Dead Lawyers Tell No Tales (19 page)

FRIDAY MORNINGS
were always chaotic in Virginia Beach Circuit Court. The day was reserved for hearing motions, and the judges in all nine courtrooms spent their time listening to the bickering lawyers and ruling on their cases. It wouldn’t be unusual for a single judge to hear twenty or thirty motions. The lawyers argued about custody matters or support agreements or motions to compel in civil cases. For the most part, it resembled a long family road trip with the kids in the backseat squabbling about who put whose foot over the line. The judges, like parents, would chew out both sides.
“Don’t make me stop this car!”

On Friday, April 26, just six days after Harry’s memorial, three lawyers from the McNaughten and Clay firm were camped out in Courtroom 5, Virginia Beach Circuit Court, because Carolyn Glaxon-Forrester had hauled them in there to respond to her motion to compel.

She had already filed a ten-page brief, complaining about the shenanigans that had taken place during the depositions of Brent Benedict and Rachel Strach. Glaxon-Forrester wanted Brent held in contempt of
court for lying under oath during his deposition. She wanted to compel Rachel to answer questions about her sexual escapades in Atlanta. She wanted blood, and she wanted a chance to strut around the courtroom for fifteen or twenty minutes and, quite literally, flex her muscles while she made her salacious accusations.

Because Glaxon-Forrester’s motions would take a good deal of time to resolve, Judge Samantha Traynor, a former prosecutor with a reputation for fairness, made the lawyer wait until all other motions had been heard. Glaxon-Forrester did a slow boil, stewing for three hours while her client, Stacy Benedict, shot menacing glances at her husband.

At eleven thirty, when their case was finally called, Rachel and Landon took their places at the defense counsel table, alongside Brent Benedict and his high-priced lawyer, Allen Mattingly.

Mattingly seemed unperturbed by the coming storm. The word on Mattingly was that he was seriously smart and had lots of useful connections. But Landon wasn’t sold on the guy. For starters, if Mattingly was as brilliant as people said, Landon wondered why he wore a toupee that made him look like a sixty-year-old with the hair of one of the Beatles. It didn’t seem to Landon like any lawyer with a toupee would be much of a match for Glaxon-Forrester. Landon hoped he was underestimating the man, that maybe Glaxon-Forrester was fire but Mattingly was ice.

It would sure make Landon’s job a lot easier if Mattingly stepped up and earned his hourly rate.

“I understand we are here on your motions, Ms. Forrester,” Judge Traynor said.

“
Glaxon
-Forrester.” The lawyer’s correction carried a healthy dose of disdain.

“Excuse me,” Judge Traynor said pleasantly. “Ms. Glaxon-Forrester.” Traynor reviewed the pleadings in the file for a moment. “It’s been a long morning, so I would appreciate it if you would keep your argument concise.”

“It
has
been a long morning,” Glaxon-Forrester said. “And I’ll do the best I can.”

She stepped out from behind her counsel table and jumped right into the juiciest allegations. “I’d like to hand the court some photographs taken at a hotel in Atlanta, Georgia, where Mr. Benedict and Ms. Strach spent the night together. We have photos of them going into the room that night and coming out the next morning. We also have deposition testimony from Mr. Benedict denying that he had sex with Ms. Strach. When we tried to depose Ms. Strach, she hid behind the Fifth Amendment.”

As she spoke, Glaxon-Forrester took the photographs and excerpts from the depositions to the bench and handed them to the judge. It seemed like she struck a pose in her sleeveless blouse as she did so, flexing her biceps, triceps, and lats all in one smooth motion. On her way back to the counsel table, she slapped a copy of the exhibits in front of Allen Mattingly. He ignored them.

“My motion is basically twofold,” Glaxon-Forrester continued. “First, I want Ms. Strach compelled to answer my questions. Invoking the Fifth Amendment was improper. Adultery might be a misdemeanor in Georgia and Virginia, but nobody’s been prosecuted under those statutes for half a century, and she won’t be the first. A Fairfax judge, who compelled testimony about adultery in a similar case despite a Fifth Amendment claim, called prosecution under the Virginia statute a ‘matter of historical curiosity’ rather than a real-life threat. More importantly, sexual conduct between consenting adults apart from adultery is not a crime at all in Georgia, which is where the conduct occurred. So I should be able to ask Ms. Strach about anything short of intercourse.

“And second, I’m asking for sanctions against Mr. Benedict for lying under oath about whether he had sex with Ms. Strach. He should know that I’m also going to turn his deposition transcript over to the Commonwealth’s Attorney for possible perjury charges. Now, maybe Mr. Mattingly is going to argue that his client and Ms. Strach were just preparing for an appellate argument the next day, studying their briefs all night. But I think we all know the truth. Those legal briefs weren’t the only ones being studied.”

The remark brought some snickers from the lawyers in the audience
who had stayed to watch the action. Traynor didn’t find it funny. “Stick to your argument, Ms. Glaxon-Forrester.”

“Sorry, Judge.”

But she wasn’t really. Within seconds, she was rolling again, jabbing her finger in the direction of Brent Benedict and the others at the defense table. She called Benedict a liar, Mattingly an obstructionist, and Rachel . . . “Well,” Glaxon-Forrester said, “I can’t say what she is in polite company.”

This brought Landon to his feet. “That’s ridiculous, Judge.”

Glaxon-Forrester swiveled toward him.

“Are we back in middle school here?” Landon asked. “This is name-calling, not argument.”

From there, the battle was on. Glaxon-Forrester suggested that Landon should have paid better attention in civil procedure class, since he obviously didn’t know the first thing about courtroom etiquette. He called her a bully who used sleazy detectives to satisfy her client’s obsessive desire for revenge. Judge Traynor chewed them both out and told them to show a little professionalism. “Is that asking too much?”

“No, ma’am,” Landon said.

Glaxon-Forrester didn’t respond.

After things calmed down, Glaxon-Forrester finished her argument. Adultery could be considered under the equitable distribution process of Virginia law. It was one of the factors the court was entitled to weigh when divvying up the assets. Therefore, Glaxon-Forrester and the court should know what happened in that hotel room. Brent Benedict could sleep with anybody he wanted, as far as Glaxon-Forrester and her client were concerned. But when he did it while married, and when he denied it under oath, then it became the court’s business.

“Hold him accountable, Judge,” Glaxon-Forrester urged. “Just because he’s a lawyer doesn’t mean he should get away with it.”

Landon was next and responded with some passion of his own, though the judge limited him to just five minutes.

“If the Fifth Amendment means anything, it means that a witness like
Ms. Strach cannot be forced to answer questions that would implicate her in a crime in either Virginia
or
Georgia. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a misdemeanor or a felony. And it doesn’t matter whether the prosecutor has chosen to prosecute for this particular crime or not in the last ten years or even the last century.”

“May I ask you a question?” Judge Traynor interjected as soon as Landon paused to draw a breath.

“Of course.”

“As I understand it, only the act of sexual intercourse is defined as adultery in the state of Georgia; is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, since that’s the scene of the crime, so to speak, then what about all these other questions that Ms. Glaxon-Forrester asked in the deposition? There are a lot of activities short of sexual intercourse where your client also asserted the Fifth. How do you justify that?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Landon noticed a smug little grin on Glaxon-Forrester’s face.

“The test is whether my client’s answer to the question would tend to incriminate her in any way,” Landon explained. “If my client is asked about a bank robbery, she doesn’t have to answer questions about whether she purchased a gun on the black market, or whether she drove a car to the bank, or whether she had scoped out the bank three days earlier. It’s not just answers about the crime itself that are shielded by the Fifth Amendment, but answers about any acts that tend to incriminate.”

Landon’s argument was followed by the unflappable Allen Mattingly. He took a different approach than Landon, refusing to get involved in the mudslinging. “When you wrestle with a pig, you both get dirty, but only one of you likes it,” he said. Instead, he treated the whole matter as an academic exercise, citing cases that supported his proposition and giving the court a lecture on the history of the Fifth Amendment. His argument was effective, Landon thought, and especially so because Glaxon-Forrester made every grunting sound and
tsk-tsk
noise possible to show her displeasure.

Glaxon-Forrester insisted on having the last word, and Judge Traynor heard her out. When the lawyer finally sat down after repeating much of what she had said earlier, Traynor took a few minutes to jot down some notes.

When she finished, Judge Traynor looked up and sighed. “Mr. Benedict, your wife’s attorney is right about one thing. You would think that you’d be able to exercise enough restraint to forestall your affairs until the divorce decree is final. But you apparently didn’t, and so I’m forced to rule.

“Did Mr. Benedict exercise good judgment and demonstrate great moral character? It appears he didn’t, although nobody really knows for sure except Mr. Benedict and Ms. Strach. But under the law as it now stands, Ms. Strach is within her rights to assert the Fifth Amendment as she did. Ms. Glaxon-Forrester, you might not like it, and that’s okay. The Fifth Amendment has never been our most popular amendment. Yet as long as it’s part of the Constitution, I’m going to honor it. Accordingly, your motion to compel and motion for sanctions are both overruled.”

She paused for a moment and surveyed both sides. The other lawyers in the courtroom had gotten what they came to see—some good fireworks and a few scandalous accusations by the attorneys. But Traynor wasn’t done lecturing the participants. She closed the file and shook her head.

“You didn’t ask for my advice, but I’ve seen this scenario unfold too many times. The parties need to get together and resolve this matter so you can both get on with your lives. Nobody’s going to be happy if this case goes to trial, and it’s going to cost you both thousands of dollars in legal fees and days and days of your lives fighting each other. Settle the case and move on.”

No lawyers responded, and Landon knew they weren’t expected to. It was a good ruling by Traynor, and the parties deserved their little dressing-down. But this whole affair also reminded Landon why he never wanted to practice domestic-relations law. He couldn’t wait to get back to the felons and miscreants who needed his help on criminal matters. Anything would be better than this.

KERRI WAS SURPRISED
they were meeting at Kincaid’s Fish, Chop & Steakhouse at the MacArthur mall. She thought the great Sean Phoenix would have preferred a more private location, or at least something more exotic. He had promised her the scoop on a story that was volatile and said they couldn’t talk about it over the phone. They had to meet, according to Sean. They might as well do lunch.

She had obsessed over what she should wear. Her wardrobe was a television reporter’s wardrobe. Loud colors looked better under bright TV lights—large print patterns so they didn’t blur together. Form-fitting skirts and V-neck blouses. Avoid black; it adds extra pounds on TV.

But today, she wasn’t dressing for the cameras. She had pinned her hair back into a messy bun. She put on a straight black skirt, heels, and an aqua blouse with a wide collar and matching necklace. It was conservative and classy; she wanted to let Mr. Phoenix know she could play in the big leagues too. Today was all about impressing a confidential source, a source who had access to top-level information, a source who had promised a big
scoop. Maybe, Kerri hoped, he was going to tell her to run with the story about the rescue of Pastor Seyyed Hassan.

When she saw him, she realized that Sean had apparently spent a lot less time worrying about what he was going to wear. He met her at the door of Kincaid’s wearing khakis, a black T-shirt, and flip-flops. He flashed a big white smile, carving dimples into the chiseled face, and shook her hand.

“I’ve got a place in the last booth in the back,” he said.

The restaurant had a classic feel with a dark-mahogany bar, chandeliers, and a spacious seating area. It seemed like they had stepped into a New York City restaurant in the 1930s.

They settled into their booth, and Sean was in no hurry to get down to business. Kerri didn’t push him. She had cultivated sources before. She knew the rules—keep them talking; get them to relax; build trust. When a source calls a meeting, they want to spill the information. Don’t push them or they might get spooked.

She followed her rules all the way through lunch. The only business they discussed was when Kerri lowered her voice and thanked Sean again for letting her see the Hassan rescue. She still couldn’t believe what had actually happened. Sean brushed it off, and her hopes about getting a green light to run the story faded.

When the bill came, Sean insisted on paying, and Kerri let him. She was still playing cat and mouse, waiting for him to glance around the restaurant, make sure the coast was clear, and give her the tip he had promised. Instead, he kept asking questions, just like he had during lunch, and seemed more fascinated with her life’s story than with sharing his confidential info. Had this all been just a ruse to get her to lunch?

“Are you doing reconnaissance on me?” she asked.

Sean smiled. The dimples again. “If I were, I would have had you drinking by now.”

“Not this girl.”

“Regardless, I already know everything I need to know.”

“I doubt that.”

Sean sat back with a smug look, his head tilted a little to the side, as if he were sizing her up. “Try me,” he challenged. “Ask me a question about you.”

Kerri wasn’t sure she wanted to play this game, yet she
was
curious. How much did he
really
know?

“What sports did I play in high school?”

He laughed, as if the question were too easy. “Basketball and soccer. You ran track until your senior year.”

She forced a smile, but the answer unnerved her a little. Why did he know these things?

“What was my nickname?”

This time the great Sean Phoenix hesitated. He put an elbow on the table, resting his cheek on his fist. He waited and stared, as if he could detect the answer in her brain waves.

“They called you Petro,” he eventually said, and Kerri felt her jaw drop. “But I’m not sure if that’s because of your nonstop motor on the soccer field or because you were smokin’ hot.”

Her face flushed. Enough of that game. “Why do you have all this information on me?”

The smug grin left Sean’s face, and the intensity Kerri had seen a few weeks ago in Manassas returned. He used his napkin to wipe the table in front of him, then carefully folded it and placed it off to the side.

“We wanted to make sure we could trust you, Kerri. So we did a little checking. I’m sorry if we went too far. Our guys are pretty compulsive.”

Sean paused, a cue for Kerri to tell him it was okay. Fat chance. She wanted the story, but she didn’t like the way Cipher Inc. pried into her life.

He was quick to pick up on her mood and began laying on the charm. He and his executives had vetted at least twenty different reporters. Kerri was head and shoulders above everyone else. Her integrity. The quality of her reports. Her commitment to her sources.

“You waited for Landon for two years,” Sean said. “A lot of women would have moved on.”

“And that’s relevant because . . . ?”

“Because we believe in loyalty. You’ve seen what’s at stake with some of our operations. We need people we can trust.”

Sean’s phone rang and he pulled it out, looked at the number, and hit Ignore. Nothing was more important than this, it seemed.

He pulled out a business card and wrote a name on the back. He checked his cell phone and added a phone number.

“This man is middle management at Universal Labs,” Sean said. “He learned that his company has been bribing doctors to prescribe one of their premier drugs for an off-label use. It added about two hundred million to the bottom line last year, and he’s given us the documents to prove it.”

Sean slid the card across the table to Kerri. “He wants to remain confidential, of course.”

“Of course,” Kerri said.
Don’t they all?

She thought Sean was done, but there was more. “The number two guy at the FDA knew about this,” Sean said. “Turned his head. This source has the smoking-gun e-mail.”

Kerri was trying to play it cool, but he definitely had her attention. The background checks prying into her personal life suddenly seemed like a small price to pay. Her bosses would be drooling. They would want to run this story during sweeps.

“What do you want out of this?” she asked Sean.

He pointed to his chest and feigned surprise.
Moi?

“Yes, you,” said Kerri.

“Our client is a competitor of Universal Labs. He’s trying to do things the right way. We just want this stuff to be exposed, to make sure everyone is playing by the same rules.”

Kerri could live with that. Confidential sources seldom came without their agendas. Sean’s motive was to help his client by exposing an unethical competitor. As long as Kerri knew the motivation, she could weigh that in judging the reliability of the information.

They talked for a few minutes about the source. How had Sean located him? Did the source have any axes to grind? That type of thing.

She thanked Sean for lunch. She promised him that both the source and Sean’s role in being the liaison would be protected. She couldn’t make any promises about when the story would run, and Sean said he understood.

But in her mind, she was already envisioning the teaser.

They were outside the mall, in the first floor of the parking garage, before Sean dropped the real bombshell. “I’ve got a friend at the NBC affiliate in D.C.,” he said. “I’ve talked to him about you. They’ve got an opening for an investigative reporter, and he thinks you might be the perfect fit. The salary’s 50 percent more than what you’re making now.”

Was he serious? D.C. was one of Kerri’s dream markets! Sean Phoenix was making her head spin. How did he know her salary?

“What are you saying?” she asked.

“You’d have to go through the interview process. But basically, if you want the job, you’d have a great chance. My friend is the station manager.”

Kerri suspected there was more to it than that. Perhaps Sean had hinted to the station manager that Kerri would be fed juicy stories by Cipher Inc. Perhaps Sean had something on the man. There were lots of red flags, including the thought of moving her family, but they were talking about one of the Big Four network affiliates in one of the most sought-after media markets on earth.

“I would need to talk to Landon.”

“Of course. But let me know something within the next week or so. Jobs like this don’t stay open very long.”