’t think so, but proof that such a person exists will go a long way to helping me discover the identity of her assassin.”

  The line went silent for a minute before Novak spoke.

  “Again, Jack, what you ask is difficult, but I will see what I can do.” Novak didn’t sound encouraging.

  “Thanks. I have a second request, one that I should have asked earlier.”

  “You ask a lot.” Now his voice was downright cold.

  “I’m sorry—this is an easy one, I hope. Nadia’s cell phone wasn’t in the hotel room or in her home. You have said you talked to her on occasion. Can you give me her phone number?”

  “That I can do.” He paused for a second before giving me a number.

  I wrote it down, then read it back to him.

  “That is correct.”

  “Thanks, Novak. Remember: verifiable proof of the deposits.”

  “What if there were no regular deposits?” He asked.

  “Please let me know regardless. In that case, I think her money should be returned to her family. It is small consolation for the pain they must feel.”

  Again, a silence before he replied.

  “I will call you as soon as I have answers. Jack Patterson, sometimes you surprise me.”

  I walked to the conference room and handed the phone number to Stella.

  “This is Nadia’s phone number. Think we can get her phone records?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” she answered.

  I reached in a pocket and handed her a napkin. “What about this number?

  “No problem.”

  59

  MAGGIE AND I met Walter at Joe’s Stone Crab for lunch—great food, but hard on the bank account. I decided on Joe’s because of its visibility. I wanted to be sure anyone who cared knew I had returned to town and was back at work. Lunch with Maggie and Walter at Joe’s should do the trick.

  We agreed to share oysters Rockefeller and the crab cakes, followed by chopped salads. After days of bar food, I felt the need to be at least a little healthy. When the waiter left, Walter opened with, “I hear I’ve lost my golf partner and wife for the entire weekend again?”

  “I promise to make it up to you by letting you beat me next weekend.” I knew how to get Walter’s goat.

  Before he could reply, I continued.

  “I have another favor to ask. Your pilot is taking my crew to Knoxville tonight and picking them up Monday night. Do you mind if he picks up Marshall in Little Rock on Monday morning as well?”

  “Not a problem. But it’ll cost you a couple of tickets when the Lobos play the Redskins.”

  “You’ll have an invitation to Red’s box,” I said, wondering if I could pull it off.

  Maggie asked, “Why are you bringing Marshall back to town? You surely won’t have a preliminary hearing for weeks.”

  “You’re right, but I’m not sure we really want a preliminary hearing. I owe it to Marshall to keep him informed. He can comfort Billy and be available for a couple of days if my plan works.”

  “Care to share your plan?” Maggie asked tartly.

  “Of course—tomorrow, when it’s just you and me.”

  Walter interjected. “I can head back to the office if you two need some alone time.” Great—I’d managed to irritate them both and embarrass myself to boot. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t share with Walter.

  “No, Walter, no—please don’t think it’s about you. At this point, my so-called plan is still in vague outline form. I haven’t heard from Micki about her meeting with Billy and Constance, Stella and Clovis have a lot of puzzle pieces to unearth, and our “Save Billy” website is just starting to have the desired results. I have to stir the pot a little more this afternoon. What we discover in Tennessee or maybe what we don’t discover, will determine how we move forward. Then I’ll actually have a plan to share.”

  “I have a plan as well, one I’m willing to share right now,” Walter said.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow night I’m grilling steaks and pouring martinis. You’ve been hunkered down too long; you need to get some fresh air. You’re coming to our place for dinner with Clovis and Stella. No excuses and no work talk. While your crew is exploring the Tennessee Mountains, you are going to take the night off.” His tone was stern, but he smiled, and I was reminded why I loved this man so much.

  I thanked him, and we spent the rest of lunch going over some foundation business I’d neglected this past week. The discussion served as a welcome reminder that my real life awaited my return to normality.

  Walter left for a meeting in Arlington, so Maggie and I decided to walk back to the office, much to frustration of Martin’s men. When we got back, I returned Micki’s call first thing.

  “You’re no longer a very popular guy with Constance Montgomery,” she began.

  “What—she’s not happy I’m back?” I laughed.

  “Oh, no, she’s delighted you’ve returned, said she always expected you to show up. It’s your request for the preliminary hearing that caused her to blow a gasket.” Micki sounded giddy.

  “My request? I thought we were partners?”

  “We are, and I knew you wouldn’t mind my blaming you.” She let that sink in. “She said she was fully aware of your bent for shenanigans in the courtroom, and if you think you can get away with playing your games here in DC, you are dead wrong.”

  I admit to being pleased. “I thought we might ruffle her feathers.”

  “She also sent you another warning. I’m paraphrasing, of course, but this is the gist. ‘Tell Jack Patterson I’m already aware of his reputation for going around local prosecutors to Main Justice. Tell him it won’t work. My U.S. Attorney has made sure this is our case, and Main Justice is taking a hands off approach. He’ll be wasting his time if he tries to get the attention of his pal Peggy Fortson.”

  Peggy and I had joined the Justice department at the same time. I left for private practice after a few years, but she stayed the course and was now the Deputy Assistant Attorney General for the Criminal Division. We have remained good friends and work together on occasion.

  I almost laughed at loud. “Anything else from Ms. Montgomery.”

  “Oh yeah, she suspects we’re responsible for the ‘Save Billy’ website. She said she’s going to get the judge to shut it down.”

  “Can she do that?”

  “Hell if I know,” she laughed.

  “She’s really going to be upset when we post a reward for the girl who was killed in Cleveland.” I returned the laugh, but it was time to get serious.

  “You coming in to the office?”

  “No, the pilot wants to get ahead of the weather. We’re meeting at the airport in an hour. I’m on my way to get Larry.”

  “Is he all right with this? There could be trouble.”

  “He’s excited. He’s already found a couple of hardwood mills in the area. Don’t worry about Larry. He’s tougher than you might think.”

  “I do. I worry about all of you.” I was sincere.

  “I appreciate it, Jack, and we all know the risk. I’ve emailed you the answers to the questions you wanted me to pose to Billy. He’s doing okay, but I don’t know how long that’s going to last.”

  “I figured. Walter’s pilot will pick up Marshall in Memphis Monday morning before he meets you in Knoxville. Maybe seeing Marshall will lift his spirits. Good luck, Micki—bring back a few answers.” With that I clicked off, wishing I were going with them.

  I found Clovis working in the conference room. He had obtained approval from the Cleveland authorities for the reward and for posting it on the “Free Billy” website. He warned that it probably wouldn’t be long before someone with the DC police came around asking how we had learned about th
e Cleveland murders.

  I shrugged off the possibility and told Stella to go live with the post and the reward. Constance Montgomery would just have to get over it.

  Clovis was on his way to see the plastic surgeon. I retreated to my office to stir up more trouble. Maggie wouldn’t be happy with my next call.

  I punched in Cheryl Cole’s private cell number. She had been calling the office daily asking for a scoop. I was about to give her one.

  “Jack.” she said without preliminaries. “You still owe me. When are you going to give me the real scoop on Billy Hopper?” No warm hello this time.

  “We off the record?” I asked.

  “Jack, we’re friends.” She simpered, giving my name a full two syllables. I don’t have much patience for these reporter’s games. I usually refused to play, but I needed her help.

  “Yes, we are friends, but I still want to hear from your own lips that we’re off the record.”

  “Jack, don’t you trust me? Why don’t you tell me what you’ve got? If it’s good I promise not to reveal my source.” Did she think I was an idiot?

  No more games. “Cheryl, better reporters than you will kill for this story. Let me hear the words, or I’m calling one of them. Who’s that good looking guy at ESPN?”

  She humphed a bit but gave in, though with little grace. “Bastard! Okay, we’re off the record.”

  “Last night I learned that a young woman and her pimp were murdered in Cleveland. Their throats were cut. You can find out more details from the Cleveland police or on the ‘Free Billy’ website.”

  “People are murdered in Cleveland every day. What does any of this have to do with Billy Hopper?” she asked.

  “The same young woman was sitting next to Billy at the NFL Honors banquet. Her name that night was Ginger. The other two girls at the table have gone missing, who knows where.”

  “So, what does that all mean?” she asked.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you, Cheryl? Isn’t that why you’re paid the big bucks?”

  “Now, Jack—why be mean? Is that it?”

  “For now, yes.”

  “That website—who’s behind it?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” she asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “I guess not. Will you come on my show tonight?”

  “You know I won’t.” I laughed.

  “I expect to hear more, you know.”

  “That you will.” I hung up.

  I walked passed Maggie’s desk.

  “Maggie, can you please record Cheryl’s show tonight?”

  “Please tell me you haven’t been talking to that woman again.”

  Maggie thought Cheryl was lower than a snake. She was mostly right, but Cheryl could also be useful. I grinned and left to find Stella.

  “Stella, I think you should expect attacks on the website.”

  “Already incoming. Someone is trying to shut the site down. I can’t tell if it’s the federal government or the Chinese, but, whoever, they’re good.”

  “Can they succeed?”

  “I said they were good, but not good enough,” she smiled.

  “Anything interesting in the way of comments?”

  “Not much. Lots of people are after the reward—most of them are cranks, but who knows? Billy has a lot of fans out in California, and the website is gaining traffic as well as the Twitter account.”

  “Most defendants don’t have money enough to hire a decent lawyer, much less use the Internet to help combat all the advantages prosecutors have. There are still two levels of justice in America one for the rich, and one for the rest of the country. Who knows? The Internet has had a huge impact on politics, maybe it will for criminal justice as well. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “That it would,” she said.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about Micki’s conversation with Billy. His agent had made all his DC reservations. He was surprised to have a corner suite at the Mayflower since the banquet was at the Mandarin. All the other ballplayers were at the Mandarin, but his agent had arranged for a car to take him to the banquet, so he didn’t think much about it.

  When he checked in the clerk didn’t ask for a credit card, just his driver’s license. His plane had been late, so he barely had time to clean up and change into a suit before the car arrived. No, he hadn’t used the phone in the room at any time, not even for room service or housekeeping. The room was fine, nothing was missing that he recalled. He didn’t go down to the bar before leaving for the banquet, and he had never been inside the Mayflower before, much less stayed there.

  Either Billy was a consummate liar or something was seriously amiss.

  I made a note and took it in to Stella. “Can you check this out?”

  She looked at it and commented. “No one is that stupid.”

  Clovis still wasn’t back from the plastic surgeon’s, so I decided to return to Barker’s. Maggie and Walter were attending a function at the Kennedy Center, so she hoped we could close the office a little early. I wished them both a good night. Stella was set to camp out in our offices over the weekend, hoping to catch our hacker. I felt okay, knowing Clovis would assure her safety.

  It was a beautiful afternoon, and I wished I could enjoy the long walk through the city, but I carried a banker’s box of files, so a cab was in order. After dropping the box off in my room and cleaning up, I walked down to the bar for a drink. The atmosphere felt all wrong; I really didn’t want to be here. I thought about taking my wine upstairs, but Barb put a plate of French fries down next to my wine glass, and I gave in.

  It was Saturday night and Barker’s was busier than usual. I sipped on a very nice sauvignon blanc from New Zealand and listened to Barb who seemed to be in a particularly good mood. My thoughts wandered to Constance Montgomery—how on earth could I convince her someone else had murdered Nadia? Once a prosecutor is convinced of an individual’s guilt, it’s difficult, likely impossible, to convince them otherwise. With a few exceptions, prosecutors are much like baseball managers: they care about their won/lost record, not much else.

  I had no hard evidence to present, and they had Billy’s fingerprints all over the murder weapon. Nadia was in his bed, naked and dead, and the doors were locked from the inside.

  The insistent buzzing of my phone interrupted my thoughts: Clovis wanted to tell me about his visit to the plastic surgeon. The “surgeon” was nothing more than a doctor who provided health care to unsavory characters and the girls under their protection. Clovis would bring Nadia’s file to the office. He had photographs of the brand before the surgery. She had paid cash and not made a follow-up appointment. Clovis said the doctor and his office were equally depressing. He was returning to his hotel for a long shower.

  “I hate to believe people have to resort to a quack like that. How on earth did he get a license?” he fumed.

  He also reminded me that the entrance to the Mayflower on DeSales Street isn’t manned by a bellman or covered by any surveillance cameras. Nadia or anyone else could enter the hotel from that entrance without being either noticed or photographed.

  This information solved one puzzle—how had Nadia been able to get into the bar without being picked up on surveillance cameras. Once the DeSales street entrance had opened directly into the bar, but the bar had been relocated a couple of years ago. Even now it would be easy to avoid the cameras in the lobby. I wondered…

  “Penny for your thoughts.” Barb smiled.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind tonight. Why don’t you let me have the rest of the bottle and a glass? I’m going to shut it down for the night.’

  She smiled again. “Would you like room service to bring it upstairs?” She reached back for a bottle.

  “Thanks, but no.” I took the bottle, idly wondering how much it would cost, and walked up the staircase.

  I had an urge to do something I seldom do—take a bath. Maybe it was wounds from
a long time ago, but a warm bath, a glass of wine, and being alone with my thoughts sounded just about perfect.

  I had just settled in when I heard a knock on the door.

  “Room service.” Her voice was unmistakable.

  I knew where the evening would end if I answered that door, and the prospect simply had no appeal. Was I a fool? Well, maybe, but the hot water felt pretty damn good. I decided to remain in the tub with my dreams rather than face reality at my door.

  * * *

  SUNDAY

  * * *

  May 1, 2016

  60

  MR. KIM HAD just received a first-class ass chewing from the client. Patterson was back on the case, if he had ever been off. Some damn website called “Free Billy” claimed that Hopper had been set up and that the girl murdered in Cleveland could have exonerated him. Kim was sure that Patterson was behind the website, but so far his people had not been able to shut it down.

  Fox News had run a piece posing the possibility that Hopper was innocent, referencing the murders in Cleveland. That bitch Cheryl Cole broke the story; Kim knew Patterson had used her before.

  Lawrence had requested a preliminary hearing, refusing a negotiated guilty plea. Jones and his people were nosing around all over town. He’d found the dirty doctor Nadia had used. He should have eliminated that danger before now. Worse, the other two girls hadn’t been found.

  He had known Patterson would present a problem. Lawrence played things by the book, but Patterson was creative and unpredictable. The only bright light in this gloomy picture was that his tech people were finally having some success penetrating Patterson’s computers. It was about time.