When Men Betray (19 page)

“Except that Lucy's not Russell's executor. I've seen Russell's will as part of the opposition-research project—his executor is Janis Harold, nice and neat.”

Lucy was going to be one unhappy camper. “Lucy wants those files. I suspect her lawyer told her she needs you to release them to her sooner rather than later. She also hinted that she might support leniency if you promise not to write a book. She's trying to get your signature and silence in exchange for mercy.”

Woody looked thoughtful. “I'll sign whatever she wants, but I don't want her mercy. Hell, Russell would have hung me himself if he'd lived. He never commuted a death sentence as governor. He worried
it might cost him a vote. Tell her she can have her research if she wants it, but she ought to leave it alone. Lucy and I never got along, but I wish her no ill will. Give her my word that, in the short time I'm alive, I won't write a book.”

That hadn't turn out the way I'd hoped. “Then I take it what's in your file cabinet is not the opposition research?”

“Nope, you're not even warm.”

“The state troopers—or at least, according to your mom, they appeared to be state troopers—confiscated your computer and file cabinet.”

No reaction. I tried another avenue. “Cheryl has been on TV a lot.” Woody raised his eyebrows. “She referred to you as a hanger-on, verbally abusive. She said your marriage had no passion. You weren't interested in sex.”

He laughed out loud. “Not interested? No passion? That's good. Poor Cheryl, she must need money again. She must not have gotten my last check.”

“She said you did drugs. She implied that Russell was about to fire you.”

“He was.”

“What do you mean? You were his right arm. Russell was nothing without you.”

“Let it go, Jack.”

“Well, I have to turn over the key, your note, and the locker's contents to Sam.”

“Go ahead. They won't mean a thing to Sam.”

“I've engaged a lawyer to help you—Micki Lawrence. Do you know her?”

“No, but don't waste your money. I don't need a lawyer.”

“If you don't have a lawyer, the court will appoint one for you. She's worth the fee I'm going to pay her to keep some doofus from being appointed.”

Woody shook his head and sighed. “Okay, if you're so determined, I'll pay her. Mom's got my checkbook, and you can write a check on my account. I gave you my power of attorney the day before the shooting. I have money. In fact, I have over two hundred thousand dollars in my checking account, plus several large CDs. Everything
else is in a trust for Mom, Cheryl, and Beth. Janis Harold has all the documents. I named you trustee and executor. You'll see.” He looked downright smug.

“Two hundred thousand dollars? What's going on, Woody? You never had any money.”

“No, I never
spent
any money. Cheryl always accused me of being a tightwad. I tried to pay Mom rent after I moved back in, but she wouldn't have it, so I just kept socking it all away. The trust provides for Mom for the rest of her life. I've also taken care of Cheryl. She's going to be shocked, happy, and pissed, all at the same time. I provide tuition, books, and a nice allowance for Beth for the rest of her college and graduate school. The re—“

I interrupted him. “No, Woody! I am very capable of—”

“I know you're very capable. But Beth is the closest thing I have to a daughter, and I don't have any other relatives to speak of. I want to do this, Jack. … Please, let me do this.”

We locked eyes for a few seconds—the reality was suddenly overwhelming. I blinked first.

Woody cleared his throat and continued. “The remaining income of the trust goes to a charitable foundation to fund environmental projects with you, then Beth, as trustee. I thought I'd be dead when y'all found out, but it doesn't matter. The trust is irrevocable. There's plenty of cash in the bank to pay the lawyer and to help Mom.”

“Wait a minute. You couldn't have that kind of money, even if you had saved every penny you made.”

“Actually, I do. I had an investment strategy that went like this. If I hated a company for their environmental policies, their destruction of Main Street, or their greedy and unethical practices, I bought their stock. Initially, I did it so I could attend their meetings and harass them as a stockholder. But I noticed the value of my small portfolio kept getting bigger. The worse the company, the more its stock rose. Cheryl's going to shit a brick when she finds out how much money I have. She'd never have left me.”

“Don't you want to change your trust now? Cheryl's been pretty awful.”

“Couldn't if I wanted to—it's ironclad. I made Janis promise, and when it comes to legal documents, she's a regular Clarence Darrow.
When Cheryl gets over being pissed, she'll understand and be grateful. As to what she said, based on what you tell me, she didn't lie. Like Obi-Wan said, she just told the truth from a different point of view. As far as being asexual, she knows the truth. I was a stud.” He grinned like the old Woody for a second. “I have many regrets, but taking care of Cheryl is not one of them.”

Woody's story had grown more bizarre by the minute, and I was running out of time. I told him he would be arraigned on Tuesday morning and that I would meet the judge tomorrow afternoon.

When I asked him what I could tell the judge, he said, “It's simple. Tell him I'm ready to be executed.”

“It's not that easy. We don't just let people die in this country. They'll put you through tests to check your sanity, there'll be groups who take up your cause, and I can't advocate your death. You can't ask that of me.”

“I'm not. Remember, I used to be one of those folks. I'd be raising money, carrying placards, and filing appeals—all that stuff. But I killed a US senator in cold blood. My execution is an easy call.”

“I don't know … you've thrown me a lot of curves, Woody. I need some time to think. But right now, we have to go over a few other things, because they're not going to let me see you again before Tuesday.”

As I went down my checklist, I thought of something. “Do you know why anyone wouldn't want me around—someone who might go to great lengths to frighten me out of town?”

Woody grew very still, no longer fiddling with the handcuffs. He looked around the room warily and then leaned in. “Okay—it doesn't change anything, but I've uncovered some pretty serious shit over the last few weeks. If the wrong people knew I'd found out what they're up to, they'd probably want me dead, but not you.”

I snorted at his naiveté. “Unless they thought you'd tell me and I'd bring it out in public. Like, at your trial? Somebody tried to run me over yesterday. I mean run me over with a car, for God's sake, and a note threatening both Beth and me was waiting at the hotel when we got here. I'm being followed, and someone is trying to bug our rooms. What's going on, Woody?”

He paled and pushed away from the table, suddenly near panic. “Jack, you need to go home. Take Beth and leave. If people think you
know what I found out, you're in real danger. I'm begging you. Please, go home.”

“Now do you see why it's important? Tell me what you discovered, Woody.”

He shook his head emphatically. “No, it's important you
don't
know. If you and Beth go home right now, you'll be safe. Everyone will hear me plead guilty and ask for the death penalty. They'll know you don't have any idea what I know. It's the only way.”

“Sorry, can't do that. With or without your help, I'm staying. But I will make you a deal. I have a great bodyguard, and we've all got twenty-four-hour security. I'll be careful. If I can't figure it out on my own, I'll stand with you and watch you plead guilty and then go home. But let's say I find something that helps me understand what's going on. Will you trust me enough to give me the next thirty-six hours to change your mind?”

Woody was still upset, but he was thinking. “You'll give up and go home if you don't find anything by Tuesday?”

I nodded yes.

“I really wish you'd leave now.”

“Well, I'm not going to. Do we have a deal?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

Some of the color had returned to Woody's face. He gave me a ghost of a smile. “Please be careful.”

The guard banged on the door. “Time's up.” He barged in, put the leg irons back on Woody, and led him away.

It had all happened so fast; I wasn't quite sure what I had agreed to do or what was coming next. But I knew one thing—like the June Carter song says, “Time's a wastin'.”

A
PPARENTLY
,
THE DEPUTY
prosecuting attorney had told Sam that I had something for him, because he was pacing outside the door of the interview room. He was wearing a jogging outfit and running shoes that had seen better days.

“I thought I told you to go home.”

I was in no mood for his temper. “You'll get your wish soon enough. Sorry to delay your run, but I thought you'd want this.” I handed him the large envelope that contained the note, the key, and the contents of the locker.

He opened the envelope impatiently. The key fell to the floor. “What's this?” he asked, as he picked it up.

“The key is to a locker at the train station. Helen found that and the note in her kitchen the morning of the shooting. I read the note, wasn't sure what to do with it, so I had it copied and I'm delivering the original and the key to you. The DVD and the figurine were in the locker.”

Sam read the note and frowned. “The note looks like a bunch of gibberish. It makes no sense. I assume you're giving it to me because you think you can prove Woody's crazy?”

I remained silent.

“Just tell me what the goddamn note means, Jack.”

“I honestly don't know. I haven't had time to research Goldsmith.”

“Don't get cute. You just spent an hour with Woody, and you're telling me you don't know what it means?”

“I have no fucking idea what it means.”

“What about the locker contents?
Jerry Maguire
and this little, uh, statue.”

“Same answer.”

“Right, sure. Why get me down here for this crap?”

I was hot and getting hotter by the minute. “I didn't get you down here. I told your deputy I'd give it to you tomorrow. I assume you haven't found Woody's computer or his file cabinet and you've figured out that it wasn't the state troopers who took them. So surely you get why I wasn't about to turn this over to a stranger.”

We both paused, unsure how to proceed and afraid to go too far. Sam blew out air and relented. “Okay, you're right—either the troopers are playing games, or someone else wanted what Woody had on his computer. I don't know who yet, but I'm going to find out. I'm sorry, Jack. I've got few enough friends in this job. I sure don't need to piss off the ones I have left.”

He held out his hand, and I shook it. “Please tell Helen I hope we weren't rough on her. What's the deal, by the way? You've hired Les, but you told my deputy you'd meet with the judge tomorrow.”

“Les Butterman has
not
been hired,” I said emphatically.

“Well, he told me he had to get a check for it to be official, but he seemed pretty sure of himself. He already wants to discuss a plea. I was a little surprised you'd sleep with that hound. A deal is going to be a stretch. Everyone is calling for Woody's head. Like I said, I've got a US attorney who's dying to take over the case. Now I have a whole crowd of people and press who think I'm going soft if I agree to life without parole.”

He hesitated and looked away for a moment. Although I wanted to jump in and straighten him out about that jackass Butterman, I let him go on—I wanted to hear what was making him so uncomfortable.

“I know you met with Lucy. I assume you're trying to get her support for mercy, but that won't work. It'll make her look good, but it doesn't get me anything but a rail out of town. I admire your loyalty, but tell Les and Lucy to back off—Les is going to have to earn his fee
on this one. The jury may show Woody mercy, but I have to ask for justice, and in this case, that means execution.”

I tried to keep my cool, but I was pissed. “Let me be clear. Les Butterman is not, nor will he ever be, Woody's attorney. He doesn't speak for Woody, Helen, or me, and if he indicates anything to the contrary, he's lying through his teeth. What's more, I met with Lucy at her request, and she's the one who tried to make a deal for her ‘mercy,' although she'll deny it. I know you have a job to do and so do I. Let's try to be professional about it.”

“Whoa! I'd love to be a fly on the wall when Les hears he's not going to get his fee. Who'd you hire?”

“Let me have a little fun and keep that a surprise until tomorrow. Okay?”