The Plinko Bounce, page 15
“You, though, Andy, are the exception to the rule. You’re suddenly front-page news, and you are a phenomenal, brilliant attorney.”
“Keep going, D.” Andy grinned. “Don’t stop.”
“My firm wants to establish a full-service, robust criminal-defense practice. We’re just kind of dabbling right now, hit and miss. Last we talked, you mentioned leaving here. How about you come and work with us?”
“Say what?” Andy blurted.
“We’ll put you in a corner office, top floor, pay you half a million a year to start, make you a partner after fifteen months, and give you a three-percent equity share. Health care and retirement, of course. In five years, you’ll be taking home two mil, easy. As a bonus, you’ll definitely be representing a better class of criminal, you’ll be appreciated, and you won’t have impossible caseloads to manage.”
“You’re serious?” Andy asked.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“So…I’d have to relocate to Richmond?” Andy rocked his chair forward. The springs creaked.
“Yes. And leave Southside and all its charms and opportunity behind. We’d also expect you to travel occasionally. We have offices in Norfolk, Abingdon and DC.”
“Wow…damn, thanks. I have a girlfriend here and a dog, but the big, critical variable is my boy, my son. Noah. He lives nearby, and right now there’s a lot of upheaval in his life. I don’t want to make matters worse for him, and I don’t want to surrender a single, solitary second with him. He spends half his time with me, and that’s the highlight of my life. He’s an amazing kid.”
“Listen, Andy, you’d be in Richmond, three hours away. Not Shanghai. Your son might benefit from an occasional visit to the state’s capitol, where we have all grades of experiences not available in Martinsville or Henry County.”
“I’m grateful, D, I am. Thanks. It’s a tremendous offer, and I appreciate it. Let me think on it for a few days, okay? And, no matter what, I won’t be leaving this office until February, unless I finish Damian Bullins’s case before then.”
“Understood,” DeMarcus said. “I’ve not formally taken this to my firm yet, but I’ve talked with several partners, and I feel certain we can make a deal happen. We’d be honored to have you on board, and it’ll be a great, and lucrative, fit for everyone.”
•••
By Thursday, a laggard hot spell was dawdling across most of Virginia. Andy left work a few minutes before five with plans for a long gym visit, assuming the machines and treadmills weren’t too crowded and the obnoxious toad who grunted and groaned and volcanoed spit with every repetition wasn’t there. He’d survived fifteen cold-turkey days without a cigarette, and the tobacco demon was losing its grip on him, or so it seemed. Whistling and happy, he was still a ways from his Jeep when he noticed the lady, and she was staring directly at him, walking with purpose and clearly intending to cut him off.
“Mr. Hughes,” she said, the two words oddly casual. She was nicely dressed in a blazer, white blouse, jeans and fashionable, no-regrets shoes. “Could I please speak with you?”
“Sorry,” Andy answered. “I don’t think I recognize you. Is this about a case?”
“We’ve never met, and yes, it’s about a case. My sister’s case. Alicia Benson’s case.”
She was stopped in front of him, now only an arm’s length distant, and he was boxed in by a row of cars on his right. He was nonplussed, didn’t answer immediately. “You realize, ma’am,” he finally said, “I represent the defendant charged with her murder.”
She smirked, but it softened into a wan smile. “Yeah, Mr. Hughes. Of course I know who you are and that your client, Damian Bullins, murdered my baby sister.”
Andy reflexively checked her hands for weapons and then darted his eyes to her waistband.
“My mace is in my purse, which is in the car.”
“Okay,” he said. “Good.” He glanced over his shoulder at his office. “Would you like to go inside?”
“No. If I’d wanted to schedule an appointment, I wouldn’t be approaching you in the parking lot. This’ll do just fine, and I prefer speaking here to a more visible, on-the-record meeting. For a number of reasons.”
“Okay, and so we’re on the same page, you’re definitely aware my job is to do all I can ethically and legally to help my client, Damian Bullins? Normally, you should speak with the commonwealth’s attorney if you have questions or information about the case.” A lady from a Main Street shop walked past, spoke to Andy, and aimed her key fob at a SUV.
“Since I have a doctorate degree and manage a company with four hundred employees, you can rest assured I understand the basics of the criminal justice system.”
“You mind telling me your name?”
“Audrey Clayton. I kept my maiden name when I married.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. Clayton?” Andy asked. “Why’re you here?”
The sun was beginning to pin her down, and she sidestepped to avoid the glare. “I’m here, Mr. Hughes, because shit rolls downhill. You mentioned Heather Farris to Arlie Hatch, who told my brother-in-law, who then discussed her with me, among other topics.”
“Ah, plumbers’ rules. Do you know the rest of the guidance?”
“Sorry?” She tightened her expression.
“Basic rules of plumbing: Hot goes on the left, cold on the right, and shit rolls downhill.”
“Thanks for the tutorial,” she said.
“You’re suggesting, ma’am, Cole Benson sent you to waylay me so we can chat about Miss Farris?”
“Believe me, Cole didn’t send me,” she replied emphatically. “He’d never involve me.” She moved again to dodge the sun. “How’d you discover Heather?”
“Honestly,” Andy answered, “social services received an anonymous tip. From a woman. Could be you, I suppose. Are you our secret caller?”
“I’m not, but I’m pretty certain I know who is.” A kid with a cell phone stuck against his ear passed by her.
“If Cole Benson didn’t encourage you to—”
She pointed at him and interrupted. “I’m here to remind you my sister left behind four darling girls and to inform you Alicia was well acquainted with Cole’s adultery and tolerated it, even, you might say, incorporated the infidelity into her life.” She lowered her index finger. “She considered it a ‘for worse’ occurrence covered by her marital vows and was determined to overcome it, no matter what. She loved Cole, and Cole, strange as it might sound, loved her. Loved her on his own terms, obviously. Me, I’d have castrated him, and I thought the whole situation was insane, but my sister accepted it as a powerful man’s foible and an impediment she’d be able to endure if need be.”
“How, pray tell, do you come to such a place in a marriage?”
“Well, say what you will, there’s still some vestige of ‘sister wives’ in their wacky, golden-tablets religion. But Cole never misled her. He told her right from the jump he was seeing another woman, and he convinced her that she and the children would always be his number-one priority—”
“Seems to be a lot of that going around,” Andy remarked.
“Pardon?”
“A friend of mine recently had a very similar experience with her wealthy husband,” Andy explained. “But he’s a Presbyterian doctor—no golden tablets or New York parlays with angels.”
“At any rate,” she said, “as unfair and unfortunate as the situation was for my sister, Cole Benson had the best of both worlds, and no motive to hurt Alicia. None. Zero. From my perspective—”
“It’s always possible she had a change of heart and gave him an ultimatum.”
“From my perspective,” Audrey continued, “Cole was a wretched, selfish, hypocritical husband, but he didn’t kill my sister—there was no ‘change of heart’—and your trying to sell that defense for your soulless client will gain you nothing and perhaps only push the oldest girl, Clara, who’s sixteen, almost seventeen, into further confusion. Thanks to the Internet and its ugly gossip and speculation, and thanks to Cole’s boneheaded, rushed introduction of his concubine to his daughters, Clara’s convinced her dad might not be the man she once thought, and she’s extremely angry with him.”
“Tough situation,” Andy said.
Audrey hesitated until Andy looked her in the face. “Most important, she’s motivated by a hope she and her sisters can come and live with me and my husband. I imagine she believes revealing her dad as a past adulterer and current sinner might help her chances of leaving him and staying with me, especially with the church community.”
“She’s my tipster?”
“I’d wager she is, Mr. Hughes.”
Andy cocked his head. “And your reason—”
“My reason for this visit,” she declared, “is to promise that, if need be, I’ll eagerly raise my right hand and tell a jury exactly what I just told you. If you make Cole out to be a murderer, I’ll fight the idea tooth and nail. He was an unfaithful husband, but, one, he cared for my sister and he loves his kids, and, two, she was irreplaceable—Cole was a 1950s, never-changed-a-diaper breadwinner, and now he’s left without a maid, cook, homework tutor, chauffeur, landscaper and business-party hostess. The girls are miserable, lost, and completely overwhelming him.”
“You understand, Ms. Clayton, my sworn duty is to raise any legitimate evidence—”
“Regardless of who is ruined as collateral damage,” she finished the thought.
“Exactly. Wish it were otherwise.”
“Which is why I came here. I realize your allegiance is to your client, not four girls you’ve never met. My pitch to you isn’t moral, it’s legal. If—if—Cole’s adultery has become part of your defense, I’m telling you I’ll blow you out of the water in court. Simple as that. Don’t try it.”
“I understand,” Andy replied. He was peering at the pavement. He noticed ants swarming a speck of bread crust. “Do you want the kids to live with you?”
“Yes, absolutely. I do. Right now, it’s in their best interest.”
“Suddenly we have lots of motives, twists, crosscurrents and leverage in the math, Ms. Clayton.”
“I have only one motive,” she said abruptly. “Doing right by my sister’s children.”
“Later, Andy,” Curtis Matthews shouted as he was crossing the street. “Take care.”
Andy briefly waved at Curtis but didn’t say anything. “I don’t doubt that,” he assured Audrey. “Before you go, if I could, I’d like to ask you something. How did an African-American lady like your sister wind up in the Mormon Church and married to Cole Benson?”
“Alicia and I were placed in Chicago foster care—never knew our dad, and our mom lost custody when I was four and Alicia was only two. Alicia was born drug-positive. We were both adopted by the Claytons, devout Mormons, who are some of the best people I’ve ever known. We love them with our full hearts. We were raised in Nauvoo, Illinois, the middle of nowhere, in the Latter-day Saints community. There’s much to recommend the LDS faith and culture—honesty, family, hard work, clean living, sobriety and self-sacrifice. There’s also much I find discouraging as an adult Black woman.”
“I didn’t mean to come off as hostile toward Mormons or their beliefs,” Andy noted. “I apologize if it seemed I was being critical. You just don’t see many Black Mormons, especially in a mixed marriage.”
“Our parents, the Claytons, are White, so it’s possible that’s why the notion wasn’t completely foreign to my sister.”
“By all accounts,” Andy said, “Alicia was an admirable lady in every respect. I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances.”
“She was pure, unalloyed goodness. Angelic. A joy. I’d left the church far behind by my sophomore year of college at Marquette, but for whatever reason, Alicia found even greater comfort in the LDS doctrines, and as the years progressed, especially after she met Cole, she lived a content, simple life of decency, devoted to her kids, her marriage and her faith.”
Andy didn’t speak. He put his hands in his pockets, struggled for words that didn’t come.
“And, of course,” Audrey’s voice cracked, overloaded with anger, “despite all her praying and sacrifice and her godly heart and pious beliefs, she’s dead, her throat slashed, while a swaggering sinner like Cole Benson roams the earth with his dumbass girlfriend and your client, a life-long criminal, catches what many would term ‘divine intervention’ and receives the break of all breaks in court, inching him closer to truly getting away with murder.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
October 12 was Columbus Day, and Peter Morley was scheduled to attend a pig-pickin’ fundraiser at noon, then he was filming a campaign commercial for regional TV, and he was speaking to a Rotary Club at six, so it was eight o’clock at night, overcast and blustery, when he met Andy at the Dunford County commonwealth’s attorney’s office. “You’d think the dimwit would be driving here to Martinsville with his hat in hand,” Kellie had remarked as Andy was loading an ecstatic Patches for the ninety-minute trip.
Several people were in the lobby when Andy and the dog arrived, all of them, it appeared, dedicated to Morley’s senate race, and they were cold-calling voters, folding glossy mailers, and typing up a storm on a bank of laptops. The staffers were friendly, especially with Patches, but there wasn’t a mask in sight, nothing but bare noses and mouths, and Andy hurried past them and located Morley, who was pacing his office and jabbering on his cellphone. He waved and beckoned Andy into the room. Andy only entered far enough to shut the door, and he instructed Patches to sit, tweaked his leash.
Morley kept Andy waiting there, ignored, until he finished the call. “Sorry, but that was Congressman Arnold—been trying to connect with him for a week.” He tossed the phone onto his desk. “Pull up a chair, and let’s see what we can do about this Bullins case. Beautiful dog, by the way. What’s his name?”
“Thanks, Pete, but my mask and Patches and I will just stay socially distanced over here.”
“Faith over fear,” Morley declared. “But I completely respect your decision to cover your face. That’s your right, same as I have my right to choose.”
“Whatever.” Andy didn’t conceal his irritation.
“Hey, listen, you were kind enough to drive from Martinsville to meet with me, and if it’ll make you more comfortable, I’m happy to wear a covering.” He opened a desk drawer, located a cloth mask with an American flag motif, removed its plastic wrapper, and put it on. “Brand new,” he said. “No problem.”
Andy and Patches didn’t budge. “Thanks for the accommodation.”
Morley plopped down behind his desk. He unbuttoned a cuff and rolled his shirt sleeve to his elbow. “So you’ll be aware, I’ve drafted a request to the Court of Appeals to allow a late filing. We’re optimistic they’ll grant it.” He rolled the other sleeve as well.
“I’m optimistic they won’t,” Andy calmly replied. “Let me tell you where we are and what we have. Ordinarily, I’d keep this quiet and land-mine you at trial. But, your knowing our facts isn’t going to change them or give you any tactical advantage, and I’m fairly certain Mr. Benson and his private counsel already have an idea what’s coming. Have you spoken with either of them lately?”
“Uh, no. I think Cole left a couple messages, but I wanted to meet with you so I’d have a clear picture before I talked to him. I did have my secretary email to let him know about this discussion. I’ll definitely reach out to him tomorrow.”
“Here’s the short version, Pete. We can prove Benson was having an affair with a young woman by the name of Heather. We can prove his wife became aware of this affair—”
“Whoa!” Morley blurted. “Cole Benson was cheating on his wife? Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Andy answered. “Why don’t you ask him about it when you return his call tomorrow? I understand social services, trying to be fair, also gave you the same tip and info we used to track down the girlfriend.”
“Well…uh, that’s unfortunate, and surprising, but it doesn’t much matter for our case. So what if he was?” Morley shrugged. “As for tips and leads, we’ve had more than I can count. Can’t chase them all.”
“Bullins contends Cole Benson in fact killed Mrs. Benson, and Bullins says he confessed only to take the blame off Benson. Benson promised Bullins money, which would go to Bullins’s son, and we can prove Benson made the first payment.”
Morley wrinkled his forehead. “None of that makes any sense,” he scoffed. “No sense at all, Andy. I mean, hell, the last person I’d hire to help me conceal a murder is Damian Bullins. And why involve anyone else to begin with? I’d just kill her and create an alibi and keep my mouth shut.”
“Husband’s always the prime suspect,” Andy answered, his response practiced and the best he could concoct. “Cole would have a black cloud ruining his reputation and business. He’d suffer a high-profile, open murder investigation that would last forever, and he always ran the risk news of his girlfriend would surface and he’d be under even more scrutiny.”
Morley raised his hands, flipped up his palms. “What do you accomplish by getting paid for taking the fall if you wind up in jail?”
“My client thought he had terminal cancer, and this was a chance to finally support his son. From Cole Benson’s perspective, the cancer meant his accomplice wouldn’t be around to double-cross him. Apparently, Benson made the first payment, then welched on the deal. After some medical tests, it turns out the growth in Bullins’s belly wasn’t malignant.”
“Sounds crazy,” Morley said. “Ridiculous. Impossible. I look forward to shredding your client when he takes the stand to tell such a flimsy lie.”
