I SAT ON THE PARK BENCH A LITTLE WHILE LONGER, just thinking. I was faced with a Hobson’s choice. If I somehow managed to pull off a win for David, Hans would make sure I was dead by the end of the day, and no telling who else. If I lost as planned, David would spend years in prison and Hans would probably kill me anyway, and no telling who else. I still found it hard to believe the lawyers for the opposition knew about Hans. Well, maybe Jordyn. But he was still a hired hand; I wanted whoever was pulling his string. It was time to dust off my backup plan.
I walked back to the office and found Brian poring over all the motions Duarte had filed now that we’d finally been given copies. It was good to see Maggie at her desk. She was doing a good job of pretending to be mad as hell about my closing the office, or maybe it wasn’t an act after all. I announced that Rita was okay, and that Big Mike would take charge of her protection. I couldn’t tell Maggie where Mike was taking her until we were away from our wider audience.
I thought about calling up an old friend of mine who still worked at Justice, asking her out for drinks. She was bound to be aware of the case, might even have approved the filing. If that were the case, she probably wouldn’t come without bringing Stanford with her, and that would defeat the purpose. I knew her well and felt sure she didn’t know anything about the threats or attempted kidnapping. For that matter, I really didn’t think Stanford did either. In the end, I realized she couldn’t help and that it would be unfair to ask; I was picking at straws. It was time to face whatever lay ahead.
I put Brian to work on the first draft of our request for a jury trial, suggesting he call Grant Roney for help with the legal research. I’d called him on Stella’s burner phone before leaving to find Hans at the park. Grant assured me I was correct in believing that my right to a trial by jury was inviolate.
I had no chance of winning if Moorman adjudicated the facts. Hans had made it abundantly clear that Moorman was in his pocket.
Maggie and Brian were both hard at work, but I couldn’t clear my mind, couldn’t be still. When Maggie looked up and gave me a glare, I knew it was time to leave before I said something I shouldn’t. I decided not to go straight home and took the Metro to Nanny O’Brien’s in Cleveland Park. Nanny’s is an Irish Pub and was a regular hangout both when I was in law school and when I had worked at Justice, but not so much these days.
I took a seat at the bar, and the bartender brought me a pint without comment. I noticed an attractive young woman at the other end of the bar. She returned my automatic smile, but I took a deep breath and returned to the issue at hand. How could I turn this case around? I’d produced several legal miracles in my career, but this time I couldn’t see a solution. Frustrated, I ordered brats and another Guinness, and while I ate a little glimmer of a possibility appeared.
I let my mind drift to the imagery of the courtroom. The gallery would be packed with opposing counsel, the judge would be as antagonistic as ever, Jordyn would be aloof, and Duke would be obnoxious. But none of them mattered. I saw only myself and twelve jurors. If I could get to that point, David had a chance.
“One for the road, Jack?” the bartender asked.
“No thanks, Colin. It’s been a long day. By the way, who’s the woman at the end of the bar? She looks familiar?”
“Don’t know. Want me to find out.”
Another night I might have bought her a drink, and who knows… but not tonight.
“Nah, just curious.” I gave him a generous tip, crossed the street, and throwing caution to the wind, hailed a waiting cabbie who drove the few blocks to my condominium in silence.
I opened the front door with trepidation, but there were no burglars, no kidnappers, only a few dishes in the sink and an empty bed.
The next morning, I woke early after a night of dreaming about ways to force the judge into a jury trial, all of them brilliant. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember a single one. I knew I would win that argument at some point; the question was when. Time was not my friend.
Brian had left a draft of our motion for a jury trial on my desk. He must have worked all night. Once again Maggie had called to say she would be late. I poured a cup of coffee and spent the next hour editing his work. I found him in the conference room organizing folders for trial and handed him my edits.
“Nice work. Was Grant helpful?”
“More than helpful. Most of the work is his. He said you owe him dinner at DeCarlo’s.”
“Gladly—I owe him more than dinner. Make sure he sends me a bill.”
Brian asked, “No matter how right we are on the jury issue, what’s to keep the judge from ruling against us?”
I wasn’t comfortable discussing strategy in my office. I put my fingers to my lips.
“I haven’t had breakfast. Let’s go across the street for an egg sandwich.”
I nixed the McDonalds around the corner. Brian snagged a cab, and we headed to Barker’s instead.
We picked up coffee and pastries from the reception area, and I found a small conference room where we could talk in private. “Our opposition is opposed to a jury trial, but they also don’t want to give us grounds for an appeal. Your brief is ironclad, and they will know it. My bet is they’ll slow walk their response and encourage the judge to put our request on the back burner. David is stuck in jail without a computer, and so far, the lawsuit has received zero publicity. I’ve got to come up with a way to get them to change their strategy, to ask for a jury, or at least not object to our request.”
“What about publicity?” Brian suggested. “You have friends in the media. Can’t you talk to them off the record?”
“I’ve thought of that, but involving the media is almost always a risky tactic, even off the record. Besides, the judge has issued a gag order. David hasn’t got a prayer if I’m held in contempt.”
“Do you have to be the one to tell them what’s going on? Isn’t there someone else who’d be willing to speak to a reporter you know?”
“Brian, you’re a genius, and I know the just the right person. Make lunch reservations for two at Joe’s Stone Crab. I can’t think of a more visible restaurant in town these days. Then find a way to call Duke without tipping off good old Hans. Tell him I suggested that he might want to drop by our table. Not a word about the case, just a friendly stop to see a friend. Tell him he’ll enjoy meeting my guest. And feel free to imply that she’s a she.”
Brian grinned and was gone before I could pick up my phone. Although we hadn’t talked in months, I knew Cheryl would take my call, and I felt sure she’d meet me for lunch. I sure wished I could see Hans’ face when he heard my call.
Cheryl Cole was a reporter for CNN. I’d known her in college, and for a brief time she was married to my friend, Woody Cole. When Woody was charged with the murder of Arkansas’s newest senator, I’d used her obvious need to get a scoop to my advantage, and her stock rose when the publicity went national. We ended up collaborating on a couple of other cases, but I was always careful to keep Cheryl at a healthy arm’s length. Her recent affair with a Belgian prince had raised East Coast eyebrows, and CNN had reduced her airtime accordingly.
Joe’s Stone Crab was already packed when I arrived. I noticed Cheryl sail through the door just as the waiter was seating me. I couldn’t help but admire my old friend as I watched her work the room. Maggie would have sniffed and said something like “well, she obviously keeps her plastic surgeon busy.” She might have been right, but Cheryl looked great to me. She was dressed to the nines, and I enjoyed watching her work the room like the pro she was.
I rose as she approached our table. She gave me a peck on the cheek and told the waiter to bring “her usual” as she seated herself in the chair I held for her. In the old days, her ‘usual’ meant vodka in a coffee cup. Now, it meant a pricey chardonnay disguised in a tinted glass as “lemonade with no ice.”
After a few exchanges about mutual friends, she brusquely changed the subject. “Okay, Jack, to what do I owe this pleasure? I hope you’ve got a story worth my while.”
Cheryl was always direct, and I did have one hell of a story. But since I couldn’t reveal even a single word of the truth, I lied. “I’m as boring as ever, but it’s been a while, and every time I see Woody, he asks about you.”
“Dear Woody—I do occasionally miss him.” She dabbed at an eye, and I had to bite my lower lip not to laugh. “But Jack—you’re a terrible liar. What’s the real reason for asking me to lunch in the most visible restaurant in town? You want to be seen with me, but you don’t want to tell me why, which means there’s a juicy story behind this charade. Come on, time to fess up.”
The jig was up, but Duke saved the day, strolling up at the perfect moment. He greeted me as though we were fast friends, but quickly turned his attention and Texas charm on Cheryl, who hadn’t been around a cowboy in a long time. He never mentioned David’s case, but easily directed the conversation to a class action he was about to file against several drug companies. Before you could say ten-gallon hat, she was batting her long lashes and asking how she could help. Why sure, she’d be happy to interview his whistleblower.
My presence was clearly superfluous, so I left them with their lemonade and bourbon, my purpose easily accomplished.
With any luck, Jordyn would soon be on the phone railing that I was in contempt. I would deny, deny, deny—hoping she’d worry about leaks to the press. She knew that if the press heard even a rumor about David’s software or the twin lawsuits, she’d have hell to pay. Maybe that worry would lead her to change course, pushing for a rapid resolution.
Walking back to the office I checked in with Big Mike to make sure Rita was safe and secure.
He told me they’d settled in at the farmhouse, that she seemed to be okay. The storage box had been retrieved, and she’d spoken to Stella about her computer needs. He also mentioned that Clovis and Stella were already on their way back to DC. I smiled to myself; Walter hadn’t let any grass grow under his feet.
I deliberately chose to walk past ‘Hans’s’ park bench in Lafayette Park and was surprised to find it empty. This fact was strange in itself as much of the park has become either a home for the homeless or a relatively safe spot for them to pass the time of day. But it was a beautiful day, and I had to give my subterfuge time to work. I sat down and wondered who would call first. It wasn’t long before I had my answer.
“Jack, Jordyn here. Tell me that I won’t have to seek contempt against you for talking to the press. I hear you were lunching with Cheryl Cole.”
“C’mon, Jordyn, Cheryl’s an old friend. She used to be married to my best friend, and we get together for lunch occasionally. Neither of us mentioned the case. How could she know anything about it?”
“Right. And now you’re going to tell me that Duke Madigan’s appearance was just a coincidence?”
“It was. I left them talking about Supreme Court judges and their links to corporate America. If you don’t believe me, feel free to ask them. Now here’s a question for you: are you having me followed? Really?”
I knew Jordyn would never call Cheryl; too many lights would go on: Cheryl was no dummy and could be a bulldog once she sniffed a story. I also knew Jordyn would never admit I was being followed, much less who was behind the hire. She thought about her response for a minute or so, deciding to change tactics.
“I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about this,” she said slowly. “My clients have no intention of settling this litigation unless you roll over. But what do you say about meeting with Stanford and me this afternoon? Nothing formal, no gloves on; just a chance to cut through the months of posturing we’ve come to expect in cases of this size.”
This was the opening I had hoped for, but I had no intention of making it easy for her.
“What about Duke?” I asked.
“What about him? He’s probably already got your friend Cheryl…” She managed to stop before she went too far. “He’s not a party, nor is he likely to be one. His client doesn’t care about her son; all she wants is money. Why bring him into the discussion? He’ll have his day in court later.”
“Why ask Stanford then?”
“He’s the one person who can give you access to your client. He can also become very difficult if he feels left out,” she answered. She’d scored a good point, and she knew it.
“If we can find a way for me to earn my fee with the least amount of effort, I’m all ears.”
This last statement was for Hans and anyone else who was listening. Her sudden gasp took me aback. Maybe she really didn’t know about Hans.
She recovered quickly and asked, “How about drinks at The Jefferson? Say six o’clock?” She hung up without waiting for my answer.
I felt suddenly uncomfortable and looked up to see two pairs of eyes staring at me. The young couple were poorly dressed, carried heavy backpacks, and obviously wanted my bench. I handed the woman a twenty and turned toward my office, thanking the Fates again for my undeserved good fortune.