Ginger snaps, p.8
Ginger Snaps, page 8
another bite, when Debbie pulled out little fried peach pies that were
still warm. Clovis gave a moan as he bit in. We lingered in contented
silence until my eyes drifted to the face of my watch—time to go to
the courthouse.
No press on the steps—the first tickle of apprehension. Sure, it was
Sunday, but the lord’s Day never kept a good reporter away. Clovis
had arranged to meet the deputy at the side door, but the door was
locked, and no one answered his insistent knocks. He called the dep-
uty’s cell, but only got his voice mail. They’d probably been delayed
in transit. We waited a few minutes, but after no one appeared, Clovis
called again. No answer. The tickle turned into a sinking feeling.
Micki’s face was grim. She’d had plenty of experience with deputies
who played games with her clients just for kicks. She punched in the
U.S. marshal’s cell number.
“Micki, how can I help you on this beautiful Sunday afternoon?
everything okay?” He sounded sincere, a nice enough guy.
“Bill, I’m at the courthouse. We’re supposed to meet with Dr.
Stewart, but the deputy isn’t here and doesn’t answer his phone. The
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courthouse is locked tighter than a drum. Is my client still in the
county jail? We can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Randy was supposed to have the prisoner there at one. I’ll track
him down and get right back to you. Shouldn’t be a problem, so far
as I know.”
Clovis had walked around to check the other doors, but the building
was deserted.
“There’s a bad smell here—I’d bet it’s the stench of Dub Blanchard.”
Micki said harshly.
I tried to stay positive. “The deputy couldn’t have been nicer. Maybe
they’re just running late.”
Micki’s cell rang. As she listened a deep flush crept up her neck
and her teeth clenched.
“You tell that arrogant son of a bitch he can kiss my ass! I . . . here . . .
talk to Jack!”
Micki threw the phone at my head and went storming off. I ducked
and picked it up from the shrubbery, no worse for the wear.
“Marshal, this is Jack Patterson. What’s going on?”
“Mr. Patterson, this is Bill Maroney. I’m real sorry about this. Randy,
my deputy, just told me that Dr. Stewart was involved in some sort of
altercation last night. He wasn’t hurt, but in a move of caution he was
moved to a different facility.”
“okay, so where is he? We’ll come to him.” I waited as he audibly
swallowed and cleared his throat.
“Um . . . well, apparently he’s in oklahoma City at the Federal
Prison Transfer Facility.”
“oklahoma City–you mean the federal prison at the airport.” I
struggled to keep my tone neutral.
“Yes, sir. I don’t know why they didn’t move him to the Faulkner
County jail. That’s only about thirty minutes from here. or even to
Forrest City–it’s not much further. But, well, um, no, it looks like they
flew him to oklahoma City.”
“What do you mean ‘they?’ You’re the marshal.”
“Well, that’s certainly true, but the Justice Department detailed
some deputy marshals from Fort Smith to Mr. Blanchard’s task force,
and last night they took jurisdiction over the prisoner. I didn’t know
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until just now. I mean I didn’t even know they could. one minute the
guy’s in county jail, the next thing I know he’s in oklahoma City. The
guy that told me all this, said it was done on Dub’s orders: my only
responsibility is to keep Dr. Stewart safe when he's in the courthouse.
He was pretty strong; said that mostly I should just keep out of the
way. When I said you were supposed to meet with the prisoner this
afternoon, he said that was too damn bad, and what they did or didn’t
do was none of my, uh, well ‘fucking’ business anymore. I’m repeating
his words exactly. As soon as we hang up, I’ll try to get DC to tell me
what’s going on, but for now, my hands are tied.”
“Any more good news?”
“He said if you have a problem, you’re to take it up with Mr.
Blanchard. I’m really sorry, Mr. Patterson. I have a number if you want
it. I don’t treat people this way. Micki will never trust me again.”
“oh yes, she will. What she thinks of Dub Blanchard is another
matter. You might warn your courtroom deputies to be ready. Any-
thing’s possible.”
“I wouldn’t blame her if she kicked him in his fat balls. Most folks
know better than to try to jack Micki around.”
“okay, Bill,” I sighed, ending the call after getting Dub’s number.
No sense going off on him.
Micki had returned from her walkabout, still fuming, ready to let
loose on anyone. I put my hand on her arm, and she jerked it away.
At last Clovis ventured, “So, where now?”
“Micki, did your friend say exactly where the new task force is head-
quartered?” I asked.
“No, but it’s bound to be downtown. It can’t be too hard to figure
out.”
I punched in the number Maroney had given me for Dub.
“Dub Blanchard, please.”
“May I say who is calling?”
“Jack Patterson.” No need to elaborate.
The woman came back on line in seconds. “Can he call you back?
He’s in a meeting.”
“No, he needn’t bother. I’ll be at his office in five minutes.”
I hung up.
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“Clovis, pick the newest, most expensive building downtown, if
there is one. Five’ll get you ten that’s where they’ve set up shop. Micki
and I will try to get past security while you call Walter’s pilot. Find
out if he can be ready to go to oklahoma City in thirty minutes. The
transfer facility is right there at the airport. They even have those jet
ways a plane can pull up to just like at a regular airport terminal.”
We pulled up to the only new building in downtown little Rock,
twelve stories of glass and steel. I knew we had the right building
because a guy who clearly wasn’t a banker stood outside the entrance
talking to two armed men wearing blue vests labeled “U.S. Marshal.”
These guys have no reason to be discreet.
As we got out of the Tahoe, I held Micki back. “I know you want to
deck someone, but you catch more flies with honey. let me try it my
way, okay?”
She gave in with a scowl. “I’ll be good, but if this doesn’t work . . ."
I smiled, kissed her cheek, and whispered. “Did I ever tell you how
much I love you when you scowl?”
“Jack...” A glimmer of a smile crossed her face.
I walked up to the clean-cut, fortyish-looking man—with his white
oxford shirt, loose tie, cuffed, dark slacks, and running shoes, he
could have been a Mormon missionary–and stuck my hand out.
“Hi. I’m Jack Patterson. I’m here to see Dub.” I tried to walk for-
ward but one of the burly marshals stepped in to block my way.
“He’s in a meeting, unavailable,” Mr. White Shirt said without a
smile.
“I know that. I can wait.”
“Sorry, he’s simply not available.”
“Neither is my client. That’s why I’m here. I need to prepare him
for tomorrow’s arraignment, but I understand he’s in oklahoma
City. I can be at the federal prison in less than an hour, but I want to
make sure he’ll be available when I get there. Marshal Maroney said I
should take this up with Mr. Blanchard. Since he won’t take my calls,
I thought I’d take it up with him in person.” I smiled kindly—like I
would to a cable guy who was five hours late.
He didn’t budge an inch.
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“You’re correct; the prisoner isn’t here. He was moved because
we’re concerned for his personal safety. Mr. Blanchard will tell you
tomorrow when you’ll be allowed to see Dr. Stewart, not before.”
Micki couldn’t hold back. “We have a right to see our client. What
do you mean by ‘allowing us to see?’” she demanded hotly. “You—”
I held out my hand to catch Micki’s arm. “I didn’t catch your
name.” I asked.
“Jim Bullock, assistant U.S. attorney.” He stood a little straighter.
“Well, Jim, you’re denying me access to my client. I’ve told you I’m
willing to charter a plane, but you tell me that even if I do, I will be
denied access to my client. Is that correct? I want to get this straight.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Jim Bullock is telling me I may not talk to my
client either in person or by phone?”
I hoped by getting personal I’d at least get an audience with Dub.
Most junior lawyers would back down to the point of checking.
His eyes narrowed. “I repeat that Dr. Stewart is unavailable today.
Mr. Blanchard will inform you when and under what circumstances
you may see the prisoner. Mr. Blanchard has meetings scheduled all
afternoon. His schedule is quite full just now. This building is closed
and our offices are off-limits to uninvited visitors. Do I make myself
clear?”
“very clear. May I at least inquire as to the condition of my client?
I understand there was an altercation last night. Is he okay? Is he iso-
lated from the other prisoners?”
Jim knew he had the upper hand. “When the prisoner left little
Rock he appeared to be unharmed. Any other questions concerning
his condition or the nature of his housing should be made through
channels to the Bureau of Prisons.”
Now it was Micki’s turn to hold me back.
“I wish I could say you’ve been helpful. But in fact, you’ve been a
real pain in the ass. Tell Dub I’ll see him tomorrow. I hope he’s ready.”
Bullock finally managed a real smile.
“oh, he’s ready, all right.”
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D
I opened the door of the Tahoe for Micki. She was seething. I was
just plain pissed. Clovis had the sense to keep quiet.
“Jack, one of these days you’re going to hold out your hand to calm
me down one too many times, and I’m going to chop it off. That
bastard couldn’t even look at me? Misogynist pig! How in the hell are
they going to get Doug back for the arraignment? Dub is jerking us
around. He’s not in oklahoma City. They’ve probably got him at a
safe house near the courthouse. I can’t begin to imagine what this is
all about—what on earth are they up to?”
I had a feeling I knew exactly what they were up to.
“Micki, if it’s okay with you, why don’t we drop you off at your
office—you’ve got a lot of paperwork to prepare. I need to tell liz
what happened. Clovis, if I promise liz will behave, will you join us
for dinner?”
“only if you promise.” He was dead serious.
“Micki, I’m sorry about the hand thing. old habits die hard, and
those marshals were hoping you’d light into Bullock. Assault an assis-
tant U.S. attorney, and you will land in jail.”
She didn’t like it, but knew I was right. She reached over to squeeze
my hand, and I realized the time had come to fish or cut bait.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to be your second chair, at least for
now.”
She gave me a sweet smile as she opened the door.
“As you said to me once before, no second chair. We’re partners.
But don’t get any other ideas.”
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“of course.” I could see Clovis trying not to laugh. Right.
“What about liz? Does she need security tonight? What with every-
thing else you’ve got to tell her, is this a good time?” he asked, as we
watched Micki go into her office.
“There won’t ever be a good time. You’re going to join us for
dinner. Why don’t you ask her bodyguard to come as well? She’s here
waiting, right?”
“What makes you think it’s a she?”
“liz makes you nervous. You don’t think you can trust liz around
another guy. I figured if you’d found just the right person, she had to
be a female. Besides, earlier you slipped and used the word ‘her.’
“look–my gut tells me Doug’s arrest is bigger than drugs-–he said as
much. I’ll bet you two doughnuts he’s not in a safe house: they really
did fly him to oklahoma City. They want him miserable, scared, and
willing to say or do anything. oklahoma City is the Federal Transfer
Facility. The Bureau has adopted the Federal express approach to
inmate transfer. Prisoners are handled like chain-wrapped packages.
Almost every federal inmate who is moved from one jail to another
goes to oKC and then out again. Prisoners aren’t there long enough
to get phone privileges or mail. The Bureau of Prisons won’t even
acknowledge who’s there. That’s why Bullock referred me to them.
Your cellmate can be some poor guy who’s in for a minor drug offense
or a skinhead doing life.
“A lawyer friend of mine, convicted of a petty, white-collar crime,
went through exactly this ordeal. He told me about it over a beer—
called it ‘diesel therapy.’ He barely escaped with his life. I remember
he said, ‘one more night, and I wouldn’t be telling you a thing; I’d be
dead.’ It’s a terrible way to treat anyone. Thank God, it’s never hap-
pened to any of my clients.”
I dreaded breaking the news to liz.
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“I’m on time,” liz announced brightly, jumping up from a couch as
we walked into the hotel lobby.
“That you are. Come on, let’s find a table in the bar.” Clovis opted
to stay in the lobby, muttering that he needed to make some calls.
I asked the waiter for a couple of Diet Cokes, but liz interrupted,
insisting on a Silver Patron margarita. Ah, what the hell. So far nothing
had gone right, and it clearly wasn’t about to get easier. So I ordered
a margarita, and we made small talk until our drinks arrived. She told
me about her decorating efforts and the hassles she’d had with the
caterer for her party. She’d been able to get the club, but . . .
“enough with the party, liz, I need to tell you about this afternoon.
As far as I know, Doug is okay.”
“What do you mean, as far as you know?” Her breezy attitude
vanished.
“I didn’t get to see him. The marshals have moved him to a prison
transfer facility in oklahoma City.”
I braced myself, ready for some kind of outburst, but nothing hap-
pened. She bit her lip, and her face began to quiver. Gripping her drink
with shaky hands, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.
Finally she looked up and said quietly, “Tell me everything.”
I explained what had happened at the courthouse and outside the
office building. I gave her the highlights of Micki’s call to her friend
at the U.S. attorney’s office. I didn’t want to frighten her about condi-
tions at oklahoma City, but I didn’t sugarcoat it either. She took it all
in, asking questions about how this might affect the arraignment and
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whether Doug could still get out on bond. She took it without crying
or hysterics. I started to compliment her, but she stopped me abruptly.
“Thanks, but don’t. order me another margarita. Don’t worry—I
won’t lose it. I told you at breakfast. Southern women don’t make
scenes in public. Don’t kid yourself: I’m scared to death. You think
Doug will be in court tomorrow. I don’t. You say he’s safe. I’m not so
sure. The only reason I have to think this might turn out all right is
that you’re here.
“I thought Doug was being dramatic when he warned me that
things would get really bad. But he also thought you would show up,
and you two would figure it all out. everything Doug told me could
happen is happening, so maybe, just maybe, I’ll get through this.” She
produced a weak smile.
It didn’t seem like the best time to ask her what else Doug had
