Injustice for all

55

The private jet that has carried the governor of Tennessee to Tri-Cities Regional Airport has been pulled into a hangar about a quarter mile from the main terminal. Bates pulls inside the huge opening slowly. Three men in suits-the governor’s security detail-are waiting. They talk to us briefly, wave wands over our bodies, and then lead us across the floor to a set of steps that ascends to the interior of the plane.

I’m a bit startled by the luxury, and by the space, once we get inside. An attractive young woman gives us a brief introduction to the pilot, shows us the kitchenette and the bar and the soft, reclining leather seats-three on each side of the aisle. There’s a flat-screen television on the wall in front of the seats and two computer workstations behind. She leads us down a short hallway past the bathrooms to the back of the plane, opens a door, motions us inside, and closes the door behind us.

James Lincoln Donner III, the governor of Tennessee, is standing behind a sprawling oak desk. I’ve never met Donner, but I know he’s a multimillionaire from Nashville who made his money the old-fashioned way-he inherited it. Donner is the first Democrat to hold the office in sixteen years, but he wasn’t elected because of any noble ideal he represented or because of a rock-solid political platform. He was elected because the two Republican administrations that preceded him used the state treasury as their personal piggy banks. I remember reading a quote from Donner during his campaign in which he said corruption was so rampant at the state capitol in Nashville that his first order of business would be to go into the Senate and House chambers with a fire hose and clean them both out.

I’m surprised by the governor’s size as he walks around his desk to embrace Bates. He looks much bigger on television. Considerably under six feet tall, he’s wearing a tailored gray suit with white shirt and navy blue tie. His hair is chestnut brown and cut short. His cheeks are oddly hollow. His eyes are gray-like Lee Mooney’s.

“Leon, so good to see you,” he says as he pats Bates’s shoulders after he releases the hug. “Is this your man?”

“Sure is,” Bates says. “Joe Dillard, meet Governor Jim Donner.”

“Governor,” I say as he shakes my hand vigorously.

“A pleasure, Mr. Dillard,” he says, “or should I say General Dillard?”

“Call me Joe, please. I never made it past sergeant, anyway.”

“Yes, a veteran,” he says. “We’ve put together a file on you. Hope you don’t mind. It says you were a Ranger, combat experience, decorated with a Silver Star in Grenada.”

“That was a long time ago, sir.”

“Leon here tells me you’re as honest as anyone he’s ever met. Says you’re a helluva lawyer, too. Just the kind of man we need under these trying circumstances.”

“I have my reservations, to be perfectly honest, but I’m willing to try.”

The governor walks back around the desk and sits in a leather swivel chair. He motions to us to do the same, and I notice he’s looking down on us. He’s obviously installed a platform under his seat to make himself appear taller. I want to snicker or say something, but I know Bates will kick me in the balls if I do. The governor picks up a file in front of him.

“Let’s see here. Born in Johnson City, father was killed in Vietnam, raised by your mother. One sister, Sarah, who seems to have had some problems with the law.” He glances up at Bates and then back down at the file. “Graduated Science Hill High School. Then joined the army. Decorated, honorable discharge. Then graduated East Tennessee State University and the University of Tennessee College of Law. Practiced both as a defense attorney and a prosecutor. Married to the same woman for twenty-two years. Two children, both in college. With the exception of your sister, you’re perfect.”

“My sister won’t be a problem, sir.”

“Let’s hope not.”

He turns back to Bates.

“You’ve spoken to the outgoing district attorney?”

“Just came from his house, Governor,” Bates says.

“Any problems?”

“He was too drunk to give us any guff. I have his resignation right here.”

Bates hands the paper across the desk, and the governor reads it out loud.

“ ‘ I hereby tender my resignation as Attorney General of the First Judicial District, effective immediately. ’ Short and sweet, signed and dated. I wonder what he’ll tell his wife.”

“That’s the least of his problems,” Bates says. “By the time I get through with him, he’s gonna have to leave the state.”

“Republicans,” the governor says. “Just can’t seem to keep their peckers in their pants, huh?”

I want to say something-something about Hannah and what a beautiful human being she was, something to remind him of what this is really about. It isn’t about sexual misconduct. It isn’t about Republicans and Democrats. It’s about a public official being responsible for a murder, and I don’t appreciate his cavalier attitude. But this is Bates’s show. I keep my mouth shut.

“I don’t think the inability to keep the pecker in the pants is an affliction that’s unique to Republicans,” Bates says. “Ever heard of Bill Clinton? Eliot Spitzer? Gary Hart?”

“Ah, touche, my friend, touche.”

The governor turns to me.

“So, Joe, I understand you’re not particularly interested in politics.”

“My plate’s always been full just trying to make a living and raising my family,” I say. “I’m not really interested in trying to run things.”

“Well, you’re going to be running something now. The district attorney’s office. Do you have any plans to rehabilitate the image of the office after the public learns of Mooney’s demise?”

“I really haven’t had a chance to think about any plans, Governor. The sheriff just dropped all of this on me about a half hour ago. But I don’t think it’s rocket science. People commit crimes, the police arrest them, and the district attorney prosecutes them under the law.”

“So you’re a black-and-white kind of guy.”

“I guess I am, but the older I get, the more gray I seem to see.”

Governor Donner opens a desk drawer and pulls out a legal-sized piece of paper. He holds it up in front of him and stands.

“This is a copy of the appointment that will be filed with the Supreme Court in the morning. It makes you the new district attorney general. I’ve already signed it. Thought you might want to frame it. Congratulations.”

He extends his hand again. Bates and I stand, and I grasp it.

“Thank you, Governor. Thank you.”

“Thank Leon,” he says. “I have a file on you, but I really don’t know you from Adam.”

Bates and I turn to leave. Just as I’m about to clear the door, I hear the governor clear his throat.

“Mr. Dillard,” he says.”

I turn to face him. “Yes, sir?”

“Don’t make me regret this.”