When Men Betray (17 page)

Cutting me off, he said, “Gloria—now, she'll turn a head or two! I remember her from the NACDL board meeting last winter. Tried to get her to go out to dinner, if you know what I mean.” He actually waggled his eyebrows. I saw Maggie stiffen. “Now, Jack, I wasn't aware you were interviewing other lawyers. I assumed you were ready to hire me, because it's as clear as crystal you're in way over your head. Those analysts on CNN can be brutally honest, can't they? You're lucky I had another case plea out so I'm available. Peter, did you bring one of my brochures?”

I interrupted. “It's okay, Les. I don't need to see any brochures. Just tell me a little bit about your experience, what you would bring to the table.”

He leaned forward, somewhat abashed, and said, “Well, I … I've practiced in Little Rock for over twenty years, primarily criminal-defense work and plaintiff's personal-injury cases. Perhaps you've heard of Nate Bedford? I got his sentence down from life to thirty years—brutal murder too. Or the Massey case—he was looking at life after killing his wife, and I got him a great plea deal and only twenty years. I tell you—I'm your man.”

“Well, that could be, but I'm at a disadvantage here. I'm not familiar with either of those cases, so let's go at it a different way. What's your relationship with Sam Pagano?”

Les lit up. “Sam—why we're great friends. He's someone you can deal with. He's tough in the courtroom, but that won't be the issue.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Hell, Jack, Woody Cole shot Russell in front of the whole fucking world. Best thing anybody can do for Woody is keep him from hanging.”

I had heard enough. But in case the next candidate was just as bad, I had to ask him about cost. “Talk to me about your fees.”

“That's a conversation I'm happy to have. Peter …” He stretched his hand toward his associate, and Peter handed over a three-page document.

“This is our standard agreement. We'll need it signed by Woody and his mother.”

I had a good idea what was in it—Woody and Helen signing away everything they owned to this bozo. But I kept my cool. “Why does Mrs. Cole need to sign?”

“Well, we did some checking. It looks like Woody doesn't have any assets, so we assumed she would pledge her home as security. If I'm wrong and the Coles would prefer to just pay the nonrefundable retainer, Mrs. Cole won't need to sign. Or if you want to guarantee our fees, I'm sure we can work something out.”

I'll bet you can
. “What type of retainer are you looking for?”

He pursed his lips, trying to look judicious. “Well, Jack, we've discussed it.” He gave a sweeping gesture that suggested Peter and Emily had been consulted. “Given the complexity of the case and its controversy, we think a two-hundred-thousand-dollar retainer is appropriate.”

I whistled. “Sounds a little steep—is the whole sum nonrefundable?”

“Absolutely. This case will require my careful attention. Negotiating a plea involves a lot of preparation, and then there's the press.”

I might as well have some fun with this guy.

“What's the press got to do with plea negotiations?”

“Jack … you're from DC. You know how these things work. How you handle the press is critical to getting Woody a good deal. I'll have
the press wrapped around my finger in a matter of hours. That's why I make the big bucks. Leave those guys to me. Let's be honest here. Obviously, the press isn't your area of expertise.”

Please let the next one be better
. “Well, of course, the final decision rests with Woody and Mrs. Cole. I'll consult with them.”

“Maybe I should come with you. I—”

“No, no. Sam said I had to see Woody alone. I don't want him to have an excuse to deny access. I'll let you know, and if it's a go, we'll work out the details.” I'd had enough.

“Don't forget we need to have their signatures or a check before the arraignment,” Les said with a grunt, as he pushed himself up from the chair.

“Will my personal check do? I can't get a certified check until tomorrow.”

“Your check will be just fine.” He reached for the door, almost panting with anticipation. “I almost forgot to ask. What do I tell the press? “

“What press?”

“The press outside. I told them we were meeting, and they expect an announcement.” He smiled a toothy smile.

“Well, you can say what you want, but I haven't spoken to the other candidates yet.” There was only one more scheduled, but he didn't need to know that. “And since I haven't talked to Woody or Helen yet, I think any announcement might be premature. If I were you, I'd take the alley door out, and avoid them like the plague.”

His swagger seemed to melt a little.

Maggie offered to see them out and closed the door to our office behind her. I knew she'd wait to see if they went for the alley door or through the front where the press was waiting. If Les was the best Little Rock had to offer, Woody was in a world of hurt. First Lucy, then Cheryl, and now Les—I definitely needed a shower.

I glanced through the information about our next candidate, Micki Lawrence. From the information given, I figured she must be in her mid-thirties. She had come out of Stafford State's School of Law, and although she wasn't law review, she had graduated with high honors. She had worked for the public defender, so she probably knew Sam. She'd been out on her own for several years.

I heard Maggie stomping up the stairs before she burst through the door.

“The gall of that asshole! I'm sorry, but if you hire that sleaze bucket, I may never speak to you again. And what in the bloody hell was that ‘Will you take my check' crap?” Maggie was red in the face and loaded for bear.

“Hold on now, I was just having fun. You knew I was stringing him along. I saw you swallowing a smile. I thought you were going to start laughing any minute. Why are you so mad now?”

“First, as I was walking them down the stairs, he hit on me—actually presumed to ask me out. Then he walked straight out to the cameras and held a press conference.”

“I figured he would. What did he say?”

“That you and he had a very meaningful discussion about the difficulties facing Woody. He offered you his advice, and you were very gracious and appreciative. When asked if he would take over the defense, he said there were some minor details to be worked out, but he'd keep them advised. The press now has the impression that he's Woody's lawyer.”

“Good. Maybe they'll leave me alone for a while. Can you do me a favor? I need to stretch this leg before the next interview. Please call Helen and tell her that, regardless of what she may hear on TV, we have
not
hired Les Butterman.”

“Can I tell her it will be a cold day in hell?”

I laughed. “I couldn't have said it better myself.”

After a walk around the upstairs, I returned to our office. Maggie was sitting at the conference table on her cell phone, and a woman was seated in front of the desk with her back to the door. She heard me and jumped up.

“Jack Patterson,” I introduced myself. “You must be Micki?”

“Micki Lawrence. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Micki shook my hand with a grip a lot stronger than ol' Les's. I stand six feet three inches, and the woman in front of me almost looked me eye to eye. Her sandy hair was cropped short, and she wore no makeup though her freckled nose was a little sunburned. She had broad shoulders and really long legs. She looked comfortable in a plaid shirt, jeans, and a pair of riding boots. Not how most women
would dress for an interview, but we weren't in DC, and I already liked her confidence.

As I was giving her the once-over, she was doing the same.

“I apologize, Mr. Patterson. If I'd known you'd be wearing a suit, I'd have dressed up. Truth is, it's a Sunday, and I was out feeding my horses and lost track of time. I almost missed Les the Lech's act at his press conference. I take it you've already hired him?”

I didn't miss Maggie's smile.

“Please, call me Jack, and despite what Les may think, no decision has been made about counsel. Please sit down and let's talk.”

I began with her background. After graduation, she had worked for Sam at the public defender's office, so I asked, “Why did you leave?”

“It wasn't the thugs-and-drug offenders. I didn't burn out like a lot of my colleagues. My problem was with the administrators; they only look at the numbers—caseload, time per case, and years negotiated in a plea. I could have dealt with that, but it became clear that the clients themselves only cared about the plea. For a lot of gang members, going to prison is part of their initiation. All they want to know is what kind of deal they can get. I ran up against both a system and clients who were only interested in ‘let's make a deal.' So I left, and I haven't looked back.”

“What about your relationship with Sam?”

Micki's face turned brick red. “That's none of your damn business.”

“Whoa—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything beyond how you've dealt with him in court. If there's some kind of personal relationship, it's absolutely none of my business.”

“I … I'm sorry. I just assumed that Les talked about us. He smirked when he saw me skirting around the press.”

“Not at all,” Maggie jumped in. “He didn't even know Jack was going to interview you.”

“Oh, shit. Well, I've made it your business now, and it really isn't that big a deal. After Sam and Debbie divorced, every single woman in Little Rock set her sights on him … except me. I was in another relationship. It was quite amusing to watch the catfights and flirting, but Sam seemed oblivious. He and I'd go out for a beer after a run every now and then. I was the friend he could talk to when he was fending off some designing woman.”

When she paused, I said, “You really don't need to tell us all this.”

“Yes, I do. After I left the Public Defender's office, we still met for an occasional beer. Then the Kent matter came up, and Sam was terribly conflicted, miserable, in fact. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?”

I nodded and said to Maggie, “That's the case that caused the rift between Woody and Sam. I know just enough about it to be dangerous.”

“Anyway, during the height of the controversy, Sam and I went New Orleans to run the marathon across Lake Ponchatrain. After the run, we hit the French Quarter, drank way too much, and ended up in bed. We stayed the week, making love, eating and drinking, and letting Sam forget the whole Kent mess.

“When we returned to Little Rock, we saw each other for a while. We were both busy, but still enjoyed each other's company, so to speak. Things cooled off over time. I was happy for him when he was elected prosecutor, but the Kent affair changed Sam. I don't know—he seemed to harden. He didn't know how to have fun anymore. That's understandable, but to tell you the truth, I can't sleep with a prosecutor, no matter how good the sex. I guess a girl's got to have standards.” She laughed. “But I work with him just fine. We have our courtroom battles, but we understand each other.”

“I'm sorry to have opened it all up, but I appreciate your candor.”

“If you're asking about my relationship with Sam because you're planning to cut a deal and run, we can cut this short. You're better off going with that scumbag Les. Les gives all lawyers a bad name. He treats his associates like shit, and his fees are outrageous. Or, if you want someone to merely bat her eyes at Sam and beg him to be nice, you need to look elsewhere.”

I frowned. “What gave you the impression that's what I'm looking for? This Tuesday, one of my best friends will be formally charged with first-degree murder, and Sam Pagano has told me he'll seek the death penalty. The national media is calling him a terrorist, assassin, or worse. His mother is worried sick that her only son will be put to death, and everybody else in this country is worried he won't be. I'm looking for a lawyer who cares about the client—not publicity, not the fee, and not their reputation, professional or personal. Can I be any clearer?”

Chagrined, Micki shook her head no. I was tempted to apologize for my outburst, but it was exactly how I felt.

“Just tell me why we should hire you to represent Woody.”

“The short answer is, you shouldn't. The lawyer Woody needs is already in this room. It's you. After I got Maggie's call, I did some research. You have one hell of a reputation. Besides, only you have the full trust of this client and his family. Every other lawyer in the country looks at this case as a loser and won't touch it unless he can get something out of it, whether its publicity, fees, or something else. There are anti-death penalty lawyers who will take it, but their issue is the death penalty. There are celebrity lawyers who'll be happy to have it, but they'll sacrifice Woody in a heartbeat. There are lawyers who didn't like the senator's politics, but I can't imagine that Woody would be comfortable with the type of defense they'd present. They'd use Woody, not defend him.”

I asked, “What's in it for you, then?”

“Good question. I hear working with you is exacting but rewarding. It looks especially bad for Woody, but who knows? I'm old fashioned and still believe in innocent until proven guilty. If there's a fee involved, there's a brood mare I'm itching to buy. But mainly, I'm dying to find out how you plan to pull the fat out of the fire. Woody shot the senator in plain view on national TV. If helping out is the price of admission, then I'll buy a ticket.”

I looked at Maggie and then back at Micki. “I have a good antitrust practice in DC, one I'm in danger of losing if I agree to represent Woody. Besides, I don't know a thing about this state's criminal procedure or the intricacies of a death-penalty case.”