“Regardless, I still don’t understand what a recount of the data on those memory cards is going to accomplish,” Governor Vincent reiterated.
Mathis sighed loudly. “Mister Governor,” she said slowly. “The recount does not involve the data on the memory cards at all. Instead, the statute calls for the teams to hand-count the individual ballots as they are printed sequentially on the paper trail.”
“Ah! That makes more sense. But what happens if the figures reflected on the paper trail don’t match up with the computer’s calculations that were printed on Election Night?”
“By law, the county would use the paper trail recount figures in its final returns. The calculations printed on Election Night would be thrown out.”
Governor Vincent watched Tyson Vasquez lock eyes with Bowen and nod his head once. Bowen smirked and nodded in return.
“So how do the counties decide which precincts are recounted?” Wilson asked.
“It’s totally random. Basically, they throw the precincts into a big hat, pull out a number of slips which equals 5 percent of the total precincts in the county and use those precincts for the recount.”
“But what about the allegations that African American voters were intimidated into staying away from the polls in certain parts of West Virginia?” Senator Wilson asked. “How does that factor into the process?”
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Not at this stage, anyway. During the recount, county commissions can only consider evidence ‘obtainable from the viewing of the election material as it exists or from relevant evidence from the election commissioners, poll clerks or other persons present at the election in which the recount is being conducted.’ So unless you have poll workers testifying the intimidation occurred, testimony regarding issues like voter fraud or intimidation would only come into play, if at all, after the recount is over during a subsequent procedure known as an election contest. But for now, they’re irrelevant.”
“Okay,” the campaign chairman said, “we’ll take it one step at a time. So for now, we need to focus on the recounts which begin next Monday, correct?”
“Yes,” Mathis confirmed.
“Fine. We’ll worry about those other issues later. In the meantime, does anyone have any other questions for Susan?”
No one spoke up, and both Senator Wilson and her husband actively shook their heads from side-to-side. “All right, then. Tyson will be in touch with you tomorrow, Susan. Thanks!”
“You’re welcome. Call me if you need anything else.”
“We will,” Wilson said. “Thanks for all your help and keep up the good work.”
“Thank you, Senator.”
The campaign chairman pressed a button, ending the call. “All right, Tyson. We all know what’s going on now. Tell us what you need.”
Vasquez tapped his designer pen on the table. “First, we need money to fund this recount. It isn’t cheap to pay lawyers to work around the clock in 55 counties.”
“Not a problem,” the campaign’s finance chairman responded. She was a woman in her mid-fifties with a perpetually hard look on her face. “Our base is fired up, and they don’t want to lose. Contributions keep pouring in, and West Virginia is where we must focus now.”
“Good. Secondly, Mr. Bowen and I need to coordinate some of our more unconventional tactics.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Senator Wilson’s husband exclaimed. “Stop right there. Melanie, the kids are calling for us upstairs.”
“You’re right, honey,” the nominee replied calmly. “I only have so much time and I must entrust some aspects of this campaign to others. Folks, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll leave the remaining details in your competent hands.”
With that, the senator and her husband rose from the table and left the room without even saying “goodbye” to the others.
“I need to take off, too,” the campaign chairman said. Facing the finance chairman and the campaign’s general counsel, he added, “I’m heading back to Georgetown, so if you guys want a ride, the bus is leaving.”
The law professor and the hard-looking woman stood up and followed the campaign chairman as he passed through the French doors and exited the dining room.
“Personally, I need to hit the head,” Governor Vincent added. “Dick, I’ll be in the car.”
“Gotcha,” Bowen responded. “See ya in a few.”
The governor patted his advisor on the shoulder as he headed out, closing the doors behind him. “Looks like it’s just you and me now,” Bowen said to Vasquez.
“What did you expect?” Vasquez quipped bitterly. “Everybody else has their panties in a bunch, worrying about ‘plausible deniability.’ That just leaves the two of us to get our hands dirty and actually win this damn election.”
Bowen leaned forward, clasping his bratwurst-looking fingers together like a church steeple on the table in front of him. “Amen, brother. What do you say we get down to business?”
CHAPTER 29
ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 19, 10:00 A.M.
Sitting at a table in front of the judge’s dais, Rikki tried to look casual as she glanced over her shoulder at the crowd gathering behind her. Her mother sat directly behind her, wearing a conservative black dress and simple pearl earrings. Watching her mom talk with her aunt and uncle who had flown in from Dallas for the ceremony, Rikki admired how elegant she looked and hoped she would age that well herself.
The courtroom doors swung open, and Sheriff Vaughn sauntered in, clasping a single piece of paper in his right hand. As he approached her desk, Rikki saw an embossed gold seal on the document. Vaughn handed it to Rikki for her inspection. “Here it is. Just as expected.”
The document was signed and sealed by the County Clerk, who attested the County Commission had duly appointed her to complete the remaining six weeks of Joe’s term as prosecutor. All that remained was for her to take the oath of office.
Rikki smiled, handing the paper back. Vaughn nodded curtly, walked over to the Circuit Clerk’s desk, and bent down, whispering something in the woman’s ear. The Circuit Clerk grinned and shot Rikki a thumbs up before briskly walking into the Judge’s office to let him know everything was ready to go.
Exactly one minute later, the Judge entered the room. The bailiff dutifully directed the audience to stand up, warned them what the judge might do if they misbehaved, articulated a brief invocation of divine blessing on the court and then told them to sit back down.
“Good morning,” the Judge opened, a jolly smile on his face. With a gray moustache and largely bald pate, the man looked like he had been born to be a judge (or play one on TV.) “I hear there’s something special afoot today.”
The Circuit Clerk handed him the appointment. “That’s right. The only item on the docket today is the vacancy in the prosecutor’s office.”
“Very well,” the Judge remarked, peering down at the document. “Everything appears to be in order. Rikki … Would you approach the bench?”
Rikki stood and fastidiously smoothed the front of her sharp-looking gray pantsuit. Satisfied with her appearance, she turned to her mother and motioned for her to stand.
Madhani nodded and rose, holding an old, thick white leather-bound Bible in her hands. Together, the two women walked up to the dais, facing one another. Madhani balanced the Bible while Rikki rested her left hand on its cover and raised her right hand.
“Sarika Dawn Gudivada,” the Judge dramatically intoned. “Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will support the constitution of the United States and the constitution of the State of West Virginia, and that you will faithfully discharge the duties of the Office of Prosecuting Attorney of Pleasants County, West Virginia, to the best of your skill and judgment?”
“I do.”
“Congratulations, Rikki,” the Judge declared, extending his right hand. Rikki accepted the handshake and the crowd broke into cheers and applause. Turning away from the bench, the new prosecutor saw he
r proud mother blinking back tears of joy. Rikki smiled and gave her mom a hug and a peck on the cheek.
“I’m so proud of you, honey,” Madhani whispered. “I just wish your father was here.”
Rikki rubbed her mother’s back softly. “I’m sure he is, Mom. We might not be able to see him, but I’m sure he’s here.”
Feeling the approach of onlookers, they parted and turned to greet the crowd. Rikki’s aunt and uncle were first in line, and she was surprised by the brevity of their congratulations.
Sheriff Vaughn came next. “Looking forward to working with ya, Rikki,” he said with a warm smile. Shaking his hand, Rikki remembered to focus on his right eye. Three seconds later, still smiling, he relinquished her hand and walked away, making room for others.
Efficient as always, Rikki noted, suppressing a chuckle as he disappeared into the crowd.
Turning back to greet the next person in line, Rikki’s heart skipped a beat. Desperately hoping she didn’t look flustered, Rikki put on a smile. “Ellen! So great to see you!”
Ellen Anderson opened her arms and gave Rikki a warm hug. “Congratulations, honey! Everyone’s so proud of you. You’ll do a wonderful job.”
Wrapped in her embrace, Rikki sensed the sincerity in the older woman’s words. “Thank you, Ellen. That means a lot to me. It really does.”
Ellen stepped back and took a long, admiring look at Rikki. Still holding one of her hands, she gave it a slight tug, but said nothing. Rikki thought the woman was struggling to find the right words to say.
Finally, the words came. “Dave sends his congratulations, too.” As the sentence escaped her lips, Rikki saw Ellen’s back stiffen. The warmth in her eyes was replaced by anxiety.
Suddenly, a sense of sadness washed over Rikki. My God. Have I been so cold and unforgiving over the years that this sweet woman – who once was like a second mother to me – is actually afraid of how I’d react to such an innocuous message from her son?
Rikki sighed. No matter what transpired between me and Dave, Ellen had nothing to do with it. And she doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my unresolved issues.
Rikki placed her left hand on top of their handshake and looked Ellen square in the eye. “Thank you for passing that along to me. That really means a lot to me, too.”
CHAPTER 30
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1:45 P.M.
“So what did you find out?” Bowen asked, speaking into his cell phone.
“It pains me to say it,” Vasquez replied. “But after talking to Petrenko, you’re right.”
Bowen nonchalantly shrugged. “I didn’t know exactly how many counties used that Cicero system, but I figured it was less than five. Cicero’s good software, but it’s fairly new. And we West Virginians tend to be a little resistant to change at times.”
“But two counties?” Vasquez half-shrieked. “Out of the entire fucking state, you’re telling me AIS has contracts in only two counties? What the hell?”
“Their main competitor’s been doing business here for 30 years, back when everyone used pull-lever systems. They’ve been greasing the wheels and schmoozing politicians around here for years. They know how to play the game, and if AIS wants to take away that business, they’ll have to fight for it. And they better pack a lunch.”
Vasquez sighed. “I already know all I’ll ever care to know about Mingo County. The other county that uses Cicero is Grant County, which I know nothing about, so fill me in on it.”
Bowen winced. “Ouch. That’s our only other option?”
“Yeah. Why? Is that a bad thing?”
“Well, for starters, it’s one of the few counties in the state where registered Republican voters outnumber Democrats.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Vasquez responded.
“Nope. Those are some gun-toting, flag-waving people over there, my friend. Royal carried Grant County by a four-to-one margin and all three county commissioners are Republicans.”
“Not much chance we’ll make headway there, huh?” Vasquez said glumly.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Bowen replied. “The county commission won’t be cooperating with us, and if we try to pull too much hanky-panky with the machines behind their backs, they’ll drag the U.S. Attorney’s Office into it. Lord knows we don’t want those guys going over things with a fine-toothed comb. They have a tendency to find dirt when they go looking for it.”
“So we’re back to Mingo County. Dear God! That makes me want to hang myself.”
“Well, don’t go buying rope just yet. Tinkering with memory cards and software code are just new-fangled ways to … adjust an election’s results. We still have some old school methods at our disposal.”
“Such as?”
“For starters, remember that my good buddy, Sheriff Perkins, is in charge of courthouse security in Mingo County.”
“Fair enough,” Vasquez admitted. “That could come in handy. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking there’s fifteen seconds left in the game and we’re down by five points. We’re all out of timeouts and a field goal ain’t gonna help us. It’s time to use that sneaky little trick play we talked about last night.”
Vasquez grew silent. “That’d be pretty ballsy. Do you think we can pull it off?”
“What do we have to lose?” Bowen shot back. “We know the machines’ serial numbers and the precincts where they were used. Hell, they announced that information during the canvass to help everyone keep tabs on them! We’ve claimed the memory cards malfunctioned. If we’re gonna lie to win this election, I say we stick to our story and lie big.”
“All right,” Vasquez relented. “I’ll get things moving on this front. You handle things on the ground down in that godforsaken hellhole. But just in case those idiots are as worthless as I think, do we have a backup plan?”
“Braxton County still uses paper ballots. The kind where voters actually mark an ‘x’ beside the names of the candidates they want to vote for. So does Wyoming County.”
“Say what?!” Vasquez asked, incredulous.
“I told you we’re resistant to change. And seeing how easy it is for a computer vendor to monkey with election results, who can say those folks are wrong for sticking with paper ballots? People can still manipulate the results, but at least they haven’t spent tens of thousands of dollars on computer software and equipment that’s just as easy to manipulate but harder to monitor.”
“True. But just how many precincts will actually be recounted on Monday?”
“Not many at first,” Bowen admitted. “Two precincts in Mingo County initially. Maybe one or two in Braxton. But if we can make up a hundred votes in those two precincts in Mingo, or sixty votes in Braxton, that’ll trigger an automatic recount of every precinct in those counties.”
“That’s asking an awful lot, don’t you think?”
“That’s why I said it’s time to lie big.”
CHAPTER 31
PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE
ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 2:30 P.M.
Less than five hours after taking office, Rikki wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew.
She had to file three emergency child abuse and neglect petitions within the next 24 hours. Cops kept walking in to discuss cases that had dragged on during Joe’s illness. Citizens unhappy with the progress of various law enforcement investigations did likewise. And the county assessor needed help with an ongoing dispute between two brothers over who had inherited their father’s property under his recently probated (and hopelessly convoluted) will.
When things finally slowed down, Rikki realized she hadn’t checked her email since the previous evening. Whirling her chair 90 degrees, she typed in her password and was aghast to learn she had 50 new unopened messages.
Rikki quickly sorted the messages into two groups: Those that were on fire and those that were not. Seeing a mes
sage from Jack caused her to remember (with mortification) that today was their deadline to file discovery responses in the Schoolcraft case. Opening the message, she clicked on the embedded link and hastily reviewed Petromica’s press release about Beria’s recent hiring. Studying his picture, she noted he was ruggedly handsome though a tad too uptight (“Nazi-looking”) for her taste. She saved the photo to her hard drive before turning her attention to their current crisis:
Discovery Responses!!!!
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Wed, 19 Nov 2:38 pm
Jack,
I got your email from Petromica. Now do me a favor and GET ME THE STUFF I NEED TO FINISH YOUR DISCOVERY RESPONSES!!! :-)
I’m going to ask the other side to give us until the end of the week to turn our answers over, but if they won’t give us an extension, you’ll need to run whatever documents you have over to me here at the courthouse ASAP, so we can at least get something in the mail to them before the post office closes at 4:30.
Hasta,
Rikki
Immediately after sending the email to Jack, she heard another knock on her door. Looking up, she saw her secretary in the doorway, smiling indulgently. Rikki sighed. “What now, Martha?”
“Delbert Keegan’s on the phone. He’s upset because his neighbor won’t keep his cows fenced in and they’re tearing up his property. He says that if somebody doesn’t put a stop to it soon, he’s ‘fixing to go over there and shoot all those damn cows himself.’”
Rikki closed her eyes and dropped her head. “Send the call back, and I’ll see if I can get Delbert calmed down.”
Martha returned to her desk on the other side of the door. Five seconds later the phone on Rikki’s desk rang. The clock on the wall said it was 2:45. Grabbing the phone, she took a deep breath and raised it to her left ear.
The Dirty Secret Page 13
